#thievery tw

[lcveliess]

“don’t worry,” nettles started, glancing down at the knocked out stranger before her. “i’m not looking to knock someone else out, as long as they know to keep their hands from what doesn’t belong to them.” she said and shrugged her shoulders slightly. “it’s what they get for trying to steal from others without good reason.” why she felt the need to add the exception of there being ‘a good reason’, she wasn’t entirely sure. however it felt like an important distinction to make, especially as she had found herself needing to steal essentials at times when she was younger and hadn’t been placed in a good foster family yet. before sidney became her foster sister and someone she knew she could rely on.

@hiddenstarters

[mariocki]

The Headless Eyes (1971)

"You've tried to alienate yourself but, Mal, I'm here, you -"

"Why? For two years I have been trying to live alone and to be able to accept this. Why are you here?"

"Because you haven't convinced me."

"Of what?"

"That you're incurable."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

~

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

~

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

~

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

~

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

~

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWO

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, kidnapping, 141 are mean pirates, brief mentions of gore/death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The time you spent in the brig was frigid and isolating. Despite it being summer, the cold gusts of the sea had crept in through the thin cracks of the wooden ship, rising goosebumps on your skin and sending shivers wracking through your body. You were in no attire to accommodate the chill, only dressed in your barest of summer garments, thin and dirtied from the poverty your village lived in.

Silence became your new friend, while also your enemy. As much as you were one to appreciate the quiet of the world, the waves crashing along the sides of the ship were far too loud, taunting you with a grim reminder that you were lost at sea with no home to return to.

Your home was burned down to ash, surely with no survivors, given the state of havoc you’d returned to when Ghost told you to fetch your things. Your home didn’t treat you kindly, but it was still the place you’d grown up in and planned on dying peacefully. Now, you were a prisoner to pirates, ones only told about in silly fairy tales.

The stories of pirates had scared you when you were a young child. The elders had grouped together all children on summer nights such as this one, feeding them useless fables of the dangerous men and women that ruled the seas. They were ruthless, showing no remorse for the ones they tormented, uncaring of the bloodshed they splattered along native lands of the innocent.

That’s all they were when you were a child. Stories. Only meant to keep the youth away from the seas as not to witness them fall in and succumb to a painful death of drowning.

Now, though, it was your cruel reality. A nightmare. The pirates from those tales had been plucked straight out of the book and planted right into your life, erupting it into living hell.

Nobody had come to check on you after Ghost left you locked up in the cell. It had been hours since, the only telltale sign being the peek of sunlight poking through the small brig window and illuminating the room enough to shower you in a faint glow. There was nothing but a cot in the cell, the lower deck bare of anything useful.

Your escape would be fruitless. You’d thought about squeezing through the tiny window, but even if you managed, where would that leave you? Captured in the waves of the sea until you’d sink to the bottom in exhaustion.

You had to play it smart. Staying awake for hours alone had left you with plenty of rapid thoughts, some irrational. The best thing you’d decided in the end was to play along, gain their trust, and fulfill your role. As much as a part of you wished you were dead, it would be betraying your village, betraying Mary.

They needed to be caught. These pirates needed to pay for their crimes.

Gain their trust. Get off of the ship. Inform the nearest guard station.

When daylight fully broke, the sound of a creaky door caught your attention. More sunlight poured through the open doorway from the top of the stairs, showcasing one of the pirates. This time, it wasn’t Ghost, but instead, the one who had tossed you over their shoulder like a weak sack of potatoes.

Gaz said nothing as he descended down the stairs. In his hand was a steaming bowl, swirling around him like an ominous mist. His eyes locked on to yours, hardened from years of thievery and slaughter. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in them, nor indication that he was anything besides a sailing machine designed to follow Captain’s orders.

You watched keenly as he approached your cell. He stood over you like a brewing storm cloud, shadowing you from the stretch of light behind him.

For a moment, the two of you sat there frozen. You, terrified and cautious. Him, off putting and brooding.

Breaking the tension, his free hand scrambled for the keys latched on to the loops on his trousers, inserting one of the keys into the lock. He paused, eyeing you as a warning not to pull a brainless move. When he was satisfied you wouldn’t dare, he tugged the cell door open before stepping inside.

“Here,” he muttered, crouching down to place the bowl of food in front of you. Upon further inspection, you realized it was porridge. Bland and colorless.

You had no appetite after the horrors you’d seen. The sight of food had your stomach twisting, filling with rotten bile that begged to escape you and paint the floor beneath you.

Brimming with rage and seethe, you did the first thing that came to mind. Your hands picked up the bowl, carefully guiding it up to your mouth in attempts to seem starved. Gaz watched carefully, face set in firm lines that bristled a resentful itch inside of you.

With a turn of your hands, you tossed the porridge directly at Gaz, coating him in the piping liquid, chunks of vegetable that had been carelessly tossed in for flavor slipping down his front. His shirt and trousers were drenched, staining with the lifeless meal.

His face morphed into one of surprise before quickly shifting course. Instead, he was angry, eyebrows pulling taut, scowl curling on his lips. His eyes darkened impossibly more, filling the warm pupils with a menacing black.

“You fuckin’ wench,” he hissed, standing from his crouch to angrily swipe at the food that littered his clothing. It fell to the floor in a mushy mess right in front of you. Due to his aggression, a few stray chunks splattered back on to you in retaliation.

Realizing what you’d done, you tensed up, shuffling back from your place on the floor until your back hit the splintering walls of the ship. Gaz let out a roaring groan in irritation, sending a daggering glare your way.

“You are not hungry?” he asked tauntingly. He stepped out of the cell, slamming the door shut and locking it up tight. “Starve then. You will learn soon enough.”

Watching with widened eyes, he left the brig, grumbling angry curses to himself. When he shut the doors of your escape, you were met with sickening silence once again. The sound of waves taunted you, whispering insults in your ears for being such a stupid girl.

The pact you’d made with yourself was already in ruin. Befriending the pirates would be a difficult task if you couldn’t swallow down your enmity, and now you’d gone and made a foe.

Nobody returned to your cell for the rest of the day. It was punishment, that much you could figure out. Your stomach grumbled with desperate pleas, yet you could do nothing but wallow in your own acrimony for the remainder of the night.

When morning rose, you were awakened by the sound of the door once again. The light was blinding as it invaded the room, temporarily blocking your view of the person who’d stepped inside. When your eyes adjusted, you were faced with another pirate, the one who had held Mary down while you pleaded with him to release her.

Gaz stood beside him, arms crossed to appear larger. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the tease of resentment fluttering in his eyes.

“Not goin’ to toss yer breakfast on me, are ye?” the other snickered, eliciting a glare from Gaz. The pirate stepped forward, unlocking your cell and slipping inside. This time, he held the stale porridge while Gaz remained a pace behind him. “I know yer starvin’, so don’t be a prude. Eat up, aye?”

He set the bowl in front of you, just as Gaz had done. Remaining crouched in front of you, he made a gesture of his head towards the steaming meal, a toothy grin on his face.

You knew better than to feel relieved at the kindness. He was a pirate, just as the others, and he was cruel and unruly. Though, thinking back on your plan, his youthfulness may be a much easier one to befriend.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly with a respectful bow of your head. You reached for the bowl, gathering it in both hands. Gaz and the other studied you, seemingly waiting for a repeat of dirty laundry. It never came, though, and you lifted the wood spoon to your lips, swallowing down the first bite.

Just as you thought, it was bitter. How one could even make porridge bitter, you were unsure, but your stomach made no protest to the grainy oats. In fact, it was rather appealing, having been starved for two days.

“Take it ye like it, then?” the one pirate hummed, cocking his head at the display. “Get used to it, birdie. It’ll be yer meal for majority of yer time here.” He shot you another grin, resembling a mangy cat.

The reminder of your permanent stay was a difficult one, but your plan played over in your head. You wanted to go home, though it was no more, and you wanted your freedom back. Neither would be possible if you didn’t show kindness in return.

“What’s your name?” you questioned, making a poor attempt at conversation.

“Soap,” he introduced proudly. You didn’t mean to, but the name made you snort, triggering a light cough from the porridge you’d been in the middle of swallowing down.

“Soap is an… interesting name,” you grimaced. Soap didn’t seem to mind the back-handedness, only keeping that signature grin that was beginning to grow a bit hard on the eyes.

“Aye, got the name from bein’ a bit too rowdy. Price wanted to wash my mouth out.” His own words had him cackling, loud and boisterous in the cramped brig. Gaz had no reaction, opting for the hardened look that was practically piercing into you like thousands of knives. “What’s yer name, birdie? Got to learn who our new medic is.”

You wanted to remind him that you weren’t a medic. Not a professional one, anyway. You knew the bare minimum of proper medical etiquette and your medicines Ghost had told you to bring with were simply experimental mixtures. But you also knew that he wouldn’t listen nor care.

“The village called me dove,” you explained, swallowing down more porridge. It was warm in your mouth, coating your throat with gooey goodness. “Though, I don’t think it was much out of kindness.”

Soap hummed in acknowledgement, shooting a lopsided smile and a nod of his head. “Not quite a pirate name, dove, but it’ll do.”

“I’m not a pirate,” you defended with a frown.

“Ye are now,” he reckoned mindlessly, shrugging a lazy shoulder. Soap stood from his position, straightening up next to Gaz. “I’ll give ye some advice to be a part of this crew, dove. It’s not nice to throw porridge at a poor lad like Gaz.” Soap clapped Gaz on his shoulder, earning a scowl, which he ignored.

Your eyes shifted from Soap to Gaz, taking in the pure annoyance radiating off of him in waves. It was undeniable, practically filling the room’s atmosphere with black mist.

“I apologize,” you forced out, though that bitter part of you denied it. You wouldn’t feel sorry for these pirates. After all, they didn’t feel bad for the innocent lives they ruined.

Gaz’s nose twitched at your faux remorse, staring at you for a beat too long before turning away. He made no move to talk to you, but it wasn’t a blatant refusal of your apology. Perhaps he was just a tough nut to crack with a soft sweetness on the inside, even for a pirate.

The two men left you alone in the brig once again, only returning to give you meals as needed. It was terribly lonely the more the weeks went on with no move to release you from your cell. It was as if none of them trusted you, despite them being the ones to kidnap you. They burned down your home, slaughtered your people, and yet, wouldn’t allow you a chance to taste a sliver of freedom.

It was agonizing to wait, but you kept up your facade as much as you could, dripping with poisoned honey every time Gaz or Soap entered the brig with means to feed you.

Price or Ghost hadn’t made an entrance to see you. For the most part, you were grateful for it. In just the couple of weeks Soap and Gaz had been feeding you, they were warming up to you, slow and steady — Soap more than the other.

Gaz still had his reservations about you. He was reclusive, always standing on guard as if the shadows in the wall were prepared to attack at any given moment. It was better than before, where he had treated you like a burdening dog who he couldn’t rid himself of, but the progress was dwindling.

Soap was much more gracious. While he was obnoxious, he was much more welcoming company. You had no desire to truly befriend these pirates, but if any were to be the most tolerable, it was Soap.

Price and Ghost, though, were a mystery. Their absence made crucial falters in your meticulous plotting. You wanted out of the cell so you may roam the creaky decks of the ship, but the dream simply wouldn’t be possible without their trust.

It wasn’t until the fourth week of your imprisonment that the storyline had shifted. Rather than Soap bringing you your meal for the night, it was the Captain himself, standing tall and brute in front of your barred enclosure.

Unease rattled through your bones at his sudden appearance. You weren’t expecting him, nor were you prepared to face the very man who had slain your village with the help of his men.

He observed you like a lab rat, studying every movement like a variable in his experiment. It was prodding and exposing, leaving you sitting in your cell with a heavy lump in your throat.

“Soap tells me you’re warmin’ up to him,” he claimed, breaking the thick silence that smothered the air. He paced back and forth in front of your cell, eyes focused in on you. “Figured I’d properly introduce myself, seein’ as we’ll be spendin’ a lot of time together.”

You swallowed the rock in your throat, unmoving from your position on the floor. It was far from comfortable, but the cot was worn and dirty, so the floor became your only friend in the midst of all your dispair.

“I see,” you managed, clearing your throat. Price continued his relentless pacing, hands crossed behind his back in a formal manner. Ironic, really, considering his ruthless occupation.

“Dove, was it?” he asked. You nodded wearily. “A shame, really. Doves are lovely things, beautiful creatures made up of the purest white. Yet your village had called you it in ridicule. Or so I heard.”

Price was a man that spoke in riddles. He spouted conversation in the form of poetry, only tainting its beauty when angered. It was both unnerving and intriguing for a pirate. He wasn’t dirtied like you’d heard in childhood tales.

“I suppose they did,” you agreed with a small frown. The anxious pit in your stomach only grew, triggering alarm bells telling you that this man was an enigma. He wasn’t to be trusted.

“And why is that?” Price questioned. He ceased his pacing to face you properly, and you wished he’d return to it. His stature was that of a behemoth, overpowering and menacing, much like Ghost had been.

“Why did they call me dove?” you responded in confusion.

“Why did they ridicule you,” he corrected.

The statement made you pause. You hadn’t really thought about your townspeople dumbing you down to a mere crazy girl with too much ambition. You were the talk of the village within your age group as well as the occasional elder who tsked at you for never marrying.

The relationship between you and your people was one of complexity. While you loved them as your own, they battered you every chance they had. Hell, even Lucius himself had outed you to a group of pirates without care in the world. The very man who had spent countless months in attempts to make you a pretty village wife had sent you to your early grave to save his own ass.

“They thought I was different,” you explained woefully. “It is not normal for a woman to partake in medicine, let alone education. Doves are beautiful, yes, but they’re also adventurous. It is a dangerous conviction to be compared to as a woman.”

Price cocked his head to the side, filling the air with silence. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to explain yourself to a dingy villain such as him, but you feared that if you weren’t honest in your conversation, he’d be able to sniff out your deception from miles away.

“Who has told you it is not normal?” Price asked, and once again, he had stumped you.

“It is not a difficult thing to digest, Captain. Women do not involve themselves in ambition.”

“They quite do,” he retorted. You stared up at him through the bars, your own head cocking. You didn’t trust his word, but a shriveled piece of you was curious. “Sure, it is not acceptable in certain places, but it is quite popular.”

You blinked at him, before staring at the wooden floor, pondering.

You had been expecting the Captain to treat you with hostility, to throw nasty words your way with the excuse of being a pirate. That was what you had been told in adolescence, how dirty they could be, but he was calm.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Price said. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the bars of your cell, standing over you with only that barrier separating you. “I am not a cruel man. You may think differently, and for that, I do not care. But I will say that I believe you will have a much better life upon my ship.”

His words were a mix of sweet venom being spat at you. While they could be perceived as kind, there was an underlying message, one you couldn’t decipher.

“You burned down my village and killed my people. You kidnapped me to be your medic on your ship,” you defended, unable to hold back the taste of lingering resentment.

You had nearly forgotten why you were there with Soap and Gaz visiting to shift your mind elsewhere. You almost dismissed your own plan of escape. Price had reminded you without realizing, and now, your heart felt heavy once again.

“Ah, yes. The people that willingly sacrificed their own in effort to save themselves,” Price mused mockingly. The words stung. “Yes, we took you against your will. I will admit that. But your people treated you far worse.”

“You do not know a thing, Captain,” you spat.

Price cocked his head once more, resting his forehead on the forearms that lay upon your cell. “Aye, I do not,” he admitted. “But I know a bird with clipped wings when I see one. Perhaps you’ll be grateful when you learn to accept things as they are.”

You wanted to retort, wanted to get the last word in, but he was right. You barely knew the Captain and yet, he had read you like a novel, flipping through your pages and memorizing them from one single look through.

It felt dehumanizing. He was cruel and vicious, as were his men. They were nowhere near saviors, yet he spoke to you as if he was. It sickened you to the core, but there was no denying his brutal honesty.

Price offered you a lazy smile before standing straight, arms falling to his sides. “I suggest gettin’ used to your new life. You’ve got no home to return to anyway.”

He retreated from your cell as if he hadn’t slapped you in the face with a dose of reality. His boots were heavy and aggravating as they trudged up the stairs towards the upper deck, where he promptly shut the door on you, leaving you alone once again.

Your escape plan was falling into shambles before it had even began to fester. 

[the-californicationist]

The Welcome Distraction

MDNI/18+ --- TW: Blow jobs, face-fucking (lovingly) AO3 Link

“Everything alright, babe?” You asked, watching your huge, frustrated husband pace back and forth in your small den. 

John Price was usually such a level-headed man. His cool exterior shell hid a furious temper underneath, but he was so very careful never to let it show. The hound was always on its leash. Today, though, it was growling — figuratively and literally. 

“The wrong fucking intel… how could Laswell let this happen? All those months we spent planning to infil this base — wasted,” he gripped the iPad like it owed him money, the plastic casing creaking under his enormous hand. You watched the tiny muscles and tendons battle against the bones inside of it, remembering exactly how that generous grip felt on your skin. 

You knew how to make him relax. Taking his iPad from him gently, you sat him down on the couch and poured him a generous glass of his favorite scotch. It was the fourteen year Oban, and you could smell the salty, smoky scent of apples and ginger, bookended by its signature creaminess. You stole a taste before you handed him the glass, getting his attention with your thievery. Then, you dug a fat cigar from his humidor, something that would smoke for an hour or more if he let it, clipping and punching it just as he had showed you. 

Settling him down on the couch, you preened, enjoying his look of baffled confusion. His eyes were still rimmed with some frustration, but you could tell your distractions were working.  

You were wearing one of his white button-down shirts as a nightgown, allowing the large collar to hang off of you at odd angles to show most of your skin. There was nothing underneath. He’d been pretty adamant about keeping you in as few clothes as possible when you moved in together, praising you for going commando, begging you to sleep naked, giving you little kisses and treats when he found you under the blankets on the couch with nothing on. 

You learned quickly from these sweet rewards, so you knew what he wanted to see. Wearing his shirts had dawned on you like a eureka moment one day, and it had worked like a damn charm. He could barely keep his hands off of you when you had one on, and if you had an appointment or somewhere important to be, you made sure to be out of it before he got home. Otherwise, you would be at his mercy. You joked that he was your wild, untamed caveman; always ready to take his woman at a moment’s notice. He had just smiled and rolled a dark chuckle around in this throat, insatiable. 

Gazing down at him now on the couch, you admired the absolute specimen that you’d been given. His wide, hairy chest stretched out his army green tee, the sleeves straining to accommodate his heavy arms. John had the most gorgeous mouth, and as he wet his cigar, lighting it carefully, you let your body reminisce about how those full lips felt against your warm center. Then, his jeans. Every pair fit like latex around his muscular ass and thighs, and the zipper was always tested by his fat, flaccid cock, cruelly stuffed against the fabric commando-style. He dressed to the left, and you could see how his shaft had begun to strain as it grew hard down the side of his thigh, reaching for something warm and wet. 

You pulled a pillow off of the couch and knelt down in front of him, making quite the show of pinning up your hair. He watched you like a hawk watches a field, looking for movement and eager to sink his talons into the soft body of his squealing prey. 

Then, you focused on him. John was held in your stare, his blue eyes bright and curious. Smoke fell down his mouth and into his scruffy beard like a waterfall of incense, the smell making you feel braver than you had a right to. You made sure he watched you as you plucked the buttons on his oversized shirt. Each loose button let the collar open further and further until finally, the silky cloth fell away, pooling around you. 

“What’s all this, then?” He asked, sitting forward with one hand palming his cock and the other still busy with his cigar.

John kissed you, feeling how weak and pliant your mouth was, wetting your tongue with his own, becoming more ravenous by the second. You kissed him back languidly, making sure to keep your affections relaxed, slowing him down gently. You pulled away, smiling at him knowingly. 

“Would you like to pick a toy for me, Captain?” You nodded to the end table where an assortment of plugs and vibrators lived. They were stashed all over the house just like the cigars — in case of emergencies. 

He stirred at your use of his title, or at your suggestion about the toys; maybe both. But, he played along, bending over to the drawer and choosing an easy silicone dildo, something to keep you company down there on the floor. Your captain held it in his hands and waited for your next move, happy to be commanded for a change. 

You let him hold it for you, and you sank your mouth around it, coating it in your spit and giving him a preview of what was about to happen to him. You sucked the head of the toy teasingly, and you let it slide into the back of your throat, coating it in your drool. You heard him let out a low, rumbling sigh, and you removed it from your lips. 

You took it from him and slipped it into yourself with some difficulty, letting the fullness of the toy cock settle into you and warm itself with your core. Your little mewls of pleasure caught him like a fire, and you could sense the tension in his body, ready to burn.

Then, slowly, as if you were approaching a dangerous animal — you were — you popped open the button fly of his jeans, letting each button slip satisfyingly out of its hole, revealing the base of his impossibly thick cock. His hair was dark and coarse, curling around his velvety shaft and balls. You took him out carefully, admiring his girth. The rosy, swollen head was still tucked behind his smooth foreskin, and you were eager to slide it out. 

You smiled up at him, watching him watch you, 

“I want you to relax, John. So, I’m going to let you use me for a while. You can go back to your emails if you want, or maybe turn on the game,” you glanced at the television behind you, “But, I’m starving, and you’re going to feed me until you’re done with that cigar. Does that sound good?”

You licked the underside of his cock while he decided how to answer you. He melted into you so quickly, and he nodded, 

“Sure thing, love. Anything you want.”

“Thank you, Captain,” you kissed his shining head and started your work. 

 Licking the underside of his shaft was one of his favorite parts, so you took your sweet time, softening your tongue and making sure to sweep over his head at the end of each long journey from his base to his tip. You took breaks here and there to suck gently on his large balls, taking them inside of your mouth like the round candy of a lollipop. 

He had already started with his moaning, furrowing his brow and taking a long drag from his cigar. You looked up at him, watching the orange glow give way to thick, creamy smoke. He reached over for the scotch and drank, savoring all of the heat and the flavors you’d presented to his palette. 

Slowly but surely, as you massaged and sucked and licked and kissed, his body lost more and more of that tension. After a while, he was pliant for you, high from his nicotine, buzzed from his drink, and floating in the river of hedonistic pleasure you had crafted. 

In a way, you too had been weakened by him. Having him in your mouth was a challenge, but it was comforting. You suckled from his tip as if from the sweet flesh of a fruit, soothing yourself and letting your mind go blank. You didn’t need to think about anything else but him, and he was easy. 

The toy was giving you a delicious amount of feedback. As you clenched around it, you could feel your pussy becoming softer and more pliant, and you could tell that you were soaking. You could even feel it on your thighs, and if you twisted your hips just so, you could make your lips slide against each other, making little wet clicking noises as you fucked the dildo against the pillow. It wasn’t enough to make you come, but it was enough to get you started. 

Only when he started to get restless again did you care to speed up your efforts. So far, you’d been taking him only halfway, focusing on his sensitive head, licking long swipes along his glans, letting him fill with blood until he was taut like a bowstring. But, now, nearly finished with his whiskey and about a third of the way through his cigar, you began to notice little clues from his body that he needed more. 

His hips would buck a bit when you took him deeper, and if you massaged his balls, his head would fall back and he would let out a deep, roiling grunt. The muscles in his lower belly were pulling and pushing against themselves, now, and every now and then, you could feel a twitch from his heavy rod, pulsing for you and mimicking its grand finale. 

But, you knew your time was up when he opened that mouth again. He loved talking you through it, and when he was worked up, he would tell you all sorts of wonderful things. You heard him start in on his praise, generous and enticing, 

“Makin’ me feel so good, pretty girl. Seein’ you with me in your mouth… ungh, yeah just like that, baby. Feels so fuckin’ good. Oh, fuck…” 

So, you obliged him. You knew what he wanted. It was not the soothing comfort of your slow massages and delicate suckling. He wanted your throat, and he wanted to take it from you. He wouldn’t rush you though. Somehow, for all his fury, John was a patient man. If you kept at your languid pacing, he would swallow his desire and let you continue, happy to be at your mercy. But, you didn’t much like him as your harmless servant. You wanted your cruel master. 

You called to him with your efforts, making new attempts at taking him deeper and deeper within you, reaching for his base with your tongue when you hit your limit. As you increased your pace, moving your body became more of an event. The toy cock nestled inside of you was making you more stimulated now, and it was slipping through your fluids, pressing a little deeper into your core as you slicked and clenched around its body. You swallowed around his thickness with your throat, unable to breathe when he was pushed past a certain point, counting down from ten in a steady rhythm, training yourself to take him farther each time. 

“Bloody hell, love. Tha’s it, fuck… tha’s it, baby. Fuck, mmm…” You felt him stir, and you saw him set down his glass and the cigar on the end table. He leaned forward so he could see more of your body, reaching out to gently pluck at one of your soft, puffy nipples, pinching it to make it tighten, “You havin’ fun, pretty girl?”

You nodded, not taking him out of your mouth. You were grinding your hips with a purpose, and you showed him what a good job you were doing, taking your hand and bringing back some of your wetness for him to see, holding it out to him like a sloppy gift. 

He grabbed your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth, sucking your slick off of your fingers and making you moan from it. 

“Ahh,” he sighed, “Make those noises for me, love. Feels fuckin’ good.”

You gave him what he wanted; you would have given him anything at this point, and you watched him come undone. Your screams were vibrating his swollen rod, and when you took him as deeply as you could, you could feel him throbbing against your neck from the inside.

When you tasted the salt of his precome, you knew he wouldn’t be long. You also knew that your role would soon change. His eyes darkened, and his face wore the pained snarl of him holding himself back. Then, when he had enough, he put his hand in your hair and pulled you away with a wet, slobbering pop. 

“My turn,” his smile was sinister. 

He stood, keeping control of your skull, pulling your hair at the base of your head to turn you so that your back was against the couch. Then, your captain began to command you,

“Fuck yourself with that toy, pretty girl. Tha’s it, nice and hard. Just like that.”

You were pumping the dildo in and out of your body with your hand, sitting on the floor with your legs spread, not caring how cock-drunk you looked. 

“Good girl. Does tha’ feel good? Tell me,” he let his hard cock lay against your cheek, leaving little wet trails of precome on your face and in your hair. 

“Yes, sir. It feels so good…mmm, fuck…” You whined and whimpered beneath him, showing him your neck, and opening your mouth like a little bird, eager to be fed. 

“Pretty girl,” he sighed as he put himself back into your mouth. 

Then, he moved for you, fucking himself in and out in a chanting drumbeat, choking you on the way down and allowing you to breathe on the way up. You tried to concentrate, knowing you needed to take every break he gave you, but you lost the rhythm when you started to come, fucking yourself faster and faster to drag yourself over your peak. 

“Oh, yessss…” He praised you, “Come for me, love. Come for me, just like that. Nuh-uh, don’t stop. Don’t stop riding that cock, pretty thing. Tha’s it, yeah. Keep it in. Good girl, good girl.”

You were struggling, but you did as you were told, your head swimming and dizzy from your orgasm, straining to take a full breath. You wouldn’t be so lucky to get one, not until he was done with you. 

He fucked your throat with intent, now. John had both of his hands on you, one tangled in the hair at the base of your skull and the other holding you tight around the back of your neck, scruffing you like a naughty kitten. It may have been all in your head, but that pressure made you weaker than ever, and he was able to use you to your full potential. 

His grunts morphed into longer, arching groans. He was shouting into the echoing walls of your den, growling down at you as he approached his zenith, the warm sun of him burning you up from the inside out. 

Then, he found what he had been searching for, and he chased it. His rhythm faltered, and he held your face so tightly to him, clutching you to his center, burying your nose in his fur. Your body started to fight back, needing to breathe. You may have over-acted a little, but you could see that he liked to watch you struggle, so you gave him your tear-stained, pleading eyes and writhed to get away. 

“Oh, Christ! Love, I’m... Oh… Oh, fuck me…” 

His hips bucked into your aching jaw, and you felt your body fill with his come. The soft, creamy fluid dripped down your throat and into your belly, salty and musky on the back of your tongue. Your whole mouth could feel him pulsing as he emptied himself into you, and you tried to swallow every last drop. 

John removed himself from you and aimed to lay down on the couch, using the last of his strength to pull you on top of him, laying you on him like a living blanket. You panted together, each of you breathless. 

You basked in your joy for a while, rubbing your hands all over his chest, yanking his shirt off of him so you could be skin to skin. You pet him like a big animal, stroking him and massaging him for being so good to you. You were straddling him, and as his cock softened, you could feel its body against your wet pussy, lolling over to his hip, exhausted. 

You whispered to him, brushing his hair off of his sweating brow, 

“I’m sorry you had a hard day at work, John.”

He laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and held tight to him, 

“Tha’s okay, love. It’s no trouble. Everythin’ works out in the end, hm?”

Your big captain kissed you then, tasting himself on your tongue. You could taste his scotch and his tobacco, all of his scents filling your mind with him. His soft tongue joined with yours, playing together in your mouths, lips slipping together and sucking on each other, gentle and soothing. You lay there, dozing together, sated and joyful, happily distracted.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated 🩷

[hardboiledleggs]

Hawkins High Prom, 1985

Howdy gang, it's been a minute. This is a quick little oneshot I whipped up for the lovely @imnotokayhru based on this post of theirs. TW for a tiny bit of internalized homophobia and bad teenage dancing lol

The Munson Doctrine does not allow for attending high school prom, especially without a date. Jeff had just begged so hard, and Eddie Munson was, at his core, a weak man. Secretly, he’d been hoping to see what prom was like, and it turned out that it sucked hard. So now he was here, surrounded by crepe paper and sweaty teenagers, and listening to Cyndi Lauper and Blondie.

Jeff’s date, a quiet girl from his biology class, had dragged him onto the dance floor almost an hour ago. Gareth had been too young to go to prom, and Grant had flat-out refused, so now Eddie was stuck here by himself watching the teenage population of Hawkins try to moonwalk. Hello, therapy.

A third glare from the chaperoning Mrs. Click forced Eddie to move from his hiding place near the wrestling mat. He had been slowly revolving around the room, doing his best to keep away from Higgins, but apparently his tactic of standing completely still and looking bored was suspicious to the teachers for some reason.

Just then, Mr. Mundy abandoned his post by the door to the boys’ locker room, yelling “Hands, Hagan! Let me see your hands!” as he went.

Spotting his chance, Eddie dodged a decidedly drunk Tammy Thompson and hurried into the locker room. He breathed out a sigh of relief as the door shut behind him and muffled the DJ.

He checked his watch. Still too early for the damn thing to be over. He debated trying to escape through the vents briefly before realizing that he wouldn’t know which direction to crawl in and might die up there. It would be really funny if his corpse fell out of the ceiling during O’Donnell’s class, though.

Eddie gazed at the lockers for another moment before inspiration struck. Hadn’t he sold to all these asshole jocks one hundred times? Surely, at least one of them kept their stash in their gym locker.

He hurried over to the first locker and pinched his nose, anticipating the smell of sweaty jock straps and unwashed ass to assault him. His senses were pleasantly surprised when the locker betrayed only a faint floral scent that vaguely reminded him of his mom.

Eddie rifled through the contents. Extra socks, a basketball uniform, and a pair of Adidas sat at the bottom. The top shelf had deodorant, hair gel, a tin of moisturizer, and a can of Farrah Fawcett hair spray. Eddie snorted. No weed, just the sports paraphernalia of a very fussy member of the basketball team.

“Uh, hey. That’s my locker you’re stealing from.”

Eddie swore loudly and straightened up, smacking his head against the shelf of the locker. Tears sprang to his eyes and he staggered backward, clutching the top of his head. His would-be thievery victim started to apologize, and that was when Eddie looked up and recognized the very famous head of hair.

“Is it still stealing if I was doing my civic duty and just planning on removing any illegal substances I found during my snooping?” Eddie muttered as he rubbed the spot where a bruise was already forming.

“Unless you became a cop and didn’t tell anyone, I’m pretty sure theft is still theft,” Harrington snorted.

“I’m no pig, Steve-O. Just a guy looking for weed.”

“In that case, let’s try Hagan’s locker,” Harrington said as he crossed to the other side of the locker room. He let out a little “Aha!” of triumph and tossed a bag across the room that Eddie caught with one hand.

He slumped down with his back against Harrington’s locker and stuck his feet out in front of him, trying to ignore the way the tiles looked. Harrington crossed the room, hesitating for only a second before he flopped down next to Eddie, not quite touching, but sitting close enough that it would be easy to pass the joint Eddie was carefully rolling between the two of them.

“I’m assuming you’re planning on sharing?” Harrington quirked an eyebrow at him. He didn’t seem to notice that his very nice black suit was in contact with the biohazard that was the Hawkins High boys’ locker room floor.

“Of course, my liege. I always share the spoils of war with my fellow countrymen,” Eddie quipped. He passed the joint to Steve for the first hit, digging in his pocket for his lighter.

His companion took a deep breath, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before breathing out and passing the joint to Eddie. Eddie tried not to notice the way the wisps of smoke curled from between his lips and took a drag.

“Would’ve thought you would have your own weed for this thing, Munson. Isn’t this kinda your territory?”

Eddie scoffed. “I may be repeating my senior year but I’m not an idiot. Higgins would lose his mind if he caught me dealing at prom.”

Steve threw his head back and laughed. His already-nice face was so much nicer when he laughed. It made him look younger, much less like the haggard boy who sometimes showed up to their shared history class with dark circles under his eyes.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, swapping the joint back and forth. Eddie picked at a hole in the leg of the dress pants Wayne had lent him, wondering why Harrington was being so nice to him and if he could push his luck.

“So, Farrah Fawcett, huh?” he said with a wry grin. Steve’s cheeks flamed with color.

“Hey, I’m swearing you to secrecy here. All of this-” he gestured at his ridiculous poofy hair, “-is only achieved with a very specific routine, okay? This stuff is the real deal.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Eddie grinned. “Speaking of secrets, why are you hiding in the locker room when you should be out there, in your element?”

Steve frowned. He actually looked uncomfortable.

“Well, my date started dancing with Hargrove when I went to piss, so…” he trailed off. “Guess I figured I’d wait out the dance in here while she had fun. This really isn’t my element anymore, anyway.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “How did you pick a girl stupid enough to ditch you, Harrington? Did you ask your cousin or something?”

Steve pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile.

“No, jackass. I think she just thought it would make her look cooler to come with a date and I was available. Whatever, it’s fine, I didn’t even like her that much. She wore this ridiculous dress that pushes her boobs together so hard it looks like they’re going to pop out.”

Eddie cackled at that. He could already feel the contented stupor from the weed seeping into his system.

“If it makes you feel better, I came alone. Or, I guess I came as the third wheel who can’t dance so he got left by the snack table,” he shrugged.

Steve glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“What do you mean, you can’t dance?” he asked. “Everyone can dance. You just have to sway around in a circle with your arms around somebody. Have you never slow-danced at a school dance before?”

Eddie shook his head. “C’mon, Harrington. Nobody wants to dance with the freak.”

Steve slapped his knee and stood up abruptly. He held his hand out to Eddie, who stared up at him from the ground.

“Would you like to dance with me?”

Eddie gaped up at him. Harrington actually looked nervous.

“Be serious. You don’t want to dance with me. What, is Hagan hiding in the showers, ready to punch me for agreeing to this like some queer?” Eddie snapped.

Steve’s face fell a bit, but he still grabbed Eddie’s hand and hauled him to his feet.

“I’m not even friends with Tommy Hagan anymore, Munson. Come on, I like this song.”

The intro to George Michael’s Careless Whisper filters through the door to the locker room. Eddie hesitantly wraps his hands around Steve’s neck and shivers when a large pair of hands settle at his waist.

They swayed together slowly. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look Steve in the eyes, so he busied himself with counting the moles on his neck. George Michael crooned about his guilty feet as they revolved around the locker room.

“See. This isn’t so bad, is it?” Steve whispered into his hair. They had drifted unconsciously closer as they danced, and now they were only a few inches apart.

He pulled back a bit to force Eddie to make eye contact with him. Eddie forced the blush that was fighting to rise to his cheeks back down and smiled.

“I would say it’s the best dance I’ve ever had, but I don’t have anything to compare it to,” he admitted.

“Well, I do, and I agree,” Steve said. “Don’t sell yourself short, you’re a very good dancer.”

Eddie grinned.

“Don’t let me get too cocky, Stevie. I might think you actually like me.”

“And if I said I did?” Steve asked seriously.

“I-I’d tell you that you probably don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie stammered.

Their eyes met again. Steve had a worried little crease between his eyebrows that Eddie registered as very cute in the back of his mind. They continued to sway even as Eddie’s hands began to sweat. Steve’s expression cleared suddenly, as if he had made up his mind about something.

“Stop me if this is, I mean, if I’m doing the wrong thing, okay?” he murmured.

He lifted the hand that had been on Eddie’s waist and cupped his cheek. Eddie felt his heart fall out of his chest and settle somewhere near his stomach. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut and he started to lean forward.

Tonight the music seems so loud, I wish that we could lose this crowd.

Eddie’s lips parted in a hastily stifled gasp as Steve Harrington kissed him. His own eyes slid shut as their lips met. Everything melted away: the smell of the locker room, the harshness of the fluorescent overhead lights behind his eyelids, even his own nerves squirming in his stomach. There was nothing but the press of Steve’s soft lips against his own and the pressure of his hand against Eddie’s face.

Far too quickly, Steve pulled back. Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed with shock.

“That was okay, right? That I did that?” Steve asked softly.

“Uh, um, yes yeah definitely. Definitely okay.”

Steve grinned at him. It was so infectious that Eddie couldn’t help smiling back. He was still cradling Eddie’s face gently in his warm hand.

“Then would it be weird if I asked you if you wanted to sneak out of here with me and drive around for a bit? I don’t really feel like going back to prom,” Steve said.

“I’m all yours, big boy,” Eddie replied breathlessly.

Steve twined their fingers together and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Then he tugged Eddie toward the door, laughing. It was the most beautiful thing Eddie had ever seen.

~~~

They're so cute I love them so much. After this they drove around Hawkins for hours, singing along to the radio and holding hands and other sappy things. Anywhosies as always let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) my permanent Steddie tag list where I bother you anytime I write anything about these two boys <3

Steddie tag list

Tag list: @brassreign @inmoonywetrust @kyoxyukiforever @spectrum-spectre @vampireinthesun @awkwardgravity1 @obsessivlyme  @steddieassheg0es @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @sunflowers-and-knives @original-cypher @e0509 @estrellami-1 @scottiedoessknow @sweetwaterangel @novelnovella

[libertyybellls]

OUT ON THE SEA WE’D BE FORGIVEN !

pairing; finnick odair x victor!reader

summary; you have had everything drained from you- but there is one thing the capitol cannot take from you and it's the love you and finnick share.

contains; ANGST, parent death, death, descriptions of death, grief, sadness, comfort, murder, forced prostitution, TW president snow being president snow. no happy ending womp womp.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

your world was spinning, your mind was fuzzy, your stomach was doing flips. you'd been in the same position- curled up in the corner of your living room in the victor's village.

your eyes could no longer water- you couldn't remember how long it had been since president snow and the peace keeps had left your home. you couldn't move- you think you remembered that the sun had risen and fallen while you sat in the same spot.

your door bursts open. had you locked it? had you even stood up once?

"mags told me the peacekeepers were here? snow was here?" finnicks frantic, he's horrified, he grabs your hands- stopping them from fiddling with each other. you didn't even realize you were doing so.

you hadn't even looked at him, more so trying to render what had happened yourself- explain it was the least of your concern.

finnick places a hand on your shoulder now, he's desperate- eyes almost begging yours to face him. “y/n. peacekeepers, snow, what happened. are you ok?”

you look at him when he says your name, it is then that your heart starts racing. your parents are gone. you will never see them again. they're gone and they still couldn't protect you in the end. you're still so young.

you are a failure. you deserve what's coming at this point. you must have expected this.

you blink and you can see snows face, his manipulative, evil, face. you can hear his words. you can feel your heart drop all over again.

you swore he was feigning a threat the night of your victory tour- how he told you how desirable you were, how the capitol citizens swooned over you during your initial interviews. so innocent, so pretty.

where would this innocence get you now? when you denied his suggestions, when you told him you wouldn't sell yourself. did you really think you would have the upper hand? that you gained this right because your survived? because you killed so many people merely for a game to the upper class?

you knew he'd threatened you. he'd even said it himself- there would be repercussions. you're so careless. he'd told you their blood was on your hands. your mothers blood was on your hands. your father was buried due to your shortcomings.

and now, all of the bloodshed- for nothing. when snow had mentioned finnick- briefly before he left. you almost cried, almost.

this time you knew he wasn't lying. and you couldn't let him take everything from you. you'd agreed to the thievery of your innocence, your dignity.

you were now a doll for the capitol- theirs for the taking. they could have you when they wanted. all you'd have now was finnick. "they killed my parents finnick,”

your voice was low, the words were foreign to you. "they killed my parents and now their threatening to kill you.”

he didn't need to ask who, or for what. he'd known since the moment you came out of your games alive. why didn't he warn you? would it have helped?

he was scared himself. scared that if he told you your probabilities of getting sold that they would come true. some part of him thought that if he had that dirty reality away it would cease to exist.

he pulled your head into his chest, still in the floor. "it's not your fault princess. this is not your fault.”

you shook your head and pulled away from him. “this is my fault finnick. i did this to them."

"you didn't know-" his own heart was breaking.

"i knew!" your voice was getting louder by the second. “i knew and i thought i was- that i was better than that. that i could escape it." your words were broken up, voice unsteady, cheeks now damp with tears.

“this is what he does, sweetheart. this isn't your fault. he wants you to think it is but it's not.” his hands were on your face wiping away your tears. "snow wants you to blame yourself- to think you've ruined it all for nothing. but you haven't.” he wants to tell you it will all be okay, that it gets better- but how would he know? you are now two sides of the same coin.

you want to be better, to believe him, but you don't know how to try.

-

hopefully 2024 will bring happier blurbs from me but for now this is all i got. last post of the year!! love u all thank u for the love and i hope u all have a blessed new year! mwah😇

as always, reqs r OPENNN! use em!!!

[vampirzina]

Thick Ice and the Blunt Diamond Pick

“ God, please, you could do it with Bi-han!! I beg you 🙏🏻😭 ”

You can’t make quick work of the Grandmaster whose home you keep stealing from. Walls of ice may stop you, but you can see the fire on the other side of it. Bi Han x Thief!Reader

tw: gn pronouns, sfw, allusion to violence, small suggestiveness, bi han being bi han, both of you in denial, not too much proofread, mdni

notes: i set this post-betrayal because it would make more sense of it (to me) but i hope it’s up to par guys

masterlist

Patience.

Patience, is what Bi Han needed. But he’s never had any for it has being stolen by you, as well as a few other precious things in his temple.

You’re not as elusive as you think you are, and it’s become increasingly difficult to make your great escape at the end of it all… As it is becoming far too difficult for Bi Han to keep his thick wall of ice from melting, where behind it, it is warm. Neither of you want to let up so easily.

Bi Han once glowered at nothing just thinking about what he wanted to do to you once he finally had his hands on you—once. These days without his brothers to hold him back, such thoughts about you weren’t all that appropriate. He could hardly care for the things you’ve stolen anymore because one way or another, they’ll come back to him. He knows that. But your antagonism insists on parching him.

Between thick ice and a blunt diamond pick, there’s nothing left to do but wait for the fire to evanesce it into nothingness. But tonight? Tonight was different.

Bi Han’s set his own trap a while ago, the concept of him doing such a thing lost on you as your numb noses brush against each other. You smile now, but you’ll pay for hammering away at his mind and his heart, with your laughably blunt diamond pick. Even a minute score in his thick ice wall could vex him into unknown depths of his feelings.

He’s had enough restraint until now.

“Cold,” you perk, squeaking at his below-zero fingers brushing across your hip to wrap his even colder arms around you. “We’re inside but you’re still so cold… I wonder what would you do to me if I was any warmer?”

A lot. He didn’t say it, but his brown eyes narrowed just thinking it. You were only stopping by, but you wanted to pick at Bi Han’s ice wall further before you went.

Flat palms make you shiver as they ride up the curve of your back, and he watches with a certain intensity in his eyes that makes you meek. When you realize that you’re slipping, the loss of your warmth confuses him as you pull away. He catches both of your wrists.

“Not tonight. We don’t have any time,” it sounds like a tease out of you, but it’s genuine. “But you know that I want you, right?”

It doesn’t seem like it.

“Liar,” he scowls intensely. “Why must you be so cowardice? You insist on stealing from me, when the entire world and all of its riches could be ours to own if you abandon your ways to join me. If you won’t, return my things and keep your life.”

It’s a tempting deal, being able to get away with your life and your thievery, but you know that in those riches lie a violently yearning Bi Han—and you fear the frostbite by the unmoving layers of your warm clothes. Your head shakes in dismissal of him, who grumbles.

You have to pry your hands away before the ice crawling up your wrists freeze you, or the fire that melts the thick ice behind your blunt diamond pick burns you with him.

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

reiko’s version (original)

info

🏷️ @yumeko0nitgh (requester via comment)

[ijwrsmff]

I need your take on romantic yandere Luffy. But please make the reader spineless and too afraid to fight >:)

Yandere Luffy is "good" boy. It's about your first meeting Luffy, and his promise to you >:3

Word Count: 1,326

Tw; Blood and murder

If you would have known making awkward and blushing eye contact with a boy in a straw hat would lead up to this…you’d have seriously reconsidered. But no one could have predicted the lengths the seemingly innocent and carefree boy would go. Maybe not even himself…

When he met you, you were simply relaxing at the cafe. Studying a bit, just to pass the time. The ambience of the cafe with its music and sounds of people talking and running around just helped you focus so much better. Him and his crew were laughing and joking while drinking booze at what couldn’t have even been noon. 

The boy in the straw hat was much louder than most of the others, so he stood out above the others. Cheering, and talking even while he was in the middle of chewing. It was…kind of funny. At some point, you were barely focused on studying and rather wondering about that boy and how long he would be on your island. If you weren’t so nervous…you might have even tried talking to him. But it was out of the question, he had a whole group to spend time with, and the anxiety of breaking up a conversation just to ask his name seemed wrong. 

Somehow he looked familiar, and curiosity consumed your mind. Has he been here before? Perhaps…but you didn’t remember seeing him with a group like he was in now. You tried and tried to think about where you had seen him before, but you were drawing a blank. In your unintentional focus, you didn’t realize just how long you’d been staring at him…until he looked back at you. 

You blushed, and hid your face back in your book. It wasn’t long before he’d walked up to you. It registered in your brain he was there, but you were too embarrassed to look up from your book. He slid the chair across from you and sat down beside you. For some reason, he seemed like he was used to people staring. What made you so different from the others in this cafe?

“Why are ya staring? You seem different from the other people here…” He tilted his head and you almost giggled at how cute it was. You did have to admit, with your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, you did look a bit different. Some people on your island did wear such clothes, but not often. Aside from children. It was pretty hot usually, but you liked to wear oversized things to try and hide away. “I got it! It’s hot. You’re wearing heavy clothes. Why though?” 

“Uh…” It stopped you in your tracks and you couldn’t form the words. “I don’t know? They’re comfy? I-I guess?” He was just as bubbly as he was at the other table. Is he always like this? “What…brings you to the island?” His enthusiasm was honestly welcome. You didn’t have many friends, and he seemed pretty fun to be around! Carefree in a way. Possibly with a lot of ADHD given how many times he looked around and changed topics. 

Even though it was awkward at first, you opened up a bit. Mentioned your studies, and how you’d never left your island. “It’s…safer here. Than a lot of places. I can’t really fight, so I haven’t tried to leave.” You looked down and fiddled with your hands. It seemed silly to say that to a stranger, but you had to have been talking for over an hour now. He talked for most of it, never running out of things to say. 

The conversation stopped, when a small group of your island’s marines came in. You tried to avoid them, they were…not always on the “good guy” team. Very confrontational, and you hated it. So when they came in, you didn’t mean to, but you kind of hid behind Luffy. You didn’t know why they were there, but they were fully dressed in uniforms carrying their weapons. 

They stopped, and saw Luffy and his friends, immediately drawing their weapons. “Monkey D. Luffy you’re under arrest, for acts of piracy and thievery. Give yourself up, or we’ll take you in. Dead or alive, by any means necessary.” The marines looked serious, but that didn’t stop you from squealing. 

“Y-you’re…a pirate? With a bounty?” It was a whisper, and you found yourself backing away from him. You didn’t even get far, when he reached back and grabbed you arm, placing you close behind him once more. 

“Is this a crewmate? We’ll be taking them in as well, and anyone who falls under your command.” The leader of the group of marines chimed in, and turned to look around the bar. He saw the green haired swordsman, the orange haired girl, the man with the long nose and a blond man with…curly eyebrows? 

He waited a moment, but you had begun to shake. You couldn’t move! Luffy was holding your arm so tight! Apparently, Luffy interpreted this as you being afraid of the marines. He turned around, and put both arms on your shoulders holding you even more in place as tears fell down your face. “Don’t worry. They can’t hurt you. I won’t let them.” His wide smile turned into a serious scowl, and he let go of you to spin around and use his whole arm to fling the commander down to the ground. 

It was absolutely terrifying, when he went from silly and bubbly to lethal. You looked between him and his crew, and even they looked shocked. Luffy pounded on them, before one of the marines ran out, only to come back with an even larger group. One shot a weapon straight at you, as others began to shoot around the bar, causing you and everyone else to scream in terror. However as you closed your eyes and fell to the ground, you looked up to see Luffy being shot. His skin contorted, and the bullet was flung right back at the marine who fired it. 

The swordsman stood up, “Luffy. They called for backup.” He walked over and placed a hand on Luffy’s shoulder as he hit the man lying on the ground over and over. “Come on, let’s go.” Neither seemed worried, they were clearly capable of handling themselves. The woman and long nosed man seemed petrified though, hiding behind the blond. 

Luffy stopped, and turned back to you with a smile that didn’t suit the blood stained on his face. “Come on! We’re setting sail!” He grabbed you as you cried and pulled you close. Did he really expect you to go with him? After what he did? He killed marines…and with a smile on his face. The outside world was far too dangerous, and you would get yourself killed just like those marines! 

“I-I-” You wanted to say ‘I can’t, I don’t want to’ but the words couldn’t come out. If he would kill people supposed to bring order and peace to the world, how would you know that he wouldn’t do the same to you? Get bored, decide you’re weak and cast you aside? “I can’t fight!” Was all that you could get out, as the thoughts raced and tears fell. 

“It’s okay…” Luffy said, and pulled you into a hug before lifting you up into his arms with ease. He chuckled, and earlier in the day it would have sounded cute…but now? Spine chillingly alarming. He wasn’t stable…it’s not safe…you need to get out of here…but…

You were sure he meant the next words to sound reassuring, but they were far from so. It showed you…that this would be your life now. Running from the good guys, trapped with Luffy. A pirate, capable of murder. It was far from what you wanted in life, but you were so scared…and that fear only grew and developed the longer you were in his presence. He spoke, and it sounded cold. Unwavering. Maybe even determined. 

“I’ll protect you.” 

[lilacsareinbloomagain]

I'm not sure if you've seen the hype around sky being in his undershirt and being ✨pretty✨ in the recent update, but could I please request reader fawning over Yan!sky in his undershirt or some general hc's for him?

Thanks for requesting!

Notes: This is the actual request, but I'll post some headcannons later for him as well!

Anyways, I, in fact, wasn't around when the whole hype happened, however after a quick search I was able to actually see what all of this was about.

Idk if this can be considered self indulgent, but my immediate idea when it came to writing this was that the reader liked those types of clothes from pinterest. Hopefully I'm not the only one, but those types of clothes just scratch a very specific itch in my brain.

I did not plan for the random suggestiveness at the middle of this oneshot, actually, I never plan, this just came out somehow.

The headcannons!

TWs: Light yanderism, slightly suggestive, the Links being creeps and clothing thievery.

Yandere! LU! Sky x Reader

This is a robbery, not romantic.

The hot, rocky ground has absolutely no respect whatsoever for your shoes.

Out of all the places you had to walk to in the past, along with these guys, this volcano had to be on the top 3 of the worst places you've ever visited.

Walking up the volcano certainly had you sweating, however, you felt like the drops of sweat could barely reach the fabric of your undershirt before they evaporated due to the sheer heat. You weren't even halfway up the path yet, but your legs were already disagreeing with the rhythm the group had adopted to advance as fast as physically possiple. In short, you were slowing down everyone, since the Links refused to let you walk anywhere that wasn't in the middle of them, so that if anything happened, you'd be protected.

A was a distant memory of yours resurfaced in your brain, something about some discovery channel documentary you had watched a long time ago about elephants and how they kept the weaker elephants in the middle of the herd when traveling, the weak being youngins, elderly or sick elephants. 

Frowning, you couldn't help but wonder in which category of weak you fell according to them.

Legend, who was staring keeping an eye on you through the whole trip, as he always did, noticed your struggle and elbowed Warriors, causing the man to let out a choked sound of surprise before Legend gestured to you with his thumb, scowling with his eyebrows furrowed, the same expression he always made sure to put on when something related to you in some way, covering up the softness of his eyes with a hard glare and a grimace.

Warriors, upon analyzing your stance for a second, was able to easily pick on how tired you were, and after taking into account how everyone else was, even if it wasn't as important as your well being, in the end he lifted his hand in a silent gesture for a break.

Nothing in that moment could rival or even equal to the feeling of fresh water coating your tongue and dry throat after so much of that burning sun and heat.

Your feet felt sore already, at this point it was like walking barefoot would be better than walking with those hard-soled boots. Then, you frowned once again, looking down to the bottom of one of your boots, it seemed like those boots were made for strolling on the soft grass, not hiking up a rocky mountain. Worst of all, the heat was so high you were sure you'd get burned as soon as your bare foot made contact with the ground outside the small cave you and the guys were sitting in, so you had no other option than just keeping the shoes on, even if you felt like the damn thing would just melt at some point.

Today, your mood had been dampened considerately, your face unable to catch a break from your constant sour expression. You felt as if you were Legend's replacement for a day.

After checking the really small cave and it's surroundings, the Chain finally seemed to deem it safe for now in a silent agreement between themselves. You were already sitting against some rock and letting the tension flow out of your body much before that.

Others joined you in sitting against rocks or the walls of the cave.

With a quick glance to Time, and a small amused scoff paired with a nod as response from the elder, Twilight was off most of his clothes, keeping only his bottom clothes on.

It was as if a domino effect had taken place, the rest of the Links around you began shedding their layers of clothing, the silence being disturbed by the sounds of fabric and other articles of their attire shuffling and eventually being either dropped or carefully placed on the floor, close enough to be quickly put back on incase something happened. Chatter began traveling around the group.

You had half the mind to move to do the same, your hands and eyes drifting down to the hem of your tunic, beginning to pull it up. 

The chatter suddenly seemed to die down, only one voice still talking. Your hands paused when your mind registered the sudden almost silence, your eyes slowly drifting back up to glance around, noticing how everyone was just… Staring at you…

Even for someone oblivious, the hunger eagerness in their gaze was undeniable.

Naturally, your eyes searched for Time, seeking some kind of refuge, surely the elder would have something to say about this, right?

Wrong. Time's only functional eye was half lidded, trained on your form with the same desire interest apparent in his gaze, you felt like a mouse under the watchful gaze of a hawk, his head tilted as his cheek rested on his fist, the hints of a smug smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

This stare of his felt almost physically uncomfortable, unnerving in a way, like his glare, but worse.

Confusion settled over both you and Wind, who only now seemed to notice that despite all of his talking, he wasn't receiving any response. Looking up just as confused as you once were, his eyebrows furrowed as he traded baffled glances with you.

"What happened? Why the hell is everyone so quiet?" Wind asked, a confused pout settling on his features, his arms defensively crossed over his chest once he noticed the attention of the group was on you, he didn't like one bit how they were looking at you, his "I'm ready to throw hands" stance made that obvious.

The thought made you internally chuckle. Easing up the tension present in the cave as you let the fabric fall back over your tights, releasing it and giving up on the idea of taking it off. This seemed to finally awaken the others, making you grateful for Wind's brotherly protectiveness, your unease fading a bit as they went back to normally talking along with friendly bickering from Warriors regarding Wind's tense figure.

"Goddesses, I didn't remember Eldin Volcano being this hot!" Sky groaned from somewhere on your left, making you turn to look at him.

He still kept his undershirt on despite shedding all his other top layers, seemingly still too shy around you and the others to get that bare. 

You took a moment to admire his shirt and how pretty it looked on him. You just had to take a picture of him in that shirt to post on pinterest later, such a sight surely belonged there.

That was for later though, you didn't have any signs of internet just yet.

"Who gave you the right." Your voice sounded more like an affirmation than a question, your face blank, void of any emotion as you uttered those words, leaving Sky unsure of how he should respond or even react, should he respond at all? The way you spoke confused him more often than not.

"Hah- Uhm… Hylia…? I am not sure I know what you are talking about exactly…" Shy responded slowly, stuttering a bit. The almost apologetic expression on his face made you want to both retreat and smother him with hugs, you know those moments when you find something so cute that you just want to squeeze it as hard as you can? That was how you felt right now.

Sky felt lightly threatened by your blank expression.

It was quite funny to you, his reactions. He'd hardly ever know how to respond to your kind of humor, but his awkward answers and bashful smiles made up for it, making you either grin along or just flat out laugh, as if he had actually responded correctly to whatever random stuff you had just sprouted with a fully straight face. Your reactions to his reactions made him feel embarrassed but also happy, very much glad your attention was on him.

"Who gave you the right to be so pretty?" Your eyes softened, your blank expression falling as a starry-eyed one took place, the way you were looking at him made his heart melt, warm blood being pumped up to his cheeks, a redness taking over his face and the tips of his ears, almost spreading to his neck. Sky was stunned into silence, he didn't even try to speak, he knew from past experiences that trying to speak in this state would lead him to stumble over his words, only embarrassing himself further, like he was a teenager once again.

He resorted to slightly covering his reddened face, his hand coming up to scratch at the side of his head as it tilted down a bit, an timid yet flattered smile tugging at his mouth. His teeth dug into the soft flesh of the inside of his cheek, trying to keep the smile at bay as to not grin at you like a maniac.

Just a simple compliment and he already felt like he had been reduced into a puddle of himself, melted and absolutely compliant to you, how you didn't see his adoring gaze up at you was a mystery, it wasn't like he was doing a good job of hiding it anyway, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller than you all the while trying to appeal even more to your eyes, puffing out his chest. His gaze dropping to your mouth every now and then, your lips looked absolutely delectable framing that ethereal smile of yours.

His cheeks burned brighter at the mere thought of sealing his lips against yours.

"You should definitely wear it more often." You blurted out, too busy ogling at the shirt to notice you said it out loud, too busy to notice the amused and flaunted closed lip smile taking over his grin. 

"I mean, I kind of do wear it everyday…"  A soft snort left his nose, filling your ears as his voice followed, smug, he had definitely seen you looking, making you scoot back once you realized where you really were, leaning into Sky's personal bubble and reaching out to touch the fabric of his shirt not that he minded anyway. "It's just under my clothes most of the time." 

He chuckled quietly, watching with great interest as rich shades of red flushed your face, your cheeks gaining a whole new coloration with his teasing.

The change in dynamics wasn't unwelcomed in any way by him, in fact, Sky found it nice that he wasn't the one flustered this time around.

You, however, were wondering whether you liked the shirt more or the way the shirt fit on Sky. God only knew how badly you wanted to feel that fabric, it was probably cotton, and hand made according to Sky's measurements, meaning it was made to fit him perfectly, way more than it'd fit on anyone else. Yeah, you could see that.

Without noticing, your previous grimace and sour mood had been replaced by a stupid smile on your lips. Sky had this type of side effect on you.

"You know what I meant." Your reply came out in an embarrassed huff, frowning jokingly with your arms crossed, trying to conceal the blush in your face so it would, hopefully, go away, that is, if you were lucky.

You weren't, not really.

"Yeah I know." He replied, a cheerful yet sweet smile on his face, still eyeing your blushy complexion. "I'll make sure to 'wear' it more, at least in situations where we're not being attacked by a dozen of monsters." He joked, rendering you unable to keep a shit-eating grin off of your face.

Sky shyly smiled back at you, mindlessly smoothing out any wrinkles in his shirt while you kept staring, him gladly letting you do as you pleased, drinking up in your attention.

The heat only seemed to grow as the day progressed into mid-day, the sun directly above the cave you guys were in. You'd managed to take off your tunic and gear by now, and it had already helped with relieving some of the suffocating heat, even if you kept your undershirt in place, on your body, overly aware of the multitude of eyes lingering on your form every now and then.

As a result of that same heat, Sky finally succumbed and took off his undershirt, the pretty one you adored, and simply placed it on the dusty, dirty floor, just like that, not treating the white shirt with any respect, completely ignoring the possibility of it getting stained or wrinkled, which pulled an indignant gasp from you.

His attention was once again brought to you by your gasp, puzzled until his eyes really landed on you and processed just what exactly you were doing.

In a quick movement, you snatched Sky's shirt from the floor, forgetting about how tired and sore your feet were in order to dash to the other end of the cave with the shirt clutched in your arms. Despite his recklessness with his clothes, you had to thank Sky for leaving his shirt so easy for you to just kidnap.

The blond's shock faded after a bit, prompting him to spring up and chase after you, not necessarily mad, but definitely not used to having his clothes stolen.

Even so, his mirthful laughter rang out, serving only to fuel you in your attempt to flee from your chaser, still clutching his property to your chest.

[justpoliteconversations]

Unsung Hero [TP!Link + Veterinarian!Reader]

The care and management of domestic animals is not new to Hyrule, but your kind of practice is.

The indulgence is growing out of control. The other piece for the results of this Poll.

Masterlist

Companion piece:

Fall Birds [BOTW!Link + Reader]

TW: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Seven little fluff balls wait contently within their holding pens, five young females, one adult and a male not even old enough to have a tween's characteristic lank. Three have taken a liking to the soft rags and old shirts you've crafted into makeshift beds, two still picking cautiously at their food bowls, one is grooming with quiet concentration. The kitten is up against the bars, meowing loudly for your attention.

These cats have been well taken care of. They are not afraid of people, many of them want to be picked up. None of them have any issues accepting the food you've given them, they all having been pawing at their enclosures expectantly the moment you'd passed through the doors with food in your hands.

This is a good village. You can tell, for there is no greater indication of a community's character then how they treat thier animals. Creatures whom often rely upon their human caretakers to provide basic needs. Truly, the most vulnerable in any civilized society, safeguarded not by the reigns of biology or sacred law, but by will of the people who keep them.

You smile as you approach, and no less then three of the younger females join the male up against the bars. You are forced to dodge little paws as you crack the doors open just enough to reach in and switch out thier water bowls. Though you give into temptation once or twice and capture their little paws between your fingers, squeezing softly against their smooth beans.

It is harder than you'd like to admit to pull away from them, especially when they are just as eager for attention as you are to give it. But you have work to do, and unfortunately, they only partially involve playing with little beans.

So you eventually leave the room, old water bowls in hand and steadfastly ignoring the pitiful little meows chasing after you. Sometimes you have to play the villain, but that's just an unavoidable consequence of the profession you lead.

And so, unfortunately, is this.

"May I help you." You ask pleasantly enough, irked that this unknown man (hyrulian?) had entered the back of your workplace uninvited, but not really surprised either.

Hyrule and the lands surrounding it is, strange, as far as privacy and security is concerned. No door is truly locked unless it's physically barred, by the locals reckoning. No shop guards their precious stock with carefully maintained distance, no home sacred to the eyes or ears of their community.

Even thievery is taken in stride, rarely punished but for the occasional snide remark or displeased glower. Occasionally, the victimized shop owner may strike at the thief, maybe lecture them, and by the eyes of social justice this seems to make right the wrong.

So, no. You are not surprised. Nor are you surprised by the untrusting tension corded through this man's body.

This is to be expected, or more precisely, this should be expected. And rather than make you feel unnerved or frightened, you are gladdened by this man's formidable presence.

You are happy, because someone cares enough about these animals to ask you what you're doing with them. Cares enough to notice their absence. Cares enough to confront potential abusers with righteous fury, because you can see that in his eyes. That unrelenting need to protect burning in this man's gaze, waiting for a reason to unfurl like Hellfire.

"Why are you taking the cats." He says simply, so honest and to the point. Your heart is gladdened further, because finally, someone who's not going to meekly dance around the issue to avoid offense.

Let them be damned offended. Priority is the wellbeing of the animals. It always has been, and if you're going to dig into other people's business, you best be prepared to get in their face too.

You smile at him, and he seems taken aback by it. "I'm a veterinarian from overseas, specializing in spading and neutering small mammals."

He blinks, long lashes framing wide blue eyes now brimming with cautious curiosity. "A veterinarian?"

You grin, taking the opportunity. You always take the opportunity to educate people. It's just as, if not even more important, than what you actually do.

And so, you talk. You speak of eventual overpopulation, of a single female cat's extensive breeding potential. Of bird populations decimated, of entire litters lost to the dangers of the wilds and the inevitability of disease and death. Of the benefits of fixing felines young, of the health hazards avoided and the behavior issues soothed.

All the while, his eyes get wider and rounder and softer. His world opens up, the light of newfound knowledge enters his inquisitive gaze. At some point he sat, ushering you to sit too. He leans forward as you talk, riveted, asking questions when you begin to slow. Spurring you onwards one breath at a time.

Minutes turn to hours, hours become a promise extracted from the man himself. A promise that you would continue to explain to him the purpose and riggers of your little known profession.

You'd agreed readily. Heart fluttering with the quiet hope of like-minded companionship.

He returns the next day. And the next.

All seven of the cats are fixed by that time, safe and recovering in their pens. And the man, Link, is there for two of their operations. Witness to your practice.

He is enthralled by the precision of your blades, the skill of your hands. Not once does he shy away from the unsavory sight such a profession entails, asking questions only after you've placed the last stitches into shave-short fur. His eyes burning with the need to know and to learn.

You give him everything you have. Every scrap of knowledge and wisdom accumulated after years of education and trials. You share it freely, anything within your power to give is his should he ask.

And he- replies in kind.

Time, effort, rupees. You'd tried to deny, but he could not be moved. The fire in his spirit burning too hot, too intense for you to have any hope of outlasting it's blaze.

He brings in more stray cats, dogs, squirrels (?) than you have holding pens, children trailing behind him with proud expressions of excitement and pride. You give them candy for their efforts, they give you hugs and little scraps of cloth for more beds.

He hands you rupees, brows fixed in stubborn defiance, unwilling to back down from his contributions. There's more than you've ever seen in one place, more than a year's worth. It's too much, but the gleam in his eyes tells of a man who will burden you with untold excess should you refuse his first offer.

The threat is nearly tangible in it's closeness. Take the damned rupees, or prepare to drown in them.

Collars appear like magic overnight upon a precious few cats and dogs, bands of every color staking a bold claim. You leave those ones be, waiting for the loving hands of owners to bring them to you.

Your clinic grows, your place within the community settles. Your new friend becomes your best friend and your most trusted confidant.

Link buys a goat ranch (the one he's been working on for years now), beaming with pride as he tells you how he finally convinced Old man Fado to pass over ownership to him. You congratulate him of course, overcome with pride for his persistence and success.

Your not surprised though. While many might have questioned his hesitance to settle, those who knew him well saw this coming years ago. It was only ever a matter of when the man would pluck up the resolve to fully commit.

The long wait had not been wasted though. A stack of worn books, old and new, sitting prominently at your bedside spoke quietly of that.

"Hey, Link. Now that you're a respectable ranch owner, want to go into business together?" You smile, eyes crinkled at the corners as he caught your gaze in (unnecessarily) hopeful disbelief. "I've been doing a bit of light reading on the biology of ordon goats, after all."

You held out your hand to him, and he gripped it back fiercely, a suspicious shimmer at his lower lashes as a bright smile stole across his lips.

"Might as well not let the knowledge go to waste. Right?"

---

Back to the safety of the shadows.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Villaintine's Day 2024 - Crash Meeting

Prompt: Evil Scheme 03 @black-rose-events

Detective who has to investigate a string of crimes and ends up discovering more about Villain than they ever thought they would (could be an identity reveal or a bigger plot or a “the Villain is actually the good guy and X is actually the antagonist)

(tw car crash mention)

It did not go according to plan.

Detective twitched a little, their fingers fidgeting. There was an unconscious part of their mind that was annoyed at not being able to clasp their hands in front of them, as they were zip-tied behind their back. It helped them think, and in that moment they needed that. To be honest, they were in a slight state of shock. Being caught hadn’t much to do with it.

A couple of weeks ago, there had been a robbery in their neighborhood. It’d happened in a garage. During the night, the cars in repair had been all gone. Detective liked the people that worked there. They were a regular, and the staff never sighed or rolled their eyes every time they presented a very bumpy car that had its windows broken too many times to count, flat tires at least every month, and once had a very long knife stuck in the hood. This kind of petty thievery really made their gears grind, especially from those of one overpowered over-the-top Villains. Of course it was a villain, you didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that. Could you actually believe that someone chose to do that with their abilities? Couldn’t they get a job or something? Detective had no special power, expect perhaps an innate gift to find themself in trouble, but it didn’t matter one bit. Villain had hurt someone they knew, they had to be stopped. Simple as that. Of course the hero agency had been contacted, but the Heroes were much too busy with crimes that “actually mattered” (yes, it was what they’d said on the phone.) Being unchecked, Villain hadn’t stopped there. Their people had broken into private properties just to steal cars, and only cars. It was like the beginning of a bad joke. This was getting really worrying, but the Hero agency didn’t care. As long as it didn’t hurt their sponsors, Detective supposed everything was fine and dandy. Well, not in their book.

It could have gone well. It could have gone very well. Success had been on the tip of their fingers, honestly. They’d gone undercover and had succeeded to find Villain’s headquarters, as well as all the codes to the doors. They’d sent all these findings to the Hero’s agency, just in case, and then they’d met Villain themself. Detective had scoffed at first at – well, everything. The costume, the theatrics, the melodrama. And then, they’d laid down their eyes...and they had frozen. They’d been quiet and still while the henchmen had dragged them away. Even now it was hard to snap out of it. They had no idea how long they’d been stuck in here.

Villain opened the door. The prisoner jumped on their feet. The day before, they would have tried a good old-fashioned headbutt, but not now. Not after what they’d seen. They stared as Villain put their fingertips together in reflection.

“Do you know who am I?” Detective asked abruptly.

Villain smirked:

“Are you going to try that on me? You’re in no position to bluff. You’re a nobody living in a bad neighborhood. That you have ties with the hero agency changes nothing. I doubt that they’ll come to your rescue.”

“No, I mean- Do you not remember me at all? Or are you just pretending?”

That made Villain pause. They examined their prisoner, but something about Detective’s attitude made gloating strangely difficult. Intrigued, even slightly amused, they tilted their head:

“Why should I?”

Detective closed their eyes:

“Okay. Hmm- okay. Do you remember a car crash from fifteen years ago?”

“There are a lot of car crashes in the world, Detective.”

“Not like that one. A blue old-fashioned car pushed another car off the road, and it crashed. It wasn’t an accident. There were four victims: the father, the mother, and two kids. One of them was a dumb twelve year-old. It was me. I got away with a few broken bones.”

“All of this is fascinating, but-”

“I don’t have a lot of memories of this day. I just have pictures, flashes. I saw the other car - how fast it was, how deliberately it bumped into us – the scream of my parents - the hand of my sibling emerging out of the rubble-”

“Are you accusing me?”

“-But I remember the next day very clearly. The grown-ups told me everyone else had died.”

“See, you’ve got this the wrong way. I am the one who is supposed to tell you my tragic origin story.”

“I think I am telling yours. You have a birth mark on your left hand that looks like a pentagram. My sibling had the same.”

There was a silence.

“Don’t you remember?" asked Detective with something akin to desperation. "Don’t you remember at all?”

Villain staggered on their feet. Unable to catch them up, Detective knelt next to them when they grabbed the wall, their knees buckling under them.

“The car,” Villain finally whispered. “Did it look – Was it a sedan?”

“I think so.”

“I see it. I see it all the time in my dreams.”

They wiped their forehead with a shaking hand:

“I-I thought you were an imaginary friend. No one told me I had a real sibling.”

“What happened to you?”

Villain avoided their gaze:

“Bad things.”

They lapsed into silence again, until Detective cleared their throat:

“Can you, uh-”

Villain pulled out a knife and cut the zip-ties that bound Detective’s hands. They stayed like this for a few tense seconds, barely glancing at each other, until Villain held out a tentative hand. Detective took a step closer and reeled them into their arms. Villain’s spine went rigid at first, but Detective awkwardly patted their back until they slowly relaxed.

“Am I the older sibling?” asked Villain.

“You wish. You’re two years younger. Why are you stealing cars?”

“Oh, it was going to be a very sophisticated scheme. Everyone thinks so anyway. But I think- I’m really looking for that blue car. I can’t think of something else. I keep getting back to it.”

“Do you want to look together?”

“I-Maybe?”

“Good.” Detective pressed them tighter. “Because I’m not going to let anything happen to you again. And I really, really want to know why everyone lied to us.”

*

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

[virgo-mess]

Can you make a terry silver x fem reader smutshot based off the song "one of the girls" by the weeknd?

Thanks for the Request!

And I've finally got the first part of this request done! Aiming for two parts but it could end up being three depending on how the next part goes! This request ended up CK Terry adjacent I hope that's okay. I've also taken some creative liberties with this song, but I will do my best to incorporate most of the pre chorus in the next part or parts ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Broken Spirit: Chapter 1

TW: Stalking mostly, Terry being hotly deranged, its implied reader is also lowkey deranged though a match made in heaven essentially, and that's mostly it for this part. I know it's short, but I hope you enjoy!

😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉

Terry’s POV

A haze of purple hues, pulsating strobe lights, and wispy lines of thin gray smoke swirl around the crowded dance floor of the Hollywood bar, Warwick. The thrum of wavey synths filled Terry Silver’s ears while his incisive blue eyes surveyed the room in languid motions from his spot against the bar wall having just ventured from the classier, more adult lounge upstairs. He gazed at the drunk, strung-out LA clubbers with a certain degree of distained apathy. He hadn’t been inside a club or had a line of coke since the 80s, a rather contentious phase in the older billionaire’s life. To be quite honest he didn’t enjoy the hubs of the LA youth’s night life anymore now, in his graying age, then he did back then. Now a club like this only served as a bitter reminder of the days John Kreese raged through Terry’s lavish LA life like a tornado. Only to leave it in shambles just as suddenly, even all these years later the thought left a bitter lump forming in the back of his throat.

What’s passed has past, of course, as far as Terry was concerned John Kreese no longer existed. John was as much a ghost of lifetimes past as the cocaine fueled daze of Terry’s dim, but still flickering empires of addiction. Once an addict, always an addict is what they say after all. It only took Terry over a decade to replace that ghostly powder with something else, something corporeal, in all its lovely delight and there it was now. Terry couldn’t help the delighted somewhat bashful way his lips curled upwards when his eyes finally spotted you. There you stood, glittering in a hazy sea of strung-out blurs adorned in the black miniskirt and silver halter top. He’d been moving that outfit to the front of your cluttered closet during his routine visits to your empty condo while you sunbathed next to the complex’s pool in the most conservative one-piece swimsuit you had. Terry swiped all the tiny bikinis you owned on his first inconspicuous venture into your empty bedroom, the evidence of which now lay neatly folded in his dresser drawer. Normally he’d work his way up to petty thievery, but it was a necessary risk to take. How else could he ensure outside eyes didn’t linger on what he silently declared was his, the moment he’d laid eyes on it…

Terry met you exactly a year ago last week at some trendy art gala in Beverly Hills. He’d stumbled upon you, sitting on the terrace rail in a fetching cream gown almost as if you were contemplating flying off into the starry night sky like an enchanting swan. But in one hasty conversation Terry came to realize you were more akin to a black mare, a free spirit immune to his charm. A beautiful yet fully untamable party girl with a captivating aura of intrigue surrounding you. How you ended up at a sophisticated gala was beyond him in the last year he’d learn night clubs and house parties in the Hills was your prerogative at least when you weren’t holed up in your swanky corner office. You kept a surprising balance between work and play, a balance Terry wouldn’t quite achieve till his early to mid-forties and here you were mastering it just shy of thirty. That steely ambition was all it really took for Terry Silver to become infatuated with you. Though the conversation you gave him that evening was equal in measure to the passive niceties one would share with a cashier at the grocery store. Thus began a yearlong game of cat and mouse.

For months after the gala, you appeared uninterested in him despite all the “chance” run ins and “spontaneous” cocktail invites Terry meticulously sent your way. Terry tried to be “discreet” about his yearning for you at first, even as tedious as it was. That was way before he realized you were merely making a game out of the chase at his expense like the wild mare you were at heart. Terry caught on to your coy little game during one of his chance run ins with you on Rodeo Drive. Intrigued alarm bells were ringing his head when you suspiciously delighted him with trivial small talk over lunch for an entire afternoon, up until then you’d been incredibly frivolous. Terry considered it a win if he was fortunate enough to hold you up for an hour or so on your weekly trip to the grocery store. He had basically made it impossible for you to avoid him or sneak away anyway, he all but glued himself to your side as you rolled up and down routine aisles of produce. Never questioning why he’d strayed so far from Malibu to linger by your side amongst pints of Ben and Jerrys in west Hollywood. He had thought perhaps you hadn’t noticed but it was quite the contrary, you had noticed.

It struck him over lunch that day on Rodeo drive when you nonchalantly let it slip you and your friend Bea would be attending one of the four raves in LA that weekend. You had the gall to tack on a cute “You’re welcome to join us” with a coy smile etched on your plump lips and mischief swirling in your big eyes. Terry couldn’t help but smirk, taking in your thick fluttering lashes. He found your very first attempt at lying to him right through your pearly little teeth surprisingly endearing. He had already seen the phrase “Napa Valley with Bea” elegantly scribbled in pink ink on the calendar you had sitting on the desk in your home office.  A million thoughts raced through his mind at that very moment.

Part of him wanted to call you out on your lie right then and use it as an excuse to “lure” you into the back his Ferrari, whisking you back to his Malibu mansion whether you wanted to or not was beyond the point. The image of you stripped bare and bound on your knees in front of his California king, begging for forgiveness and mercy among other things was quite tempting after all. But what would it get him in the end? He could fuck you hard and raw until you were incapable of forming coherent thoughts or words let alone, running away from him. You certainly wouldn’t be out roaming the droves of sordid LA raves you seemed most privy to into the early hours of the morning if he had. But breaking in a rouge mare was no easy feat. Regardless of whether you break a horse in hard or soft, it requires time, patience, good groundwork, and attention to detail. Luckily, Terry Silver was an expert at all of the above in his greying age…

So, after weighing his options he decided to take you up on your coy little game. He could play along and let his prized mare think she had the reigns for quite some time, and he had. Terry waited an entire day before coincidentally running into you and Bea on your oh so, “last minute “, Napa Valley getaway. Your aura was more aloof than usual that day, but your big eyes gave away your dumbfounded wonder when he strode into the hotel lobby like some aplomb show pony. And that dumbfounded, endearing sort of wonder swirled in those big eyes every night Terry managed to track down his unbroken little mare since. Surely tonight would be no different once you finally spotted him lingering coolly in the back of yet another lively LA bar for the hundredth time in the past few weeks. But, most unbeknownst to you, his prized untamed mare, tonight would be very different… It was finally time for, Terry Silver to finish breaking you in properly and he knew just how to do it. He’d been planning it meticulously for weeks now, the perfect corral for his free spirit was set, decked out quite lavishly and sat out on the Malibu beachfront. Now, all Terry had to do was get you there, which shouldn’t be too hard, he clocked your subtle jealous tendencies when you found him engaging Bea in polite albeit meaningless conversation at some bar in the Valley last week, when you’d finally found your way back from the bathroom. It was quick, a mere flicker in those big eyes of yours in the warm bar lighting but it was enough for Terry to perceive a degree of unspoken but requited loyalty on your part. That was all the proof he really needed that you were finally ready to let go of this frivolous game. To finally let him “ride you”, metaphorically speaking, whether you knew it consciously now or not. If you didn’t know it now, you’d know it by Friday evening Terry was sure.  After all, if there was one thing Terry Silver knew how to do without a doubt, it was throwing a party….

“They don’t know that I love you…

I broke you just to own you…”

Terry pushed himself off the wall, his lips still curled in a smug predatory smirk as he eyed you from afar. Your doe-like eyes looked bored while they surveyed your surroundings quite pointedly as Bea rambled in your ear about something trivial, most assuredly. If it weren’t for the hordes of ogling eyes from young vulture-like reprobates on you at present, Terry would be keen to watch you like this all night. Those doe eyes gave way the fact they’d been looking for him for quite a while in all their feigned innocence, silently begging for him to swoop in and save you from your untamed proclivities. Begging to be broken…

“You’ll get what you’re begging for soon enough, sweetheart…” Terry cooed under his breath, letting his legs carry him to your shimmering corner of the cluttered dance floor. He knew ignoring you in that little black skirt and silver halter top was going to be hard. Terry had never longed to touch anything the way he longed to touch you but ignoring his little prize was a necessary measure to ensure you’d show up at his mansion hot and ready. So, Terry straightened out his Tom Ford blazer and ran a large hand through his nearly silver hair coolly. His eyes bore into you intensely enough for you to finally meet his gaze across a sea of blurred gyrating bodies, everything around him always seemed to fade when you were around. Every high he had in his youth failed in comparison to the one his ethereal free spirit provided him, how he lived without you all these was beyond him.  But that would all be remedied come Friday, he’d make up for every ounce of lost time…

Terry closed in on you and Bea, feigning a polite smile, he watched as a dusty pink blush spread across your cheeks. Your plump lips fought the urge to curl into one of your coy little smiles as you eyed him up with dilated pupils. The rapid rise and fall of your ample breasts made you look like a dog in heat, Terry had to bite back an ominous chuckle at the sight of you before him.

“Good evening, fancy running into you here” Terry said charmingly, he finally peeled his steely blue eyes off your curvy form and let them settle on Bea with a coquettish aura. Bea was the type of girl he would’ve dated at the height of his coke heydays. She was the hallow type of pretty you’d find on the cover of Vouge with a personality to match or lack thereof, the type of girl he’d take to a charity gala and nothing. You on the other hand were quite pretty but in a petite cute, ingenue beauty type of way that most people wouldn’t find intimidating. You made up for that with your exuberant, quick witted, occasionally sarcastic charm.

“Look what the cat dragged in Bea, we’ve been standing in this corner of the dance floor all alone for almost two hours now, did you get lost?” You quipped coyly, Terry saw your signature coy smile twitch on your plump lips out of the corner of his eye and fought the urge to let his eyes stray from Bea. Bea looked up at him before looking at you almost anxiously as she realized he was talking to her, and only her. Terry let the wave of awkward silence stretch on for quite some time, his blue eyes bore into Bea expectantly. Silently urging her to put her dry personality to the side and play along with his little game long enough for him to slip her a meticulous invite.

“Oh, uh, Mr. Silver what brings you to Warwick…” Bea trailed awkwardly, Terry maintained his polite smile though internally he was rolling his eyes. He would trudge through tedious trivial small talk with your snooze box of a friend for you, and only you.

“Oh, you know just out on the town, they have a more intimate lounge just upstairs for us oldies. My friends packed it in early, so I thought I’d come down and see what all you young darlings were buzzing about.” Terry said in the same mildly coquettish tone. He allowed himself to glance at you long enough to catch the way you were adorably grinding your teeth as you glanced between him and Bea with a faux aura of aloofness. Terry fought a giddy smirk as he watched your ample breasts rising and falling faster than they had even a moment ago. You were silently seething already, and he hadn’t even mentioned the party yet.

“Don’t be silly Mr. Silver, you’re not that old, you blend in down here just fine” Bea said still looking incredibly awkward under his gaze. Her brown eyes seemed to be silently pleading with you to save her from whatever was brewing between the three of you right now. Your eyes bore into him, lit up by the hues of flickering lights as a new wave of intensified synths poured through the speakers overhead. If it weren’t for the obnoxious club atmosphere one might say the stare off the pair of you were having was pulled right out of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. An exasperated huff escaped you plump lips as you finally turned you seething gaze towards Bea. Terry let his polite smile falter just so, getting the urge his prized filly was gearing up to buck at any moment.

“Don’t be silly Bea, you don’t have to lie to Terrence just because he’s a billionaire. He is that old and he really doesn’t blend in with us young commoners in his Tom Ford blazer now, does he. You know, aside from the fact its 85 degrees outside (29 degrees Celsius 😉)” you said in a biting yet sickly-sweet kind of tone with some attempt at a sinister smirk on your face. And there it was, Terry chuckled under his breath at the pointed usage of his full name you’d be paying for that little jab at his greying age real soon…

“Y/N, that was rude…” Bea muttered to you softly, it was nearly impossible to hear over the blaring of supposed music above them. Terry waved his hand dismissively, pulling an emerald, green envelope with an elegant, gold wax seal out of his blazer pocket before you could respond. Your big eyes swirled with eager curiosity at the sight of the lone invitation clutched in his large hand, Terry did his best not to let such an endearing look dissuade him from the task on hand. He assured himself he could relish such a look in due time as he forced yet another polite smile; he settled his blue eyes on Bea once more.

“That’s quite alright, I’ll be heading back up to my rightful place on the lounge sofa Y/N just as soon as I give Bea this…” Terry said weaponizing the sickly-sweet biting tone you had just used on him with an almost sadistic look in his eyes. Your face fell astronomically though you did your best to play it off with your signature aloof expression, but your eyes appear slightly…glassy as they peered over at the emerald envelope. Honestly, the look in your eyes was enough to have the faintest twinge of guilt bubbling in the older man’s chest, a feeling the coke had numbed for quite some time. “It’ll all be better Friday, sweetheart you’ll see” Terry replayed the thought in his head like a mantra in the brief stretch of silence that lingered in the air.

“Um, what is it…” Bea trailed looking at the letter with a constrained look in her eyes. The twitch of Bea’s hand suggested she wanted to take it, but your sudden withdrawn expression made her hesitate. Terry considered the fact that maybe he was taking this a step too far but how else could he make sure you waltzed into his mansion Friday evening? One split second decision would allow him to both wrap up this tedious small talk foreplay and strike hard with no mercy.

“It’s an invitation to the party I’m hosting Friday evening, I’m willing to give you the details if you accompany me to my rightful place on the lounge sofa” Terry said in a tone that managed to be charming towards Bea and mocking towards you all at once. Bea’s dry expression for once looked dumbfounded, her brown eyes looked between the two of you, equal amounts conflicted. You, however, were gritting your teeth again with a fire a blaze in though big eyes of yours. Terry didn’t fight the urge to smirk, instead he turned and looped an arm with a still dumbfounded Bea and guided her a fair distance through the droves of strung-out blurs on the dance floor. He ignored Bea’s soft cries of protest though he felt her trying her hardest to unloop her stringy arm from his. “Strike first, Strike Hard, No Mercy” a new mantra swirls in Terry’s head and he forces himself to a stop in the middle of the cluttered club floor. He turns to meet doe eyed gaze with a giddy, sadistic smirk that leveled the one he bore in the dojo with the ghost of his lost friend John Kreese all those years ago…

“Oh, Y/N, you’re welcome to join us” the words float out of his mouth tauntingly. The blaze in your eyes dies down just enough for a smirk to curl onto your lips.

“…He knows how to get the best of me

I’m no fool for the world to see

Trade my whole life just to be….”

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

[beautifulchris]

a simple favor

wc: 0,9k

pairing: demigod!minho x gn demigod!reader

summary: you happen to ask a favor to the guy that has a crush on you

genres: fluff, demigod!au, camp half-blood!au, crush!au, son of hermes!minho, child of demeter!reader

tw: flirting, magic

notes: minho is a simp in this one and i'm not apologizing for it. i'm reposting the works i posted while shadowbanned, please don't mind me

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @whipped-kpop-creators

permanent tag list: @badwithten​ send ask/dm/comment to be added!

Minho was a chill kid from cabin 11. He wasn’t about all that “thievery and trickery” lifestyle. Of course, as a Hermes kid, he was skilled for both, but it didn’t mean he’d use them if he could help it.

You were a sweet and beautiful child of Demeter, like herself in many ways. Need a hand? You were there to help. Tending to the Strawberry fields and chatting with the nature spirits about gardening and agriculture in general were your favorite hobbies.

Back in your dad’s neighborhood, you had a best friend. You two shared everything— quite literally, since she could see through the Mist.

She passed her driver’s license test the day you went to camp, so she promised she’d let you know the results.

But only if you could find a way to contact her, because everybody knew phones were monster magnets.

A cabin mate had once said he saw Minho from the Hermes cabin successfully deliver messages in dreams for a friend of his from cabin 5.

It could be a long shot but you wanted to know how your best friend did.

Now, I know what you might ask—

“Why me and not any Hypnos kid? They’re specialized in sleep and dreams.”

Minho was arms crossed against his cabin’s wall, examining you with his cat-like eyes.

“I’ve been told you’re good at it and you’re way more focused than any of them. I don’t want to spend hours explaining something that could take minutes.”

He smirked. “You could’ve just told me you wanted to spend time with me, gorgeous.”

Cheeks burning, your eyes opened widely. “That’s not—”

“It’s okay. So, what do I get in exchange?”

Ah. You didn’t think this far.

“... A flower crown? Cookies?” You were genuinely searching for a fair trade when he bursted out laughing.

“You’re cute.”

“If you’re just gonna make fun of me, I’ll just go to Jeno, sorry—”

He straightened, suddenly serious. “No," he said loudly. He coughed, "I mean no, I’m sorry for laughing. I’ll do it. I’ll take the flower crown and the cookies, though.”

You smiled so sweetly, his heart hammered in his chest.

“Thank you.”

“Sure,” he coughed again, probably to hide his red ears this time.

You walked away a few steps then turned around. “When do you want to do it?”

“Tonight, if it’s okay for you.”

“Okay, see you soon!” You waved him goodbye and, as you jogged away, Minho couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Deep down, he was thrilled to have you asking him for help. He had developed a tiny crush on you after seeing you using your magic in the fields on sunny days, your skin glowing with beauty. Or whenever you gracefully walked past him on your way to the dining pavilion or the combat arena.

He wanted to know more about you. That was the only reason he accepted your request, because he wouldn’t do it for anyone.

“I really thought you’d only do it for friends,” Changbin fake pouted, “or am I nothing to you?”

“Shut up, I did it because you begged, and you are my friend.”

“Oh… so that means that Demeter kid is someone to you. Got it,” he grinned before running away, avoiding his friend’s murderous hands by a centimeter.

“You better not tell a soul!” Minho yelled, before getting ready for his archery lesson.

After dinner, Minho followed you to the Demeter cabin.

“Everyone is at the bonfire, I thought it would be better if we were alone,” you said, sitting on your bed.

The gifts were placed on your bedside table and Minho was standing in front of you, a little uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Of course. Let’s do this.”

He made you lay down on your bed, walked to the front of it and placed his hands around your temples without touching you.

“Relax, think about your friend. I’m going to touch your head, you can tell me to stop at any time.”

“Alright, you can proceed.” After giving him a smile of encouragement, you closed your eyes and focused.

Minho quickly shook away his feelings and concentrated on the task at hand.

It lasted a few minutes, and you could see your best friend vividly like you were actually there with her.

Thanks to him, you got to talk to her, cheer for her when she said she aced the test and give her a hug.

When you finally opened your eyes, Minho was standing next to your bed, contemplating the flower crown you made for him. It was placed on the bedside table along with a batch of cookies.

“Everything went well?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you Minho,” you beamed. “Take it, it’s yours.”

He hesitated, so you got up, took it and put it delicately on his head, all the while his eyes were locked on yours.

“I thought you’d be more interested in the cookies. You look handsome with it,” you complimented, taking a step back to take in his appearance.

Doing his best to ignore the sensation in his chest at your words, he bit into a freshly baked cookie. “Honestly, you didn’t have to give me anything, I would’ve helped you either way. Hm, it’s good.”

“You literally asked for those,” you reminded him.

“You proposed, I accepted,” he countered, shrugging. “But if you insist, you can remind me of our earlier conversation while we walk on the beach together.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Lee Minho?” you smiled, biting on a cookie too.

He mirrored your expression. “Depends, will you say yes?”

“It’s indeed good. Yes, I’d love to talk some more.”

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, here's the masterlist <3

[theredofoctober]

BONUS MANNA CONTENT

Between writing chapters I may drop fragments of 'Little One's diaries regarding her captivity under Will and Hannibal. Chronologically out of order

As of July 2024 this and the other bonus pieces are NOT Canon in Manna. They're unofficial bonus material, early ideas that didn't make it out

Characters: Reader or Little One (OC)/Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

TW: eating disorders, noncon, kidnapping

---

HYPHAE

Dear Diary,

What I write upon your pages are simplicities that my forced fathers cannot in even their most metaphotical wanderings interpret as bile against them: 'I felt pretty lonely today, 'I miss my mom', so juvenile as to be the soft-lobed youth that they would have me be.

It's in my thoughts alone that I pen more elaborate entries, the ones in which my words are the poison I would pour into the ear of either man that holds me over enduring the degradation of their obsessive love.

For I believe that they do love me, now, if only as handfasted couples do the ribbon that braids their hands as one. They love me for how well the wax of me moulds to their projection, my blood and bones and soul remade as the bitch pup to two ravenous dogs.

The more I acknowledge their hunger the more I salivate to cast a bone to their growling want to see them eat it from any floor that I choose, froth-lipped and pathetic in their need to chase the luminous ecstasy of understanding one another through me. Yet they are beginning to see past themselves and into me, now, into my rankled and miserable heart, into the hurt under the hunger, and the girl that needs them.

There was a night I crawled almost willing into Will's lap just to see him stiffen and start, his voice low as he mumbled my name, rigid as a headstone against me as I put my lips to his, taking where he has taken, wanting the same spark of power that he has struck from me with matchlike sureness.

Saliva joined us, in its looped strands; my tongue linked through his in my novice's thievery, and he kissed me back until he remembered my place.

"One," he said, setting me sternly and gently back on my feet again. "No. You know the rules."

With Hannibal, it had been different. I was pressed against the wall before him, having attempted to steal from the pantry again.

"You're bold tonight, little one," he'd murmured, against my ear, and there had been a charge to the words that been different from his patronising cruelty.

I'd felt a woman, for the first time in his presence, and I still don't understand the passion of euphoria that then emerged from that acknowledgement.

God, I hated him more for it, though, seethed even as I ground my body back against him until he chuckled low in his throat, amused by my attempts to seize the reigns of this charging animal that had reared to shatter the frost between us.

"No, little one," he said, an echo of Will, yet in such a dusky and humorous tone that the words were entirely dissimilar to their first invocation in that same room. "You can only play at dominance as a cub claws a lion: the attempt is humorous, yet no power is gained through the act. I advise you to be careful. This feigned courage is an enticing revelation of weakness: you bite when your strength begins to die, but Will and I bite harder."

He crossed my arms at my back by the elbows, seaming himself to me so that his lean chest and hard cock were stern to my sulking recoil.

"What pretty teeth you bare," said Hannibal, stroking my jaw up to the join of my sneering lips. "Still, you cannot steal from me and evade reprimand."

Again I arced my body back into his evident interest, and suddenly his hand was at my throat, throttling me of air as he dragged me upright to the points of my toes. The act required little effort from him; as always, he was calm, only breathing a touch more harshly than before, a short, excited shallow of the chest that agitated me all the more in the knowledge that he liked that I was challenging him.

Till then, I hadn't understood that they wanted me to fight them, he and his lover; I thought they'd sought for assimilated submission, knees spread, tongue flat to take the wafer of their violence. I felt particularly in the amorous tension of Dr Lecter at my arced spine that he enjoyed my stupid struggle, the wriggling of a hunted sow that knows its end is with the butcher.

I stilled, then, refusing him his exhilaration, and he hummed in quiet laughter, twisting me in his grip to kiss my rigid mouth until it opened to his savouring tongue

"Please don't," I whined, between his caresses; he pinned my arms above my head and looked down at me in a near paternal affection.

"You would rather be left alone? Unbesmirched even as you writhe, warm, and burning for a talented hand to beckon you to climax in your quiet bed?"

I knew how easily he could break my body to sugared sunlight with his sensual learning.

Still I resisted him, and he let me free only to announce how I would pay for my rejection.

Diary, something has changed between me and those devils. I understand now how it is that they wage war, and though I am an enemy, there may, at times, be hours of ceasefire between us.

[beanibon]

Could you write headcanons about Vash dating someone who also has a bounty on their head? Not from anything like murder or thievery, but a sizable group that holds a personal vendetta against them. Hope this isn't too vague. Thanks.

I think I do, kinda as if they wronged someone and they put a hit/bounty on them? (At least that my understanding)

TW: not any really, do let me know if I need to add any

Vash didn't really know the extent of your bounty the first time he met you, nor did he ask as it wasn't his business to. But since you've started dating you were a little more open about it, explaining how you've somehow ended up wronging an old gang your family was apart of.

Vash was super understanding, vowing he'd protect you if anyone dared to harm you. In a non-violent way of course, which you'd be lying if that didn't worry you.

You respected Vash's code of no killing, but you weren't much of a fighter yourself, so you still embarrassingly needed to heavily rely on him for protection.

After a particularly nasty incident regarding a few bounty hunters, you begged Vash to teach you how to shoot a gun. He reluctantly agreed, only after hissing in pain of pulling another bullet from his shoulder.

It took you a while to gain enough confidence to shoot a gun, even after weeks of Vash teaching you. Something about shooting others, even for survival felt wrong.

Since the both of you have bounty's on your heads, it makes it hard to have intimate moments. Hotels could be hard to book, meaning snuggled together in a single sleeping bag, which neither of you minded, but I bed would've been more ideal.

Vash, who is extremely touch-starved, always wants to have you close. Especially if you two barely escaped being shot full of bullets, he'd want to hold you close, nuzzle into you, fill his senses with you. It reassures him that you're still there, still alive and with him.

The one major issue with being constantly on the run, is there'll always be trouble lurking around every corner. A shoot out waiting to happen the moment you two sneak into a town, someone will recognise either you or Vash, or both.

You've been injured a few times, only by a blade though, as you're wanted alive. But there was one occasion where a bounty hunter got a little too trigger happy, resulting in a bullet burying itself deep in your thigh.

Vash spent that entire afternoon, doting on you in the hospital. He was worried sick the moment you screamed out, by your side in a heartbeat.

He pampered you. Just imagine all the donuts he'd buy you, if flowers grew on Gunsmoke you best believe the room would be full to the brim with a variety of them. He never left your side, apologising constantly for not keeping an eye on you.

You simply smiled, ruffling his hair as you kissed him, reassuring him that it wasn't his fault. He appreciated that, pushing you over a little so he could snuggle up next to you.

(Was scolded by the nurses the next morning).

Vash cares for you deeply, and will do anything to make sure you're safe and living life to its fullest. He loves you and you love him, if circumstances were different he was sure you'd both be happily together in an old cabin, cuddling on a sofa.