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wood-white-writer · 7 months

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“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [7/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

“It's funny how I still forgot, it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again,”

— Mitski, “Two Slow Dancers”

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

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.

In the aftermath of your drunken escapades, you wake up to find yourself faced with new challenges, including a killer headache, a group of fish people, and the very clown responsible for putting you in this position. Needless to say, it does not bode well to take on fights while still inebriated.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), morally grey reader, violence, descriptions of blood and wounds,

A/N: The next chapter will be fully dedicated to Buggy and Reader/"Cross Hairs"

"Chug, chug, chug!" Both Buggy and Shanks cheer you on as you all but inhale the contents in your bottle in one go, not stopping until all of it has gone down. You pull back with an audible inhale, and after a couple of quiet seconds, the loudest BUUUURP! ever to cross the oceans erupt from the pits of your stomach.

Your two crewmates watch in awe, then erupt into hard fits of laughter that have them rolling on the ground while clenching their stomach.

After pumping your fists victoriously into the air and discarding the bottle, you join them soon after and settle down around the campfire. You three barely managed to put one together, but with the help of a few thin twigs and a bottle of the captain's purest liquor, you got it going soon enough.

Buggy wipes the tears away from his eyes and pulls another bottle of stolen beverages from his bag. "Not bad, not bad at all. Still, listen to this."

Jumping to his feet, Buggy swings the bottle, takes a glorious gulp, and punches his chest a few times. Out comes a large BUUUURP! that surpasses yours by miles, and continues to echo from around the island.

You immediately raise your hands in applause, laughing in that sweet way that makes his pulse quicken. In truth, your laughter is hardly elegant, more like the sounds a dying boar makes, yet he enjoys it all the same.

With one arm straightened out whereas the other goes to his chest, he makes a dramatic bow in front of you across the fire. "Thank you, thank you, my fair lady. I'll be here all day."

When he straightens up again, he sees the fire shine so clearly in your eyes; the flames dancing in your irises, and he feels warmer than the fire itself. You're looking at him - him - with such adoration that his stomach feels funny. Maybe it's the liquor playing a part in this, yet he doubts it.

"Buggy, that was so gross!" Shanks says with mirth, then gestures for the bottle. "Give it here! I'll show you how it's really done."

"Sure, I'd like to see you try!" Buggy hands him the bottle.

"There's no way you can surpass that, Shanks." You oppose lightly. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, watch me!"

Shanks takes a generous portion, pats his stomach, and out comes yet another BUUURP!

Sure, it's impressive enough, but nowhere near Buggy's, and the redhead acknowledges this with a defeated sigh before anyone even says anything.

"It's alright," Buggy severs his hand to pat him patronizingly on the back. "You tried. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, you know?"

Shanks pushes his hand away with a grin. "Oh, lay of it!"

The night continues like that, with some more drinking, some more burping contests, and sharing their thoughts on the latest endeavors of the Oro Jackson. Whenever the crew docked for a while someplace, the three of you would usually find some way to enjoy your time off away from the crew's supervision like this.

It also involves the three of you singing sea shanties together, arms hooked around each other as you sing at the top of your lungs:

"Gather up all of the crew, It's time to ship out Bink's brew. Pirates we, eternally, Are challenging the seas!"

It is just fun; three teenagers enjoying their teenage years to the fullest until the day they can venture on their own.

After a while, Buggy starts to feel his bladder press, probably from the liquor. He tries to ignore it at first, not wanting to miss anything, but it does not take long before he has to oblige with his body's request.

You're the first to notice him moving. "Where are you going, Buggy?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Just got to take a piss."

"Don't go too far," Shanks adds with a twinge of mischief in his eyes. "I've heard there are boars on this island, don't want to get chased, do you?"

Buggy feels chills run up his arms, but he refuses to acknowledge it. "S-Shut it! There aren't any shitty boars here, or we'd see them by now!"

"Yeah, but I've also heard that they catch the smell of piss particularly strong,"

"Bullshit!" He trudges off. "Boars, my ass!"

"Be careful, Buggy!" you call after him.

The chills across his body immediately get replaced with a sense of pride, and he disappears to do his business with a smile.

Once he's finished and headed back, he can hear your soft laughter as he approaches the makeshift campsite. His heart nearly drops into his stomach when he sees what's going on.

You and Shanks are sitting closer together now, knees width apart, and you're laughing. Shanks just told a joke, a terrible joke that makes even Buggy cringe, yet you laugh all the same.

That soft laughter, just not for him this time.

It shouldn't make him feel as shitty as it does, yet a nauseous feeling settles in the pits of his stomach. You and Shanks are crew mates and friends, just as he is. He's never caught onto any implications that you like him in that sense, but why does it sting so much then to watch the two of you like this? So close, so at ease, so carefree and soft.

He often thinks about the time you saved him, about the time you brought an entire crew down just for him. You held his hand, you were worried; he’s been thinking that maybe there’s something there that isn’t just in his imagination.

But, wouldn’t you have done the same thing for Shanks, too? Has he maybe mistaken camaraderie for something else? Something that's not there?

Buggy suddenly feels ill, and he can’t blame it on the alcohol this time.

He thinks that it makes sense, in a way that gives his deep-rooted insecurity a boost. Shanks has always been the better of the two; a natural leader, calm in battle, and strategic in the ways that he himself is unable to be.

Meanwhile, Buggy is ... Well, just Buggy.

Buggy with the weird, red, enlarged nose people always make fun of.

Buggy, who can never seem to pull off the same stunts as successfully as Shanks can.

Buggy, who cracks the worst kinds of jokes that oftentimes make people laugh more out of pity than genuine humor.

You always laugh at them, laugh with him, but maybe he’s been mistaken there too?

It's obvious that Shanks is the better choice. Buggy would follow him anywhere, and he'd follow you anywhere, yet the thought of you following Shanks whereas Buggy trails behind the both of you like a stray puppy just feels ...

"Ah, there you are." Your voice snaps him out of his head as you wave him over. "You didn't come across any boars, did you?"

It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does, it's nothing grand. His voice has been reduced to a demure murmur as he steps closer to the fire. "No, there is nothing."

"You sure?" Shanks asks with a grin. "Thought I heard some noises back there!"

For some reason, Buggy snaps "IT'S NOTHING!"

His outburst evidently catches the both of you off-guard.

"Buggy, are you al—?"

"I'm fine." He's not. "But we should head back before the captain instigates a damn search party for us. We've probably been out too long."

He turns his back to you and starts heading in the direction you came from, and he feels his chest tighten so fucking much it makes breathing hard. He tries to tell himself it's not what he thinks, but at the same time, that nagging whisper in the back of his head that always stalks him is incessant.

"It makes sense," it whispers. "After all, it's never you."

———

"What in the hell is the matter with you?"

It takes you several minutes to force your eyes open. You're in the restaurant, you uncover, lounging over a table with a thin napkin serving as the only cushion for your cheek.

By some miracle, you manage to aim your eyes up from behind your arms and see Zeff standing there with his hands on his hips, like an angry grandfather of sorts.

"Zeff," you groan and heave a tired breath. Fuck, your head is killing you, as though a hamster wheel has found residence in your cranium. "It's too early for this."

"It's almost eleven o'clock, the sun is up."

"Still too early,"

"Heard you practically robbed the bar last night; the bill is through the damn roo-"

Before he gets to finish, you dig into the pocket of your pants and pull out a hefty pouch of berries on the table. A few spill out on the wooden surface, clinking. "Just take this as compensation and give me another bottle while you're at it."

Zeff looks at the pouch, does a mental count, and finally takes it after deciding that it's enough. "Huh, thought that scrawny chore boy was broke?"

"They are." You turn to let your chin rest on the table, giving you a little better view than before. "But I did have a pension plan before I retired. Keep it with me when it counts."

Zeff sighs and pockets the berries without complaint, but not before giving you an unimpressed one-over. You're happy you don't carry a mirror with you; probably look like shit, and you feel like shit, too. Your hangover could've been considerably worse, but at this moment in time, you'd prefer it if you went to sleep and didn't wake up for another twenty years or so.

"What the hell is going on with you, lass?" Zeff finally asks, and this time, he retains some of his usual roughness.

"Nothing ..." you murmur.

His bushy eyebrows scrunch. "I've been working at this place for almost a decade, seen people at their worst. People down on their luck, people who've lost, people who've grieved."

"And?"

"And I'll tell you something, lass. No one looks quite as damn destroyed as someone who's had their hearts broken."

The hamster wheel comes to a screeching halt, and you abruptly sit up to glare at him. "I'm not heartbroken. Why does everyone insist on that?"

His lips tug into a halfway smirk like he's just caught a fish on his hook. "You're strong, I'll give you that much, but no one's above the loss of love. So, who was the bloke?"

"No one," you almost spit, narrowing your eyes.

Zeff remains undeterred, even a little proud. "Couldn't have been a 'no one' if they managed to capture the interest of the Beast of the East, can they?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lunging at the old man for even insinuating that someone - specifically him - has managed to put you in such a sorry state. You won't give the Chief the satisfaction.

With some herculean effort on your part, you take a deep breath and recline in your seat. Quietly, without looking at the chief, you order: "Three beers and today's lunch."

Zeff shrugs. "Fine, but after, you should check on your crew. That swordsman really took a hit,"

Right, Zoro challenged Mihawk to a fucking duel, and the memories come flooding back to you. You glance up at that chief, masking the underlying concern with a face of indifference. "He alive?"

"Yes and no. If you want to know, go see for yourself."

You nod, and he leaves you to stir your hangover. Maybe it was a mistake to get as shitfaced as you did, but that doesn't change the fact that you tried to keep them from making mistakes. You did what you were supposed to, yet still, why does it feel like this is your fault?

You've grown fond of the crew, and it's become more of a headache than you initially bargained for.

The waiter comes with your order on a plate, not Sanji this time, you discover. In fact, he's nowhere to be seen.

Without wasting your breath, you immediately dig into your meal like a woman starved of sustenance. It tastes delicious, but the residue of yesterday's liquor on your tongue dilutes the taste. You don't care, though.

Shortly after finishing half a portion of your lunch, you resume with your bottles. A slower pace this time, to ensure that your current condition doesn't significantly worsen, but still fast enough to keep you from remembering.

Remembering too much.

Half a bottle into your stupor, the entrance doors slam open and a pang of pain burst through the nerves in your brain. All you can think is that it's way too early for someone to be stirring shit up.

A round of gasps echoes through the establishment, and when you peek up from over your shoulder, you see three fish people making their entrance from the top of the staircase.

You've had your share of encounters with fish people in the past, some more ... tolerable than the rest. In hindsight, there's no difference between the way you treat people; if they get on your nerves, you deal with them. If they don't, you leave them be.

Your instincts tell you that these people will fall into the former category.

However, you notice that the one with the sharp nose looks awfully familiar, but your temporary amnesia might have something to do with the alcohol circling in your veins. Still, it's not a face that's easy to forget.

A few people try to get up from their seats, but with a simple, "Sit down!", they comply.

You narrow your eyes at the spectacle but don't move to get away. As long as he doesn't bother you, there's no reason for you to get involved. Baratie's had worse customers before, so this is nothing new. Zeff'll handle it like he always does.

So, you continue with your drinks, already annoyed and in desperate need of the numbing sensation only the bottle can provide. Zeff appears to deal with it, and it doesn't pique your interest until the fish man proclaims:

"Listen up! I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy."

Now this catches your attention mid-sip.

You look at the particular fish man discreetly over your shoulder, your sobriety making a quick return once you discover that you do know of him. He's Arlong the Saw; a misanthrope who makes a living killing humans.

"Arlong," he said moments ago to Zeff. "I own the East Blue."

You don't know why he's after Luffy, and quite frankly, you don't care. With your fucking luck, he's after the map, too.

He can pretend to own the seas all he wants, but what matters to you is that he won't get to the boy, and it's something that Zeff seems on board with if his negotiation tactics mean anything.

So, in silence, you continue with your drinking, content with laying low until one of Arlong's henchmen - one with black hair tied up on each side of his head - appears at your side.

He leers over your shoulder, the stench of seawater evading your nostrils, and reaches for one of your bottles.

"Hope you don't mind sharing," he chuckles, and for some reason, this gesture pisses you off.

You're not in the fucking mood.

Before his hand can as much as graze the bottle's fine surface, you grip the back of his shirt and all but fling him back from whence he came. The sound of a table breaking behind you interrupts the eerie quietness that's befallen the other patrons, and you get up from your seat to glare at the other fish people.

"Fucking get lost," your voice rings out like an ominous warning across the air of the establishment, rendering everyone mute. Well, everyone except for Arlong, who proceeds to laugh heartedly at the spectacle whereas his other henchman quickly moves to aid his fallen colleague.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" He stands up from the table, two sharp rows of teeth reflecting the light from the restaurant as he grins. "If it ain't the Beast of the East, in the flesh." He tilts his head to the side. "I was expecting someone ... younger."

"I'm retired."

"So I've heard, but someone else seems to think otherwise."

"Well, this 'someone else’ must’ve been mistaken."

"No, no," he wags his 'finger?'. "You see, he was quite adamant that you're back in business. If that is the case, I am owed tribute for the stunts you've pulled."

You quirk an eyebrow, so lowly that it hardly seems to move at all. "Tribute?"

"Half of whatever plunder you acquired during the years you were active," he waves his hand. "And half of what you've acquired as of late."

Capitalism, truly. Seems that not even fishmen can deny its pull.

Your answer is simple.

"No."

Arlong's grin shapes into a snarl quite easily. "You may have the highest bounty, but it is still I who own the East Blue."

"The sea belongs to no one," you counter sharply. "Not me, and certainly not you."

It's clear that he perceives this as a slight in the highest degree if the downward tug of his lips serves as an indication. "Do you even know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are." Your fist clenches into a tight knot that almost draws blood as you stare him down from across the room; two beasts in their own respective ways.

"I'm Arlong the Saw."

"More like Arlong the Nailfile." This earns you a growl you're not nearly sober enough to worry about. "Look, I don't care who you are, and I don't care why you're here. The point is, you're not wanted."

You glance over at Zeff. For once, in the time you've known him, he's cautious but allows you to get your words across.

Arlong does not share the same sentiments. "When I learned that Cross-Hairs was here, I expected a woman with fists of irons and eyes sharp as knives. However, all I seem to be presented with is an old captain who does not know how to hold her liquor. It's pathetic, even by human standards."

This time, you're not vocal about your rather ... brutally honest opinions about him. Without breaking eye contact, you reach for your bottle and take a hefty swing from it. It all goes down without pause, and once it's gone, you put it back with enough force to permanently dent the table. Zeff'll be pissed.

Arlong snorts at the display. "I'm not here for you specifically. The boy, Luffy, where is he?"

"Never heard of him,"

"I don't quite believe that."

"Not my problem."

Arlong tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly. "My informant knows otherwise."

"Your informant seems to know a lot of things," you say, dangerously low. "If you tell me who they are, and I'll pay them a visit myself to set the record straight,"

He chuckles. "There's no need for a visit. He's already here, and he's famished." He snaps his jaws to a nearby table, scaring the patrons into fleeing. "But I don't need the meals from the menu to quench my hunger."

You glance over at the other patrons, seeing the fear in their eyes reflect the light above. You've seen it before; you used to see it back when you were still Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates. People used to quake at the sound of your footsteps, and whisper among themselves. in fear of evoking your wrath.

Back in the day, you lived up to your reputation. You didn't necessarily enjoy installing fear into people's hearts, but it was a means to an end. You were angry, and all that anger manifested itself in the way you acted as a captain. All that fighting, all that beating, all that rage.

Now, when you see the patrons acting like a herd of sheep, you can't help but feel like you're back there. But they're not afraid of you, not this time.

You look back at Arlong. "Find your meal someplace else."

He growls and steps closer. "I'm telling you this, Cross-Hairs, one beast to another. You may be strong, but we both know that you're not strong enough to take me on. Fish men are superior to humans in every single way. Stronger, faster, —"

He gets close enough to grab for your hand and lift it, his face a breath's width from your own. You can smell the stench of salt on him, of raw meat. "— Hungrier. Wouldn't you agree?"

In a flash, you grip your other hand around his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh until you can find the corners of his joints. You relish in the pained expression that crosses his face.

"You're not a beast," you say, not raising your voice a pitch. "You're vermin."

Arlong parts his jaws when the doors to the Baratie burst open.

"Which one of you is Arlong?"

You snap your attention to the top of the staircase, and your face drains. Fuck, it's Luffy. Why's he here?

"Who's asking?" Arlong asks, his grip around yours remains tight.

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I hear you're looking for me."

Once Luffy descends the stairs, Arlong lets go of you and turns to face the younger opponent. You watch with mild impressiveness as Luffy faces the bigger fish man, and you have to grant him that, he doesn't exhibit an ounce of fear.

"How'd you find me anyway?" Luffy finally asks.

Arlong snickers. "An old friend helped track you down."

Then, you watch as the big-lipped fish man pulls something out from his bag and it's ... and it's ...

"Heya, Straw Hat! Did you miss me?"

It's fucking Buggy!

Your heart skips several beats before it remembers to start pumping again. He's here. You thought Orange Town would be the last time you saw him, but he's really here. Truth be told, he looks worse for wear; his make-up is all smudged, a bruise forming on the right side of his cheek, and he's been dowsed in seawater.

But it's him. It's him.

Buggy's eyes glance over at you, and the smile that was previously there gets momentarily replaced with an expression you can't precisely pinpoint. "Hey, there," he says, surprisingly demure. "how's it going?"

You're not nearly sober nor coherent enough to reply.

"Burpy?" Luffy asks surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Believe me it wasn't my first choice either, but these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain't easy when you don't have any hands."

"How'd you even know how to find me?"

"I told you, I got eyes and ears everywhere."

To your horror, you watch as an ear pulls itself out of Luffy's hat and attaches to the clown's head. That ear was there all along, which means ...

"You were listening all along?" Luffy cradles his hat. "You heard everything?"

Everything, you think to yourself as you feel the blood drain from your face. He heard everything, everything you'd said to Luffy, everything about your whereabouts. Every—

"Everything," Buggy answers. "And that got old quick, 'cause you shidiots got no idea what you're doing. Hey, Lips!" He turns his head sideways to face the fish man who's just returned from aiding his colleague. "How about a scratch behind the old ear, huh?"

"Sorry, honey."

You don't know what compels you, but something fierce does. An animalistic instinct settled in the marrow of your bones, rampant with rage and assertiveness. When the fish man grabs a hold of Buggy and puts him in the bag, you feel the need to get him out. Free him.

You were friends with him once, something even more from your side long ago, and you've tried to kill each other on at least one occasion. Still, that piece of you that remains in your youthhood demands that you get to him before anyone else.

The conversation that takes place between Luffy and Arlong doesn't register with your ears, as all you can focus on is him. Before you know it, the sound of gunshots echoes through the restaurant, and a fight erupts between Luffy's crew and Arlong's.

Truth be told, it all flashes in front of you like pictures from a movie you've seen. All you can recall, with the alcohol still flooding through your veins, is the feeling of flesh between your digits, the sound of cries and painful moans from Arlong's henchpeople as you force them to the side, and the pure adrenaline that muddles all your thoughts of ration.

Before Arlong can even hope to make a grasp at Luffy, you're there to deflect his claws with your wrist. The impact pushes his hand several inches away from your skin, and without a moment's notice, you strike him in the middle of his sternum.

He's knocked several feet back and into a nearby pillar, not enough to completely knock him out, but enough to keep him away if only for a few moments.

He laughs, his teeth bleeding from the gums. "The Beast of the East. I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you."

You don't say a word, with the primitive instincts overwhelming your rational ones. In a second, you lunge for him, your hand aimed towards his head. Someone, most likely yourself, must have miscalculated because as much as you intend to hit him and maim him and strike him, the most prominent sense that strikes you is not the feeling of blood under your knuckles.

It's pain.

You're in pain.

Arlong manages to hit you with his clawed fingers. The sharp feeling of something piercing the side of your abdomen through your clothes causes an eerie feeling of hurt. You gasp and bend to your knees, clutching your side. Blood paints your palm as you withdraw it. You're bleeding. Fuck, you're actually bleeding. It's not a light cut either, it's several ones, an inch deep each, and they're bleeding profusely.

When was the last time you bled like this?

The collision between your head and something hard knocks you back before you can even hope to register your state properly. The floorboards leave stinging burns across your lower back until a pillar cushions your fall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"A pity, truly." Arlong taunts, towering over you. "My informant seemed so confident in your skills. How disappointed he’ll be, seeing you crawl like a maggot on the floor."

You know this is a fight you cannot win, not as you are right now, but you don’t care. Pure spite motivates you to do your worst, even if it’s all for naught.

An act produced from pure adrenaline, you jump back to your feet and prepare to pounce at him. An outstretched hand — Luffy's — beat you to it and preoccupied the fish man in the nick of time. He's pulled away from your reach before you can hope to get him, and a familiar feeling of bloodlust in your veins awakens to life after its hibernation.

Hot, boiling.

You want to kill him.

Maim him.

Crush him until his bones break.

Feel the warmth of his blood coat your fingers as you dig into his body, through veins and arteries and flesh.

You want him dead.

Suddenly, you catch it from your peripheral vision. A bag on the floor that's currently being tossed back and forth amid all the fighting like a ball of yarn between two quarreling cats. A string of curses erupts from the fabric.

He's still here, you remember. Buggy is still here.

You have the option to leave him at the mercy of the fight between the Straw Hats and Arlong, but something in your body won't let it. Call it instinct, call it sentiment, but you move towards it all the same. Before any man can even touch the surface of the bag, you lunge for it like a flash of light.

Grabbing the top of the old fabric, you all but yank it from the floor and maintain him in the steady grip of both your hands.

"Hey, hey!" the voice in the bag calls. "Keep me out of this!"

"Shut up!" You shout back.

The voice immediately quiets down. In the middle of the fight, while you cling to the bag like a sacred object, you can hear him call your name several times, though you don’t answer.

You cradle the bag in the crook of your elbow as someone — doesn’t matter who — kicks your ribs and sends you crashing into a nearby wall. The impact knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you with stars at the corners of your vision, yet all you can seem to think is ‘keep .... safe, keep .... safe, KEEP .... SAFE’.

You cough several times, static noise filling your eardrums as you crawl back to your feet. The sensation of something warm dribbling down the side of your ribs strikes you, yet your only concern in the midst of the blood loss is to carry that damn bag to safety.

It doesn’t make any sense. Luffy should be your only concern, but you can't find him, and the core of your being wants nothing more than to just get that bag the hell out of there.

Why? you think to yourself in a haze, your breath becoming heavier. What’s in that bag again? Why does it mean so much?

You try to get up, but the weight of your body overwhelms you. You stumble and fall back to your knees, dizziness making everything hazy and disoriented, but pure spite motivates you to keep going. At least, it tries to, but sheer will cannot outweigh the body’s needs alone.

Someone calls your name, and as your cheek meets the floor, an image of blue hair invades your vision. Blue hair, soft promises, and tight embraces.

Then, there are scornful glares, a shove against your body, so firm and cold that it’s reminiscent of ice.

“I hate you,” a blurry voice says, so filled with resentment that it reminds you of a knife. “I wish we’d never even met. Go be with him if that’s what you fucking want. What do I care?”

It hurts. It hurts more than your ribs do. It hurts to listen to those words — that voice — as it reverberates through your skull. It hurts so fucking much that you don’t think you can survive it. You feel small, small and vulnerable; like a child stuck in a crowd of people they don't know.

“He- Hey! Are you there?” The same voice - deeper and darker now - calls desperately as darkness starts to cloud your vision. “Come on, get up!”

You can’t tell if this is a voice from inside your head or outside it, but you don’t fight it when the darkness decides to lay claim over you. The same voice calls your name urgently, time and time again, but you can't answer it.

———

Everything hurts. Your body, your arms, your legs, but most prominently, the right side of your body. It’s burning, stinging, fucking carving at you. Whatever you call it. It just hurts.

“You’re awake!”

You barely have time to open your eyes when a warm body presses itself against yours from above. A sting of pain from the side of your body immediately surges through your nerves and you hiss.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!”

When you finally do look up, you see Luffy sitting beside you, a concerned yet hopeful look in those round eyes of his. You blink at him, then shift your head around to see where you are. You’re in your cabin, a blanket pulled up to your midsection, with something wrapped tightly around your stomach under your shirt.

At first, you’re at a loss for thoughts, but it only takes you a moment for everything to fall back into place. You immediately sit up, only to regret it as the pain explodes once more from your wounds.

“Don’t move too much,” Luffy protests and puts a hand on your shoulder to guide you down, but you resist it.

“What happened?” you demand. “How long was I out for?”

“Only a few hours.” Luffy frowns and gestures to your side. “You were badly hurt and lost a bit of blood. Zeff looked over it and managed to stop the bleeding, but he said you’ll need stitches eventually.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before your gaze trails down to your side. Lifting your shirt far enough so that you can evaluate the damage. Crimson-stained bandages greet your vision, under which you can only guess Arlong left his mark. Several marks to be precise, if your memory holds any value.

It’s not the wound itself that fills you with shame, but it’s the fact that you let your own grievances put you and – to some extent – the crew in such a vulnerable position to begin with.

If only you’d stopped feeling so sorry for yourself, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Luffy,” you say softly, not removing your focus from the bandages. “I’m … sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, completely confused.

“… I got distracted.” You slowly swing your feet to the edge of the hammock, the movements warranting more bouts of pain, yet you ignore it. “I … Let my guard down, and it put the crew in danger.”

“I don’t think so.” He says it so casually like he doesn’t find you at fault in the slightest. You don’t know whether deem his forgiving demeanor endearing or naïve to a fault. “You were sad.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything!” You jump to your feet while cradling your side. Luffy immediately comes to your side and offers you a shoulder to lean onto. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “And so is Zoro! He’s alive!”

“That’s … good.” Relief floods your body.

“But Nami…” Luffy pauses as he helps you out of the room towards the kitchen. “She went with Arlong,”

You raise an eyebrow, not expecting this. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find her.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Well …” he trails off sheepishly, and you’re immediately suspicious.

It’s not until you finally reach the kitchen that you hear it.

“Hey! Look who it ... is ...”

It’s Buggy …

His head is on top of the kitchen table.

———

Taglist:

@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107 (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #one piece buggy #DMTMYHB #Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue

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caravelmp3 · 3 years

Text

FEAR AND LOATHING IN DOMESTICATION

pairing: josh kiszka x reader warning(s): mentions of alcohol, references to sex, depression, & anxiety synopsis: in better terms, josh kiszka is a rolling stone, and when the pandemic causes the band to settle down for an undisclosed amount of time, reader helps josh come out of his slump note: title & reference to that one interview. you know the one. as someone with a fear of domestication as well, i related so hard to josh when he talked about settling down, and this came out of that. it’s just a lil something !! also posted on ao3 if you would like to check it out there instead. hope you all enjoy !! x

Josh was a vagabond, a nomad, living a peripatetic lifestyle of hopping from city to city overnight by bus or jet, bouncing between venues and interviews as if he was born to do so. Staying in three-star motel rooms in the middle of nowhere became a part of his lifestyle, one that he became quite adjusted to after three years on the go. Even while visiting home he was between family and friend houses, checking in on old stomping grounds, visiting studios hours away, anything to stay busy. In the clearest sense of terms, he was a rolling stone.

So, as everyone imagined it would happen, he began to lose his sense of self in 2020. One second the band were planning the release of an album, preparing to hit the road and play stadiums in South America with Metallica in the spring, and then the next they were hit with the news of cancellations and push-backs to everything they had been working towards. With the rise of a pandemic they were forced into a hiatus and into the first real break any of them had received, if they didn’t count the few days visiting home last holiday season.

He and the rest of the band hunkered down in Nashville and Josh started to live in his worst fear - domesticity. He was waking up at the same time every day in the same city, he was living the same life day after day, and it became old very quickly. While catching up on rest and exploring a new city was fun at first, it started to look like every other city before long. The adventure he would wake up to with excitement was no longer around. He had been forced to settle down, and he felt like a trapped animal trying to gnaw its own leg off.

And like the rest of the band and the management team, you hated seeing him that way.

The relationship between you and Josh was short, but you knew Josh for years, and you noticed the differences in his personality immediately once you followed him to Nashville following the shut down of your own job.

You once swung by the studio with a surprise lunch for the boys and the team and he was struggling to write lyrics on a notepad in the other room, surrounded by crumpled and balled sheets of paper. He would stay up later at night scrolling through airline websites for flights out of Nashville to random cities (as long as he was traveling, he told himself), and he shifted through hobbies to find anything that stuck (which eventually was reading and painting) (there was a corner of the living room filled with stacks of books and canvas paintings).

And you tried your best, even when times were hard on you, too. In order to boost Josh’s spirits and get his mind off the persistent idea that he was stuck in time, you attempted baking new treats and made him try them after dinner, you dabbled in bartending and made new drinks with tequila, set up painting dates in the backyard after work, bought books from second-hand stores you thought he would enjoy, and bought new and random vinyl for the nights spent in during summer storms.

But the bright blue, cloudless summer skies and warm breezes rustling the trees of summer became the red of maples and the bronze of oaks of autumn. Everyone hoped things would be different, maybe even just slightly, but nothing had changed at all. The band was still in Nashville, making the best of their time off to expand the album and the universe it was set in, and you were back to working, but only remotely, so Josh insisted you stayed with them instead of traveling back home at seemingly the height of the worst so far.

When the long, hot days turned into cooler mornings and long nights with the sun setting at five p.m., the effect of the year had finally hit everyone. Everyone was tired, they felt defeated.

So in one last desperate attempt to boost spirits and morale, everyone set off on their own adventure and escaped Nashville in the early days of December. Danny was going to Los Angeles, Sam was going skiing in Montana, and you knew that Josh and Jake needed their own trip. So after a few phone calls and exchanged emails over a week, you booked a trip for the twins and their family in Key West. It was something small - a rented RV for the dreaded sixteen-hour drive south, but what awaited them was a week in a rented beach house and days on a boat in the Gulf.

You booked it for everyone, you wanted the boys and their family to let loose and spend some time together before work drove them away again, but you weren’t going to lie and say you didn’t book it with Josh in mind. He was a fan of the beach and islands, history, and the water and sun and sand, and after months hunched over a studio coffee table writing and working endlessly on the album design, he deserved time to himself, to recover, to recoup.

You told him before bed on Thanksgiving day. The Kiszka family had come down from Michigan to celebrate the holiday, and they did with dinner and a fire in the pit in the backyard with music and plaid blankets and smores under the stars. After staying up talking to his mom, Josh had come to bed last with the lingering scent of fire smoke in his hair and Corona on his breath, and he met you under the covers, nestling his face in the crook of your neck before pressing a soft kiss against your skin while wishing you goodnight.

Humming, you rolled over and rolled into him. He chuckled and wrapped an arm around you, and that’s when you, in a sleep-deprived state, began to rattle off all of your plans,

“Tell your parents to stay for another week.” You said, eyes still closed, half-asleep.

Josh paused. “Why?” It wasn’t something he was opposed to, but it caught him by surprise.

“I booked a trip for the rest of us. While Danny and Sam are gone.” You laid your head on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. “We leave for Key West in four days.”

And the shot of adrenaline that ran through Josh was something he hadn’t felt in quite a long time. The last time he got excited about going anywhere was to a new record shop that opened up a few streets over from the house. He quickly sat up in the bed, looking down at you (now laying sideways) in the dark with a smile.

“You’re fucking joking,”

You laughed and reached out for his hand. “Not at all,” you said bringing his hand up to kiss the palm, “I’m going to pick up an RV in a couple of days, and we can surprise your parents and take them shopping for clothes and everything else we need.”

Out of what seemed like a rush of euphoria, Josh threw himself on top of you, peppering your face with kisses and you laughed at the show of affection and at the tickle of the growing mustache he managed to grow (and pull off). You turned your head, holding his cheeks, and kissed him.

“Now, come on, let’s get some sleep.”

“Well that’s unlikely - now I’m going to lay here and think about all the dumb shit we can do.” He said, sliding under the covers and sliding an arm around you.

You just laughed and nestled your cheek against his chest, listening in to the quiet shuffling in the hallway outside the door of everyone going to bed, to the ticking sound of the clock on the wall, and then to Josh’s voice,

“Do you think they have pirate themed dinner cruises?”

“If they do, I’m sure you’ll find out about it.”

And he did.

(There wasn’t one.)

But you found so much more than you two ever dreamed of. Trading dreary Nashville for a bright and warm island, you welcomed the hot breeze and sun-kissed skin.

And even though there wasn’t a pirate themed dinner cruise, you watched Josh come alive in a new environment. You strolled hand-in-hand with him through the butterfly and nature conservatory, letting him rave about the multicolored birds and point at flowers he thought you would like while capturing them on film. On Duval Street he pulled you to get caricature portraits done, he ordered shots for everyone in the bar after a night spent swimming. He roamed Dry Tortugas National Park with Jake, admiring the view and history within the brick fort walls, and first thing one morning he pulled you out of bed to get breakfast and visit the Ernest Hemingway Home, so you sat with him on a bench in the morning light and drank coffee and pet the roaming cats that passed by.

The last night on the island you woke up naked without Josh beside you, and you turned to see him sitting on the balcony with the white sheer curtains billowing around him, writing in the journal he always kept on his person. A smile tugged on the corners of your lips.

Josh was falling in love with life again.

And you were falling in love with life again, too, because Josh was so passionate about living it.

#josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka one shot #josh kiszka drabble #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet one shot #gvf imagine #gvf drabble #josh kiszka

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midnight0stars · 3 years

Text

Ahh! Yes! I love dom!Luxord and Luxord in general. It was a ton of fun to write this! Also went a teensey bit past my 3k word limit lol! So enjoy!

**Damsel in Distress ~ Luxord x Fem!Reader NSFW Ficlet**

Words: 3292

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You took a deep breath of the salty tinged air, gazing out at the sea’s horizon as the setting sun glimmered almost blindingly across the water. Sand shifted under your feet with each step you took. You were searching for something, anything to help you and the others get off the island you had been abandoned on. One minute you had been with Jack Sparrow in the midst of battle, the next you had woken up and discovered that you, Sora, and the others had all been left behind.

It was a beautiful place, to be sure, but nothing could be accomplished if all of your were stuck on an island in the middle of the Caribbean. Slowing to a stop near the bottom of a cliff, you leaned your back against the smoothed out rocks. You listened to the waves crashing against the shore, the sound relaxing you as your thoughts drifted towards Luxord. The first time you had met the gambler had been in the Caribbean, well over a year ago. It had been before you had even joined forces with Sora.

He instantly had your heart, you knew the moment you locked your eyes with his piercing blue ones. There was a confident, yet genuine air about him, and even though he aligned with the Organization, you couldn’t help but be drawn to him. One chance meeting with him and the next thing you knew, you were pinned against the wall. The memory of his smirk, his eyes dancing over your flushed face before he crashed his lips against yours… Your body pulsed, making you suck in a sharp breath. It had been months since you had felt his hands on you.

You still remembered the pain that had coursed through you when you heard the news that he had been killed in battle. And you barely had time to mourn him, before you discovered that the Members of the Organization had been reborn as their Somebodies after death. Despite that, you hadn’t heard from him. If he had returned, he hadn’t felt the need to let you know about it.

Part of you wondered if he wanted nothing to do with you any longer. Perhaps he didn’t know where to find you or was trapped where he had woken up. Whatever the case, nothing prepared you for seeing him on the Black Pearl. His once blue eyes were golden, his face older and matured in a way that you were embarrassed to admit made your heart skip. You had to hold yourself back from running towards him, the others had no idea that you were involved with him. That didn’t stop the way your heart yearned for him, yearned to learn what had happened to him, to say the things you never got to share.

His eyes had lingered on yours, but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge you as he threatened and goaded the others. You stood there, frozen on the deck, as Sora summoned his blade to threaten Luxord right back. It was only then that you realized that you and Luxord were now on opposing sides. The rest of the battle had been a blur after he had disappeared and thrown the Heartless at you to deal with. You fought the enemies, taking one down after the other and aiding the others, but your mind and heart were focused elsewhere. Maybe your power over the Keyblade had been the reason Luxord never sought you out after he had returned as a Somebody.

The familiar sound of a Corridor appearing cut through your thoughts. With a gasp, you looked over, seeing none other than Luxord step out of the pulsating dark portal. You stepped forward, barely reaching out towards him, before you stopped yourself short and put your hand back down at your side.

You averted your gaze from his, clearing your throat. “I’m… surprised to see you.”

“And I, you.” He told you, walking forward and stopping in front of you. “But I can’t say I mind seeing such a beautiful face.”

You blinked, flush rushing into your cheeks as you darted your eyes back to his familiar smirk. You opened your mouth to reply, but only a scramble of sounds came out as you tried to figure out what to say. Luxord chuckled, stepping towards you. You stepped away, your back hitting the rocky cliff side as his arms pinned you there on either side.

“It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?” He asked, leaning in ever so slightly as his eyes danced over your face.

“I..” You swallowed hard, trying desperately to calm the flutters in your heart as your eyes darted between his and his lips. “I thought you were gone…” Shaking your head, you focused on his gaze, a stern look in your eyes. “Why are you still with the Organization?”

His smirk grew as he leaned closer, his lips just a scant distance from yours as he asked in return. “Why are you with the proclaimed Heroes of Light?”

“B-Because–” Your shaking voice was swallowed by his lips meeting with yours.

You whimpered as he pushed you harder against the wall, his body hot against yours. Soft sighs slipped between you, mixing with moans when his tongue pushed inside your mouth. You knew you should push him away, call everything off and tell him things had changed, but you couldn’t stop your lips from kissing him back. Gloved hands cupped your cheeks, lacing into your hair to tug your face to the side so he could nip along your neck.

“L-Luxord–” your voice trembled out his name, your hands clenching against his chest. You bit your bottom lip as he bit the nape of your neck.

“I’ve missed you, Love.” He murmured against your skin, making a moan slip past your lips. He kissed along your neck, up to your ear to continue. “Missed your soft lips against mine, your voice as I make you come undone, just–” he groaned, licking the curve of your ear, making you whine. “I have no interest in sides or morals… I will make you mine.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your entire body throbbing from his words. It was exactly what you had yearned to hear. “W-We can’t…” You breathed out, fighting the urge to roll your hips forward. “W-What if someone sees…? We aren’t… exactly alone…”

As if to prove your point, the others started calling out your name as they searched for you. Luxord grumbled at the sound, but didn’t stop as his hands drifted down your body, making you squirm.

“Y/N!” Sora’s voice grew louder as he approached from the other side of the cliff. “Y/N! I think we found a way off the island! Where are you?”

You whimpered as Luxord grabbed your breasts, as if he wanted you to moan and let Sora know exactly where you were and to see who you were with. “L-Luxord,” you gasped, your voice in a whisper. “I-If he finds out–”

He pulled away before you could even finish the sentence and grabbed your arm. You gasped as he tugged you forward, forcing your arm behind your back, making you cry out just as Sora came around the corner and saw you.

“Y/N!” His eyes widened as he scowled and summoned his Keyblade. “Luxord, let her go!”

“How about a challenge?” Luxord smirked, pulling you closer to him, as if he were keeping you hostage. Your entire body warmed, half-heartedly trying to get away while you kept your eyes averted from Sora’s. “Save the damsel in distress before she’s taken by a dastardly pirate.”

Sora scoffed, “Are you supposed to be the pirate?”

“Perhaps.”

“Luxord, please,” you pleaded, pulling at his grasp on you just as Sora was about to run forward.

Next thing you knew, a black Corridor surrounded you and you were gone from the island entirely. You reappeared in a wooden cabin on a ship, Luxord still holding your wrist behind your back as you frantically looked around.

“Where did you just take me?” You asked, trying to turn around to face him, but his grip tightened, keeping you in place. “They’re going to be looking for me!”

“I know,” he assured you, his breath hot against your ear, making you freeze.

You took in a shark breath, biting your lip as his tongue traced the curve of your ear. “W-What are you doing…?”

He hummed, the vibration of his voice through you making you shiver. “I am enjoying my spoils.” His free hand slid along the side of your body to your chin. Gripping your face, he turned your gaze to him over your shoulder. “You’re my hostage, Love.”

A warmth spread through your entire body as you whisked your face out of his grasp. “I-I am no such thing.”

He chuckled, kissing your hair, “I’ve taken you. And you are on my ship… “ His hand slid down your neck to your breast. “In my quarters… I can do whatever I wish to you.”

You whimpered, your eyes sliding shut with a gasp as he kneaded your breast in his palm. There was no denying that you wanted his touch, you wanted him to take you however he pleased. The worry about the others searching for you faded with each roll of your nipple between his fingers. His lips meeting with your neck, sucking and licking your most sensitive places, they lessened your resolve and tightened that coil of anticipation and lust in your gut.

“Go to the bed…” He murmured in your ear, smirking as you nodded.

Your eyes fluttered open, focusing on the large bed in the corner of the cabin. His grip on you lightened as you went towards it by his command. You weren’t sure what he had planned for you and there were dozens of alarms trilling in the back of your mind that you should run… but you couldn’t deny the want inside of you. You wanted his hands all over your body again, you wanted his lips trailing every inch of you, lavishing you like he used to.

You could give in, just this once… right?

“Lay down,” he ordered, but not with a forceful tone.

You nodded, unable to find any proper words in response. The comforter sank under your weight, framing your body as you laid down. You took in a shaking breath, your entire body flushed and warmed as Luxord stood at the edge of the bed, taking off his coat and looking you over with that same smirk of his.

“W-What,” you asked, your voice shaking and soft.

“You’re more beautiful than I remember.” He told you as he climbed over you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words choked in your throat. The blush deepened further on your cheeks as you averted your gaze. He chuckled, leaning forward and kissing along your neck, making you softly moan. You felt his hands grip your wrists, before he pulled them above your head.

“What are you…” Your voice trailed off once your felt a rope being tied around you. “L-Luxord!” You squeaked, looking up to see him binding you with a white rope.

“You’re my hostage.” He reminded you with a quirked up brow matching his smirk. “I will lavish you as I please.”

The connotations of his words were enough cause a certain spot between your legs to throb, making you squeeze your legs together. His smirk grew, knowing exactly what he was doing to you as you averted your gaze, warming further by the second. Once you were tied up, his hands trailed down your arms. His touch was deliberate, soft, barely grazing his fingertips along your skin and making you shiver. Leaning forward, he kissed along your jaw, allowing your lips to be free so you could gasp and sigh in response to him having his way with you.

Warm, familiar hands snaked under your shirt, making you arch your back into his touch. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been touched by him, and even the slightest movement was exhilarating. The fabric of your shirt was pushed up, revealing your soft, flushed skin. You could barely handle watching his eyes dance over you as he traced his fingertips over every bare inch of you. Reaching your bra, he pulled it up with one swift motion, humming as your breasts bounced out of its confinement. He darted his eyes up to yours when your breath hitched, keeping the contact as he leaned forward and trailed his tongue along your nipple.

You bit your lip, whining and bucking your hips into the air from the pulse of pleasure. His hand took in your other breast, twisting and teasing your nipple in tandem with his tongue, while his other hand trailed lower.

His fingertips ghosted between your legs, just barely enough pressure for you to feel. Your voice cracked, your head slinging back as you rolled your hips, desperate for more. He hummed against your breast, pressing his tongue harder against your nipple, before pulling off and sitting up.

He undid your pants with ease, hooking his fingers in the belt loops and pulling them off your legs. Your already flushed body throbbed under his gaze. A thin piece of fabric was all that kept you from being completely naked for him to see. It had been months since he had last seen you bare for him, and you often wondered if he ever would again. But there you were, tied to his bed, his hostage to do with however he pleased. The thought alone made you whimper with a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation.

His hands slid along your thighs, a chuckle rumbled through his chest with each subconscious roll of your hips into the air. He traced along the hem of your panties, his eyes hungrily taking you in as you squirmed and whined under his touch. At his pace, it would be hours until he let you come.

“P-Please…” you whispered, looking away when he brought his eyes to yours.

He smirked, slipping his fingers between your legs and ever so gently tracing circles over the fabric of your panties. You groaned, slinging your head back and pulling at your binds. It was thrilling, yet it wasn’t nearly enough. He hummed, feeling how wet you were, even through your underwear.

“You missed me as well, didn’t you?” He asked, quirking up an eyebrow when you darted your eyes to him for a moment before looking away again.

“Maybe…” You admitted, your breath hitching as his fingers pressed harder between your legs. “Y-Yes!” You moaned, “Yes I did.”

Grabbing the sides of your panties, he slid them off your legs, allowing his gaze to settle on your soaking folds. He pushed your knees apart, so he could freely look you over. You couldn’t keep your gaze on him as his eyes roved over you. Instead, you focused on the window, seeing the gorgeous ocean horizon just outside.

What a perfect setting to be lavished in.

Your admiration was cut short as a pair of fingers slid inside of you. A guttural moan came up your throat, your back arching as Luxord simply watched with a smirk. He pushed further inside of you, twisting his fingers and watching you gasp out his name.

“This is what I missed the most.” He told you, his thumb slicking across your clit, making you cry out. “Watching you slowly become undone.” He pushed harder inside of you, “It’s as if time itself stands still in these moments.”

Despite his poetry, you could barely register his words as he worked you up. Your legs wrapped around his back, your hands pulling at the binds as you wished for more. You wanted him inside of you, sliding in and out as both of you neared that climax. His short breaths and the way your name spilled from his lips as he came, the thought alone made you moan and cry out.

“Luxord, please!” You begged, done with waiting.

He chuckled, leaning down and flicking his tongue between your folds. Your voice grew, your back arching completely off the bed as his tongue swirled. He pushed his fingers in and out of you as he buried his head between your legs. Your chest heaved, your eyes shut as you moaned out his name, rolling your hips against his mouth. All your inhibitions had vanished, and all you could fathom was the way your gut coiled with pleasure, ready to snap at any moment.

Everything suddenly ceased, his fingers slipped out of you, his tongue and lips nowhere near your folds. Fluttering your eyes open, you met your eyes with his, seeing his heaving chest and the sheen of your pleasure across his chin as he worked at his undoing his pants.

Finally.

You pulled at your binds, wishing you could undo them for him, to take his shaft into your own mouth and show him what he had been doing to you. Instead, you could only helplessly watch as he tossed away his pants and undergarments. His cock twitched under your stare, precum dripping from its head as he climbed back over you.

He stopped at your entrance, barely pushing in as he leaned down and captured your lips with his. You could taste your pleasure on his tongue, the sweet, yet bitter taste of it making you groan in his mouth.

A sharp moan slipped out of you, breaking your lip lock as he delved inside of you. It was a sensation you had dearly missed. The way he stretched and filled your perfectly, hitting that perfect spot without even needing to try. Your head slung back, giving him the perfect angle to kiss and suckle your neck as he grinded his hips against you.

“L-Luxord,” you gasped out his name, meeting your hips with his, desperately trying to push him deeper.

He groaned, his pace quickening as he pushed harder and harder inside of you. The bed rocked, the wooden floor creaking with each meeting of your hips. Your voice filled the room, mixing with his as he freely moaned against your neck.

With a snap of his hips, your coil broke free. You cried out his name, your fingers digging into the rope around your wrists as your body tensed. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, even during your past with him. Everything seemed to explode into fireworks of pure pleasure, as your legs wrapped tightly around his hips so you could force him even deeper.

He wasn’t far behind, your name spilled from his lips again and again, until he let out a trembling moan. His hips jerked forward, his arms shaking as he came. You leaned your body up as much as you could manage, kissing his jaw and neck, anywhere you could reach. As he came down from his climax, he peppered kissed to your neck as well. His body falling limp over you.

Your chest raised and lowered together, both of you struggling to catch your breaths as the waves of your shared orgasm pulled through you. His hands went to your wrists, untying the binds and allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

“I–” you swallowed, trying to take in a full breath, “I really did miss you…”

He hummed, kissing your neck. “As did I, Love.”

A sudden rock of the ship, caused both of you to snap out of your tranquil haze. It was something hitting the boat…You looked to Luxord with widened eyes, sitting up and about to ask him what it could be, before it hit you.

It was your rescuers.

#Luxord #Kingdom Hearts Smut

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captainkurosolaire · 4 years

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Destined ‘X’ Forever

“Ye wouldn’t b’ doin’ anything that’d take a special kind ov’ stupid now would ya’ ma’ Lord?” A cheeky rattle hit in a echo of the barren Ruins. For all intended reasoning's this wasn’t a planned encounter. Last he saw his Noble other halve was after attempting to salve some helpful advice to put him in a discovery. Though what the amber optic witnessed was anything but the type of discovery he meant. The pirate meant from the self. This was someone who couldn’t move on. Didn’t know how. This is hurt. He had been there, embraced it, and the result damaged him past the point of repair a self-searing that he still hadn’t entirely resolved. And forever because he couldn’t contain or control his heartbreak he discredited and discarded it. Letting it coal until he lost himself and a savage feasted on his homed temple. A severance between souls. A path to nefarious and damaging for anything that crossed was a clear future for Elune. If he paid the price and fed that side of demonizing that festered in all thing’s in varied degrees of morality. He would become consumed with dangerous and devastating levels that may scar him in irrecoverably.

“I..hate..you.” Muttered off breath before turning to face and direct to ensure this was more personal his regality was cracking he was so shortly an ilm away from being granted his wishful desire by utilizing a forbidden relic that protruded a hint of Mhachi. However, by activating this, It’d cost his last remaining dignity, his humanity he akin to most chose to run from it thinking and disassociating it as ‘weakness’ for the appearance and value it often represented no-good. He was possessed and consumed with the empty. That hollow part of losing a piece that stabled and made you feel wholly, he had forgotten what living was like without it after a sip. Without something to protect to be any meaning, he found himself misplaced. Knights didn’t exist without their duties or their morals to wage crusades in belief or service; they were dull like any Samurai in the obligated swords sworn after they slew their intended advisory it was weightless and immeasurable. None of that crossed his mind that once was recognized and pristine for being intelligent, all other forms living or to be sacrificed were insignificant, they could all be shriveled and pay the price even if it brought utter devastation and internal turmoil to that which he so starved to have returned to him. This resentment stood beyond even their current vessel’s their souls were entwined to contest. Negatives and positives. “I hate you. I hate everything about you, your stupid hat, your trashy ingrate demeanor. All of it! Hate is my sum for you.. You--- you’re, why I am here in this position. You cost me, my world! If you weren’t such an irritating blight, I would’ve never lost control… I’d still have them!” Flailing his arms out in the arm like a tampered child throwing his blame. The crystallized air around him howled in chimed ice sang like a banshee as his instability continued. Captain swallowed soft listening before presenting a stepped chortle and follow, “You need a tissue? Or a tampon for yer leakage?” The Seeker fired back as during that entire rant he just nodded his head. “Mate, I’ll b’ straight blunt yer being a bitch. O’ boohoo, ye lost something in your sheltered life, you in your fancy Ishgardian Walls always catered and given and throwing a hissy fit when ye didn’t get something fer Starlight. Your rant is the same shite I’d get from a dozen of stuttering cucks at the Quicksands for me so effortlessly tossing their lass over my shoulder and tending to them from their plagued bore. -Ye hate me? What a crock… Matey you don’t hate me, you just hate yourself. You got caught, ye won a battle but I got in your most prized place -- your head. Fail to understand your performance in our last skirmish saw you ACTING more like a pirate than a noble. Ye can’t get those thoughts ov’ me outta your mind… How naughty.” Tsking with a finger waggle further adding antagonizing fuel with even more expression by holding his chest to shield his exposure in that unnerving smug. “Standing over there and wanting t’ talk about hatred and losses. Ye murdered my near entire crew, ye tried dismantling another. Ye kidnapped my Star Healer and stole her away to fuck who knows where and then n’ your whole, ‘I gotta be th’ Elite White Shining Knight’, ye let her suffer alone and vanish to silence! Ye point and like t’ remind others of their failures, their faults, but conjure a solid mirror with that fancy-dancy magick. Leviathan… I gave ye an ale and I didn’t even charge ye on your last visit t’ my Cabin. I told you…! I warned you…! I did more than enough in my part, so-wait, is this what I’m missing out on sticking around for parenthood? Just sheer disappointment? This was supposed t’ be your discovery, but let me guess, the only thing you figured out in this entire time is that, ‘O I’ve got a dick, so well, I must be one and I’ll damn the rest in my way even the ones I love? Not even factoring their own thoughts? YOU aren’t wanted back. There’s isn’t any riveting other reasoning why they discarded themselves from you.” He unleashed every form of his smash-mouth and laid out the crass even if overkill. Thick skulls often were swelled in ego and ego was born often of entitled never spoken against, here enters the brazen. All the while Shiro’s fist rattled and quenched his inner demonic price for all his sin’s and wrongs began transforming and corrupting his veins, his roots that stemmed inside became a grotesque green. “Enough! What does the pirate know of actual loss and pain? You are thieves, takers, you’re scum. Compassion and your kind don’t mix, nor does it exist. Use everything and leave, you can’t even remain devoted to a single solitary thing. Always roaming without purpose to the next big thing for your greed. Making every little detail’s about yourself. Do not forget, I met your crew… None of them are innocent. It didn’t matter which you led. They were all heathens. Neither of them could listen to their betters. They didn’t respect anyone outside you, and when you were missing and disappeared on your so-called ‘shipwreck’ those who salvaged and carried your flag paid your price. You brought them into a War against a literal Sea Empire. None of them were equipped or readied. And without me, they would’ve all been slaughtered maggots. They even wanted to kill each other and decapitate the latter to get some heroic favors or get into the panties of your ‘woman’ you led only a cult of unwashed stains. Threatening like the barbarians you raised to even lash out at my sister because her own heart was on the opposing side. Who even was brainwashed and used as another pawn on the board though despite that fact their inbreed tribal and unorthodox wild crew of yours was but the essence of chaos. You mere peasants outside the Pillars and the arrogance you bestow, are far grander than anything we harbor.” Now it was the Keeper’s turn to verbally unleash a hailstorm. They bickered like an old couple cover many generations of grudges. Building their resentments and hatred until… that moment where there wasn’t going any back and one swung. The words actually began rattling against the Captain’s inner instincts and primal urges. For his own bonded knot was mentioned and brought up. The tone of Shiro’s higher ‘superiority’ shout echoed against the blank and outdoor ruins in a condense clap. Was steering and disturbing a slumber that snarled, his complexion became more heated. Irregular and unnatural... The scoundrel’s blood began surging. Weapons in War only ever are mentioned what was used to quell or the materialistic solution. Never in mentioning how any War or Battle began. Often originated from disputes. The contesting of disagreement is what drew first-blood before any sharp dared part flesh from. “What th’ seventh hell did ye say?” The ruffian stepped in closer even against biting and foreboding chills. A vein vessel popping out of his forehead. Shiro’s visage turned to a dastardly and deviled one impractical aetherial horn’s started to lowly form on his temple. “Many things and all I assure you, I mean them all. Your crew was worthless they lapped up and swam under your dirty seawater. You a Captain? A joke, your, -kind- don’t have admirable emotions or hearts, you are written as heartless and crude as you’ll always be known utter tasteless, savaged buffoons. THAT is your booked cover and shall always be to me and anyone else with somewhat wit.” The Seeker’s steps continuing forward his framework began bulking up hit by a nerve earlier. Every part of Shiro’s weighted words came from a merciless and mean intent. Making every remark sound as categorized and labeled as possible. The first step of all Jailers and those that hide behind anything against the grain or that make them feel even the slightest uncomfortable about the insecurities often came from classification putting a firm distinction between someone else innocently in the cross-hairs to try so desperately to distance themselves and stay on their elevated ladders, artificial thrones above someone. Despite that answer wasn’t what left a sour look on the mug of the rugged slicker those didn’t seem to be what triggered him. “No, the other.” He corrected calmly his stance seemed like a preparing lunge.

Shiro knew all too well what he said and brought a gleeful sinister grin to further elaborate the struck cord. “Ah right, the pathetic and high-excuse of a complex woma--” Right before he could finish that deplorable remark. The Blackguard used a rash Ghost Step (Shukuchi) to close in and lob for a full-force spinning roundhouse. (Previous) — /References/ — ♫ ‘Invincible ♫ — (Next Page)

#Part 1 of 6 #Expect em daily #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #Lord Shiro Elune #Seeker of the Sun #Enough spat to melt an iceberg #Keeper of the Moon #Miqo'te #Noble vs Pirate #Rivalry #reader discretion advised #Battle from 0-3 #Time to warm out of this rust #creative writing

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