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wood-white-writer · 9 months

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“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [1/…]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“So, I don’t blame you if you want to bury me in your memories,”

— Mitski, "Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Canon Typical Violence, Slight Canon Divergence, Buggy is an asshole, The reader used to go by "Cross-Hairs" in the past.

A/N: I’m basing this primarily on the LA! version of “One Piece”, as I’ve just recently begun to watch the Anime.

Luffy, for his unyielding devotion towards his dreams of becoming the King of Pirates, evidently lacks the sense of foresight required of a pirate to successfully navigate the seven seas. Then again, it's nothing new.

You’ve always known. The kid's been a hazard to society even in his youth; no filter between his brain and his mouth despite the ungodly amount of food he pushes between his jaws. You used to watch him make his proclamations in front of Shanks' merry band with little more than vaguely piqued interest, indifferent to the youthful albeit naive optimism he exhibited.

Shanks, meanwhile, always used to find his demeanor endearing - “He’s a good kid. Let him dream,”

And so you let him. You watched him dream for the next ten years, making sure that his dreams didn't catch the wrong kind of attention until he was old enough to hold his own weight.

However, back then, Luffy's actions seldom warranted any real consequences. Save for the incident with the Bandit and the Sea King, he's rarely been in any real danger prior to his debut as a pirate.

An unruly child spouting declarations of desiring to become the next “King of Pirates” hardly would’ve caused more of a ripple effect than to make other people shake their heads and laugh. And if it did, you were there to make sure it didn’t.

Now, not only has his actions earned you the ire of the Marines by stealing the Map of the Grand Line, but it has also garnered the attention of other opponents. Far more dangerous ones than the likes of Alvida or even that Axe-Hand Moron.

It was only a matter of time.

So when you find yourself waking up in a wooden cage with the rest of your reluctant crew mates, accompanied by a head-throbbing headache at that, your first instinct is to heave an exasperated sigh.

"Goddamn it."

"Oh, you're up." It's Luffy. He looks unharmed, albeit disoriented, not too unlike yourself. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I just snorted a bottle of rum through my nostrils." You get up into a crouching position, eying your surroundings, which doesn't leave much up for inspection considering your cage consists of broad wide planks. "What the fuck happened?"

The last thing you recall before being knocked out was a Jolly Roger in the distance, too far away for you to make out properly. So, not Marines, but pirates.

You can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing.

"Think we wouldn't have told you if we knew?" The swordsman - Zoro - replies with a deadpan look of boredom on his face as he attempts to peek through the cracks in your confinement. You have half a mind to tell him where to shove it but opt for a more quiet approach.

It's during moments like these when you realize you actually miss that scrawny pink-haired kid with the glasses - Koby. He never spoke to you like this. Granted, he was probably intimidated by the way you were always hovering behind Luffy like a silent guardian, but he didn't provide unnecessary comments like Bounty Hunter over there does.

Small blessings and all that. Very small.

You provide a solid kick to the plank on Zoro's right side without warning, catching him off-guard and earning you a short-lived glare. The planks loosen considerably, probably not meant to contain you for long.

Meanwhile, you listen half-heartedly to Luffy and Nami as they discuss the potential identities of your captors.

"They're not marines," Luffy assures her. "Before I got knocked out, I saw a Jolly Roger. We've been captured by pirates."

You glance at him from over your shoulder. "What'd it look like?"

"I don't know, it looked ... like ..." he pauses in thought. "A skull with crossbones, and a red ... dot? It almost looked like a nose, if bones could have noses, but they don't."

The blood in your veins freezes up, as does the rest of your body until their voices blur into nothing.

You've been keeping occasional track of him in the years that's passed since you parted ways, and when he amounted to a considerable bounty on his head, his signature Jolly Roger was hard not to miss on his wanted posters.

-------

"I didn't know there were so many pirates."

You tilt your head at the wall decorated with various wanted posters of different pirates, some more torn and discoloured than others, some more dead than others. You can't find your own amongst them in Shells Town, but then again, it has been some time since last you were on the Marines' radar. More likely than not, your poster is hidden somewhere underneath the several layers of—

"Hey, there's yours!" Luffy damn-near exclaims in wonder and points at— Oh yeah, there it is, right above Foxy's poster, a little yellow around the edges but still holding strong.

WANTED Dead or Alive "Cross-Hairs" 25,000,000

"Oh, wow, a 25-million bounty. That's a lot of berries."

The image is well over a decade old, taken back in your early twenties, and you were much more easy to identify back then. You were sharper in some angles, softer in others, compared to the present.

You look different now. Less robust, a little older, but no less dangerous in the grand scheme of things. Your sharp eyes remain the same, a trait Gol D. used to remark upon with a mischievous glimmer in his own eyes.

"You have eyes sharp enough to cut through steele," he'd say and ruffle your hair. A sense of loss perforating your being at the memory.

Despite being in your thirties, age tends to alter the appearance of most people, and you consider that a pretty good advantage right about now as you're standing surrounded by an army of Marine officers. Given the fact that you've spent the last couple of years away from the sea without a trace or clue, the World Government probably assumes you've died or gone into hiding.

Be that as it may, they didn't even bother to decrease the bounty since last time. How odd.

While Luffy spends a few moments admiring your old picture like a child that just learned their relative is some kind of famous celebrity, Koby is less than enthralled by this revelation.

"T-That's one of the highest bounties in the East-Blue." He is hesitant to look up at you. "What did ... What did you do to earn it?"

"A little here, a little there. Kicked a few asses, stole a bit of treasure along the way. Nothing too bad." You admit with a half-assed shrug as you continue to inspect the various posters.

For the boy's peace of mind, you won't go into the less ... child-friendly details regarding your reputation. About the way you used to fight to the blood with most of your opponents, Marines and pirates in equal measure. How you'd stand victorious atop a pile of broken limbs and pleading sounds from the defeated crowd.

"Yeah, yeah ..." Koby agrees with a feeble nod. "There are way worse pirates on the Grand Line."

Your gaze happens upon a particular wanted poster, and your demeanor stiffens. Not enough to notice from an ordinary point of view, but it does nonetheless.

His sharp cerulean eyes and bright red nose seem to mock you from his picture, and a heavy feeling settles in your heart. A feeling of hurt and betrayal you've long since thought abandoned in the corners of your heart. Not even the loss of your old captain could hope to compare to it

You snap back to Luffy, your voice a little strained as you speak though you desperately try to cover it up. "Are we done here, Luffy?"

------

It's your fucking luck it had to be him of all people to come after Luffy first.

Why him?

Fuuuuuu—

"We don't need to fight." Luffy's voice snaps you back to the present. "I can talk to them, pirate to pirate."

"Not with this one," you whisper more to yourself than anyone else. The only one who seems to catch onto this is Zoro, but the moment he opens his mouth to ask, Nami beats him to it.

A discussion regarding the duality of piracy quickly causes you to lose all interest in the following sequence.

You don't trust either the thief or the bounty hunter as far as you can throw them, and the feeling is mutual in both parts. Sure, they proved useful in getting rid of the Axe-Hand, and have had thus far been tolerable enough for you not to throw them overboard.

Still, Zoro recognized you on the spot where the Marines failed to, and though Nami doesn't, your status as a pirate is enough reason for her to distrust you.

As mentioned, you don't trust them, but Luffy does, and his lead is the only one you'll follow. This is his voyage, and you’re not here to keep him from making mistakes unless you consider them particularly vital. If this bites him in the end, then you'll be there to keep him afloat.

After all, you made a promise to your old red-haired friend.

"Look after the lad for me, will you? Help him achieve his dream."

With no patience left to wait to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible, you prepare to kick through the planks. Just then, the top piece of your confinements unfold, and what you're greeted with is the pinpoint definiton of a fever dream on acid.

Tightrope walkers swinging in the air, acrobatics performing acts of impressive feats, someone fire-breathing, and-- was that a guy juggling on a unicycle passing you just now?

A circus troupe. You've been captured by a fucking circus troupe.

"Oh, what the actual fuck?" Is all you can manage to mutter, a sentiment Zoro surprisingly agrees with if the nod he adds serves as any indication.

The troupe has an audience, you come to observe in the distance. They're clapping and cheering on cue with the sign being held in the air, yet they look ... wrong. Forced. Puppets with strings embedded in their limbs, so to speak.

You narrow your eyes in distaste at the view. The hell has he been up to as of late?

In the midst of the enforced round of applause, a voice gradually makes itself more and more prominent through the masses. Deeper and huskier since last you heard it, but yet painfully known to your ears.

"No, no, no, NO! Stop clapping!"

And then he appears. The ringleader himself, exasperated as he throws his arms out to each side and effectively silencing the crowd.

"No, stop! This is all wrong!"

You momentarily forget to breathe as you watch him come into view from behind the audience. He's taller than the last you saw him, that's for damn certain. Must've hit a second growth spurt in your absence because, while you were relatively on equal foot in your youth, he now seems to have grown a head or so taller than yourself.

And like yourself, he's changed, and not inherently for the better. It's a relative statement considering that the life of a pirate is oftentimes a hard one, but it's a fact nonetheless. The years have not been any kinder to him than they've been for yourself. He still has the same hair, the same general appearance, but he's changed.

Out of the three of you, Shanks seems to have had it the easiest in recent years, appearance-wise. He never lost his smile or affinity for the brighter things in life, even when he had his damn arm chewed off.

Meanwhile, you lost your dreams, and he seems to have lost everything you recognized about him in your youth. His smile, his laughter, and even his stance had been replaced by some replica that fails to hold a candle to the original one.

This is a show master, not your friend. Then again, you haven't been friends for a long time now.

Still, changed as he may be from an outward point of view, Buggy's eyes have not. They're clear like the seas, just as they were long ago. (And his nose, of course. How could you forget?).

You can't tell if that's a relief yet.

You're not a fearful person by nature, having lost the distinct ability years ago. Now, however, you feel the tremors vibrating through your ribcage at the sight of him. That's why you decide to turn your face slightly to the side for now, hoping to prolong the inevitable.

Fortunately, your presence evades Buggy's notice for just a while longer as he berates his crew. "The spotlight was late! You completely missed my entrance!"

The sound of said spotlight changing its focus can be heard.

"And where, oh where, was the dancing lion?"

Good! While he's occupied, maybe you can find the right moment to grab Luffy and get the hell--

"Hey! I know you! I saw your wanted poster in Shells Town!"

... You want to dig a hole in the sand and bury yourself right about now.

"You're the clown guy! Uhm ... Binky, right?"

Buggy, you scream inside as you suppress the urge to yank Luffy by the shoulders and shake him until all of his limbs drop down on the ground. Fuck Shanks and fuck the promise. He's Buggy the fucking Clown, and you did not have to go out of your way to pinpoint that fact!

In your internal state of dismay, you settle with trying to locate potential escape routes. Maybe a hole in the walls of the tent, or an absent-minded guard by the entrance. You're stronger than most, with years of experience behind you, but you're not capable of fighting your way through a crowd with three tagalongs so seamlessly.

"Buggy," the man of the hour states as he approaches, still having failed to notice you. "Buggy the Clown."

No one says anything, which he takes as a sign to continue on with - what you personally regard - as a moronic long line of titles.

"Buggy, the Flashy Fool." Still nothing. He raises his arms, like a lost puppy begging for scraps of recognition. "Buggy, the Genius Jester."

Seriously, what's with him and all the names? He’s always been … overdramatic, but this cuts the cake even for him.

"Wow," Luffy seems genuinely impressed, a stark contrast to his companions, who would rather be anywhere than here. "You have a lot of names. I bet everyone in the East Blue knows who you are."

A range of gasps echo from the unwilling audience, and you finally snap your head to the front in alarm. Fuck, he couldn't have used a better word than that. Granted, Luffy didn't mean it in that context, or even that word, but it doesn't matter.

Another thing that hasn't changed about Buggy... And that very same thing might as well be what snaps him out of his theatric act.

You thought Buggy finally would've noticed you by now, seeing it as you're finally willing to face him, but his eyes remain eerily glued to the kid.

"What did you just say?" Buggy asks, calmly.

Way too calmly for your liking.

Oh, no.

Luffy blinks in confusion. "Just that everyone knows who you are?"

You notice the clown lunging before Luffy does.

In the span of a second, you plant yourself between them, the only barrier between him and the clown's rage. You don't move an inch even as Buggy closes in with his gloved hand outstretched towards the boy, having not yet registered your sudden appearance until his fingers are inches from your face.

Your eyes finally lock, the blue in his eyes more prominent now than ever. Almost two decades since the last time you saw each other, and Buggy ceases his attempted assault as though time itself freezes.

At first, there is nothing in his eyes but surprise. Anger. Maybe even a trace of admiration towards the one who dared stand against him. Hot and burning beneath his irises, like glowing embers left behind in a dying pyre.

Finally, there is recognition, and the fire reignites warmer and scorching more than ever before.

He doesn't say anything at first, and neither do you, but the glare in your eyes conveys the message loudly enough that even the performers and troupe members alike know not to interfere.

"Leave him be."

You think of what to say, what you can say, after years of being silent. A simple “Hi” will not suffice, and considering the way of which you parted, there is little room for confessions.

Then, Buggy begins to laugh.

It starts out as a whisper of a chuckle, then gradually develops until he's full-out holding his stomach in wheezes, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and smudging his make-up.

He points his arm up as he tries to contain himself, and the guy holding the APPLAUSE-sign picks up on the subliminal message. Everyone in the place begins to laugh, both the captives and the captors, so loudly this time that it makes you feel small in a way you haven’t felt since you were a child.

You glance cautiously around yourself, sharing brief looks with your companions before the noises abruptly stop, having most likely been forced to do so.

When you look back at Buggy again, he's smiling wider than ever, but his eyes hold no genuine humor. No, there's an unidentifiable emotion swirling in the depths of his blue eyes that you fail to decipher before he speaks.

"Well, well, well! Isn't this an unexpected surprise?" He raises his arm to gesture to you, as if you're an exotic exhibition behind a display case for everyone to behold. The spotlight is now aimed at you, momentarily blinding your vision.

"Ladies and gentlemen! It is my honor to present to you, the one and only, the myth, the legendary 'Cross-Hairs'! The Beast of the East!"

Applause rings again in the air as Buggy continues.

"She was famous throughout all of East Blue for her many endeavors, with a bounty greater than even yours flashy truly." Admitting that fact looks like it physically hurt him, but he prevails. "And then, almost ten years ago, after her biggest heist yet, she just POOFS!" He snaps his fingers and lets them slowly decline for dramatic effect. "Vanishes out of the blue. Leaving the seas for an unforeseen amount of time."

It would seem like you were keeping track of each other all along.

The next words Buggy utters are so hushed that only you hear them, and his smile is gone.

"Then again, you do have a track-record of leaving things behind, haven’t you?"

Oh, the fucking nerve of this guy. You take a step forward, clenching and unclenching you jaw so much your teeth feel on the bring of cracking. How dare he? How fucking dare he?

You’re about to shout back at him, argue, throwing every caution to the wind just to correct him and scream:

("You're the one who left me, remember?")

Before you can, something taps your right shoulder. Thinking it's Luffy, you turn around, and the last thing you recall before it all fades to black is an air of red dust clouding your vision.

#buggy the clown #buggy one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy x reader #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy the clown imagine #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #buggy x you #buggy x female reader #buggy #buggy live action #captain buggy #one piece fanfiction #one piece buggy

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tarotwithavi · 11 months

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You from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse

Read part 1 here

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

For my female audience , I'll be using she/her pronouns in this post.

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Pile 1

When I'm with her, I feel an overwhelming sense of strength and confidence, as if I could conquer any challenge that comes my way. She embodies everything that brings me joy and fulfillment. Being in her presence makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world because I have her by my side. Her mere existence has the power to make my wildest dreams a reality. Not only does she inspire me to reach for the stars, but she also motivates me to become a better version of myself. Her influence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of life. Just knowing that she is there for me, supporting me, and believing in me, helps me heal wounds that were never caused by her. Her presence alone has a transformative effect on my well-being, bringing me solace and restoration. If her love were poison, I would willingly drink it without hesitation or remorse. Such is the depth of my devotion and the extent to which I value her affection. I yearn to be of assistance to her, to be a reliable pillar she can lean on. I aspire to be her rock, her unwavering support, providing comfort and strength whenever she needs it. Being with her fills me with an indescribable sense of empowerment and joy. She is my beacon of happiness, encouraging me to strive for greatness and inspiring me to become the best version of myself. Her love and presence heal me in ways I never thought possible, and I am eager to reciprocate by being her steadfast support and ally.

Pile 2

Describing her is a challenging task, for she possesses a depth that transcends the confines of ordinary words. She carries an aura that attracts wealth and prosperity wherever she ventures, as if they were faithful companions by her side. From a distance, she appears strong and bold, yet I sense a vulnerable little girl hiding within her, fearful of the harshness this world can wield. She has distanced herself from those around her, for nobody has truly comprehended her essence. No one has made an earnest effort to unravel the intricate puzzle of her being. My deepest desire is to be the one who unravels that enigma, the person who embraces the challenge of understanding her complexities. I yearn to discover every missing piece and gently place it in its rightful position, completing the beautiful picture that is her. I want to penetrate the walls she has built, to listen to her unspoken fears and insecurities, and to offer solace and understanding. By becoming the person who comprehends her deepest self, I hope to bridge the gap between her and the world that often fails to perceive her true nature. I want to be the companion who supports her unconditionally, providing comfort and encouragement as she navigates through life's labyrinth. It is my aspiration to create an environment where she can fully express herself, knowing that she is truly seen, heard, and appreciated.

Pile 3

The moment our eyes met, I was immediately captivated by her essence, as if an invisible force had bound my heart to hers. Prior to meeting her, I had been skeptical of love at first sight, dismissing it as a mere romantic notion. However, in her presence, all doubts were washed away by the sheer brilliance of her beauty. She has bewitched me completely, leaving no room for retreat. Even if her allure leads to my demise, I would embrace it willingly, for the privilege of experiencing her presence outweighs any consequences. Her presence has an intoxicating effect on me, causing me to lose my composure in the most enchanting way. It is as if she holds the power to unravel the layers of my soul, igniting a fire within me that I cannot control. My hands yearn to touch her, to explore every corner of her body, as if searching for an uncharted territory that only she possesses. Every flaw she may perceive within herself, I view as perfect imperfections, enhancing her unique beauty and making her all the more irresistible. Words fail to fully express the depth of my admiration for her. She is a work of art, a masterpiece without blemish in my eyes. I am eager to shower her with praise, to extol every facet of her being, and to make her feel cherished beyond measure. In her presence, I find myself stripped of pretenses and laid bare, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It is an indescribable sensation, this all-consuming affection, where reason and logic are overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to be closer to her. She has become the center of my universe, a gravitational force pulling me toward her. To love her is to lose myself willingly, surrendering to the magnetic power she holds over me.

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perpetual-stories · 2 years

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How to Use Character Flaws to Enrich Your Writing

Readers identify with characters who are relatable and peppered with imperfections. When a writer crafts believable character flaws, they open the door to interesting conflict, engaging personalities, and ample character development.

What Is a Character Flaw?

A character flaw is a trait that prevents a character from being perfect.

Sometimes this fatal flaw leads to a character’s demise or at least undercuts their character strengths and presents a prominent setback they must overcome.

Any character can have flaws, including a protagonist, antagonist, love interest, confidant, deuteragonist, tertiary character, or foil.

Why Give Your Characters Flaws?

A character’s flaws serve many functions, particularly ensuring that the character is relatable and engaged in inner conflict. Carefully crafted flaws can do the following:

Make the character relatable to an audience of readers or viewers

Present an obstacle that must be overcome during the course of the story

Create character weaknesses that another character in the story can exploit

Create an obstacle that prevents a character from immediately solving a conflict

Set off a character arc that allows a character to grow and change

Provide quirks that distinguish characters from one another and make them memorable to audiences

Emphasize broader themes that are amplified via specific character flaws

Create comedy—from Homer Simpson to Michael Scott, the best comedic characters are hopelessly flawed

What Is an Example of a Character Flaw?

In the Thomas Harris novel The Silence of the Lambs (and its subsequent film adaptation by director Jonathan Demme), Hannibal Lecter has what could charitably be called a personality disorder: He is a cannibal and a sadomasochist.

Lecter’s character flaws, however, are somewhat offset by his brilliant mind, which he uses to help the main character, Clarice Starling, apprehend a serial killer tormenting Appalachia.

Lecter is an example of how in fiction, even characters with the most severe personality flaws can embody a degree of three-dimensionality.

12 Character Flaws to Use in Your Writing

The array of possible character flaws is boundless. Here are 12 time-tested character traits that inherently generate conflict:

Perfectionism: A finicky perfectionist is never satisfied. They can rarely accept that a project has been completed, and they rarely accept the finished work of others. Perfectionism is a great flaw for a detective, a doctor, or an office worker.

A know-it-all attitude: An arrogant, self-righteous know-it-all has great potential to fall flat on their face, whether comically or dramatically. High school stories often feature a know-it-all foil to the main character. These archetypes work particularly well in comedy, especially when the know-it-all suffers from a broader lack of intelligence.

An inability to move on from the past: Many police procedurals and superhero stories feature heroes haunted by their past, such as murdered parents or the victim they could not save. This major flaw presents obstacles as they work to solve crimes—but when the obstacles are overcome, the story’s happy ending feels earned.

Laziness: Laziness is a flaw that leads to obvious conflict, some of which can be quite funny. Lazy sloth detectives and doctors can be either hilarious or the source of grave conflict, depending on the tone of your storytelling. A lazy character in a position of authority can generate a lot of tension for your plot.

Physical vulnerability: Some characters suffer from a physical weakness that can escalate into a fatal flaw. Superman’s tendency to wilt in the presence of kryptonite hamstrings him, while the great warrior Achilles was undone by his fabled heel.

Low self esteem: People who fundamentally dislike themselves make for fascinating characters. Jesse Pinkman’s self-loathing leads him down all sorts of dangerous paths in Breaking Bad. On the other end of the spectrum, the young adult author Judy Bloom has crafted gorgeous character arcs from youthful characters, like Linda Fischer in Blubber, who begin their journeys with low self esteem.

Vanity: Vanity is the undoing of many real world characters, and so it also works beautifully in fiction. Politicians, artists, models, and athletes in stories are routinely undone by vanity as they gradually develop a bad reputation. Ordinary people can be wrecked by vanity as well, so it’s a common character flaw in many forms of fiction.

Lust for power: Unbridled thirst for power has undone many a character, from Mr. Kurtz in Heart of Darkness to Frank Underwood in House of Cards. Power is intoxicating, and characters who seek it are both relatable and easy sources of conflict.

Lack of maturity: Many character arcs begin with a person in a hopeless state of immaturity who then grows over the course of the story. Immaturity can also manifest as rudeness, like when a bigmouth makes tactless remarks.

Fear: Common in action dramas and comedies alike, fear—be it cowardice in the face of duty, a specific phobia of spiders, or an irrational fear—is a great character flaw that naturally drives a story.

Hedonism: Some characters cannot resist temptation, whether that involves an illicit drug, food, or a fetish. Sometimes this excessive desire is due to addiction—it’s no secret that many famous protagonists are alcoholics—and sometimes it’s due to a general lack of self-restraint and willpower. For a character like Fyodor Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov, hedonism and lechery make him both tragically amusing and subtly sinister.

A gruff exterior: Some characters seem initially impenetrable because they are taciturn, standoffish, or even hostile and lewd. Typically these characters house a vulnerable interior beneath their coarse shell. Bringing out that vulnerability and lack of self-worth can be a strong driver of story.

Please like, comment, reblog and follow for more!

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #original writing #writers on tumblr #writersconnection #writerscommunity #short story #storytelling #writersupportingwriters

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myststone · 1 year

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I love Ganondorf’s new design

Not only for the aesthetics, but what it means for the timeline.

ya got some wind waker with the cloak

You’ve got some Demise/Skyward/Ocarina in there with the bare arms

And then bam you’ve got the embodiment of all my nightmares from Twilight Princess right there on the face

A face that I, frankly, can’t wait to stab again.

It’s just such a unique way of respect all of the theorists while leaving fans the ability to run free. I can even see some link to the past references.

#Ganondorf #Ganon #Ganondorf Dragmire #Nintendo #Zelda #Link #Triforce #Power #Wisdom #Courage #Tears of the Kingdom #Totk #Botw #Botw 2 #Skyward Sword #Twilight Princess #Link to the past #I see what ya did

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neptunes-sol-angel · 8 months

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"She's a mannnneatttterrrr...." . I posted this for Halloween and I only have time to make this short, but if you guys like this topic and would be interested in me remaking with more piles and more in depth at a later time, then let me know!

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Pile One

Your killer seduction reminds me of the Kumiho from the show Lovecraft Country. The Kumiho is based off of East Asian mythology and is depicted as a fox spirit that shape shifts into a physically attractive woman that feeds off of men that they've lured in. When people feel inexplicably drawn to you, they think it's by how you sweet you come across or how soft you may appear in both your looks and mannerisms, there's this idea of submissivenss that they might get from you that may seem like a treat, but it's really the trick that's pulling them in. They're attracted to what you aren't saying about yourself. Your allure comes from the things that make you mysterious or the unseen things like your aura. They want to see the things that you conceal, what secret kinks and fetishes that you may have or in general, the secrets that you may know about them and others. Your gaze is sexually attractive, you could have fox or feline features, your movement and how you dress could be described as very vixen like or maybe this is the other side of yourself that people are hoping to see. It's not just how you look at others, but it's also what you see in others that people find erogenous. You could be clairvoyant and are able keenly and thoroughly tell a lot about a person by what you can see, people are wooed by this validation that you give them, it gives them an ego boost that actually creates a reversed effect where it's not you that feeds on people, it's them that feeds on you.

Pile Two

Your killer seduction reminds me of the Black Swan. You entice others to embody the side of themselves that they have been repressing. You satiate a person's drive both in sexual and non-sexual situations by fulfilling their subconscious fantasies. This can be a good thing that promotes people to take more risks in order to get the most pleasure that they can out of life and to awaken their authentic selves and potential unapologetically but this can also take a bad turn if there's no moderation and the person loses their grip on self-control to fall victim to obsessions and addictions. So your seduction is definitely a treat, people just have to watch out for too much of it.

Pile Three

Your killer seduction reminds me of Harley Quinn. You are the ride or die and the epitome of what true intensity is when it comes to love and how you seduce others. Your suggestiveness is both a trick and a treat. In the treat aspect, it comes from how you unconditionally love others. However, your attention and affection tends to go to the wrong people that will take advantage of it which can lead to your demise. Your heartbreaks awaken the side of you where you use your seduction to trick others, by playfully charming them but keeping them at arm's length.

#divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #tarot #spirituality #pac #tarotblr #pick a pile #pick a picture #the tarot community #tarot community

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kheprriverse · 6 months

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Goddess Majora, Embodiment of Chaos. Also just a really large bug.

Below the cut is some lore + a little bit of me rambling about Majora’s design (and then a little more ab hylia)

Some Majora Lore

Not created by the golden goddesses but instead came to be from Hylia and Demise’s growing conflict with one another. After attempting to take Hylia down herself, Majora was then sealed away underneath the canyons of Ikana.

She would, later on at least, be reawakened by a still-mortal Ko’jin as Hylia’s seal began to weaken. She fled deeper into Ikana’s canyons and disguised herself as one of its people. Coincidentally, Ikana’s missing queen reunited with her people around the same time.

Ko’jin is chosen by Golden Goddess Farore to be her opposition.

Design thoughts

Some changes from her previous post, a more simple design so I can draw her more often. I really like her new wing patterns, mimicking phoenix (or peacock) feathers as a couple other deities do as well. She’s just a bit more obvious about it.

A lot of the deities, spirits, and other characters that answer under Hylia (or are allied with her) have diamonds in their designs as an homage to her as a common theme (FD’s dragon whiskers as an example). Majora just straight takes the pheonix feathers and runs with it. No diamonds on this damn bug, just pure imitation.

On that note, though, it makes me kinda wanna redesign her antennae to go further. But we’ll see how I feel when I start drawing her more.

#legend of zelda #loz au #majora’s mask #majora #Majora (Kheprriverse)#AKA ‘Bug Wife’#Kheprriverse #Kheprriart #insect #bug #mantis #spreading ‘hylia is a bird’ propaganda #no bird alt-form just bird. she is a bird #majora is the only one out of the four mid-level deities that isn’t designed off some mythical creature #<- Dragon > World Turtle > Phoenix > … bug.#anyways this isnt 2024 art. it was early december 2023 art I think

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harunayuuka2060 · 1 year

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Malleus: What are you doing there? The first period is about to start.

MC: I'm waiting for a package.

Malleus: Package?

MC: Hm. It's a special clothing.

Lilia: *enters the room* *carrying a huge box* I believe this is for you, MC? A huge falcon has dropped it. *chuckles* If I didn't pull Silver out of the way, he would've got hit on the head.

MC: Sorry. We don't have a proper delivery system so we still rely on our falcons to do the job.

Lilia: You shouldn't feel sorry. Falcons are the best. Anyway, I will set it down here.

MC: Thank you.

Malleus: I hope you wouldn't mind, but I'm curious what kind of special clothing it is. Does it minimize the effect of your curse?

MC: It provides me absolute no physical contact.

MC: *proceeds to open the box* *pulls out a huge, black, seemingly soft costume (imagine the black version of Baymax)*

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Are you sure with that?

MC: Yes. I've been wearing it whenever I have to go outside. My twin sister made it for me.

Malleus: It seems you have a good bond with your sister.

MC: Yes. But sometimes I wish that she isn't this kind to me.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: You should not always consider your curse as a burden.

MC: ...

MC: I don't know if I can do that. *slips themselves inside the costume*

Malleus: ...

MC: *looks extremely huggable*

Malleus: ...

Professor Trein: Before we start with our discussion, I would like to introduce to you our new student who has just arrived a few days ago.

Professor Trein: MC?

MC: *squeezes themselves in, making squeaky noises as they walk in* *goes to stand in the front*

MC: I am MC. The embodiment of demise. I came here in this school because my father forced me to socialize.

Ace: What the fu— *wheeze*

Deuce: *raised his hand* Um... So you're... death-friendly?

MC: ...

MC: Yes. If I understood correctly what you've said.

Professor Trein: That's enough an introduction for now. And Mr. Draconia, I'm certain that you have no business in this class.

Malleus: *is serving as their guardian* I'm just making sure everything is fine. *was ready to throw hands if someone dared to make fun of them*

Professor Trein: *sigh* MC, your seat will be next to Ace Trappola.

Ace: YES!!!

Professor Trein: ...

Professor Trein: Trappola.

Ace: S-Sorry, sir!

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst ace #twst deuce #twst malleus #twst lilia #twst trein #embodiment of demise

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heliads · 2 months

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Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme: kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect.

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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cvrnelians · 1 year

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smile like you mean it - chapters 1-3 (reupload)

You knew filing for divorce would be no easy feat. But filing for divorce from Roman Roy?

"No easy feat” might as well have been synonymous with “impossible."

warnings: drug use, alcoholism, miscarriage, Roman and the rest of the Roy family being awful.

chapter four // chapter five

music

You’re broken up.

Separated, split up, estranged, whatever. You’re living apart, en route to what you can only foresee as painstakingly drawn out divorce proceedings. Brutal divorce proceedings, because you’re not just dealing with a “normal” human being. Unfortunately for you, the demise of your relationship has taken on a life of its own. Things always did when there was money involved.

You’re broken up.

Evidently, Roman doesn’t care.

But there’s a catch, as there usually is with your husband, and with the Roy family in general. You had hoped he would be largely unfazed by your decision to leave him, as he was with most things. You had hoped that he would sign the papers without even giving them a second look, send you a belittling text message or two, and move right along. You tried to make things as clean as possible. You hadn’t asked for a single thing—not his money, not his various properties, not his ridiculously expensive cars (yes, cars as in multiple), no valuables. Nothing.

Nothing.

Part of you knew better, though. He certainly would care that you were filing for divorce. He loved you. He loved you enough to marry you. He loved you enough to marry you without a prenup for fuck’s sake, going against any shred of common sense he had left. You had married into one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in New York. Did you really have the audacity, the gall to file for divorce from Roman Roy—theRoman Roy? You? You?

Roman loved you as much as he was capable of loving anyone. That wasn’t much by other people’s standards, but for him, that meant something. You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone, which by any sane person’s standards (and your own) seemed like a lot. And it was. But he had finally pushed you to your limit, and you were fed up.

And now you were suffering for it.

It was funny. In trying to make things as convenient and non-combative as possible, you had only made things harder on yourself. It wasn’t the divorce that Roman didn’t care about. It wasn’t you he didn’t care about. Of course not.

It was your boundaries. Roman didn’t pay any mind to those. He never could.

…which was why he had taken it upon himself to barge into your new apartment uninvited, at two o’ clock in the morning on a Tuesday. He arrived seconds after you returned home from a miserable night out, forcing open the door before you had even gotten the chance to take off your coat, turn around, and lock it. He had shoved the door open with such force that it hit you square in the back, making you stumble over your own two feet.

“Jesus, Roman!” You were breathing heavily, shaking from the adrenaline that accompanied someone sneaking up behind you and ramming into you full force.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

🌃 Several years ago 🌃

Your boss is really kind of embarrassing.

There is an awkward, anxious energy to Kendall Roy that you cannot help but identify with. To those that didn’t know him, the “confidence” he tried so hard to embody probably came across as arrogant and idiotic—as if an incredibly affluent nepotism baby wasn’t unlikable enough.

But you did know him, at least to some extent. You had been his personal assistant for a little over a year. To you, Kendall seemed like the type of person that lied awake at night overthinking. He seemed like the type of person that practiced positive affirmations in the mirror every morning, and listened to podcasts hosted by hack motivational speakers in order to pump himself up. He seemed like the type of person to go all out on some fad juice cleanse with the intention of “reaching peak wellness,” only to smoke half a pack of cigarettes that same day in order to calm his nerves. His chief concern, apart from earning his father’s approval, was with making everyone think he was cool. Hip, if you will. But no matter how many designer suits or expensive sneakers he bought, to you, Kendall was a dad. A white collar dad, no less.

In other words, your boss was a dork.

He ruminated a lot, he talked a lot, he felt a lot. And why wouldn’t he? He was carrying the burden of a major media conglomerate like Waystar Royco on his back with very little support or guidance from anyone else. And in spite of his age, Kendall Roy seemed like he would do well with a bit of guidance.

“Hey, can I talk to you real quick?” he asked, peeking out from the doorway of his office. You turned to look at him as you hovered over the Keurig, which seemed to be malfunctioning. You had to hold back a sigh. To Kendall, “real quick” usually meant up to half an hour or longer. Typically, you didn’t mind talking to your boss, but you were feeling desperate for some prolonged silence and a heavy dose of caffeine. You had slept in later than intended, and in your discombobulated scramble to arrive to work on time, you had neglected to have the two cups you usually drank when you woke up. Yes, two.

Because working for a Roy was fucking exhausting.

As fair as he could be and as well as he paid you, your dynamic with your employer was this: when he said “jump,” you said “how high?” twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. You picked up takeout for him at all hours of the day and night, scheduled meetings—sat in on, took notes, and got yelled at in said meetings—fielded calls from people he did and didn’t want to deal with, ran whatever errand he could think of, and—although he didn’t want anyone else to know this—made sure he went to his AA meetings. He even asked you to pick his kids up from school a few times. You were starting to think that Kendall would pay you to breathe for him if he could.

“Yeah sure,” you said, trying your best not to sound exasperated.

Kendall was pretty perceptive when it came to your mood, however, and he barely stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have one for you already. I bought it on my way here.”

“You got me coffee?”

“You mentioned that you like a good cappuccino, so.”

“Oh! Thanks, Ken. I really appreciate that,” you said, beaming.

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your sense of gratitude quickly died down when you realized that this probably wasn’t good. It was generally never a good sign when Kendall gave you little peace offerings like this. The last time he bought you coffee, he was preemptively apologizing for piling a bunch of new job tasks on you; a direct result of firing most of your colleagues, including some of your favorite ones.

“Have a seat,” he said, sitting down at his desk, pushing the massive cup towards you. You cleared your throat and stepped into his office, closing the door behind you. “Sorry to call you in here right as you’re walking in. I just have a few things I want to go over with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like he was nervous, like he knew something you didn’t, like what he was about to say would feel like pulling teeth—not only for him, but for you, too.

“Alright, um. So I wasn’t going to mention this to you because honestly, I think it might be…well, you might not…I’m not sure how it’s going to be received. And in my view, I mean. It’s not like that. I mean, I’m not like that. I’m not that guy. I promise, I’m really not! It’s just—”

“Ken?” you asked. His anxiety was rubbing off on you, giving you the urge to bite your nails.

He sighed. “I would never, ever want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking a big gulp of your cappuccino, made just the way you liked it. You had a feeling you were going to need it. He placed his head in his hand, his thumb and middle finger splaying across his forehead to touch his temples. “Ah god, I really shouldn’t do this,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears. Was this really it? Was he firing you? Were you getting let go? Your mind was racing, trying to recall if you had done anything that warranted being kicked to the curb. Did you do anything even slightly detrimental to the company, anything at all? Did you even need to? Waystar Royco wasn’t exactly fair, or employee-friendly for that matter.

“Is everything okay?”

Your voice sounded just as pathetic as you felt.

“Yes. Well, sort of. No. Maybe.”

You were about to say something when Kendall’s eyes suddenly shifted towards something above you, and he covered his face with his palm dejectedly. And then you heard a loud banging noise, making you jump. You turned to see who was easily one of your least favorite people in the world: the obnoxious, antagonistic, arrogant, irritatingly well-dressed imbecile that was Roman Roy.

He slammed on the glass windows of Kendall’s office with both hands, making everyone nearby turn and stare. They all should have been relatively unfazed by this nonsense by now. On the days that he was actually at work, if Roman wasn’t being disruptive, there was something very wrong.

“Did he tell you?” he asked, his gaze honing in on you. His voice was somewhat muffled through the glass, but the volume at which he was speaking more than made up for it. His tone was half maniacally happy, half mocking. There was no other way to describe it. “Is he telling you? Is he telling you right now?”

“Jesus Christ, not this,” Kendall muttered.

“So, did you give her the good news?” Roman asked, shoving the door open so hard that it hit the wall, making the desk shake.

“Seriously, man?” Kendall groaned.

You suddenly felt hands clutching onto your shoulders from behind, making you seize up. You were hit with a wave of what had to be a laughably expensive cologne, but not a nice one. It was more sleazy than anything. ‘Drug dealer cologne’ were the words that popped into your head, if that was even a thing. ‘Creepy guy cologne.’ ‘Guy who thinks that just because he has money means that he can do anything he wants and get away with it cologne.’ To make matters worse, his hands were ice cold.

Like his soul.

He leaned down to face you, and you reflexively jerked away. “So beautiful, did he give you the good news?”

“No!” Kendall snapped, attempting to reach over the desk and swat at him with a piece of paper. “Absolutely not. You cannot touch the employees. You know that I could fire you for sexual harrassment right now if I wanted to?”

Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took his hands off of you, holding them out in front of him defensively. “So I’m guessing you didn’t tell her, then. Terrifying Ken, really. I’m quaking. How would I ever recover?”

“I already told you that wasn’t going to happen. Get out. You can hire your own assistant.”

What?

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, trying to avoid looking at Roman. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

Kendall looked at you and sighed. He was quiet for a few moments, like he was contemplating something. You surmised that he was probably just overwhelmed by his brother loudly barging into his office so early in the morning. “Overwhelming” was the perfect word to describe Roman’s presence, among other things. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. This. But it’s not happening, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Au contraire mon frère,” Roman said. “I’m COO now, remember? I need somebody to bring me coffee and pick up my drycleaning just the same as you.”

“So hire an assistant.”

“I am hiring an assistant.”

“Hire your own!”

“Oh, great idea, Ken! But oh, oh, you know what? You know what? It’s actually a really stupid fucking idea because I clearly said that I wanted your assistant. You might’ve understood that if you had been listening.”

In the midst of their little back and forth, you felt frozen. Even from only having just a handful of interactions with him, you hated Roman. You hated him when you knew of him, and you hated him when you met him. You already kind of hated working in the corporate world, but being able to afford to live in the city and having Kendall as a boss made it all at least somewhat bearable. If you had to be Roman’s assistant, it was over for you. There was no other option. You would have to quit your job. If you didn’t, you were in for the most demoralizing experience of your life.

Why was this even happening? You figured this situation had absolutely nothing to do with you, that there was some kind of underlying argument going on between Roman and Kendall and that you were just being used as a pawn in the game. You were a fairly decent assistant, but nothing remarkable. There was no reason why anyone would or should adamantly argue to hire you. It was crazy how people with money and power could change your entire livelihood on a whim.

“Besides, Kendall, you already have Jess. You don’t need two assistants, that’s diva behavior. And Dad already said I could. You won’t even notice that she’s gone.”

“Yeah?” Kendall mocked. “Really? You’re dicking my employee around just because Daddy said you could?”

“Ew,” Roman laughed. “Did you seriously just call our dad Daddy?”

“It was in a mocking tone!”

“Yeah, okay, Daddy.”

“Roman,” you interrupted. You knew you probably weren’t going to be able to level with him, but you had to try. If there was even a slight chance that you could remain in your current position and maintain your sanity, you were going to reach for it. “Kendall has me doing some seriously low-level tasks. That’s why he still has Jess. I’m basically an intern, I’m just here to learn. You’re probably going to want someone more experienced.”

Roman shook his head and tutted at you. “Aw, Ken. You’ve really got to keep your diminished sense of self-worth in check, it’s starting to rub off on your employees.”

“I’m going to talk to Dad, you are going to leave my staff alone, and we are going to hire you an assistant,” Kendall said slowly, as if he was talking to a child.

“Yeah, because Dad is always so willing to back you up, right? Old reliable. I’m sure that’ll work out great for you.”

The room was dead silent for the next few moments. They were doing that weird sibling thing where they were having a conversation just by looking at each other, a conversation you weren’t part of. Roman had struck a nerve, just as he knew he would.

“Did you wanna say something else, or?” Roman asked.

Kendall wouldn’t look at you, instead losing his staring contest with Roman to aimlessly move some things around on his desk.

And just like that, it was over. You were fucked.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

Hell was not some fiery, underground inner sanctum. It was sitting next to Roman Roy on a private jet (the Roys’ second private jet, which Roman affectionately deemed “Family Torture Chamber the Second”) en route to Herefordshire, England for Siobhan’s wedding.

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know.”

Oh yes, I do.

You were only three months into being Roman’s personal assistant, and you already felt like he was taking years off of your life.

Today had been a rough day, to say the least. You were under the initial impression that you were going to board “Family Torture Chamber the First” (also known as, “If You’re Not First, You’re Last”) along with the rest of his miserable excuse for a family earlier that morning. But then Roman took it upon himself to inform you just as you were walking out onto the tarmac that they had all departed for England several days prior. He said some routine maintenance was being done on the jet, and a few seats were removed so that they could be repaired. As a result, there wasn’t enough room for two additional passengers. So here you sat, stranded alone with your boss in an unusually cushy torture chamber.

It was almost sad, the way you were actually kind of looking forward to the original travel plan. If you managed to shove your way into a seat next to Willa or Greg (who reminded you that normal people did, in fact, exist) it would’ve been a welcome reprieve from the world in which you lived, otherwise known as Roman’s world. It was kind of like Elmo’s World, except actually not at all.

Elmo’s World never made you contemplate throwing yourself off a bridge.

Roman’s world: a cruel reality in which everything was all about Roman, all the time. During your time served thus far, things had been—for lack of a better word—weird. It was bad, sure, but not quite in the way you had expected. You anticipated that you would be yelled at, talked down to, and forced to overhear things you would never be able to scrub from your memory. And there certainly was a bit of all of that.

But mostly, you felt…smothered.

At any given hour, it was rare that Roman didn’t have you practically glued to his side. If you weren’t readily available or even simply within eyeshot, he would make up some dramatic excuse to reel you back in. Everything that involved you doing something independently became a major issue. There was a never ending list of monotonous tasks he would create for you to complete.

“You’re gonna have to stay late again tonight. You might have to stay over, actually. I need you to fill out this paperwork I don’t feel like pretending to read.”

“I don’t care if it makes you uncomfortable, just forge my fucking signature. I’m telling you you can. Oh wait, look, look! How about this? I’ll make it all better. I’m openly threatening to fire you if you don’t, so now you’re under duress. Not liable if shit hits the fan, unless you fuck me over and make me change my mind. Who’s even gonna know, a handwriting expert? What kind of maniac under sixty sits down and writes anymore, anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s 2am, you’re tired. So is everyone. I need you to pick up some groceries for me. Yeah. Right now. I don’t trust someone from one of those delivery apps knowing where I live. Inevitably someone’s gonna tweet about how hot I am in person when I’m just trying to have a quiet night in, and you know how much I hate drawing attention to myself. Also, I’m kind of drunk right now, so…”

“I don’t pay you for nothing, beautiful. If I have to go for a run at disrespectful o’clock in the morning, so do you. Don’t be mad. We can get donuts after.”

Somehow, you had allowed things to cross the line from weird to downright ridiculous. The only time you spent away from him was to go home and sleep, and that didn’t always happen, either. He liked “working from home,” aka, leaving the office early and making you come to his house so you could work from his home. During that time, he would just sit and relax, or talk at you for hours until you became visibly agitated. Those seemed to be his two favorite hobbies as of late.

You would be answering emails and creating spreadsheets and doing god knows whatever else he asked you to do so late into the night that he just started letting you sleep there. Or rather, insisting that you sleep there, in one of several guest rooms of your choosing.

The first time you passed out on his couch—long after he had gone to bed himself—you were horrified. You had never once done that at Kendall’s house. But he always made sure to let you leave at a reasonable hour, and on the rare chance that you had to stay late, he would send for a company car to take you home.

Roman was totally unfazed when he found you that morning. You could vividly recall him waking you up by hitting you repeatedly with a $300 throw pillow.

You did all of this and more, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You were starting to feel like you sold your soul, and for what? A check? To live in an insanely expensive city without any friends, without any family, completely alone? Was sacrificing your dignity and virtually all of your free time really worth the money he paid you?

You preferred not to answer that question.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to come home to, not even a cat or something. Your family lived out-of-state. What else were you going to do with your free time? Why not work 24/7, if anything, to distract yourself from how empty your life truly was?

You had been poor once, not long before you started working for Kendall. You could just barely afford basic necessities, sometimes having to live off of granola bars for weeks at a time. But you were determined to remain afloat. Leaving, going back home to a family that wasn’t much better than the Roys, would feel like giving up. It would feel like you had failed. Getting your degree, working multiple jobs, going through roommate after roommate, struggling for all those years just to return to the place you were so desperate to escape…it seemed like such a waste. It would’ve been all for nothing. You had become so rundown that you were prepared to lay down and die like that, prepared to surrender.

And then you got a job at Waystar Royco.

You weren’t afraid to quit under Kendall. You knew he would provide you with a glowing reference, as long as you left on good terms. Roman, though…

You would probably have to fabricate one. That is, if he hadn’t totally blacklisted you from being hired by everyone else in the industry if you even so much as hinted at quitting. And he certainly had the means to do that.

Given the amount of time he forced you to spend with him, if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought Roman actually liked you or something. But you weren’t an idiot. Roman didn’t like anyone. He was just, well…

He was a brat. Roman was a brat. There was no better word to describe him. It was that simple. As much as you tried to hide it, he knew you totally despised him. How could he not? You couldn’t tell if he kept you on such a short leash just because he enjoyed torturing you, or if he was genuinely that needy.

Kendall was sort of like that, too, in his own way. You figured it must’ve been a Roy thing.

Being trapped on a twelve hour flight together probably wasn’t helping to lessen your disdain for him. He sighed dramatically, slamming himself back against his seat. All was quiet for a few seconds until you felt him flick your ear.

“Ow! Roman, why?” you groaned, shoving his hand away. You leaned your head against the window, squinting your eyes shut. “Can you please let me get some rest? I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, figures. You’re probably not used to flying anything but coach. And believe me, I get it. For a wee commoner, I’m sure the plane that Dad only uses when he has no other option is just beyond. Dare I say comparable to, I don’t know, what’s something broke people think is opulent? The water mattress that your dad who only saw you once a year got you for your birthday when you were ten, or something. It’s like that to you. Am I right or am I right?”

If there was ever a time where you really wanted to punch him in the face—and there were many times in which you really wanted to punch him in the face—it was now.

“It’s comfortable, sure, but not comfortable enough to sleep on. Let’s be honest with each other. Who the fuck can fall asleep on a plane?”

“People fall asleep on planes all the time, Roman,” you sighed.

“Some people. Not you, though.”

“Apparently not.”

It was hopeless. There was no point in arguing. If there was one thing you had learned these last few months, it was that in order to get what you wanted from powerful people—powerful people that also just so happened to be awful people—you had to learn to pick your battles.

You were right on the verge of laying down and dying once again the morning after Roman hired you. That is, until he offered to drastically increase your salary. You were certain he did this to ensure you would stick around, not because he valued you as an employee, but because he wanted his brother to know that he won whatever weird little dick measuring competition they were having.

You opened your eyes and rolled your shoulders back.

Just a few more hours. You can do this. You can do this.

When you turned your head to look at him, Roman was leaning back in his seat, already looking at you.

“Oh my god! Have you been staring at me this whole time?”

“Besides,” he said, ignoring your question. “It’s not like I would even try and bother you if you were awake. Which you have been, like, this entire time.”

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t try to bother me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he said earnestly. The look on his face was a drastic shift from the expression he usually wore. Like with most unlikeable people, there were moments where the cracks would begin to show, where you would see an inkling of vulnerability beneath the surface. It was the strangest thing, how he could vacillate from sly fox to kicked puppy.

You wanted to cry. Did he really have the audacity to sound so sincere when he had been bothering you around the clock for three months straight? He had to have known how annoying he was. It was deliberate, wasn’t it? It was always deliberate with him.

You couldn’t even control sniping back.

“You literally just bothered me so that I would wake up and talk to you.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Once again, you were already awake, you little liar. And I don’t want you to talk to me. I want you to look at me and laugh at everything I say and hang onto my every word. See? That’s not talking. That’s listening. There’s a difference.”

“You know there are several other seats available for you to enjoy?” you asked, gesturing to the empty cabin. You wished that even just one of the other Roys had opted to fly with you. You silently prayed that one of them would somehow materialize, becoming an unwitting buffer between the two you. “You don’t have to sit directly next to me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. See angel, I’m incredibly delicate in body and soul, meaning that I have the circulatory system of roughly an eighty year old man. Therefore I am fucking freezing in here. I basically have to exchange body heat with you or I’m going to die. And if I die, you don’t get paid, so you’ve kinda gotta weigh your options real carefully.”

Suddenly, the somewhat polite, professional resolve you had been trying your best to uphold had collapsed. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was impossible. You groaned and knocked your forehead against the seat in front of you, resting it there.

Roman let out a laugh. “Aw hey, come on. Cheer up. We only have…” he checked his watch. “Seven more hours to go! Wanna play truth or dare?”

“Your circulation is probably bad because you’re cold-blooded,” you said, your voice muffled against the leather seat.

“What, like a snake?”

You thought for a second, straightening back up. “No, you’re not that threatening. More of a lizard. Maybe a gecko.”

“Did you just…what the fuck?” He looked at you incredulously, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “Did you just say that I look like a fucking gecko?”

“No, I said that you’re cold-blooded like a gecko.”

“Are…wait, are geckos cold-blooded?”

“I mean, they’re reptiles. I don’t know, Roman. I’m not a gecko expert.”

“Damn shame. And here I thought your knowledge and expertise knew no bounds, Bachelor’s degree,” he mocked.

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?”

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” he mimicked you, raising his voice an octave. “You don’t really have to when you’re fucking loaded. Hey, do you want some wine?”

He got up and grabbed a few bottles from the small wine rack in the corner—yes, a wine rack—and held them out in front of you. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you would think that he looked nice. He usually did, with his button up shirts and his blazers and his many, many coats. He had sharp features, always with dark circles under his eyes. You sometimes wondered if he was just as tired as you were. Even though he could be kind of lazy, it wasn’t hard to imagine that being part of the Roy family was no easy feat. Every once in a while, you wished he wasn’t the way that he was. If he wasn’t your employer and he wasn’t such a horrible human being, you could concede that Roman was really kind of handsome.

In his own weird, rude, cold, apparently gecko-like way.

“Bitter, disgusting liquid or bitter, disgusting liquid? Take your pick. You’re usually pretty predictable, but I cannot for the life of me decipher whether you’re a red wine person or a white wine person.”

You cringed at the thought of having a glass of wine with him. Although you could really stand to unwind, you had a brutal headache that didn’t seem like it was going away any time soon. You knew from experience that wine would only make it worse.

“Neither right now. Thanks, though.”

He scoffed. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m offering you ketamine or something. I’m being nice, I’m actually asking which kind you like before I give it to you. So what’s it gonna be, red or white?”

Being nice. Roman used that phrase a lot. “I’m being nice.” As if kindness was a rare, transactional behavior to be immediately acknowledged and rewarded. If he was “being nice,” then you had to be nice. Otherwise, he would make you pay for it.

And he could be pretty sadistic when he wanted to be.

You wondered who he got that from, Caroline or Logan. Maybe both.

“Neither. I have a headache.”

“I will literally spit in your drink if you don’t tell me which one you like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you even—then I just won’t drink it.”

“Whatever,” he sighed, uncorking the red. He didn’t bother to grab a glass, instead taking a swig directly from the bottle as he sat down next to you. “More for me then.”

For a short while, things were eerily quiet. Roman was eerily quiet. Then again, he was steadily chugging wine, becoming more and more inebriated as the minutes ticked by. It was about an hour and a half until he finished it off. You were resting your head against the window again, willing yourself to sleep when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“So. You and my brother,” he said. “You guys…hang out ever?”

“Hang out?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

He nodded, all tired and glassy-eyed. “Yeah. You ever…” He looked like he was seriously thinking about what he was about to say next, but that might’ve just been the alcohol. “You ever hang out outside of the happiest place on earth?”

“You’re asking if I’ve ever met up with him outside of work?”

“Look at you, putting two and two together,” he exclaimed. His tone changed to one of a pet owner excitedly greeting their dog as they walked through the door. He moved his face closer to yours. “Who’s a smart girl? Who’s a smart girl?”

You placed your entire palm against his face and slowly pushed it away.

He laughed. “Ooooo. Y’know, I actually kind of like it when you do that.”

But you weren’t laughing. Not even a little.

“Are you insinuating that I’m hanging out—” you gestured with air quotes. “—with Kendall?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking a question so I can stop other people from insinuating. It’s all anybody ever talks about when you leave the room.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. People were talking about you? All this time you had been working your ass off, going the extra mile just so you could keep this stupid job and afford to live, and this was what you had to show for it? Your coworkers speculating that you were sleeping with your boss?

Well, former boss.

Why? Just because he was nice to you? And not just Roman nice. Actually nice.

You had to stop yourself from yelling.

“The way he looks at you sometimes, I mean. Yeah, I get it. The dude has eyes, but come on. How fucking obvious can you be?”

“You think I’m sleeping with Kendall.”

“I mean. Are you?”

He had that look on his face again, the weird one. The nervous one. Kicked puppy. The “I’m trying to get my point across but but I’m afraid of your reaction” face. It was always so jarring when he got like that. You almost preferred the snark. What did he have to be nervous about? Nothing was going on, and even if it was, how would that even slightly affect his life? Why did it matter?

“I think it goes without saying that I’m not.”

“Well that was convincing,” he said flatly.

“Think about it, Roman. When would I even have time to sleep with anyone? I work constantly. I’m literally always with you!”

“Before, though?” he asked. His voice was borderline whiny, like he was pleading. You had a gut feeling that you should get up and move further away from him, but you stayed put.

“Before?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m asking. Before you worked for me, were you fucking him?”

“No!” you snapped. “Roman, ew. Why do you even care? It’s none of your business what I do outside of work.”

He uncorked the other bottle of wine and took a drink. “Wanna hear another fun fact?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna hear it either way.”

“I’m warning you, though. You tell anyone, you die.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll make a blood oath.”

He smirked at you and shook his head, taking another drink. “Oh, you know I love me a blood oath. So glad you’re my assistant, by the way.”

“I really wish I could say the same.”

He placed his hand against his chest. “Ouch. You won’t even give me an inch, will you?”

“Just tell me the fact.”

“So demanding. Fine, since the anticipation is killing you. Fun fact, I’m a nervous flier. More than nervous, actually. Like, I’m more of a terrorized, traumatized, scared out of my mind flier.”

Okay. You were not expecting that admission.

“Really?” you asked. “You’re afraid to fly?”

“Yep. Like a little bitch boy.”

You snorted. “Being afraid of flying doesn’t make you a little bitch boy. Lots of people are afraid to fly.”

“Talking, though. Talking to someone during the flight?” he slurred, as if he was asking a question. “Talking helps me relax.”

Oh. So that was why he wasn’t letting you sleep.

“I’m honestly a little shocked that you’re a nervous flier. You fly places all the time.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sucks to suck, I guess,” he said, taking another swig.

You grabbed the bottle’s neck, trying to pry it from his fingers, but he wouldn’t budge. “I think you might want to slow down.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe you would’ve known that sooner if you took, oh, I don’t know, two seconds out of your day to ask me a single question about myself. And clearly you don’t wanna talk to me right now, so getting drunk is really my only other option for getting through this flight. But I’m cold-blooded, right?”

This whole interaction had taken a bizarre turn, and you had no clue how to react. You almost felt guilty, but you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to feel guilty for. Maybe you had been a bit cold when it came to Roman, but how else did he expect you to act? He was awful. Everyone knew that. And he was your employer, not your friend. You weren’t required to ask him about himself unless it pertained to what he wanted you to do. How were you even supposed to ask about something like that? How would it even come up in conversation?

There was a long, awkward silence after that. He kept drinking and you kept staring out the window, thinking of what to say next. Should you apologize? Should you move seats? Was there a way to create distance from him that wasn’t blatantly obvious?

“I–”

He waved his hand at you dismissively. “You’re sorry, you feel bad, blah blah blah. Whatever. I don’t need you talking to me because you feel bad for me. Unlike my brother, I don’t want anyone’s pity. Just go to sleep.”

“Roman, I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?”

“You wanted to go to sleep, so go to sleep. Keep acting like I’m not even here. Keep ignoring me, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not ignoring y—”

“Alright. You want to keep this pity party going? Fine by me. But while we’re at it, we’re just gonna nip this in the bud now, okay?” he said, exuding a false sense of cheerfulness. He stood up and stumbled a little ways down the aisle, raising his hand to lean against the overhead compartment as he turned towards you. “I’m sure you’re already well aware, but need I remind you that you’re a fucking coffee gopher? Because you are. You’re a run of the mill, ladder climbing, H&M wearing plebeian. And you know what else? This is the best you’re ever gonna do. You need this job, and in order to keep it, you need me to like you. And in spite of what you’ve heard, in spite of what you’ve chosen to believe about me, I’m really not that bad.

“In fact, you should be thanking me up and down right now. Because right now, I’m essentially paying you to drink wine, and take a nap, and complain about how much you hate me, and talk about how much you miss working for my cokehead brother on my fucking dime. So if I were you, I would wipe that miserable look off your face and attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Unless, of course, you want to buy your own plane ticket home, which I’m telling you right now, is not gonna be cheap for someone like you.”

You felt like you had just been slapped. You might as well have been. Your chest was heavy, your breathing sporadic as your eyes welled up with angry tears. Your mind was racing as he stared at you, waiting for a response. He could be fairly ruthless, but you hadn’t experienced anything like this.

“Oh, you’re crying now? You’re crying?” he taunted. “Why don’t you just go tell Kendall about it? I’m sure he’d love nothing more.”

You were wondering when Roman’s “niceness” was going to reach its threshold.

There it was.

this is a reupload of a story i posted a little over a year ago. i'm really glad to be working on it again 😊 hope you enjoy

#roman roy x reader #roman roy #succession

945 notes · View notes

starrierknight · 8 months

Text

𝟎𝟎𝟕. 𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ 'Cause I'm all that you want, boy / All that you can have, boy / Got me spread like a buffet / Bon a—, bon appétit, baby — Katy Perry, Bon Appétit

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 7.2k

pairing— rough!dom!gn!reader x needy!sub!gojo

cws/tags— flatmates to fuckers, foodplay (melted chocolate), masochist satoru, finger sucking/face fucking, oral fixation, biting & gagging, petnames (“sweet thing” & “sugar”), spit kink, semi-clothed sex, reader is AFAB & wears a skirt + panties but isn’t gendered, oral (reader receiving), unprotected p in v

You stood in the dimly lit apartment's kitchen, a soft glow emanating from the pendant lights overhead, casting a warm ambience over the space. Positioned in front of the sleek, marble-topped island, you rested your hands on your hips, frustration evident in your furrowed brow.

In the midst of this culinary battlefield, three small bowls sat before you, each containing once-promising chocolate that had succumbed to the unpredictable art of tempering. The rich aroma still lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle notes of vanilla from earlier attempts. The chocolate, normally a delight, now seemed to mock your culinary ambitions.

As you peered down at the bowls a sense of disappointment washed over you, knowing that the dream of presenting homemade Halloween chocolates had met an untimely demise. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, a mixture of frustration and resignation, as you brought your hand up to rub the tense muscles at the back of your neck. The dream of crafting perfect, glossy chocolates for the spooky season had slipped through your fingers.

Satoru, your affable and easygoing flatmate, stepped into the room, the soft fabric of his customary loungewear draped loosely over his athletic frame. The dim lighting of the apartment accentuated the subdued tones of his grey sweatpants and the way the black compression t-shirt clung to his physique, emphasising the sinewy contours of his muscled form. Each movement he made seemed to embody a sort of graceful confidence, a testament to his inherent athleticism.

However, as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, an air of concern etched itself onto his handsome features. His normally unwavering composure faltered upon encountering your sour expression, directed toward the trio of pitiable bowls harbouring the remnants of your chocolaty struggle.

The scent, thick and enveloping, wafted through the room, a bittersweet reminder of the culinary clash that had taken place. He chose to remain still, absorbing the atmosphere and discerning the unspoken frustration that hung in the air.

You managed an awkward smile, a mixture of sheepishness and embarrassment colouring your expression.

"A failed experiment," you clarified, attempting to lighten the mood. "Any chance you have a sweet tooth?"

Satoru hesitated for a brief moment, contemplating the question. His curiosity got the better of him as he stepped closer to the kitchen island to inspect the unfortunate outcome of your chocolate endeavour. Extending a hand, he scooped a bit of the still-warm milk chocolate with his finger, eyeing it thoughtfully.

After a few contemplative moments, he turned to you with a playful yet polite inquiry, "D'you mind?"

You shrugged, your gaze shifting back to the three bowls with a resigned acceptance.

"Have at it. I can't have all of this by myself," you conceded, gesturing toward the bowls.

Finding a sense of shared amusement in the situation, you followed suit and dipped your own finger into the bowl containing the melted dark chocolate. Bringing it to your lips, you sampled the richness of the chocolate, the bittersweet taste momentarily distracting you from the earlier disappointment.

Satoru's eyes, a vivid shade of blue that often held a sense of calm and composure, suddenly lit up with a spark of excitement—He had been granted permission to indulge in a long-awaited craving. Without hesitation, he dipped his fingers into the velvety pool of melted dark chocolate, his movements deliberate yet filled with a childlike enthusiasm.

As he brought his chocolate-coated fingers to his lips, his tongue skillfully sweeping away the decadent layer, the rosy hue of his lips contrasted beautifully with the rich darkness of the chocolate.

He froze.

His sapphire eyes widened, locking onto the sight of you licking your own finger clean of the dark chocolate. A curious realisation washed over his expression, and a flicker of something deeper, something like a revelation, danced in his gaze.

Seizing the last remnants of the dark chocolate, you adeptly licked your finger clean, sampling the taste before moving on to the bowl of melted white chocolate. With a dip of your finger, you retrieved a dollop and raised it to your lips, tasting the creamy sweetness.

A hum escaped you, followed by a subtle wrinkling of your nose. "I'm not a big fan of white chocolate. Too sweet," you remarked, your taste buds delivering their verdict.

Satoru, still fixated on observing this simple act, the way you interacted with the chocolate, nodded in acknowledgement at your assessment. His face carried an intense curiosity, as if a peculiar notion was taking shape within his mind. However, he chose to keep it unspoken, opting to silently study you.

You shifted your position, perching on the kitchen island near the array of chocolate-filled bowls, anticipating that this impromptu chocolate-tasting session might extend for a while.

"D'you like white chocolate?" you inquired.

Satoru paused his indulgence for a moment, his lips still adorned with a delicate coat of chocolate. He nodded in response to your question, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, though his unwavering gaze remained locked onto you. With a casual ease, he delved into the white chocolate, his eyes staying fixed on you as he licked his finger clean.

"Y'know, since I moved in, I've noticed that you have a bit of a sweet tooth," you remarked, beginning to ramble. "I'm not surprised you like white chocolate. I mean, it has so little cocoa in it... Can it even be called chocolate, d'you think?"

Satoru's attention remained steadfastly fixed on you, his expression pensive as if pondering your words. His gentle smile conveyed an understanding, and his fingers absentmindedly weaved through his fluffy white hair while he took in your observations.

In a moment of quiet contemplation, he finally broke the silence, his voice soft but purposeful in its delivery. "Do you... Do that a lot?"

You looked at him, the question catching you slightly off guard. "Do what?" you inquired, a hint of amusement in your tone, as you dipped your finger into the inviting bowl of melted milk chocolate this time.

"Licking your fingers," he clarified, his voice carrying a subtle playfulness accompanied by a knowing smile. "Licking your fingers clean."

Your laughter danced through the air. "Sure, when there's melted chocolate involved... You'd be crazy not to, y'know?"

Satoru continued to gaze at you with a gentle, almost dreamy smile, as if captivated by the act of you enjoying the chocolate. His demeanour carried a sense of reverence, akin to admiring a work of art. However, suddenly snapping out of this trance-like reverie, a subtle blush adorned his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

He cleared his throat and hummed, the sound breaking the quietness that had settled between you two. "Is that a habit of yours?"

You tilted your head to the side, considering his question as you had the remnants of chocolate, culminating in a soft 'pop' as you removed your finger from your mouth.

"If I had enough melted chocolate, then I could make it one," you mused.

Satoru's interest visibly piqued, and with a deliberate movement, he drew closer, inching towards you. His gaze remained fixed on you, observing with a gentle intensity as you continued to enjoy the chocolate. As he reached your side, he leaned with self-conscious nonchalance against the kitchen island.

Caught in the allure of the moment, Satoru's gaze remained fixed on your lips, captivated by the simple act of you licking your finger. The gentle rise of heat within him went unnoticed, overshadowed by his complete and unwavering focus on you, and the delicate sound of that 'pop’.

With a deep breath, drawn slow and deliberate, he collected his thoughts, grappling with a desire to express something that lay just beyond the surface. His voice, almost a whisper, emerged from within, barely audible but charged with unspoken sentiment. "Your tongue."

"Hm?"

Satoru nodded towards your lips, his words carrying a delicate weight, almost as if he were posing a question.

"Your tongue," he whispered again, this time as if gently seeking understanding, his hand tentatively lifting toward your face, but hesitated mid-motion.

Your bemused expression remained intact as you pushed the bowl of white chocolate towards Satoru, ignoring the subtle undercurrents of the moment. "Yeah, I have one. Eat up, I can't finish all this by myself.”

Satoru's gaze shifted from the yearning in his eyes to one of unadulterated delight, like a child left unattended in a sweet shop.

"Thanks," he said. With the same childlike enthusiasm, he dipped his finger into the white chocolate and licked it clean, relishing the creamy sweetness.

With a subtle shift, he moved the bowl closer to your side. His finger then dipped into the dark chocolate bowl, and he held it out to you, looking up with a gentle, inviting expression. Your smile remained genuine as you dipped your finger into the dark chocolate, indulging in its rich taste. As you licked your finger clean, indulging in the chocolatey delight, you noticed Satoru's presence, his gaze focused on the act with a kind of intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His deep hum of pleasure only added to the charged atmosphere, making you acutely aware of his fixation on your lips, your tongue, the movement of every gesture.

For Satoru, this innocent act held a captivating allure, his eyes ensnared by the graceful motion of your tongue, the way your finger was slowly inserted into your mouth, coated by a mix of saliva and chocolate. The heat within him surged, the internal struggle to maintain composure becoming more challenging with each passing moment.

You dipped the corner of your thumb into the white chocolate bowl and confirmed your earlier assessment with a wrinkled nose.

"Nope. Still far too sweet," you murmured in good-natured complaint, aiming an accusatory glare at the offending bowl.

Satoru's focus remained intense, the proximity between the two of you forgotten. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray his composure. In a soft, barely audible whisper, he let out his unspoken admiration, a phrase that held a tenderness akin to an awe-filled sigh.

"So pretty," he breathed, his lips forming a gentle, almost childlike smile.

"Did you say something?" you asked, momentarily distracted by your thoughts.

Satoru tore his gaze away from you and mumbled an apologetic, "Nothing."

He sought solace in the act of dipping his finger into the milk chocolate. The taste of chocolate melted on his taste buds, prompting a soft sigh of satisfaction as he closed his eyes. After a brief hesitation, he whispered, "Can I have more?"

His attention still captured by the subtle movements of your lips, he wrestled with the longing to taste your smile. The internal flames of desire roared, the struggle to maintain restraint growing more intense, and it was a miracle he hadn’t melted into a puddle of lust-sick goo.

"Sure, go ahead. I've got too much, and I don't wanna waste it," you replied casually, "I was gonna make some chocolates for Halloween, but I messed up tempering the chocolate, so they wouldn't come out right."

Satoru's attention was entranced, his senses consumed by the choreography of your speech. The movement of your lips, the delicate dance of your tongue against your teeth, the mesmerising gestures of your fingers—every nuance held a captivating allure for him. His gaze lingered on your lips, caught in the magnetic pull of your eyes and the subtle curves of your mouth as you spoke. Each syllable seemed to ripple through the air, carrying a delicate beauty that intoxicated him. Oh, how he yearned to draw closer and drink you in, to taste you and to feel you.

You dipped two fingers into the bowl of dark chocolate, the rich, velvety substance clinging to your digits as you simultaneously lifted them to your lips and expertly licked them clean with the graceful sweep of your tongue.

You broke the silence that had enveloped the kitchen. "Are you more of a sweets person or a chocolate person?"

As Satoru reflected on your question, his mind wandered back to a distant memory, a recollection of a fateful evening many years ago. It was the night his parents had finally allowed him to venture outside the Gojo family estate to experience the joy of Trick-or-Treating for the first time. That night had left an indelible mark on him, igniting a lifelong love for sweets of all kinds, and the memory of that sugar rush had stayed with him throughout the years. Satoru had always been known for his adoration of sweets; The answer was sweets.

"Chocolate," he said softly, his gaze remaining fixated on your lips.

"Yeah, same here. Nothing beats chocolate, y'know?"

Satoru's attention remained captivated by the mesmerising movements of your tongue and lips. He observed the way your lips puckered subtly as you cleaned some milk chocolate from your thumb, the simple act imbued with an unintentional allure. So engrossed was he in this subtle spectacle that he leaned closer to you, drawn in by the magnetic pull of you.

As Satoru leaned closer, your laughter, soft and delightful, broke through the air, the sound music to his ears.

"You have a little somethin'," you pointed out, your grin warm and inviting as you nodded towards him.

He felt a pleasant warmth surge through him as he absorbed your cute smile, the contours of it, and the way it seemed to brighten the room. Realising what you meant, he couldn't help but form a small line with his lips, a faint blush gracing his cheeks. Stepping back slightly, a hint of bashfulness crept into his demeanour, though his fascination with you lingered.

"Aren't you gonna clean it off, or is it a new look for you?" you teased with a chuckle, pointing to the corner of his mouth where a smudge of milk chocolate remained.

Satoru's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement as he quickly wiped the corner of his mouth clean.

"New look," he mumbled, trying to maintain a playful demeanour despite the warmth that had crept into his face.

Suppressing a laugh, you couldn't help but add: "You missed a spot."

His embarrassment grew as he hurriedly wiped his mouth again, and his response carried a slightly sharp tone. "There. Happy now?"

As his gaze met yours again, it travelled down your neck, fixating on the curve of your shoulder with an undeniable longing.

A gasp of surprise escaped Satoru as you took matters into your own hands, or rather, your thumb. Feeling the soft pad of your thumb brushing against the corner of his lips, he momentarily lost himself in the sensation, the brief touch sending a shiver through his body. A soft, quiet moan that escaped him.

You efficiently cleaned the melted chocolate, and then with a playful flair, brought your thumb to your mouth, licking it clean. "There. Now you're all good."

Satoru was left slightly breathless, the warmth of the interaction lingering on his lips.

The air in the kitchen crackled with a newfound energy as you dipped your finger into the white chocolate, purposefully smearing a bit onto your lips, a playful innuendo that hung in the air.

Satoru chuckled, his eyes fixated on the white chocolate smeared across your lips, the sight igniting a fiery heat within him. His gaze was intense, captivated by the way you licked your lips clean, a soft hum of awe escaping him.

He raised his own finger, dipping it into the white chocolate. Instead of smearing, he chose a different path, bringing his finger to his lips and licking the chocolate clean with deliberate precision. His eyes remained locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze reflecting the overwhelming desire to be closer to you, to taste your sweetness, to let his tongue be a messenger of longing.

Satoru's anticipation was palpable as he watched you dip your thumb into the dark chocolate bowl. A smile gracing his lips as you cupped his jaw in your hand, the connection between you growing more profound with each passing moment. He closed his eyes, surrendering.

As the tip of your chocolate-coated thumb brushed against his mouth, a deep, shaky breath escaped him, his body trembling. With eyes still closed, he opened his mouth, inviting the sweet temptation within. Your thumb slipped between his lips, and his tongue curled around it, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the rising desire within him. He sucked on your thumb, a soft, low moan escaping his parted lips as he savoured the taste of the dark chocolate. His mouth remained wrapped around your thumb, your fingers caressing the back of his head, adding to the intoxicating sensations that enveloped him. His body quivered with a fervour, his tongue darting out to lick away the chocolate, creating a soft, wet sensation that sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

Satoru tilted his head, his tongue wrapping around your thumb with a gentle intensity. The sensations that coursed through you were titillating, the intimacy of the moment leaving you both breathless. He continued to suck, using his tongue to expertly remove the melted dark chocolate, the soft, wet sucking noise adding a seductive cadence to the air. As your thumb emerged clean, a rush of satisfaction swept over him.

You delicately slid your thumb out of his mouth, and in a hushed murmur, you inquired, "How'd it taste?"

Satoru's eyes remained fixed on your thumb, still moist from the encounter. A slight smile of satisfaction graced his lips as he studied the string of saliva between his lips and your thumb. He inhaled the lingering aroma. Swallowing, his voice emerged as a quiet rasp, carrying a raw honesty. "Like you."

"Good, then?"

"Good," he murmured as he swallowed again.

As Satoru gently pressed your thumb against his lips, letting it rest there, a gentle sigh escaped him. The touch was a buzz, the taste of chocolate mingled with the essence of you.

Your thumb brushed against his lower lip. The desire within him surged, and the restraint he held onto began to slip. His swirling blue eyes, intense and craving, remained locked onto yours. Unable to resist the allure, Satoru softly sucked on your thumb, the pleasure of the act unmistakable. A soft moan escaped him, his body trembling.

With your free hand, you dipped your fingers into the melted dark chocolate, smearing the rich, velvety substance against Satoru's pale cheek. The contrast between the dark chocolate and his fair skin was a strinking sight—though, rather than marring him, it only made him look all the more mouth-watering. Leaning closer, your tongue pressed to his cheek, tracing a deliberate stripe across the soft skin. The taste of him mingled with the bitter chocolate—a sensual fusion.

He felt an earnest heat surge through him as your tongue left a searing mark on his cheek, his eyes closing once more. With a growing hunger, he pulled your thumb deeper into his mouth, savouring the taste. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he drew closer, standing between your legs as you sat on the kitchen island.

He released small sounds of pleasure as you pushed your thumb deeper into his mouth, the taste and sensation overwhelming. The tightness of his embrace around your waist conveyed the intensity of his hunger, his starvation.

A moan escaped him, the pleasure and desire spiralling, but it was swiftly followed by a quiet, choked sound as the sensations grew more potent. His breath quickened, and as his eyes fluttered open, he sought to communicate his need for a moment to breathe. Despite this, he eagerly accepted your thumb once more, craving the taste and the connection it offered.

Sensing his state, you displayed a playful smirk against his cheek, acknowledging the effect you had on him. The soft kiss against his cheek and the withdrawal of your thumb granted him the ability to breathe properly, a relief he welcomed.

With Satoru standing so close, you nuzzled his neck, your words murmured against his skin. "You taste amazing."

"You taste perfect," he responded, laden with longing. The soft, hungry moans escaped him.

As he leaned his head forward, exposing his neck, the invitation was clear, and you gladly accepted. Your tongue swirled and pressed against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin, each touch and sensation eliciting pretty moans and pants from him. The proximity, the taste of you, and the closeness between you had his body trembling.

His fingers clutched at your waist, a silent plea for more, for the delicious torment to continue. The line between flatmate and something else was blurred, replaced by a yearning that begged for fulfilment.

The intensity of the moment reached its peak as Satoru's body betrayed him, his knees beginning to buckle against the kitchen island. His heart raced, his breath quickened, and soft sighs of pleasure escaped him, each exhalation laden with desire. The sensations coursing through him were overwhelming, and he surrendered to the pleasure that enveloped him.

Your touch, cradling his head and pressing him closer to your body, ignited a fire within him that burned away his self-restraint. His breaths came in short, sharp gulps, his eyes tightly closed as he continued to moan, the sounds a testament to the exquisite torment he was experiencing. His fingers, which had initially clung to your waist, transformed into a desperate grip—a plea for more, more, more. He yearned for you to devour him in the sweetest way possible.

The sensation of your teeth sinking into his neck sent a jolt through Satoru's body, his eyes snapping open as his breath hitched in response. The vibrations of your satisfied hum resonated down his spine straight to his loins, to that more primal hunger. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

Cute whimpers escaped him as you continued to sink your teeth into his neck, the dark purplish bruises forming under the ravenous caress of your lips. The indulgent torment left him trembling with need and longing. As you soothed the bite marks with your tongue, sucking and kissing them, his body shivered with pleasure.

"Are you trying to make me like a dessert...?" Satoru whispered in playful anticipation.

"I might eat you like one," you mused, laughter dancing through your words.

Satoru chuckled softly, his hand tenderly running along the back of your neck, the gentle strokes sending waves of pleasure through you.

"Please?" he hoarsely pleaded for a taste that would satiate more than just a physical hunger.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, revelling in the intoxicating closeness. Nuzzling against your neck, his face brushed against your skin with a gentle touch, a platter of kisses, licks, and nibbles that sent ripples of pleasure through you.

His fingers continued their tender exploration, stroking your hair and tracing a slow, deliberate path down your back. Each touch felt like a caress, mapping the curves and contours of your body, as if he were committing the sensation to memory, an artist tenderly tracing the lines of a masterpiece.

You played your part, dipping your fingers into the bowl of milk chocolate with a deliberate laziness, making a show of it, relishing in the decadent act. With a flourish, you sucked the melted chocolate off your fingers, the sound deliberate and loud, a performance that filled the air. Your moans of pleasure, meant for the chocolate but echoing sensually, added to the provocative display. All the while, Satoru was there, an edacious audience to the mesmerising act.

His soft whine of pleasure resonated with the sounds and sights before him. His eyes fluttered open, capturing the eniticing sight of you licking your lips, the taste and aroma of chocolate lingering in the air. His breath caught in his throat, and he let out soft, whining noises of his own, growing louder with each passing moment.

"Open," you whispered, and he obeyed without a moment's hesitation. His mouth slightly parted, pupils dilated with thirst, his gaze locked onto yours.

You leaned closer, the distance between your lips mere inches. The world seemed to hold its breath.

You allowed your milk chocolate-flavoured saliva to drip into his waiting mouth. It was a blend of your essence and the sweetness of chocolate, a taste that sent shivers down his spine. Satoru's grip on your skin tightened as he welcomed the sensation, his mouth opening wider to take in every precious drop. A loud, moan escaped him as he drank in your saliva, the taste of you leaving an indelible mark—trembling with the insatiable craving for you.

"Swallow," you commanded, and he obeyed, swallowing with a soft moan. The pleasure it elicited was evident, his grip on your neck tightening as he continued to make soft, whimpering noises, his gaze fixed on you with an unquenchable thirst.

You leaned in closer, "You like that, don't you?" you whispered, a smugness colouring your tone, gorging on the effect you had on him.

"I love it," Satoru murmured, his voice laced with desire and desperation. "I need more," he confessed, the yearning in his words palpable.

You laughed. "Hungry for more of me?"

"Starving.”

The intimate tension in the air was palpable, a force that left Satoru's features adorned with a flush of the most captivating shade of red. His blue eyes, half-lidded and filled with desire, were fixated on you, a thirst burning within them that yearned to devour you.

With a rapaciousness that knew no bounds, Satoru's hands grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. Soft, whimpering escaped him as your hips rolled against his, setting his senses ablaze. The press of your body against his was a sensation he craved, and his eyes pleaded with a famished longing, begging for more.

You smeared chocolate against his neck, the tactile sensation adding to the symphony of pleasure that enveloped the room. Satoru's body trembled as he ground against you, the sounds of his moans and whimpers filling the kitchen. He moaned louder as you bit down on his neck, the sensation shooting a wave of electrifying pleasure through him. His teeth ached in response, his mouth watering for you.

"D'you wanna kiss me, sugar? You wanna taste me for real?" Your lips then found his earlobe, nibbling and licking, a promise of the sensations that could be.

Satoru, overcome with longing, nodded eagerly, a trickle of sweat tracing the line of his flushed face. His grip on your waist tightened, his body moving against yours with a growing urgency, fueled by an insatiable need to be closer, to taste the reality of this desire.

“Then beg,” you commanded.

Satoru's voice, hoarse and raw with desire, quivered as he responded, his moans merging with the symphony of the moment. He pressed his nose into your neck, your proximity overwhelming his senses.

"Please… Please, I need to feel you. I need to taste you. I need you," he mumbled, his words a desperate plea for the intimacy he craved.

You didn't hold back, the smugness of your laughter giving way to a ravenous kiss. He trembled in your embrace, his mouth opening to welcome the invasion of your tongue. The taste of chocolate and the essence of you mingled, a heady combination that sent his senses into a whirlwind. His tongue writhed against yours, a desperate attempt to enjoy every bit of you. He was a man starved, and he groaned into the kiss.

"Please, I need more," he breathed into your mouth—a chant of desire.

His body quaked with the intensity of his yearning, grinding against you. Your fingernails dug into his neck, making him hiss through gritted teeth. He whimpered as he sucked on your tongue, every moan and every swallow consuming him, the taste of you imprinted on his senses, an imprint he never wanted to fade. He squirmed against your body, wanting more.

As you pulled away, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips, you could feel the boiling energy in the room.

You wasted no time, plunging your hand into the bowl of melted white chocolate, your fingers finding their way into his greedy mouth. The accidental smear down his chin only added to the intensity, as his eyes closed in pure pleasure. His mouth welcomed your fingers, allowing them to slide in, savouring the taste of the chocolate that spilled down his throat. Each swallow was accompanied by a moan and a whine, the chocolate causing his body to shiver.

Satoru's own grip tightened, his fingers pressing against the back of your head as he sucked and licked, his tongue exploring for every last drop of the chocolate. The desire in his eyes was palpable, the hunger for both of you consuming every waking thought.

You pushed your fingers even deeper into his mouth, eliciting his gag reflex, and his eyes fluttered. "Aw, aren't you so cute?" you teased, your hips rolling in a tantalising rhythm that added to the mounting desire.

Satoru pressed his hips against yours with fervour, driven by the craving to taste every precious drop of the chocolate and your essence.

"I'll do anything to taste you," he whined.

You met his desire with a challenge, arching an eyebrow and pulling your fingers out of his mouth, the same hand covered in the glistening trail of spit that connected you moments ago. Gripping his jaw with determination, you presented him with the opportunity to fulfil his longing.

"Taste me, then."

Satoru's eyes widened with hunger as your spit hit his mouth, his anticipation palpable. Before he could react, you thrust your fingers into his mouth, pushing them down his throat. He gagged and moaned, the sensations both overwhelming and exhilarating. Your saliva mixed with the chocolate was a unique flavour, a taste he craved to savour. As he swallowed your saliva, he choked and whimpered loudly, the feeling of your fingers pressing deeper down his throat.

The wicked grin on your face mirrored the intensity of the moment, a dance of desire that showed no signs of slowing down. One of his own hands gripped your wrist, forcing your fingers to stay shoved down his throat. With determination, you pumped your fingers in and out of his mouth, pushing him to experience the full extent of his cravings.

"Taste all you can," you snickered.

Satoru responded with a loud, girlish whine of desire, his pretty eyes rolling back as he tried to gulp and swallow your spit. The mixture of pleasure, anticipation, and need had him in a trance, and he couldn't get enough. Drool spilt from his rosy lips down his chin, a visible testament to his craving for you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his moans filling the kitchen as he devoured you. His body writhed against your fingers, the need to taste, to consume, to gorge, to ravage… He couldn’t think.

"Yeah, that's it. That's it, sweet thing. Good, keep going," you chuckled, urging him on.

He responded with a loud, lustful squeak of pleasure. His body pressed against yours with all his weight, the kitchen island providing support as he ground against you. Slick with a layer of your sweet saliva, his tongue was a tantalising instrument, pressing against your fingers with a desperate need. The sensation of his teeth and tongue exploring your fingers was trilling, and he gorged on every moment, wanting to taste all of you at once.

"Alright, that's enough," you said with a teasing click of your teeth.

As you tugged on his fluffy white hair and withdrew your fingers from his mouth, wiping them against his cheek, Satoru let out a loud whine of disappointment. He was left in a state of famine—wanting more, needing more, craving more—your very own Tantalus.

Moaning and looking at you with pleading eyes, saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth, his cheeks pink and lips parted, he whimpered your name softly. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure.

“But I… I want... I want more,” he whined breathily, desire consuming him.

You leaned in, your lips finding his jaw, and whispered enticingly in his ear, "But I'm impressed, sugar... I think you deserve more of me."

You softly bit his earlobe, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding down to his waist and undoing his belt. The sound of it hitting the floor filled the kitchen, the noise accentuating the anticipation that hung heavily in the air. Satoru shivered with excitement, his eyes rolling back into his head as his fingers dug into your back.

"Please, please, please…”

With trembling hands, his fingers working eagerly to remove the fabric that stood between him and you. He slid his fingers under the hem of your skirt, the touch against the smooth, soft fabric of your underwear making him whine with longing. The lace against his fingertips was a sensation that drove him wild, his fingers writhing in response to the intoxicating touch.

As you leaned in and bit his neck, the pleasure intensified, his breath catching in his throat as he moaned. Every touch, every instruction was a step further into the Third Circle.

"Go on, take them off for me," you whispered, the urgency in your voice coaxing him to act.

Satoru's obedience was instant. His trembling hands slid your panties down your legs, the quiet rustling noise filling the charged air. As the fabric was removed, his eyes were fixated on you, the hunger in his gaze undeniable. Lifting your leg to rest against his hip, he was granted a provocative view of your body. Desire burned brightly in his eyes as he took in the sight, captivated by the allure before him.

Your playful smirk spurred you to make a spectacle, a teasing display that left nothing to the imagination. You opened your legs, presenting yourself like a meal on a silver platter being served to a starving man. Satoru's eyes were fixated on you, drinking in the sight of your form, eyes latched onto how your cunt was slick and needy with the arousal that had gathered from him gagging on your fingers.

With a teasing confidence, your hands moved to undo the strings of Satoru's grey sweatpants, where you could very clearly see the aching hard-on he sported. His heaving breaths filled the air, as your hand pressed against his leg and your skirt was hoisted up further, exposing more of your tempting form.

As your fingers explored his skin, tracing the contours of his thigh, his body quivered with longing. Your hands moved freely up and down the meat of his thighs, gripping and squeezing his flesh.

"Like what you see, sweet thing?"

Every fibre of his being yearned to taste you, to devour you whole until you could offer no more. His whines grew louder, his desperation palpable as your fingers danced along his thigh, your touch inching to his throbbing cock that dripped with precum and was flushed a pretty red.

“Love what I see.”

Lust hung in the dense air, hung between Satoru’s legs, between your thighs. He leaned in, his intent clear, and his tongue traced a path along your thigh. As his skilled fingers explored every curve, every contour of your being, his lips kissed and suckled on your inner thighs, leaving trails of desire in their wake. You could sense his hunger, a ravenous appetite for the taste of you.

Your lips curled into a coy, lustful smile as you lifted his chin with your fingers, meeting the depth of his hungry gaze. His face was a portrait of desire, the scorching flames of longing reflected in his eyes.

"Please. I'm starving," he breathed out, his plea shivering with yearning.

"Starving, huh? I guess I shouldn't let you go hungry," you drawled. You dipped your fingers into the bowl of melted milk chocolate and smeared some across your inner thigh. "Are you a messy eater, sugar?"

"I… I’m…" he stammered with a bright blush.

Your fingers laced into his hair as you pulled his head closer, and he was lost in the intoxicating embrace of your thighs. His tongue danced and swirled, relishing the sweet taste of the milk chocolate and the essence of you.

"Eat your heart out," you purred, your nails grazing his scalp—a delicious torment.

The sensations coursing through your body were electrifying, and Satoru's pious ministrations between your thighs left you gasping and trembling with pleasure. His strong hands gripped your hips, urging you to press harder against his face as he explored every inch of dripping your cunt.

His mouth moved with rhythmic precision, his lips slick with your wetness and his saliva as he lavished you. Each deliberate nudge of his nose against your clit sent waves of pleasure cascading through your body, making you arch your back and moan in ecstasy.

Satoru's half-lidded eyes, dark with hunger and desire, bore into yours, and his whimpers of praise only made your desire consume you more. He yearned to taste and devour every drop of your essence, relishing the thought of making it run down your thighs so he could eagerly lap it up—or even better, make it squirt straight into his mouth for his desperate taste buds.

Your moans grew louder and more urgent, your fingers digging into his hair as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure building within you.

Satoru's tongue delved deeper, and the sensations intensified as he explored your most sensitive depths. Your gasps and moans filled the air as he continued to pleasure you. He maintained a steady rhythm, his movements deliberate and measured, aiming to drive you to the peak of ecstasy. With each thrust of his tongue and gentle exploration of your inner walls, your breath quickened and your body quivered with anticipation. He watched you hungrily, his eyes locked on yours, seeking the signs of your pleasure.

Satoru's mouth found its way back to your clit, and his skilled tongue traced precise circles around the tender bundle of nerves. The wet, warm sensation sent ripples through you, each flicker of contact causing your body to tremble with delight. The vibrations from his moans spurred on your own ravenous hunger.

Your body responded involuntarily, hips arching towards him in a silent plea for more. He picked up the pace, increasing the intensity of his movements, fully immersing himself in the art of pleasuring you. Every motion of his tongue, every gasp and moan that escaped your lips, only made him devour and drink you in more.

Just before you could cum on his tongue, and much to Satoru’s dismay, you wrenched his head away.

As your lips crashed together in a desperate, passionate kiss, your bodies moulded against each other in a frenzied dance of desire. Satoru's surprised yelp transformed into a moan of pleasure, the taste of you on his tongue heightening his longing. You felt him slide inside you, the sensation making your breath hitch and a loud moan escape your lips. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, seeking the intimate closeness that only heightened the pleasure you both craved. With each thrust, every movement, your bodies consumed each other as fully as you could.

His moans merged with yours, a harmonious blend of pleasure and satisfaction that echoed in the room. The sounds of your passionate union filled the air, a sweet melody of ecstasy that enveloped you both. The world faded away, and in that moment, it was just the two of you, consumed by the intense connection and unyielding desire that drove you closer to the edge.

Satoru's desire and urgency radiated through every touch, every thrust, driving you both closer to the brink. Each movement of his body brought a symphony of pleasure, filling the kitchen with the sounds of your shared desire. Your cries of delight mingled with his, deepening with every thrust, as he pressed against you with increasing urgency born of the overwhelming desire that ravished you both. As Satoru's cock delved deeper inside you, the sensation of your wet pussy contracting and fluttering around him sent ripples of pleasure through his body, amplifying the intensity of his movements.

He just couldn’t help himself.

In that moment of release, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the intensity of pleasure and the shared ecstasy that enveloped you both. Your bodies moved as one, driven by an insatiable hunger and aching desire for each other. Satoru's cries of bliss mingled with your own, a symphony of pleasure as he spilled into you, a torrent of warmth that further heightened your climax. Satoru's fervent thrusts reached a crescendo, his voice echoing through the room as he spilled his essence into your waiting warmth.

His release triggered a cascade of sensations, the intensity of which was almost overwhelming. His cries of ecstasy and the way he clung to you, his body trembling with the power of his climax, were etched into your memory. Thick spurts of cum filled you as he continued to pound into you.

Your body quaked and convulsed, the sensation of his cum filling you only amplifying the intensity of your own orgasm. The pleasure rippled through you, coursing through every nerve and fibre, leaving you gasping and shivering in the aftermath. It was a moment of pure abandon, where all that mattered was the pleasure you both had ignited within each other.

As the waves of ecstasy subsided, you found yourselves entwined, chests heaving, and breaths mingling in the air. The kitchen was filled with a heady mix of desire and still, although faintly, of chocolate.

The two of you slumped against the kitchen island, completely exhausted. The silence between you is thick. Neither of you says anything to each other and you can hear your panting breathing. You can feel Satoru’s chest rapidly rising and falling as he stayed pressed to you, and he reluctantly pulled out.

Satoru breathed shakily, but was still unable to speak coherently. His face was flushed and still recovering. He looked at you and you could see the glazed-over look of afterglow in his eyes. He looks like a panting mess of exhaustion, forcing out the next few words.

“I need you,” he whispered.

Satoru's lips found yours in a soft, wet kiss before you could respond. A passionate kiss, his mouth searching and seeking, taking in every taste, every curve and caress of your lips. Soft, gentle. Hungry and relentless. His hands moved into your hair, his fingertips pressing against the bare skin of your neck, tracing every curve. His lips pressed and retreated, press… Retreat… Press… There was an undeniable hunger to it—a hunger you now understood, and now shared.

“I need you, too.”

a/n: peep the five stars. peep the Tantalus reference. peep the Dante's Inferno reference. Happy Kinktober! :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

#꒰ ✎ ꒱ — tongues in trees #꒰ ✑ ꒱ — they kiss consume #꒰ 🝮 ꒱ — kt 23 #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #sub gojo satoru x reader #sub gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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wood-white-writer · 8 months

Text

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [5/...]

“Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down, I'll be there on their side. I'm losing by their side.”

— Mitski, "Bet On Losing Dogs"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6

It's been a few weeks since the events in Orange Town, and Luffy notices something that others do not. So, he decides to ask you.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, No (fully bodied) Buggy this chapter, Luffy being the precious cinnamon we all love and must protect above all else, flashbacks about Shanks, past discussions, Luffy and Reader have a heart-to-heart.

A/N: I was initially going to write them going to the Baratie this chapter, but it became too long so next one for sho.

Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk, @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

You're sitting by the table in Party's bar, nursing a cold glass of rum against your cracked lips as you observe to the kid - Luffy - demonstrating his newfound Devil Fruit powers without any regard for poor Makino's furniture.

You don't get him, at all. Then again, you don’t get kids.

You've never thought of yourself as someone who easily got along with them ... or people in general. Shanks has always been the better-suited one for that kind of work. Whereas he is smiling and grinning at the kid’s mischief, you've barely offered him more than a glance at most.

Your crew has been positioned in Foosha village for the better part of the month, stacking up on resources and food in preparation for your next job. Incidentally, the Red-Haired Pirates also happened to be in town for similar excursions. You rarely see Shanks nowadays since you parted ways several years ago, but whenever you happen to come across one another, you share a drink on his tab.

While your crew is around and about, replenishing their strength and vigor for the work to come, you're content with just sitting here at your leisure. When you're not plundering or fighting or attacking Marine bases, you can't find it in yourself to do much of anything anymore.

Nothing adds any purpose to your life save for what keeps you fed and clothed, which in the life of a pirate, simply means pirating.

"I've heard you had good fortune on your latest heist," Shanks says from where he's sitting opposite of you. "For your efforts, the Marines have granted you among the highest bounties in all of the East-Blue."

You hum noncommittally in response, not offering much to the conversation in terms of merriment. "The quality of the Marines has been in decline. It says more about their effort, or lack thereof, than mine."

"Do you know what they call you nowadays?"

"They call me a lot of names, you got to be more specific."

"'Cross-Hairs, the Beast of the East'. It's got a certain ring to it, don't you think?"

"Sure."

Shanks smiles the kind way he always does. Always has done.

"Gum-Gum Pistol!"

The sound of yet another chair breaking has you rolling your eyes without even looking, and poor Makino ages ten years in seconds across the bar counter.

"Luffy!"

"Sorry!"

Shanks laughs heartedly at the display, only to cut it short upon noticing Makino's even glare sent his way from across the bar.

"You were careless," you state matter-of-factly and take another gulp from your drink. "You should've kept the fruit hidden more securely."

"Now, in my defense, I didn't think the lad would searching through my loot."

"Well, you should've." You slam your glass down, strong enough to leave a dent in the wooden surface. "What kind of captain leaves his loot undefended and unsupervised? Especially when it contains a Devil Fruit?"

Shanks doesn't argue with your statement and settles with taking a gulp of his own drink, letting your words simmer in his head. "You're right, I should've been more observant. Now, it'll be more difficult for him to achieve his dream."

"His dream? Of what? Becoming the King of the Pirates?" Try as you might, there's no suppressing the snort that escapes through your nose. "There's only ever been one King, and we all saw what happened to him. What do you think is going to happen to a kid who can't even swim?"

"Oh, come off it!" He gives you a playful nudge to the rib, which you reciprocate with a glare. He remains undeterred. "You mean to tell me you've never thought about finding the One Piece? Not even once?"

"I have no interest in whatever plunder Gol D. left behind."

"Then, what does interest you?" He rests his elbow on the edge of the table and leans over to your side. "What is your dream?"

You grit your teeth under your lips, a flash of blue circulating in your head. "Dreams are for fools and children," you point your head to where Luffy is currently sitting, trying to put the chair back together with a half-empty tube of glue and little luck.

"Come on, I know you better than that. Surely there's something in this world you want more than anything?"

"What I want is ..." You have half a mind to tell him the truth, whereas the other half wants to push the idea further down to the bottom of your chest. "Is another bottle of rum."

You raise your arm to Makino to gesture for another one, but Shanks is quick to lower it with a gentle shove of his arm. You flash him a scowl and brush off his hand, but unlike your crew or anyone else, he's not afraid.

"The point which I'm trying to make before you're completely pissed," he starts. "Is that no matter how much opposition one faces, it's that dreams are never out of reach if you have the will to reach for them."

He inclines his head over your shoulder, and you turn around to see Luffy successfully putting the chair back together. You don't know how he did it - it looked pretty busted minutes ago - but there it is, wholly intact.

And when the boy smiles, it's so vibrant and full of joy that it's almost blinding. He proudly runs over and shows the repaired chair to Makino, who proceeds to pat his head and hand him a plate of food.

"See?" Shanks grins. "Nothing is impossible."

"You can hardly consider putting a chair back together the same as achieving an impossible goal."

He shrugs. "Maybe not, but you won't know unless you try. All it takes is a little spirit."

You watch Shanks for a couple of minutes in silence, processing his mythic words, then shift your attention over to Luffy who's preoccupied with shoving an unholy amount of food into his mouth. If this is to become the future King of the Pirates one day, then it'll be an interesting future indeed.

"A little spirit, huh?"

— — —

You're sad.

Luffy first notices it when you leave Orange Town, and it lingers throughout your voyage.

For as long as he's known you, you've always been a person of relatively few words; never speaking unless you feel the situation requires it, and only acting when necessary. Even following the Kuro situation™, getting the Going Merry, and adding Usopp to his crew, he can tell that you're not all there anymore.

Not to be mistaken, you're not conspicuous with the way you behave. You still act like usual, talk like usual, however little, and commit yourself to your work on the ship, almost to an excessive extent.

All in all, nothing’s changed about you. However, he’s gotten used to your face and general lack of expression most of the time, and though it doesn't seem to alter, he still catches onto the fact that you're sad.

"Hey," he asks the group and props himself in the kitchen, legs crossed atop his seat. "Do you think she's any different?"

"Who? Your friend?" Nami asks, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, I think she's sad."

"Doesn't look any different to me," Zoro supplies while polishing his swords on the table.

Usopp's in the middle of munching a piece of loaf, and answers with his mouth still halfway occupied. "Dunno how she usually is, but she's kinda terrifying if you ask me."

"No, she's not," Luffy dismisses lightly.

"What's her position on the ship, anyhow? How'd you come across her?"

"She's always been with me," Luffy answers without any thought. "And she’s a good fighter.”

Zoro — to everyone’s surprise — nods his head to this in concurrence.

Their Captain claps his hands together to get the subject back on track. "But anyway, I just think she seems kind of down now."

"How can you even tell? With eyes like these, —” Usopp puts both of his index fingers at the crow’s feet of his eyes and draws them back to imitate yours. It’s borderline shameful, truth be told. “— I can’t tell for shit what she’s feeling or thinking.”

“I just can.” Luffy shrugs.

“Has she said anything?” Nami asks. “Anything to make you ask?”

“No, not really.” He heaves a sigh and props his hand under his chin, contemplating. “But she's been different since we left Orange Town.”

"If you ask me," Zoro speaks up. "You should ask her about her relationship with that fucking clown."

"Who? Boogie?"

"Buggy," Nami corrects. "Didn't you notice that at the end? They have a history, it's obvious. They know each other, and I don't know what pirate customs are like nowadays, but I doubt you'd touch the face of an enemy unless there was something going on. Has she said anything about it?"

Luffy shakes his head. “No... but then again, she never does tell me much about anything unless I ask.”

The tangerine-haired girl blinks as if the answer to this whole predicament is obvious. She quickly comes to realize that, to Luffy, it’s not.

“So…” she prompts slowly.

“So…?”

She rolls her eyes at his inability to catch her drift. “Go ask her.”

It’s like the thought never even crossed Luffy’s mind in the first place because truth be told, it hasn’t. He lights up like a candlestick on the spot. “Yeah, I should just ask her!”

“Ask me what?”

The members of the Straw Hat pirates (save for Zoro) withdraw in various unique positions, having not heard you make your entrance before you speak.

You’re standing in the doorway to the kitchen, eyebrow slightly quirked at the Baroque-esque scene in front of you. Deciding not to address the display, you simply ask, “Anything I should know about, Captain Luffy?”

Usopp doesn’t even dare to answer, because he knows you sure as hell don’t see him as a captain in general, much less your captain. He swears he notices you briefly look in his direction at the mention of the title, and a shiver runs across his skin. Like static electricity in the air.

“Oh, yeah,” Luffy turns to you, not an ounce of fear in his eyes as he pops the question. “Are you sad?”

You blink once, then twice, like the inquiry on its own is of unfathomable origins to you. “Do I look sad?”

The boy in the straw hat nods. “I think you do.”

“Then I’m not.” It’s not only an answer, but also a sentence that marks this subject as finished on your part. One that does not permit any subsequent additions.

You incline your head to the deck above. “We’re going to have company soon, likely Marines, and they seem to be in supply of heavy fire this time.”

———

The situation with the aforementioned opponents temporarily distracts the crew, yet Luffy maintains a close eye on you, taking note of anything that can point him to the source of the unknown problem. You talk relatively little with the other crew members, but you seem to have developed an amicable enough relationship with them compared to when you first met.

Before, you could care less about getting to know them. Now, you’re actively going out of your way to ask Nami about her cartographic skills, even giving her tips for additions to her geographical detailing. You provide Zoro pointers on self-developed defensive techniques and ways to paralyze opponents in certain spots (which he seems appreciative of).

You even give Usopp a short nod when he tells you one of his fantastical stories, even knowing that they’re full of shit.

Luffy’s happy, but he still sees that you are not.

It’s all in your eyes. They’re hollow somehow, like the end of a barrel. He doesn’t know how he knows, only that he knows, and he’s known for a good while now.

So, that night, Luffy finds you in the kitchen by the windows, absentmindedly snacking on a red apple while you gaze into the dark nothingness outside. He also discovers that he’s subconsciously become quite observant of your habits as of late.

For example, you specifically pick red apples above any other color when they happen to dock someplace, not even paying any mind to the green or yellow ones. Just the red ones.

“Hey,” he positions himself next to you on the bench, a piece of loaf tight in his hand. “Why are you sad?”

You turn your head just a fraction to the side to look at him, not annoyed, but not appreciative of the focus he’s settled on as of late. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? The Vice-Admiral looks a little weary as of late, after all. Are you sad about it?"

"Nope."

“So why do you insist that I’m sad?”

“Because you are,” he states like it’s obvious.

You huff humorously and return your attention to the window that supplies no real view. “How can you tell?”

“I just can.” He takes a generous bite of his food and continues talking, oblivious to the crumbles that fall while doing so. “When I’m sad, I—”

“Eat?”

“Well, yeah.” He swallows the bite down. “But I also like to talk about it with someone I trust. Shanks used to say that true friends are the kind of people you can share your heart with and not get hurt.”

This annoys you, that much he can tell. A nail digs into the apple you’re holding, leaving a crescent-shaped indent on the red skin. “Shanks said many things, and not all of it's true.”

This doesn’t deter him from pressing on the matter. “If you keep all the hurt inside, it’s going to turn bad. You know, Makino said that if you leave a piece of ham in the fridge too long, it’ll get sour and people can’t eat it.”

“Only you could find a way to compare this sort of thing to food.” You withdraw your finger from the apple and end up leaving it alone altogether. A minute or ten of silence waves between you, laced with unspoken questions and denied answers. “Tell me, Luffy, just how much did Shanks tell you about his past?”

He thinks for a moment, mimicking your movements by putting his loaf aside. “Just about his adventures with the Red-Haired Pirates, and a little about the time you served with him. Is it true you were strong enough to throw a three-hundred-pound man to the ground when you were thirteen?”

He swears it’s a snort that he catches leaving your throat, but it’s hard to differentiate it from your more-than-usual scoffs. “He exaggerated.”

“Really?”

“The man was two-fifty, at most.”

Luffy grins with genuine admiration, so much so that your face tilts back slightly, being overwhelmed by the mere brightness that is him. “Wow! You must’ve been quite a beast when you were a kid!”

He notices it again, the sadness that latches onto your eyes like insects to sour meat. Whatever brief smile adorned your lips moments ago disappears like it was never there at all. Thinking he said something wrong, Luffy prepares to apologize when you speak again.

Your voice is soft yet faint like you’re afraid speaking too loudly will make something bad happen. “It wasn’t just me and Shanks, back then, you know.”

The Captain of the Straw Hats thinks it’s almost unnatural of you to be this demure, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“Buggy was there, too. It was the three of us, together.”

“Oh, yeah.” He remembers it now. “He did mention that in Orange Town. You served the same crew.”

“… He did, did he?”

“He said you and Shanks betrayed him, but I didn’t believe him.” Luffy knows you and has known you for longer than he’s known a lot of people in his life. You’re one of the few permanent people he’s had, and he knows with a certainty that you’re not the kind of person who leaves anyone behind, not without reason.

Even if you did have a reason for leaving Buggy, it must have been a good one.

Your mouth opens and shuts several times in the span of a minute like you’re hesitating to talk about the past. You’ve never been one to talk about it, except to share some details about your time as captain, and even that was limited to the bare minimum.

Still, Luffy, being in no hurry for you to reach an answer, waits patiently by your side until you do decide to talk about it.

Talk about what he believes is the reason for your sadness.

“We were close back in the days,” you begin slowly. “Me, him, and Shanks. It was us against the rest of the world, and we were going to sail together to the end of the seas one day. It was our dream.”

“Then, what happened?”

You put your palm over both your eyes and rest your elbow on the window frame, heaving a sigh that resembles someone who’s spent too much of their life working and working and working without catching any breaks. Pure, simple exhaustion weighs you down, Luffy can tell.

When you speak next, you sound tired too, and perhaps a little strained. He can’t see your eyes, and so, he can’t truthfully tell what you’re thinking now. “The thing is, I don’t know what happened. All I know is that he decided he didn’t want to stick around.” You breathe through your nostrils. “Our captain was gone, and so was the crew, but we three were still together, and I thought we were going to stay together.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No … We didn’t. I don’t know what happened, but one day when I was talking with Shanks about what to do next, Buggy came in, and it … He looked at me like … Like he hated me.” You exhale. “He did hate me, and I don’t know what it was I did, but he practically told me that we were done … And then he left. I never saw him again, up until Orange Town.”

Luffy doesn’t require your eyes this time to tell that you’re sad now because you are. You’re so sad that it’s destroying you from the inside, and even that is an understatement on its own. There are no tears trickling down your cheeks, no quivers or thickness to your voice, no nothing to base his assumptions on, but he knows.

He stays silent for a short while, doing nothing but look at you. You’re one of the strongest people he knows. He’s seen you fight; seen the strength you possess, the fire in your eyes. You’ve stayed with him ever since Shanks left Foosha Village, you’ve looked after him from the sidelines when you thought no one was watching.

You’ve been with him throughout everything, and seeing you like this makes him feel blue on your behalf. You don’t express it yourself – you never do. You carry your weight with the same kind of strength you always do, never letting anyone see you beyond just that, and sometimes, he wonders if you’re lonely because of it.

At least, now he knows why you’re so sad. You’re heartbroken.

He’s never been acquainted with the feeling himself, has never felt any particular inclination toward it, but he can tell it’s your heart that’s hurting now, and it’s not as easy to heal as that cuts he received on his chest from the butler.

His hat seems to itch the harder he thinks about it, as if there’s something digging at his scalp through his hat. He thought Nami patched it up for him. He tries to scratch at it, but for some reason, it doesn’t cease. Maybe he’s got lice?

He ignores it. “It’s weird. Bunky seems to think you were the one who left him for Shanks.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know. You’re not that kind of person.” He says it so easily, without a smidgen of doubt or hesitation. You look at him through your peripheral vision, and your eyes slightly widen at his statement. “But, do you know what happened between them? Shanks and Bonky, I mean?”

“No, I don’t.” You admit with a shake of your head. You’ve tried to figure it out for years, and at some point, you decided to give up. “Shanks never told me, but whatever it was, it was enough for the stupid clown to leave for… He chose a childish rivalry over me.”

“Then, there you have it. It’s all just a big misunderstanding, so why don’t you just tell him if you meet him again?”

“You seem awfully defensive of the guy who destroyed an entire village and almost drowned you.”

“Yeah, but talking about him seems to make you happy.”

You freeze for a bit, snort, and turn your back to the window frame, leaning back and crossing your arms across your chest in silent resignation. “I tried to explain things to him back in Orange Town, and a fat load of good that did. Like I said, he hates me, and he’s sure as hell not my favorite person at the moment. If we do meet again, it likely won’t end any better than it back in Orange Town.”

“You know, –” Luffy takes another bite of his bread. “It didn’t sound like he hated you.”

“Hmm?” You raise an eyebrow, halfway curious and halfway skeptical.

“He still remembers that you like red apples and that you hide knives in your shoes. Is that true?”

You raise both your eyebrows and look at Luffy like he’s just grown a second head. Without a word, you pull your left foot up until it rests on the bench, and withdraw not one or two knives, but four. Small and subtle, hardly enough to turn any heads, but in a flash, you throw it across the kitchen until it lands on a specific spot on the opposite wall.

Bull’s eye.

“We used to have knife-throwing competitions,” you reminisce idly, staring at the knife lodged deep into the wall. “I was good, but Buggy was better.” Your lip tilts up an inch or two. “We made bets, and whoever lost would have to steal a bottle of whatever liquor we happened to find in the next town we docked at.”

“Oh?”

“I ended up snatching quite a lot of bottles, but once every blue moon, he would have to snatch one instead.” You smile. It’s an actual, genuine, honest smile this time, and Luffy can’t help but marvel at the sight. It’s a rare thing for you to smile like you’re doing now. It’s usually brief or sarcastic and never seems to reach your eyes.

This one does.

He thinks you look pretty when you smile. It’s your smile, and it’s so warm that he wishes you could do it more often. He tells you as much, and a red color falls over your cheek. You promptly turn your face to the other side to save face, and it makes Luffy think.

When he thinks about his dream of becoming King of the Pirates, he can’t stop himself from smiling ear to ear. So, that begs the question: “What is your dream?”

What makes you smile?

“My dream …” You reach for your apple and hold it against your face, the uneaten side of it shining against your face. “Is unattainable.

“I don’t think it is,” Luffy says without missing a beat and takes your hand in his, determined to make you see that. “I think that no matter how much stands against us, dreams are never impossible if you have the will to reach for them. All it takes is a little spirit.”

He doesn’t know where those words come from, but he’s heard them from someplace, and judging by your staggered reaction, you’ve heard them too.

“A little spirit, huh?”

“Exactly! So, please tell me, what’s your dream?”

You look straight ahead into the room, resting your elbows back on the window frame without a word. He thinks you’re about to decline his question or ignore it altogether. However, he’s surprised to hear you actually answer this time, truthfully too.

“My dream was to sail the seas with him again.”

Suddenly, the itchiness on his head stops, and it stays that way.

#buggy the clown #buggy one piece #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x you #buggy x female reader #one piece #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #straw hat luffy #straw hat pirates #shanks #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks

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