#i tremors crew

[bratzkoo]

barely yours | mingyu pt. 1

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: rockstar! mingyu x reader Word Count: 3.8k Genre: fluff, angst, smut-ish Rating: NC-17 Possible Warnings: mingyu is an idiot. not descriptive sex but there's sex. written in third person.

Summary: you flirt, you fuck, but when you hint that you want to be more he dismissed it as if you’re joking... and when you decide to ignore him he comes back with flowers at your doorstep.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): ​ find other parts here! pt. 2 | pt. 3

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The pulsating bass reverberated through the arena, sending tremors through the floor and up Hwang Y/N's spine. She stood in the wings, watching as the last chords of "Midnight Reverie" faded away, replaced by the deafening roar of the crowd. Her eyes were fixed on one figure in particular – Kim Mingyu, the lead guitarist of HHT, his tall frame silhouetted against the blinding stage lights.

Sweat glistened on Mingyu's brow as he raised his guitar in triumph, a broad grin spreading across his face. The rest of the band – Seungcheol on lead vocals, Vernon on bass, and Wonwoo on drums– joined him at the front of the stage for their final bow. Y/N felt a flutter in her chest as Mingyu's gaze swept across the wings, landing on her for a brief, electric moment before he turned back to the audience.

As the band made their way offstage, Y/N stepped back, allowing the crew to rush past with equipment. She watched as Mingyu handed off his guitar to a tech, running a hand through his damp, tousled hair. When he spotted her, his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint.

"Enjoy the show?" Mingyu asked, his voice husky from two hours of performing.

Y/N quirked an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "It was alright, I suppose. I've seen better."

Mingyu clutched his chest in mock hurt. "You wound me, Hwang Y/N. And here I thought I'd impressed you with my guitar solo."

"Oh, is that what that noise was?" Y/N teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I thought a cat was being strangled."

Their banter was interrupted as Seungcheol approached, clapping Mingyu on the shoulder. "Great show, man. You coming to the afterparty?"

Mingyu's eyes flickered to Y/N before he answered. "Nah, I think I'll sit this one out. Got some... uh, post-show decompressing to do."

Seungcheol followed Mingyu's gaze, a knowing smirk crossing his face when he spotted Y/N. "I see. Well, don't 'decompress' too hard. We've got that radio interview tomorrow afternoon."

As Seungcheol walked away, Mingyu turned back to Y/N, his expression shifting from playful to something more intense. "So, about that decompressing..."

Y/N felt a familiar heat coil in her stomach. She knew exactly what Mingyu was suggesting, and despite her better judgment, she wanted it too. "Your place or mine?" she asked, her voice low.

"Yours," Mingyu replied without hesitation. "It's closer, and I don't think I can wait."

The ride to Y/N's apartment was charged with anticipation. They sat in the back of her chauffeur-driven car, careful to maintain a respectable distance despite the electricity crackling between them. Y/N could feel Mingyu's eyes on her, tracing the curve of her neck, the line of her collarbone exposed by her off-shoulder top.

As they rode in silence, Y/N found herself reflecting on how they'd gotten to this point. She remembered the first time she'd seen Mingyu perform, at a small club showcase before HHT had hit it big. She'd been there on her father's orders, to scout new talent, but she'd found herself captivated by the tall, charismatic guitarist with the killer smile.

Later, at the afterparty, they'd gotten into a heated debate about the merits of classic rock versus modern pop. Y/N had been impressed by Mingyu's passion and knowledge, even as she'd argued against him just for the fun of seeing his eyes light up with indignation. The tension between them had been palpable, and when Mingyu had suggested they continue their "discussion" somewhere more private, Y/N hadn't hesitated.

That night had been the start of their current arrangement. No strings, no expectations, just two people who enjoyed each other's company – in and out of bed. It had seemed perfect at the time. Y/N got the excitement and passion she craved without the complications of a real relationship, and Mingyu got to blow off steam with someone who understood the pressures of the industry.

But lately, Y/N had found herself wanting more. She caught herself daydreaming about quiet nights in, about holding hands in public, about being able to call Mingyu hers. It was dangerous territory, and she knew it. But she couldn't seem to help herself.

The car pulled up to Y/N's building, jerking her out of her reverie. As they made their way up to her penthouse, the air between them grew thick with anticipation. Y/N's hands trembled slightly as she unlocked her door, hyperaware of Mingyu's presence behind her.

As soon as they were inside her penthouse apartment, Mingyu had her pressed against the door, his lips crashing into hers with a hunger that made her knees weak. Y/N responded with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

"God, I've been thinking about this all night," Mingyu growled against her neck, his hands roaming her body with practiced ease.

Y/N gasped as he found a particularly sensitive spot. "Is that why you kept messing up the bridge in 'Starlight Serenade'?" she teased breathlessly.

Mingyu pulled back, his eyes narrowing playfully. "I did not mess up."

"Oh, you definitely did," Y/N insisted, her hands slipping under his shirt to trace the hard planes of his abs. "But don't worry, your adoring fans probably didn't notice."

With a growl, Mingyu hoisted her up, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. "I'll show you who's messing up," he threatened playfully, carrying her towards the bedroom.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, hands frantically removing clothing. Y/N reveled in the feeling of Mingyu's skin against hers, the heat of his body igniting a fire within her. His lips trailed down her neck, across her collarbone, leaving a path of tingling sensations in their wake.

"Mingyu," she breathed, arching into him as his hands found all the places that made her see stars.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another searing kiss.

What followed was a symphony of sighs, moans, and whispered names. They moved together with the familiarity of long-time lovers, knowing exactly how to draw out each other's pleasure. Y/N lost herself in the sensations, in the feeling of Mingyu's body moving with hers, in the intensity of his gaze as he watched her come undone beneath him.

When they finally collapsed, spent and satisfied, Y/N felt a contentment that went beyond mere physical release. She curled into Mingyu's side, her head resting on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.

"That was..." she trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Mingyu chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

As they lay there, catching their breath, Y/N found herself studying Mingyu's profile. The sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips – every feature was achingly familiar, yet she never tired of looking at him. In moments like these, when the world outside ceased to exist and it was just the two of them, Y/N could almost believe that what they had was more than just a casual arrangement.

Mingyu must have sensed her gaze because he turned to face her, a lazy smile curving his lips. "What's going on in that head of yours, Hwang Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated, weighing her words carefully. She knew the rules of their arrangement, knew that feelings weren't supposed to be part of the equation. But lately, she'd found it harder and harder to stick to those rules. "I was just thinking," she began slowly, "about us."

Mingyu's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh? And what about us were you thinking?"

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Have you ever wondered if... if maybe we could be more than this?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, hanging in the air between them like a fragile bubble.

For a moment, Mingyu's expression was unreadable. Then, to Y/N's dismay, he burst out laughing. "More than this? Come on, Y/N, don't tell me you're going soft on me."

Y/N felt her heart sink, but she forced a smile, playing along. "Of course not. I was just joking. Can you imagine us in a real relationship? It'd be a disaster."

Mingyu's laughter subsided, but his eyes remained bright with amusement. "Exactly. We're perfect the way we are. No strings, no complications. Just good times and great sex."

"Right," Y/N agreed, ignoring the twinge in her chest. "Just the way we like it."

Mingyu pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You had me worried for a second there. I thought I was going to have to let you down easy."

Y/N forced a chuckle, burying her face in his chest to hide the hurt in her eyes. "As if. You should know by now, Mingyu, I'm not the relationship type."

As Mingyu's breathing evened out, signaling he had drifted off to sleep, Y/N remained awake, her mind whirling. She thought about the first time they'd met, at one of her father's lavish industry parties. Mingyu had been the cocky new talent, fresh off HHT's debut showcase. Y/N had been the jaded industry princess, used to up-and-coming stars trying to curry favor with the CEO's daughter.

Their initial interaction had been all barbed words and challenging glares, a clash of egos that had somehow morphed into heated kisses in a secluded corner of her father's mansion. From that night on, they'd fallen into an easy pattern of flirtation and secret rendezvous, both adamant that it was nothing more than physical attraction and convenience.

But somewhere along the way, at least for Y/N, things had changed. She found herself looking forward to Mingyu's texts, not just for the promise of a passionate encounter, but for the witty banter and inside jokes they shared. She caught herself smiling at his antics during interviews, feeling a surge of pride when he nailed a particularly difficult guitar riff during performances.

Y/N had tried to ignore these growing feelings, to convince herself that what they had was enough. But nights like these, with Mingyu's arm draped casually over her waist and his steady heartbeat under her ear, made it increasingly difficult to maintain the illusion.

She thought about her reputation in the industry – the party girl, the wild child, the one who was always good for a good time but never for anything serious. It was an image she'd cultivated carefully, partly as a defense mechanism against those who would use her for her connections, and partly as a way to rebel against her father's strict control.

Mingyu fit perfectly into that image. Their arrangement was the epitome of no-strings-attached, exactly what everyone expected of her. But for the first time in her life, Y/N found herself wanting more, wanting something real and lasting.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through her curtains, Y/N made a decision. She couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep pretending that Mingyu was just a fun distraction. It wasn't fair to either of them.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Y/N extricated herself from Mingyu's embrace. She padded quietly to her closet, pulling on a silk robe before making her way to the kitchen. As she waited for the coffee maker to finish brewing, she leaned against the counter, trying to gather her thoughts.

She knew what she had to do, but the thought of it made her chest ache. How did you end something that had never officially begun? How did you walk away from someone who had become such an integral part of your life without even realizing it?

The soft ping of the coffee maker pulled Y/N from her reverie. She poured two cups, doctoring Mingyu's with the perfect amount of cream and sugar – when had she memorized how he liked his coffee? – before heading back to the bedroom.

Mingyu was just stirring as she entered, his hair adorably mussed and his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Morning, beautiful," he mumbled, a slow smile spreading across his face as he spotted the coffee in her hands.

Y/N felt her resolve waver at the sight of him, all soft and warm in her bed. But she steeled herself, handing him his cup before perching on the edge of the mattress. "Mingyu, we need to talk."

Mingyu sat up, suddenly alert. "That sounds ominous. What's up?"

Y/N took a deep breath, staring into her coffee cup as if it held the answers she sought. "I think... I think we need to stop this. Whatever this is between us."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Mingyu spoke, his voice carefully neutral. "Where is this coming from, Y/N? I thought we were good."

"We are," Y/N assured him quickly, finally looking up to meet his confused gaze. "That's... that's kind of the problem. We're too good. I'm starting to want things I shouldn't want, things we agreed we wouldn't want."

Understanding dawned in Mingyu's eyes, followed quickly by something that looked suspiciously like panic. "Y/N, come on. We talked about this last night. You said you were joking about the relationship thing."

"I lied," Y/N admitted softly. "I didn't want you to know how I really felt. But I can't keep pretending, Mingyu. It's not fair to either of us."

Mingyu set his coffee aside, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "So, what? You're just going to end things because you're developing feelings? That's bullshit, Y/N, and you know it."

Y/N felt a flare of anger at his dismissive tone. "What would you have me do, Mingyu? Keep sleeping with you while my feelings grow stronger? Watch you flirt with other girls and pretend it doesn't kill me inside? I'm trying to protect myself here."

"Protect yourself?" Mingyu scoffed. "Sounds more like you're running away. I thought you were stronger than that, Y/N."

His words hit her like a physical blow. Y/N stood abruptly, needing to put some distance between them. "You don't get to judge me for this, Mingyu. We had an arrangement, and now I'm ending it. That's my right."

Mingyu threw off the covers, standing to face her. "And what about my rights? Don't I get a say in this?"

"What's there to say?" Y/N challenged, her voice rising despite her best efforts to stay calm. "You made it clear last night that you don't want anything more than what we have. And I can't settle for that anymore."

For a moment, Mingyu looked like he wanted to argue further. But then his expression shuttered, his posture stiffening. "Fine. If that's what you want, consider it done. We're over."

Y/N felt her heart fracture at the finality in his tone, but she forced herself to nod. "Thank you for understanding."

Mingyu began gathering his clothes, dressing with quick, angry movements. Y/N watched him, memorizing every detail – the way his muscles flexed as he pulled on his shirt, the furrow between his brows as he concentrated on tying his shoelaces. She wondered if this would be the last time she saw him like this, rumpled and beautiful in the morning light.

As Mingyu headed for the door, he paused, turning back to face her. For a moment, Y/N thought he might say something, might fight for her, for them. But he just shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and something that looked almost like regret.

"I'll see you around, Y/N," he said finally, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

And then he was gone, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing in the sudden silence of Y/N's apartment. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where he had been, feeling as though she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.

But it was for the best, she she told herself firmly. Better to end things now, before she fell any deeper. Before the inevitable heartbreak became too much to bear.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N made her way to the bathroom. She had a busy day ahead – meetings to attend, appearances to make. The world wouldn't stop turning just because her heart was breaking.

As she stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering scent of Mingyu's cologne, Y/N made a silent vow. She would move on. She would forget about Kim Mingyu and their stolen moments of happiness. She would go back to being Hwang Y/N, the carefree party girl who didn't need anyone or anything.

But even as she made this promise to herself, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered a traitorous thought: What if Mingyu was right? What if she was running away from the best thing that had ever happened to her?

Y/N shook her head, banishing the thought. It was done. Over. And no matter how much it hurt now, she knew it was the right decision.

Wasn't it?

As she dried off and began her makeup routine, Y/N's phone buzzed with a series of notifications. She ignored them at first, assuming they were the usual morning barrage of emails and social media alerts. But when it kept buzzing insistently, she finally picked it up.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Mingyu's name on the screen. For a moment, hope flared in her chest. Had he changed his mind? Did he want to talk things through?

But as she read through the messages, her hope quickly turned to dismay.

"Y/N, what the hell? You can't just end things like this." "We need to talk. For real this time." "Answer your damn phone."

The last message was followed by three missed call notifications. Y/N's thumb hovered over the call back button, but she hesitated. What good would talking do? She'd made her decision. They both needed a clean break.

With a deep breath, she typed out a response: "I'm sorry, Mingyu. But I meant what I said. It's over. Please don't call again."

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, then promptly blocked his number. It was harsh, she knew, but necessary. If she left any line of communication open, she'd be too tempted to reach out, to take it all back.

As she finished getting ready, Y/N tried to focus on the day ahead. She had a lunch meeting with her father to discuss HHT's upcoming comeback, followed by a charity event in the evening. She chose her outfit carefully – a sleek black pantsuit that screamed 'professional' rather than 'party girl'. Today, she needed all the armor she could get.

The drive to her father's office was mercifully short. As she walked through the lobby of Pledis Entertainment, Y/N held her head high, ignoring the curious glances and whispered conversations that followed in her wake. Let them talk. They always did.

Her father's secretary waved her straight through to his office. CEO Hwang looked up from his computer as she entered, his stern features softening slightly at the sight of his daughter.

"Y/N," he greeted, gesturing for her to take a seat. "You're early. That's a pleasant surprise."

Y/N managed a small smile as she sat across from him. "I aim to keep you on your toes, Dad."

Her father chuckled, but his amusement quickly faded as he studied her face. "Is everything alright? You look... tired."

For a moment, Y/N considered telling him everything. About Mingyu, about her feelings, about the mess she'd made of things. But she knew her father would never understand. In his world, relationships were just another business transaction, a way to gain influence or solidify alliances.

"I'm fine," she lied smoothly. "Just stayed out a bit late last night. You know how it is after a big concert."

Her father's expression tightened slightly, but he didn't push the issue. Instead, he launched into a discussion about HHT's upcoming schedules, their new album concept, and the marketing strategy for their next single.

Y/N listened attentively, making notes and offering suggestions where appropriate. But a part of her mind kept drifting back to Mingyu. How would this affect the band? Would things be awkward now at company events? Would she have to avoid their performances altogether?

"Y/N? Are you listening?"

Her father's sharp tone snapped her back to attention. "Sorry, what was that last part?"

CEO Hwang sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I said, I want you to take a more active role in HHT's management. You've got a good eye for talent, and you understand their demographic better than some of our older executives."

Y/N felt her stomach drop. "Dad, I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not really-"

"This isn't a request, Y/N," her father cut her off. "It's time you started taking your position in this company seriously. No more parties, no more scandals. I need you focused."

Y/N wanted to argue, to tell him that she wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility. But the determined look in her father's eyes told her it would be pointless. Instead, she nodded stiffly. "Understood."

As she left the office an hour later, Y/N felt like the walls were closing in around her. Not only had she lost Mingyu, but now she was being forced into a role she'd never wanted. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost collided with someone as she rounded a corner. "I'm sorry, I wasn't-" she began, then froze as she realized who it was.

Seungcheol stood before her, his usually friendly face twisted with concern and something that looked like anger. "Y/N," he said, his voice low and urgent. "We need to talk about Mingyu."

Y/N felt her carefully constructed facade begin to crumble. As she looked into Seungcheol's eyes, she realized that her decision to end things with Mingyu had set off a chain of events that she couldn't control. And this was only the beginning.

[fanaticsnail]

Kind And Gentle

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,100+

Synopsis: Your shoulders and back ached with a pain you had attempted to cast aside as you went about your duties. The ache turned excruciating, your focus now being taken hostage between the gripping pain. Fortunately, the grip of two firm hands found your body and eased you through the torment.

Themes: Benn Beckman x reader, Friends to lovers, confessions of love, suggestive dialogue, massaging - reader receiving, pain, aching, yearning, small kiss, Shanks is a meanie, swearing, teasing, Beckman is a softie, Beckman is a gentleman, term of endearment "Darlin'" used - it's just what I associate him saying.

Notes: Pure self-indulgence fic, procrastinating while I should be going through my WIPs. My shoulder hurts, guys. Needed this to get out of my system and get through the pain. Art link.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @carrotsunshine @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @mfreedomstuff @missbeckman @tiredemomama

Pain. White and hot, swelling and encumbering. This was what you were experiencing in the middle of your spine; just a little to the right side of your body.

The ache never eased, no matter what position you slept in, nor adjusting your posture throughout the day. It was unending, the torment which knit your muscles together and cemented them in place. 

You clenched your eyes tightly shut, bracing yourself against the wooden hallway wall as you rotate your neck in a circle atop your shoulders slowly. Arching your back, you winced as the knot continued to integrate itself in a woven entanglement of painful muscle beneath your skin. 

Biting back a whimper, you tried as you might to reach the cursed divot beneath your flesh, whining quietly as your fingertips barely brushed against the surface of the painful coil. The ache called to you, the burden causing a small tremor in your lips from the electric heat of the hidden wound. 

Shaking your head, you huffed out a breath as you attempted to soldier on about your daily chores. Ignoring the tight ache beneath your skin with a deep grimace written on your lips, you finally gave into your pain and balanced your hands against the wooden beam atop the deck of the Red-Force. 

The sea breeze hit your nose, relaxing you briefly before the pain eclipsed all your senses. Brain foggy with anguish, lips parted and panting, eyes frantic and wife: you could bear it no longer. You muted a cry, muffling it within your mouth while you tried to release the elastic coil in your back by twisting your torso. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you curse in a soft whisper, your brows rising in a pain-riddled peak in your forehead. You moaned out in a soft whimper, praying nobody could hear your weakness as you tried to reach for the spot a second time.

The band was bordering on excruciating, your mind contemplating whether or not to seek out Hongo for medical attention due to the intensity of the pain. Just as you began to turn on your way, two strong hands clapped over your shoulders: thumbs moving in rough circles against your skin. 

“I got you, Darlin’,” the gruff voice Shanks’ first mate whispered in a calming rumble, “Just tell me when I'm gettin’ close to it.” 

Benn Beckman. It was always Benn Beckman. Any time any of the crew needed anything, no task too small, no feat too great: Beckman was the champion you had all grown accustomed to rely on. Leaning back into his touch, you hung your neck low to grant him greater access

“Oh-... mmmf-... -‘kay,'' you whimpered, curving your back down to expose more of your spine to him, “It's not-... Hhah-... It's not normally this-...fucking, shit-... -this bad.” A small click of his tongue snapped at you in empathy as his thumbs brushed against the coil of pain. 

Although your friendship with Beckman ran deep, you had never engaged with him physically before. You respected one another, adored one another, and were as close as two crewmates could be. Two sides of a coin, twin edges of a blade, the gunpowder and the spark that lit the fuse - this was how you were described by your red-headed captain. 

But as his thumbs sought out your deepest pain, all your thoughts escaped you. There was nothing else, just: Beckman, his focus and his expert touch. 

“Just a touch to the right-... ahh, Becks!” you cried out as his digits flicked over the painful swell beneath your flesh. Huffing out pants of breath, you sobbed in strained relief as he continued massaging your body. 

“Oh, fuck. It's there, isn't it?” he whispered, the thumb of his right hand pressed firmly against the tight knot as his left hand braced you against the side-beam of the boat, “There it is, Darlin’. I found it. There's the spot.” You arched your back within his broad hands, your arms stiffening in firm pillars against the deck as he prodded the painful peak in your back. 

“Oh, that's it! Right there, that's the spot,” you mewled out, crying and gasping for him as he untangled your muscles with his rough, practiced hands. Just as he pressed his strength further against you, you winced out a strangled, “Fuck, not so rough! Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!” 

“Darlin’, this is me being kind and gentle,” he bullied his thumb into your skin, stapling you to the wall of the ship by his hips and holding you steady with his hand perched on your left shoulder, “You need a bit of rough treatment. Hold still, let me coax it out of you.”

“Becks,” you whispered out his name, lulling your head back on your shoulders as he continued to pry, paw and claw the knot apart with his right hand, “Becks it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” his gruff voice reassured you, the gentle hold of his left hand against your shoulder contradicted the right hand that bruised your muscles, “It'll all be over soon. I'm nearly there, I can feel your body moving it with me. Just hold on.”

His thumb pressed an intentional swipe up, directing the pain up your back and into the peaked corner of your shoulder. His brows knit low in deep concentration, prompting him to suck in an empathetic breath in anticipation. 

“Ohh… You're gonna hate me,” he whispered in your ear, kicking your feet apart with his heavy boots before anchoring his pelvis against your glutes to hold you firmer against the ship's wooden railing, “You need an elbow.”

“No, no, no! Not an elbow!” you cried, just as his right elbow drew itself against your spongy flesh, “Becks! It's-... nnmfph-... too much! Ahh! Too much!”

Attempting to break from his grip, you shook yourself away from his hands, only for your body to immediately betray you. Bent over the railing, your back immediately became unraveled by a firm grip and a strong elbow to the point that ailed you. 

“Oh hush, you need it,” he barked in a soft tone, eclipsing your concern with an intentional rotation of his elbow against your shoulder, “Be a good little thing and take it.” He was moving the vines of the entanglement away from the source point, breaking it down beneath his body and flushing it out with heavy swipes. 

Benn Beckman was experiencing the toughest battle he had ever had the displeasure in engaging with. He was trying to tune out how good you sounded calling out his name in pants and whines, his own empathetic huffs and groans mixing harmoniously with yours as he gripped your flesh.

“Benn Beck-...fuck-... It's right there. Right there, Becks! Don't stop!” you whimpered, your voice high and your desperation showcased in the soft pants of your breath. The release of your entangled flesh was just within Beckman's grasp, prompting him to switch back to using his fingers to expel the pressure beneath your skin. 

“I got you. There ya’ go,” he confirmed again, expanding the heel of his palm against the binding presence of the last of the entanglement, “Breathe through it with me, I'm not gonna stop ‘til you're done.” 

“Oh, fuck Beckman,” your eyes glazed over, your lips parting and crying out in bliss as his skillful ministrations cast out the pressure in your shoulder as a priest would cleanse unholy ground to make their sanctuary.

“Th-That’s it. Oh m-my fuck-,” you whined back into his hands, “You're so good. Your hands feel so good.” As the last of the knot fled your shoulder, a warm chuckle rumbled from behind you. Beckman's laugh brought you comfort, his softness depicted in this small moment as he held you in his arms. 

His firm hands turned soft, caressing your shoulders in tender, gentle touches. He molded both of your shoulders within his palms, your body becoming jelly beneath his rough and calloused hands. You moaned softly as he maneuvered your body in a perfect arch against his chest, the rumble of his chuckle reverberating within your back to vibrate within your chest. 

“Better?” he whispered in the shell of your ear, easing his body back to enable you to escape his broad cage. Instead of breaking away from his body, you relaxed into his arms, sighing out a warm breath of contentment. 

“Thank you, Becks. You're bloody amazing at that,” you praised him, feeling light and free of the bonds that confined you, “Why did you offer to help me with it?” 

“There was something in your face that told me you needed it,” he shrugged, huffing a small chuckle out of his nose and leant down to rumble out a whisper in your ear, “Always wanna help you, Darlin’.”

“Oh Becks, I could kiss you,” you turned in his arms, gazing through half-hooded eyelids up at him, “Can I?”

He smirked down at you, a small pink due flushing his cheeks with a subtle dust, bobbing his head in a soft nod to grant you permission. As you circled your arms over his neck and began to draw him closer to your lips, a chorus of barked laughter and an uproar of cheers echoed along the hull of the ship. Clapping hands, whistles and hoots erupted from your crew now surrounding the two of you. 

“Oh, Beckman,” your captain cackled at you, his right hand clapping over his heart, “In public, big guy? And you,” he pointed his index finger at you, his wolfy grin painted in a drawn-out taunting smirk, “You sly little fox. Gettin’ the big man to take you right on the deck?”

“What?” you questioned your captain in a warning tone, floating your eyes between the rest of the crew gathered on the deck beside him. Shanks’ playful twinkle fluttered beneath his weighty eyelashes. 

“Be gentle with me, Becks,” he mocked in a needy moan not too dissimilar from your own, before hardening his features and deepening his voice in a grunted, “You need a bit of rough treatment,” he commented gruffly. The color drained from your face, eyes widening and lips parting once again in bashful horrification. 

“Oh right there, Becks, don't stop,” Shanks continued his performance, a small warning began to rise within Beckman's throat in a rumbled growl. Breaking out of your embrace, he grimaced at the red-head in front of him. 

“Enough, Cap’n,” Beckman snarled, reaching within his pocket and pulling out his lighter with his left hand, fishing out a cigarette to follow, “Got out a knot, s’all. You know how shit they are.” Beckman ignited the end, taking a lengthy drag and exhaling a puff away from your face. 

“Really? That's all?” Shanks cried out a laugh, the crew echoing his unashamed and carefree joy at the notion, “I thought I saw some hips moving together, Becks. You were letting some of your own groans out too, mewling like a wh-.”

“-Or should I relay half of the bullshit you curse out when Hongo releases the knots in your own shoulder?” Beckman smirked, his eyes daring his captain to say another embarrassing quip. After a pregnant pause, silent tension only momentary before another uproar of laughter barked out amongst the Red-Hair pirates. 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm done,” Shanks waved his hand in the air, shooting you a small wink before turning to face his crew, “What say we make port, huh? Resupply with some fresh drinks, a hot meal, some good company, and a comfortable sleep on dry land?”

“Aye, sir!” the crew echoed in unison, your own confirmation falling from your lips as you began maneuvering around the first-mate to resume your duties. Just as you passed Beckman's shoulder, a firm hand shot out and gripped your forearm to hold you in place. 

“Beckman?” you asked, turning to meet his eyes. You floated your own between his, hovering your attention to fixate on him completely, “Everything alright, Sir?” 

“Goin’ back to ‘Sir’ again, after all that,” he murmured, barely above comprehension. Your quizzical feeling never left you, still hovering between the lenses of his glassy orbs. 

“How you feeling?” he asked as he pressed down the filter end of the cigarette beneath the pad of his thumb, placing the butt-end in the small drawer attached to the hull of the ship, “I get it all out, or the ache still hangin’ in there?”

Humming in thought, you rotated your right arm and felt the ghost of your prior pain simmer down and flee from your form. The small pinch only remained behind in memory, but the small remnants of the ache threatened to return. 

“It's gone for now, I think,” you uttered with a small shrug, “It'll likely begin the slow journey back up my spine in a pinch.” Beckman hummed in thought, nodding along as he checked over your body for any changes. 

After a small lull, you held your ground as the atmosphere once again fell into awkwardness. You shook your head to stifle your nerves, sucking in a breath to elevate your courage. 

“Can I buy you a drink or two when we get to port?” you ask him, eyes dropping to the ground and hands laced behind you, “An expression of my gratitude for you helping me out?”

“You askin’ me out on a date?” Beckman disguised his growing smile by arching himself away from you, loosening the tie in his hair and beginning to restyle it.

“And if I am?” you ask, still avoiding his gaze by holding your eyes firmly against the floor, “What then?”

“What then, Darlin’,'' he smirked, his eyes softening as his hands found your hips, “Is that I'd accept.” He pulled you flush with him, prompting your eyes to widen and search his gray orbs in your shock, “I wouldn't mind spending an evening with you, havin’ drinks in a quiet corner for a change.”

“It would be a nice change,” you confessed, eyes again falling soft for the first mate. He leant his hips back on the wooden railing, reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. His index finger lingered on your chin, holding your eyes against his. 

“What was it for you? To have you finally make a move after all this time?” he asked, his eyes turning playful as he looked down at you through half-hooded eyes, “The hands or the elbow?”

“I think it was the words,” you confessed with a small laugh, “Not used to having the Great Benn Beckman whisper: ‘be a good little thing and take it.’ Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm being honest,” a small choked pause fell from Beckman's lips, your own question now posed to him.

“What made you accept a drink with me?” you searched his eyes quizzically, pursing your lips as you continued, “We've served together for so long, what made you consider it now?”

“Oh Darlin', I've always considered it. More than considered it,” he huffed out a chuckle, bringing your face closer to his with the curl of his index finger, “Just didn't know how much I wanted it ‘til you started sayin' my name like that.” He hovered his lips over yours, his breath still scented with the sour, smoky tang of his last cigarette as he beckoned you in. 

“Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm bein' honest,” he parroted your words back at you before finally claiming your lips beneath his own in a chaste kiss. The attention he gave your lips was brief, ending contact almost as soon as they touched. 

He pulled away from your lips, noticing your pout and slight agitation at the hastiness the kiss ended. Chuckling, he leant over your ear and confessed his intentions further. 

“Cap’n’s watchin’,” he nodded over to where Shanks’ taunting eyes and winning smile wordlessly teased you both, “Don't wanna give him more ammunition to tease you with, Darlin'. No matter how much I really wanna kiss you.”

“I owe you more,” you hummed up at him with a soft smile, tucking the loose strand of hair away from his forehead and behind his ear, “Anything I can do to repay my growing debt to you? More than a couple drinks later, a little kiss, or taking care of your duties for you today?”

“Just the promise of your company later will do for now,” he chuckled, leaning into the heel of your palm with his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

“Aye, Sir,” you smirked at him, giving his cheek two gentle taps before returning back to duty with a newfound rejuvenation. Your limbs felt lighter, your body felt freer and your head felt less foggy with the prior pain you felt. 

Shanks sauntered over towards his first-mate, smirking and kicking up his feet all along the way in a playful dance. Beckman shook his head, reaching for another cigarette and lit the end. Shanks leaned his head against Beck’s shoulders, uttering not a single word as he fluttered his eyelashes, wiggled his eyebrows and clicked his tongue at the broody, larger man. 

“Don’t even start,” Beckman growled under his breath. Shanks smiled wider, jolting his right index finger into Beckman’s side as he hummed up a playful mock at him. 

“But you finally made a move, big man,” Shanks chuckled, nudging him with his left shoulder, “How long’s it been now? Two, maybe three years of longing, yearning and lusting from afar, hm?”

“Four,” Beckman commented gruffly, inhaling a deep breath of smoke in his mouth and holding it still behind his lips, “And I remember saying: ‘don’t even start’.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going, I’m going,” Shanks held his right hand up in defence, an extra buzz in his step at the knowledge that Beckman and you had finally allowed a small crack in the door open to engage with one another this way. A small chuckle erupted in Shanks’ voice, his own amusement adamant over his features.

“Right there Becks, don’t stop,” Shanks’ voice whined again in a needy moan, before growling out a rumbled mock of, “I’m not gonna stop ‘til you’re done,” he laughed, turning back over his shoulder, “Honestly, Beckman. Show a bit of composure, man.” 

Beckman’s blush scorched scarlet on his features, prompting him to thrust the butt of his cigarette into the drawer and begin to charge at his Captain. Shanks shrieked out a giddy cry of amusement at his first-mate.

“Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!” Shanks laughed, turning tail and began running away in glee from successfully taunting his first mate. The barrelling boot heels of the first mate almost managed to catch up to the Captain immediately, but Shanks continued successfully darting away from Beckman’s disciplinary grasp.

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Requesting IDW Megatron x Lost Light human liaison reader. Based on the song "Heaven's Light" from Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Thanks for the request! Sorry for such a long delay! I spent a lot of time writing and rewriting this because I wanted to get it right. I went with Autobot Megatron for this one. I hope that is okay with you! Feedback is always appreciated! :D

Heaven's Light

Pairing: IDW Megatron x Human Liaison Reader

Word Count: 3588

Summary: Though he is now a hardworking Autobot aboard the Lost Light who's just trying to make up for the sins he's committed in his past, Megatron still believes he is a monster who is unworthy of ever being loved. That all changes when you, a little human liaison from Earth, makes your way into his life and implores him to reluctantly open his spark.

Megatron knows he is a monster.

  He has done horrible things. He has killed, he has tortured, he has maimed. His recharge cycles are plagued with the echoes of screams and the fallen frames of mangled bodies. He stands atop a pile of them. When he looks at his servos, they are drenched in wasted energon that isn’t his own. Nightmares, Rune calls them. Terrible warped memories of his past. He cannot escape them. The guilt will stain him forever.

  Megatron is aware that most of the Lost Light’s crew is afraid of him. With the exceptions of others like the captain, most steer clear of his way. When they see him thumping down a hallway with steps that seem to shake the entire ship, they scurry like glitch mice when a cyber cat is near. They speak to him with tremors in their voices and rattling in their joints.

  Not that he makes things easy for them, he admits. Megatron is aloof, calculating, and antisocial. His violent tendencies have devolved into simple growls and annoyed huffs. He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to do a job: atone for the sins he has committed.

  And yet, the nightmares remain. They do not leave no matter what he does.

  Megatron is not a gentle being. He knows he is rough around the edges, and that scares people. So when he hears the announcement about a human boarding the Lost Light, his first instinct is to avoid them at all costs. It does not matter if they are a liaison. Humans are fragile and too easy to break. And he hardly believes Earth wants their delegate to be interacting with the former Decepticon warlord who has slaughtered thousands.

  Unfortunately, his dimwitted captain has different plans.

  “No.” Megatron crosses his arms and lifts his chin defiantly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Oh, come on.” Rodimus throws his helm back with an exasperated groan. “You're the perfect bot for the job! Why can’t you just say yes?”

  “I did not board this ship to inevitably become a human babysitter.” Megatron’s words come out harsh and unyielding. “The answer is no, Rodimus. Get someone else to do it.”

  “I agree,” Drift says. “In no way can I see this resulting in a positive outcome. Um…no offense Megatron.”

  Megatron snorts. “None taken.”

  “You two don’t understand.” Rodimus rubs his forehelm in faux exhaustion. “The human is here to learn about Cybertronian history and culture. Who else knows more about that sort of stuff than you?”

  Megatron bares his teeth. “Are you calling me old?”

  “I’m calling you knowledgeable,” Rodimus shoots back. “You can tell the human so much about us, more than Drift or I could combined.”

  “That is not my area of profession. Get Rewind to do it.”

  “No,” Rodimus objects. “I want you to do it.”

  “Rewind would be a much better option if we want this human to successfully integrate into the ship’s social life,” Drift advises.

  Rodimus punches the other mech squarely in the shoulder plating. Drift yelps and jumps back. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Are you on my side with this or not?” Rodimus snaps.

  “I’m on the side of wanting the human to like us, and I don’t believe pairing them with Megatron is the best way to achieve that! Again, no offense to Megatron, but we need to make a good impression.” Drift straightens and rubs his shoulder, wincing. “We have to think about this clearly, Rodimus.”

  “I am thinking clearly. I am the most clear-thinking mech in this room. I have never been thinking clearer, and I don’t think I ever will.” He points at Megatron. “You are going to be this human’s companion for the next six cyber-weeks they are here. You will educate them on our ways, teach them our history, and convince them that we are awesome and amazing and incredible. Understand? Come on, remember their little human motto! ‘Salvation through understanding, understanding brings in the light!’ There’s no way you can say no to that!”

  Megatron feels indignation churn within his tank. That indignation turns into something dangerous, something he has not been able to snuff out of himself completely since he’s turned over a new leaf. That something is hostility borne from the frustration of being told to do something he doesn’t want to do. He snarls, but Rodimus does not cower. The red-and-orange mech’s plating bristles and clacks together in an act of instinctual dominance. The two leaders stare each other down in a silent battle. It takes Drift being the middle-man to relieve some of the tension crackling between them. “Alright, enough! Both of you stop right now! The human is going to be here at any moment, and you want their first impression of you two to be this? Calm down and get a hold of yourselves!”

  Megatron scoffs. Without looking at either of them, he shoulders past Drift towards the door. “I will do as you say, Rodimus,” he rumbles. “But don’t you think I will enjoy a second of it. You are making a mistake.”

  He hears Drift whisper “This is a bad idea” to the captain. Megatron stomps off, ignoring how every mech around him presses themselves against the walls to avoid his path. They should have chosen Rewind.

  You are…not what Megatron was expecting.

  You arrive on the ship with a swagger in your step and not an ounce of nervousness within you. Your eyes are wide with awe and your little dermas are split in a wide open smile as you turn in a circle to take everything in. There’s something distinctly adorable about the way you shift the weight of your stuffed backpack from one shoulder to the other and drag a tiny little suitcase behind you that makes the softer side of Megatron want to say “Awwww.” Apparently he isn’t the only one either; Rodimus is smiling like an idiot, his servos fidgeting like he wants to scoop you up and coo at you dotingly.

  Drift elbows him. He snaps to attention and announces himself grandly, which makes Megatron want to cringe. “Liaison Y/N! So good to finally meet you in person! Welcome to the Lost Light!” He kneels and extends his servo with surprising mindfulness. “I am Rodimus Prime, captain of this ship.”

  Your smile widens when you hold the tip of his index digit between both of your little fleshy servos and shake it. “I am honored to be here, captain.”

  “The honor is all ours. And please, just call me Rodimus. You're one of us now. There’s no need for formalities.” Rodimus rises and gestures to Drift. The red-and-white mech steps forward and dips his head while he is introduced. “This is Drift, my third-in-command. And this is Megatron, my…co-captain.”

  Megatron keeps his expression neutral when he steps forward to loom over you like a mountain. You have to crane your neck back in order to take all of him in. Here we go, he thinks. Any moment now, you’ll recognize his name. You’ll retreat to a safe distance. Maybe even start screaming in fear. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he is Megatron, feared former leader of the Decepticons, one of the most ruthless and terrifying beings in the-

  Your smile does not waver and your attitude remains just as bright. “Megatron. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

  It takes a moment for him to register your words. Wait, what?

  Rodimus coughs and eyeballs him critically. “Oh.” Megatron blinks. “Um. Yes. Hello. It’s wonderful to, uh, meet you too.”

  Drift snickers. He wants to punch him.

  “I apologize for his flustered state.” Rodimus laughs nervously. “We’re all just very excited to have you on board. This is the first time much of the crew will be meeting a human, so I hope you’ll understand that some of us might not know how to interact with you.”

  “It’s no problem,” you say. “I get it. But that’s why I’m here! So if you are curious about me, then I encourage it.”

  Rodimus relaxes, looking relieved. “Yes, of course! We’re connecting two worlds! It’s absolutely incredible.”

  “If anyone makes you actively uncomfortable though, please let one of us know,” Drift adds. “We understand that there is a clear power imbalance between you and all of us. It’s important that you feel safe here.”

  “Well, that’s why Megs is going to be your partner during your time here!” Rodimus grabs Megatron’s shoulder and shakes him. It takes all of his strength not to growl. “You're here because you want to know more about us, right? Well, my co-captain is extremely knowledgeable in all things Cybertronian. He’ll do his best to answer any and all questions you might have!”

  You show no trepidation over this. In fact, your eagerness only seems to grow. Megatron is honestly stunned. “Oh, absolutely, I’d love that! As long as it’s okay with you?” You look back at him inquiringly.

  He starts to object, but Rodimus slams his servo over his intake. “He’s totally okay with it! He volunteered, after all! And he’ll start with showing you to your habsuite with Drift, so you can take all the time you need to settle in!”

  Your concerns are soothed. Taking up your suitcase, you follow Drift and leave the docking bay, with the other mech walking at a turtle’s pace in order to stay in tandem with you. Megatron rips Rodimus’s servo away from his intake. “You,” he hisses, “are the bane of my very existence.”

  Rodimus shrugs. “I can live with that title. But seriously, I’m doing you a favor right now. Enough with the brooding miserableness and more with the reinventing yourself. I’m trying to help you feel more at ease here. If you start with the human, you may find yourself actually being gentle.”

  He snarls, and for the first time in a long while wonders if he can get away with killing one last Autobot. But when he looks at you and sees the way you smile up at Drift with so much young excitement…something in him softens.

  “So, I was told you know a lot about Cybertronian culture,” you say to him. Drift is long gone, and your habsuite is set up to house all of your accommodations. You sit back on the miniature berth covered with blankets and pillows, thin legs swinging idly while you regard him with a curious look. He glances at you fleetingly, then returns his gaze to the data pad he’s holding.

  “That I do,” he answers.

  “Mind telling me some stuff?”

  Your question is blunt and to the point. There’s no hesitation. You don’t look the least bit afraid. For a moment, Megatron wonders if you even know who he is. You just seem so…clueless. Did your human superiors really give you no sort of debriefing on who you would be dealing with here before you left?

  “What do you want to know?” he asks reluctantly.

  “I want to know about turbo foxes,” you reply.

  He stares at you. Then he bursts into raucous laughter that causes his entire frame to shake. You throw your hands up in feigned exasperation, grinning like an idiot. “What? What did I say?”

  “You said nothing wrong, little one.” He manages to calm himself down, shaking his head while still chuckling. “I just…I was expecting you to ask about the war.”

  “Why would I ask you about that?”

  “Because that is what everyone wants to know about. The war is essentially a defining factor of our history and culture. Our image cannot exist without it.”

  You shrug. “I can learn about the war from anyone. I already have. But turbo foxes? I’ve only read a single paragraph about those. They sound so cute! You have to tell me more.”

  “Wait.” He pauses, confused. “You…you’ve learned about the war?”

  “Of course I have,” you reply. “Like you said, it’s part of your history and culture. Who hasn’t at this point?”

  “So…you know who I am. Megatron. Me. You’ve learned about me.”

  “Yes?” You tilt your head. “I don’t know what this has to do about turbo foxes.”

  “No, it-it has nothing to do with them. I just-” He sighs, rubbing his optics in a tired way. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t acknowledged the fact that you know me. You know what I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of continuing to do.”

  “I haven’t acknowledged it because it’s not worth acknowledging.”

  “That is absurd. Of course it is worth acknowledging. I am Megatron. I’m the former leader of one of the most feared armies known throughout the universe.”

  “Former leader,” you say.

  “That-” He sputters. He isn’t sure where you are going with this; you’ve thrown him for a loop. “That has nothing to do with the current situation.”

  “Yes it does.” You stand up. “You used to be the leader of the Decepticons. You’ve killed, you’ve destroyed. But you don’t do that anymore. So now here we are.”

  “You are okay with completely looking past everything I have done? You're just going to…ignore it?”

  “No.” You take slow steps towards him. “I’m not. I’ve done my research on you. I understand that you’ve done terrible things. But I also know that you're trying to make up for all of that. You're good now. Being here, helping me…I know you're trying to be better. I appreciate that.” You hold up your hands. He understands, yet hesitates to fulfill your wish. You have to encourage him. “Come on, it’s okay. You won’t hurt me.”

  He bends down and extends his servo. “How can you be so sure?”

  You hold his index digit and bring the tip to your cheek, allowing him to caress the soft organic skin of your face. You are so small, so delicate, so carefully made. Megatron isn’t caught up on the stories about the gods of your world, yet he knows-he can feel it-that whatever being made you put so much care and love into their work, he is sure their power rivals Primus himself. His walls crumble. He wants to hold you forever.

  “I’m sure because I trust you,” you say. “And when you earn the trust of someone you can so easily hurt…you know you are good.”

  Six weeks later…

Swerve’s bar is filled with life. Megatron hears it all the way from the deserted hallway he sits in. The laughter, cheers, and songs echo like the hauntings of spirits. Yet, he feels no urge to join in. The bench he sits on is as cold as space. He’s sure he can feel the chilling void through the large observation window he’s in front of right now.

  The soft pitter patter of human feet turns his attention away from the window. He sees you heading towards him with cheeks flushed red and a stupid smile. His olfactory sensors pick up on the faint scent of alcohol sticking to your skin when you make it over to him.

  “Are you drunk?” he asks.

  “A little,” you reply. A soft pat to his pede signals what you want. He gives it to you, scooping you up into a gentle hold and placing you on his right tibulen. You lean against him with a soft exhale. “Why didn’t you come join us?”

  He lifts his gaze to the window. “I’m not a big drinker.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s okay. Neither am I.”

  The warmth of your little body is comforting. It makes him want to focus on you. Yet, he can’t manage to do so. It’s such a foolish situation; him, of all mechs, so infatuated with this little human, he can barely look at them.

  But it goes beyond that. He knows it does. So do you. Six weeks are nearly over. Your time here will soon be done.

  He doesn’t know how to handle that anymore.

  “Why did you leave Swerve’s?” he chooses to ask you, because if he brings up the topic of you leaving, he thinks he’s going to lose control of his emotions.

  “I wanted to be with you.”

  He snorts. “I hardly think a party being thrown in your honor is worth leaving in exchange for spending time with some old bot.”

  “Oh, please. You aren’t just some old bot to me. I like being around you. Is that so hard to believe?”

  He smiles humorously. “You might be the only one on this ship who does.”

  You don’t respond, and Megatron fears he might have offended you in some way. When he looks at you, he sees your shoulders slump and your head hang like you are mourning the dead.

  “I’m leaving soon,” you murmur.

  “...I know.”

  “I asked my superior if I could stay.” You draw your knees to your chest and hug them. “I begged him. Another week. Hell, another day. But he wouldn’t give in. Fucking asshole…he knows I’ve gotten attached.”

  “Getting attached was the point of you coming here.”

  “I know. But…not like this.” An invisible chord tightens around your little body. He can tell your composure is crumbling. “This…wasn’t something I was trained for.”

  His spark aches painfully. If he were younger, he’d do something rash; threatening your superior would have been his first course of action. If that didn’t work, he’d steal you away and whisk you off to the far reaches of space, away from Earth, away from anything or anyone who might prevent the two of you from being together.

  But he’s not his younger self. He’s old. He’s tired. So he simply heaves a sigh and lifts his optics to the stars. “You know…so many times out there, I’ve watched a happy pair of lovers walking in the night.”

  You lift your head and look at him. There are tears in your eyes. Megatron rumbles out a deep purr and reaches for you, gently maneuvering you into his servos and lifting you up to his faceplate. You lean forward and place a tiny hand on his nose.

  “What were they like?” you ask quietly.

  “They had a kind of glow to them,” he responds with a sense of wistfulness. “It almost looked like…Heaven’s light.”

  That makes you giggle. “How the hell do you know what Heaven is?”

  “Lets just say I’ve done my research,” he answers with a smile.

  You lightly tap his nose with your fist. “Sap.” Your expression falls into a contemplative frown. “What were you thinking when you saw them? The lovers? Were you jealous?”

  “Well…not exactly. Jealousy isn’t the right word to describe it. But…I envied them. I wanted to be like them. But I knew I’d never know that warm and loving glow, though I might wish with all my might.” He closes his optics, steadying his breaths. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of you. “No face as hideous as my face…was ever meant for Heaven’s light.”

  You open your mouth to retort, not at all willing to listen to him put himself down. That’s one of the things he loves about you. No matter who it is, you will always step in to make someone feel better. It’s a quality many Cybertronians are lacking, yet it abounds in humans plentifully.

  He had been wrong about your kind, back when he was still the leader of the Decepticons. You are so much more beautiful than you realize.

  Megatron cuts you off gently with a low puff of air into your face from his nose. You sputter and stumble back, and he laughs. His thumb comes up to stroke your hair, then travels down to trace the outline of your jaw. You still, eyes widening when you see the lovesick look he’s giving you. “But suddenly an angel has smiled at me…you, little one. Come on, smile.”

  There’s no sharp-witted reply from you to make him chuckle. You just obey him and smile. His spark skips a beat and he feels like he is going to melt right then and there. “You are the only one to smile at me in this way,” he whispers. “And you…you’ve touched my face without a trace of fright.”

  “I could never be afraid of you,” you say. You press yourself against his nose, hugging him in the best way you can. He feels you trembling. “I’ve dreamt of this. I’ve dreamt of you. I still dream. I dare to dream that you might even care for me…”

  Megatron leans into your touch. “My cold dark tower seems so bright…I swear it must be Heaven’s light.”

  There is silence between you for some time. The noise from Swerve’s bar has faded away. You sniffle and don’t pull away. “Stay with me,” you beg.

  “You know I can’t,” he says. “Not forever.”

  “Then just for tonight. For as long as we have left. Stay with me, please. I don’t want to let you go. I love you.”

  “You don’t have to.” He hugs you with his free servo. “Not right now. I’m here. I love you too. You are the only one I will ever love. My Heaven’s light.”

  “Salvation through understanding,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks. Yet, you are smiling. It’s a grateful smile. A smile that tells him you are so, so lucky to have ever met him at all.

  His optics well up. He lets the walls break. “Understanding brings in the light.”

  Megatron knows he is a monster.

  But after meeting you…he knows he’s a monster who’s worthy of receiving love.

[finelinevogue]

you’re okay

summary - you’re anxious but harry will always be there

a/n: im so nervous about hslot tomorrow so i thought i’d write this <333

“There he is!”

An encore of cheers for Harry fill the room as he runs in all sweaty, taking a short ten minute break before his encore.

His all black outfit is something to make you melt from how hot he is. You don’t even think he actually understands how gorgeous he looks right now. His hair is disheveled from running around on stage and his clothes are sticky with sweat.

You want to go up to him and give him a hug and a kiss for the show so far, but your anxiety roots you to the sofa.

You don’t even think you have anything to really be anxious for, but sometimes your nerves and shakes come over you when you least expect them. Your chest feels like it’s hollowing and your stomach feels like it’s swimming with butterflies. They’re both horrible feelings and you can’t seem to stop them. The shake in your hands in your only tell, to other people, as well as your bouncing knee.

Harry hugs a couple of people and he’s passed a water bottle by Brad. He guzzles it down quick and thanks him afterwards.

He then spots you, sitting in the plush velvet couch that he brings on tour with him. A sofa you both picked out together and Harry can’t be apart from.

Harry is quick to crouch down in front of you, putting a ring-filled hand on your knee to control the nervous tremors.

“Baby, what’s got you all anxious?” He asks softly, trying to keep his volume low so people don’t start to listen in.

“I don’t know.” You say, teary eyed slightly. “No. I’m fine, i’m fine.” You shake your head defiantly, convincing yourself more than Harry.

“It would be okay if you weren’t fine, you know?”

You nod your head and notice your foot now bobbing away because your knee couldn’t.

Harry keeps his focus on you. He doesn’t deter for anyone or anything.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You begun shaking your head instead and look down at where your fingers are fiddling with each other. You furrow your eyebrows as you try to think of ways to keep your tears back.

“I don’t need an apology, baby. If you need to apologise to anyone, it’s yourself, because you should be kinder to yourself.”

He moves in a little further towards you, using another hand to cup over your smaller ones. He holds onto you tight, grounding you.

“Sorry.” You barely whisper.

“I have to give fifteen more minutes of myself to all those people out there and then i’m completely yours for the rest of the night, okay?”

“Completely?” You look at him with hopeful eyes.

Normally Harry is busy whisked away to complete various business tasks or music recordings after his shows, but his words carry hope that it’s just you and him tonight.

“Absolutely. We can do whatever you want. The Harry Potter movies are on Netflix now, we could do a marathon? Or just watch ‘Goblet of Fire’? I won’t even get jealous when you fawn over Cedric.” He giggles and you can’t help but give a small laugh back.

You take the time to notice your hands have stopped twitching now, thanks to his, and your leg bounces are a lot calmer.

“Can we get a Dominoes takeaway too?”

“I’ll ask Jeff to call it in now, so it’ll be ready for us at 10:30, okay?” He squeezes your hands for reassurance. “Just promise me you’ll be okay for another 15 minutes. I’ll be as quick as possible.”

“I promise. I feel better now anyway.” You smile genuinely.

“Good.” He leans over to kiss your hands softly.

“H? We need you back now.” A member of the crew calls for him across the room.

“Go be brilliant.” You tell him.

“Go be brave.” He replies.

He stands up and leans over to kiss you, promising a proper kiss when he returns. For now you just enjoy a little kiss with your sweaty boyfriend.

He kisses the top of your head before turning to leave the room, screaming as he leaves; “I love you Y/N!”

All because of Harry does your anxiety slowly disappear and the warmth spreads over your heart once more.

[another-lost-mc]

candy prompts: leviathan + spicy + spooky

leviathan is your biggest fan. he doesn't realize that you're his biggest fan too.

pairing: leviathan x siren!gn!reader

content: nsfw. monster!au (reader is a siren). leviathan has two cocks. implied oral sex (levi receiving).

word count: 1k omg how did this happen

a/n: I like to imagine that aquatic races of the devildom worship and totally want to bang the grand admiral.

This isn't the way tonight's backstage meet & greet with one of his favourite idols was supposed to go.

Levi bought the most exclusive package as soon as the pre-sale link arrived in his Dmail. On the day of the concert, he put on a t-shirt featuring your logo, and he even shrugged on the new zip-up hoodie that he bought in the VIP section before the show. He waited in line with the other backstage pass holders so he could get an autograph and photo with you. Some of the lust demons in line ahead of him were radiating pheromones so strongly that it made his mind groggy, and he shook his head to dissipate the fog of giddy excitement that permeated the air around him.

When it was finally his turn to see you, the other fans had already been escorted away by security. He glanced at you nervously from under the hood he pulled over his head to conceal his identity; it wasn't a secret that the Avatar of Envy was a fan of Devildom's top idols, but he didn't like the unwanted attention from randoms in the crowd.

He handed you his poster and backstage pass to sign and he hoped the tremor in his hands wasn't too noticeable. The black marker squeaked against the thick paper and plastic. You smiled at all your other fans earlier, but even from his place at the back of the line, Levi thought your smile looked forced and insincere. He would know-he's forced that same expression on his own face countless times.

"Th-thanks," he mumbled when you handed him his autographed merch. He cradled them delicately in his arms so that they wouldn't get wrinkled or torn.

"Fans can get a selfie too," you reminded him with a gentle smile. "But maybe we can find a nicer backdrop than this grungy hallway. What do you say?"

Levi glanced around nervously. The security crew that loitered in the area earlier had vanished. There was something enticing about the teasing glint in your eyes but he blinked and the look was gone. He took a deep breath, not realizing how close he was standing to you. When did you get so close? The scent of your fragrance and sweat was staggering and he forced himself to stand still and avoid the temptation to lean even closer. He hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

You beamed wildly and grabbed his hand; he gulped as your fangs tipped over the curve of your lips. "Perfect," you purred before leading him down a dark hallway. "My dressing room is this way."

You were kind enough to take his precious memorabilia and set them down safely before shoving him against your dressing room door. Your lips crashed against his while your hands reached into his sweat-slicked hair. You slid the hood down and cradled his jaw so you could tease the skin of his neck with your fingernails. He broke the kiss with a gasp, and you didn't hesitate to slip your tongue into his mouth and flick it against his before pulling back with a very satisfied smirk.

"I recognized you the moment you stood in line," you admitted, voice quivering with excitement, glassy-eyed and pupils blown wide. "The Avatar of Envy, the Grand Admiral himself, coming to see me perform? I'm flattered."

Levi stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Maybe he was seeing the real you for the first time, the version none of your other fans knew existed. In the privacy of your dressing room you could finally be yourself. The magic that concealed your oceanic heritage slid off you like a veil and revealed your secrets to the demon you worshipped like a god. He was entranced. When he licked his lips to chase the taste of your kiss, it reminded him of salt water and the ocean breeze.

You preened under his curious scrutiny, satisfied that he was captivated by you as much as you were of him. When you realized you had his silent approval to continue, you unzipped his sweater and pushed it down his arms. It fell into a heap on the floor at his feet, but he didn't seem to care.

By the time you settled on your knees before him, the delicate pattern of pearlescent scales replaced your once-smooth skin and frilly gills appeared on the sides of your neck. You gazed at him innocently, your third eyelid blinking quickly over your lovestruck eyes as you nuzzled against the bulge in his jeans. Dainty fingers with long nails flicked open the button at his waistband. You bit your bottom lip between rows of jagged teeth and eagerly tugged down the short zipper next. Both his cocks sprung free when you slid his boxers down. He was panting heavily above you, and you licked your lips with a forked tongue, smirking when his eyes followed the movement.

"I've wanted to meet you in person for so long, sir," you whispered reverently. His cocks twitched when your lips imbued his title with just a hint of lust, and you couldn't resist the urge to touch him anymore. You kissed the tip of one of his cocks and smeared precum across your mouth with a satisfied hum, lapping at the salty taste as your mouth watered, eager for another taste. One of your hands curled delicately around the other cock and squeezed him lightly in your grip. He moaned loudly when your webbed fingers began stroking him in a soft, slick rhythm.

"I think I might be your biggest fan," you confessed in a breathy whisper before closing your eyes and finally taking his cock into your mouth.

read more: halloween 2023 masterlist || obey me masterlist

[nickfurysrighteye]

Practise?

chase davenport x reader

summary: the school's gonna do a play and it's gonna be Romeo and Juliet. Chase was supposed to help with the behind the scenes but instead he gets to play Romeo, and you, Juliet, offer him some help with his lines..

cw: sfw, kissing, that's it i think

a/n: this is my first time writing for this fandom and also my first time making my writing public so please be kind :') ...i haven't written any type of fanfic in a veeeery long time. this is just for fun!!!

"Seriously?! I can't believe it!"

Janelle yells storming into the gym. Everybody stops what they're doing to look at her puzzled. This year Mission Creek High decided to organize a play and upon a great request it was decided to stage 'Romeo and Juliet'. Janelle volunteered to direct the entire planning of it.

"Our Romeo decided it was a great time to break his arm, therefore we don't have a Romeo anymore!" she says walking towards Leo, who's busy painting the fake wooden balcony. Leo decided to take part in the production only to have an excuse to be with Janelle, and doing so he dragged Chase along, just to have some company.

A few people gather around to see what was going on, you take your eyes off the script you were revising to look at your classmates on the opposite site of the room.

"So? What's the big deal?" says Leo "The understudy can take his place."

"The big deal is we don't have an understudy! We barely have enough people working on this play, do you really think we have extras?" Janelle is furious.

"Why don't we pick somebody from the crew?" you barge into the conversation, feeling the eyes of everyone onto you "I mean, it's not like we have time to redo auditions.."

Everybody is silent, eyes going left and right scanning the room for someone brave enough to take on one of the leading roles. You look behind Leo's shoulder "I bet Chase could do it."

Chase was surprised and slightly confused by your statement "Me? But I'm not an actor." he says, struggling to speak loud enough to be heard.

"Neither am I, and neither is everyone else..this is a high school play not Broadway, no of us are actors." you shrug while looking over to the brown haired boy.

Janelle looks over to him "Chase, do you think you could do it? You'd be a life saver, honestly." you could hear the tension in her voice from all the stress the planning brought her.

"I-i mean, sure I could give it a try" Chase tried so hard to sound confident in his choice but you could hear the slight tremor in his tone.

"Perfect, problem solved!" Janelle said.

Once everyone got back to work you get closer to Chase, "If you want we can practise the lines together, I could also give you some tips."

"Sure, I'd love that." Chase says with a sweet, soft smile. "Cool, you can stop by at my house today if that's ok." you smile back

"Yeah, sure, I'll see you later."

-

After school, the two brothers head to the lab and Chase is panicking, regretting the choice he made earlier that day. "Why would I agree to do something like this?! Why didn't you stop me Leo?! This is going to be a disaster! The play's gonna suck!" he spits out the words so quickly he can barely keep up with his thoughts.

"Chase chill out! You'll be fine, like Y/n said no one here's an actor, you're all gonna suck" Leo's already tired of his complaining.

Chase's worry isn't only his acting, but the fact he's gonna be the lead in a romantic play with you as his love interest. He's also terrified by the idea of having to kiss you multiple times on stage, in front of a ton of people. This is stressing him out way more than anticipated.

He already knew who you were long before taking part in this project. He saw you walk around the halls, he saw you sitting a couple of desks in front of him in some classes you have together. He always thought about you as the pretty girl he would only talk to in his imagination. Nobody could have predicted the two of you acting as lovers in a school play. Certainly not Chase.

-

With his heart beating out of his chest, Chase knocks on your front door. You open the door and invite him in. "We can go upstairs in my room" you say, guiding him upstairs.

You go through the script together, focusing on the more difficult parts to memorize. You're suprised Chase could memorize all these lines so quickly, and he's getting better at getting into character.

He says every line with the right feeling, you two work in harmony, it's like you're no longer acting as the characters but are living the story as yourselves.

"You're quite talented you know that Chase?" you smile

"Thanks, I'm actually a bit nervous if I'm being honest." he chuckes while lowering his eyes, looking at his fingers fidgeting with the corner of the script's page.

"How come? You're doing great." you tilt you're head slightly. You sit on your bed, taking a small break.

He shrugs, sitting down beside you "I don't know, I just am" he mumbles.

You stare at him with a soft gaze, you study his expression, you're lightly mesmerized by the way the light beam from the setting sun is hitting his face, shining through your window. His eyes now being a warmer hazel tone.

He can hear the beat of his heart in his ears "Actually, I'm scared 'cause --" he stops "I'm worried about our kiss."

"Our kiss?"

"Yeah, it scares me a little having to kiss in front of an audience."

"It's gonna be a quick kiss don't worry about it."

"I know, it's just that --" he looks down again "I've never done it before."

"You've never kissed anyone?" you say, the slight surprise in your voice makes him feel even worse now.

"It's fine Chase, I get it. There's no need to be ashamed of it." you try to reassure him. "Wanna practise?"

"The kiss?" he looks at you.

"Yeah, I mean, we probably should anyway since it's part of the play." you say, standing up and placing yourself in front of him like you would be on stage.

"Yeah, ok, that's..a good idea" he stands up as well. Chase tries to hide his uncertainty.

"You sure about this?" you ask, you don't want to pressure him.

"A hundred percent" he's anxious, he's rubbing subtly his hands on his jeans because they're starting to sweat, his knees get weaker and he hopes they'll be strong enough to support him.

"Ok now, just follow my lead." you take his hand, leaning nearer. Your other hand cupping his cheek, your lips are now inches apart. Your touch feels warm on his skin, making him breathe faster.

"Close your eyes." as he does so, your place your lips onto his gently, and start to slowly and softly kiss him.

A warm feeling of joy starts to bubble up in his chest as he copies your movements and picks up the pace. The kiss gets more intense, more impatient as he tastes your lips. You get closer and your hand that was on his cheek is now on the back of his neck, tangling your fingers with his hair. His hands start to move, although he's still unsure of what to do.

You stop for a brief moment. "It's ok if you wanna touch me, y'know." Chase laughs a little, he then places his hands on your sides, sliding them down to your waste. He grabs a little harder and pull you into another kiss, this time greedier, messier.

He didn't think it would feel this good kissing you, his heart is racing so fast you could probably hear it. Your lips are exploring eachother, you're both enjoying this much more than you should be. After a few moments Chase decides to wet your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, you part your lips a bit and he slips part of his tongue in. The feeling of your tongues tasting eachother sends shivers down your spine, you feel your cheeks getting warmer.

"You taste amazing" he blurs out the moment he stops to catch his breath, then he pulls you again into another kiss. His words make you melt.

Chase has lost track of time. Actually he has lost track of anything, he can only feel you. Your lips, your tongue, your taste, the sweet smell of your perfume and the warmth of your body standing so close to his. A few moments pass and you pull away to catch your breath, your faces still close to eachother.

"Was i good?" his question makes you chuckle.

"Yeah, you were. You know the kiss isn't supposed to last this long though, right?"

"Sorry i got a bit carried away." Chase laughs a little. You smile softly, caressing his cheek with your thumb.

"I don't think you're gonna have problems on stage, Chase"

"Although we should probably get back to revising the lines"

"We should, but after we're done we should go back to the kissing part, just to be sure"

[its-avalon-08]

cracks in my armor (mw6)

(this is one of my favorite ever requests, i thoroughly enjoyed writing this. thank u sm <3)

the air in the red bull cooldown room thrummed with a tension thicker than the celebratory champagne showers outside. y/n, still strapped into her helmet, glared daggers at mark webber across the room. the brazilian grand prix had delivered a 1-2 finish for red bull, y/n taking a dominant first with mark trailing a frustrated second.

jenson button, the ever-diplomatic test and reserve driver, attempted to lighten the mood. "well, that was quite a show out there, folks! didn't think the paint would stay on those cars after all that battling." mark grunted, not looking up from his phone. y/n slammed her helmet on the table, the force making jenson flinch. "show?" she spat. "more like a fight with a toddler throwing a tantrum because he's leaving his favorite toy behind."

mark's head snapped up, his blue eyes blazing with a flicker of something y/n couldn't decipher. "easy there, sunshine. don't get ahead of yourself. this isn't about you." y/n's jaw clenched. "isn't it? you couldn't stand being outshone again, could you? that's why you're quitting. ego bruised beyond repair by a little competition."

"oh, spare me the dramatics," mark countered, his voice tight. "it's not about ego. it's about moving on." "moving on to what?" y/n pressed, a tremor in her voice betraying a vulnerability she tried to hide. "because it sure as hell isn't another team." a beat of tense silence hung in the air. jenson, sweat beading on his forehead, cleared his throat. "maybe we should, uh, give them some space, guys?" he cast a helpless look at the camera crew, who were dutifully capturing every barb.

y/n ignored him, her gaze locked on mark. "what is it, mark? why the sudden change of heart? you always said formula one was your life." mark looked away, his jaw clenched. "things change," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "not that much," y/n insisted, her voice cracking slightly. "unless there's something else you're not telling me." the accusation hung heavy in the air.

mark finally met her gaze, his blue eyes swirling with a storm of emotions. "there's plenty i'm not telling you," he said roughly, his voice laced with a hidden pain. "but it has nothing to do with you."


y/n scoffed, but the spark of defiance seemed to falter. "convenient. of course the mighty fucking australian can't deal with answering a simple questions. now why did i expect any differently?" she said with a snide tone. "leave me alone y/l/n. honest to god before i say something i'll regret" he mumbled, turning away. "oh fuck no. you don't get to act like we haven't been fighting for the same oppurtinty, like i haven't suffered the same pain of competion," she yelled. 


"YOU will NEVER understand the pain of yearning and fighting for something that will never truly be yours. no matter how hard you fucking try," mark shouted infuriated. silence descended once more, heavy and suffocating. the air crackled with unspoken words and a tension that went far beyond competition. jenson shifted uncomfortably, the weight of their unspoken feelings pressing down on him.

just then, the door to the room burst open, revealing christian horner, the red bull team principal, with a thunderous expression on his face. even the seasoned jenson flinched at the icy aura. the room fell silent, the weight of horner's presence pressing down on them. horner took a long look at the scene, taking in the red-faced drivers, the overturned chair, and the cameras filming the entire debacle. a slow, humorless smile spread across his face. "well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "this is certainly one way to make headlines."

y/n and mark both looked away, shame flickering across their faces. the victory that had tasted so sweet just moments ago was now a bitter pill. the weight of their actions, captured for the world to see, settled heavily upon them. the cooldown room, once a place of celebration, now echoed with the deafening silence of a fractured team and something left unsaid.

the celebratory party in the red bull hospitality suite throbbed with a forced energy. y/n stood by the window, the cityscape of são paulo a glittering blur against the ache in her heart. every shared laugh, every raised champagne flute felt like a mockery of the raw emotions that had ripped through the cooldown room earlier.

finally, she couldn't take it anymore. with a deep breath, she excused herself and made her way down the hall, stopping at mark's designated suite. it took a moment to gather her courage, knuckles rapping tentatively against the door. silence. she rapped again, this time a little firmer. the door creaked open, revealing a weary mark, surprise flickering in his blue eyes.

"y/n?" he rasped, his voice raw. "can i come in?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. he stepped aside, and y/n entered, the door clicking shut behind her. the air crackled with tension, a stark contrast to the cheerful music filtering in from the party down the hall.

mark gestured to the couch, but y/n remained standing. "what did you mean?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. mark's gaze dropped to his hands. "i..." he stammered, his voice thick with emotion. "i shouldn't have said that. it wasn't about the race." y/n pressed on, her voice gaining strength. "then what was it about, mark?" he looked up at her then, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that stole her breath. "it was about..." he hesitated, then blurted out, "it was about you."

the words hung heavy in the air. y/n's mind reeled. "me?" she whispered, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

mark took a step closer, his voice a low rumble. "for years, y/n. i've..." he stopped, his jaw clenched. "you've what?" she prompted, her voice barely audible. "i've had feelings for you," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion. "but i never thought i'd deserve someone like you. so talented, so beautiful, so damn brilliant." his voice cracked. "you were always out of reach."

y/n's breath caught in her throat. the truth, raw and unexpected, hit her like a wave. all this time, the constant bickering, the simmering tension, it wasn't just competition. it was a poorly disguised dance around unspoken feelings. "mark," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "i never thought..." "don't," he interrupted, his hand reaching out to gently cup her face. "it doesn't matter now. i'm leaving."

the reminder of his departure sent a fresh wave of pain through her. "but what if..." she trailed off, her gaze locked on his. he searched her eyes, a flicker of hope battling the resignation in his gaze. "what if what?" "what if i feel the same way?" she confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "maybe i didn't understand before, but i do now. i..." she faltered, then whispered, "i think i'm in love with you too, mark."

the weight of her confession hung in the air for a beat, then a slow smile spread across mark's face. it was a smile filled with relief, disbelief, and a joy that mirrored her own. before either of them could speak further, the gap between them closed. the kiss was slow, hesitant at first, then deepening as emotions they'd kept bottled up for so long came bursting forth. it was a kiss filled with longing, with unspoken apologies, and with the promise of a future they could now dare to dream of. when they finally broke apart, breathless and shaky, a new understanding shone in their eyes. the race, the fight, the angry outburst – it all paled in comparison to the truth they had finally confessed.

suddenly, a muffled thump came from the window ledge, followed by a low hiss. y/n and mark whipped around, startled. "what was that?" y/n whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. mark cautiously approached the window, his hand instinctively reaching for something that wasn't there. he peered out, then his eyes widened comically.

"oh my god," he breathed. y/n joined him, peering out the window. there, sprawled on the small balcony outside, were jenson button and fernando alonso, their faces contorted in a mixture of relief, amusement, and mild discomfort.

"busted!" jenson groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. fernando, ever the pragmatist, simply rolled his eyes. "took you long enough, you two." y/n and mark stared at them, speechless for a moment. then, y/n burst into laughter, a genuine, joyful sound that echoed through the room. mark, the blush creeping up his neck, joined in, the tension melting away.

"you were spying on us?" y/n exclaimed, wiping a tear from her eye.

jenson sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "well, not exactly spying. we just... happened to be enjoying the view and, uh, things escalated a bit." fernando snorted. "don't listen to him, he tripped over a potted plant and dragged me down with him." y/n and mark exchanged a look, then burst into laughter again. the awkwardness was gone, replaced by a shared sense of camaraderie. "well, congratulations you two," jenson said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. " fucking finally!"

"about bloody time," fernando echoed, raising a nonexistent glass in a toast.

y/n and mark grinned at each other, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted. as the sounds of the party drifted in from down the hall, a new kind of celebration bloomed – not just for their newfound love, but for the hilarious, unexpected way their friends had discovered it. the night, once filled with tension, now promised laughter, love, and a future brighter than any trophy.

[bonezone44]

'Doesn't Nothing Ever Last Forever?' (18+)

Raider!Joel x afab!Reader

Word Count: 5,4k

(FYI: woman in moodboard is a side character.)

Summary: You worked in a brothel outside of a quarantine zone. Every once in a while, you got a visit from Joel and his men. This was your first time being around for one of those visits. (Reader is severely depressed and bisexual [relatable, amiright?]. Reader is not popular at the brothel.)

tags: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT (tagging this to be safe!) Kidnapping, sexual slavery, group sex, overstimulation, rough oral (m). POV switching, canon-typical violence. -- Sex between Reader and Joel is non-con. Reader enjoys it, but the larger context doesn't allow for consent. Fingering, unprotected p-in-v. Degradation. Finger-sucking. Spanking. Orgasm control/denial. Joel is turned on by Reader's history w/ women. Reader is called slut, good girl, bad girl. Reader calls Joel "sir."

A/N: Written for @iamasaddie's writing challenge. ✏ I was so excited by their moodboards, I had to participate. Also, read @toxicanonymity for the original Raider!Joel which heavily inspired this one. 🙏 And special thanks to @milla-frenchy for helping me choose a story line. 😘

story masterlist - main masterlist

+++++

The days bled together, one right after the other. No matter how clear the skies were, a permanent fog had taken over your mind. 

The only reason you woke up that evening was all the commotion. You heard the roar of diesel engines and loud men laughing and yelling. The slamming of car doors. Then those voices got louder and closer. Obviously, they had made their way inside your building. You knew you should rise and shine. Get to work. But you stayed curled up on your bed cushion in the shared room as long as possible. Even after your boss had been calling for you.

It wasn’t the kind of job you punched in and out of. You lived in a brothel. You were paid by the client–and even then sometimes all you got was a spare coin or two. A ration slip, if you were really lucky. But those could only be spent at the nearby Quarantine Zone. And the four hour trek there and back was hell on your feet and knees.

Your boss, Larry, finally opened the door to your room, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he allowed the noise and chaos to do the job of waking you up.

You unfurled from the floor and wandered to the bathrooms, bare fit sticking to the tile floors. You had hoped no one would catch you and make you work. You hadn’t had it in you to do anything that day. What you really wanted to do was float away, fly with the clouds on the wind to somewhere far, far over the rainbow.

You found Trisha at the sinks, under the sickly green lights, already washing cum from her hands. 

“Joel and his crew are here again,” she mumbled. There was a tremor in her voice.

You nodded blankly. Tired.

She turned around and stared at you with wide eyes. “Joel,” she emphasized.

“Okay?” You shrugged. Your eyes bored into a growing mold stain in the corner.  

She scoffed. “Joel is the guy who bought Carrie.”

“What?” … ‘Bought Carrie?’ That didn’t sound right to you. “I just thought… she left.”

Trisha stared at you, aghast. The room was cold, but steam began to fog the mirror. “Are you fucking kidding me? You were there!” She shouted. “You were there when Larry told us he sold her for the fucking water heater!” She pointed at the filling sink.

You blinked. “...Oh.” You wiped your eyes with your hands. “I don’t… really remember.” Her words didn’t quite click it into place for you, but a dull memory played in the back of your mind. You remembered a ‘house meeting’ and hearing Carrie’s name a lot. You remembered getting the water heater. You remembered everyone being upset and yelling at Larry. You remembered curling in the corner, your brain checking out and wandering through the static of your own mind rather than feeling something–anything–in your own body.

That explained all the weird looks you had gotten later when you expressed excitement over the hot water. You had been happy about something for once and everyone responded by staring at you like you were a freak. 

But everyone you had ever met always felt so far away. Like you were so deep in the depths of your own mind that the world around you was a movie you were watching. All the people in your life were characters playing out their roles. So you did, too. You went through the daily motions, following some imaginary script in your mind. Playing a part. Doing whatever you thought you were supposed to.

Trisha started telling you more stories about Joel and his crew. About their violence. But none of it sounded real. It sounded like another movie to you. You stood, unmoving, wishing you had some bleach to clean the mold in the corner. You wanted to scrub the grout until it was pure again. Wipe away the layer of filmy mildew from the ceramic tiles. Disinfect every inch of porcelain in this piece of shit building. 

Another woman entered the bathroom, fully nude. “Well, look who decided to show up!” she spat at you. “Go out there and do your job. I need a fucking break.”

You sighed and resigned yourself to your fate. “Okay,” you muttered without meeting her eyes. You didn’t bother looking in the mirror or worrying about your clothes. You knew that in your line of work, they didn’t make a difference either way.

-

You walked out to the main room and saw about a dozen men scattered around the couches, women in their laps or on their knees. 

One woman was sitting naked in a guy’s lap while another guy roughly rubbed and slapped her clit. His laughter grossed you out. The woman was crying.  

Another woman was getting facefucked and choking. She pulled back to cough and breathe. The man she was sucking on held himself in a tight grip. He pushed the hair from her face and whispered softly to her, wiping away her tears, before shoving his cock right back in.

You nodded at the scene unaffected… well, mostly unaffected. You stared into the middle distance and focused on no one person in particular. The women’s moans were mostly performative–it was obvious. But the men didn’t seem to mind. Their moans were hungry and horny, enjoying whatever stimulation they seemed to be receiving. So that was what you focused on. Their blatant sexual desire. It fueled your own heat. A fire expanding in your chest and between your legs. Your mouth began to water. You sucked in your bottom lip, eager to feel flesh inside you. 

You weren’t sure how long you were standing there, watching. It merely occurred to you at some point that one of the men was walking up to you, blocking your view of the scene. He wore a dark brown leather jacket over a v-neck shirt.  A small, shiny gold cross hung around his neck and against his sunburned skin. He wore blue jeans and work boots.

Your boss, Larry, yammered in one of your ears at him.

“Joel,” he pleaded with clasped hands. “I’m sure you’d prefer someone like Trisha or-or-or Cameron. I’m sure, she’ll be right back out any minute!”

“No,” Joel says gruffly. “Her,” he pointed to you with his chin. 

“I’m sure. I’m sure.” Your boss chuckled uncomfortably and surrendered with empty palms. “Of course!” He grabbed you by the arm and tugged you toward the back of the building. He snarled in your ear. “Don’t fuck this up for me.” 

You wanted to shrug him off, but his grip was bruising. What could you ‘fuck up’ exactly? You had been working there for over a year. You weren’t popular, but you got the job done. You didn’t get along with any of the other women there, but what did that have to do with this guy, Joel?

Larry took you and Joel to one of the farthest rooms. It was the nice one with a real bed instead of a mattress or cushion on the floor. You had never been in it before. Not even to clean it. You looked around appraising the paint on the walls. There was a window, but it was dark out. The noise from the main room was barely audible. You liked being somewhere quiet again. 

#######

Joel and his crew pulled up around dinnertime in two pick-up trucks. The sun had set and the truck’s headlights bathed the front of the old office building in a warm, dull yellow.

The crickets were louder than hell that night. Joel remembered that much.

Not five seconds after his boys hopped out the trucks did the brothel owner come skittering out the front door with a nervous grin on his face.

Joel liked that. Piece o’ shit like that should be nervous. 

Joel hated Larry. The man was fucking pathetic. Weasel-y. So needy and desperate to please. Joel hated that Larry sold him a woman for a water heater. What kinda man would do something like that? This was supposed to be a brothel. The women were supposed to be his employees. He didn’t have the right to sell anybody.

But Joel had wanted her. And taking her outright would have caused more problems than it would have solved. So he figured a water heater would help keep things peaceful between them. Because his boys liked the brothel. Each little trip helped ease their minds. Gave them something to talk about and look forward to–something other than survival.

Joel’s needs were more permanent. He needed something more full-time rather than once every few months.

His boys started hooting and hollering as soon as the payment of supplies were unloaded and they got to hang out inside. The women weren’t even around yet, but they were more than ready for some physical entertainment. Joel remained standing while the rest of them spread out along the decaying leather couches lining the walls. A shitty little cd player sat in the corner playing old R&B music. He heard his brother, Tommy, singing along to it. 

Joel sighed and wiped his face with his hands.

Once Larry brought out a few women, the men started roaring. They were shouting and cheering, pulling their cocks out in excitement. Joel groaned. These boys didn’t know a goddamn thing about seducing a woman and their sad little dicks weren’t gonna get them anywhere neither.

Two of the guys grabbed one of the women, causing her to shout, but Joel was on them not a second later. He gripped their skulls, one in each of his giant hands, and knocked them together like coconut shells. 

“Ouch! What the hell, man?” asked one of them, rubbing the sore spot on his head. 

Joel shook his head with his eyes wide, boring into the depths of their souls. “Not until I say,” he spat.

They both tucked their heads under, murmuring. “Yes, Joel.” “Whatever you say, Joel.”

The woman got back in line while the boys sat down on the couch.

“I’m sure I’ve got a couple more on the way,” said Larry with a forced smile. “They’re just getting themselves cleaned up, I’m sure, after uh…  after finishing dinner.”

Joel grunted. He knew what he wanted–knew what kind of woman he was looking for. And he was quick to realize that none of the women in the room were it. So he waved his hand and his men let loose.

Joel stood with his arms crossed and his back against the front door. He kept his eye on the two troublemakers. Kept his ear on Tommy. Tommy was a talker. He loved to chat up the working women as if he was in a bar back home in Texas and looking to find himself a girlfriend. Joel thought Tommy was being ridiculous—acting like the women could say ‘no’ and walk away. Like he had to put real effort in. It annoyed the hell out of Joel. He wanted his crew to have their fun and be done with it. Why did Tommy have to make it so complicated?

Joel was getting bored and antsy the longer he waited. He was feeling needy, too, with the rough sounds of sex filling the air around him. But he was hopeful, preferring to be patient. And if, in the end, there was no woman he wanted, he would pick one at random and blow off some steam. He would find a replacement some other time or start looking around at the nearest Quarantine Zone.

  Then you walked in. 

And at first, Joel was ready to shrug you off, too. Sure, you were attractive. But looks weren't everything. That's what got him in trouble with the last woman. 

But something in your eyes changed as you scanned the room, taking in the sexual depravity. You didn't shrink in and shut down. You were turned on. He saw the way your chest rose and fell as your breaths shallowed and shortened. The way you chewed your bottom lip. The way you squirmed. That's what Joel needed. Someone as needy as him. 

The brothel owner tried to dissuade him. Huh, Joel wanted to laugh. As if that asshole knew a goddamn thing about what Joel wanted–about what Joel needed.

-

“Take your clothes off ‘n get on the bed,” he ordered after slamming the door shut behind him. He liked how quickly you complied. He didn’t understand why you were so calm, though. He unbuckled his belt, releasing the pressure from his stomach and allowing himself some room to breathe. He let the buckle hang and it jingled as he stepped closer to the bed. 

“All fours.”

Again, you complied swiftly and smoothly, facing the back wall.

He eyed you for any sores. Then he slipped his bare hand around the smooth curve of your ass and his fingertips prodded around your lips and entrance. You were already wet, he realized.  He slid the edge of his fingers forward against your clit. 

You moaned. Something fake and bland. 

He pulled his hand away and slapped you on the ass. “Hey.”  He grabbed you by the cheeks when you didn't immediately face him. Your eyes never met his. “Don't fuckin showboat me,” he warned. 

“Okay,” you said flatly. 

He didn’t like how detached you were. How unafraid. But he willed himself to be patient–the amount of wetness coating his fingers eased his anxiety. He continued to play with your folds as he asked questions.

He cleared his throat. “You like workin here?”

You shrugged. “It’s a job.”

“How long you been here?”

“About a year.”

Joel hummed. “I don’t remember you from last time.”

“Probably had the flu.” 

“You got over it okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, closing your eyes. You seemed to like it when he moved his thick fingers around you real slow. He liked that.

“You got anything else? Any diseases?”

You shook your head. “I don’t get a lot of men.”

Joel paused. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. They like the other girls better.”

“Why’s that?”

You shrugged again. “They’re better at fakin it.”

Joel didn’t know how to feel about that answer. He continued to rub your clit, feeling you get slicker. “So what? You do handjobs, blowjobs?”

“Mostly.”

He noticed an uptick in the tone of your voice. “You like doin those?”

“If the guy is cute.”

He slid his fingers from your clit to your entrance to your other hole. He didn’t push in, only pressed against it, and you sighed. “What about this?” he asked, biting his lip. “You like gettin your ass played with?”

You hung your head and nodded. “If they do it right,” you said with another uptick in your tone. 

Joel liked that. “Ever have a train run on ya?” He slid his fingers back to your clit.

“Yeah,” you answered with a whimper. 

“You like it?”

Your breath hitched as Joel’s fingers sped up. “Been through worse.”

“Worse? Here?” Joel asked, wondering what could happen at a brothel that was worse than a gang-bang.

“No just… you know…” you sighed with pleasure. “--in general.” 

Joel furrowed his brows. You were being honest with him. Too honest, in his opinion. But you were rolling your hips into his hand. And he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.

He shoved two fingers inside of you without warning. Your body twitched and you moaned–and it was different this time. Quieter. Realer. Joel liked that. He didn’t mind taking his time to get you ready if he knew you would enjoy it. 

“You like fuckin, huh?”

“Who doesn’t?” You snickered, pushing back into his thrusting hand.

Joel took a deep breath, maintaining his composure. But he knew then that he wanted you. That you were just what he needed and more.

#######

You liked this Joel guy. He took his time. He was asking you questions, trying to get to know you. You don’t remember the last time anyone had done that. …Well, maybe when you first started working there. Trisha and Carrie and a couple of the other women tried, but this felt different for some reason. Like it was leading somewhere. Like there was a promise at the end of it. Like maybe he really wanted to make you come and he wasn’t just there for himself. 

And you liked his voice. It was smoky and deep. He had an accent like a cowboy. It was comforting, in a way.

And his fingers felt nice. He knew what he was doing. You couldn't remember the last time a guy got you that wet with just his hand.

Part of you felt a little hopeful. You thought you might finally get to have some fun like the other girls did. Most of the guys you got were ugly or just plain ol’ depressing. Another part of you couldn’t stop thinking about Carrie for some reason. You’re not sure why she kept coming up in your mind. You two never worked together. You barely knew her at all.

-

“You ever fuck the other women here?” Joel asked. 

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed in proud affirmation. It even pulled a smile from you. 

“What's that mean?”

You weren’t sure how you expected him to react. You weren’t sure why you answered that way. “It means… yeah,” you replied while embarrassment burned your cheeks. You had barely looked at him before, but now you really didn’t want to see his face.

“Yeah, you like fuckin women?” His voice turned breathy. You heard his buckle jingle and the slide of the zipper of his jeans. 

 It turned you on to know that he liked that. Some men hated it. Made you feel like shit for it. But man, this Joel guy was something else. It made you want more of him. More of his fingers. His voice. His skin. “Yeah,” you moaned and shoved yourself harder into his hands, thrusting his fingers deeper.

“So what? You lick their pussies? Rub your little cunts together?”

Your mouth hung open from his words. “yeah,” you said with a hot breath. He pulled his fingers from inside of you and drew circles on your clit. You started whimpering. You nodded your head as fire burned in your core and across your skin. 

“That’s why you work here, huh? You got a needy little cunt?”

His fingers were moving so fast, the muscles in your legs were jumping and your toes were curling. “Uh-huh,” you moaned loud enough for your voice to echo around the bare room.

“That why you left the Q-Z? This slutty hole wasn’t get fucked enough?” His fingers slid back inside your entrance. You’re not sure how many he stuffed in, but it was more than before. 

You nodded with a desperate moan, your right leg slapping the mattress beneath you in frustration. You needed more. His fingers, his words–they weren’t enough. Your body was hot and sparking and you needed-needed-needed. “Joel, please,” you begged, turning to face him, finally opening your eyes again. He was stroking himself and the sight of his cock made you drool. 

“Whatchu need, sweetheart?” He asked and you could almost kill him for it.  

“Please, please fuck me, Joel. Please.”

“Need it that bad, huh?” He kicked off his boots and shoved his pants all the way down to the floor. 

You got out of the way as he crawled into the bed and sat up against the headboard. 

“Come and get this cock, you fuckin slut,” he growled. One hand held his length while the other pulled you by the arm. 

You were too hungry to notice how tightly he gripped you. You hovered over his lap as he lined himself up with your entrance. You stared at the curve of his lips on the way down, the mix of gray and brown hairs in his mustache. But there was white on his cheeks and chin. You briefly wondered how old he was. But you couldn’t bring yourself to get a good look at his face. Too busy melting from the pressure of his cock stretching your walls. Fuck, it felt good. You braced yourself on his firm, wide shoulders and brought your hips back up a few inches before sinking down on his length even further. You groaned and tucked your head into his neck.

#######

You started sucking on his neck and his hips began to thrust up into you.

“It ain’t enough that I’m stuffin your cunt?” he grunted. “You need me in your mouth, too?”

You moaned against his throat, sending goosebumps all over his skin. “Yeah,” you said through panting breaths, before latching back on, teeth and tongue digging into his muscle. 

Joel liked you. He really liked you. You were wet and riding him just right. You weren’t mechanical about it, neither–like Joel was just another job to you. There was a sadness to you, sure. It was probably why you didn’t get a lot of men. Men wanted to forget their troubles at the brothel. Have some fun. They wanted the world outside to disappear with their cock inside a woman.

But Joel had tried that. And it hadn’t worked out so good.

So this time, he looked for someone different. Someone who would understand. Someone who would get why he needed to fuck and when and how he needed to fuck, too. 

And you were telling him everything he needed to know. He was learning what you wanted and what you liked and what he could use to threaten you into compliance. 

He pulled you away from his neck, not sure how he felt about being covered in hickeys. “Here,” Joel prodded your lips with his middle and ring finger. “Suck on this, you greedy little slut.”

And you did, moaning desperately as you rolled your hips in his lap. You gagged as he slid his fingers back and forth on your tongue, saliva spilling from the edges of your lips and down your chin. Your eyes were closed and he knew there was nothing going on in your mind. He knew you were focused on nothing but how good he was making you feel.

You started bouncing on his cock and he slapped your ass with his free hand. He gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, forcing you to stop.

“Did I say you could do that?”

Your eyes popped open–meeting his directly. You tried to pull your head away to answer, but Joel shoved his fingers in even further.

He repeated himself. “You tryin to come right now? Did I say you could?”

You let out a pathetic whine and shook your head.

He slapped your ass again and this time he noticed your pussy clench around him. He heard a small moan grow and die in your throat. “You come when I fuckin say you can come,” he snarled with his teeth clenched. He smacked your asscheek again and thrust up into you. 

You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut. 

“That turn you on?” He gripped your ass in his hand. “You like takin’ your medicine, bad girl?”

You tried to turn your head, but Joel still had his fingers in your mouth and he held you in place. You looked at him with the most pathetic, pleading look.

“I asked you a question,” Joel growled with wide eyes. His cock twitched inside of you. “You like takin’ your medicine? You like bein told what to do?”

You squeezed your eyes shut again and quietly nodded.

Joel liked that. He liked that a lot. He took his fingers from your mouth and gripped your cheeks. Your eyes popped open again. He licked his lips. “You be a good girl and make me come first, then we’ll see what you get, okay?”

You nodded.

“Now what do you say?”

Your brows furrowed. 

“When I tell you what to do, what do you say?”

Your face softened. You blinked slowly before answering. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s right.” Joel grunted and thrusted his hips. “Now, make me come, you little slut.” His fingers dug into your own hips to guide your rhythm to what he wanted. “Make me come and we’ll see what you get.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir,” you murmured again and again.

Your warm, wet cunt sucked him in and stroked him. He could hear it, too, how drippy and turned on you were. It wasn’t long before he tossed you off him with a grunt, throwing you onto your back on the bed. He only fisted his cock twice before shooting his spend on your spread open pussy, on the hair on your mound. He wiped his cum down and around on your clit. “Come on, girl. You can come now. Come on,” he chanted. He rubbed your clit back and forth with the flat of his four fingers. “Give that greedy little cunt what it needs. Come on.”

Your body curled in as you orgasmed and you moaned loudly into your arm. Joel didn’t see the need for you to be quiet, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He rubbed you with his thumb until your legs clasped shut and you squirmed away.

He wiped his hands on the sheets and got up from the bed. He pulled his jeans back on, but waited to buckle his belt. He sat back down and put his shoes on.

You were still lying where he left you. Curled up in the fetal position. It almost looked like you were falling asleep. He figured you might as well rest up now. The drive back home was a bumpy one.

He sighed when he stood up. He figured he should get the liquor bottles out of the truck sooner than later. He huffed. Larry was a real piece of shit for trading a woman for liquor. But Joel wanted you. And he was gonna have you.

#######

You were reeling. Sexually, you were satisfied, but every other emotion bursted and channeled itself through your muscles and across your skin. You felt so vulnerable. This man had seen you–seen you! Like you were a real person or something! Like you weren’t just a ghost or a character in a movie! Everything felt wrong and you couldn’t figure out why. And you couldn’t stop thinking about Carrie for some reason.

You stayed as still as possible until you heard Joel’s booted footsteps leave the room. You were grateful he didn’t say anything or try to touch you again. Your body trembled as you got out of the bed. You walked on shaky legs to the bathrooms to clean yourself. The world around you was so close and too clear. You could hear and differentiate everyone’s voices in the main room. The air was humid and you could taste it–actually taste it like it was a wet, moldy cloud in your mouth. 

Your hands tremored. You tried to exert control over them, but you were barely able to turn on the sink. You mostly swatted at the faucets until water came out. And there was no comfort to be had in the warm, rushing water. You noticed tension in your cheeks and thought you wanted to cry, but couldn’t make any tears come out.

The woman in the mirror scared you. It was you. You knew it was you. But she felt unfamiliar. Three dimensional. You wanted to run. Run away to the Quarantine Zone or—or anywhere but here.

Then you heard screaming, shrill screams from what had to be one of the other women. Suddenly you were being dragged out of the bathroom. Trisha’s hands were on you. Her fingers were small and thin and her skin was smooth and cold. You had never noticed before.

The lights in the main room were so bright that you could see everything. Every small piece of leather that had flaked off each of the couches and landed on the dirty, carpeted floor. The carpet itself was covered in dust and dirt and leaves. Where did the leaves come from? you wondered. How did they get tracked inside? Weren’t people wiping their shoes like they were supposed to?

There were people moving around. Naked. Half-naked. Clothed. All talking over each other. And blood. Bright red blood. One of the women, with long gold hair, was covered in it, shrieking in pain with both her hands on her hip. Two others guided her past you towards the back. One of Joel’s men was apologizing to Larry. He had black curly hair and a thick mustache. Larry was screaming in his face.

You saw Joel from the back as he pushed himself up from the couch. His shoulder rose and fell with deep, heaving breaths. There was blood dripping from his fist and there was someone beneath him. Once he stepped away, you saw an oblong fleshy ball of bright red where a face should have been. The body beneath the ball didn’t move. 

You folded in half and started heaving. Trisha shrieked in your ear. 

“I’m so sick of you assholes coming here and-and-and-and–” Larry was caught in a loop as he pulled his gun from his pocket. It was a small revolver. You watched his gray-skinned thumb pull back the hammer. “I’m sure! I’m sure!” he yelled over the shouting.

The man with the black curly hair lunged at Larry with a curse. 

The gun-shot stilled everyone in the room. It was loud enough that for a moment, you thought you had been shot. The vibrations pierced you to the very center of your being. But then… Larry was on the floor. Sprinkled with dust from the ceiling tile. And then there was more blood. Bright red blood spilling out from his body. 

You breathed in relief. Not only that you were still alive, but that it was Larry that was dead. For a few beautiful seconds, you felt free. Free from his bullshit and free from the brothel. Free to go back to the quarantine zone and start over again.

Trisha’s smooth fingers pulled one of your arms, but something warm and calloused pulled your other. You looked up, confused. It was Joel. Joel’s hand, which had been on you only minutes previous, felt so strange and unfamiliar. You had just shared a bed with him but–that had been a different man. Certainly different than the one that stood before you now with blood-splattered on his clothes and sweat beading around his temples. 

“You can’t take her!” Trisha cried, tears pouring out her eyes. “You can’t take her!”

“Sorry, darlin’,” he said. Joel’s eyes looked sad. “She’s mine now.”

Terror fell over you like a cold, biting wind. He was talking about you.

Your body started trembling again. You tried and failed to pull your arm away from his grip. “NO!” You shouted. Your vision went blurry as you sobbed. “Don’t take me! Please!” That was why you couldn’t stop thinking about Carrie. Joel had bought Carrie. Trisha had told you that Joel had bought Carrie. But the information hadn’t clicked into place. You had spent so long avoiding your body, avoiding feeling any emotion at all that when it spent all night trying to warn you, you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t feel the siren in your gut telling you to stay away from Joel. And now that siren was loud and clear. But it was far too late for you to do anything about it. “Don’t take me! Pleasepleaseplease!”

Joel didn’t budge. He leaned in real close to you. “Now you told me you like bein told what to do.” Your face went fiery hot with shame. He yanked your arm, pulling you from Tasha’s grip. “And right now, I’m tellin you that you’re comin with me.” He continued to pull you out the front door, towards his truck.

“No! Nonono!” You cried. You tried one more time to shake him off, but it was pointless. He was too strong. You were too weak. And you started to wonder if you could have prevented this or if it was simply your fate. Your own boss hadn’t been able to say ‘no’ to these men. What could someone like you have done?

You sobbed into your hands as you sat in the truck. The man with the black curly hair got in the driver’s seat. Joel sat on the other side of you and rubbed your back in some sick attempt at comfort. “You be good for me–” he said, adjusting himself. “--then we’ll see what you get.” 

+++++

a/n: Please let me know if I missed a tag. Also, idk if it's really a DDDNE story or not. ??

story title taken from the song "Mary the Ice Cube" by Primus.

[venture4treasure]

"Footnote"

Words: 1065

Premise: Venture and Ex-Talon!Reader talk about history to-be.

Warnings: Scars, Description of violence 

Sprawled out across Venture’s lap with the afternoon sun warming your back is one of the most pleasant ways to spend your down time. You shove your face into the pillow between you and Venture, mind begging for a nap. They rest their hand on your back, tracing down the shape of your spine, you melt into the feeling. Their hand sneaks under your shirt and trails back up your back. You can feel their calluses against your skin, scratching an itch you didn’t realize you had. 

You hear their breath hitch and you lift your head to see what’s caught their attention. Their hand is stopped at the edge of a large scar that tore across your back. The scar tissue is smooth and pale, dipped slightly lower than the rest of your skin. It's also violently jagged and marred, few things could leave a scar like that.

“You can touch it, not like I can feel anything there anymore,” you laugh, trying to bring up the mood. You drop your head back onto the pillow.  

“I did this to you,” Venture frowns, ignoring your comment.

You roll over, turning your back against the couch. Venture’s hand finds its place on your stomach instead. You're a bit annoyed that your afternoon took a turn like this — you could be napping right now. And recalling the story of the scar isn’t nice either, the reminder is enough to make the area tingle with a phantom pain you shouldn’t even be able to feel. 

Nobody forgets how it feels to be on the receiving end of a proper fight with Venture, the tremors and rumble from their drill. The feeling of plates and threads meant for cutting stone against flesh. It’s unforgettable. 

—

You’d genuinely believed you were going to die that day. 

You had been with Talon back then, out in the field to find whatever it was that your commander sent your team out to find. ‘You’ll know when you find it’ was all the details you were given – you’d nearly rolled your eyes at him when you’d been given the order.

The search crossed paths with Overwatch and the Wayfinder Society. It was unlucky that both groups would be at the same site your team was assigned to. You were all ill-prepared to handle Overwatch, much less both organizations at once. You had call the shots, you told your crew to retreat and that whatever consequences Talon had for your cowardice would be easier to handle than if Overwatch had gotten ahold of you guys – despite being Talon-affiliated, your team weren’t bad people and definitely didn’t deserve to be doomed to whatever fate ‘good guys’ wrote for them.

You would’ve gotten away too if Venture hadn’t caught you – your first meeting. They had been mad, screamed and shouted about artifacts and history. You didn’t really register anything about what they were saying, the sound of rushing blood deafened you. You had every intention to put a bullet in their head and book it before any backup arrived. Unfortunately, ever stubborn and skilled, Venture didn’t withdraw at the notion of a gunfight. They fought well with such an unconventional weapon. Impressive in retrospect, but horrifying in the moment. There was no way for you to land a good shot with the way they were moving and defending. No matter how much you backed up, they closed the space between you two faster. 

Too close, you had managed to keep Venture from slamming their excavator into your front point-blank by swinging your rifle at it. The drill sent painful tremors through your arms when your gun made contact – if you had a spare moment, you’d wonder how Venture was even holding it. Having traded your weapon to save your life, you couldn’t do anything when Venture swung again except dive out of the way. 

You weren’t fast enough, the drill ripped through the clothes and flesh of your back and sent you face first into the ground. You had screamed, raw and fear-filled. It seemed to snap some sense into Venture, who shut off their excavator, the silence without the engine was suffocating. They approached you and you could see your own blood drip off the ridges of their weapon. They had a scowl on their face as they radioed their location and reluctantly threw their jacket on your wound and pressed to keep you from bleeding out. They mumbled about how it was the ‘right thing to do’. 

—

“I was on the wrong side of history then,” you shrug, your feigned nonchalance breaking Venture out of their remorseful thoughts. They chuckle a bit. 

“There’s no real wrong side of history,” Venture smiles down at you, their mind now on a different train of thought, “history is written by the winners, and everyone wants to win in the present”. 

You swat at the air, “technicalities and whatever. You think you’re the good guys, no? So, therefore, you should think that I was on the wrong side of history. Simple”.

“Uh-huh,” they say, amused at your logic. 

They watch you with a soft expression, wearing the golden hour sunlight so prettily. Your heart stutters at the sight. 

“Look,” you swallow, “it’s my eternal joy to be able to spend my life as yours”.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Venture coos, unsure where the unprompted affection is coming from, but happy to hear it nonetheless, “I love you t-”

You pull at their shirt, tugging them down to meet them halfway for a kiss. They give into you easily. 

“Sloan- No,” you correct yourself, “Venture”.

Your voice saying their call sign catches their complete attention.

“Venture,” you reiterate, your hand tangling in theirs, “your story was meant for the history books. Venture will be remembered for years and years after we’re all long gone. Venture of the Wayfinder Society, Venture of Overwatch, you’re destined for the spotlight in history. Maybe you’ll even get your own chapter,” you laugh.

“Right or wrong side of history, I’m happy to be just a footnote in your story”, you add softer, “as your lover”.

Venture hisses something in Spanish – you’re certain it’s a swear. 

They squeeze your hand, “Amor, I’ll make sure my story is a good one so you can be proud to be a part of it,” they promise with unwavering conviction. 

“I know,” you breathe, “I know you will, Sloan Cameron”.

Author’s Note: Reader’s fight with Venture was when Overwatch was first building relations with the Wayfinder Society. So, new and inexperienced, Venture mostly fought on instinct and emotion. They aren’t as violent anymore in fights. 

If you made me write out the entire story in my mind, it’s enemies to lovers. Slow burn, but picks up pretty fast once Reader and Venture’s relationship shifts from negative to friendly. During Reader’s time as a captive, Venture is constantly dropping by to share information about artifacts, at first to guilt-trip Reader and later it evolves into a daily routine to share about their day to Reader. Eventually, this relationship convinces Reader to spill what they know about Talon. Venture convinces Overwatch to let Reader go. Now they both live together and fall in love and all that good fun. Cheers! 

Hope it’s not too out of character… I haven’t been able to consume much Venture content lately :( It got harder and harder to get the confidence to write again, so I sat down (reminded myself that I am supposed to be less critical of my writing here) and just wrote whatever I wanted :)

[morphids]

surrender to the sea, hange zoë

pairing: pirate captain!hange x noble!reader, they/them pronouns used for hange with afab anatomy for both

summary: your father’s shady business deals with a pirate crew lead to collateral damage.

warnings: kidnapping, pwp, explicit sexual content 18+, minors dni (consensual no dubcon here), poc friendly!! hange is a freak, r is SO down bad (same), r is dissatisfied w her life, tension, acc insane executions of gay panic, theres so much exposition before the smut im so sorry bear with me, cunnilingus, fingering, general filthiness — enjoy.

wc: 8.8k, sorry i cant stop yapping.

a.n : listen i tried to stop myself but im weak to my own devil thoughts ok hange worshippers wya

—

Jolting, you sat up in your bed, awakened from slumber by a whipping crash, followed by splintered glass cracking on the hardwood floors of your quarters.

Heart thumping in your ears from the shock, your head instinctively turned towards the shattered window, where the translucent fabric of the curtains were being dragged out with the cool night’s wind. Brows furrowing, your gaze turned to a small, thick object on the floor, illuminated by hints of moonlight, presumably the very cause of the shattering.

You felt an odd feeling, something in the wind warning you that you weren’t alone, you looked over your room, checking for anything out of order. There was nothing out of place, it wasn’t until your second skim over the room that you saw it. A shadow in the darkest corner, the corner where light barely hit it, something to do with the measurements of the architecture, you’d been told. It was there though, undeniably.

“Who are you?” You spoke, shakily, loud against the otherwise still atmosphere, your voice caused a small laugh to come from the unknown shadow.

“That’s your first question?” They spoke, an air of condescension about them.

“I should like to know the identity of the person who has broken into my quarters,” You steeled your voice, trying to portray an image of fearlessness though you were betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as they clutched onto the bedsheets for any hope of comfort, “May you at least come out from the shadows?” Your fear was definitely betrayed then, as the person stepped forward, the light now casting shadows over their features.

You looked them over, noticing a slight reflection from the glass in their spectacles, a black band covering one quarter of their face, obscuring the right eye. You shook, this was no person from court, maybe not even from this city. Their hardened features, accessories and strange attire placing them from somewhere else entirely. Who is this stranger? What business have they with you?

You find yourself lacking words, having been woken up in such a way was causing a lack of signals to be sent to and from the brain. You were just staring at them, stunned to silence.

“No more questions, huh?”

“I-I just, am confused,” You responded, blinking away tears that formed as you truly grasped the situation you were in, and anything that could happen from here.

“Well, let me explain then,” they shrugged, “You’re coming with me,”

You ogled, “Coming with you, where exactly?”

“As it turns out, daughters are the best way to get a man to pay up,” They chuckled, you didn’t like the implications of this, at all. What did this have to do with your father? Last you had spoken to him, he was furious at you, having been ‘disrespectful’ to one of the countless suitors he had tried arranging for you. You don’t know why he still bothered; every time each one of the suitors had travelled and began any attempts at courting you, you’d reject them.

“I hope you know I’m not going to marry you,” you’d said to one of them, once. You could almost laugh at the gears turning inside their heads as they looked at you as if you were an entity. You’d add in a couple of comments here and there about how their attempts were foolish and in vain, how they coat their dark intentions behind sweet words and promises. You could always see through them. Plus, it was hard to deny the entertainment you’d get from seeing their flustered faces, set on denying all accusations whilst having no actual defence, before huffing and wandering away, not before having words with your father about how they would never marry such a disobedient and insolent woman. Was this your father trying to teach you a lesson? No. That doesn’t feel right, they emphasised paying up. Pay for what? You wondered, had your father been up to something?

“Unfortunately, that makes you collateral,” they paused, looking down as they adjusted the sword that was clinging onto their side, sheathed away, for now. You hadn’t even noticed it before, shuddering as you realised you were completely defenceless. Not a weapon nearby you could use, even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to formulate an attack, regardless. “So, you’d better listen to what I say, and come with me,”

After a beat, with no response, they continued, “I will only ask nicely once, princess,” Sighing as one hand moved to their hip, the other remained on the hilt of their sword, “I’d prefer to do this cordially, if you wanna make it ugly, that’s your choice.”

You blinked, truly at a loss, what the fuck was happening?

“If I go with you, will you tell me what’s going on?” You hated the way that sounded on your tongue, so helpless and lost— a feeling you resented, pride dissipating and crumbling into a tiny speck.

“You have to come with me to find out,”

—

Wood creaked beneath your feet, steps hesitant as the stranger escorted you along the way, your vision totally blinded as they had wrapped a cloth around your eyes. Closing your senses from the rest of the world, all you could do was rely on the sounds of hectic chatter and sea waves, a salty scent around you.

You’d been walking for what felt like miles, but your manor wasn’t too far away from the sea, that stretched out to meet a vast ocean, the only connection between your country and any others. You knew you had been taken to the coast, based on the cries of seagulls and the humming water.

The stranger’s hand was placed on the lower of your back, guiding you, as well as deterring you from any sudden moves. You probably would’ve tried to run away from them, were it not for the clang of metal that was attached to the stranger’s hip.

“Can you at least tell me your name?”

“I think you’re confused on our roles here, sweetheart,” They chuckled, “You don’t get to order me around,” They added a slight push at your back, emphasising the fact that they hold all the cards, whilst you’re just leverage. That was the only part of this you understood.

Sighing, you sneered your lip. You were starting to get pissed off, this stranger completely disrupted your sleep, blindfolded you, is kidnapping you, and you still have no clue as to why. You needed answers.

Your steps came to a halt, when you felt the stranger press you forward to nudge you, you hardened your legs to the ground.

“I’m not continuing,” A pause, “You said you wanted to do this cordially, then tell me your name,”

The stranger sighed, you could almost hear the roll in their eyes, “Look, we’re almost here, okay?”

“Just a few more steps and then I’ll tell you,”

Another nudge at your back, along with a hand meeting yours, “Watch ya step,” They spoke, guiding you up what felt like a ramp, their hand leading you.

A door slammed behind you, the stranger removed their hands and disappeared for a short time before you felt them behind you again, fingers untying the knotted cloth. You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Were they going to kill you?

Your eyes felt slightly raw after being covered so tightly for that long, after you adjusted to the air and light around you, you could take in your surroundings.

The room was slightly dimmed, lighted only by a few oil lamps that burned away in their designated corners, you noticed countless jars on the shelves, preserving different sea creatures and other things you could not recognise. Notes and maps were scattered all over the floor and the desks, piles of books, rustic and handmade, but neat and organised— in its own way. This was the room of someone who studied and researched, you could recognise the frantic illustrations immediately, could feel the passion that lingered in the room.

The stranger moved in front of you, “You just gonna stare?” Your eyes took them in now, fully in vision this time, with no more shadows to hide behind, no more cloth. Their eyes were a soft, dark brown, layers of hair falling over the sides of their face, the tips rimmed with leftover structure from saltwater. Strong jawline and a strong nose, their glasses sat atop the bridge, leaning down slightly, the black band you noticed before still covering their eye. Their attire consisted of a loose black, long-sleeved shirt, a large slit down the chest area, not tied with the laces, allowing you to see the vast black strings with pendants that made up the necklaces wrapped around their neck. You recognised it as a shirt that was traditionally stitched for men, though they certainly looked much better in it than any man could. Loose black pants which emphasised their slender waist, with dark long boots, you could see scuffing on the edges of them from wear, the laces splitting from frequent tying. You let out a sigh, before speaking.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hange,”

“You’re not from this land,” You say, “You’re a person of the sea,”

Hange hummed, their hand meeting their hip once again.

“Are you going to kill me?”

They let out a laugh, one so inappropriate it almost made you feel stupid, “Sweetheart, if I was going to kill you, d’you think I’d have taken you here?”

“Well, it would’ve been foolish to kill me in my quarters,”

“Leverage needs to be alive to be worthwhile, that’s the whole point,” The way they spoke unnerved you, with their charismatic words and smug voice. Hints of a smirk tugging at their lips.

“Where is ‘here’, anyway?” You didn’t feel stable, the floor rocked up and down slightly, your stomach turning a little as you adjusted to the slight weightlessness of the structure. “We’re on water, I can hear the waves,”

“Don’t worry, we haven’t set sail yet,” They walked over to their desk, moving around some papers, studying its contents, “There’s still business to tend to before we do,” In other words, your father.

You watched them, the way their sword clung and clanked against the hardwood of the desk, their tall stature almost reaching the short ceiling of the cabin, hand splayed on the desk for stability. Hair tied up at the back, with strands spilling out of their tie.

“What’s my purpose here?” Your arms crossed over your stomach, fingers grabbing at the sleeves of loose fabric of your nightdress, feeling vulnerable.

“Your father’s in some trouble,” They chuckled, your heart sank, “He owes me,”

“For what?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions, princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” you replied, voice tensing. “Do not address me as such,” Hange’s lips tilted, noticing your misgivings, the tense shoulders and a quip in your upper lip. Distaste. Interesting.

“Your father’s trying to make you one. Queen Consort, as I’ve heard,” Your brows furrowed.

“I do not follow,”

Hange looked up from their pages, gazing right at you. You tried swallowing, throat dry, as they hoisted themselves off the desk and stepped closer.

“He commissioned us, my crew,” Hange spoke, “To track and retrieve the Marleyan jewel.”

“I thought that was legend, an ancient myth of a mystical jewel, passed down from stories.”

“Oh, it’s very real, my lady.” You sighed, at least they were addressing you properly this time.

“And a very dangerous job, at that.” You stared at Hange, looking for any hints that this was just an elaborate joke. None were found, though. They were serious.

“I lost two good men, almost the rest of my crew for that buffoon,” They sighed, a flash of anger in their eyes, rubbing the skin of their jaw, “We retrieved this jewel, and your father tried to rob me blind, I want compensation.”

“Why would he go to those lengths? I do not understand,”

“For you, princess.”

When you did not answer, Hange continued, “Apparently this was his golden opportunity, get the long-desired jewel to gift the King an offering for your hand to the prince. Establish power and riches, and a good suitor for his daughter.”

Your stomach churned, you knew your father was adamant on marrying you off, but this? This was something different, sinister. You knew Hange was telling the truth, the intricacies of the story fell into place too well to be a lie.

Your father was truly a despicable man, hungry for power, and uncaring of those he stepped on to get to his station. Now you were paying for his greed. You think back to your mother, wishing she had outlived him, maybe you would be different, now.

“He cost me two men, our stock and supplies,” Hange pressed, shaking their head, “I can’t have that.”

“So you take me for ransom?”

“If he is not willing to pay up, I’m taking it upon myself to make him. One way or another, he will pay.”

Tears rimmed the ducts of your eyes, you blinked them away, a futile attempt to not show weakness. You know what that meant, either in physical currency or emotional currency, even if he cared little for you, he’d be paying with the loss of a guaranteed seat. To a man like that, that’s punishment enough. You chewed the corner of your lip, nerves eating you up.

“I can’t believe he’d do this,” You could actually, it was more the disbelief of how quickly your situation had changed, “All to marry me off to a disgusting man, be done with me whilst he sits comfortably,”

“You don’t wish to marry a handsome prince? Live a life of wealth and comfort?” Hange looked amused, almost perplexed that this was against your wishes.

“I wish for nothing of the sort,” You sneered, “I crave a life of my own choosing.”

Hange’s features softened, feeling a tug of pity before shutting the feeling down. They almost related to you, almost. Before reiterating to themselves that you were the same as all the other rich nobles. Wealthy and comfortable in your ostentatious manors, with even more ostentatious dresses, whilst the rest of the population suffered, starved and fought for dregs of burnt bread and half pints of spoiled milk. You were no different. No different.

“Careful, my lady, or I’ll sail this ship with you in it,”

You let out a saddened laugh, “Better than what he was planning for me,” You snuck a glance at the circular port window, watching as people were busying themselves with tasks. Filling up crates of fruits, dried fish, barrels of wine and weapons. You mulled for a second, it could be worse, Hange could’ve killed you at the first meet, or even worse, your father successfully got his hands on the jewel, and shipped you off to live a life with a prince who couldn’t even fold his own clothes, or bathe himself. You could visualise your father sitting back, smug and content as he finally got what he always wanted. Abundant wealth and power.

“I do not wish to stay here.” You said, voice more confident than it had been the entire time. Hange looked up at you, surprise taking over their features, “You may demand whatever compensation you require from my father, but…”

“When you set sail, I wish to come with.”

—

Hange had left the captain’s cabin for quite some time, leaving you inside alone as you couldn’t be allowed on the deck yet, not trusted to not do anything stupid yet. They had to check on a few of the crewmates first. You were an interesting character to say the least, Hange could tell you were stubborn, though that’s normal for a high-born, accustomed to making demands and having them realised. It was easy to imagine you not mixing well at court, with your disregard for hierarchy and noble customs. They almost laughed at your conviction when you said you wished to board the ship, of your own accord. The most determined glaze over your features. That was an unexpected oversight, Hange didn’t expect you to go so willingly. A part of them was relieved, content they didn’t need to make it bloodier than it had to be. They have morals, after all. Hurting an innocent woman would provide no respect amongst their crew, not when the real fish was the father.

The crew’s respect and admiration for the captain of the ship was of utmost importance, they need a leader they could trust and admire, it was easy enough to have mutiny on your hands. The ship was passed down to Hange from their father, but the trust and good dynamic of a solid crew, you have to earn yourself. Hange had established that respect from one of their first expeditions, under their confident lead the ordeal had been speedy and efficient. Hange ordered the rewards to be split and distributed as was deemed fair. With multiple feats over harsh waters and perilous expeditions, Hange had consistently proved themselves as a strong leader, they ran a tight ship and their crew meant everything to them.

*

You sat there in your silly nightdress, ennui eating at your brain as you sat, wishing you could change into something else. Arms wrapped around your legs, looking around as you waited. Deciding to get up, you looked around the room, it was rather nice, for what it was.

You walked up to the shelves, sea oddities neatly placed preserved in jars, with linen labels pinned underneath. You noticed various species, octopi, starfish, eels, crabs and lobsters, and other creatures you had never seen before in your books. There were also drawn illustrations of the anatomy, their organs and bone structure— did Hange do all this?

Your eyes trailed around, landing on the maps and compasses discarded around the tables and floor, with coded markings and notes around certain landmarks, sketches of what you assumed to be distant lands. Looking in awe, wandering at all the things you had never heard of, let alone seen before. Hange must be so knowledgeable, so well-travelled, so.. free. All the things you wished you could be.

Running your fingers over the maps, you jumped back into propriety as the cabin door swung open, Hange’s footsteps filling the room. They looked at you, having noticed your sudden switch in demeanour.

“You inspecting my collection, my lady?” Their back was to you, hanging their outer coat on one of the nail pegs that had been hammered into the wall.

“I’m sorry, I..” You looked down, “I was just curious,”

“It’s alright, I’m quite fond of it myself,” They joined you, standing to your side and looking at where you had been caught touching the delicate papers.

“You did all of this?”

“Is that so surprising?” They chuckled, crossing their arms over their chest. “No,” You paused, “I have just never seen anything quite like this,”

“There are many wonders out in the world, I like to keep note of them,” “For plundering?” You joked, too late to bite it back before it slipped out.

They laughed, “Not everything is to be plundered, sometimes it’s enough to just take it in and observe,”

You looked up at them, there was something you couldn’t quite place about them, yet. They were unlike the pirates you had read about or heard bedtime stories of as a child.

“The world has many corners of beauty, they’re deserving of respect and admiration." Agreeing, you pointed at the display of jars, thinking back to your own research on botany, categorized and illustrated, frowning as you realised it was all left behind. All those hours spent bending your neck under candlelight wasted. “I have a similar collection, pressings of flowers and plants- a little like yours, illustrations and marked under their specifications: edible, toxic, healing,"

Hange looked at you, "Sounds wonderful," unexpecting to have anything in common with someone of your stature, and yet, here they were. "It's all in my quarters, so I doubt I shall see it again," You breathed out, trying to not make it seem like a loss. Hange's gaze turned towards the floor, feeling slightly culpable that they had taken that away from you.

Straightening their back up, they moved back to their satchel, opening it wide and grabbing some folded clothing, jars with some clear liquid, slightly cloudy. Moonshine, you noted. Easier to distil your own rather than paying double for liquor.

“This is for you,” They hummed, holding out their hand waiting for you to walk over and grab them.

“What is it?”

“Provisions,” They shrugged, “And some clothes, we don’t have a lot aboard, but you can have my cast-offs, they were going to be left at the port anyway.”

You looked at them like they had grown seven heads, not expecting sudden kindness from someone who kidnapped you only a few hours ago.

“This where you say ‘thank you, Hange’.” There was the smugness again, an impish look on their features, you rolled your eyes you stepped closer.

Grabbing the items from them, “Thank you, Hange,” You felt meek, under their heavy gaze as you said their name for the first time. It felt strange hearing it from your own mouth, “Any longer in that nightdress and I probably would’ve thrown myself overboard,”

They laughed, “Don’t think you’ll prefer my clothes any more, truthfully, but if you’re going to stay here for now, might as well blend in.”

“Anything is better than this,” You ran your fingers over the fabric.

“Get dressed, it’s mealtime soon,” “You’re letting me eat?”

They looked at you strangely, “I’m not letting a person on my ship starve, I’m not barbaric,” They stated as if it was obvious, it might’ve been, but not to you.

“Thank you,”

Nodding, Hange left you to get changed. Giving you privacy as they shut the door behind them, you waited a few seconds before undressing. You weren’t accustomed to wearing pants, nobility requiring you to wear frilly dresses that cut off your circulation and itched at your neck and wrists, you were rather excited to adorn some comfortable cloth, for once.

As you manoeuvred the loose shirt over your limbs, you noticed a lingering musk of salt and sandalwood? It was rather pleasant, you would normally make your own scented oils and perfumes from boiled flower petals, lavender and honeysuckle, plants native to your country. This scent was uncommon, usually gifted to you at court from wealthy travellers. You lifted the fabric closer to you, inhaling, it truly was divine. Is this what Hange smells like? You couldn't honestly say you hated it.

Slipping your legs through the pants, they were a bit over your standard size, you tucked the wide bottoms into your own boots. You were glad you opted for your hunting boots rather than your daily shoes. Not quite sure that you had put everything on properly, as the fit felt odd. Looking down, everything felt slightly too big and made you feel like a child in adult’s clothing. Frowning you tried tucking in the shirt, though that didn’t really seem to help either.

There was a knock at the cabin door, “Are ya decent?”

The concept made you chuckle, Hange treated you with a lot more respect and propriety than some of the men at court.

“Yes.”

“Never had to knock on my own door before,” Hange joked, letting themselves in, gazing over at you in your fresh clothes. Their smile dropped ever so slightly as their eyes travelled over your new attire. Hange's poet blouse hanging on you, you had, of course, actually tied the laces at the chest, you were a Lady after all. Kinda suits you, they thought, before shrugging it away to hidden corners.

"Does it look alright? It's a little big," "You complaining?" You flustered, not wanting to come across as ungrateful, "Not at all, I-" "I'm messing with you, may I?"

When you nodded, they walked up closer to you, eyes unreadable. You stiffened up, back a little straighter when they brought their hands to the bottom of the blouse. Watching their movements hesitantly, Hange did not make contact with your eyes, they were so close to you. Catching that hint of sandalwood again, almost intoxicating as you honed your vision onto their hands. Looking for anything else to concentrate on, it didn’t help much as Hange focused on undoing the bottom three catches, revealing your uncovered abdomen. They grabbed at the two, now separate hangs of the shirt, your breath hitching when their fingers delicately grazed your bare skin, a minute jerk of your stomach as Hange began tying the fabric together so it fit tighter around your waist. So that was the trick to it, then? You must admit, it was an improvement.

You let out a heavy breath when they were done, and finally stepped away. It was harder to breathe when Hange was that close, you will not let that happen again. Feeling far too clouded upon their proximity, perhaps you were allergic to the fragrance, you reasoned.

“Better?” Their voice lowered, awaiting your judgment,

“Much, thank you.”

—

Mealtime came quickly after, you hadn't expected it to be so busy, or so populated. How many people does it take to effectively run a vessel of this size? Hange led you to the upper deck, evidently the largest space aboard, where mealtimes commonly occurred. A large pot of warm meat stew was being led out by a small woman from the galley, placed upon the floor as the crew grabbed portions as they pleased. Hange passed you a ceramic dish, before ladling a couple spoonfuls into your plate.

Thanking them, you looked around, spotting barely any dining tables or chairs, mainly stools or planks of wood nailed together to form a bench, most taken up by the sailors, as others sat themselves in the grooves on the ship deck, some on the rim of the ship itself. You shall not risk that, you thought, still adjusting to the feeling of a rocking vessel.

“You’re probably used to something more polished, but this is how we eat here,” Hange shrugged, “Try to enjoy the stew, Sasha truly works wonders with very little,”

“Landing at port was a godsend, I used fresh meat this time,” The brunette who brought out the food spoke, overhearing the conversation, who you assumed was Sasha. You stilled, this time? What about every other time, you thought, shuddering. Well, no time to adjust like the present. Sticking the spoon into the stew, you took a mouthful, before looking up at Hange in wonder, eyes wide, “This is delicious,”.

“Thank Sasha, she keeps us all standing,” Hange joked, placing a hand upon Sasha’s shoulder.

“What do you normally eat?” You asked, directing your question over to Sasha,

“Usually what we can grab and preserve for a long time, dried meats, beans, your city has a lovely selection of fruits so we’ve stocked some of those, too!” She smiled at you, and you found that she had quite a comforting presence, feeling at ease, you hoped you could form a friendship with her.

Hange excused themselves, as they had something to attend to with someone called Levi. You watched them as they walked away, interacting with their crewmates, laughing with them over something you couldn’t hear. They definitely knew how to command attention, their entire being was self-assured, and confident in themselves and their abilities. Dragging your eyes away, back to Sasha, who watched you with a smile on her face.

“You’re not what I expected when Hange told us the plan,”

“I hope I haven’t disappointed,” you retorted, not really knowing how else one could respond to that. Sasha simply laughed, “It’s a great deal different, but not disappointing,”.

—

You had remained on the deck, the crew wanting to have a little friendly spar for morale. If this was the only entertainment you could get, you’d gladly take it. Having finally secured a spot on one of the benches, you watched as different spars played themselves out.

After a few, though, it was all starting to become a bit monotonous. Feeling your eyes glaze over, you were suddenly conscious of the fact that you hadn’t had a good nights rest since Hange took you, where would you even sleep tonight?

Your attention was redirected when a crewmember called out Hange’s name, challenging them to a spar. The newly formed crowd cheered as Hange made their way into the sparring space. A smirk on their lips as they vaunted, hand clasping their sword as it was unsheathed. Finally take a good look at it, it was a fine piece of metal, sleek and thin. The handle was adorned with intricate patterned etchings.

You took notice of how Hange handled the blade, slender fingers wrapped around the hilt as they pointed it towards the opponent. No shaking, no hesitation. A sturdy, stable grasp, with an arrogant side smile that captivated you, eyes glued on their movements as the opponent tried to disarm them, unsuccessfully. Hange was slightly more agile, their body flowed like liquid, vivacious as they fought. It seemed like they could almost foresee the man’s footing and which way he’d direct an attack. They must’ve sparred together many times. A few more attempts and Hange trapped his blade, lifting his own up and twisting their arm. His sword fell to the floor with a clang, reverberating against the wooden deck.

“Damn it, Captain!” The opponent yelled out, frustration in his voice as he thought he’d actually win this time, Hange only hung their head back and laughed, the strands of hair that edged down their face slipped back, exposing their jaw and neck. A gentle smile escaped your lips as you watched, they looked so liberated, so strong. Hange truly was an enigmatic figure, they carried themselves with authority that you can’t say you’d ever seen elsewhere. They were charismatic, magnetic, you could see that they truly had the admiration of their crew.

“You’ll have to try harder to beat me,” Hange teased, sheathing their sword, a mischievous glaze in their eyes as they landed on you. Your heart picked up, unable to pull your own gaze away from theirs, almost enchanted when you noticed the corner of their lips tilt up.

Breaking away from the contact, you felt your ears grow warm. Deciding to find the wooden deck the most interesting thing around you, until scuffed boots appeared in your line of vision. Looking up, Hange had stepped closer to you, placing their hand into a pocket of their pants.

“Time to retire, my lady?”

Fumbling, you flustered, “Where am I to sleep?” Members of the crew were scattered, some sleeping on the floor of the deck, some had set up rustic hammocks, whilst others continued to wander the floor.

“In my quarters,” Hange stated as if it was obvious, “Unless you’d prefer to sleep next to that lot,” They pointed at the others, crewmates who slept on their stools with their heads resting on their arms placed on the brim of the ship. The expression on Hange’s face made it clear that they were mocking you, perfectly aware of how you would not prefer that option.

“I fear my spine would crumble,” You jested, your lie blatant.

“Come,” They nudged their head towards the stern of the ship, where the Captain’s private quarters were. Hange’s comfortable room with all the fascinating oddities. You’d much prefer sleeping there, you thought.

Following, Hange led you back to their space, all things considered, you felt rather guarded there. Strangely safe and sound. Something tugged at your mind that Hange wouldn’t stand for anything to happen to you, not even for you specifically— Hange’s crew appeared quite companionable, you attributed that to their leader. You wondered how far those pleasantries extended, what acts of horror were allowed and which were not.

Closing the door behind them, Hange hung up their outer coat on its peg, rolling their shoulders as a minor stretch. Bringing their hands up to the back of their neck, rubbing the tender muscle atop their skin.

You stood, clutching your elbows under crossed arms. The silence in the cabin contrasted the raucous crew outside, some still sparring.

“Was that moonshine?” Your voice broke through the quiet, looking towards the jar of liquid Hange had brought you as 'provisions'. "No, it's grog," "Grog?" "Rum and water," Pulling a face, you continued.

"Is it good?" "Not really, but we don't drink it for its taste." Nodding, you picked up the jar, inspecting. "Did you make it?" Hange scoffed, smirking to themselves, their arms coming to cross over their chest, "It's far easier to steal from merchant ships, they're always overloaded with stock," "I see."

"I think I would like to try it," Hange raised their eyebrows at you, a playful look struck their features. "Oh?" They continued, "I brought it for you, thought you might need a little pick-me-up, have at it."

Uncorking the jar, the aroma of the liquor invaded your senses. "It smells strong," Hange nodded, watching with a devilish face as you brought the rim to your lips. After a gulp, you couldn't hold back a cough as the force of the harsh drink burned through your throat, your lips twisting and your eyebrows squeezing together. "That's revolting," "Yeah, it's pretty bad," Hange laughed, grabbing the jar from you and taking a bigger gulp for themselves, passing it back to you. Truly, you don't know what possessed you to take another sip, but it became easier to tolerate.

A few half hours passed, and you had placed yourself on Hange's wicker couch, your bed for the foreseeable. Arms wrapped around your legs which pressed to your chest. You were definitely feeling the effects of the liquor, tolerance much lower than Hange's, who sat on the floor beside the couch. Feeling far more relaxed, your tongue was a tad looser, speaking to and asking Hange questions you would've otherwise probably not asked. Truthfully, you were curious, there was a lot you wished to learn about them. When you first met Hange, you expected a lot of things, you didn't anticipate them being quite as respectful and honourable towards you as they were. There was more to them than what was seen on the surface, you wanted to see what lay deeper.

"But why? Why do you choose to live a life of piracy? Wouldn't it be far safer to live on land?" "Not everyone is lucky enough to be born atop riches, that's an irregular gift given only to a few," Hange spoke, their words thoughtful despite having drank even more than you, "Life at sea is more forgiving than the hardships on land." "Yes, but... there must be something else, even with the hardships at land?

"No offence, my lady," Pausing, "What would you know of hardship on land? My father worked his hardest, damn near broke his back, just to be cheated and stripped of his dignity by the greed of others." Looking down at your knees, a pull of guilt struck, knowing that it was because of people like you, and your father.

"This was his way of ensuring his own future, on his own terms and not under the boot of the wealthy who build their livelihoods on the backs of others." Hange sighed, taking another sip of grog, "At least on the sea, what you see is what you get, fight for what you want and share the rewards. It's not the most honest work, yes, but it's far more honest than those sitting in ivory towers clicking their fingers for anything they desire."

You watched as Hange spoke, their words were true, honest reflections of everything they stood for. Pirate or not, Hange had more substance than you'd ever encountered in anyone else in your life. More than those who coat their words with sugar, kissing up to their higher-ups all for a sliver of what they had.

Hange passed you the jar, and you swallowed another sip, barely tasting the alcohol by this point. This was the first you had heard of Hange's family. "I understand that," you hummed, "I've always thought it unfair, why others are seen as less based on menial things such as money. I suppose my father was my introduction to that, a part of me has always despised him."

"I wondered why you came with me so willingly, though if I had your father I would probably have been similar." Laughing, you nodded, "Truthfully, I have felt disillusioned from my life, perhaps I wanted something refreshing, a different way of being."

"Besides, you intrigued me, I find you fascinating," Your words slipped out, the grog having seriously impacted your inhibitions. Hange's eyes met yours, impish and deviant. The edge of their lip quipped up, delightfully amused. "Is that right, my lady?" They leaned their weight on their right hand that was pressed against the cabin floor, as their left remained hanging off the leg they had propped up. Your skin burned underneath their gaze, and you found that your tongue shattered. Unable to respond, all you could do was meet their half-lidded stare, thunder in your chest, as it lifted up and down. Shit. "I think that's enough grog for you, princess,"

Breaking contact, you pointed at Hange's shelves, to where their collection lay, clearing your throat before speaking. "Like your collection, it-it's fascinating, I wish I could've grabbed mine," You deflected, altering the matter, anything to stop the thunder in your chest and remember yourself. Anything to stop the blaze before it spread far beyond control.

"When we set sail, you can start a new collection." They softened, "One with all the new plants you'll see,"

—

You felt like shit the following morning. Head thumping with each movement, you could only sit on one of the benches with your hands holding up the weight. "Grog fever?" Sasha's teasing voice rang out through your ears, "Been there."

"This is awful," "First time?" "Obviously," You rubbed your eyes, as Sasha lightly patted you on the back, "You'll survive,"

Two presences joined you and Sasha at your bench, one was shorter with black hair, and the other stood upright, with scraggly blonde hair. "This is Levi, he's the First Mate, pretty much Hange's second in command," Sasha spoke, introducing you, "Don't mind him, he's a bit of an ass." "The other is Reiner, also a bit of an ass," She giggled, finding entertainment within herself.

Levi nodded at you, a silent greeting which you didn't mind as listening and speaking were already hard enough with the thumping in your head. Reiner looked at you, before pulling his hand out to meet yours. "Lovely to meet such a beautiful lady," He declared, eyes scouring down your body, "I'm looking forward to having you aboard," His words reeked with flirtation, his cold eyes geeking you out, discomfiting, not like the handsome brown ones you melted into yesterday.

Almost as if reading your mind, Hange appeared, they had left the ship this morning, as apparently, they had some errands to run. Hange set their hands on Reiner's shoulders, carrying an indistinct countenance. "Reiner, I have matters to discuss, come," They spoke, before walking a few steps ahead, waiting for him near the stern, arms crossed.

"Coming, captain," Reiner followed their lead, you kept glancing over to them as Sasha picked up chatter with Levi. You were straining your ears to catch snippets of their conversation, a little difficult over Sasha's voice in front of you, the little you could make out came from Hange: Not this one.

As you switched your attention back to the table, wondering what the hell that was about, you had just bypassed Sasha's looking towards you, her brows crinkling and face pulling into a look of recognition. Huh, she thought, how about that?

—

As the day passed, the time to set sail was nearing, planned for sometime within the next two days depending on supplies and readiness. Apprehension was harder to ignore, you thought about what your father was currently doing, and his reaction upon discovering you had not been in your chambers the following morning. Mulling, you cackled to yourself, clasping your hand over your mouth to mask the giggles as the gravity of what you had done struck you. Never did you imagine your life to end up in this way.

Hange entered their quarters, hanging up their coat, "What's so funny?" " "I just can't believe what I'm doing," your laughter settled down, breathing returning to standard as Hange placed themselves next to you on the wicker couch. "Yeah? You 'n me, both," They chuckled, pausing, "Hey, uh- I wanted to give you this,"

You studied them, catching a modest element of hesitation on Hange that you weren't familiar with seeing. Hange handed you a book, of beautifully bound brown leather, the spine stitching exposed with light-coloured thread. "What is this for?" "You left your notes behind, so this is for your new collection," You gaped at them, prompting Hange to continue, "For all the new plants you'll see and learn about,"

Wordless, you looked between Hange and the book in your hands, feeling the skin at your cheeks heating up. "Hange, this is- thank you, so much," Nodding, Hange steeled, standing themselves up, nearing the door before speaking, "The shantyman is going to play for a while, the crew loves him, so you don't wanna miss it," It was customary for ships to bring musicians. They'd sing songs and play tunes to boost morale amongst the crew, to carry them through the harrowing nights, and oftentimes even spread their hopes for some romance. You definitely wanted to witness it, Hange held the cabin door open for you as you both made your way to the deck.

The musician was doing his thing, leading the crew in song, banging a drum as melodies rang through the vessel. You noticed Sasha dancing with the crewmembers. It was a little overwhelming, the events you had attended at court were much milder and reserved than this, uppity, really. People would rarely dance, it was almost taboo. This was far distant from that, it was fun, delightful even—almost hedonistic in style.

You weren’t quite sure how to join yourself with them, the dances varying from person to person made it hard to fall into a step. Hange noticed your hesitance, before clasping your hand and pulling you towards them. Their hand resting upon your waist, drawing you tighter as they moved into a dance. The air in your lungs tripped over itself, shortening your breath. Stomach pressed against stomach.

Looking up at them, Hange donned a smug smile, higher up on one side of their mouth as it hung from their lips.

“Dance with me, princess,” Hange hummed, their voice lowered. There came the thunder in your chest again, the blaze was spreading.

“I’ve told you to not address me like that,” You whispered, the contention you planned on executing in your voice was nowhere near where you had planned. Instead, it was mild, for fear that would fumble over your own words, as your tongue shattered once again.

“I can’t help it,” They grinned, skimming over your flustered appearance. You don’t know what kind of sorcery Hange held, what alluring magnetism in their blood drew you to them. You felt yourself begin to melt into their tempting gaze, as you blinked.

“Careful, don’t look at me like that or I might begin to get the wrong idea,” Hange’s head sank towards your neck, your breath hitched. Their proximity was intoxicating, you found you couldn’t bear the weight of it. Pulling yourself away from Hange, you rushed to the cabin, pushing open the door and letting yourself inside.

Letting out a bulky breath, your face was burning up, body temperature way over standard as you rested your hands on Hange’s desk. Clamouring to compose yourself. Hange knocked at the door, before entering. Shutting your eyes, you remained still.

“You okay?” Ignoring them, you relented in your stance. The tension in the room increased, heart pulsing as you heard their footsteps reach close.

“I think I have fever,” You mumbled, Hange was right behind you now. You could feel their warmth reaching your back.

“Stand and face me, dear,” An assertive hand maintained at your waist, turning your body toward them Hange held down your gaze, keeping their hand in its place, squeezing. “This is no fever,”

Their free hand came to meet your jaw, thumb ghosting over the soft skin. Hange lowered their head towards you, their face so near, your sanity was in a thick haze, heavy and clouded. "I can see the dark in your eyes, my lady," Hange hummed, relishing in the glaze in your eyes, at the darkness pooling in your pupils as you glimmered up at them, eyes doe and lips plump from biting. The heat from their voice raised your skin, touring down your spine as an ache between your thighs pulsed.

Hange's lips brushed against the velvety flesh at the base of your neck, tentative. You shivered as you felt their lips leave delicate kisses, hand tightening around your waist. You shut your eyes, reeling in the sensation as Hange's igniting touch drew shaky breaths. Thighs clenched together as their lips reached the base of your ear, teeth tugging at the skin. You whimpered, as Hange's hands grabbed at the top of your thighs, just underneath the curve of your ass as they directed you to the top of the desk. Placing themselves between your thighs, before whispering, "Will you indulge me, dear?" With another kiss on your ear, you crumbled, arms wrapping around Hange's neck as your legs folded around their waist.

"Please, Hange, I can't bear it," You panted, core clenching around nothing, as desperation took over. Hange sighed, hearing their name fall from your lips as your body trembled was a sight to behold. Their lips finally landed on yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. Quivering hands grabbed at the back of their head, tightening around Hange's hair, trying to release the buildup of tension in your bones.

Lips broke apart, "Do you know what it does me seeing you wear my clothes?" Voice impassioned, almost hoarse. The hand at your hip moved to the catches at your shirt, reminiscent of the way they grazed your skin that day. Undoing the catches, your abdomen and breasts exposed, goosebumps forming from the sudden coolness of the air. Hange observed as your stomach jerked, smirking as they watched how your body responded. Hand slipping in between the open fabric, meeting the bare skin as you gasped before the shirt slid off your shoulders and onto the cabin floor.

Hange whined at your revealed skin and dishevelled state, the most disordered they had seen you. Their hand cupped your breast, watching as your lips parted and the sweetest cries escaped. Fingers stroking at your hardened nipples, as your pants were slowly being dragged down your legs. Your hips squirmed as Hange went on their knees, head just at the top of your shins. One hand still massaged your nipple whilst the other was around your ankle, holding your leg in place as they lapped their tongue up the skin, retaining steady eye contact. As their tongue reached your inner thigh, your head hung back, and you bit back choked whimpers, hips jolting with anticipation.

"Hange," you rasped, squeezing your thighs around their head, your nails coming to meet the top of the back, "Yes, my dear?" "Please," you pleaded, you had already come this far, you needed to feel it through, you could barely sit up, losing strength in your back. "Patience, sweetheart,"

Fingers left your breasts and made their way to the hem of your underwear. Hange bit their lip at the line of the dampness that had seeped through the thin fabric. "Fuck," they mumbled, tugging the material down where it remained hanging at your ankles, so dishevelled, so messy.

The tips of Hange’s slender fingers reached your dripping heat, arousal covering your thighs as they ghosted sensual touches over your warm slit, puffed and leaking. Thighs tensing as the feeling released itself as strangled whines. Hange was obsessed, exhilarated by the sweet sounds that left your dear lips.

“Fuck, Hange,” Hips rolling into their fingers, pressing closer for more touch, chasing the sensation as it came, "That feels fucking good," "Such rotten language," Hange taunted, the tip of their finger burying into your soaking entrance, stretching the silky walls, “Looks like I’ve been a bad influence,”

Leaving a few more kisses on your thigh, Hange stood back up to reconnect your lips, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip. The kiss successfully distracted you, as more fingers entered, slowly rocking into your flesh, as bliss overtook the initial sting. Hips began to tilt, grinding against the pressure. The sounds leaving you were indecent, vulgar, as Hange augmented the pace, rocking their fingers into you. Suddenly you were glad for the singing out in the deck, obscuring the noise within the cabin. Your head fell into their neck, whining as you could only sit there and take it. Fingers stuffing your swollen centre, pressing against the squishy barriers.

The muscles in your abdomen tensed, clenching around Hange's fingers as your hips buckled. "That's it, dear, you're taking it so, so well," Your eyebrows pinched together, voice escaping you, "Taking me like such a good girl,". Hange spoke, voice purring. That was the nail in the coffin; the honey in their words, the strain in their voice as you felt your release shattering through you. Hips convulsed as your arousal spilled all over Hange's fingers, grabbing their shoulders for support. A few more pumps and Hange removed their fingers, looking down at your clenching hole at the trickling cum, their hand completely drenched.

Hange kissed you, before you broke away and uttered words that led Hange to understand they could never have their fill, "More, please," you begged, voice breathy and whiny as you tightened your legs around their waist. Chuckling, endeared Hange responded, "My, my, dear, you're truly filthy."

Hange moved themselves down to your pussy, still swollen despite its release. With a quick glance back towards you, cheeks flustered and eyes black. Desire tensed your features as your chest heaved up and down, breasts exposed and legs spread, quaking. Such a heavenly sight.

A touch over your slit, Hange spat on your folds, the sight eliciting languid moans from you. It truly was filthy. Pussy clenching with desperation as it grazed you, spreading down your slit with the weight of gravity. Hange pressed their tongue against it, carelessly lapping up the cum that had been leaking out of you. Frenzied guttural groans liberated into your centre as they sucked, the vibrations left you reeling as your hand came to clasp your breast, kneading. Trailing over your own nipple, Hange was not about to accept that, slapping your hand away and rolling their fingers over the bud.

Overstimulation left you choking, tears spilling from your lids as Hange worked their warm tongue over your sensitive folds, drinking in the saltiness as one hand played with your nipple and the other ghosted over your opening. Thighs tightened around their head, cutting off Hange's air supply as you rutted your hips over their face, pushing yourself closer against their tongue. Nose nudging over your clit as their head bounced against you.

“Hange, fuck— I’m, mhm- I’m gonna cum, please let me come,” You babbled, stammering. Needy. You took them in, nose, chin and cheeks wet from your arousal, saliva running down; their eyebrows pulled together with determination and eyes rolling with indulgence, as if you were the tastiest meal they ever had. The taught restraint you had carried your entire life totally dissipated as you surrendered to Hange’s command over your body. Fingers filling into you, knuckles deep, rubbing over the squishy flesh. The added penetration forced out the second catharsis, sucking Hange in as you released over their face, tainting their glasses.

Resting your back on the desk, breaths heavy as you came down from whatever entity had possessed you. Panting. You covered your face with your hands, as your clandestine actions struck you. The drunken, indecent impropriety you fell into and enjoyed.

“No use being bashful now, my lady,” They teased, dragging away the hands that obscured your face. Grabbing your face, reconnecting your lips with gentle touches. Kisses so tender you couldn’t find it within yourself to see anything wrong.

How could something so honeyed be perverse?

—

um yeah, this is my application to hell…

[kingofthe-egirls]

CURIOUS: MONSTER TRIO x OC

fox tales

(cw: threesome, est relationship, zoro walks in, cunnilingus, blowjob, fingering, handjob, kissing lol)

(a/n: yes i know i double songs in my fics but it's what i'm listening to lol)

Songs: "Ain't It Fun" by Paramore

words: 2.1k

“Holy fuck,” you breathe, curling forward with your hands in Luffy’s hair. He’s licking at your clit with abandon, two fingers pistoning in and out of you at a breakneck speed. Your third orgasm for the night crests over you like a wave, and you shudder in his hands.

“Atta girl,” he says, grinning wide with your slick shining across his face. “Cum for me again?” He kisses the inside of your thigh, crooking his fingers up inside you. You gasp.

“Y-yes sir…,” you manage out, sweat pouring down your temples. Your body is twitchy, blissed out, and warm where it presses into the kitchen counter. Sanji was somewhere off to the side, cleaning up after his own turn eating you out.

Luffy wanted you all to himself, now.

But apparently the world had other plans, because the door swings open with a bang.

“Sanji—!” You gasp out, covering your chest, “I thought you locked the door!!!”

“Mon cherie—,” Sanji starts, whirling from where he’d been standing at the sink with his sleeves pushed up over muscular forearms. Then all three of you freeze.

“So that’s where you’ve all been disappearing off to.” A deadpan voice speaks from the doorway.

You peak over Luffy’s head, who’s gone terribly still from between your legs. Zoro is standing framed by light with his arms folded over his chest. Your thighs shake where they’re draped over your captain’s shoulders. He presses a kiss to your clit, and you shiver.

“Luffy?” You peek down at him, and he’s regarding you with deadly calm. You swallow, skin shivering with a light sheen of sweat. Your tails are pressed against your back.

“Did ya want him ta watch?” Luffy asks you, voice coarse. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, experimentally. “I don’t mind, kitty cat.”

“Um—,” you squeak, hiding your head in your hands. Breath is coming in short bursts, your veins are popping with firecrackers, and you can’t think with the sound of Sanji and Zoro bickering over you, plus the sliding of Luffy’s fingers is all just too much—

“STOP!”

You shout, fists banging against the wall behind you. The tile is cool as you hit it with a dull thud. You breathe, ragged and sharp. The three men all stare at you, silent.

“You can stay if you want,” you regard Zoro over the top of Luffy’s head, your hand still buried in the raven locks. “But you can’t keep arguing,” you shoot a glare over at Sanji, who starts babbling out apologies. You ignore him, waving him off with a huff.

Zoro is staring at you with steel in his eye.

“Why did you barge in here?” You ask him, unraveling your legs from Luffy’s neck. You’re naked, completely on display for the swordsman. Zoro clears his throat.

“Curious,” is all he says.

You flick an eyebrow. “C’mere, then.”

Slowly, steadily, he stalks toward you. Like a tiger in the rushes, ready to pounce. Luffy stands, hovering at your side with fidgety hands.

“H-he’s really nice, Vasya!” He stammers, skimming his knuckles up your thighs. He places a kiss to the underside of your jaw. He whispers in your ear, “I won’t let him do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“I know,” you murmur, kissing Luffy’s temple while maintaining eye contact with Zoro. Neither of you have broken it yet, and neither of you have even blinked. You haven’t gotten to know the swordsman quite yet, wary of his broad shoulders and glinting blades. But you feel how he protects the crew, especially Luffy, and Luffy is special to you.

Zoro stands an inch away from your skin, hovering just in front of your knees. Sitting on the counter means you’re at eye level with him. His jaw clenches.

You cock your chin at him. “Kiss me?” You ask, voice betraying the tremor you feel in your gut. You’ve already cum like, four times in the last hour. Both Luffy and Sanji now were hanging at either side of you, with Zoro in the middle.

You want to be in the middle.

Zoro delicately traces his calloused fingertips along your cheekbone. Tingles follow in their wake. He breaks eye contact to look at Luffy.

“S’alright, captain?”

Luffy is looking at you, so you nod in answer. Luffy nods too. He squeezes your hand where it rests on your thigh. Sanji strokes your hair.

The kitchen light sways slightly, as the ship rocks in the waves. Zoro traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and leans in.

He tastes like sea salt.

“Mmph,” you hum, as he suddenly deepens the kiss. The hand that isn’t held by Luffy goes to stroke through Zoro’s green hair, feeling it damp with sweat.

“Been working out?” You tease against his lips. He only grunts in response, wrapping a strong hand around your waist. It easily spans half the width of your torso. “Fuck…,” you whisper, and he smirks into the kiss.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb along your ribs. You want him to touch higher, harder. Hotter.

“Kitty?” Luffy tugs on a lock of your hair, and you break away from Zoro’s heated gaze long enough to look at Luffy instead. He’s pouting. “Me next?”

You flush, and lean forward to lick your way past his lips. He hums in appreciation, and not-so-subtly moves Zoro out of the way. He wants to press into your heat, feel your skin beneath his hands.

“Is this the way it usually is?” Zoro quietly asks the cook. His fingers dance along your scabby knees. You shiver under his touch, and hear the cook giggle from somewhere to the left. His hands have moved from your hair to your neck, where they hold you still for Luffy to kiss. He tastes immaculate under your tongue.

“More or less,” Sanji admits. “Captain doesn’t like sharing what’s his.”

“Hmph.” Zoro grunts in response, and you can’t help but grin. Being wanted by three of these monstrous men?

How much better could it get?

“Luuuffyyy,” you hum against his lips. Your boyfriend moans, not wanting to give up his turn just yet. He bites at your bottom lip.

“Want him ta make ya cum?” He asks, hoarse, his forehead pressed to yours. His warmth radiates through you, making your toes curl. You run your fingers through his silky hair.

“Mhmm,” you nod, still focused only on Luffy. He needs your attention right now, and you’re more than happy to give it to him. You tilt an eyebrow. “If he can.”

Luffy snickers.

“Your turn,” he says to Zoro, after stepping aside. Luffy turns to hop up on the counter next to you, and kicks a heel into the cabinets below. His other leg is bent up on the counter, arm thrown haphazard over his knee.

His other arm snakes around your hips, holding you close as he leans his warm weight into your side. Zoro stands between your legs.

“Well,” Luffy says, leveling a heavy gaze at his first mate, “Kneel.”

Zoro obeys.

****

Which is how you ended up with three men’s mouths happily pleasuring you all at once.

Sanji is buried between your tits, going from sucking hard on your nipples to playing with them roughly with his slender fingertips. Luffy is taking all of your attention for himself, having grabbed your face in both hands for a kiss and hasn’t let go since. He moans, and mutters sweet praises into your lips that you greedily swallow like honey in your tea.

And Zoro.

Zoro.

He is still kneeling on the kitchen tile, head buried between your thighs. His jaw is apparently just as strong as the rest of him (but that doesn’t surprise you, three-sword-style and all), because he keeps lapping at your clit with the same, ferocious pace as what he started with.

He laves his soft, wide tongue across the entrance of your pussy, and tentatively pokes in. You start, gasping with your legs clenched, and then Zoro is fucking you with his tongue. His hand comes up to rub greedy circles at your clit, using the pads of his third and fourth fingers. The friction electrifies you, completely.

“F-fuck, Zo—,” you gasp out, breaking the kiss with Luffy, who whines. He leans in to start nipping at your chin, leaving love bites all the way down your neck. Tomorrow you’re sure it’ll be decorated with lovely, toothy blotches that bloom violet against your skin. Luffy noses at your jaw.

“Is he doin’ good?” He asks, voice ragged and hazy. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

“Mhmm,” you manage out.

“Good girl,” he praises you, before diving back in to shove his tongue down your throat. You take him, gladly. Luffy is moaning into your mouth with abandon, his hands frisking in your hair like there’s no tomorrow. Zoro laps at your clit, opting to move his fingers down to play with your pussy again. You groan.

“Luuffyyyyy,” you whine, and he knocks his forehead against yours, “Feels good…want more of you.” You pout up at him with bitten lips, and heat flashes in his eyes. He stands on the counter, unbuttoning his shorts with his pelvis now level with your face.

Sanji gasps against your neck, where he’d started licking up and down as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. “M-me too, mon cherie,” he says as he fumbles with his belt. You dive your hand beneath his trousers, bypassing his boxers to close your fist around his dick. Sanji is long and thick, with a rosy head that feels so good pulsing against your hand. You start pumping him in time with Zoro’s rhythm. He grins between your legs.

“Cock hungry, aren’t ya?”

“How could I not be?” You laugh, face flushed. “Look at you three.”

Luffy giggles, having stripped off his shorts and is now eagerly awaiting your velvet mouth. “Like what you see?” He cocks an eyebrow as he starts pumping his own cock, inches from your face.

You stick your tongue out, sweeping up the underside of his shaft only to lick at the glistening precum gathered at his tip. Luffy’s cock is solid, thicker than Sanji’s with a bronzed head that makes your mouth water. You lick up his shaft again.

“Love it,” you confess, and start bucking your hips into Zoro’s face. He lets you grind against him, pushing up the flat of his tongue against your heat.

Sanji moans against your neck, palming at your breasts with shaky hands. His cheeks are blushing so sweetly, like the strawberry soda he poured for you earlier. You can still taste it on his lips.

“Good boy, Sanji,” you croon, kissing the top of his head. He gets so whiny, when he’s like this. Not that you mind. His beautiful, boyish features blushed and pleasured just from your touch alone is enough to light a fire beneath your ego. You feel it inflate like a hot air balloon, but you can’t do anything besides take it for a ride.

Zoro’s getting you there soon, anyway.

You pant against Sanji’s head, his hair glinting soft under your cheek. You press a kiss to his head again. “Come for me?” You pant, reaching up with your other hand to palm Luffy’s cock. You couldn’t take him down your throat right now; you needed to breathe.

Luffy wraps his hands around yours, and starts fucking your fist with pistoning hips. You moan, letting a wave of pleasure swell up inside you. You were gonna—

“Fuck!” You scream, curling forward with your hands full of cock, and your pussy full of Zoro’s tongue. He grins from where he’s fucking you through your orgasm, tracing careful circles on your clit as you cum. He slows down, eventually, as your breathing evens out. Flustered and high, you turn your attention back to the boys at your sides.

“F-faster,” Luffy moans, as Sanji messily licks against your collarbone. Luffy speed-demons his way to orgasm, hips slamming against your fist until he’s spurting hot, white cum all over your face and hand. He shoves it into your mouth, making you take his length as he spasms and gasps his way through ecstasy.

You gasp, choked, and muffle out a moan as Sanji squeezes a delicate hand around your throat. Luffy grunts something unintelligible and feral as he feels the pressure tighten.

“Ganna—,” he stutters, “Cum again,” and shudders down your throat.

You take it, hot and delicious, as Sanji pulses his grasp on your throat. Stars dance behind your eyes as Zoro slowly stands up, regarding you with such emerald ferocity you don’t know what to do.

You glance down to see a hot, shining cock in the swordsman’s deft hand, brown tip disappearing in and out of his cum-covered fist. His head tips back as strokes it, grunting in pleasure after bringing himself over the edge with you. You all pant, lost in the bubbles of afterglow as you all recover.

“Fuck,” Zoro finally says. “That was fun.”

****

[doormatty3]

Set Nerves (Patrick Wilson x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Female Reader] [Patrick Wilson x You] Acting has always been your passion, but the leap from a small indie film to a big Hollywood production is overwhelming—the set, the people, the intimate scenes. You’ve never even kissed someone on screen, let alone acted out a sex scene. Luckily, your co-star Patrick, with his striking blue eyes and kind smile, has agreed to help you. And how could you possibly refuse when his promise of a home-cooked meal and practise ignites a fire in you that feels like more? OR: How intimate scenes do not work in Hollywood 101

Wordcount: 10,895

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal sex, fluff, smut, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex, flirting, cunnilingus

A/N: The main idea from this stems from a dream I had… make of that what you will

You arrive on set and you don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous in your life.  

This isn’t your first film gig - far from it - but you’ve mostly been in indie movies with small casts, small sets, and small expectations. 

But this? This is Hollywood. And you’re fucking terrified.

When your agent called to tell you about the movie, you were overjoyed. But that joy quickly morphed into fear when you read the script. It’s a pretty standard action thriller, but you’re cast as the female lead - the one who shares romantic scenes with the male lead, Patrick Wilson. 

You’ve never even kissed someone on camera, let alone acted out a sex scene. So, you can only hope Patrick is cool and will help you through it and not be annoyed at the mistakes you will definitely make.

As you walk through the bustling set, you see people everywhere, buzzing around and busy. You scan the area for the director and main crew and spot them in a huddle, engaged in deep conversation.

You don’t know most of the people but among them is a very handsome man standing with his back to you. 

He’s tall, with a muscular, broad back that strains the jacket he’s wearing. His short brown hair curls around his ears and the nape of his neck. 

When he turns, you catch his side profile - a straight nose, prominent brows, and plump, pink lips curled into a smile as he laughs. Mesmerised, you trail your eyes over his face, taking notice of how the skin around his eyes crinkles when he laughs and how he throws his head back.

You snap out of your reverie and make your way to them.

The director spots you and waves you over, breaking into a welcoming smile.

"Ah, there she is! Everyone, this is our leading lady," he announces. "And this," he gestures to the handsome man you noticed earlier, "is Patrick Wilson."

Patrick turns fully towards you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

Up close, he’s even more attractive than you initially thought - tall and broad, with a magnetic presence. His eyes, a striking hue of blue, seem to sparkle with an inner light, and his smile is warm and genuine, radiating kindness. There is an inexplicable charm about him, something that reminds you of the serene morning breeze over calm water. 

Now you notice the salt-and-pepper stubble that adorns his face, adding a scruffy, rugged charm to his already captivating appearance. His effortlessly confident yet inviting demeanour draws you in, making it hard to look away.

"Nice to meet you," Patrick says, extending his hand. "I’ve heard great things about you."

You shake his hand, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your grip. 

"Nice to meet you too, Patrick," you manage to say, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. 

As you clasp his hand, you marvel at the way it envelops yours completely. The nails are carefully trimmed, and his fingers are thick and strong, yet his touch is gentle and warm. 

The moment lingers longer than you expect, and you can’t help but notice the subtle roughness of his skin. The sensation of his hand in yours, combined with his striking presence, leaves you slightly breathless. You find yourself momentarily lost in the depths of his blue eyes, which seem to hold you captive. 

You are rudely snapped out of your reverie when the director and crew are called away, leaving you and Patrick standing alone amidst the set.

Patrick entirely turns to you, stepping a bit closer, his smile softening into one of genuine concern. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice gentle. "You seem a bit nervous."

You let out a shy laugh, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Is it that obvious?"

"A little," he admits with a chuckle, the soft smile still etched onto his face. "But it’s completely normal. First days are always a bit overwhelming, especially on a big set like this."

As he speaks, he places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeps through your clothes and resonates deep within you as you feel the strength and comfort he offers. You also catch a whiff of his cologne, a subtle, intoxicating scent that makes your head swim slightly.

You take a deep breath, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thanks. It’s just... this is all so new to me. I’ve never done anything on this scale before."

Patrick nods, his expression understanding. "Don’t worry. We’ll take it one step at a time. If you need anything or have any questions, just let me know. We’re in this together.

His reassuring words and kind demeanour, combined with the physical contact, send a pleasant shiver down your spine. 

"Thanks, Patrick. That means a lot," you say, looking into his blue eyes and feeling a spark between you.

He smiles again, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment longer before he lets go. "We’ve got this," he says confidently, and you can’t help but believe him.

Patrick’s eyes sparkle with kindness, and his smile is dazzling and warm. He’s easy to talk to, his laughter infectious, and before long, you feel the initial tension begin to dissolve.

As you talk, you notice how the light catches the wispy locks of hair around his ear, casting a golden halo that accentuates his strong jawline.

At some point, he tilts his head slightly and asks, "Hey," his voice soft, and his eyes trail onto yours, "I was thinking... if you’re still feeling nervous, maybe you could come over to my place this evening? We can go over the script together and maybe have some food. I think it might help put you more at ease if we talked about it a bit."

You feel your heart skip a beat, the invitation both exciting and nerve-wracking. But the way he looks at you, so earnest and handsome, with his eyes gleaming under the set lights, makes it hard to say anything but yes.

His sincerity is disarming, and the idea of spending more time with him is unexpectedly appealing. "Really?" you say, your voice betraying a mix of surprise and eagerness.

"Yeah," he replies, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. He tilts his head, and the light catches in his eyes, making them glow like sapphires. "It’ll be good to get comfortable with each other off-set. Plus, I make a mean pasta," he adds with a playful grin, his lips curving in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

"That sounds great," you say, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. "I’d like that."

Patrick’s smile widens, and for a moment, the chaotic set fades into the background. "Perfect. I’ll text you the address. See you at seven?"

"Seven it is," you agree, already feeling a little more confident about the days ahead. The thought of spending the evening with him, getting to know him better, brings a warmth that eases your earlier anxieties.

_____

You arrive at Patrick’s place at seven, taking a deep breath before stepping out of your car. You didn’t really dress up, knowing that this was meant to be a professional meeting. Still, you opted for a sweater and pants that accentuate your figure and make you feel good about yourself.

Your nerves spike as you ring the doorbell. Moments later, the door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat once more - he seems to have that effect on you.

Patrick stands before you in a simple white t-shirt and jeans. The shirt clings deliciously to his defined biceps, and you can’t help but admire how the fabric stretches across his chest. His blue eyes are striking in the soft light of his house, and his hair is combed back, looking soft and touchable.

"Hey," he greets you with a friendly smile, the same genuine warmth you’ve grown accustomed to. "Come on in."

Before you can say anything, he pulls you into a hug. You melt into his embrace as his strong body envelops you, and you’re engulfed in his intoxicating scent, a mix of cologne and something distinctly him. It’s a brief moment that leaves you feeling both comforted and slightly flustered.

"I made carbonara. I hope that’s okay, " he says, releasing you gently, and you find yourself missing his warmth instantly. 

"That sounds perfect," you say, your voice steadier now. As you follow him inside, you notice the dining table already set with plates and a bottle of wine. The soft lighting casts a cosy glow, making the scene feel unexpectedly intimate.

"Wow, you went all out," you say, smiling at him.

"I wanted to make sure we had a comfortable setting to go over the script," he replies, his eyes twinkling. "Plus, I enjoy cooking. I hope you’re hungry."

"Starving," you admit, feeling more at ease with every passing moment.

He pulls out a chair for you, and you sit down, grateful for his thoughtfulness. "This looks amazing," you say, glancing at the beautifully prepared meal.

Patrick sits across from you, pouring the wine. "Let’s eat first, and then we can dive into the script," he suggests. As he hands you a glass, his fingers brush against yours, sending a spark of electricity through you.

You clink glasses, his smile reassuring you as the evening begins, and you start to feel that maybe, just maybe , this will be a night to remember for all the right reasons.

_____

The conversation flows easily as you sit across from each other, the aroma of the pasta mingling with the rich scent of the wine. You take a bite, savouring the flavours.

"This is amazing, Patrick," you say, genuinely impressed. "You weren’t kidding about being a good cook."

"Thanks," he grins, a boyish charm lighting up his face. "Glad you like it. Cooking is a bit of a hobby of mine."

As the meal progresses, you feel the pleasant buzz from the wine, making you more relaxed. 

Eventually, the conversation shifts to the script. You go over a few scenes, discussing your characters and their dynamics.

Patrick leans back in his chair, swirling his wine. "I remember the first time I had to kiss someone in a movie," he says, his eyes twinkling with the memory.

You feel your cheeks heat up, a blush creeping across your face. You look down at your glass, feeling a bit self-conscious. "I’ve never done it," you admit quietly.

Patrick’s expression softens, and he reaches across the table to gently touch your hand; the contact sends a shiver through you. 

"Hey, don’t worry about it," he says reassuringly. "It’s completely normal to be nervous. The first time, I was a wreck . But it’s all about trust and making sure both of us are comfortable."

You look up at him, appreciating his understanding. "It’s just... a bit intimidating," you confess.

He nods, giving your hand a comforting squeeze before letting go. "I get it. But we’ll take it slow, okay? If there’s anything you need or any way I can help, just let me know."

"I don’t even know the difference between a real kiss and a movie kiss," you confess, feeling a bit embarrassed. "How do you make it look real without it being, well, real ?"

He leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, sincere and kind. "A movie kiss is all about angles and chemistry. It’s not as intimate as it looks. You’re thinking about the camera, the lighting, hitting your marks. It’s more technical than passionate."

"I can’t imagine it," you say, shaking your head slightly. "It just baffles me for some reason…"

Patrick’s smile is gentle as he continues. "It’s a unique experience for sure, especially if it’s your first time. But trust me, once you’re in the moment, it becomes about the scene and the characters. We’ll take it slow, I promise."

His words soothe you, and you nod, feeling more at ease. "Thanks, Patrick."

"We’ll get through it together," he promises, his eyes twinkling with reassurance. There’s a brief pause before he takes a deep breath, his gaze flickering to your lips for a moment so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it, "I could show you if you want to"

You’re taken aback by the suggestion, your heart skipping a beat. " Show ..me?" you ask, a bit puzzled. 

A part of you hopes he means that he could demonstrate a kiss, and unconsciously, your eyes flicker to his lips, thinking about how kissable they look. You wonder how it would feel, the brush of his stubble against your skin, the taste of his lips. The thought sends a tingling sensation through you, and you quickly avert your gaze, feeling slightly embarrassed by your wandering thoughts.

You reach for the wine glass to take a sip and compose yourself.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he says sincerely. "I just thought it might help to visualise it…."

His consideration for your feelings warms your heart. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse. "No, I think... I think it would actually help," you admit quietly, your heart beating quickly in your chest.

"Okay," Patrick says softly, his smile turning encouraging. "Just relax. It’s just acting."

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Patrick leans in slowly, his movements deliberate and gentle. You feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek as he inches closer, his lips brushing against yours with feather-light pressure.

For a fleeting moment, the world around you fades into the background. You focus on the sensation of his lips, soft and warm, against yours. It’s brief but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you, sparking a rush of emotions you hadn’t expected. Your hands come to rest on his arms.

Patrick pulls back slightly, his intense blue eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath mingling with yours.

You nod, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah…" Your voice trails off as you feel the tingling sensation where his lips had just been. Your gaze instinctively wanders down to his lips again, noticing how inviting they look.

Feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, you trace them softly over the curve of his biceps, a small shiver running through you. "I wanted... I wanted to get a feel for it, you know? Practise ."

His gaze softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a comforting gesture. "I’m glad I could help," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours again in a soft kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, savouring the tender sensation. Before you can fully process the moment, Patrick kisses you again - deeply and passionately this time. His hands find their way into your hair, gently pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. 

Patrick’s lips are warm and inviting, moving against yours with a tender rhythm. You feel the stubble on his jaw grazing your skin, a gentle contrast to the smoothness of his lips. It’s a sensation that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, igniting a spark of desire in your veins, a dull ache that’s spreading through you.

The taste of pasta and wine lingers on your tongue as you kiss him, mixing with the heady scent of Patrick’s cologne - clean, masculine. The world around you fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in the intoxicating feeling of his lips moving against yours.

You kiss him back, your hands instinctively finding their place on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the firmness of his muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt. 

When Patrick finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you both are left breathless and wanting more. His eyes search yours, silently asking for consent and understanding in this uncharted territory.

"Was that okay?" he whispers, his voice filled with tenderness and concern.

You nod slowly, a smile playing on your lips. "Yeah," you whisper, licking your lips, savouring the lingering taste. "That was... enlightening ."

Patrick’s smile widens, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. He pulls back to take a sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving yours. You follow suit, taking a sip to steady your racing heart.

"See? Nothing to be afraid of," he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves.

You chuckle softly, feeling a wave of relief and confidence wash over you. "You’re right. Thank you for this... it really helps."

He reaches out, placing his hand over yours on the table. "I’m glad," he smiles, his touch warm and reassuring. "And if you ever need more practice..." His voice trails off, leaving the offer hanging in the air, charged with unspoken possibilities.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Are you saying you’ll practice movie kisses with me more often?"

Patrick chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Only if you want to. I mean, it’s for the sake of authenticity, right?"

"Of course," you reply, your voice teasing as you take another sip of wine. "All in the name of professionalism."

"Exactly," he agrees, his smile widening. "And if it happens to be enjoyable, well, that’s just a bonus."

As you sit there, savouring the moment and the connection you’ve just shared, you start to feel the buzz of the wine more intensely. It makes you bolder, your inhibitions melting away with each passing minute. You take another sip, your eyes lingering on Patrick, noting once more how the white shirt clings to his defined biceps and how his blue eyes sparkle in the dim light.

"So," you say, your voice carrying a playful edge, "do you practice movie kisses with all your co-stars?"

Patrick’s cheeks flush a charming shade of pink, and he looks down, a shy smile playing on his lips. "No, actually," he replies, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and sincerity. "You’re the exception."

You find his blush adorable, a stark contrast to the confident man you’ve seen before. His vulnerability in this moment only makes him more attractive. You can’t help but notice how the light catches the wisps of hair around his ear, making him look even more handsome.

"Really?" you ask, leaning in slightly, your curiosity piqued. "Why me?"

Patrick meets your gaze, his eyes intense and sincere. "Because I want you to feel comfortable," he says softly. "I remember how nerve-wracking my first intimate scene was. I just wanted to help you through it."

His words touch you deeply, and the warmth of the wine spreads through your body, making you feel more relaxed and at ease - but you feel like there is more behind this sentiment.

You look at him, marvelling at how good he looks. His blue eyes are mesmerising, holding a depth that draws you in. The more you glimpse, the more you feel the buzz of the wine, the room around you fading away, leaving just the two of you.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself leaning closer to him, your inhibitions slipping away with each passing second. The wine, his presence, and the undeniable chemistry between you create a heady mix that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and comforted, and it doesn’t help that you know by now that he is a fantastic kisser.

"Patrick," you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of the boldness the wine has given you, "I’m really glad it’s you."

He smiles, his eyes never leaving yours. "Me too," he replies, his voice just as soft. "Me too."

You take another sip of your wine, feeling the warmth spread through your veins, and look at Patrick, a playful glint in your eyes. "You know," you say, your voice light and teasing, "I wouldn’t mind practising with you again sometime."

Patrick grins, his expression both delighted and amused. "Really?" he asks, his eyes twinkling. "I think that can be arranged."

His grin is infectious, and you can’t help but find it incredibly cute. You notice how the light catches the wisps of hair around his ears, making his strong jawline even more striking, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. 

_____

The wine flows freely as the evening wears on. Your initial nerves have all but vanished, replaced by a growing sense of camaraderie and a buzz that makes you feel bold and uninhibited. Patrick is charming, and witty, and his smile sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Eventually, you both turn your attention to the script, flipping through the pages together. As you read, you come across an intimate scene that makes you pause. "God, how... how should that work?" you wonder aloud, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Patrick looks at you thoughtfully, then says, "We could practise that as well."

You glance at him, shocked by his words, your eyes wide as you feel the dull thrum of arousal spreading through your veins like fire. He notices your surprised reaction and immediately starts to stammer, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "I mean, it’s a stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

Your gaze wanders to his hands, noticing how he fiddles nervously with his fingers. You gulp, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. "No, no..." you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I like it."

Patrick’s eyes meet yours, his expression one of cautious hope. "You do?" he asks, his voice tinged with surprise.

You nod, feeling the buzz of the wine and the intensity of the moment, giving you courage. "Yeah," you admit, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yeah, I mean... it would help, right? To make it look more authentic."

He relaxes slightly, his blush fading as he gives you a tentative smile. "Okay," he says softly. "But only if you’re comfortable with it."

You take a deep breath, the reality of what you’re suggesting sinking in. But there’s something about Patrick’s presence, his understanding and genuine concern, that makes you feel safe. "I am," you say finally, your voice steady. Your fingers are brushing against his. His skin is warm and smooth under your touch, sending a thrill through you. "I trust you."

You both take a deep breath, the weight of the decision settling between you. With a nod, Patrick starts to read through the scene, his voice steady and calm. As he describes the actions and emotions involved, you feel a sense of clarity and purpose, the initial apprehension fading away.

"Alright," he says, his voice gentle but firm, "We’ll take it slow, just like with the kiss."

Patrick stands up and holds out his hand for you to take. Before you accept his help, you reach for your wine glass again, taking a long, steady sip to bolster your courage. Then, you place your hand in his, letting him help you to your feet.

"You ready?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nod, a mixture of nerves and determination coursing through you. "Yes," you reply, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

He leads you to the bedroom, his hand warm and reassuring in yours as you carry your wine glass in the other. The room is softly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere that both excites and calms you.

Once inside, Patrick turns to you, his expression serious but kind. "We’ll start with the basics, just like we did with the kiss. It’s all about trust and making sure you’re comfortable."

You take another sip of your wine, the warmth spreading through you, giving you the confidence to continue. "Okay."

Patrick steps closer, his presence both comforting and electrifying. "Just remember, this is all for the scene. We need to make it look real, but we also need to respect each other’s boundaries."

You nod again, appreciating his careful approach. "Got it."

He places his hands gently on your shoulders, his touch warm and steady. "We’ll start with simple touches, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe, feeling the heat of his hands through your clothes.

Patrick’s hands slide down your arms, his touch sending shivers through you. He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he continues, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that feels intimate and you try to ground yourself by repeating this is just practise like a mantra.

As he moves closer, you can feel his breath on your skin, the scent of him mingling with the wine on your lips. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, focusing on the sensations rather than the nerves.

He stops, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark with intensity. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," you whisper back, feeling a mix of excitement and calm.

Patrick’s lips brush against yours in a soft, exploratory kiss. It’s gentle, testing as if he’s gauging your reaction. You respond, leaning into the kiss, feeling the familiar warmth and softness of his lips. It’s different now, more charged, more purposeful.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Still okay?"

"Yes," you say, your voice firmer this time, filled with newfound confidence.

Patrick smiles, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Good. Let’s keep going, then."

Encouraged by your response, Patrick leans in again, this time kissing you more deeply. 

His lips part slightly, and you feel the warmth of his tongue as it brushes against yours. The taste of him is a heady mix of wine and something uniquely him - earthy and intoxicating and somehow even more prominent than when you first kissed.

You both lose yourselves in the moment, the lines between acting and reality blurring. Your hands find their place on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, your hearts racing in unison. "Are you okay?" he asks again, his voice filled with concern and something deeper.

"Yes," you reply, your voice steady but filled with emotion. "More than okay."

Patrick’s eyes soften, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, a fleeting caress that sends a shiver down your spine. 

"I’m glad," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. "We’ll keep practising, taking it step by step."

Feeling the pleasant buzz of the wine, you find yourself staring at him, completely transfixed by his appearance. The soft lighting in the room plays on his features, highlighting the warmth of his blue eyes and his broad shoulders. 

Unable to resist the impulse any longer, you reach out and run your hand through his hair. It’s as soft as it looks, each strand silky beneath your fingertips. Patrick’s smile widens at the unexpected touch, his teeth flashing as the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement and affection.

"You like my hair, huh?" he teases gently, his voice filled with warmth.

You laugh softly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pleasure at being caught in the act. "It’s... really soft," you admit, your voice tinged with admiration.

Patrick chuckles a deep, melodic sound that resonates through the room. "Well, thank you," he replies, his tone playful. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You smile, still brushing your hand through his locks, combing them away from his face.

"I should probably get us some more wine," Patrick suggests, breaking the quiet moment with a practical suggestion.

You nod, reluctantly letting go of his hair. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

As Patrick heads towards the kitchen, you can’t help but stare at his arse, noting how perfectly shaped and firm it looks as you take a moment to collect yourself, reflecting on the evening’s events. There’s a warmth in your chest that goes beyond the wine, a burgeoning sense of trust and possibility that extends beyond the rehearsal of a scene. 

You try to tell yourself that it’s just acting, that it doesn’t mean more, but you can’t deny the way he makes you feel, the way the heat has already bloomed low in your stomach and how your panties already feel uncomfortably wet. 

Patrick returns with the wine bottle in hand. You watch him move with fluid grace, his every gesture carrying an easy confidence that is both reassuring and enticing. He pours wine into both your glasses, the soft clink of glass against glass punctuating the silence between you. You take a sip almost instinctively, the warmth of the wine spreading through you.

"Are you ready to continue?" Patrick asks softly, his voice a soothing murmur.

You nod, meeting his gaze with a mixture of anticipation and nerves. He steps closer to you, his presence filling the space between you. With gentle fingers, he slips under your sweater, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes search yours for any sign of discomfort before he slowly pulls your sweater over your head.

The room seems to hold its breath as you stand there in your bra. Patrick’s gaze sweeps over you,  his eyes darkening with appreciation and desire. A blush creeps up your cheeks under his intense scrutiny, but you gather your courage, heightened by the wine, and take a deliberate step closer to him.

"Time to even the playing field, don’t you think?" you say, your voice a mixture of playfulness and a hint of nervousness. 

Your grin is more daring now, emboldened by the wine and the electricity in the air. With a steadying breath, you mirror his earlier actions, your fingers trembling slightly as they find the hem of his shirt. As you pull it off, your fingertips graze lightly over his skin, sending a thrill through your entire being.

The fabric slides smoothly over his shoulders, gliding down his arms and dropping to the floor with a whisper, and you can’t help but marvel at the sight before you that leaves you momentarily breathless.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the contours of well-defined pectoral muscles evident beneath taut, smooth skin, illuminated by the soft, ambient light in the room.

Shadows play across his torso, accentuating the contours and highlighting his athletic build and the defined lines of his abs.

Your eyes wander over his shoulders, broad and powerful, that slope gracefully down to arms chiselled with sinewy muscle. You had admired his arms earlier, but now, seeing them bare, you appreciate them even more - the curve of his biceps and triceps, the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin, and the prominent vein that traces a path down his forearm to his wrist.

You notice the gentle patch of hair on his chest, starting just below his neck and trailing down, disappearing tantalisingly into the waistband of his pants.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you take in the sight of him, feeling a heady mix of desire and admiration. The wine has added a hazy warmth to your thoughts, heightening your senses and intensifying the moment. 

His eyes meet yours again, a small smile playing on his lips as he interrupts your thoughts. "Shall we continue?" he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze is locked on yours with an intensity that ignites a rush of heat in your cheeks and a flutter in your stomach.

You nod, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. "Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

With careful movements, Patrick steps closer, his fingertips brushing lightly against your waistband. His touch is tentative yet confident, a gesture of understanding and respect. You look at him as he unbuttons and unzips your pants, a rush of heat spreading through you at the intimate contact.

His movements are unhurried as he helps you step out of your pants, his eyes never leaving yours. The air crackles with tension as he stands before you, his own desire barely concealed beneath the surface. You catch a glimpse of admiration in his eyes as they roam over your form, his appreciation evident even in the dim light.

Once you’re left in your panties, Patrick takes a deliberate breath, his own pants next in line. With fluid motions, he removes them, revealing legs toned from years of physical activity. His movements are deliberate yet unhurried as he steps out of them, leaving him in just his black, tight boxer shorts.

Your eyes fall to his crotch, feeling a pang in your chest when you notice that his cock isn’t even half hard - while you’re sure your pussy is already soaking wet. 

Patrick steps closer, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "I’ll have to touch you," he says softly, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and professionalism. "And you’ll have to touch me for the scene to look realistic."

Through the haze of the wine and the heat simmering between you, his words momentarily confuse you. But then it clicks - this is supposed to be practice for the sex scene in the movie you’ll both be shooting. Still, the air between you feels charged with something much deeper, something that goes beyond mere acting.

You nod, swallowing hard as you whisper, "That’s okay."

Patrick’s hand trails over your bare back, his touch sending electric sparks across your skin. He pulls you closer, your bodies nearly touching, the heat of his bare chest radiating against your skin. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in this intimate moment.

"You’re doing great," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. His hand moves slowly, exploring the curve of your spine, the small of your back, and then lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your underwear.

You shiver, your breath catching in your throat. Your own hands, trembling slightly, reach out to touch him, tracing the hard lines of his abs, feeling the strength beneath the smooth skin. 

Patrick’s eyes never leave yours, his gaze filled with both reassurance and raw need. "We need to make it believable," he says, his voice low and rough.

You nod again, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. He leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. Finding none, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, his tongue parting your lips to explore your mouth, making your head spin again.

You press closer, your bodies aligning perfectly, the friction igniting a desperate need within you. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you flush against him. With a controlled urgency, he walks you both over to the bed, guiding you down gently and positioning himself above you, between your legs.

His blue eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you can’t think of anything else, the wine’s warmth and the intensity of the moment completely taking over you. 

Patrick leans over to the nightstand to grab the script, his elbow accidentally brushing against your clavicle. The unexpected contact snaps you out of your reverie, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest. He pulls back quickly, concern flashing in his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he apologises multiple times, a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

Your laughter is infectious, and soon, he’s chuckling along with you, the tension easing slightly. The warmth of the moment wraps around you both, making the intimacy feel even more genuine.

"It’s okay," you reassure him, your fingers tracing a soothing path along his arm. "It’s kind of charming, actually."

He smiles, his eyes twinkling with affection and a hint of amusement. "Charming, huh? I’ll take that."

You bite your lip and look up at him, still grinning. The playful banter helps ease some of the nervous energy buzzing between you.

Patrick’s expression turns more serious, though the warmth never leaves his eyes. "Alright," he says softly, "I guess we should start now, so you can practice."

He positions himself and begins to fake thrust, his movements careful and deliberate. You feel his crotch brushing against your cunt through your clothes, the friction sending a jolt of unexpected arousal pooling within you. Your breath catches, and for a moment, you lie there stiff, your mind reeling from the sensation.

Sensing your tension, Patrick starts making corny jokes to lighten the mood. "Did you hear about the actor who fell through the floorboards?" he asks with a playful grin. "He was just going through a stage."

You can’t help but giggle, his effort to make you laugh easing some of your nerves. He continues, "Why don’t we ever tell secrets on a movie set? Because the walls have ears!"

Your laughter bubbles up again, the sound easing the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. Patrick smiles down at you, clearly pleased with your reaction.

"Better?" he asks, his voice warm and reassuring.

"Yeah," you nod, still smiling. "Much better."

"Good," he says encouragingly. "But you have to participate more. Try to fake moan, and don’t forget to touch me... make it believable."

You groan, feeling the weight of the situation and the need for more courage. "I need more wine," you declare, reaching over to your glass and taking a big sip. The liquid warmth courses through you, fortifying your resolve.

Patrick watches you with an amused smile as you set the glass down. "Ready now?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes serious and soft.

You nod, placing the glass back on the nightstand. You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the wine spreading through your body, giving you a bit more courage. "Okay, let’s do this."

Patrick resumes his movements, his hips gently pressing against you. This time, you allow yourself to relax into the sensation, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the strength and warmth of his muscles beneath your fingers. You start to move in sync with him, your body responding to the rhythm.

You let out a tentative moan, feeling your cheeks heat up at the sound. Patrick’s smile widens, and he leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, reassuring gesture.

"That’s it," he murmurs encouragingly, his eyes locking onto yours. "Just like that."

The friction of his thrusts, even through your clothes, sends sparks of pleasure through you, heightening your arousal. You let yourself get lost in the moment, in the feel of his body against yours, in the way his eyes stay locked on you, full of both desire and reassurance.

Patrick’s smile widens, and he leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, reassuring gesture.

You return the kiss, your hands trailing down his back, feeling the play of muscles under your touch. The fake thrusts become a bit more deliberate, the friction between your bodies sending jolts of desire through you. You moan again, louder this time, as his clothed dick brushes over your clothed clit, the sound mingling with the soft pants of your breath.

"Perfect," Patrick whispers against your lips. "Just keep doing that."

You respond with a louder moan, your hands exploring his back with more confidence, your body moving in sync with his. The sensation of his clothed erection rubbing against you drives you wild, and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like without the barriers between you.

The wine buzzes in your system, adding to the hazy, intoxicating atmosphere. Patrick’s hands roam your body, his touch both gentle and firm, guiding you through it. The combination of his encouragement, the arousal pooling within you, and the heat of the moment make you forget everything else, leaving only the two of you, lost in the passion and intensity of your connection.

You start to get bolder, your cunt uncomfortably wet, and your nipples hard and stiff under your underwear. Each thrust makes you more aware of his growing hardness pressing against you. It’s clear this isn’t leaving him indifferent. His blue eyes are dark and blown wide with lust.

The words slip out before you can stop them. "I’m completely naked in the scene."

Patrick stops, his movements halting as he looks at you, serious but smiling. "Really?" he asks, a playful glint in his eyes. He searches your eyes, trying to gauge your meaning. 

You giggle, the wine making you feel braver and more carefree. "Yeah, we should make it more believable."

Patrick’s smile widens, and he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. 

Your heart races, the reality of the situation mingling with the fantasy you’ve been lost in. "Yes," you whisper, the word escaping your lips before you can second-guess yourself.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze searching yours for any hesitation. Finding none, he nods. His hands move to the waistband of your underwear, pausing briefly as if giving you one last chance to change your mind. When you don’t, he slides them down slowly, the fabric gliding over your skin, leaving you bare before him.

The cool air against your exposed skin only heightens your arousal. Patrick’s eyes darken further as they roam your body, his appreciation evident in his gaze. You wonder if he can see just how wet you are, the thought making your cheeks flush and your cunt tighten with anticipation.

Before you can think, he places one big hand on your shoulder, pulling you up slightly so he can reach your bra, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the cool air. He unhooks it deftly, sliding it over your shoulders and down your arms, leaving your breasts exposed.

You shiver, a mix of anticipation and the cool air causing your nipples to harden even more. Patrick’s eyes lock onto your breasts, his breath hitching as he takes in the sight. He licks his lips, and you can see the raw desire in his eyes, making your heart race even faster.

"You’re beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and reverent as he stares at you. His fingers twitch at his sides as if he wants to reach out and touch you, but he shakes his head in a quick motion before he stands up, quickly shedding his own underwear.

Your eyes are drawn to his cock. He’s big, his length impressive even in its semi-hard state.  It rests in a bed of neatly trimmed pubic hair, his balls hanging heavy with a promise of what’s to come. He’s uncircumcised, and you can see the head peeking out, glistening with precum.

Your mouth waters at the sight, an involuntary reaction to the sheer desire coursing through you. You can feel your core clenching with need, your body aching for his touch. 

The sight of him, completely naked and aroused, sends a wave of heat through your body, your nerve endings singing with want and arousal.

The urge to reach out and take him in your hand, to feel the weight and warmth of him, is almost overwhelming. You try to remind yourself that this is only for practising a scene, but the intensity of your arousal makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the man before you.

Every detail of him captivates you - the way his muscles shift under his skin, the confident yet gentle way he moves, and the raw desire in his eyes as he looks down at you. 

He clears his throat, his voice breaking the tension slightly. "You know, we’d normally wear a modesty garment for scenes like this," he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You giggle, the wine wreaking havoc on your inhibitions, making you feel bolder and more carefree. "It’s okay," you say, reaching for his hand and pulling him down towards you.

Patrick lets himself be guided, his body flopping down on the bed beside you, clearly also impacted by the wine. 

"So you want to continue to practise?" he asks, slightly breathless. His eyes search yours, checking for any sign of hesitation.

You nod, and he leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he positions himself between your legs again. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips before capturing them in a kiss that’s both tender and fiercely passionate.

The kiss deepens, your bodies pressed together, the heat between you growing. Patrick’s hands roam over your body, exploring every curve, every line, as if committing them to memory. The sensation is almost overwhelming, your senses heightened by the intensity of the moment.

He starts to fake thrust again, his half-hard cock bumping against your clit, making you arch against him and let out a real moan.

Patrick instantly stops, his eyes widening. "Sorry, this might be a bad idea," he says, his voice filled with concern and regret.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "It’s okay," you assure him, though you can feel the tension still hanging in the air, afraid that he’d stop whatever this is.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean to... I just..."

"It’s fine, really," you interrupt gently, placing a hand on his cheek before pulling him down for a kiss again. The touch of your lips against his seems to melt away his doubts, and he responds with a fervour that sends shivers down your spine.

His hands resume their exploration, tracing the lines of your body with a reverence that makes you feel cherished. The wine buzzes in your system, blurring the lines between reality and the scene you’re practising.

You feel him hardening further against you, the friction of his cock against your clit sending sparks of pleasure through you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours only heightens the sensation, making you crave more - crave him more.

Patrick’s kisses trail down your neck, each one igniting a trail of fire on your skin. His hands move to your hips, his touch both gentle and commanding. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both tender and fiercely passionate.

Your desire for Patrick to throw all his principles to the wind and just fuck you grows more intense with each passing second. His now fully hard cock continues to brush against your clit, each movement sending electric shocks of pleasure through your body, making you whimper and moan uncontrollably. 

Your skin feels hot, and flushed with arousal, and every nerve ending is alive, screaming for more.

You close your eyes, unable to bear looking at him - his gorgeous blue eyes, lips parted and slightly swollen, framed by his tousled hair. You try to pretend you don’t want him, but the feeling is overwhelming and impossible to ignore. His breath is hot against your skin, his scent intoxicating, mingling with the faint aroma of wine.

You want to shift your hips so he’d slip inside, desperate to feel the stretch you know his cock would provide. You’re so wet, and you can feel his precum smearing over your cunt whenever he bumps against it, making the friction even more tantalizing. The heat between your legs is unbearable, a molten pool of desire that only he can quench.

Unable to resist any longer, you finally shift your hips, and the very tip of his cock slips into you. It’s not even an inch, but the sensation is electric, and you moan loudly, and freely. Your whole body trembles with anticipation and need.

But Patrick stills immediately.

You open your eyes to find him looking at you, his cock twitching inside you. His blue eyes are dark with lust, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He’s breathing heavily, his face a mix of desire and concern, but he hasn’t moved a muscle.

"Patrick..." you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your body arching towards him, the head of his big dick already feeling so wonderful.

He swallows hard, his gaze locked onto yours. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice barely more than a breath, his tone filled with raw, unfiltered longing.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes," you manage to say, your voice filled with conviction. "I want this. I want you ."

For a moment, he doesn’t move, as if he’s waging an internal battle with himself, his blue eyes searching yours one last time. 

But then, his resolve seems to crumble. 

He shifts his hips slightly, the head of his cock pressing just a little further inside you. The sensation is exquisite, and you can’t help but let out another moan, your body arching toward him, your skin tingling with the heat of arousal.

Patrick leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss as he begins to push inside you, slowly, inch by inch. The feeling of him filling you is everything you imagined and more, the stretch and heat of him making you gasp with pleasure, your cunt clenching around him.

His cock is thick and hard, pressing against your inner walls in the most delicious way. The friction is intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your entire body.

"God, you feel amazing," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. His hands roam over your body, one coming up to cup your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple until it hardens completely under his touch. The sensation makes you cry out, your body responding eagerly to him.

His eyes darken further as they roam over your body, his gaze hungry and appreciative. The raw desire in his eyes makes your heart race even faster, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

Patrick’s movements become more confident, his thrusts deeper and more purposeful. He squeezes your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, and the combined sensations of his cock and his hands drive you wild. The rhythm he sets is perfect, each stroke hitting just the right spot inside you, his thumb flicking your nipple sparks of desire straight to your core.

His eyes are dark and intense, his gaze never leaving yours as he fucks you. The room fills with the sounds of your shared passion - the slick, wet noises of him sliding in and out of you, the gasps and moans that escape your lips, and the low, guttural sounds he makes.

Your skin is on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. The pleasure builds with each thrust, mounting higher and higher until it’s almost too much to bear. Your body tightens around him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

His pace quickens, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I can’t do this long," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back and his thrusts becoming more urgent and desperate. "I don’t think I can hold on much longer... I’m too close."

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him inside you. "Don’t stop," you plead, your voice breathless and filled with need. Your hands grip his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift and tense under your touch as he thrusts into you.

Patrick’s thrusts become more urgent, more desperate, driving you both closer to the edge as his pubic bone rubs against your clit. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.  You can feel his cock swelling, the head pressing against your inner walls with increasing intensity.

Suddenly, with a final, powerful thrust, he shudders and gasps, his body tensing as he reaches his climax. You feel the hot rush of his cum filling you, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills himself deep within you. The sensation pushes you to the brink, but just as you’re about to fall over the edge, he stills, his head dropping to your shoulder.

Patrick’s breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, a perfect echo of your own. Your pussy clenches around him as you whimper, not having cum yet.

He lifts his head to look at you, his blue eyes filled with a mix of wonder and satisfaction. "I’m so sorry," he murmurs, his voice filled with embarrassment. "I came before you. I didn’t mean to..."

You can see the concern in his eyes, the worry that he’s let you down. But the sight of him, so raw and vulnerable, only makes you want him more. "It’s okay," you whisper, your voice soft and reassuring, accustomed to not being brought to orgasm by your partner.

"No, it’s not," Patrick says, his voice firm. He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that makes you moan into the kiss.

He pulls out, and you whine at the loss, feeling his thick cock slipping out, leaving your cunt empty and leaking his cum. Patrick hushes you gently, reaching down and brushing his thumb over your clit. 

"Relax," he murmurs, and with that, he plunges two of his thick fingers into your cunt. "God, you look so well fucked. Your pussy is gaping… and so full of my cum."

You gasp loudly as he uses his fingers to fuck his cum further into you. 

His fingers are big and skilled, curling inside you to hit that perfect spot with each thrust. The sensation of his cum being pushed deeper into you ignites the nerves through your body, making you arch against him.

Patrick’s thumb circles your clit in time with his thrusting fingers, creating a delicious rhythm that has you gasping for breath. "You’re so wet," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "I can feel how close you are."

Your legs tremble as the pleasure builds, your body tightening around his fingers. His touch is relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The sounds of your wetness fill the room, mingling with your desperate moans.

Finally, the pressure becomes too much, and you cry out, your body convulsing as you cum hard around his fingers. Patrick doesn’t stop, his fingers and thumb working you through your orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until you’re shaking with the intensity of it.

As you come down from your high, Patrick withdraws his fingers slowly, watching you with a satisfied smile. But he isn’t done yet. He shifts down the bed, positioning himself between your legs. "I want to taste you," he says, his voice husky with desire.

Before you can respond, he lowers his mouth to your pussy, his tongue licking a broad, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. The sensation makes you gasp, your body still hypersensitive from your orgasm. His tongue is warm and soft, and he laps at you with an eagerness that sends shivers down your spine.

Patrick’s mouth is relentless, his tongue delving into your pussy to taste the mix of your arousal and his cum. He groans against you, the vibration adding to the pleasure. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts on you, his tongue and lips driving you wild.

When he finally focuses on your clit, sucking it gently into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, you’re already teetering on the edge again. The intensity of his mouth on you, combined with the aftershocks of your previous orgasm, quickly builds you up to another peak.

But Patrick stops there. 

He lifts his head and crawls up your body, his eyes dark with desire. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours as he whispers, "Open your mouth." Your heart races as you obey, and he spits the mixture of your juices and his cum into your mouth. The intimate, filthy act sends a new wave of arousal through you, and you swallow it eagerly, your eyes never leaving his as you moan.

He smiles at your reaction, then moves back down between your legs. His tongue delves into you with renewed fervour, his mouth working you over with an intensity that leaves you breathless. He laps at your folds, his tongue thrusting into you and then flicking over your clit, making you writhe beneath him.

His fingers join in again, thrusting into you while his mouth lavishes attention on your clit. The combination of his skilled fingers and his insatiable mouth drives you wild, each sensation building on the last until you’re on the edge once more.

You feel the pleasure building again, higher and higher, your body tightening in anticipation. When you finally cum, it’s with a force that leaves you trembling, your cries echoing in the room as Patrick continues to lap at you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm, your body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you. 

He finally pulls back, his face glistening with your juices, and he smiles up at you with a look of pure satisfaction. "You’re incredible," he murmurs, crawling back up to lie beside you, his fingers gently brushing your hair from your face. "And I’m not done with you yet."

"W-what?" you whisper, completely fucked out,  your cunt still twitching and buzzing from your repeated orgasms.

He smirks, impossibly handsome in the dim light. His blue eyes are still dark and blown wide, his curls sweaty and sticking to his forehead. His whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat, making his muscles glisten.

"You heard me," he nuzzles his nose against you before kissing you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with renewed hunger.  You can feel him hard against you, his cock pressing into your thigh, his desire evident.

His hands roam over your body, cupping your tits and squeezing gently, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumb and forefinger.  The sensation sends electric jolts straight to your cunt, making you moan into his mouth and clench around nothing. 

Patrick pulls back and begins trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder, his touch igniting a fresh spark within you. He then turns you over onto your stomach gently, guiding you into position.

"Hold onto the headboard," he instructs, his voice husky with desire.

You take a moment to respond, and your mind is hazy with arousal and the lingering effects of the wine. Patrick’s hands caress your back, and he asks softly, "Are you okay?"

You nod, feeling a new surge of arousal. You throw your ass back a bit, presenting yourself to him, and grab the headboard. 

He laughs softly, the sound filled with warmth and amusement, and presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Good girl," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and sending shivers down your spine.

Patrick’s hands move down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. His fingers dig into your flesh, and the sensation of his touch makes you feel even more aroused, your body aching for more as you feel the heat he emanates.

He takes a moment to align himself, the head of his cock pressing against your pussy. The mix of your wetness and his cum makes the slide smooth as he pushes into you, filling you once more.

The sensation is intense, the stretch almost overwhelming as he fills you up inch by inch for a second time. You moan loudly, your fingers tightening around the headboard as he bottoms out inside you, his cock deep and hard and feeling somehow bigger from that angle.

Patrick’s fingers dig into your hips as he starts to thrust slowly. Each movement sends ripples of pleasure through your body, and you moan, pushing back against him. 

His hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet his movements, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl, making you gasp and moan with each one.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. Patrick’s hands roam over your back, sliding up to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples, adding to the overwhelming sensation. The way his hands play with your tits sends another wave of arousal through you, your nipples hard and sensitive under his touch.

Your mind is a haze of pleasure, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Patrick’s rhythm increases, his cock sliding in and out of you with a steady, relentless pace, each one filling you up in a way that leaves you breathless and wanting more. The sound of your bodies moving together fills the room, accompanied by your moans and his groans of pleasure.

You feel yourself getting closer, the knot of pleasure tightening in your core. Patrick’s hand slides down your body, finding your clit and rubbing it in quick, tight circles. The dual stimulation is too much, and you cry out, your body tensing as your orgasm crashes over you with a force that leaves you trembling and breathless. Your pussy clenches around him, your moans loud and uninhibited.

Patrick keeps moving, prolonging your pleasure, and his own thrusts grow more erratic. "Fuck," he groans, burying himself deep inside you as he comes, his cock pulsing and filling you with his cum once more. 

The feeling of his warmth inside you only intensifies your pleasure, making you cry out again as the waves of your orgasm continue to wash over you.

You collapse onto the bed, letting go of the headboard - spent. He stays there for a moment, both of you catching your breath before he slowly pulls out and collapses beside you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close as you both come down from your high. The sensation of him slipping out of you leaves you feeling both empty and satisfied, your cunt still buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

"You’re amazing," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smile, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction and contentment. "You too," you reply softly, snuggling closer to him.

Patrick shifts behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you close until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. His body is warm, a comforting contrast to the cool sheets beneath you. His hand settles possessively on your waist, fingers splayed across your skin as if to keep you anchored to him.

The sensation of being spooned by him is almost overwhelming in its tenderness. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. Every inch of him moulds perfectly against you, his presence both soothing and electrifying.

"You feel so good," you manage to whisper back, your voice thick with fatigue. Your muscles are deliciously sore, every movement reminding you of the intensity of your connection just moments ago. The heady mix of the wine and the afterglow of sex has left you in a blissful haze and pleasantly drowsy, your body buzzing with a languid, satisfied warmth.

Patrick’s hand begins to draw lazy circles on your hip, the simple gesture incredibly intimate and grounding, his lips brushing against your shoulder in a feather-light kiss.

A soft smile tugs at your lips, your eyes drifting closed as the exhaustion from the night’s events settles over you like a warm blanket. 

He tightens his hold on you slightly, his body curling protectively around yours. The weight of his arm, the solidity of his presence, and the rhythmic beating of his heart against your back all work together to lull you into a state of deep relaxation.

As you begin to drift off, you feel Patrick nuzzle his face into your hair, his breath steady and even. The scent of him - clean sweat and a hint of cologne - envelops you, further grounding you in the moment. You feel utterly safe and cherished in his embrace, every worry and stress from the outside world melting away.

The combination of physical exhaustion and the wine coursing through your system makes it impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. You let out a contented sigh, snuggling deeper into Patrick’s embrace, your body fitting perfectly against his.

"I could stay like this forever," you whisper, your words barely more than a breath.

Patrick’s lips brush against your ear in a gentle kiss. "Me too," he whispers back. "Sweet dreams."

With his words lingering in the air, you finally let yourself succumb to the overwhelming fatigue. The last thing you register is the steady, comforting rhythm of Patrick’s breathing and the reassuring weight of his body against yours, grounding you in a sense of peace and contentment that lulls you into a deep sleep.

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Lost in the moment (part 2)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: After their friendship ended unexpectedly, Nico and (Y/N) continued their lives on different paths, but what happens when they meet again? (part 2 of 2)

Warnings: Once again a little angst, female reader

Note: I was honestly surprised how well the first part of this fic was received. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

(part 2 of 2)

Find part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/733720166569033728/lost-in-the-moment-part-1?source=share

Hope you enjoy <3

The years that followed were a relentless storm for both Nico and (Y/N), each navigating their separate paths with the ghost of their past lingering.

Nico’s championship victory and the soon-following retirement propelled him into the dazzling spotlight of Formula 1, becoming a charismatic figure both on and off the race track.

However, the memory of that final race continued to linger in the back of his mind, a bittersweet victory tainted by the absence of someone he had considered a confidante. Someone he had loved. Of course, he had seen the notifications of her calls once the celebrations had stopped. But whereas at first, he didn’t call her back simply out of spite and having been hurt, the more time went by, the more he feared actually hearing her speak his suspicions of having been betrayed into existence.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) on the other hand, had to face the daunting task of fighting her way back into the world of reporting. Having lost her job at Countdown Magazine , the young woman found herself feeling lost in the working world. The void left by Formula 1 was a constant ache, a reminder of the dreams she once had to forfeit and the pain of not having been there for Nico during his triumphant moment was an emotional wound that refused to heal, casting a lingering shadow on her achievements. However, she found that her luck hadn't completely run out, for after a few unsuccessful jobs, she was offered a position as a reporter for a small, upcoming motorsport journal called The Racing Project.

Although over the years both Nico and (Y/N)  followed a similar career path, their paths did not actually cross until the much-anticipated Las Vegas Grand Prix.

The stage was set, the racetrack buzzing with fervour, as Nico stood filming a live segment in the paddock, delivering his commentary with practised ease. The cameras captured every word he spoke, but his mind was elsewhere. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes unexpectedly fell upon a familiar figure- (Y/N).

Time seemed to halt, the cacophony of the racing world drowned by a flood of memories and emotions. Nico’s heart quickened its pace, a turbulent storm surging within him. The very sight of his former friend, after all these years, sent his thoughts spiralling into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. 

The ex-racer stumbled over his words, a subtle tremor in his voice betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him. “And…and as we witness this….um, remarkable race unfolding before us,” he managed to continue, though the words suddenly felt foreign on his tongue.

Nico couldn’t tear his gaze from (Y/N)’s form, caught between the past and present. The weight of their shared history bore down on him, each moment they had shared flashing through his mind like a movie reel. His eyes conveyed a mixture of surprise, longing and a hint of regret for the years of silence, that had separated them.

The subtle changes in Nico’s demeanour didn’t go unnoticed by the camera and crew. His usual composed demeanour wavered, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability surfacing in his eyes. The inner conflict that churned within him was evident to those who knew him well, a battle between the duties of the present and the ghosts of the past.

As the blond shrugged to maintain his composure, the words of the commentary became a blur as the realization that (Y/N) was back in his life hit him. He tried to regain his focus, attempting to steer the commentary back on track, but the presence of (Y/N) in the crowd continued to pull at the threads of his composure.

 It wasn’t until the segment was finally finished, that Jenson, who had moderated the segment along with Nico and was well aware of the history between him and the female reporter, leaned in and whispered, “I didn't know that (Y/N) is working as a Formula 1 reporter again after her sudden release just before your championship race.”

Jenson’s statement led revelation to hit Nico like a tidal wave. The pieces of the puzzle all of sudden fell into place, and the weight of misunderstanding and regret bore down on him. “Excuse me.” Nico stuttered out, freeing himself of the broadcasting equipment before hurriedly plunging into the bustling crowd, determined to confront the past. 

Rushing past crew members and paddock guests, his blue eyes scanned the crowd with restlessness before finally landing on the all-too-familiar shape of (Y/N).

“(Y/n),“ he called out, his voice carrying the echoes of years of silence. 

Upon hearing his voice call out to her, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise, before narrowing again in anger. The air around them was suddenly buzzing with the electricity of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. “Nico,” she replied coldly, her voice betraying a simmering anger beneath the surface. 

Nico took a cautious step closer, the atmosphere fraught with tension. “I…I didn’t know. I thought you used me for stories. I didn’t know what happened that day.” his words came out rushed, as he struggled to keep up with his own thoughts. Lifting her chin,  (Y/N) crossed her arms, a defensive gesture as she glared at him. “Well, glad you’ve figured it out by now.” her voice cut through the noise of the racetrack. “I lost my job, Nico. I lost everything I had worked for, and you didn’t even bother to hear me out. You think an apology fixes this?” 

Nico reached for (Y/N)’s hand, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness. “My mind was too clouded by the fact that you weren’t by my side during my victory, to be able to think rationally. I should have known.” he tried to explain himself, voice haunted by the regret of misplaced assumptions.

(Y/N) pulled her hand away from his grasp, a scoff escaping her lips. “Known? I would’ve never expected you to just know. But you should have asked, Nico. You didn’t give me a single chance to explain myself. Instead, you just disappeared.” with the last word, she jabbed an angry finger at his chest. 

Nico opened his mouth to respond, but (Y/N) cut him off “ You don’t get to just waltz back into my life after all these years and expect everything to be okay. You have no idea what it was like for me, losing my job and feeling abandoned by my best friend.” 

The man’s face fell, the reality of the pain he had caused written across his features. “(Y/N),please. I didn’t know the truth, and I-”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice sharp.”You didn’t bother to find out. You just assumed the worst, and I won’t just forget that.”

The tension between them was palpable as they stood there, the racetrack humming with the distant roar of engines. Whereas (Y/N)’s eyes held a mixture of anger and hurt, Nico felt the weight of his past choices pressing down on him. The heavy silence between them was once again interrupted by her voice, the anger now morphed into frustration. “You made your choice back then.” She sounded defeated. Nico struggled to find the right words, his chest tight with regret. “I messed up. I should have trusted you, and I’m sorry.” 

Unwilling to meet his gaze, (Y/N) turned away. “Sorry doesn’t erase the past, Nico. I don’t need your apologies now, I got work to do.”

The gravity of her words hung heavily between them.Once determined to seek reconciliation, Nico faced the consequences of his assumptions.The racetrack, witness to their shared highs and lows, now became a battleground for a different kind of race- a race against time to repair the fractured bond between them. As they lingered in the charged silence, a new layer of tension emerged. The unspoken truth of feelings that had never found a voice in the past now hovered between them. They had danced around something more profound than friendship, an undercurrent of emotions that had remained buried.

Deciding to try a different approach, Nico’s tone softened. “Remember that night when I waited for you in the pouring rain?”

As she turned back around to him (Y/N)’s eyes flickered with curiosity, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her defensive stance. “What?” 

Nico’s eyes nervously searched hers, an unsure, almost shy smile on his lips. “I stole that umbrella from Toto and to this day I am unsure of whether I was more nervous about waiting for you or the possibility of Toto finding out I was the reason he got drenched to the bone.”

A breathless chuckle broke through her frown, the sound like music to Nico’s ears. “You stole an umbrella from your boss, just so you could go on a walk with me?” her voice was laced with amusement and disbelief. “Mhm,” he hummed in response, his smile widening into a grin, blue eyes sparkling as he thought back to that very evening. “I actually hid around a corner for like 10 minutes, because I could hear how on edge he was, asking crew members about where his umbrella went.” A genuine laugh escaped (Y/N) at that, eyes glistening as she was hit by a wave of nostalgia. There was another moment of silence between the pair, although this time it felt more intimate.

“You know that when it came to us it was never about the job right?” her voice was barely louder than a whisper and if Nico hadn’t already been paying such close attention to her, he would have surely missed it. 

His eyes bore into (Y/N)’s, the weight of her words sinking in. The revelation hung in the air, an unspoken truth that had shaped their past interactions. With her vulnerability laid bare, (Y/N) waited for Nico’s response, the air heavy with anticipation. In that moment the racetrack seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them suspended in an emotional crossfire.

Nico, grappling with the unexpected confession, searched her eyes for clarity. The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. Their unspoken connection had always transcended the confines of a professional relationship, a truth buried beneath the surface of camaraderie and shared passion for Formula 1.

Studying his face, (Y/N) could watch as a  myriad of emotions played across Nico’s face- surprise, regret and a hint of realization. 

“(Y/N)”, he murmured, his voice tinged with astonishment and understanding, as his brain struggled to find the right words.

The woman’s gaze wavered, and she nodded, a mixture of sadness and acceptance in her eyes. “You were so focused on the rivalry and the championship, that I didn’t want to complicate things. I thought, maybe one day…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken “one day” hanging in the air. 

Nico’s mind raced, grappling with the weight of missed opportunities and the realization of their connection has been far more profound than he had ever comprehended. “I had no idea. If I had known, I would have-” She cut him off, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s in the past Nico. We can’t change it now.” Shaking his head, the blond reached out, tentatively taking (Y/N)’s hand and this time she allowed their fingers to intertwine, a silent acknowledgement of the emotions that had lingered, unspoken for years. “(Y/N), I wish I had known. I wish I had seen it then.” She met his gaze, the raw honesty of the moment reflected in her eyes. “We were caught in the whirlwind of the Silver War, and I didn’t want to be another distraction.”

Nico’s thumb gently traced circles on the back of her hand, as his gaze locked onto hers. “You were never a distraction, (Y/N).” Nico’s voice was stern. “If anything, you were the constant that I failed to appreciate.” 

As they found themselves standing at the crossroads of what could have been and what might still be, their hands lingered together, a silent testament to the depth of their connection. The unspoken feelings that had been tucked away for years now demanded recognition, weaving an intricate tapestry of emotions.

Nico took a step closer, his heart pounding with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. “Do you think we could start over…try to make up for the time we lost?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, eyes meeting his, and he thought to see a flicker of hope in their depths. “Nico-” she sighed clearly conflicted “It’s not that simple. We’ve both changed.”

He nodded a sense of gentleness in his understanding gaze. “I know, but what if we explore what we have now?” he leaned in a little closer, hand reaching up to gingerly cradle her cheek. “Let’s start from here, from this moment. Forget the misunderstandings, the lost chances and see where this takes us.” 

The warmth and sheer softness of his touch seemingly eased the mental conflict within (Y/N)’s mind and a tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Will you steal another umbrella from Toto?” her question was accompanied by a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. 

The suddenness of her request made Nico knit his brows in confusion. Taking a second to process the question, this time it was him, who laughed in disbelief. 

"Yes.” he chuckled, thumb tracing her cheekbone, loving eyes studying her face as to memorise every single feature. “I'd happily steal yet another one of Toto's umbrellas for you." Underneath his gentle touch, Nico could feel her timid smile grow into a cheeky grin. "Well, then I am happily willing to give us a second chance."

As they stood there, enveloped in each other’s presence, the soft glow of the racetrack’s lights painted their faces in a warm hue, mirroring the warmth that radiated between them. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” Nico admitted, gaze still fixed on (Y/N) as if she held the answers to questions he’d never dared to ask.

 “I��ve missed this” he muttered softly “Talking to you, being here, it feels like coming home.” (Y/N) felt the words dancing on the tip of her tongue but unable to escape. Her heart fluttered as she realized there were no words adequate to convey how she felt. With a quiet resolve, she slowly leaned in, breath mingling with his. Nico’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before softening, understanding dawning upon him. Time seemed to pause as her lips met his in a tender, feather-light kiss. It was a silent confession and a promise for the future. 

Drawing back, a rosy hue dusted (Y/N)’s cheeks and if her heart hadn’t already been racing before, it certainly was now upon seeing the lovesick smile on Nico's face.

“Welcome home, Nico.”

[trashland-llamas]

He Loves Me. He Loves Me Not

x trans male reader

Sanji who doesn’t realize that y/n is a man. Despite how much y/n tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, he can't help asking himself 'is he really that shit at passing?' Like, okay, sure, it had only been a few years and he was still in the midst of it all but it was nonetheless infuriating. How Sanji would bat those pretty eyelashes of his with hearts in his eyes and call him sugary sweet pet names. Longing to have the rivalry that he did with Zoro. Just anything different than how he treated other women.

Speaking of Zoro, the swordsman had noticed the forlorn attitude that clung to his gym buddy. ‘Alright, what’s the problem? Cause I’m not dealing with an unfocused spotter,’ his tone stern. Zoro couldn’t help but feel protective. Despite how much people thought of him a himbo, he had picked up on y/n’s affections towards the cook. ‘He treats me how he treats Nami and Robin.’ Putting down his weights, he ruffles y/n’s hair. ‘The whole mon cheri bullshit where he dotes on you hand and foot?’

‘Exactly! Which is great and all but he doesn’t behave like that with you or Usopp or Luffy. So what gives?’

‘Either he’s stupid or he might like you back. Never know, could just be he’s never been smitten with a man before.’ Zoro avoided saying aloud what y/n had assumed. Not wanting to give him any sort of confirmation to his catastrophizing thoughts. ‘You should confront him.’

‘I’m not gonna do that!’

‘Would you rather walk around on eggshells?’

Thinking back to his conversation with Zoro, y/n paces before the kitchen door, hyping himself up. 'Y'know, you can come in any time you like, hun. I don't bite.' y/n freezes when he hears Sanji's voice. The cook not bothering to look towards the entrance while he chops up some fruit. A snack for the crew. 'I know,' y/n refutes, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. 'Is something troubling you?' Sanji asked, aware of how antsy he was acting. 'Uh, actually that's what I came to talk to you about.'

'Well then, have a seat.' Sanji skipped over the theatrics, passing them a glass of water. 'Usually helps to have a drink, calms the nerves.' Nodding, y/n took a few seconds to figure out how he wanted to say it. 'It's you.' Cringing at Sanji's shocked expression, bowing his head as he gripped the counter top with his sleeves rolled up. 'Me?'

'It's that I happen to be into you and...the way you treat me, it's like I'm just another girl.' The word run together quicker than a oil spill. But it's towards the end when Sanji raises his head to look y/n in the eye. 'I must apologize, because you're not another girl to me. It seems I've caused a pure soul like you a lot of pain...I'm not used to liking the same gender as my own.'

'Then I have a few requests. Please swap out the nicknames to some that are a little more masculine. And treat me like you do the other guys on the ship. None of that waiting hand and foot, okay?' Y/n starts with an uncertain air, slowly gaining confidence as he went along.

'Okay. I won't lie, I might make a few more blunders here and there while figuring it out but I can abide by those requests.' Sanji softly spoke, reaching out to grab y/n's hand. 'There's only one thing I want to ask of you, if I may. Can I take you out on a date?' Smiling at how flustered that small question made him. 'Would love to.'

[sanjisboyfie]

๑ keep safe - davy back fight 彡 long ring long land arc begins! (32)

one piece x male reader

the boy with the thorn in his side

behind the hatred there lies,

a murderous desire

for love

『 prev 』

when morning came, the crew had arrived at a very vacant island. of course, luffy, chopper, and usopp were the first to jump at exploring it. and surprisingly, it was [name] that stayed behind with the rest of the crew.

“huh? you’re not gonna go be a dumbass with them?” zoro asked, looking unimpressed as [name] stood on the deck with the rest of the remaining crew.

“there’s not even anything there,” [name] sighed with a pout, “it’s really just land as far as the eye can see as well as long animals that are walking around as if its normal…”

“huh?” the crew echoed, not understanding what [name] was talking about. after all, all they could see was a vast greenscape in front of htem, not any odd, long animals that [name] was talking about.

“trust me, they’re there,” he said with a wave of his hand, “nami, robin, want any coffee?”

”sure!”

“if it wouldn’t be too bothersome,”

“oh, it would never-”

“we don’t have any coffee, idiot,”

sanji’s blunt, cut through words made [name] collapse where he stood with tears streaming down his stoic face.

“yes…that’s right…no coffee…”

“it’s not the end of the world, idiot, quit overreacting,” zoro walked over [name] with a yawn, stepping over his back with not a care in the world. the h/c haired man didn’t seem to care either, the odd form of abuse flying over his head as he was too focused on the fact they had no coffee left.

“what am i supposed to do…”

sanji and nami sighed at his attitude while robin merely found him amusing.

unable to quench his hunger for coffee, or even just coffee beans, [name] felt miserable. as if he were having withdrawls. it made him go back to his hammock and try and force himself back to sleep. unfortunately, he was unable to even close his eyes to rest since he was longing so much for the bitter treat.

he was even shaking where he laid due to the withdrawl he was feeling. thinking that making any hot beverage would be better than just laying down, he changed into more breathable clothes and made his way to the kitchen. a plain black shirt and loose pants were sufficient in keeping him feeling comfortable.

he heated the water over the fire in a tea kettle, waiting impatiently for it to boil. just as he was about to pour the water into his cup, there was a tremendous tremor underneath merry that made him spill the hot water over his skin instead of the teacup. he cursed under his breath, rushing over to the sink and pouring cold water over his tender flesh.

“what the fuck?” he murmured, drying the throbbing part of his hand gently and then stomping onto the deck. when he saw that the rest of the crew was standing on the ground, he went to the front of the railing and yelled, “what the hell was that?!”

“don’t be hasty! all we want is…a showdown!”

a pissed off look was on his face as he heard a loud announcer say over a speaker system. it was as if the person needed to be heard from every corner of the earth from how loud they were. or maybe, [name] was just particularly irritable and wanted nothing but peace and quiet (and coffee).

“who the hell is that.”

“we are the foxy pirates!!”

“and who the hell are the foxy pirates?”

“we are here to challenge you to a davy back fight!!”

[name] looked to the rest of the crew with a sour look on his face. they all shrugged, not knowing what the hell the other people were talking about. but since merry was trapped in between the ship and the island, they had no other choice but to entertain the foxy pirates.

“the fight begins the moment two captains are in agreement. as we speak, our captain is challenging your captain, monkey d. luffy, to battle!”

“challenging? what kind of nonsense is that? if you want a fight, then just start one!”

[name] jumped down off of merry and onto the island, joining robin’s side as he looked up at their “enemy” ship.

“hey, you’ve never heard of a davy back fight?”

“it sounds stupid,” [name] yawned, making sanji kick the back of his head in annoyance.

”you, out of everyone here, should know what a davy back fight is. you’ve been sailing the seas the longest. seriously. it’s not a fight, it’s a pirate game!”

“yes, a game that supposedly arose long ago on “pirate island,” which is said to be a pirate paradise somewhere in the sea. in it, pirates plunder each other for top-notch crew members.”

“pirates plunder each other?!” namii asked in amazement. similar to zoro and [name], she had never heard of a davy back fight before either.

“yes, i’m surprised you’ve never heard about that,” a random crew member shouted from the other ship, “after each match, the winner can take any crew member they want from the opposing team,”

as if it were a sixth sense, [name] felt a hundred pair of eyes on the back of his head.

“it is certainly a surprise to know you weren’t even aware of such a game, cursed orphan,” [name] clicked his tongue in annoyance, standing tall and upright as he faced the other crew. “you have been talked about a lot the past three years since you’ve hit the seas. whenever this game was mentioned, someone would always bring up your name. the fact you had no crew, meant that no one could challenge you to such a game. but now — you’re all up for grabs,”

[name] rolled his eyes in annoyance, “not happening, you shits,”

“oh, but a mere crew mate like you doesn’t get a say in what happens,” they taunted, pointing a finger at him as they smirked, “the choice rests on your captain’s shoulders. and when your captain does say yes and we win that first round, you’re going to be the first one up that we choose to come to our side.

whoever’s chosen must immediately swear loyalty to their new captain! in the name of davy jones, the pirate of the deep!”

“fuck davy jones,” [name] says under his breath as he kicks a stone beneath his foot.

”so…you lose a crew mate?” nami asked for clarification, stiffening when the other crew confirmed that.

“and if no one of interest is on the losing side — then you get to strip the pirate ship of its jolly roger, the pride and life of the ship and crew!”

“so crewmates and pride are on the line. winning with make you stronger, while losing will mean a serious lose,” sanji repeated, biting the cigarette that was in his mouth in an annoyed snarl, “what a vicious game.”

as “proof” that the foxy pirates meant business when stealing crewmates, they brought out a couple of former crewmates of another pirate ship. they were now spewing loyalties to the foxy pirates with no shame, making [name] grimace in disgust.

imagining him having to act or be that way, as a foxy crewmate who looked down on luffy, his previous captain, made him sick to his stomach and angry enough to commit some heinous acts.

“and like it or not, you’re all in the game if your captain so much as nods his head in agreement,”

[name] sighed, wondering if luffy would actually fall into such a trap. now, [name] was all for fun and exciting games to be played — especially when the stakes are high. but things such as trading off crewmates was not anything he found particularly exhilarating. it was a disgusting thought; to treat his friends and companions as commodities in a game.

there was nothing fun or exciting about that. and the more the people on that ship talked about it as if it was, made him more and more angry. if he was really going to be put on that ship, he’d made sure to start some infighting to teach them all a lesson.

“then — if it’s just the captain’s decision, i’ll go run over there and do my best in stopping luffy!!”

nami already took off running, but the sound of two gunshots made her stop in her tracks.

“he’s agreed to it.”

“fine by me.”

“this’ll be interesting.”

“luffy…what the hell.”

the strawhats all gathered together, some shooting each other disappointed looks as they were preparing for the “opening ceremony” of the davy back fight.

in what seemed like a couple of minutes, the foxy pirate crew had built up a miniature town that had yakisoba stands, cotton candy sellers, and a bunch of other things you’d most likely see at a carnival. the strawhats all stood in the back as luffy and some split-head guy were sitting at the stage in the front.

“okay, men! please quiet down as we start the opening ceremony!” a woman with blue hair spoke into the mic. she had an odd mask on her face, but as [name] observed those around him, he realized it must be some costume that the crew has to wear.

“first the only way to take back crewmates, jolly rogers, or anything else is through another davy back fight. second, anyone taken by the winner must sweat loyalty to that ship’s captain immediately! third if your holly roger is taken, you can’t ever display it again !”

sanji came running up to the crew with cotton candy, which he lovely presented to robin and nami. the navigator had her head in her hands as she panicked about their entire situation.

“how can you all be so calm about this?!”

”are you still moping about that?” zoro asked, a tired look on his face.

“hm, i don’t like it either, but what’s done is done. if anything goes awry, we can just kill all of these people and set sail without warning,” [name] nonchalantly said, shrugging his shoulders as if it weren’t a big deal. “it’s an annoying predicament luffy has got us into, but the chances are we are gonna win any game over these bozos.”

chopper and usopp looked at [name], horrified at his confession of mass slaughtering the other crew. zoro and sanj, on the other hand, were nagging him about his reaction.

”don’t you think that’s such an unmanly way to go about this?”

“our pride is on the line here, shit for brains, have you no pride?”

they pulled on each side of his face, stretching his cheeks out as they spat insults of his stupidity and lack of pride as a man that he had. he could only take it with a stoic look on his face, not having the bone to argue further with them.

“should you break these rules you’ll be considered a dishonorable pirate and sent to davy jones’ locker!”

“as if pirates have any sense of honor,” [name]’s bored tone and snide comment made zoro and sanji hit him on the back of his head at the same time. “do you swear to uphold them?”

“i swear!”

“i swear!”

the strawhats all perked up in attention when they saw that things were finally getting set into motion. it seemed that the captain of the foxy pirates was letting luffy choose how many games they would play.

the ravenette looked out into the crowd when nami called out his name. he grinned at the signal they were giving him and nodded his head in understanding. both nami and usopp were standing side by side with their pointer fingers held up, indicating that luffy should pick only one game and then be done with it.

unfortunately, luffy didn’t understand and proudly announced that they would be playing three games. someone from foxy’s crew had joined them in their signal, adding his finger in and making luffy think they meant three games instead of just one.

once they were told that all they had to do now was wait for the game of choice to be announced, luffy came waltzing over to them with a carefree look on his face. within seconds, both nami and usopp were scolding and lecturing him with pissed off looks on their faces.

“hey! you forgot something! write down your rosters and give them to our party organizer! members can participate only twice. once you’ve chosen your roster, it’s set in stone!”

a paper was thrown at zoro, who calmly picked it up.

he read the information off, as the rest of the crew gathered. “the events of the contest are: a race, a ball game, and a team competition.”

“what vague wording,” [name] said, glaring at the words on the paper.

”what’s this? a race is open to all members, the ball game is open to three, and the team competition is open to five,” sanji added in, seeing the small notes that were added underneath each game.

“all right! i’m gonna do all three!” luffy said, obviously having not listened to the announcer earlier.

“you can only participate two times, lu,” [name] softly informed the man, rubbing up and down his back, “so you can’t do all three games.”

luffy pouted at the reiterated information, leaning into [name]’s torso with an upset look on his face.

after some sulking and strategic talk, the straw hats were able to decide who would participate when. since the race battle was open to all members, they only had to choose for the second and third game. [name] volunteered himself for the second game, which the others had no problem with. sanji and zoro were next to put down their names for that one — showing some obvious competitive spirit (even though [name] would be on their team). and he decided not to participate in the last one, leaving it to the made team of: robin, nami, usopp, and luffy.

he smirked in interest, finally starting to feel excited about the games rather than annoyed. there was no way he was going to let the strawhats end this game without all their crew members anyway, so he supposed he might as well enjoy it for what it was.

a good opportunity to humble the rookie fodder that were the foxy pirates.

the announcer read their roster with enthusiasm, setting everyone off to prepare for the first game. they gave everyone participating free access to some barrels, encouraging them to break it apart to use as materials for their boat race.

“how should we team up?”

“since some of us are devil fruit users, maybe we should split into two teams of three and four people…” sanji said in thought, taking into account that their race was going to be over the sea water.

[name] hummed in interest, looking at the barrels that were on the stage, “i’ll go solo.”

“hah? why?” nami asked, an unsure look on her face.

“i have an idea, requires only me to execute it. sorry, nami, you won’t be riding with me today,” he teased, going to pinch her cheek, but was immediately slapped away by her own hand and sanji’s.

after a hard glare coming from the navigator, he departed to grab everyone their barrels. he took as many as he could, balancing them in his hold before dropping them onto the ground for all of them to use. he only required one, so it left the rest of the crew with a lot to work with. he took a seat not too far from everyone else, but a good distance away so that he could focus without getting distracted.

but he didn’t mind company, which is why he welcomed usopp’s figure walking towards him with a genuine smile.

“so what are you planning on making, [name]?” usopp asked in curiousity. he peered over [name]’s shoulder with the said man turning his head so he could properly look at usopp as he answered. he didn’t even flinch when his cheek pressed against usopp’s nose since they were that close to one another.

“surfboard!” was his only response, grinning ear to ear and then turning back to his handy work, “if all goes well, this should be an easy win. but if not, i can’t promise i won’t pass out from exhaustion,”

usopp fell onto [name]’s back at that answer, moaning and groaning in a panic, “what if we end up losing [name]? what if we end up getting one of us taken away?!”

”i wouldn’t worry about that, usopp,” [name] comforted the poor man, patting up and down his arm to soothe him, “this is just the first of three games — besides, i’m in the second round as well, so hopefully we can just win whoever we lost back with no problems!”

usopp looked at [name] with hope in his eyes, comedic tears brimming in his round eyes, “do you really have that much faith, [name]? how heartwarming to know you’re so confident in all of our abilities!”

“of course i would be,” [name] laughed, ruffling usopp’s hair and pressing down on his head as if he were a kid, “now you should get to building — your team is counting on you!”

the sniper, with a new sense of confidence and hope, nodded and went off to robin and nami to build their boat together.

[name] hummed as he worked, wiping the sweat off from his forehead as he worked on flattening out the barrel planks. he was beginning to feel hot from working so hard on his “boat” that he turned around to luffy and sanji, beginning to whine, “sanji!!! i’m thirsty, give me water!”

the chef’s brow quirked up in annoyance at the whiney tone [name] had, “what the fuck do i look like to you?! an errand boy?! get yourself some water, dipshit!”

“hey, i asked so nicely and that’s how you respond? how rude of you, sanji, how rude,”

“i could have said much worse, would you like me to?!”

“no, asshole,” [name] muttered the last bit to himself, beginning to stand up and get himself his own water. but just as he was about to turn around from his surfboard, someone bumped into him. they were so close to him, it was as if they were standing behind him when he was sitting down.

he looked down to get a proper look at them, quirking his eyebrow up in intrigue when he recognized that they were a foxy pirate crew member. she had long blonde hair, looking up at him with a blush set on her cheeks.

“hello…?”

“oh! i heard you were thirsty, so i got you a water bottle, [name]!”

he looked at the women before shaking his head, “i’m alright, thanks,” he didn’t want to blatantly accuse her of trying to poison him, but there was no doubt in his mind that that was exactly what she was doing.

why else would someone from the enemy team come over to him?

“are you sure? you look a bit hot,” she said, raising a hand to press against his forehead. he stopped her immediately, gently grabbing her wrist and guiding it back down to her side.

“thank you for the offer, but i’m alright. i’ll just go get my own water,” he awkwardly smiled at her before running off, leaving her there astounded at his behavior. then she huffed in annoyance that she wasn’t able to give him the water that she actually didn’t do anything to (really, she didn’t — the cap was still sealed and everything). she just wanted to show him a nice gesture — and see him up close.

but that annoyed expression on her face was wiped off almost immediately as she daydreamed about what he did look like up close. the blush that was on her cheeks before returned and she almost covered her face with her hands to calm herself.

meanwhile, the straw hats were watching from the side with confused looks on their faces.

“what was that.” nami asked, face scrunched up in genuine confusion. there was no way that was what she thinks it was. and if it was — seriously? [name] of all people? she shuddered at the thought.

“don’t know, that was weird, though!” luffy exclaimed, eyes blown wide as he watched the mystery woman run off with her head down and hiding from their watchful eyes. “if i was [name], i would’ve taken it…it’s free water anyway,”

on the other hand, sanji was sulking in the corner, drawing mindless shapes into the grass as a shadow of sadness and forlorn was hanging around him. it was as if a thunder cloud was hovering above his head with how sad and pathetic he looked.

in a couple of minutes, [name] returned with some refreshments for him and the rest of the crew. and it took him longer than he realized to get the drinks because the moment they finished their drinks, the announcer said that it was time for the race to start.

[name] wiped his forehead of sweat one last time before he picked up his surfboard. it wasn’t as sturdy as he wished for it to be, but hopefully it would still get the job done.

everyone got dropped into the water, the strawhats sticking close to one another as they entered the field with the enemy surrounding them. [name] took a seat on his surfboard, looking around as more people entered the water.

“oh! the odds are finally in! i’ll listen them in order of popularity, starting with the most popular,” [name] sweatdropped at the idea of people voting on a popularity pole, what odd timing for such a thing. “the top spot obviously is going to the member of the powerful team foxy: porche-chan!” a woman with a pointy nose and long blue hair was standing on top of her boat, waving her arms in the air as she looked at her “fans” on shore.

it was obvious she was a favorite for her cute looks and personality with how loud the men on the sidelines were cheering for her.

“ooh! just leave it to me!” she exclaimed as she blew kisses into the crowd, which only made them cheer louder.

“second most popualr is…oh!! this is unexpected! the straw hat team of navigator nami, sniper usopp, and archeologist robin! they’ll be riding the barrel tiger!”

[name] cheered for his team, screaming and clapping his hands for them. this only made nami splash him with water using her paddle, putting her head down in fear and shame. he could only guess that her thoughts were going a mile a minute since she assumed that the foxy pirates would probably be taking her first when they win since she’s the cutest. [name] smiled at her funny reaction, turning back to the announcer to hear more.

“third most popular is…oh! another surprise! the strawhat team’s solo rider, [name]!!” the man blinked in shock, looking to the announcer to make sure he was hearing right, “oh, with such a cool boat, there’s no wonder he’s got many fans. a man of confidence, he is! what mysterious power will he use to try winning?!”

“not try — i am going to,” [name] huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head to the side so he wouldn’t have to look at the cheesy announcer.

“that attitude! isn’t it just to die for, ladies?!”

[name] flinched at the sudden question, but his jaw really dropped when he heard a high chorus of agreement come from the crowd. the previous “front row” men were replaced with just as many women, who came forward and were shamelessly showing their support for him.

“win the race, [name]! we bet you’ll look really good while you do it, too!!”

“i’m your number 1 supporter!”

“oh, i hope he loses so he can join us!”

“good thinking, me too, me too!!”

the straw hats, minus sanji — who was once again sulking, all sweatdropped at the sudden attention [name] was getting. they were shocked that it was even a positive encouragement coming from the foxy pirates.

“please, don’t cheer for me,” [name] said in a serious tone, looking at the girls with a blank stare, “i don’t even know why you would…”

“telling me not to cheer will only make me cheer louder!”

[name] grimaced.

“because you’re the strongest, [name]!”

that made him put on a prideful grin, for a split second.

“because you’re the coolest and most handsome, [name]!”

a blank stare was shot towards the women who shouted that.

“now, now, let’s get settled, ladies! the rest of the popularity poll must be read!” the commentator lightly scolded, making the women in the front row quiet down, but still shoot [name] their heart eyes and dreamy smiles.

he shifted where he sat, pretending to not notice them.

“next is the harem nocturne, a boat of the beautiful, by the beautiful, for the beautiful!” a couple of the women on board that boat winked at [name] when they noticed him staring in wonder, “in fourth place is the crab crane, a regular in the top ranks! in fifth and sixth place, the swordfish king #1 and #2!! seventh most popular is the party-loving pleasure boat! in eighth place, the duke special!”

it seemed that the other strawhats weren’t even worthy of being read off, not until luffy incited an explanation. and with that, they learned that they weren’t even the last on the list, but someone from foxy’s crew that had an inhumanely large barrel boat set up.

and with the introduction of all the teams, everyone watching was getting hyped up and ready for the race.

“crush them, porche-chan!!”

“we’re cheering for you, handsome [name]!!”

”that’s a lil overboard…”

“we hope you sink, long-nose!”

“me?!”

with the firing of the gun, everyone was quick to steer ahead. [name] used his makeshift paddle for now, standing on top of his surfboard and balancing himself to make sure that he didn’t fall.

he grit his teeth, seeing that from the largest ship, a bunch of other barrels had been thrown into the sea. when nami had poked the barrel with her oar, a sudden explosion was set off, making [name] still and turn behind him in worry.

seeing that their boat was shot straight up into the air, he quickly let the water spurt up underneath them and catch them before they could crash down and do more damage to their boat. it was as if the sea turned into a fountain for a split second with how instant the reaction was.

“are you all okay?!”

“we’re fine, thanks [name] for saving us,” he nodded stiffly, shouting at them to be sure that they avoided the rest of the barrels.

“that’s impossible! they’re completely surrounding us!”

“hand me that oar, chopper, i can take care of it,” zoro commanded and the doctor didn’t waste a second before complying.

in a couple of seconds, all of the explosive barrels that were surrounding them had be pushed back to where they came from. and before the rest of them knew it, a tremendous wave had resulted from the explosion.

seeing it as the perfect opportunity, [name] threw the oar aside and stood tall and ready for the wave to hit.

“asshole, you better use this chance for good and send us into first place!!” zoro shouted, seeing the plan practically painted on [name]’s face. the devilish smirk and confident fire in his eyes, he was easy to read in that moment.

“just sit back and enjoy the show, idiot marimo!” [name] shouted in return, watching the gigantic wave only get bigger and bigger.

he began paddling with his arms before popping up onto his feet, keeping a steady balance. within seconds, he was being put into first place as the wave he was riding did all of the hard work for him.

“we’re happily watching and enjoying, [name]!” the same “fanclub” that made itself known earlier screamed, practical hearts in their eyes. he ignored their cries, focusing on staying balanced and standing upright.

with the water now dousing his clothes and hair, he was completely drenched in sea water. he smirked at the cool feeling, a drastic difference to his warm body heat. it was the perfect balance of temperature that gave him a shot of dopamine.

“perfect,” he leaned down, touching the wave underneath his barrel surfboard. then he stood up and his posture turned relaxed, hands on his hips as he steadily guided his surfboard straight ahead.

“i’m in first place~”

if anyone thought about it for even just a second, they’d have realized that this was the perfect race for [name]. but, obviously, only if you had known the one major factor: [name] had the ability to manipulate water, including saltwater, even if only for a short while. riding atop of such a simple, but easily maneuverable boat/surfboard made for a perfect vessel in the conditions.

and not a single soul in the grand line knew of this ability, which made it the perfect opportunity to twist this in the straw hat’s favor. it explained why the confident smirk on his face didn’t falter for even a second.

-

[ .ᐟ ]  i cant believe that this is a real arc and not just filler……

-

taglist (lmk if u want to be tagged ! <3 : ty to the persoin in the replise that helped me out with this issue, however, those with the ** marked i still cant properly tag them :(( their accoutns wont show up when i type the username, but for the ones marked without ** the accounts showed up perfectly fine :// im rlly confused on why its doing thissss ughhhh

@skullr0se @strawberrii-tea @triangulartriangles @anotherlovefool

@sinmp @taru-nami @disc0dild0s @boredwithlifeatthispoint

@whotdefak @zforgottensniper @lunarapple @softi-911 @softhanyu

@coca-cola-fiend @chibiduck

@violentlynerdy **

@kaulitzer **

@3v33373 **

@notplutos **

@cheetosins **

@lcst-at5ea **

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[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Ash Walker: Part 1

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Now that we’re all here it’s time I tell you what the job is.”

Hemlock kicked the holographic table and it buzzed into life, the projection lighting up the room in a soft blue glow. Six pairs of eyes turned to look at the projection as Hemlock pointed to the slowly turning image of a world.

“This is Thescara III-“ he began before being immediately cut off.

“Frak this shit.” One of the onlookers declared. “I’m not sitting one foot on that cursed world. You drop me off on the nearest barren moon.”

“What’s wrong with Thescara III?” another onlooker asked.

Septh looked at Hemlock and scoffed. “No wonder you wanted a new crew of fresh pups, for no seasoned salvager would join up with you.”

“You going to answer my question old man, or are you just keep ignoring me?”

Septh looked at the Fling then back at Hemlock with a hard stare. Hemlock paused and took a look around the room at his new crew. There was the Theosian called Tug standing in the back. He wore his ceremonial metal armor that was crafted to his flesh upon birth and was the muscle of the group.

The Guppin Fling was sitting in front of Tug with all four of his legs crossed. They were the youngest of the group and were it not for his hacking skills he’d not be here at all. Hemlock saw a lot of himself in the Guppin but was worried his enthusiasm would make him careless.

Opposite them were the triplets Nok, Uma, and Rue. None of them were particularly good with any skillset, but Hemlock needed the extra hands for lugging things and they came cheap. In truth he still didn't know which was which so he’d just shout a name and tell them to do something.

Last was Septh; the only one he’d used for multiple jobs. He was an old hand at the salvage game and was understandably not happy about being kept in the dark until the last moment.

“Thescara III was originally a human world until their war with the Jen. Rather than engage the humans on the surface where they knew the humans had the advantage they dropped a couple thousand low yield nuclear bombs across the entire surface reducing it to perpetual nuclear winter.”

“Cowards.”

Hemlock turned to see Tug adjusting himself against the wall and send a small tremor through the decking before spitting a gob of something black on to the floor and continued talking.

“True warriors face their foes face to face; not through the lens of a computer monitor.”

“If you knew what humans can do with a sharpened stick you might think twice.”

The triplets snickered at this but went silent when Tug shot them a sidelong glance.

“None of this matters, save for the fact there is over seven million credits locked away in the capital branch bank of Universal Credit that is just sitting there waiting to be nabbed.”

The mention of loot drew everyone’s attention. That many credits were enough to buy decent chunk of a moon, or live a life of luxury on a paradise world for seven lifetimes.

 “It’s just been sitting there; this entire time?” one of the triplets asked. “How do we know the credits are still there?”

Gods they even sound the same, Hemlock thought.

“’The planet has been an ecological nightmare ever since the bombs went off. You can only stay on the surface for a short period of time before the radiation levels kill you. Couple that with the vault’s combination randomly rotating itself every hour it’s made it impossible to crack it before the radiation bakes you.”

“If that’s true then what chance do we have?” Septh interrupted.

In response Hemlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold disc.

“Because we aren’t going to need to crack the vault with this little ticket here.” Hemlock smiled. “As this little dingy is a corporate level security key, which can open any UC vault automatically.”

The triplets and Fling whistled in amazement, and with good reason. Those types of security keys were only given to executive level personnel and the loss of one would trigger an immediate reaction force to retrieve it.

“Do I want to know how you got that?” Septh asked.

Hemlock shrugged. “I’m borrowing it from a certain partner who will remain nameless for now.”

He pointed back to the hologram and grinned. “Now, time to plan our payday.” ---------------------------

Parting through the dense cloud coverage, Hemlock kept a constant eye on the retro rockets to match the ever changing wind patterns. He had flown through hurricanes and gale force winds that could cleave metal like paper, yet Thescara III was proving to be an entirely different beast.

Not only was the planet covered in a near perpetual cloud cover that dispensed ash but the sheer amount of nuclear bombs that had been dropped had also changed the planet’s equilibrium. Wind direction changed in intensity and direction by the minute, air pockets were abound like it was a minefield, and that wasn’t even getting into the random lightning strikes that could short out the entire ship if one struck home.

“I told you this planet was-“ Septh began before another air pocket the ship and the ship dropped suddenly.

Hemlock grinned at his good fortune and once more adjusted a series of dials. It took a few moments to pass through the last bit of turbulence and finally get below the cloud cover.

“Welcome to Thescara III everyone.” Hemlock said as the planet’s surface finally came into view.

As far as his eyes could see the entire planet was covered in layer upon layer of grey ash. Spires of city skyscrapers loomed up out of the ground like the skeleton fingers of gods, their shadows casting long across the ruins of a dead city.

After a few moments of circling Hemlock found the ideal landing site and brought the ship down. From the city records he was able to obtain the opening was once a large park at the heart of the capital city and only a few city blocks away from their target.

With a loud thud the support legs touched down on the surface and the engines began slowly powering down. Hemlock was already unbuckling harness and making for the cargo hold. Septh was in lock step behind him as the pair entered the hold to find the rest of the crew already suiting up.

Tug still had his armor on but had donned an atmospheric helmet. Hemlock could see the faint green glow of targeting feeds displaying on the inside of the helmet as the warrior performed basic systems checks. The triplets were gathering around hauler making final checks. They wore standard atmospheric suits with different colors for distinction as they circled the hauler. It was an anti-grav model with several large cases stacked on the back which the crew would fill with credits.

Hemlock was crazy enough to take this risk but not stupid enough to think he or his crew could haul seven million credits back without transport so the triplets were to be glued to the thing the entire time.

Fling was the last of the group off to the side that Hemlock found. He was struggling to attach the gloves of his suit when he approached and helped him.

“So if we have a key to the vault,” Fling began as he nodded thanks to Hemlock for the glove assist, “why exactly do you need me?”

“If the key fails you’re the contingency.” Hemlock said plainly. “I always hedge my bets, and I always have a plan B.”

Fling smirked. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted for being plan A.”

Hemlock didn’t reply as he finished checking the rest of Fling’s suit and stepping back as Septh approached. He casually flung a spare helmet to Hemlock who caught it midair and donned it with ease.

“Listen up everyone,” he began as he spoke over the shared com network, “we have three hours to get in and out before the next radiation wave sweeps through here.”

Slapping the release button on the side of the hull sirens began blaring and the boarding ramp slowly cracked open and lowered down to the surface. A fresh blizzard of ash slowly began sweeping into the hold as the crew hopped onboard the hauler.

“Keep in coms range, keep an eye on your radiation meters, and for frak’s sake do not go wandering off.” Hemlock broke off checking on his crew to look down the boarding ramp as it fully opened. “This is not a world you want to be alone on.”

With his instructions delivered he slapped the top of the hauler’s cab and the triplets drove the vehicle forward. No sooner had the hauler reached the bottom of the ramp did Hemlock realize something was wrong.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Hemlock turned to see Fling looking off to the left of the boarding ramp and followed his gaze. His eyes went wide as he saw the outline of a Nebula B class freighter parked right next to his ship.

From the cockpit he had assumed it was another mound of ash, but now looking up at it from the ground he could see the underside of the ship clear as day. It’s boarding ramp was likewise lowered but now was coated in several layers of ash.

“Competition?” Tug asked as he hefted his power rifle. Septh shook his head in response as his eyes went over the freighter.

“This thing’s been here a while now.” He answered. Tug looked at him then back at the silent freighter. “How can you tell?” he asked.

“Nebula B’s are notorious for their engines never fully shutting down and always making a low rumbling sound.” Septh said as he put a hand to his ear. “For it to be silent it must have burned through its fuel reserves, and those can last about two-three years.”

“That’s not the half of it.”

Hemlock turned to see Tug nodding in the opposite direction to see a row of other spaceships lining alongside theirs like a giant parking lot.

“What the hell is this…” One of the triplets said from the hauler cabin. “Where are all their crews? Why’d they leave their ships out like this?”

“It’s-“ Septh began but Hemlock cut him off.

“Shut it.” Hemlock barked. He pointed down the road lined with ash covered vehicles. “We’ve got three hours and we don’t have time to waste!”

The crew looked amongst themselves before the hauler lurched forward again.