#I SEE THE LOVE DREAMER IS GETTIN' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

divinehedons · 9 months

Text

godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it.

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death. It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down just to come close to the very presence of something so divine.

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pirate!joel miller x siren!reader #pirate!joel miller #pirate!au #siren!au #mermaid!au

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impala-dreamer · 3 months

Text

Let's Dance

A Story from The Boys Universe

~If there's one thing she knows, it's that she fucking hates Soldier Boy. If there's one thing he knows, it's that he can change her mind.~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader

1,650 Words

Warnings: Show typical grossness and sexual situations. NSFW. Amazing Soldier Boy sex talk...

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "someone gets punched"

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

There was moaning coming from the next room. Loud, sensual moaning, followed by a deep chuckle.

Butcher rolled his eyes and sighed.

Y/N and Hughie looked at each other with cringes on their faces. Even after all this time, after all the crap they’d been through, there were still things that shocked them, and what lay beyond the bedroom door would send them both into a tizzy.

For different reasons.

Butcher opened the door wide and groaned at the sight.

Soldier Boy was standing next to the big bed, bare beneath a silk robe. He had one muscular leg up on the frame, the other bouncing slightly as he jerked himself off. Naked women crawled on the bed before him, putting on a show that he was clearly enjoying.

Hughie immediately turned his gaze away, but Y/N was trapped. Something about the way his shoulder was moving, the way his back muscles flexed beneath the silk, had her captivated. She felt a wave of desire wash through her and she gasped.

Soldier Boy looked over his shoulder at the intruders, specifically Y/N. “Like what you see, doll?”

Her mind told her to hurl, but her body told her to hop onto the bed and join in.

“Fuck off!” she snapped, making a show of turning away while keeping one eye on him.

He winked. The son of a bitch winked and it was all Y/N could do to keep her knees from buckling.

“Yeah, yeah. You know you want some of this,” he laughed. “And you-” He turned a bit more and jabbed a finger toward Hughie. “Keep watching. You’ll learn a few things.”

Appalled, Hughie straightened up and shook his head awkwardly. “You- you’ll learn something, you- jerk.”

“Nice one,” Ben taunted. “Limp dick little bastard.”

Having had enough, Butcher stepped up and carefully but forcefully grabbed one of the women’s arms, tugging her up off of the bed.

“Excuse us, will ya lass?”

The women bolted out of the door, plump backsides and bare breasts jiggling as they went.

Ben huffed. “What the fuck, we were just gettin’ started.” He dropped his leg and turned towards the trio, fully exposed and unashamed. His cock was hard and long, hanging down between his legs and angled slightly to the left.

Y/N’s mouth watered and her pussy throbbed. Her stomach also churned, which she decided was a good thing since Soldier Boy was probably riddled with so many STDs that one drop of cum could wipe out a major city.

“You’ve been in here for hours,” Butcher corrected. “Time’s up. We’ve got shit to do.”

Ben smirked and shifted on his bowed legs, spreading them wide and tilting his hips forward just a bit. Green eyes honed in on Y/N and she stiffened.

“I think we can spare a few more minutes. Don’t you, Y/N/N?”

She swallowed hard and sucked in a heavy breath. “What? No.”

He grinned. “I don’t believe you.” He took a step closer. “In fact, I think your sweet little tutu is just soaked right now, isn’t she?”

Her brows raised in shock. “Excuse me?”

He moved closer, his dick swaying with each step.

“Got the love lube flowing. Your little clitty is throbbing. Pretty snatch just dripping for me.”

Her cheeks burned, fists clenched.

Soldier Boy puckered his lips, looking her over as he leaned in close.

“Betcha want me to fill up that juicy sausage wallet with my massive-”

Her fist connected with his jaw and he jolted back, more from shock than anything else.

He laughed and threw his hands up in surrender.

“OK, OK… I get it. Little Miss is a prude.”

Y/N seethed. “I’m not a prude, you jackass. You’re just a first class piece of shit. Shoulda left you frozen in that hell hole till doomsday!”

He laughed again and she lunged at him, ready to claw his perfectly beautiful eyes out.

Thankfully, Hughie grabbed her just in time, his skinny arm barring her from starting a fight she clearly couldn’t win.

Kicking and screaming, he lifted her off of her feet and out of the room, slamming the door closed behind them.

“I’mma kill him,” she warned, eyes shooting daggers through the door.

Hughie sighed. “We’d all love to, believe me. But we need him.”

“Yeah,” she barked at the door, “like a hole in the head!”

Streams of pale gray smoke curled in the air, wrapping around the lower branches and mixing with the aroma of the forest.

Y/N felt like she was following a skunk.

Half a mile in, she coughed and waved a hand in front of her face. “Do you really have to keep blowing that in my face?”

“Can’t help where the fucking wind blows,” he retorted, barely finishing the words before taking another long drag on his joint.

Disgusted, she pushed past him, deliberately knocking into his arm with her shoulder. “You could be less obnoxious about it,” she huffed.

Soldier Boy licked his lip and glared at her ass as she stepped in front of him to take the lead.

“What is your problem?”

She froze and spun in place, leaves crunching beneath her feet.

“My problem?”

He pursed his lips and deep dimples popped on either side. “Yeah. You’ve been riding my jock since the day I met you, giving me a hard time for fucking breathing.”

Again, her hands clamped into fists and she let out a seething breath.

“You are a disgusting, horribly warped, uninteresting, ridiculously clueless, sexist-”

“Whoa now.” He held up a finger. “I am not sexist. I fucking love women. All kinds of women. Old, young, fat, thin-” He paused, a slick smile creeping over his face. “Bitchy sluts like you…”

Something about the way he stared into her made her heart race. His towering height kept his eyes aimed down so that dark lashes fanned out over the green of his eyes. Freckles danced over the apples of his cheekbones; wet, pink lips puckered whenever he spoke.

She fucking hated him. He was absolutely, one thousand percent, the most… amazingly horrid… awesomely… handsome man she’d ever encountered.

Fuck.

“You could be hot,” he continued, lifting the joint to his lips. “If you gave a shit. Maybe get yourself one of those fancy push-up bras, put some fucking make up on; make an effort.” He took a pull and let the smoke out in a tight stream right into her face.

She cringed.

He grinned.

She reared back and took a chance, sending all of her strength into her arm and hoping to make some kind of dent, in his ego if not his face.

Ben grabbed her fist, completely covering her hand in his. He absorbed the blow and tightened his fingers around her hand.

“You really love doing that, don’t you?”

Y/N tried to twist her hand from his, but his grip was absolute. “Let me go.”

He laughed. “So you can hit me again?”

She glared. “Maybe.”

His hold loosened and he shrugged. “I could be into that.”

Slowly, his eyes swept down over her body and her pussy throbbed, betraying everything she was trying to hide behind her outward disgust.

“Fuck you,” she bit, wrenching her arm away.

“Yeah?” He smirked and dropped the end of his joint onto the dirt. “Come on, doll.” He opened his arms, crooked his fingers, daring her to take another swing. “Let’s dance.”

Another strike defended by his right arm.

A hard kick blocked by his left.

A slap to his chest; hot fingers wrapped around her wrist. A blow to his stomach, caught by his free hand.

She was locked in his grasp once again, but this time, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

She sneered, he growled.

She leaned in, he attacked.

His tongue was intrusive and wet. He tasted like whiskey and forty years of captive sexual frustration.

“You’re disgusting.”

He pushed her back into the nearest tree. She gasped.

“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you mean it.”

She spread her legs for his knee, parted her lips for his tongue.

“I can’t fucking stand you.”

He pumped his leg up against her, held both wrists tight in one massive hand locked above her head.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m about to make you love me.”

She melted against him, pinned against the hard, sharp bark of the tree trunk and the solid, warm bulk of his imposing body.

“Doubt it.”

He pawed at her breasts, licked at the pulsing vein in her throat.

“You’ll be craving me for the rest of your fucking life after this.”

Her eyes rolled; her breath caught. Her cunt fluttered on his thick fingers.

The orgasm hit her so fast, she wasn’t prepared. Her mind blanked as she came, no snappy comeback formed in her head. She slumped against the tree and lifted her mouth to his, wanting more, needing all of him so suddenly that it should have scared her.

“See?” he chuckled. “Told ya.”

Her hips rocked against the bulge in his pants, and her body shivered.

“Please…”

He licked at her lips, swiped his thumb over her clit. “Begging already? You are a pathetic slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes…”

His voice dropped to a deep whisper that wound through her head like silk. “Want me to fuck you right here? Out in the open where anyone could walk by and see what a dirty whore you are for me?”

Every speck of will crumbled and her cunt tightened on his fingers. “Yes!”

He stared down and grinned. “I bet you would.”

Swiftly, he pulled away, leaving her an aching puddle against the tree. He adjusted his slacks and cleared his throat.

“Maybe later.” He turned away and started off back down the path. “We’ve got shit to do.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@akshi8278 @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#the boys #fanfic #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you

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jannwrites · 11 months

Text

movie ask meme : JACOB'S LADDER (1990) directed by BRUCE JOEL RUBIN.

a selection of lines from the 1990 film jacob's ladder. modified slightly for rp purposes.

don't leave me.

yeah, you and everyone else.

fuck off! mind your own business!

i didn't want to wake you.

it is tomorrow. four a.m. how come you're so late?

why can't you remember their names?

they're biblical. they were prophets.

i don't let anybody call me that.

you're a real heathen, you know that, [name]?

you sold your soul, remember? that's what you told me.

is that the one who died?

sorry. it just took me by surprise. i didn't expect to see him this morning. god, what i wouldn't ...

he was the cutest little guy. like an angel, you know. he had this smile ...

i don't like things that make you cry.

it's amazing, huh [name]? your whole life, right in front of you.

they're gonna get me. they'll tear me to pieces.

i never hurt anybody when i was alive.

i don't understand you philosophers.

she said you were a son of a bitch and she regrets the day she set eyes on you.

i think she still loves you.

my brain is too small an organ to comprehend this chaos.

you know, you look like an angel, [name], an overgrown cherub. anyone ever tell you that?

this city is filled with creatures. everywhere.

they're like demons, [name].

it's the pressure, honey. that's all it is.

those guys tried to kill me tonight. they were aiming right at me.

says here the world's comin' to an end. the battle of heaven and hell they call it.

listen to me. i'm going out of my fucking mind here.

let me look at your hand.

according to this, you're already dead.

you are out of your mind, man. out of your fuckin' mind.

[name], you little devil. you never told me you could dance like that.

i wanna leave. get me out of here.

go to hell! go to hell, goddamn you!

if you go crazy on me you're goin' crazy by yourself. you understand?

there were all these demons and i was on fire.

i thought you said it was a nightmare?

i'm not going anywhere. i'm right here, [name].

come on, go back to sleep. you can still get a couple of hours.

you must have friends in high places, that's all i can say.

it's not worth it. you'll never win.

how many times can you die, huh?

god i hate this area. makes me nervous.

i'm not sure where i can talk anymore.

something's wrong, [name]. i don't know what it is but i can't talk to anybody about it.

you always used to listen, you know?

they've been followin' me. they're comin' outta the walls.

sometimes i think i'm just gonna jump outta my skin.

i don't know who they are, or what they are. but they're gonna get me and i'm scared, [name].

it's like i was coming apart at the seams.

they keep telling me i'm already dead, that they're gonna tear me apart, piece by piece, and throw me into the fire.

it's like they're crawling out of my brain.

he saw these creatures coming out of the woodwork. they were tryin' to get him, he said.

it's not worth goin' over again and again. whatever happened, happened. it's over.

i'm gettin' a headache just listenin' to you.

so tell me. am i still an angel?

this is your home. you're dead.

i'm not dead. i am not dead.

this is not a dream! this is my life.

i was in hell. i've been there. it's horrible. i don't want to die, [name].

you're a regular basket case, you know that?

you know what eckart said? the only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life; your memories, your attachments. they burn 'em all away.

they're not punishing you. they're freeing your soul.

i'm not here. you haven't seen me.

the truth can kill, my friend.

hey, i'm not the problem. you've got bigger problems than me.

don't fight it. it's your own mind. it's your own fears.

it's hard to believe that the world could be so hellish on day and like heaven the next.

i love you when you're angry.

hello, [name]. i knew you'd come here in the end.

your capacity for self-delusion is remarkable.

you're a real dreamer, you know that? only it's time to wake up.

if you're frightened of dying you'll see devils tearing you apart. if you've made your peace then they're angels freeing you from the world.

#rp meme #rp ask meme #rp starters #rp sentence starters #rp sentence prompts #* mine.#meme: film.

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writernopal · 11 months

Text

7 Snippets 7 People

Tagged by @talesofsorrowandofruin and @mariahwritesstuff, thank you both! See their posts here and here, respectively.

Tagging (gently): @captain-kraken @tabswrites @sarahlizziewrites @outpost51 @dragonedged-if @thewardenofwinter @thelivingdeceased and anyone else who'd like to do this!

One (Axtapor's POV)

Perhaps many would be intimidated by the sight of Lord Rojundrog, Seer of Clan Oxlo, laying eyes on them like this, but to me, he was just a crooked old man with a talent for making himself bigger than he ought to be. He was born from my grandmother’s first clutch and had unusual crimson scales, or rather, unusual for Clan Oxlo. While we lizards came in a variety of colors, certain clans tended to favor certain shades. Ours were hues of blue, black, gray, and purple with the exceedingly rare orchid pink that appeared once every few generations, so his crimson was, at the very least, curious.

Two (Axtapor's POV)

“That is why the start of each social season begins with a reading of rites. A stupid commemoration of those ineffectual ones who fail to consummate their union in that place, the way true Dreamers should, and instead end up with their brains splattered all over their marriage bed. However, it is a rather effective culling tool to eliminate those who should not be trusted with our power or with the duty of representing our House.”

Three (Axtapor's POV)

“I could bore you with the details, but I doubt you are all that interested when it comes to ladies’ fashion, so I will spare you.” She responded, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I be plenty interested in lady clothes when it be on the ground...” I remarked under my breath. Egra and Ulsei both eagerly slapped my head, while Idhi and my grandmother shared similar looks of dissatisfaction. I frowned as I rubbed the warm spot of impact and turned my focus back on Lord Haphrex. “How will ye be gettin’ to the Hefredies?” “I’m afraid that is where we will have to impose on your expertise at sea, my lord.” He said, “Fisla has told me about how talented you are at sailing.” “Has she? Ye’s be right familiar usin’ given names...” I muttered. Egra kicked me and shot me a frown. I growled at her. “Ye wee bitch.” “Grandmama!” She whined. “Settle down.” My grandmother admonished us both with a frown.

Four (Axtapor's POV)

“Well, now that we are on the subject of my beau.” She teased, “What is your opinion of him?” I sighed, not really wanting to provide her with my thoughts about him. I didn't dislike him, but it was still odd for me to see them so close to each other all the time. My grandfather had never been tender with my grandmother the way that Lord Haphrex was. The most I’d ever seen my grandfather do was kiss her hand, and that was only because we’d been at a social event where he was obligated to do so. I supposed Lord Haphrex’s intimacy with her was strange because I wasn’t yet accustomed to seeing someone be so openly affectionate towards her in a romantic way. There was something sad about that.

Five (Axtapor's POV)

“Then, if you can’t say, please, look out for yourself. You know that I care for you very much. But how you worry me, you troublesome boy—!” She let out a strained laugh in a poor attempt to hide the glittering of tears in her eyes. I squared my jaw and did my best to hold her gaze, but it was hard to when she cried. “What be ye on about? I be a man grown now, proper as so, nay a boy.” I teased her weakly. She let out another laugh, and this time her tears fell. “Oh no, you will always be a boy to me, hatchling. That same little boy who loved eating sweets from all the town stalls. When was the last time I treated you to something like that, hmm?” I laughed softly this time and pulled her into an embrace. “Right, long while.”

Six (Fay's POV)

Their coin was clean, and if the knights were pleased with that merchant’s quality of goods, they would certainly return with their business and that of other knights. And knights were easy to swindle. They paraded around in their fancy armors and capes, blithely unaware of how absurd they looked, dragging their velvets through piles of shit and stepping in vomit with their ignorant boots. They didn’t care for their belongings; that much was clear, so for a greedy merchant, they were endless fonts of gold.

Seven (Axtapor's POV)

“Lord Haphrex.” I greeted him with a small dip of the head. “Lord Axtapor.” He responded with a similar gesture. “Tendin’ to business?” I asked as I saw him fold what looked like a bill of sale into his pocket. “One could say so.” He said, gesturing that I follow him with something of a busy look on his face. I didn’t really want to have an extended chat with him, but I followed along anyway. “Fisla is saddened that you will be leaving us so soon, my lord.” He voiced as we took a leisurely pace toward one end of the harbor. It still irked me that he used her name so casually, but there was no real reason why he shouldn’t be able to, given their involvement. “Aye. I know.” “I do not like seeing her distressed, my lord.” He shot me a sidelong look this time. “That be...good.” I replied somewhat awkwardly. What was he getting at? And what was that look from before? I hardly knew him well enough to be able to guess. He halted his advance and turned to face me. “So your mind is made up? You will not stay?” I sighed. “Did she put ye up to this?” “A man never reveals what a woman says to him in confidence, my lord.” He said with a slight frown. I pushed the leaves to the other side of my mouth impatiently. “I nay have time to be waggin’ tongues as so, my lord. What be it that ye want?”

#tag game #seven snippets seven people #writeblr tag games #aasoaf #aasoaf 2 #axtapor #lady fisla #lord haphrex #egra #ulsei #idhi #seer rojundrog #i should just rename aasoaf 2 to axtapor hates grandmas new bf #need to spray him with a water bottle lol #my writing

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jasonsthunderthighs · 1 year

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Dizzy Dreamer (Sandman story)

Hey, it's DC. And that's what it was voted on in the polls. I know this is in first person, I wrote this as basically my own self insert. Sorry if you don't like that. I kinda like how this is written.

I'm also goin to take a break from postin so much for days straight. I try to make it different. Life is just so busy and gets in the way with sittin down and writin actual stories and headcanons without it lookin rushed. That's why I always do incorrect quotes.

I have no context for this story. I was just bored when I wrote this last year.

Anywhore, the character is as always nonbinary.

Word Count: 850 (So, pretty short.)

(GIF has nothin to do with the story.)

I float above the Dream Lord, watchin him work as he creates dreams and nightmares for the mortals in the wakin world. I sigh in boredom of the dreams he'd make but keep up on my toes for the nightmares. It was like watchin TV. But you don't have a remote control and the channels change from only two genres.

I hear the personification sigh, clearly annoyed of my presence. I don't blame him, I just LOVE causin trouble. There's a reason I'm the trouble muse. That's how I get along with his sibling, Desire, so well. “Two peas in a pod!” they'd tell me with a mischievous twinkle in their golden eyes as they grin at me. Miss that twin.

“Hello?” Dream spoke up, wakin me from my thoughts, growin impatient.

“Hmm?” I spoke up, lazily lookin at his gaunt pale face with a half ass smile.

“I asked you what your business here is, Muse.” he coldly says, lookin back at his work.

“Hmm.. None, just bored.. Desire is busy with their thing, so I decided the next best thing, Dizzy Dreamer.” I watch him glare at me for the nickname I gave him that he absolutely LOATHES.

“Don't me that.” we both said at the same time, me mockin his voice, hearin him growl in frustration at me.

“ENOUGH.” his voice booms in the big room as he turns to face me, gettin closer to me as I continue floatin upside down, flippin right side up to face him properly.

“You're such a stick in the mud, Dream.” I stick my tongue out at him playfully, not takin his frustration seriously in the slightest.

“You're an annoyance to my work and myself.” the stars in his black eyes twinkle in irrigation.

“I can't help it! It's who I am.~” I shrug playfully, “Blame Desire and Delirium for creatin me. Y'know I'm not new. Besides, I'm technically not doin anythin to you.”

Dream sighs in annoyance at my answer, closin his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, I was right and he knew it, “I'm not workin for your entertainment, Muse.”

“Don't be so mean, Dreamer.” I teased, “Though the nightmares DO entertain me. Where IS the nightmare?” I'm tryin to ruffle him up now and he sees it.

Flexin his jaw in irritation, he gets closer to me where we're face-to-face like he was with his sibling, Desire. From what they've told me.

“That's none of your concern. Or any of your affairs to deal with..” his voice was cold when he answered, immediately shuttin down the topic, feelin his cold breath hit my face.

“Right.. My ‘affairs’..” I air quote the last word. Man, what a tough crowd. I sigh, lettin myself float down, my bare feet gently touchin the cold stone floor of the Dream Lord’s castle, my eyes not leavin his from my movement. “Y'know, ya should lighten up a little bit, Dizzy Dreamer. You're always so serious. Such a fun sucker.”

He doesn't reply, his face cold and unwelcomin as he still looks at me.

“Boop!” I quickly poke his nose, only for his hand to quickly shoot up, tightly grippin my wrist of the hand that touched him.

“DON'T touch me.. You're testin my patience, Muse..” his grip tightens and I hissed out in pain he's actually causin.

“Yea. Yea. I get it.. I'll leave.” I replied stiffly, yankin my arm to get out of his cold, iron grip, “You wonder why you're so damn alone and don't ever see that you push others away. You're always so serious bout anythin, even if it doesn't involve you.”

He glares at me coldly, not sayin a word in reply to what I said.

“Even Desire is honestly more bearable than you, cause anyone can BREATHE and not get yelled at. I feel bad for Lucienne. No wonder Cor-”

Before I could finish my sentence, Dream had his hand in my icy white hair so tightly, bringin my face close to his. “Ah!” I yelled in pain from his tight grip in my hair.

“DON'T. Speak of him, Muse. You DON'T know what my affairs are which are NONE of your business..” his grip gets tighter with every word he said, causin me to wince in pain, “Your next choice of words better be carefully thought out, as my patience has run incredibly low..”

I look at his pitch black eyes, swallowin hard as I try to reply, “I-”

“Carefully.” he warns me, watchin my reaction and waitin for a responce from me.

I swallowed hard again, breathin out, “I'll stay out of your affairs.. I'm sorry, Lord Morpheus..” I slowly replied as I picked my words to not anger him even more than I did.

He pauses for a moment, his tight grip in my hair loosens as he jerks my head away from him, almost knockin me down and losin my balance a little. “You better. Don't test me..”

I rub my throbbin head, givin him one last look before vanishin into smoke, goin right back to Desire’s realm.

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wally-franks-stan · 2 years

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Hackenbush’s Log #1: Adrift

The water through the hatch is dark.

The Dreamer crashed at night. 7 hours have passed, and the sun has risen, but still the water’s dark.

It isn’t just the shadow of the lifepod, either. Looking out from the top hatch, I’m surrounded on all sides by dark water. I can see the wreck of the Dreamer and what looks like land in the distance, but without knowin’ how far away they really are, I ain’t fixin' to try to swim. Even with the emergency seaglide, that would be a stupid decision.

I’ve got a few nutrient blocks, and a few bottles of water. If I’m smart, that could last me a few weeks. Hopefully rescue comes by then. From other people, or the current pushin’ me closer to shallower water.

Hope it comes sooner rather than later. I don’t feel right. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I feel… off. Trapped. Maybe the isolation’s already gettin’ to me. Maybe it’s my situation finally sinkin’ in. But if something more is really wrong? Well… I don’t know.

[A moment of utterly dead air]

It’s times like this I wish I could bring myself to believe in a god. Maybe if I did, I’d have something to bring me just a little bit of comfort. But I’ve got nothin’ to pray to. Nothin’ to save me but the whims of a world that doesn’t know I exist, or the mercy of other people that may not even be out there.

[Dead air again]

I haven’t seen any fish. Big or small. Nothing. Not a single sign of life.

But I hear ‘em.

Oh believe me, I hear ‘em.

[Something shrieks distantly]

[A dry, strained chuckle]

Right on cue.

Somethin’s out there.

I’ve always loved studying alien life. But just this once?

I think I’d rather not know.

#my writing #Harvey Hackenbush #subnautica mer au #dr hackenbush #pda logs

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princessithaca · 11 months

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5 songs i’ve been listening to nonstop

tagged by @hailqiqi quite literally over a month ago. i get around to things at roughly the rate of a snail. sorry *sweats*

i. motorcycle drive by, third eye blind. went searching for this album in four whole record shops. could not find it. life is cruel. probably my favourite song of theirs.

ii. gettin started, sam fender - a (semi?) upbeat sam fender song, will wonders never cease. highly reccomend blasting this one and yell-singing it in the kitchen when home alone.

iii. fade into you, mazzy star - *did* however score this one in the record shops, so whoo!

iv. ruin my life, zolita - this is a banging song and i like it for its own merits but truthfully tumblr this entirely bc i was having a total dreamer trilogy moment the other day and it makes me think of trilogy era adam pov

v. true blue, boygenius - this song feels like sitting on the window balcony on a hot day watching the people down below and arguing with your friends over what kind of campfire to build. if my life was a coming of age movie this would play during the ending fade out.

honourable mention goes to screen violence by chvrches bc i honestly haven't had that album off rotation since it came out and this whole list could have just been them lmfao.

tagging @chenpire, @alteredstratus in particular bc i feel like bugging you both but please DO join anyone who sees this if u wanna. i love nothing more than getting song recs from people

#tag games #iona.txt #don't feel like we have to be mutuals either. i just wanna spread some fun music discussion!#music

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deftreckon · 1 year

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Bougie Queen or THE DOLLOP

Tryna get me a bougie queen

And I ain’t got nothin

Except the drive to be somethin,

Dreams constructed by the dozen

And a book full of rhymes

That can feed the needy if they love it

And which every emcee will covet

Cuz they can’t touch it

Just pretend they’re above it

While they’re stuck up under it

But it sucks no one is in a rush to discover it

My own mother hasn’t even opened the coverin

I guess my previous line was misleading

Cuz my rhymes can’t even feed me

But despite fightin to keep a ceiling

I got some feelings for a queen

With dealings and income

Man eating like all the game we run is dim sum

But this underdog has one bet:

That he’s due for an upset

I got a secret play that involves a drum set

And a go dumb set

Where each new rhyme one ups the rest

Cuz you catch a queen who owns the present

By makin her a proponent of what comes next

If you’re assessed in the moment,

You’re done hexed

Cuz now you’re just another peasant

Owin her some debts

So good news: the scrum’s set for sunset

When I spy across the scrimmage line

I discern the unnerving eyes of a huntress

Bloodthirsty in a sundress

The diamonds on her neck are in the hundreds

But no gettin razzle dazzled by the wondrous

When gunnin for a seductress

You need a trained sight that budges at nothin

Oh shit it’s game time, cut the discussion

They hike the mic with the buzzin

But at the same time, she comes rushin in

Hang tight, cuz now I’m runnin behind great rhymes

Doin all the stuntin

I was like damn, she’s all alone

Rockin to the sounds of my microphone

She’s got shoes on that would make me overdraft

High class

But she can’t put a price tag on her ass

So, I’m doin my thing

I’m ownin the stage

Stole the stones from Thanos

Controllin time and space

record scratch

Wow, excuse me sir

We have other people who want to get on

Now, I’m just another schmuck

Posted up in the cut

Fucked up with nothin in my cup

Where did she go?

My little fantasy hoe

Decked in the fanciest clothes

What’s life like without the finest?

Damned if she knows

Then a route she strolls

Between the vip poles

Straight beast mode

Straight outta Puerto Rico

She sees me leanin and makes a b line

Meantime, I’m tryna find a good line

She says, hi motherfucker

I’m the girl of your dreams

Queen of the club

Came up from the streets

Yeah, girl

You’re a queen with the attitude

And with the wrist icy as the blacked moon

See, I’m a dreamer with the magnitude

I spit the realest and the magic too

Now, I can’t by you all the nice things

Or even take you out on a nice date

But I can ball on the night stage

I feel like a million in my mind, babe

That’s how I want you to see me

Until I’m pimpin the TV

And in scenery fit for a queen

To receive a ring from the king in me

Until then, don’t you leave me

If I don’t see you in the crowd beaming

I’m leaving

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aestheticvoyage2022 · 2 years

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August 2022

A full month with the Finca under construction leaves us just gettin by here at the end of this month, cashed out in every way and ready for a reset here with Fall 2022. Aside from dust and a parade of contractors, this month was highlighted with completing some important tasks for William including finishing his “Dad Journal” and last year’s special slideshow that including a creative presentation of his birth that I was really proud of. We also started to capture his heigh in my shop, officially Two Foot Five this August. While we spent a lot of time in the pool in August, it couldn’t compete with a beautiful day we spent in the fresh water of Lake Tahoe on our way back from Bend. Standing out in the water, enjoying a beer and some good tunes, was my favorite part of this month. Hard to say what William’s favorite part would be - his first full month of walking, he was all over the place this month. Walking, Running, Climbing, Bonking. He got to see the Redbirds play, started to watch Sesame Street, started to color and talk on the phone, played with the dogs and the contractors tools and his giraffes, and even went to Baby Shower for Alec who will be here later this Fall. But more than anything - he started to sleep in his own bed for the first time. A true game changer for us - even though Mama and I are still stuck sleeping in the living room until this never ending bathroom project completes. I sometimes imagine future posts- and that one coming soon where I get to share how we’re putting our life back together and have the Finca back to just ourselves will be a very happy one. We’ll be doing Happy Feet alongside William when that day in September finally comes.

Best Day: Beach Day at Tahoe - August 2

Best Song: Zach Bryan - Burn,Burn,Burn

Best Quote: Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Invitation

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.”―

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lunaicfantastic · 2 years

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walkin' the wire; pain and desire - ed teach in eagles songs

Tracklist:

1. Witchy Woman

2. Midnight Flyer

3. Doolin-Dalton

4. One of These Nights

5. New Kid in Town

6. Take It to the Limit

7. The Best of My Love

8. Desperado

9. Tequila Sunrise

10. Wasted Time

11. Pretty Maids All in a Row

12. Victim of Love

13. Outlaw Man

14. Doolin-Dalton / Desperado (Reprise)

selected lyrics and song explanations below the cut

this playlist was designed to loosely follow ed's arc through season one, so it is meant to be listened to in order but it's not required selected lyrics & brief song overview:

witchy woman: echoed voices in the night / s(he's) a restless spirit on an endless flight. represents how the world sees ed - he's the titular witchy wo(man), feared and/or desired by all of the pirate world and more of an urban legend than a man.

midnight flyer: a runaway team of horses ain't enough to make me stay / so throw your rope on another man and pull him down your way / make him into someone who can take the place of me / make him every kind of fool you wanted me to be. represents how ed feels at the beginning of the series - he wants to escape the life he has, which he finds meaningless and boring. he's tired of blackbeard, he wants to be ed, but it seems like he's the only one.

doolin-dalton: better keep on movin', doolin-dalton / 'til your shadow sets you free / if you're fast, and if you're lucky / you will never see that hanging tree. how ed feels before meeting stede - his life is dangerous and exciting but he finds no joy in it, he's treading water, moving forward only because there's no where else to go.

one of these nights: you got your demons, you got desires / well I got a few of my own / oooh someone to be kind to / in between the dark and the light / oooh coming right behind you / swear I'm gonna find you / one of these nights. ed's desire is to be loved, and to find someone to love, he wants someone to be kind to! he wants someone to love ed and not just blackbeard. basically his hopes for he and stede.

new kid in town: there's talk on the street, it's there to remind you / doesn't really matter which side you're on / you're walking away and they're talking behind you / they will never forget you 'til somebody new comes along. more of his feelings about the blackbeard persona ed feels like he has to embody - it was fun at first, to be a fearsome pirate, to have people run at the sight of his flag, but now it's just lonely and full of hollow victories.

take it to the limit: you know I've always been a dreamer (spent my life running 'round) / and it's so hard to change (can't seem to settle down) / but the dreams I've seen lately / keep on turning out and burning out / and turning out the same & and when you're looking for your freedom (nobody seems to care) / and you can't find the door (can't find it anywhere) / when there's nothing to believe in / still you're coming back, you're running back / you're coming back for more. more of ed's burnout but also a bit of the heartbreak from episode 8 - his dreams keep burning out and he keeps going with what he knows because he doesn't know what else to do.

the best of my love: every night I’m lyin’ in bed / holdin’ you close in my dreams / thinkin’ about all the things that we said / comin’ apart at the seams & I’m goin’ back in time and it’s a sweet dream / it was a quiet night and I would be all right / if i could go on sleeping. basically post-episode 9 ed, he's heartbroken and grieving, and feeling like he wasn't good enough for stede. essentially the first part of episode 10 in song form.

desperado: desperado / oh you ain't gettin no younger / your pain and your hunger / they're driving you home / and freedom, oh freedom / well that's just some people talking / your prison is walking through this world all alone & it's hard to tell the nighttime from the day / you're losing all your highs and lows / ain't it funny how the feeling goes / away. this song is pretty self-explanatory; the blackbeard persona is slowly devouring ed, the brutality and isolation is destroying him, he's gotta let somebody love him!

tequila sunrise: take another shot of courage / wonder why the right words never come / you just get numb / it's another tequila sunrise / this old world still looks the same / another frame. last half of episode 9 ed, the realization of stede standing him up at dawn and the numbness of that slow boat ride back to the ship. he thought he found a safe harbor, but he cracked up on the rocks.

wasted time: and you're back out on the street / and you're trying to remember, oh / how do you start it over / you don't know if you can / you don't care much for a stranger's touch / but you can't hold your man. ed's grieving his love for stede; he put himself out there, cut out his heart and laid it at stede's feet, and he thinks stede kicked it into the sea, that all his love was for nothing, so he's gonna bottle it up and let the kraken numb the pain for him.

pretty maids all in a row: and the storybook comes to a close / gone are the ribbons and bows / things to remember, places to go / pretty maids all in a row. ed's anger and frustration at himself for believing he could have love, that his story could have a happy ending - this isn't a storybook and when the fantasy falls away there's only heartbreak left behind.

victim of love: I heard about you and that man / there's just one thing I don't understand / you say he's a liar / and he put out your fire / how come you still got his gun in your hand? & some people never come clean / I think you know what I mean, oh / you're walkin' the wire; pain and desire / looking for love in between. he's trying to move on, to let the kraken take over, to kill ed and leave only blackbeard behind, but he can't manage to - he kept the lighthouse painting and the robe; behind the facepaint and the ruthlessness, ed's still there.

outlaw man: all of my friends are strangers / they quickly come and they go / and all my love's in danger / 'cause I steal hearts and souls / wo(man) don't try to love me / don't try to understand/ a life upon the road / is the life of an outlaw man. by the end of the season, he's trying to convince himself he's a monster, the kraken, something incompatible with love. no one should try to love him, because after all, who could love a monster and come away unscathed?

doolin-dalton/desperado (reprise): doolin-dalton / high or low, it's all the same / easy money and faithless wo(men) / you will never kill the pain & your twisted fate has found you out / and it's fin'lly turned the tables / stole your dreams and paid you with regret / desperado (is there gonna be anything left, is there gonna be anything?). essentially ed's state of mind at the end of the first season, empty, like he's lost everything and will never get it back, he's doomed to be alone and unloved for the rest of his life.

I hope y'all enjoy this playlist! ed is my poor little meow meow and i love to think about him suffering >:) (also just as a clarification these songs aren't meant to be accurate to the reality of ed's situation, but rather how he is experiencing it; we know stede loves him and is trying to get back to him but ed doesn't).

#ofmd #our flag means death #ed teach #blackbeard #stede bonnet #blackstede #stedebeard #sted #i have no clue what their ship name is tbh #shut up anna

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stellarboystyles · 4 years

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Make a Move

Harry’s a bartender and she’s a waitress, a match made in heaven. That is, if they weren’t constantly pining over each other like idiots.

4.2k !

She and Harry closed almost every weekend.

Why? Because there wasn’t really anyone else that was willing, so they’re always picking up slack. They were even more short staffed before Y/N came along, and given that she was the only waitress who actually gave a shit about her job, she was always the first choice whenever someone called in sick or quit unexpectedly, which, unfortunately for her, was quite often. Not that she’s complaining, because she and Harry always work the same shifts so it’s always fun. She was so kind to every customer but as soon as any of them were crossing a line she’d be the first one to tell them to back off. Harry was the best bartender on the strip, and everyone local knows it, too. Word travels fast, and his drinks speak for themselves. They make a great team. The rest of their co workers claim that the pair always get better tips, and even though they aren’t wrong, Harry and y/n like to indulge in the private joke that maybe if everyone else didn’t do their job half ass then maybe they’d get the tips that they get every night. Their boss is lucky to have both of them working for him.

But Harry was just as lucky to be working there.

That’s exactly what it was. Pure luck.

When Harry’s mum Anne told her husband that she was pregnant with him, he promised her that he was going to change and be home more often, for them. And he kept his promise, for a while. Harry was such an easy baby, easy going and hardly ever cried. However, three months later things swiftly took a turn when she quickly realised that he was going to be a colicky baby. Seeing her little baby boy in pain, screaming and inconsolable just simply broke her heart, but it just meant that he needed a little more attention. She’d quickly learned his favorite remedy was a warm bath and a comfy swaddle, followed by some cuddles and he’d be right back off to sleep. She still thinks the reason that they’re still so close now is because of that extra bonding time.

Harry’s dad had always been distant from him. He was never home, And when he was, he wanted Anne’s full attention, and when he wasn’t getting that anymore, because, you know, she was busy raising an infant by herself, he grew selfishly jealous of the child that he created. When he hit her in front of her son, that was it. She made the split decision that she didn’t want this life for Harry, or for her. She waited until he fell asleep that night, packed what she could, took her baby and left. Moved to London and never saw or heard from him again.

Harry was six years old when his mum first got sick. It started out as headaches and a fever that would come and go, but it got worse. To be specific, an autoimmune disease that was attacking her muscles and joints. It got so bad that she couldn’t even brush her hair, let alone take proper care of a six year old. Long story short, Harry learned quickly and at a young age how to take care of himself. when Harry wasn’t in school all he wanted to do was take care of her. He’d always wake up early on the weekends and make her second favorite breakfast...waffles. Her first favorite was pancakes, but he couldn’t make those, only because he knew that his mummy said the stove wasn’t safe and that he couldn’t use it by himself, because he could burn his fingers.

Three years go by and things are really tough. Anne could no longer work, so without her knowledge, Harry began to improvise. He started selling some of his toys to his friends at school during playtime. By the time almost all of his toys were gone he’d managed to gain thirty five dollars, and he was so proud of himself. But when he saw one of the medical bills totals on the kitchen counter, he knew he was going to have to try something else. Every monday his mum gave him five dollars to pay for lunch at school for the whole week. So instead of eating lunch, he kept it in his backpack with the other thirty five. His friends always shared their lunch with him so that he wouldn’t go hungry all day, and no one ever found out. Week by week the amount seemed to add up quickly. Before he knew it it was the end of the school year he had one hundred and ninety five dollars. He counted it twice just to be sure, but it didn’t matter because it still wasn’t enough.

He was sad, extremely sad and angry. Three more years go by and his mum is in the hospital recovering from surgery. He couldn’t help feeling so many things all at once. His mum was his best friend, why on earth was this happening to her, to him?

One afternoon Harry was walking home from school. It was gloomy and dreary, typical London weather. He wanted to get home faster so he could get to the hospital to see her, so he chose to make a quick shortcut down an alley to his left. As he walked he noticed a group of boys older than him, maybe fourteen or fifteen, on the side of the alley. Before he could turn around or walk past them, of course, they surrounded him. It felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

He was getting jumped.

“I-I haven’t got anything.”

One of them held his arms in a tight grasp whilst another one yanked the backpack off his shoulders, dumping the contents, including the wads of cash, onto the asphalt.

“Ooh, what do we have here?”

Harry’s eyes instantly widened, struggling with all the strength in his body, desperately trying to get free. He couldn’t let them do this.

“No! Please, please don’t. I’ll do anything you want, but I need that money!”

“So do we.”

A fist landed against his cheek and before he knew it he was on the ground being beaten senseless.

“It’s not for me!” he tried, throwing his hands up in front of his face in an attempt to defend himself. “It’s for my mum, she’s sick.”

“Hey! How many times have I told you to quit causin’ trouble back ‘ere?!”

Harry was wide eyed as he saw a man, probably a store owner since he came around the back corner. They quickly ran off empty handed. The man’s face changed from angry to bewildered as he saw Harry’s face.

And as if on fucking cue, it started to rain. Pour, actually.

“No, no, no…”

Harry scrambles to his knees and crawls forward, trying to salvage the dampened green paper, shoving it back into his backpack.

“Are you alright?!”

That was the moment that Harry’s life changed forever.

The man, who Harry quickly learned was named Joe, did more than just clean up the young boy’s bloody face. They started talking and Harry told him everything. About his father, the piling medical bills, everything—and in that moment Joe knew he had to help him.

Every day after that, after school Harry would go to Joe’s bar and work for him. Small jobs—sweep the floor, clean the tables, things like that. He took Harry in, looked after him when his mum couldn’t and gave him advice like the father he’d never had.

The day Harry turned seventeen was the day his mum was officially in remission. Harry had been saving every single penny he’d made over the last five years, which was enough to really help out with their situation until his mum could go back to work. He was over the moon, he didn’t think he’d ever see the day that she’d be feeling like herself again.

Harry didn’t really plan on going to college because even if his mum was better, he always wanted to be able to visit and check on her. After he graduated, he moved into the apartment upstairs above the bar, and the rest is history.

And that leads us to now. Four years later at twenty one Harry is everyone’s favorite bartender, who's crushing hard on this truly one of a kind girl that walked into his life only a few months ago, and he can’t remember what life was like without her in it.

Despite how the job sounds, they both loved every second of it. Especially when they worked together. When they weren’t busy, they were constantly messing with each other, usually it was him teasing her whenever she tripped over her own feet, almost spilling a plate or glass and when she’d come back behind the bar he’d be smirking “y’not drunk are yeh?” and she’d mumble a “shut up.” making him chuckle.

But they were incredibly soft for each other, there was no way around it.

One time, Harry called in sick, and if he would’ve seen the look of disappointment mixed with sadness on her face, he might have just said fuck it and came in to work just to make her happy or at least see her smile, despite the food posioning.

That’s what she did to him. All rationale was lost, even if it was just for a moment.

When he came back, his co-workers filled him in, telling him that she was all sad and pouting through the whole shift. It made his heart ache, made him want to kiss the pout right off her lips,

because her lips were so pretty.

But it also made his heart beat a little faster.

He caught himself staring more and more as the months went by, their friendship torturing him day by day. It was truly a sick joke—being her friend but not being able to feel her soft skin under his touch, kiss her anywhere, anytime he wanted.

Was this karma? What did he do to deserve this?

He’s never been a day dreamer, until now. She’s in his head all the time and he can’t stop thinking about what his life would be like if he could just muster up enough confidence to tell her that he loves the way she pushes her hair behind her ears, or how he’s been dying to kiss her since she walked in the door on her first day.

He remembers that day like it was yesterday.

***

Harry was wiping down the bar, cell phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he listened to his boss tell him about his newest hire being a new waitress.

“Hope this one sticks.” he mumbled, a small smirk appearing on his face as he dried off the inside of one of the glasses. “M’not gettin’ paid to wait tables, Joe.”

“Oh piss off, I’m payin’ you more than that.” a laugh was shared between the two before he continued.

“She’s already been trained, but it’s her first day by herself, so be nice.”

“M’always nice. It’s those other vultures you’ve got to worry about.”

Harry wasn’t exaggerating. The other waitresses were like wild animals, they’d either attack you or try to have sex with you.

“Just look out for her, will you? Don’t want her bein’ eaten alive on her first day and then she’s too scared to come back.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, I’ll keep y’updated. Have fun on your holiday.”

“Thanks again for taking care of everything, I really appreciate it.”

“S’the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” the humor in his voice slowly faded, his tone becoming more serious.

Don’t get soft on me now.” his response to Harry’s sentiment makes him chuckle.

“Okay, okay. But m’serious, don’ know where I’d be without your help.”

When he hung up the phone, as if on fucking cue, he hears the front door open.

***

Everything about her was perfect. Her hair looked like silk, even if it was tied back while she was working with some baby hairs falling around her face. Her skin was flawless—he loves it when she doesn’t wear any makeup, like today. He found her rosy cheeks and naturally long eyelashes to be undeniably adorable.

“H?”

His head snapped up at her voice. It was sweet, like the sugar he always puts on the rim of her glass when he makes her mojitos some nights after they close up. Harry thinks he’d do anything she wanted if she asked him nicely.

“Earth to Harry.” she jokingly waves her hand in front of his face. “It’s almost two.”

“Oh, shit. Wasn’t even lookin’ a’ the time.” he chuckled. “Thanks, love.”

“No problem.” Her cheeks were splashed with pink, looking at her shoes before turning to walk away.

To this day, Harry doesn’t know what on earth possessed him to do this. But for some reason, three words popped into his head.

Make a move.

“Hey.” he stops her from walking away by taking her hand and pulling her towards him.

“What?” she giggles as she turns her head to look at him.

“C’mere.”

The look on his face was giving her butterflies. He blinked slowly, a small smile curved across his lips.

“Got a new drink idea, can I try it out on ya?”

She lets out a nervous giggle before nodding her head.

She felt like an idiot because she really thought that he was going to kiss her. She wanted to feel his lips on her lips, her skin. And god, did he want to kiss her. He felt like an idiot because that wasn’t really a move. He wanted to kiss her, so fucking bad but he got nervous. How couldn’t he? She was his friend, and so, so beautiful. What if she didn’t want to be more than friends? It was a scary thought, rejection. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their friendship, he cared about her too much to ruin that. Wouldn’t it be awkward, if things didn’t work out, or she didn’t want him in the first place, and they still had to work together? Harry just might have to crawl under a rock.

But she wore her heart on her sleeve, so she couldn’t really hide the sadness in her eyes as her gaze fell to her hands as he was mixing the contents that were going to go in the lowball glass. It pained him to see her anything but her usual bubbly, sweet self.

“S’wrong?” Harry frowned, but she shook her head.

“Nothin’. Just waiting on you, like always.”

His mouth fell open at your accusation.

“Since when?” he scoffs. “M’always waitin’ on you.”

“When?” she challenges, eyebrows furrowing.

Harry playfully rolls his eyes. “When we were goin’ t’that festival, or anytime we do somethin’ outside of work, yeh always take forever to get ready.”

Because she wanted to look super cute for you, you idiot.

“I messed up my makeup, okay? Gimme a break.”

She’s sitting on the bar stool and he’s behind the bar, leaning onto his elbows and stopping what he’s doing to look at her.

“Y’dont need tha’ stuff.”

She gives him a sheepish smile, but Harry’s not having any of it.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey.” he reaches over and puts a hand under her chin, finger brushing the skin of her jaw and his touch gives her butterflies. “Look a’ me?”

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, earning a smile on his pink lips.

“S’true. You’re beautiful and you don’t need it, okay?”

A soft smile graced her lips, making his small smile wider. “Okay, okay.”

“Alright, here.” he slid the glass across the bar top towards her. She takes a sip and her eyes light up, making his do the same.

“Mmm, it’s so good!” she looks up at him, eyes widening, making him laugh.

She loved his laugh.

“Know you like to start off with the fruity stuff.”

“Careful.” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “I know how much you love those cranberry vodkas.”

“And they’re delicious. Especially mine.”

“Definitely yours.” her comment makes Harry giggle, looking at his hands and you’re positive it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He looks at her, flicking his head.

“C’mere, I’ll show yeh how t’make one.”

Her whole face lights up. “Really?” and her excitement is so adorable he can’t help but mirror her expression with a laugh.

“Mhm, c’mon.”

She’s standing behind the bar and Harry’s standing behind her, showing her the ropes, as he called it. But when she felt his chest pressed against her back as he went through the steps, she could no longer focus on anything he was saying, which worked in his favor because he stumbled across his words quite a bit at the feeling. They were physically closer than they’ve ever been and she smelled so fucking good. He rests his head on her left shoulder, gripping the bar top in front of her.

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and he finally speaks up.

“Wanna try?”

He picks up the lowball glass, bringing it up to her lips. He moves his hand, tilting the drink to meet your lips. The interaction was so intimate, and you could feel his breath on your ear.

“Good?”

His voice was deeper, sending shivers down her spinal cord. She nods and he moves beside her, (much to her disappointment) and leans one of his elbows onto the surface beside him. She turns to him, and takes the glass out of his grasp as he’s taking a sip.

“S’not nice!” he laughs as she takes a drink, giggling as he gets in her face.

“S’your turn to make me a drink now.”

One hour later and she was three drinks in, which meant that she was on the verge of drunk. She made him two replicas of the cocktail he’d helped her make just before, and he claimed that hers were just as good, but she still wasn’t too sure if he was letting her win or not. She wasn’t drunk, though.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” the smirk sliding up his lips told a different story.

“Liar!” she giggled, and she tries to walk towards him but her legs betray her as she trips over her own sneakers and falls into his chest.

“Okay, you’re drunk.” he confirms with a chuckle, catching her by her forearms helping her to stand again.

“M’not drunk, shoelace is untied.” she tries to lift up her leg to show him the definitely loose laces, but she loses her balance and nearly falls onto the wood floor, and if Harry hadn’t grabbed her hand when he did she would’ve definitely had a sore backside.

“Maybe I am drunk.” she mumbles, pouting when she hears his chuckle. “Not funny, H.”

His stomach drops when he sees that she’s looking right at him with tears threatening to spill onto her soft cheeks.

“No, m’sorry love. Didn’t mean it, okay? Promise.” He uses his thumb to brush the skin just under her eye. “Please, don’t cry.”

The rest of the tears subside at Harry’s comforting gesture. They stood like that for a while, eye contact refusing to break before she spoke up.

“Do you like me?”

Did she really just say that? Was he that drunk? He was definitely more than tipsy, but did she really just say that?! Was he dreaming? Please let this not be a dream.

His heart thumped in his chest when her fingers started playing with his.

“Now what’s not to like about you, darlin’?”

That’s sweet, but not what I asked, she thinks to herself.

She could not believe the level of bravery in her blood right now. She wasn’t even that drunk and words that she thought she would never say were spilling out.

As she was about to respond, she lets out a yawn, her previous thoughts quickly slipping her mind.

“Tired?’ he questions as he cocks his head to the side, a grin sliding up his lips.

“Mhm. Still need to walk home.” she frowns and his eyes go wide.

“Can’t let y’walk home alone-”

“I do it every other night.” she protests, clearly getting frustrated.

The thought of her walking back to her apartment alone at 3 am, sober or not, made his stomach turn. He ignores her attempt at convincing him that she’s fine, because there is no way he’s letting this happen.

“ Y’can stay with me? S’just upstairs.”

His voice was quiet and it took a moment for her to register what he’d said.

“Wait, what d’you mean upstairs?”

“There’s a flat upstairs, s’mine.”

The confusion on her face made his heart want to melt.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

She feels another yawn coming and he picks her up—one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he’s so warm—she can’t help but nuzzle her face into his neck and he thinks he could very well pass out, but he won’t, because he’s holding her, obviously.

He sets her down onto his bed, and tells her she can pick whatever looks comfy from his dresser to wear as pj’s.

“M’gonna go get some water, okay? Be right back, love.”

She picks out a stones t-shirt and changes into that because honestly, it’s one of the first things she sees and it smells like him and she’s tired.

He comes back upstairs and she’s laying down on his dark sheets, her back to him with her hair fanned out on his pillow. He walks around to the other side and sits down next to her. She feels the bed dip, opens one eye and pouts when she sees the water bottle in his hand.

“I know love, just drink some for me? Y’know it’ll make you feel better tomorrow.”

He encourages her to sit up and he doesn’t let her lay back down until she’s had at least half, and then covers her up with his blanket before

“I’ll just be on the sofa. If y’need anything in the middle of the night let me know, alright?”

“No, stay.”

His breath hitched inside his throat. He swallowed thickly before replying.

“You want me to stay?”

She nods. “Don’t leave me.”

She wants him to stay.

“I won’t, s’alright.”

After a small freak out episode in the bathroom while he changed, he gets into bed next to you.

Harry always had trouble falling asleep, but tonight it only took a few minutes and he was softly snoring into his pillow.

The light peeking through the curtains was what slowly pulled her out of sleep.

“G’mornin’ sleepyhead.”

She couldn’t help the lazy smile across her lips, letting out a giggle as she stretched.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Do you want somethin’ to eat?”

“Can I have some waffles?”

So, he made her some waffles. Some for him too. Harry didn’t have a dining table so he insisted she stay put while he make them breakfast in bed. He watches her take her first bite and he swears that this is the moment when he truly fell in love with her.

“Mmmm.” she hums, eyes closed with a dopey, syrupy smile across her lips. “So good.”

The reaction made him quite literally crack up laughing, because those waffles were from his bloody freezer and she was acting like Harry had just ordered room service to their hotel room in Paris.

He’d take her to Paris.

“So, how’d you end up living here?” she wondered out loud, breaking Harry out of his daydream.

He proceeded to tell her everything. About his piece of shit dad, his mum getting sick, getting jumped, and how Joe took Harry in and was the father he’d never had. When he’s finished, her hand is on the back of his neck pulling him into a protective hug, lightly toying with his hair.

“I’m so sorry, H.”

Her voice is just above a whisper and it makes Harry’s eyelashes flutter.

She pulls away and they instantly find each other’s eyes. He gives her a small smile, as if to say, it’s okay.

She looks at him with doe eyes and he can’t help but reach over and pushes her hair behind one of her ears, the space in between their faces becoming smaller and smaller, until his nose brushes hers.

“Can I kiss you?”

She gives him a small nod.

He cautiously presses his lips to hers. The kiss is everything both of them have ever dreamed of and so much more. Her hand is still on the back of his neck and he’s moved to cradle her cheeks in his hands, and they fit perfectly.

Neither of you want the kiss to end, both of them breathless as Harry’s forehead is pressed against hers.

“I really, really like you, had feelings for you for a long time.” you heart flutters in your chest at his sweet words. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he waited for you to say something, anything.

“I really, really like you too.”

This is my baby, be nice to her. I’ve pulled many all nighters to make this as close to perfect as it can be so I hope you love it <3

Thank you to @oh-honey-styles , @for-fucks-sake-h and @andwhenshesays for putting this Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge together, I’m so glad I could be a part of it!

BIG THANKS to my babies @goldenfeelin , @bfharry and @avhrodite for truly hyping me up and being so supportive, I love you. <3

#pypfc

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madtype · 3 years

Text

Cabaret Club Czar Training - YUKI (Part 2)

continuing her training, yuki and majima talk about dating, dreams, and princes!

highlights: - yuki being concerned that majima’s unwell because he was nice to her - majima’s accidental double entendres featuring chafing and crotches - yuki, on the potential of feeling some attraction to majima: “oh... i don’t know how i could ever forgive myself...”

full transcript under the cut!

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MAJIMA: Alright, let's do some more training.

YUKI: Y-Yes, thank you for taking the time!

M: What's up, Yuki-chan? You nervous again?

Y: N-Not at all! It's battle butterflies again!

Y: Okay! Let's get started! I want to get better at talking to my customers!

M: That's the spirit, Yuki-chan! Alright, I'm gonna be your customer, and we're just gonna talk. Are ya ready?

Y: Y-Yes!

Y: Hello! I-I'm Yuki! Thank you please for coming in toda-- tonight, um, have a good...

M: ......

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M: Alright, let's get to know each other a little better, Yuki. Not that I care, but why don't ya tell me about what kinda guy you like?

Y: Wh-Why do you have to put it like that!? When you say it that way, it really doesn't inspire the most creative of answers, Majima-san...

M: Yeah, yeah, my bad. So tell me about your type already.

Y: Let me think... I... I like a guy who can be my prince!

M: Uh. A prince?

Y: He should be kind, tall and handsome, with flowing hair! He'd really respect me, and he would look good riding a white horse, y'know!?

> Sounds just like me.

M: You talkin' about me, Yuki-chan?

Y: Huh? What do you mean? Majima-san, are you saying you're a prince!?

M: Sorry, Yuki-chan. I may be your ideal man, but I can't be your prince.

Y: Ahaha! Majima-san, you say the funniest things!

Y: Majima-san, you're not exactly a prince... Oh, I know, you'd be the evil chancellor who betrays the kingdom!

M: An evil chancellor!? It's the eyepatch, isn't it!?

> I think I get you.

M: I can see that. If I were lookin' for a lady, I'd want a princess, too.

Y: Huh? Wow Majima-san, you actually see eye to eye with me on something? No way!

M: Hey, if you're gonna hold onto dreams or ideals, ya better swing for the fences.

Y: Exactly. I'd prefer to chase the ideal of my perfect man. But, he might not actually exist... Maybe my standards are too high.

M: Lemme ask you, Yuki. How old are you anyway?

Y: I'm 23.

M: Hmmm... I see, I see...

Y: Uhhh, what's with the sudden pause?

> That doesn't exist!

M: A guy like that doesn't exist! That's on the same crypto level as a tsuchinoko, a unicorn, and a yeti!

Y: H-How do you know that for sure? The tsuchinoko could be out there...

M: Look, there ain't no such thing as a tsuchinoko. Someone probably just looked at a fat snake the wrong way.

Y: Awww, Majima-san, you're just a sad man who's lost all his imagination and dreams!

M: Yeah, and you're an adult now yourself, so maybe it's time you grew up a little... What were we talking about again?

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M: ...Anyway, I'm surprised you're such a dreamer, Yuki-chan.

Y: I'm allowed to dream, aren't I? I went to an all-girls middle school, high school, and university, so I've been dreaming about my prince charming for a long time now.

M: Ah, so you grew up surrounded by girls at your schools. I'm startin' to see why it's tough bein' around men.

Y: Oh, I... I'm sorry.

Y: So, I guess what you're saying is... my customer service skills are lacking because of that... right?

M: What's all this then?

Y: Well, since it came up, I've been wondering if my issues talking to customers might be holding everyone else back, and I wouldn't want that...

> A club needs variety.

M: A good club needs a wide variety of girls, actually.

Y: Huh?

M: I mean, sure, it'd be nice to have someone who could actually talk to the customers...

M: But some guys prefer girls who come off like they don't buy into the whole “nightlife” business.

Y: Hm, I wonder...

M: See, a girl like you adds appeal to the club as a whole, Yuki-chan. We can cater to all walks of life that way.

Y: Wh-Why are you so nice all of a sudden? Majima-san, do you have a fever or something?

M: What? What're you talking about?

Y: No, I just thought you were going to give me a hard time like you always do... I was just a little shocked, is all. So thank you.

M: Hmmmm, what kinda guy do you take me for?

> Don't worry about it.

M: Don't even sweat it. With me at the helm, a problem here and there ain't nothin' I can't deal with.

Y: I knew it. I am causing problems. I'm really sorry...

M: Ah, no, no. That's not what I meant. I was only tryin' to cheer you up, Yuki-chan.

Y: *sigh*

M: (Wow, she's really down in the dumps, now.)

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M: Hey, I know it's probably a ways off, but I wonder what you'll be like when ya do get yourself a boyfriend, Yuki-chan.

Y: Y-You never know! My prince might ride in on his white horse and sweep me off my feet tomorrow!

M: Riiiiight. Cape, sword, and the whole nine yards.

Y: That didn't sound sincere at all!

Y: But, a boyfriend... When I think about dating, all I can think about is how much of a hassle it is.

M: A hassle? Even if it was your equestrian princeling?

Y: If my boyfriend really were a prince on a white horse, it'd probably be even more of a hassle than dating a normal guy!

Y: Every date would be a struggle for the right clothes and make-up, and even then, I can't begin to imagine what I'd be able to talk about with him.

> You'd figure it out.

M: If you liked him, you'd make the effort, though.

Y: Really? Majima-san, you're the last person I expected to hear that from.

M: Really? What's up with that?

Y: Oh, it's just that you suddenly sounded so encouraging and supportive, and it took me by surprise. Are you sure you're feeling okay?

M: Of course I'm okay! I do say positive things every now and then, y'know.

Y: My heart skipped a beat there... Oh, I don't know how I could ever forgive myself...

M: Say what?

> That's this job though...

M: You donkey! You gotta do all that at work here every day. Gettin' dolled up and talkin' to guys is your job, remember?

Y: Ohhh. That's true... If I have trouble with that on the job, I'd probably be bad at it in my private time too...

M: Hey, none of that, now. If ya got time to feel sorry for yourself, you should channel that into uppin' your game.

Y: Upping my game... Yes, you're right. I can't always be a burden to this club. I'm... I feel more motivated now!

Y: Majima-san, can you tell me the number one thing that I've been missing? I really want to know!

M: Uh, lemme think about that one. Hmmm.

M: Thinking big picture... I'd say you're missing everything.

Y: *sigh*

M: Oh! No no, I take it back! Nevermind, Yuki-chan!

> Do a horseback date.

M: Well if he picks you up on a horse, I say ride with it.

Y: Ah, that would be great. So romantic!

Y: We'd ride together on his white horse, into the wind... I would grasp him tightly behind his back, our thoughts as one without exchanging words...

M: Don't get too ahead of yourself, Yuki-chan. Remember, riding a horse'll chafe your thighs.

Y: Ch-Chafed thighs? What!?

M: Yeah, ridin' a horse is a real pain in the crotch till ya get used to it. Ya don't wanna be a whimperin' mess in front of your prince, eh?

Y: Hey, Majima-san! Can you please not bring up crotches and chafing when I'm trying to talk about romantic things? Try to be delicate for once!

Y: But... Now that I think about it, I should learn to ride a horse. Wonder where I could practice...

M: Hmmm. Beats me.

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M: You know, you're an odd girl, Yuki-chan.

Y: Odd? What's weird about me?

M: Well, in one breath you're sayin' you'd wanna date a prince, and in the next, you're sayin' it'd be a hassle.

M: You're like a grumpy old man in the body of a romantic young lady.

Y: What do you mean!? A grumpy old man? At least make it a grumpy, middle-aged woman!

M: So grumpy and middle-aged is fine, long as you're a woman?

Y: I'm just not starved for love. There are more important things in life than romance!

M: Well, maybe this is a bad time to bring it up, but have you ever actually gone out with someone, Yuki-chan? I get the feeling you've never dated...

Y: I-I-I've gone out with plenty of guys! Of course! Th-There's Sato-kun, Suzuki-kun, and... Tanaka-kun!

> Those are last names...

M: Ya know, if you're gonna lie about ex-boyfriends, you should probably use their first names, Yuki-chan.

Y: Oh!

Y: That's true! If you're dating someone, you'd call them by their first name, wouldn't you? I've learned something today. Majima-san, you're great!

M: That's all it takes to impress ya? Whatever. Anywho, lots of club-goers like an inexperienced girl like that, so it ain't exactly a bad thing.

Y: Uhh... You're right, I guess. I'll keep doing my best.

> I yield!

M: Ah, well you sure proved me wrong. You've got quite a bit of dating experience, Yuki-chan.

Y: Y-Yes, that's right. Haha... Ha... Oh...

M: What's the matter?

Y: I got so tangled up in my own lie, it made me kinda sad.

M: I kinda figured. But y'know, it ain't all bad. Some of our guests actually like inexperienced girls better. Cheer up.

Y: Right... I'll keep it positive and do my best.

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

M: Okay, I think that'll do it.

Y: Th-Thank you for the lesson.

M: Sure thing. Good job.

#cabaret club czar #yakuza 0 #goro majima #yuki #club sunshine

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rockhoochie · 4 years

Text

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean insists he has a talent of tongue. You decide to to put him to the test.

WC: ~1400

Warnings: light bondage (use of restraints, blindfold), voyeurism if you squint, no actual sex just lots and lots of dirty talk (which includes: masturbation, oral sex, squirting, ass play)

A/N: No set up, no plot, just Dean talking all kinds of filthy in a drabble that got away from me .@the-chocolate-moose, thanks for the prompt/request! Obviously got my juices flowing...Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Dean insisted he could make a woman come without actually touching her.

You insisted he was full of shit - it takes a lot more than dirty talk to actually get a woman off.

But he wouldn’t let it go, adamantly proclaiming it to be true, so sure of himself that he quipped, “wanna bet?” Never one to miss an opportunity to be right, you accepted with an incredulous “talk is cheap, asshole, you’re on.”

And that’s how you found yourself in the dungeon, wrists and ankles gently but firmly bound to the chair you sat on, fully clothed, and one of Dean’s neckties stretched over your eyes.

He’d been quiet for a few minutes now...you could hear his footsteps walking circles around you, hear his steady breathing. He was probably waiting for you to stop giggling like an idiot.

You had to admit, you wondered if he was actually as good at this as he claimed to be. His looks alone were enough to whip any woman into a frenzy; add in some naughty words and saucy phrases tumbling from those plush lips, carried by that sexy, gravelly voice, and…

“You sure look pretty like this, YN, all tied up and eager. Like you’re ready for anything. Then again, you look sexy as hell all the time.”

Your eyes rolled up into your head, lashes fluttering against the silky blindfold. This wasn’t fair - you didn’t think he’d literally be muttering into your ear, the heat of his breath warming the skin just behind it, the lightest vibration of his lips buzzing against your flesh.

“You got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, sweetheart...to have a chance to tell you how much I think about you, tell you all the dirty things I think about…”

You exhaled, a little surprised at how ragged it sounded. And when you breathed in again, the air seemed warmer, thicker...it made your limbs feel a little heavy and your skin seemed to be covered with goosebumps.

“I think about you all the time, YN,” Dean continued, dropping his voice lower. “So beautiful...you got no clue how beautiful you are to me. Everything about you... the way you laugh, smile... I just love watching you do anything. Sometimes you drive me damn near crazy.”

All those words were somehow seeping into your pores. You could feel your nipples harden against your bra and you suddenly felt hot.

“I got a confession to make... walked in on you in the shower once. You didn’t see me but I saw you, all wet and naked, hot water running over your perfect tits and down the crack of your tight ass... Christ, just the sight of you got me so fucking hard...thought about that for weeks. Still picture it when I’m jerking off, thinking about all the things I wanna do to you…”

You licked your lips and swallowed - your throat felt dry. And there was a tension crimping in your belly and you felt the faint the beat of your pulse between your legs.

Damn it.

A whimper escaped your lips - you couldn’t help it.

“You make the prettiest sounds, YN... you know, I can hear you when you’re fucking yourself. All those little moans and sighs...and I imagine you’re laid out your bed, one little hand playing with your tits while you have the other working between your legs, wet fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy... then I start wondering what I could do to get you to make those noises for me.”

You squirmed in your seat, a flush spreading all through your veins.

“I know I’d kiss you first. Long and hard, just taking in the taste of your lips. And once I get my tongue in your mouth I’d start taking off your clothes, strip you down to your panties, and touch every single inch of your gorgeous body... sweetheart, you’re so soft and and smell so fucking good, but touching you ain’t enough...I gotta kiss you everywhere. Your neck, shoulders, fingers, your tits...I’ll spend time on your tits. Maybe suck on them for awhile, give those pink nipples a little bite.”

“Dean…” you whispered, hips rolling of their own volition, your core reaching out and coming back with nothing.

He hummed, planting little kisses behind your ear, lightly pulling your earlobe between his teeth. “Bet you’re getting so wet right now…”

“Please…”

His lips found a heavenly spot on your neck, and you felt him smile right before his teeth grazed your flesh.

“Your skin tastes so good...bet your hot little pussy tastes even better.”

“Holy fuck, Dean…”

“I knew it,” he growled, “You love getting eaten out, don’t you, YN? Love a head between your legs and a thick tongue fucking your tight hole...It’s so perfect cause when I’m jerking off, and gettin’ close to blowing it, I just imagine what you taste like...probably like fuckin’ honey, all sweet and warm. I think about gettin’ on my knees while you’re all spread out, legs wide open, that beautiful pussy on display just for me, and I can see how soaked you are...fuck, it drips out of you, and when I get closer I can smell how bad you want it, so I get myself a slow, sweet taste and lick up your cream…”

You were completely gone, lost in the haze of Dean’s voice and the pictures he was painting with his sinfully delicious words, your breaths coming faster while your limbs strained against the ropes.

“Mmm, fuck baby, you taste so good...so fucking wet and I’m just devouring that pussy, licking up every drop... I just can’t get enough, can’t get my tongue far enough inside of you so I’ll slide my fingers deep into your hot cunt, find that sweet spot and fuck you with my hand...and you keep begging for more so I’ll bury myself three fingers deep...maybe slip one in your ass…”

The noise you made at that was beyond pathetic, but you just didn’t care. He was making you insane.

Dean chuckled, nibbling at your neck, and running a palm along each of your thighs.

“Oh you’d like that, huh? Such a dirty girl ...yeah, I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll squirt, YN... I’ll keep nailing that sweet spot over and over, fucking your tight asshole with my finger and sucking your clit until you cum all over my face…”

You were trembling, back arching, moaning and sighing and begging. Slick had pooled at your entrance. Your clit was throbbing. The muscles of your cunt twitched and grasped at nothing, begging to be touched and filled and fucked…

“Then I’ll flip you over on your hands and knees, fuck you from behind and make you cum again... give you my thick cock so I can feel you clench and quiver all over my dick…and you’ll take it so good, baby, you’ll take every single inch of it nice and deep and you’ll be screaming it feels so good, the way I’m fucking you so hard...you’ll beg for my cum, sweetheart, beg me to fill up your pussy ‘till it’s dripping out of you…”

“Oh god Dean, fuck!” you cried, and almost out of nowhere, your climax flooded through you, hot and needy and electric, spreading from your core to the tips of your fingers. Your blindfold was lifted, restraints loosened and removed as you panted, satisfied from release but wanting and needing so much more. When you were finally able to focus, you noticed Dean staring down at you, his bottom lip tucked behind his teeth and his hand palming at the bulge in his pants.

Without preamble you rushed him, crashing your lips against his as he grabbed the back of your thighs, hoisting you up in arms. You were vaguely aware of being carried down the hallway, and soon you were laid out on his bed, legs wrapped around his waist as Dean stared at you with dark, emerald eyes.

“YN, I -”

“Shh,” you hissed, placing a finger over his lips. “Talk is cheap. Now put up or shut up.”

Master List

Tagging the Collective (SPN Tag Spreadsheet, SPN Pond Tags, My Tags):

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#dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #spn smut #dirty talk #spn fanfic

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tiredcowpoke · 4 years

Text

TITLE: Blank Spots [10] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Drinking. Angst. NOTE: I am not 100% on this chapter. Might be me just coming back from writer’s block or something, but yeah. However, I managed to work it out and just want to stop struggling over it. I hope you all enjoy! I’m sorry for the wait. TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx

“Your forehead’s lookin’ better.”

You let out a soft grunt as you pulled the bucket out of the stream, taking a moment to glance back toward the person walking up behind you. Mary-Beth offered you a small smile as you turned around, holding the heavy bucket at your side. You had seen her around camp, the odd passing comment or conversation--at least, that’s what it was currently. Mary-Beth reached out to help with the bucket as you came closer toward her, a small chuckle escaping you.

“You say I’m looking better, but you won’t let me carry a bucket of water back to camp?” you asked, playful mostly. You still caught that touch of sympathy in her eye from time to time, but thankfully that had been stepping off more and more as time went along.

“It’s a long walk back up there, plus if it looks like we’re helpin’ each other, it might keep Grimshaw off my back.”

“Oh, I already got a bit of an earful from her today,” you replied, allowing the extra hand and you and Mary-Beth started to walk back toward camp.

It had only been a couple days since that whole thing with Edith had happened, the thoughts weighing on you somewhat. Ran over that conversation in your head a couple times, what happened after. There had been the question of if you should have taken comfort from Arthur after that, if the lax in anger toward him as the days passed was right. It had just been a hug, but...well, even that seemed complicated with the almost one-sided past you had with him at that point.

Everything had made you a little distant, even if you didn’t disappear from view completely as Grimshaw’s words earlier that morning were anything to go by. As stern as she was, you didn’t mind having a task to keep yourself from a spiral.

Arthur had left as you had expected him to, apparently to go rescue that Micah from jail. He hadn’t seemed too thrilled about it, but you took some relief in not seeing him around for a bit while you had mulled things over.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mary-Beth asked, pulling you out of your thoughts as you turned your head toward her, eyebrow raised. “I know...I know you might not remember me much, so you don’t have to answer, but...how’re things between you and Arthur?”

Can you read minds, Mary-Beth? You couldn’t help the small touch of a grin that pulled at your lips, adjusting your grip on the bucket as you continued to walk.

“They’re...what they are, I suppose. It’s hard to explain,” you replied after a beat, the smile in your expression falling somewhat.

“I can only imagine…” Mary-Beth replied with a small nod, her tone sympathetic but she seemed to raise her head in thought somewhat. “Maybe...well, nobody likes you gettin’ hurt, but maybe it’s a good thing…”

“I don’t know if losing memories of whole people is a good thing,” you replied, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye.

“Well, no! No, of course not, but...well, startin’ over? Gettin’ to know each other all over again? Fallin’ for someone again? It even seems a little romantic, and I’m sure there are people out there who’d love to have that chance again.”

You tilted your head somewhat in thought. Mary-Beth was someone you liked, she seemed friendly and optimistic, though you had been warned she was a bit of a dreamer and a romantic at heart, which you could certainly see now. However, the situation you found yourself in? Well…

“None of this seems all that romantic, to be honest,” you returned, “I just...I have no idea where Arthur’s head is in this. If I’m being honest, there’s a part of me that’s waiting for him to give up the chase and…”

“Is that what you want?” she asked, causing you to pause a moment as you approached some of the trees surrounding camp.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, letting out a sigh as you lowered the bucket to the ground, “I do remember some things about him that back up the fact that this isn’t just some...elaborate ploy, but...I don’t want to hold him back.”

“Hold him back?” Mary-Beth asked, tilting her head as a small pit formed in your stomach.

Ah, shit. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to tell anybody about all of that. Though, Mary-Beth watched on with a steadily growing expression of concern. You let out a small sigh through your nose, bowing your head slightly as you pressed your lips together slightly. Much as you still weren’t familiar with a number of the people in camp still, much as they knew you, you couldn’t help but feel that Mary-Beth might be a good person to talk to.

Really, you had been dying to talk to someone about this that wasn’t Arthur. Everything with your aunt and uncle was one thing, but with his ex-fiancee?

“I have some sympathy for his situation when it comes to what’s happened to me,” you started, “Much as he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me to stay out of some guilt or pity for him. I just...I look at what’s going on with me and can’t help but wonder. It’s hard to really only have one side of the story, and I can’t just tell him to let it go. We agreed to start over, and I do want that, but...I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

“He was real scared when you turned back up in camp, you know,” Mary-Beth replied, “Almost a frozen corpse, I think most of us were too. Arthur tried not to show it, but I could see it. I don’t know what you’d be holdin’ him back from, he seemed pretty relieved to see you gettin’ better.”

“...He told me about going to see Mary,” you said, watching for recognition in Mary-Beth’s expression before continuing, “I suppose I’m still thinking that through.”

Arthur hadn’t exactly given you much choice with how quickly it had shifted onto the topic of that debt taken by your uncle, and the mess that followed.

“I had heard about that,” Mary-Beth said, “At least, that a letter had shown up. I was concerned but I didn’t wanna pry…”

“As far as my understanding goes, nothing came of it but...well, he’d gotten real quiet when I asked him if he had wanted something to.”

“Mary’s a complicated situation,” Mary-Beth replied, “I’m sure it’s somethin’ he’s tryin’ to sort out, too. You might just have to talk to him about it again.”

You let out a small, somewhat bitter, chuckle. “I really don’t want to keep digging that up for him.”

“Well, it’s still obviously botherin’ you,” Mary-Beth pointed out, shifting to pick up the bucket that had been left in favor of the conversation, “You still have time, you two can figure this out.”

Deciding to let that be the end of it for now, you reached down to pick up the other side of the handle before the two of you started to walk toward camp again. It was probably for the best. Being found standing around and talking, no matter the conversation topic, you could only imagine would get some sort of lecture from certain people in camp.

“I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you,” you said quickly, glancing over a moment as you saw Mary-Beth offer you a small smile.

“I asked, and I was also worried.”

“Were we...were we ever close before I got injured?” you asked, glancing toward her out of the corner of your eye. It was a bit of a sheepish question, and you figured it would be for a while still. If not always. It was awkward to ask what type of relationship you had with someone when you should have very well known it.

“Not really close,” Mary-Beth replied, “We were friendly but...well, I guess if you’re startin’ over, it’s in more than just one place right?”

“That’s for sure,” you muttered, pulling a soft chuckle from the two of you.

“Then we can sort that out, too.”

***

Arthur returned from Strawberry a couple days later. Distant, frustrated, and lacking Micah riding in behind him, you could only assume things hadn’t gone exactly to plan. The talk with Mary-Beth and what she had mentioned about that mining town in the mountains had you only adding that to the things you had to turn over in your head. There was also that odd relief upon seeing him back in camp, too, much as you tried to keep your distance upon seeing the demeanor he returned with.

You hadn’t been blind, you knew he wasn’t looking forward to it.

So, initially, you had let him be when you saw him disappear toward the cliffedge with a bottle of whiskey. Yet, your concern did grow rather quickly after that point. You hadn’t been a stranger to Arthur checking up on you, so you felt that perhaps you should return the favor. So, you set your empty stew bowl aside and wandered out after a few minutes. Really, you couldn’t help but feel like you might be the last person he wanted to see, but--well, perhaps that was that voice you had told Mary-Beth about.

Though, you weren’t surprised to see him sitting behind a rock and nursing the bottle he had taken. Arthur raised his head slightly upon your approach, raising his eyebrows slightly as you stepped out toward him.

“Somethin’ goin’ on?” he asked, his voice lacking the slurred words you were sure to come soon if he kept as he was.

“No, just...wanted to see if you were okay,” you said, tilting your head as Arthur let out a somewhat bitter huff as he returned to glance back toward the forest in the distance.

“Don’t know what Dutch sees in ‘im, made me break that bastard out of jail,” he remarked, taking another drink as you walked over to lean against the tree nearby. So, he had broken Micah out of jail, much as the man in question wasn’t with him at the moment.

“I take it that it didn’t go well,” you said, crossing your arms.

“He made me shoot up half a town for a pair of guns,” Arthur stated, that frustration you saw in him earlier clearly reflected in his tone, “Doesn’t wanna come back until he’s got some sorta peace offerin’ for Dutch, which means I’m gonna have to ride back out there soon.”

Really, the mention of Micah was somewhat familiar to you. You knew he had been the one to ride out with you the night you had fallen down the side of that cliffedge, the one who had supposedly left you for dead but...well, you weren’t sure how fair an assumption that was just yet. Though, hearing he had left that town in a blaze of gunfire and chaos, it seemed to line up with Arthur’s irritation toward the man.

Micah may know what happened that night, too, but you weren’t in a rush to ask him. With the animosity, you weren’t sure how truthful that information would be.

“Guess that’s going to have to be a hell of a peace offering…” you said after a small sigh, shaking your head.

You were surprised to hear about the shooting, too. Though...well, you also knew that you should have gotten used to it. How big of a bounty had that agent said Arthur had? Five thousand? You imagined that probably wasn’t earned through petty crime, and you had no idea if you had your own or how that stood in comparison if you did have one. It was something that didn’t sit right, still didn’t, but there was a part of you that was relieved that he hadn’t been shot during the whole thing, admittedly.

“Dutch ain’t the only one he owes that to…” Arthur remarked, shooting you a look as you furrowed your brows. You weren’t sure if he meant himself or you. You could have left that as it were, but…

“...You still blame him for what happened to me?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Yes,” Arthur snapped, gathering himself somewhat unevenly to a stand, “...No. I dunno. I blame Micah, I blame myself. I don’t know.”

“There’s no way you could’ve known…” you replied around a sigh, recalling the similar conversation you had with him in that frozen, run down building.

“No, but I didn’t like the idea of splittin’ off from you. Thought I was just bein’ overbearin’, but…”

“I don’t think you could have done anything without the foresight to be standing close when I fell, or was thrown, or…” you trailed off, feeling a slight twisting in your gut. Some guilt there for Arthur beating himself up, but there was something else there unrelated yet…

“I don’t know what I’m insinuating with that,” you replied, waving a hand slightly, “It was just a fall, I doubt you would have been able to do something about it. I don’t blame you for that, so…”

“I know you don’t,” Arthur remarked, “Still should’ve done somethin’. Could’ve prevented all this…”

He had shifted himself toward you as he spoke, though you weren’t sure if it was to step back toward camp or just pacing the space. However, he stumbled a bit, causing you to instinctively reach out to grip his shoulder so he didn’t fall or bump into you. The motion had him lingering close, your hand resting on his shoulder as Arthur placed his hand against the bark at your back. At the closeness, it wasn’t hard to make out the look in his eyes, a couple of the scars on his face. You also took in the faint smell of the whiskey he had been drinking, along with cigarettes and campfire smoke.

That memory of that kiss seemed to linger a moment, and you knew in that moment you could very much just lean forward and kiss him. It could reassure that--well, no. No, that didn’t feel right. You knew that as much when you felt his forehead press lightly against your own, getting ready to shift your hands up to push him back.

However, it seemed Arthur thought better of that too, considering him shifting back somewhat. Instead, he seemed to shift to press the side of his head against your own, letting out a slow breath that lingered against the skin of your neck, pulling a quick shiver from you.

“I miss you,” he muttered, his tone carrying that slurred quality that you had been waiting for, though the words squeezed hard at your heart.

You found your eyes turning upward toward the darkening sky, pressing your lips into a thin line. That’s not fair, a voice in the back of your head hissed. It was cruel. You knew he did. Christ, you knew. How could he not? Yet, you couldn’t do anything about that. Bring those memories back, to even expect them to replace your current ones. It felt impossible. Still, you found yourself raising your hands to slip up around his arms, holding onto the back of his jacket as you rubbed another along his upper back somewhat.

“I...I think you’ve had a long day, and a little to drink…” you said, already feeling him tense somewhat at your words, “Maybe you should go sleep it off or something, we can talk about this another time.”

“...Yeah,” Arthur muttered after a moment, shifting back as you dropped your arms back to your sides. “Yeah.”

He didn’t look at you, but you didn’t miss the way he rubbed a hand across the lower half of his face, turning to wander back off into camp. You let out a slow breath, bumping your head back against the tree. Should you have kissed him, then? No. No, that still didn’t feel like the right choice. Should you have told him that you missed him, too? Well...no, that wouldn’t make sense either. You did miss him somewhat, when he was gone. His company, his presence, yet...well, it wasn’t in the same way and you would be kidding yourself if you thought it was.

Still, it left you with a fluttering in your chest and the lingering sensation of his warm breath on your neck.

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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