#how it feels to chew five gun

[flax-en]

[Lore Accurate Raleigh]

[geminiwritten]

cowboy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: the squad are sick of you and hangman pining after each other, so they set you up with the cowboy hat rule - 'you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy' (i know it's never specified but because glen grew up in texas, i'm applying that to jake)

notes: i am literally posting this while at work because i am so excited! i'm actually pretty proud of this one right now, so i'm trying not to second guess it and keep rereading it... i really hope y'all enjoy! please let me know all your thoughts! (in case you can't tell, i'm currently reading elsie silver's books)

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption / drunkenness, mention of a student/teacher relationship, and general horniness but no actual smut (i'm sorry, it's already so long)

word count: 10667

You roll your lips as your eyes wander across the faces of your friends, each of them expressing varying degrees of excitement as they discuss the upcoming celebration for Javy’s birthday this weekend. It’s been a good week for the dagger squad, and even Maverick has managed not to piss off the admiral in almost five whole days. Everyone is holding their breath, praying he can hold off for the second half of the day so the team doesn’t get punished with weekend rotation... again. 

You’re sitting in the middle of the long table with Natasha to your left and Bradley to your right, and across from you is the most gorgeous man on the planet. You can’t help settling your gaze on him, tracing the bridge of his nose as he faces Javy beside him, lips moving as words spill from them, but you can't possibly know what he’s saying because you’re too busy picturing what else those lips would be good at. His Adam’s apple bobs between statements and his tongue occasionally darts across those lips, making your innocent Friday lunch feel a lot filthier as your thoughts wander in the most inappropriate way. 

An elbow nudging into your ribs knocks you off your bullet train of thought, derailing it at high speed as reality comes crashing down and you turn accusingly toward Bradley. “What?” you snap. 

He chuckles, “You’re drooling.” 

Your hand flies up to your mouth, fingers padding at each corner only to find the skin dry. You scowl at him, “Asshole.” 

He has to hide his increased laughter in the mouth of his water bottle, taking a long sip so to not draw the attention of the rest of the group. “Sorry,” he says as he places the bottle back on the table, “but you were about to. I was saving you from yourself.” 

You roll your eyes, “Whatever.” 

Bradley shakes his head, his amused grin fading as he drops his gaze back to the tray of food in front of him, and a tiny pebble of guilt drops in the pit of your stomach. You suddenly feel bad for snapping at your best friend, so you bump your shoulder against his and reach over to steal a fry from his tray. 

He shoots you a glare from the corner of his eye, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he isn’t really mad. You pop the fry into your mouth and chew it with a smile before turning your attention back to the group, startling when you find a pair of green eyes already trained on you. Heat flushes up your neck, colouring your cheeks as you stare back at the man you had just previously been ogling. Time seems to slow down, or speed up, you’re not sure, but what you do know is how pretty Jake’s eyes are, swirling shades of green with flecks of gold that glow in the afternoon sunlight flooding through the high cafeteria windows. 

“Hangman?” Javy clicks his fingers in front of Jake’s face, simultaneously snapping you both out of whatever trance you’d been stuck in. 

When you look around the table, you notice that most of the group are standing now, holding their empty trays and getting ready to return to work. 

Jake blinks a few times, a slight frown creasing between his brows. “What?” he snaps. 

Javy chuckles, holding one hand up in surrender. “Calm down, I was just asking what time we should get to your place tomorrow night.” 

“Oh,” Jake’s shoulders visibly relax, “1800.” 

You roll your eyes playfully as you push up from your chair. “Okay soldier, you can just say 6PM.” 

His face breaks into a breathtaking grin as he stands and picks his tray up from the table. “Sorry civilian, I’ll see you at 6PM tomorrow night.” 

Low laughter rumbles through the group as you take an extra moment to appreciate the gorgeous man smiling at you, but then Javy tugs on Jake’s arm and interrupts you both for the second time less than a minutes. “Come on man, Mav will be pissed if we’re late.” 

“Wait for me?” Bradley asks. 

You turn to your best friend and find him looking at you – asking you – rather than his squadmates. “Huh?” 

He raises one judgemental brow, a teasing smirk on his lips. “After work, wait for me so I can give you a lift home.” 

“Oh,” you nod, “duh, I’m not walking.” 

His eyes flash toward Jake’s retreating form before he looks back at you with a grin. “Would you at least try to control yourself? Jesus, it’s so obvious.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you frown at him. “Hurry up or Mav will have your ass.” 

He stacks his tray on top of yours in your hands and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You’re so sweet to me,” he jokes, before turning on his heel and jogging after the others. 

You roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time as you watch him leave, meeting Jake at the exit door leading to the main hangars. Just as they both disappear, you can swear Jake throws an angry glance over his shoulder at you, but the door swings shut before you can be sure. 

That glare haunts you on your journey back to the control tower. Had you really seen what you think you saw? Jake had just been grinning at you, joking with you, but then somewhere on his way across the cafeteria he had found a reason to glare at you. It doesn’t make sense. 

You try to push the image of his angry face out of your mind as you sit back at your desk, one of eight situated on the fourth floor of the main control tower. Three screens stare back at you, displaying various windows of information about the sky’s conditions and other operational statuses from around the base. You slide your headset on and adjust the dials until you can hear a soft crackle indicating successful connection to the correct frequency. One by one, you watch the faces and callsigns of your friends pop up on the right-most screen as they turn their comms on and ready their jets. 

“Maverick to control,” Mav’s voice comes through your headset. 

“Good afternoon, Maverick,” you reply, as if you hadn’t already been on the comms with him for half the day. 

“Radio check before take-off please, aviators,” he says, “alphabetical order if you geniuses can figure it out.” 

You roll your lips to keep from laughing, reminding yourself that despite your personal connection to these people, this is still your job. 

“Bob to control, can you hear me?” 

“Lound and clear,” you respond, quickly trying to figure out the alphabetical order for yourself. 

“Coyote to control.” 

“Copy.” 

“Fanboy to control.” 

“Copy,” you repeat. 

“Hangman to control,” Jake says, his voice in your ear sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. 

“Copy,” you reply. 

The line then goes quiet, a faint crackling the only indication that the radio hasn’t completely dropped out. You wait a beat before speaking again, “Radio check please Payback.” 

“Shit, sorry. Copy,” Reuben’s voice responds. “I thought Phoenix was before me.” 

“A comes before H, idiot,” Natasha says, followed by a chorus of snickers. “Phoenix to control, can you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear, Phoenix,” you reply through your laughter. 

“Rooster to control,” Bradley’s voice fills your ears, “your favourite pilot here, bringing up the rear.” 

You roll your eyes, “Copy that, Shakespeare.” 

Another rumble of laughter comes through your headset as you quickly type into the afternoon’s log that the radio check was successful. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mav says as the laughter dies down. “Control, are we good for take-off?” 

“Skies are clear, Mav,” you reply, “take off at will.” 

You tune out the soft chatter as the squad ready themselves for taking off, and one by one watch their altitudes rise on your middle screen. They all pop up as red dots on the radar window, blinking slowly as they cruise through what you know is a cloudy afternoon sky. 

“We’ve got a stormfront coming in from the south,” you say, eyes darting to your left-most screen. “We might need to call it a little early this afternoon, Mav.” 

Maverick chuckles, “An early mark on a Friday? I don’t know if this lot deserve it.” 

A series of protests then fill your ears, almost every pilot falling for Maverick’s taunt and arguing that they do deserve an early mark, even going as far as to say that they’ve had a hard week. You’ve been here all week too, and you probably couldn’t agree with that since this week has been one of the cruisiest in a while. 

“Alright, alright,” Mav says to quell the bickering, “if you can perfectly execute the cloak and dagger drill, I’ll let you all land by 1500.” 

The complaining turns into cheering, and Bradley threatens the team to perform because he’s not staying back in a storm on a Friday afternoon. Not that Mav could keep them in the skies if the weather gets that bad. 

“Listen up,” Maverick says, “Coyote, I’ll be your wingman, and I want Phoenix and Bob behind us. Hangman, Rooster will be your wingman-” 

“I’ve been trying, Mav,” Bradley interrupts, his voice dripping with cheek, “but the man is oblivious.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, blocking your airways as you suffocate on the audacity of your best friend. The laughter from your headset sounds distant as you try to remember how to breathe, willing yourself to calm down. Afterall, no one could really know what he’s talking about, right? 

“Yes, Rooster,” Maverick chuckles, “we’re all aware of how oblivious Hangman is.” 

Your eyes grow wide. 

“What are you talking about?” Jake pipes up, and you can almost see the adorable and confused look on his face. His brows pinched together, a little crease between them, and his bottom lip pushed forward in a small pout. 

“Point and case,” Bradley says, at which the rest of the squad dissolve into giggles. 

Does everyone know about your crush? Is Jake really the only confused pilot right now? 

“I don’t get the joke,” Mickey says over the laughter. 

You can’t help the smile that cracks across your face, a breathy laugh leaving your lips as you try to focus on documenting the weather warning in your afternoon log. The team continue to giggle, turning their teasing on Mickey before Maverick orders them to focus. They run the drill perfectly, finishing up just before an orange alert pops up on your screen, a notification from the weather analysis team telling you to get the squad on the ground. 

“Maverick,” you say, “the storm is coming in fast; you’ve been ordered to land.” 

“Copy that,” he responds, before rattling off instructions to the squad. 

One by one, you watch their blinking dots on the radar screen approach the runway and land. They manoeuvre toward the hangar, following instructions from the ground team to store the jets for the weekend. You exchange a couple of last words with Mav before they all remove their helmets and start the end of day procedures. You take time to check your emails and send the day’s log to the data analysis team before doing all your usual sign offs. By the time you’re exiting the control tower, it’s almost 4PM. 

You pull your phone out of your back pocket, about to text Bradley asking which lot he parked in today when his Ford Bronco skids to a halt three feet in front of you. He leans across the passenger seat and pops the door open with a grin. “Need a ride?” 

You roll your eyes, taking two long strides forward and throwing your bag into the back seat before flopping into the passenger seat beside him. “That was quick,” you state. “Doesn’t the debrief usually take longer on Fridays?” 

Bradley shrugs, “The admiral left early today so we didn’t have to do a formal debrief, and maintenance are doing a fuel flush on all the jets this weekend so they took them off our hands pretty quick.” 

“Oh, nice,” you reply simply before turning your attention back to your phone, checking the notifications you missed during work. 

Bradley navigates the base easily, slowing to a stop at the exit gates and having a short chat with the security guard in the booth before the boomgate rises and he hits the gas again. When the car merges onto the main highway, you tuck your phone under your thigh, not wanting to risk motion sickness with Bradley’s driving. Let’s just say, he’s a much better pilot than he is a chauffeur. 

“So,” he says, glancing at you with a cheeky grin, “do you want to hear something interesting.” 

You sigh, recognising that look. “Who were you eavesdropping on today?” 

“I heard Hangman talking to Coyote before I left,” he explains, eyes sparkling with mischief, “and I heard Coyote say to ‘stop making excuses and just ask her out’.” 

You frown, trying to tamp down the green-eyed monster rumbling to life in your stomach. “Ask who out?” 

“I didn’t hear a name, but I’m assuming-” 

“Don’t say me.” 

He chuckles, “Not me, you.” 

You scowl at him, “Don’t argue with me about semantics.” 

He rolls his eyes, “I just don’t understand why you won’t believe me. You heard the whole squad before, everyone knows except Hangman, even Mav!” 

“Mickey doesn’t know,” you argue. 

“Fanboy is almost as oblivious as your boyfriend.” 

Your eyes narrow, “Do not use that word.” 

He laughs again, “Which one?” 

“You know which one.” 

He sighs heavily, as if the weight of your unrequited crush was pressing down on his shoulders too. “Look, if you’re going to be stubborn, I’m going to have to take things into my own hands.” 

“Please don’t,” you beg, your eyes growing wide. 

He shrugs and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, but you’re giving me no choice.” 

“Bradley, please,” you plead, turning in your seat to face him, “just leave it alone. I don’t want to ruin the friendship and make it uncomfortable for the whole group.” 

“The whole group already is uncomfortable with you two constantly eye-fucking each other!” 

Heat creeps up your neck, turning your cheeks pink and making your ears burn. You want to protest and continue arguing with him, because you’re adamant that Jake does not return your feelings, but your brain can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together. Instead, you sink down in your seat and scowl at the road, wondering what you could possibly be in store for if Bradley really is taking matters into his own hands. 

The rest of the drive home isn’t long, and soon enough, Bradley is pulling the Bronco into his parking spot in the garage of the apartment block you both live in. You don’t live together, but you do live in neighbouring studio apartments, so it often feels like you live together. You drive to and from work together, you usually have dinner together and watch movies together in the evenings. Basically, if you’re both not busy, you’re with each other, and it’s been that way as long as you’ve both been based on North Island. 

The squad had initially teased that the two of you might be more than friends, they even had you questioning it, but one wine-drunk kiss while watching The Bachelor confirmed that neither of you felt anything romantic toward the other. It was that same night that you also confessed to Bradley that you might be falling for Jake, to which he looked at you like you were stupid because duh. Apparently, your crush has been obvious from day one. 

Now, here you are, hopelessly in love with a man you not only work with, but you’d also consider one of your closest friends. Rock, meet Hard Place, and you? You’re in the middle. 

- 

After spending the night on the couch with Bradley and a box of pizza, you took yourself off to bed and dreamed one of the many reoccurring dreams you have about a certain fighter pilot. You managed to sleep in before taking yourself for a long walk and making a mental list of all the things you needed to do before Javy’s birthday party. 

Jake had been generous enough to offer having the party at his place, since the squad wanted to do something other than go to The Hard Deck for once. You'd offered to help shop for supplies and set up for the night, but Jake and Javy assured the group that they had it all under control. All you have to do is waste your Saturday and quell your nerves before the party. 

At exactly 5:45PM, there’s a knock at your door. You quickly finish applying your lip balm before tucking it into the purse hanging from your shoulder and grabbing the jacket you’d thrown over the back of the lounge. You yank your front door open to find your best friend grinning from ear to ear, his moustache looking particularly fresh. 

“You shaved,” you state, stepping forward and forcing him to step back. 

He nods before asking, “Did you?” 

You finish locking the door, slipping the key into your purse with one hand while the other slaps Bradley’s bicep. “Don’t be creepy!” 

He chuckles and rubs his arm. “I’m not being creepy, I’m just making sure you’re prepared for any outcome.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “What are you planning?” 

"Nothing in particular,” he replies innocently, though the small smirk on his lips betrays him. 

You decide to leave it, since you're already nervous enough, and focus on relaxing the butterflies flapping wildly in your stomach. Bradley decided earlier that he would drive to Jake’s, since it’s hardly ten minutes from where you live, and leave his car in favour of getting an Uber home. Jake had said that anyone who wanted to crash was more than welcome to, but the thought of sleeping at his place only invigorates those nervous butterflies. 

“Stop,” Bradley says, one hand leaving the steering wheel to grab your bouncing knee. “Why are you so nervous?” 

You shrug, opting instead to wring your hands in your lap. “I don’t know, I just am.” 

“You see these people every single day,” he points out, “what’s so nerve-wracking about tonight?” 

You sigh, refusing to look at him as you reply, “I’m just feeling a little weird about going to Jake’s apartment.” 

His brows shoot up toward his hairline, and you can tell by the way he rolls his lips that he’s holding back laughter. Your cheeks burn, and you have to hide your face in your hands. 

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” he says quickly, “I actually think it’s a bit cute.” 

You drop your hands, turning to him with a frown. “What? Why?” 

He shrugs one shoulder, “I don’t know. It’s cute that you’re nervous to see where you’ll be living once the two of you finally fuck and get marr- ow!” 

You cut him off my smacking his arm, the same one as before, harder. “Would you stop being such a pain?!” you exclaim as the car comes to a halt. “You’re supposed to be my best friend; you’re supposed to comfort me, not make my face all red and blotchy right before we go inside.” 

He finally lets his laughter win, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles into his closed fist. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not trying to be a dick, it just comes so naturally.” 

You roll your eyes and pop open the passenger door, throwing him a glare over your shoulder. “I know.” 

He manages to keep his thoughts to himself while the two of you cross the lobby and ride the elevator up to the fourth floor. This apartment block is shorter than yours, but wider. It’s one of the most coveted locations for naval personnel based on North Island, being the closest two- and three-bedroom apartments to the base. Jake had lucked out when he snagged one of these apartments with another lieutenant, and he’d lucked out even harder when that lieutenant got relocated and he ended up having the apartment to himself. 

The sound of Bradley’s knuckles against the hardwood door knocks you back to reality, and you find yourself standing in front of apartment 4B. 

“Who is it?” Natasha’s voice calls from the other side of the door. 

“Stripper,” Bradley calls back. 

“Finally,” the door wooshes open and you watch the liquid in Natasha’s red cup slosh dangerously. “We’ve been waiting all night.” 

Bradley winks at her as he strides into the apartment, but before you can follow, Natasha blocks your path. “You need to pay the entry fee,” she says, offering you the red cup. 

You frown, “Why me and not him?” 

“Because it’ll calm your nerves.” 

You catch Bradley smirking over his shoulder, and you scowl at him, wishing you could telepathically punch him for texting Natasha in advance, warning her of your anxiousness. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the cup and tipping it to your lips. 

You drain the cup, ignoring the burn that slides all the way down to your stomach. When you tip your head back to look at Natasha, she’s grinning. “Now you may enter,” she says, stepping aside. 

There are a few more people than just the dagger squad in the apartment. You recognised most of them, but you decide that it’s not important enough for you to go around the room introducing yourself to the ones you don’t know the way Bradley is. Outgoing motherfucker. Instead, you beeline for the kitchen where Bob is on the phone reading out an extensive list of pizza orders. He offers you a quick smile before returning his attention to the list. 

There’s a makeshift cocktail station set up beside the sink, with an array of alcohol bottles sat on the passthrough window bench. Your gaze drifts past the bottles and into the lounge room where everyone is gathered, landing easily on Jake who is animatedly retelling something to two men you recognise as Fritz and Yale. You’ve never been so charmed by someone in your life, it’s almost laughable the way this man captivates you. You can’t look away from the bright grin on his face, the tiny crease between his brows, and the excitement in his pretty green eyes. 

“Hey,” Bob says, startling you out of your trance. 

You can feel heat blooming in your cheeks as you turn to face him, leaning your left hip against the countertop. “Hey.” 

“Drink?” he asks, a small but knowing smile tipping the corner of his mouth up. 

You nod quickly, “Please.” 

You chat idly while Bob fixes you both a cocktail that you don’t recognise, not that you’re much of a connoisseur when it comes to bartending, and you’re pretty sure he sneaks an extra shot into yours. Either way, the drink he hands you tastes delicious and fruity, and you’re feeling a little less nervous as you both join the group in the living room. A couple of Javy’s friends who you don’t know have already parted from the dagger squad, starting a foosball competition while the rest of you find somewhere to sit around the coffee table. 

“Okay,” Bradley says to the group, “let’s play a little warm up game.” 

“Yes!” Mickey exclaims as he settles into a beanbag. “I’m so down.” 

Javy chuckles, “Alright, what are we playing?” 

“Never Have I Ever,” Bradley replies, his lips curled into an evil smirk. 

Your heart stutters, forgetting its usual rhythm before jumping into an erratic beat. You tip your drink to your lips, almost draining the whole thing, and when you finally look back at your best friend across the coffee table, he winks. This is his plan. 

“But instead of just putting a finger down,” Natasha says, making you realise that she is in on it too, “you have to take a sip of your drink.” 

“Does everyone have a drink?” Bradley asks. 

You watch as a few of your friends drain the dregs of their current drinks before getting up to retrieve fresh ones, and you sigh, tipping the last of your cocktail into your mouth. You might as well get drunk with them. 

When Bob returns to his seat beside you, he hands you a bottle of blue liquid. “Thought you might need this.” 

You smile gratefully, “You’re the best.” 

Once everyone is settled again, Bradley and Natasha take turns going over the rules of the high school game, even though it’s not that complicated. 

“Oh, one last thing,” Bradley says, eyes trained on you, “nothing is off limits, and if you lie, you finish your drink.” 

“How will we know if someone’s lying?” Reuben asks. 

“I think there’s enough of us here that know each other well enough to spot a lie,” Natasha replies with a smirk. 

Well, fuck. 

“I’ll start,” Bradley announces. “Never have I ever slept with someone else in the navy.” 

Jake, Javy, Mickey, Reuben, Natasha, and Harvard – who you only know by his callsign – all groan and take a sip of their drinks. Your eyes widen and you turn to Natasha on your right. “Excuse me, why did I not know about this?” 

She rolls her eyes, “It was ages ago.” 

“Damn, Phoenix,” Reuben says with a smirk, “didn’t think you were a rule breaker.” 

“Technically,” Natasha bites back, “it’s not a rule, just frowned upon.” 

Laughter rolls through the group before Bradley turns to Jake on his left. “You’re up, Hangman.” 

Jake clears his throat as he sits up straighter and surveys the group, lingering on you for a moment longer than the rest. “Okay,” he says, “never have I ever had a secret relationship.” 

There’s a beat of silence, a few people’s brows creasing in confusion as everyone stares at Jake. 

“That’s a weird one,” Natasha states, though you can see in her eyes that she’s trying to figure out the hidden meaning to Jake’s declaration. 

“Well, anyway,” Javy says, chuckling as he tips his beer to his lips. 

The rest of the group takes a moment to think before both Bradley and Mickey also take a sip of their drinks. You watch Jake’s eyes widen slightly as he watches Bradley drink, then his gaze darts toward you, as if waiting for you to take a sip too. When you don’t, his shoulders seem to relax. 

“Oh, my God,” Natasha whispers so softly that only you can hear, and when you turn to look at her, you find her eyes focused on Jake. 

You feel yourself splitting in two, torn between asking Natasha what her revelation is or demanding to know what this secret relationship of Bradley’s was. You decide to go with the less nerve-inducing option. 

“Excuse me, Bradley,” you speak across the group, “what was this secret relationship?” 

He chuckles, “It was in high school.” 

“Oh,” Reuben wriggles his eyebrows and nudges Bradley’s side, “were you a junior and she was a senior?” 

Bradley snorts, “Actually, I was a senior and she was a teacher.” 

Javy chokes on his second mouthful of beer, and the group suddenly erupts into laughter and questions while Bradley sits there like a king. You join in the laughter and use the commotion to slide your gaze toward Jake, heat rising in your cheeks when you find his eyes already fixed on you. He smirks, and you’re pretty sure your stomach does a triple somersault. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Bradley says. “I know I’m a legend. Now, let’s get on with it.” 

Beside Jake, the man you only know as Harvard announces that he has never skinny dipped, at which everyone but Bob takes a sip of their drink. Next is Fritz, who declares that he has never had sex in the shower, and everyone in the group drinks. Your heart starts to race again as Natasha wriggles beside you, clearly excited about it being her turn next. 

“Let me think,” she says, rolling her lips as she pauses to think for a moment. 

You feel her brief gaze from the corner of her eye, and heat prickles the back of your neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Never have I ever,” she begins, her brown eyes glowing with mischief, “had sexual fantasies about someone else in this group.” 

Your breath catches on its way out, lodging in your throat as you once again forget how to breathe. You can feel your pulse across every inch of your skin, your heart thudding so hard against your ribs you worry it might break free. You can’t lie. You know you can’t lie, because Bradley is giving you a very pointed glare from across the group and Natasha has turned her whole body to face you. 

“Fine,” you mutter into the bottle as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up. 

You hear Javy's laughter above everyone else’s hoots and hollers, and when you look back at the group, you catch the tail end of Jake taking a sip from his drink. Natasha giggles beside you, subtly nudging your side with her elbow. 

Bradley’s eyes are trained on you, and he opens his mouth to no doubt say something taunting when Reuben lifts his drink to his lips, and Bradley turns to him in shock. “You too?!” he exclaims. 

Mickey has dissolved into fits of laughter, curling over and holding his stomach. 

“It was an accident,” Reuben justifies, the colour of his cheeks growing deeper, “I had one dream.” 

“About who?” Jake demands, his frown more accusatory than curious. 

Reuben shakes his head, “That is nobody’s business but mine.” 

The laughter slowly dies down, and you silently thank any god that might be listening for the distraction before Bradley or Natasha could embarrass you further. 

“Okay, my turn,” you say, quickly moving the game along. “Never have I ever piloted a jet.” 

The smirk on your lips is incredibly proud, and half the group groans while the other half chuckles as every single one of them tip their drinks to their lips. It was a cheap shot, but you had to distract from all the sex stuff before you spontaneously combusted. 

“Alright, Bob,” Bradley says, looking at the man to your left, “what have you got for us?” 

Bob clears his throat, a small smile curling his lips. “Never have I ever worn a bra.” 

Both you and Natasha roll your eyes and take a swig of your drinks, and across the group so does Bradley. You stare at him wide eyed as a stupid grin stretches across your face. 

“Oh, I have got to hear this story,” Natasha says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. 

Bradley tries to shrug nonchalantly, but you can see blood seeping into his cheeks, turning them red. “Alright, as if none of you have tried a bra on before,” he says, eyeing the men around the circle. 

Everyone bursts into fits of laughter, holding their stomachs or their chests as they fold over and start mocking your best friend. You almost feel bad for him, watching him try to defend himself, but then you remember that he started this game to out your crush and any trace of empathy you had is quickly wiped clean. 

“Okay, everyone shut up,” Javy says over the giggling and teasing, “it’s the birthday boy’s turn.” 

The noise dies down, and only then do you realise that the group of Javy’s friends by the foosball table are now watching the game of Never Have I Ever as if it’s some enthralling reality TV show. 

“Never have I ever,” Javy says slowly, his eyes locked on Jake directly across the circle, “been too chickenshit to ask someone out even though I’m clearly obsessed with them.” 

Your heart stutters again, unable to discern the difference between being held at gunpoint and playing a stupid game mostly likely created by high school students. You tip your drink to your lips, not missing the fact that Jake does too, and certainly not missing the way Bradley’s eyes widen and snap toward you. Mickey and Fritz also drink, but to your immense relief, the rest of the group hold off on the teasing for this round. 

“Okay, um,” Mickey taps a finger on his chin as he stares into space, “never have I ever ridden a horse.” 

Beside him, Reuben frowns, “What?” 

Mickey shrugs, “I was looking at the horse.” He gestures toward the narrow bookshelf beside the television cabinet, adorned with a few books, photo frames, and knickknacks. On the very middle shelf is a golden trophy with a little figurine of a cowboy riding a horse, his rope poised in the air mid-lasso. 

Reuben turns his quizzical frown toward Jake. “Why do you have a horse trophy?” 

Jake’s cheeks are pink, either from embarrassment or alcohol, you can’t tell, but Javy speaks before he can reply. “Didn’t you know baby Hangman was a part of Austin’s champion junior penning team?” 

Mickey tilts his head like a confused dog. “What’s penning?” 

“It’s a ranching thing,” Jake replies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re in a team of three on horseback, and you have to separate cattle. There’re all these other rules too, but that’s the basis of it.” 

Your chest aches at the sight of Jake Seresin actually looking shy. You’ve never seen this man with less confidence than a stag in mating season, and that mixed with the imagery of a young Jake working on his family’s ranch; well, your heart is just about ready to burst. 

Bradley chuckles, “I always forget that you’re a cowboy.” 

“Can take the boy out of Texas,” Javy says with a southern twang, “but can’t take Texas out of the boy.” 

Jake rolls his eyes playfully and rumples up his empty red cup before tossing it across the circle at his best friend. From what you can gather, Jake and Javy have known each other far longer than just the past few years, and you’re always pleasantly surprised when either of them comes out with historic pieces of information about the other. 

“Alright, one more and we’re playing a new game,” Bradley announces, turning his attention to Reuben who is the last to go before it’s back to the beginning. 

 “Never have I ever,” Reuben says with a cheeky smile, “owned a cowboy hat.” 

The group dissolves into another fit of laughter, and you see Natasha and Fritz sip their drinks from the corner of your eye, but everyone’s attention has turned to Jake. 

He rolls his eyes again and pushes to his feet. “You people are relentless!” he exclaims, his tone laced with amusement. “I finished my drink anyway, so suck on that.” 

Renewed laughter rumbles through the room as Jake storms off down the short hallway, disappearing into a room you can’t see from your position on the lounge. Half the group make their way toward the kitchen to refresh their drinks, while the other half continue joking about Jake’s cowboy ancestry. 

You turn your attention back to the bookshelf where the trophy is, letting your eyes wander over all the pieces of Jake that are displayed on the shelves. You hadn’t noticed before, but a lot of the decor in the apartment gives subtle nod to his upbringing. Everything is washed in warm browns and oranges with rich wood furniture, photos of horses and farmland, and trinkets reminiscent of a life on the ranch. He has more than one trophy, you note, and there are a quite a few photos of a young, smiley boy standing proudly beside the same chestnut horse. Your chest squeezes again, reminding you just how enamoured you are with this man. 

“Drink?” Bob asks for the second time tonight, offering a different coloured cocktail than earlier. 

You nod, “Thank you.” 

“Pizza is almost here,” he says, looking at both you and Natasha. “Would you help me go down to the lobby and pick it up?” 

You both agree and let the rest of the group know where you’re going before heading out of the apartment door. The pizza guy meets you in the lobby barely a minute after you step out of the lift. Bob pays with cash, and you all stack your arms with boxes of delicious smelling pizza before stepping back into the lift and riding it up to level four. 

You can hear commotion the second the elevator doors part, and it gets louder the closer you get to Jake’s apartment. The three of you exchange dubious looks before Bob shifts the boxes in his arms to free one hand and knock on the door. It swings open almost immediately, and you can now very clearly hear some unrecognisable country song blaring while everyone hoots and cheers. 

Fritz, who opened the door, takes some of the boxes and calls for more help. As soon as your arms are free, you turn to see what all the fuss is about, your jaw dropping open the second your eyes land on the two men in the middle of the living space. 

Jake and Javy are arm in arm, jumping in circles and doing what you assume is supposed to be some country jig. It’s uncoordinated and they’re both laughing so hard they can barely breathe, but it’s not the dancing that has the butterflies in your stomach whirring to life. Atop Jake’s head is a brown cowboy hat. It’s simple and a little worn, the exact same colour as the horse in the photos with young Jake. 

Holy fucking shit, does that man look good in a cowboy hat. 

You’ve never really considered yourself as having a ‘type’, but right now you couldn’t be more sure that this man is your type. The only person on planet earth that is your type. You can’t help the way your lips are pulled into a grin so wide it hurts, and the fast, uneven thud of your heart against your ribcage, threatening to crack bone. 

“Are you okay?” Bradley asks, startling you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

You sigh, feeling the pull in your gut that tugs toward the man in the cowboy hat. “No,” you reply, leaning into him, “I’m not okay.” 

His chest vibrates with laughter as you hide your face in it, keeping your arms slack by your side as you pretend to sob into your best friend’s shirt. His other arm wraps around you and his laughter doubles, one arm squeezing you tight while the other hand rubs circles on your back. Despite how much of an asshole he can be, you know that Bradley is always there for you when you need him. 

You pull out of his embrace when the music dies down and Bob announces that its dinner time. Your eyes easily find the cowboy, watching him walk toward the dining table where all the boxes of pizza are laid open. 

“Look at him,” you whisper-shout to Bradley. “Fucking look at him! Don’t you just want to lick-” 

“Nope,” Bradley interrupts before you can even finish. “I definitely do not want to lick any part of that man.” 

You roll your eyes playfully as he guides you toward the table of pizza. He hands you a plate and you start stacking a few slices on it despite your nervous stomach’s protests. When you glance across at Jake, his piercing eyes are already on you – like they so often seem to be of late – but he doesn’t look nearly as joyous as he had moments earlier. There’s a crease between his brows and tension in his jaw as he chews. 

Natasha pops up beside you and starts babbling about what game you should all play next. She’s always a chatty drunk, not at all annoying, but definitely more vocal than usual after a few drinks. You listen to her and Bradley squabble about games before Javy pipes in, declaring that it is his birthday so he should get to decide. 

After everyone has eaten their fill, Jake and Reuben pack away the leftover pizza while Bob and Mickey start making a round of cocktails. Meanwhile, Javy announces that he would like everyone to do a shot, which is when three of his mates who you have guessed are not navy make their exit. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Javy mutters, lining up all the mismatched shot glasses on the kitchen counter. “How many do we need?” 

You look at Jake, who is standing beside you and craning his neck to count the heads in the room. “Why do you have so many shot glasses?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a beat before chuckling and shaking his head. “You made me lose count.” 

When he looks down at you, it feels like your lungs constrict, forgetting once again how to do their one job. Your chest aches in the most deliciously painful way, because that ache radiates all the way down to the apex of your thighs. You don't just want this man, you need him. 

“I used to like to collect shot glasses,” he finally replies. “I’d try to get one in every city I visited but after about ten, I kept forgetting.” 

“We need eleven,” Javy announces, obviously having counted the room while Jake answered your question. 

“We’re one short then,” Jake states. 

You shrug, your inebriated brain quickly diving into devious thoughts. “Someone could do a body shot off me.” 

Every head in a two-foot radius snaps toward you. Jake’s eyes are blown wide, and a huge grin is pulling Javy’s mouth across his face. Bob looks shocked and Mickey looks amused, but Bradley is almost glowing with pride. 

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time, “I’m joking, guys. Calm down.” 

Jake’s shoulders sag as if he’s disappointed, but he huffs a short laugh out before picking up one of the bottles to start pouring liquid into the line of shot glasses. “I’ll go last,” he says, looking at Javy. “I’ll just use your glass.” 

At Javy’s request, everyone gathers around and picks a shot, clinking them together and spilling drops of amber liquid on the floor before tipping them up to their lips. It burns all the way down and sizzles angrily in your stomach. Sweat prickles the back of your neck as heat breaks out across every inch of your skin. You’re well on your way to being drunk, so you take advantage of the cheering to slip back into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. If anything, it might save your head tomorrow. 

Twenty minutes later, everyone has a full drink and a seat somewhere around the coffee table. Javy decided that it’s time for another game, and despite protests, he said that he has picked one and there will be no negotiations. You find yourself comfortably between Bradley and Natasha, trying not to ogle at the gorgeous man across the circle. He is no longer wearing his cowboy hat, having taken it off just before doing his shot, hanging it on the back of one of the dining chairs. 

“Alright, what are we in for?” Bradley asks Javy. 

Javy grins, “Truth or Dare.” 

There’s a mixture of cheers and groans, but everyone ends up giggling with each other since the whole group is very happily tipsy by now. 

“Okay, okay,” Natasha calls over the laughter, “what rules are we playing?” 

Javy and Natasha negotiate the rules of the game, deciding not to move the game in a circle but from player to player; whoever gets asked ‘truth or dare’ then gets to choose the next victim. You glance quickly toward Fritz, Harvard, and Yale, the three you don’t hang out with all that much, and wonder if they’ll ever get a turn. 

“And if you don’t want to answer the truth or do the dare,” Natasha says, “then you have to drink.” 

Everyone nods in agreeance before Jake announces from beside Javy, “Birthday boy goes first.” 

Javy’s eyes scan the circle before settling on Bradley. “Rooster,” he says, “truth or dare?” 

“We’ll start of lightly,” Bradley states. “Truth.” 

“Is it true that you and Y/N are just friends?” 

Your eyes widen and you immediately inch away from your friend, leaning into a giggling Natasha. 

“Yes!” Bradley exclaims. “It couldn’t be truer! Are you kidding me?” 

Laughter rumbles through the group, everyone but Jake finding Bradley’s disgust rather amusing. 

Javy chuckles, “Just checking! You two are pretty cosy.” 

You scoff, “He’s like my brother.” 

“Alright,” Javy raises both hands in surrender, “I won’t ever question it again.” 

“Good,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. 

Bradley clears his throat and the snickering dies down. He looks straight at Jake, “Hangman, truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” Jake replies. 

“Is it true that you’re totally hung up on someone right now?” 

Jakes cheeks turn bright pink and he immediately covers his face with his hand, hiding his sheepish smile. He sighs, “Yes, that is true.” 

Your stomach twists itself into a knot, threatening to eject everything you’ve consumed in the past few hours. The rest of the group start giggling again, teasing Jake and making stupid oohing noises as the poor man places his beer on the coffee table to bury his face in both hands. 

“Okay,” he chuckles, swatting at Javy as he makes kissy noises, “that’s enough.” 

Once everyone manages to mostly compose themselves, Jake asks Bob truth or dare. Bob chooses dare, which lands him in Bradley’s lap for the next ten minutes. Bob then asks Natasha truth or dare, and she picks truth, deciding to drink instead of admitting who she finds the most attractive in the room. You have a feeling Bob might already know the answer to that, which is why she flips him the bird before asking Mickey truth or dare. He picks dare, of course, and has to do a shot of straight vodka.  

After he’s finished coughing and hacking, he returns to his spot between Bradley and Yale, turning his attention to you. “Y/N,” he says with an evil grin, “truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” you respond. 

“Earlier tonight, you told Bradley that you wanted to lick someone; who were you talking about?” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, beating erratically as it tries to crawl up and jump right out of your mouth. Bradley bursts into a fit of laughter beside you, and Natasha coughs on the sip of drink she had just taken. You clear your throat before lifting your own drink to your lips, taking a purposeful sip and rolling your lips together. 

Mickey whines, “You’re no fun!” 

You scowl at him, “You were eavesdropping!” 

His grin turns sheepish. “Technically, I overheard.” 

You roll your eyes and let the laughter subside before scanning the circle, wondering who you could pick that might keep you safe in return. Your eyes land on Jake and you have to roll your lips again to keep from smiling. Sure, you could dare him to make out with you, but you’d rather not force yourself on him, so you settle your gaze on the man beside him, Reuben. 

“Payback, truth or dare?” 

His face lights up, “Dare.” 

“I dare you to give your WSO a big kiss on the lips,” you say with a grin. 

Mickey snorts, “You think we haven’t kissed before?” 

“Dude!” Reuben exclaims across the group as everyone loses it to laughter once again. 

Mickey giggles as he crawls into the middle of the circle and meets Reuben, who rolls his eyes before grabbing either side of Mickey’s head and mashing their lips together. It’s very brief, but it has the group hooting and hollering like high schoolers as the two blushing boys return to their respective spots. 

Reuben shoots you a scowl, “I’ll get you back for that.” 

You give him a wink before tipping your drink to your lips, realising that it’s empty. You push yourself to stand, “Drinks?” 

You and Bradley work on taking the empties from the group and retrieving fresh drinks for everyone while they start asking questions about Reuben and Mickey’s first kiss. When you settle back into your seat, you see Reuben crouched beside Javy as they whisper into each other's ears, their eyes watching you carefully and their lips curling into evil little smirks. 

Well shit. 

Once everyone is settled again, Reuben looks toward Javy. “Coyote, truth or dare?” 

“Hm,” Javy pretends to think, “dare.” 

“I dare you to prank call Maverick.” 

Everyone oohs as Javy pulls his phone out, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. He switches off his caller ID before finding Maverick’s contact, and the group falls silent at the first dial tone. It rings and rings, but Mav doesn’t answer, so when his voicemail requests a message, Javy puts on his gruffest voice. “Maverick, it’s Admiral Simpson. I’ve had a few drinks, and I know this isn’t appropriate, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” 

He hangs up and wheezes with laughter. Everyone is folded over, some wiping tears from their eyes, because right now, Maverick’s inevitable scolding doesn’t seem to be a worry. 

It takes a little longer for everyone to calm down, but once they do, Javy’s eyes narrow on you. “Y/N,” he says, “truth or dare?” 

“Me again?” you ask. “I just had a turn.” 

He simply shrugs, awaiting your answer. 

You sigh, “Fine, dare.” 

You played right into his hand, and you know it by the way his lips have split into a Cheshire Cat grin. 

“I dare you,” he says slowly, eyes moving past you and across the room, “to put Seresin’s cowboy hat on.” 

You frown, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. It’s too simple. “What?” 

Javy nods toward the hat in the dining room. “Put the cowboy hat on.” 

“Coyote,” Jake warns, his voice low. 

“It’s just a hat,” you say, pushing off the couch and waving a hand dismissively. 

You walk quickly across the living space toward the dining table, taking the hat off the back of the chair and plonking it on your head. When you turn back around, Jake’s mouth pops open, Javy and Reuben giggle, and Mickey and Natasha look like they’ve just realised what the stupid joke is. 

“Oh, I get it!” Mickey announces proudly. 

You frown at him, “Get what?” 

He glances at Reuben, who makes the action of zipping his lips. Mickey turns back to you, “Sorry, I can’t say.” 

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Fanboy, truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” he says. 

“What’s the big joke about the hat?” 

“The hat rule,” he replies simply, as if it’s obvious. 

“What hat rule?” 

“The cowboy hat rule, you know-” 

“Nope!” Javy exclaims. “Technically, he answered the question, you can’t get another answer.” 

You huff, “Okay, whatever. Play your little games.” 

You lean back and cross your arms, the hat still propped on your head. Across the circle, Jake’s eyes are trained on you, and there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. He looks mildly amused by whatever the joke is that you don’t get, but he also looks a little like he might be enjoying the way the hat is sitting on your head. The alcohol rushing through your veins gives you the courage to hold his stare as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth before pulling it back out slowly. His eyes drop to your mouth, lingering there before he swallows thickly and looks away. 

When you tune back into the game, you realise that Fritz is now asking Bradley truth or dare. You’re not sure what you missed, but you’re guessing it was one or two uneventful turns. 

“Dare,” Bradley says. 

“I dare you to walk out onto the balcony and make some weird, loud sex noises.” 

Bradley springs up, excitedly jogging toward the balcony doors, throwing them open and starting to honk and moan the second he steps outside. 

Jake chuckles into his hands. “You guys do realise that I still have to live here after tonight?” 

“OOH, FUCK YEAH!” Bradley shouts, at which everyone’s laughter doubles. 

Natasha nudges you, “Is this what you have to hear whenever he has a girl over?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” you say with a dramatic sigh. 

Another few seconds pass of Bradley’s terrible sex noises before Jake calls him back inside. He sits back down beside you with a satisfied grin, his cheeks bright pink and eyes sparkling. He turns his attention to Jake. “Hangman, truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

Bradley clears his throat and casts you a quick glance before looking back at Jake. “What is the cowboy hat rule?”’ 

Javy and Reuben start to giggle again, and Jake sighs, looking incredibly sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s uh- well,” he sighs, “you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” 

Your jaw goes slack and your mouth pops open, heart thundering in your chest. Bradley cackles beside you and Natasha snickers on your other side. The thought crosses your mind that if these people keep laughing so hard, they might explode. 

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Javy says to you before turning to look at Jake. “Now the two of you can fuck and relieve us all of this stifling sexual tension.” 

Neither you nor Jake can muster a laugh. You simply stare at each other, thoughts racing as you wonder why Javy would do this. Is what he said true? Does Jake actually like you the way Bradley has always said? Is the tension between the two of you that obvious? 

Eventually, the game rolls on, and neither you nor Jake get asked again. Truth or Dare somehow morphs into Would You Rather, and soon Bradley is standing beside you offering another round of drinks to the group. You stand up beside him and rush into the kitchen, dying for a moment away from Jake’s piercing gaze. It’s not that you don’t like him looking at you, you just wish you knew what it meant. 

“You good?” Bradley asks as he steps into the kitchen after you. 

You nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Still got the hat on,” he notes, pointing at your head. 

You quickly take it off and plonk it on the kitchen counter before reaching up to the passthrough shutters and swinging them closed. No one seems to notice, and the small amount of privacy seems to help settle the butterfly disco currently happening in your stomach. 

Bradley rummages through the fridge while you pour yourself a glass of water, sipping it slowly and watching him juggle as many bottles as he can between his two hands. He raises his brows at you before he leaves, a silent question, and you nod, assuring him that you’re fine. He disappears around the corner right before Jake steps into the kitchen, making your heart leap dramatically. 

“Hey,” he says, seeming much more relaxed than you’re currently feeling. 

“Hi.” 

“Are you okay?” 

You nod again, “Of course.” 

“Coyote can be a little insensitive sometimes,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

You shrug. “I’m tough. It was just a joke.” 

He frowns. “Which part do you think was a joke?” 

“The hat rule,” you reply, “right?” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, “yeah, I mean, that is a known rule but I’m not going to-” he hesitates, “I mean, I would never- oh, my God, this isn’t coming out right.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, dropping your gaze to your feet. “I know they were just having a laugh.” 

“No, I don’t mean it like that either,” he adds frantically. He steps forward, leaving very little space between your bodies. “What I’m trying to say,” he says slowly, “is that I definitely would do that with you, but not if you didn’t want to.” 

You look up, startled. “Would what?” 

He chuckles awkwardly, the pink in his cheeks turning red. “Let you ride me, if you wanted.” 

Looking up at his pretty green eyes is making your head spin, but you feel surprisingly stable. Something about his gaze is holding you steady, reassuring you the way a hug from your best friend does, and you quickly realise that this is the closest you’ve ever been able to stare into his eyes. They’re even more amazing up close. 

“You’re very pretty,” you blurt out, internally cursing all that liquid courage. 

He chuckles again, but its deep and breathy. “Thank you, but I’m nothing compared to you.” 

You frown now. “You don’t think your pretty?” 

“Well,” he shrugs, “I know I’m a little pretty.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. 

“But you are possibly the prettiest thing on this planet,” he adds, cupping your jaw in his hands. 

The contact lights your skin on fire, and your heart is practically vibrating in your chest. 

“Who’s the girl that you’re in love with?” you ask, once again unable to control that brain to mouth communication. 

He chuckles again, his eyes darting away from your face and finding the hat on the bench. He reaches past you, his breath fanning across your neck as he picks the hat up off the counter and plonks it on your head. 

“I’m in love with the girl wearing my old cowboy hat,” he says, hands holding either side of the brim as he adjusts the hat to sit perfectly. 

You don’t even wait for him to finish fixing the hat before you surge up onto your toes, pressing your lips to his. He responds immediately, hands abandoning the hat to find your hips and hold your body tightly against his. You’re almost positive you can feel his heart beating where your chests are pressed together, and it’s almost as erratic as yours. 

His lips move against yours gently, but there’s urgency in the way he holds your body, like you might disappear if he doesn’t hang on tight. Your own hands are gripping the hem of his shirt, fisting the material until you can feel your nails digging little half-moons into your palms. Maybe you feel the same, like if you don’t hold on, he’ll disappear, because you’re almost positive you’ve had this dream before. 

He pulls back for air, keeping his forehead pressed against yours as his hands drop to the crease beneath your bum. In one swift movement, he lifts you onto the counter and stands between your open legs, the buckle of his belt pressing deliciously against the crotch of your jeans. You squeeze your knees around his hips and tilt your head back, letting his tongue slide past your lips. You sigh against his mouth, every ounce of tension from the past few hours leaching out of your body as his hands explore and squeeze your thighs. 

“You have no idea”- he speaks breathily against your lips -“how long I’ve wanted to do this.” 

You pull back, staring up at his puffy lips and lust-blown eyes. “Why did you wait, then?” 

He chuckles and relaxes, the buckle of his belt no longer pressed against you. “Have you seen the way you and Rooster act?” he asks. “You’re practically inseparable, always having your little inside jokes, and you basically live together. How was I supposed to know you wanted me when all you do is look at him?” 

You gnaw at your bottom lip, willing your foggy brain to sober up and try to picture things the way Jake would be seeing them. “I guess,” you say, resting your hands on his chest, “but I only look at him to avoid staring at you all the time.” 

He tilts his head, a quizzical frown set between his brows. “Really?” 

You nod. “And most of our inside jokes are about the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with you.” 

His frown melts into a grin. “Hopelessly?” 

“More or less.” 

“More, I hope,” he murmurs as he leans forward again. 

Your lips have barely touched when a bang startles you both. Jake holds you against his chest as you look over your shoulder to see the passthrough shutters blown wide open. Your friends are all gathered in the opening with stupid grins on their faces and laughter bubbling from their lips. 

“I knew it!” Javy exclaims. 

“That’s all it fucking took?” Bradley asks, his brows almost raised to his hairline. 

“If I knew that, I would have put a cowboy hat on you ages ago,” Natasha says with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, okay,” Jake says, his smile wide and cheeks bright red, “that’s enough from you lot.” 

He reaches around you to grab the passthrough shutters and swing them closed, despite the shouts and protests of your friends. When his eyes find yours again, you feel like the only two people in the world. The noise from the living room fades away and the only thing you can feel is his warmth, his body. 

“Where were we?” he murmurs, holding your face in his hands as he dips toward you again. 

A sudden spike of panic slices through you, and you pull back with wide eyes. “Wait.” 

His smile fades, worry creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re not just saying and doing all this because you’re drunk, right?” 

The concern on his face dissolves just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced again by that dopey grin. “Baby, I’m not drunk. You are a bit drunk.” 

You frown indignantly. “I am not drunk, I’m tipsy.” 

“Okay, tipsy,” he chuckles. “Are you only kissing me because you’ve had a few drinks?” 

You shake your head fervidly. “No. I’m kissing you now because sober me didn't have the balls to.” 

He laughs again, a little harder. “Are you saying that you’re not going to kiss me again tomorrow?” 

“Oh, I’m definitely not saying that,” you reply. The corner of your lips lift into a smirk as your eyes fall to his puffy pink lips. “You’ve opened the flood gates now. I’m going to have to put my lips on every inch of your body.” 

When your eyes find his again, the pretty green of his irises is almost completely consumed by black, lust-blown pupils. “I’ll be right back,” he says, untangling his limbs from yours. 

You hold on to the waistband of his jeans, not letting him move too far from you. “What are you doing?” 

“Kicking everyone out so we can get to all the kissing and the licking,” he replies, as if it was obvious. 

A soft giggle slips from your lips and you tug on his jeans, pulling him back into your arms. “As much as I love that idea, we should probably get back to celebrating Coyote’s birthday. We’ve got all day tomorrow to kiss and lick and suck and fuck.” 

His jaw slackens and a soft groan rumbles from the back of his throat. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

“Not at all,” you reply with a cheeky grin. “Come on, let’s get back out there before they decide to come back in here.” 

He sighs heavily as you slide off the counter, but before you can exit the kitchen, his hand wraps around your wrist. “We’re going to have to wait a minute,” he says, looking down at his pants. 

You glance down to see a bulge in the dark blue denim at his crotch, the zipper almost straining against the pressure from the inside of his pants. You roll your lips to keep your giggles at bay, and to stop yourself from begging him to fuck you right here in the kitchen regardless of who can hear. 

As if on cue, Bradley’s voice resonates from the living room, “You two better not be fucking in there! My beer is getting low and I will be getting another one no matter how traumatising it might be!” 

END.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC De-Aged Triplets and Their Tired Single Sister

Jason has seen the four of them a couple of times in Crime Alley now. They looked like a family, what with similar facial features- err, actually, the kids looked like carbon copies of each other, but their mom/sister/aunt/cousin looked similar enough to be related to them by blood.

Normally, Jason didn't care for each and every family that moved into Crime Alley. Sure, he cared about all of them as a whole, but there were a lot of people, and he couldn't possibly get elbow deep in every life story he came across. So all he knew about them were three things: a) they were on the run from someone or something, b) they trusted each other and no one else, and c) apparently, they have made it their life goal to never make any kind of sense.

The list of shit they have gotten into included but was not limited to:

• one of the kids biting a gun. Not the hand of the attacker who was holding it, no, the actual gun. And he bit a piece of it clean off, which earned him - or her, actually, Jason knew one of the triplets was a girl but he couldn't tell them apart - a lecture from their... mom? sister? parental figure. The lecture was about how chewing metal does not help with iron deficiency.

• getting kidnapped and creeping out their kidnapper to the point of him returning the kids back home. A few witnesses said one of the kids was actually driving, sitting on the kidnappers lap behind the steering wheel and cheerfully commanding the man to speed up or brake. Their mom actually apologized to the kidnapper for the incident and offered him homemade cookies for his troubles. He ran away without them.

• driving a lady at the laundromat insane by repeatedly walking inside and climbing into one of the washing machines. They never got out of it, just one kid walking into the laundromat, climbing into washing machine, then another kid, looking exactly like the previous one, walking inside, climbing into the same washing machine, then another kid walking into the laundromat- well, you get the idea. The lady claimed she's seen at least five kids do that in a row, but when she looked into that washing machine, there was no one inside.

• casually falling out of windows. Or, better, walking out of them like they were doors, at any given opportunity. The witness - an old man who was helping their mom with groceries - said the mom did not care in the slightest, and when he asked her about it, obviously concerned, she just said, tired and exasperated, 'they like the feeling of free fall, don't worry, they'll come back in a minute'. Sure enough, they did, not a scratch on them. The family lived on the sixth floor.

• eating insane amounts of food. Jason personally witnesses their mom give them her wallet, telling the kids, 'eat until you're full', and promptly passing out on the table, her head on her arms. The kids then proceeded to eat four whole pizzas, three burgers each, then seven brownies and at least five cups of soda. What was interesting about it was not only the amount of food they ate but the way they never left their mom unattended, one of the kids always staying beside her sleeping figure as the other two went to order.

And now, all four of them were standing in front of him. Not Jason Todd him, but Red Hood him. And he was... confused.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, can you watch them for a few hours? Three, maybe four," the mom, Jazz as she introduced herself, was looking at him like it was he who was speaking nonsense, not her. Because asking a crime lord to watch three kids in the middle of the night is not something a sane person would do.

"Why?" He asks, bewildered, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say?

"I need to kill a man, and if they come with me, it will take three times longer," Jazz tells him. Is she saying the kids slow her down or what? Jason can admit he's never been this confused in his entire life.

"You could ask me to kill a man, while you stay with them, no?" He tries to reason, but the girl waves him off:

"No, that will take even longer. Besides, no offense, but you kill people to simply end their life, and I need that man to fucking stop existing forever."

What's the difference he almost wants to ask. But instead of that, he just sighs.

"Why me? I'm sure you could find a babysitter-"

"No babysitter will handle them. The last one told me they have been running laps on the ceiling, which is, actually, not that big of a deal. They are kids. Kids like running around," she huffs, and Jason suspects she is missing the point here, but okay. He gets why babysitters are not an option.

"You do understand what they can witness if they stay here?" He asks, as the last attempt to reason with the girl, but she just nods and leans down, making all the kids turn to her.

"Okay, you menaces, tell me what not to do while you're staying with Mr. Red Hood."

"No eating people," one kid starts.

"No driving people insane," the other one continues.

"No, um, stealing eyeballs," the third one finishes, and what the fuck are those ground rules? Is this girl a mother to eldrith horrors? That would explain some shit.

Jazz turns to him, "See? They're all good."

In what world is that good? Jason debates if he should start running now or when she leaves.

"Do they have names?" He asks instead. The girl nods:

"Danny." His surprise must be evident even through the mask because she sighs and points to each kid, "Diane, Daniel, Dante. Dani, Danny, and Dan. Actually, you know what, let's make this easier," she rummages through her bag and gets a marker out before gesturing to the kids, "Come here."

As they do, she proceeds to draw numbers 1, 2, and 3 on their foreheads. Then she nods to Hood and puts the marker away.

"Okay, that's better. Behave, you monsters, I'll be back soon!"

After she leaves, Jason looks down at the kids. They also look at him, eerie and unblinking.

Finally, one of them - number 2, Dani, if he is not mistaken - asks:

"Do you want teeth? We have a lot."

"She doesn't mean her teeth," number 1 clarifies, "She means other teeth."

...This is going to be some very long three hours.

[suliigwp]

Hi! Could you write another part for the Vroom Vroom story? Like they are all doing the interviews together and a reporter asks a question that she does not quite understand. Lewis or Alonso see that and try and explain it to her and the interview derails from there.

EMOTION ARC: MANY

Rookie! Reader x Platonic! Paddock

Previous Part!

SULI: I didn't think our vroom vroom would receive so much love, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Here's another crack fic before the big more serious one comes! Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: pineapple on pizza mentioned, none!

The room is packed. Cameras flash, reporters fidget with recorders, and three drivers take their seats at the middle: Fernando Alonso, composed and sipping water like he didn’t just dodge chaos for 58 laps; Lewis Hamilton, ever-charismatic and polished, nodding to the crowd; and smack in the middle—The Rookie.

She’s wearing her race suit half unzipped over her team shirt, podium cap slightly crooked, and clutching the miniature champagne bottle like it’s a trophy. And her expression reads somewhere between am I still dreaming? and what happens if I open this bottle inside?

The moderator clears his throat.

“Congratulations to all drivers. We’ll open up the floor for questions.”

A reporter in the front row lifts a hand.

“This question is for our rookie. Congratulations on your first podium! Can you walk us through the emotional arc of your race?”

There’s a long pause.

The rookie leans forward toward the mic slowly, eyebrows drawn together in total confusion.

“…What is arc?”

She says it like someone just asked her to explain quantum physics using only interpretive dance.

Lewis, sitting next to her, is already smiling, having expected this exact energy.

“It means… like the emotional journey. How you felt at different points. Start, middle, end. That kind of thing.”

Still chewing gum, she nods slowly, visibly processing. Then, seriously:

“Ah. Okay. So…”

She leans into the mic again with full confidence now:

“Start: Scared. Turn 1: Still scared. Turn 3: Someone yell at me. Lap 7: I yell back. Then… vroom vroom. Rain happen. More vroom. Almost spin. I scream. I close eyes. Still drive. Then boom—I’m here. Emotion arc: Many.”

She finishes with a victorious sip of champagne and a shrug.

Fernando chokes slightly on his water.

Lewis is laughing, head down.

The press corps is stunned silent—then someone lets out a snort, and the whole room breaks into chuckles.

A second reporter raises a hand, trying to get things back on track.

“And how did you feel about the tyre strategy today?”

Rookie nods proudly.

“I do tyres.”

Dead silence.

Lewis blinks. “You… what?”

“I do tyres. I… use them. Good. Not bad. Round.”

Fernando leans toward the mic, totally deadpan.

“What she means is—her engineer made all the tyre decisions, and she said ‘okay’ with no clue what any of it meant.”

Rookie holds up a hand to correct him:

“No no. I say ‘okay’ very confidently. That is important. I fake it. I pretend I know. That is strategy.”

Lewis, still laughing:

“So you had no idea what tyre you were on?”

She pauses. Then:

“…Were they… black?”

Lewis slaps the desk. Fernando actually laughs out loud this time.

She points to Fernando and Lewis with both fingers like she’s shooting finger guns.

“Listen. You two talk too much about apex and degradation and undercut. I go vroom. That is my arc.”

The next reporter can barely hold a straight face but tries anyway:

“Okay… what was going through your mind when you crossed the finish line?”

She goes completely still, staring into the distance. Her voice drops into mock-dramatic whisper.

“I think… if I crash now… they still count, yes?"

Fernando puts his head in his hands.

“I want to say this is all an act, but I saw her spin in pit lane yesterday trying to wave at a pigeon.”

She shrugs again. “He looked friendly.”

Lewis tries to redirect:

“Let’s not forget she got P3 in the rain, held off Checo for five laps, and still had time to sing ABBA on the radio.”

She points triumphantly.

“Yes! This is why I win. Because of ABBA. And my skill. And because I forget to brake.”

Fernando stares at her.

“You… you forgot to brake?”

She looks unsure.

“I think maybe. I do one tiny brake. Just for fun. Mostly… vibes.”

At this point, a poor reporter in the back is just holding up a recorder, looking vaguely haunted.

Moderator clears his throat, half-chuckling.

“We’ll take one last question.”

A quiet voice from the back:

“What’s your goal for the rest of the season?”

She grins like she’s been waiting for this one.

“More podiums. More tyres. Less understanding. And… maybe one donut.”

She leans toward Lewis. “You teach me donut?”

Lewis, smiling warmly:

“Only if you promise to learn what a yellow flag is.”

She nods.

“Deal. But only yellow. No time for green.”

Fernando raises a hand.

“I would like to formally request she never meets Ricciardo.”

Lewis agrees.

“Or Kimi. We cannot risk it.”

She points between the two of them, grinning.

“Old men fear me. This means I win.”

As the conference ends and the drivers rise, Lewis drapes an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling.

“You know… you might actually be the future of the sport.”

She looks dead serious.

“Yes. But also… I want pizza now.”

Fernando, walking past her, doesn’t even break stride.

“If she podiums again, someone better bring pineapple pizza. Chaos deserves chaos.”

next part!

[alchemistc]

As usual my idle thoughts have turned into another fic.

Saturday

"What are you doing Saturday?" he asks, even though Evan has been not-quite-yelling at him while Tommy tries to fly a fucking helicopter. He's been going for almost four minutes straight. Tommy's pretty certain he's listing off the things he never told Tommy he was pissed off about in reverse sequential order from "Thanks, it was fun." back. He's barely past "Basketball tickets, Tommy? Basketball? In six months, I played basketball badly with you once and then spent every Lakers game we watched elbow deep in a subreddit about moths or something!"

Evan pauses. Blinks at the question. It's the first moment Tommy's been able to hear the rotors working in at least nine and a half minutes, back before he started to argue back.

"I'm free," he says, and Tommy thinks of the first time he'd ever asked, nerves propelling him out the door with finger guns, the tapping foot all the way down the elevator while he ran the words back and forth in his head over and over again, the way he kept randomly smiling the entire drive home to grab his work bag. So you're free, he'd asked, and he hadn't understood the significance of Evan's response until days later, until he'd done his first of many runners, how I am free, meant so much more than available for dinner and a movie on Saturday at 8.

Tommy nods. Chances a look at Evan to see him glaring at Tommy while he sucks in his lips to try to hide the way the corners of his lips are upturned. "Pick you up at 8," he says, and thinks of bullet point number... thirteen in Evan's rant where he implied Tommy never actually told him how he was feeling at any point in time during the entirety of their relationship. Maybe he can explain how excruciatingly vulnerable he felt he was being with making it so fucking obvious he'd chewed over the conversation they'd had after their first kiss so long and so obsessively that he'd memorized it.

"Great," Evan says

"Fine," Tommy replies.

"Awesome."

"Copacetic."

This earns him an eye roll and a glance he'd call fond if it weren't for the anger still stirring behind Evans eyes.

He only thinks to regret the question days later when Saturday is taken up by a funeral procession.

---

"What are you doing Saturday?" Tommy asks, with Evan plastered to his side, working himself up to a snore.

He pats at some of the loose curls he's been obsessively rolling through his fingers, entranced by the way the moonlight bounces off of them, entranced by the wet heat of Evan's breath against his skin.

"More of exactly this," Evan says, and Tommy snorts.

"If I fiddle with your hair any more it might start falling out."

He's a loose-limbed weight against Tommy's side, and Tommy would like to roll himself into the space between his muscle and skin and just nestle there for the rest of time. "Y'like my hair to-," he swallows a yawn, "too much for that."

That's true, at least. He had a point in asking, but he's struggling to remember what it was.

"Waz haturday?" he gets, in a mumble around another yawn.

Tommy twirls another lock of hair between his fingers. "There's a new exhibit at the Getty. Thought you might wanna go."

"Museum, and this," Evan manages into Tommy's ribcage.

"It's a date," Tommy murmurs, and waits for the telltale snuffle of Evan passing the fuck out.

---

"What are you doing Saturday?" Tommy asks, tongue between his teeth as he backs his way towards the chopper. He has to yell, even though Evan is five feet away, and Evan grins back, eyeing Tommy's hair being kicked around by the vortex of the blades.

"Handbook!" Hen chirps over the noise, her shorthand for stop flirting in my general vicinity I'll kill you both.

Evan shoots her a challenging grin. Glances around long enough to notice a few eavesdropping firefighters from other stations lingering near enough to hear. Sighs, and mouths a silent "You" that's visible from space. Tommy's gonna get so much shit from Harbor when this makes it's rounds, but Evan was extra hot today and Tommy's pretty sure his brain chemistry has been irrevocably altered by getting to sleep in his bed multiple nights a week.

"Pick me up at 8," Tommy yells over the noise, and, mortifyingly, throws the fingers guns back into play a moment before he turns to leave. Why had Evan ever thought he was cool?

---

"What are you doing Saturday?" Evans asks, while Tommy balances his phone on a bin of protein powder before going back to digging in his junk drawer. "Also do you own a bandsaw."

Tommy glances up from the drawer. Takes in the sight of Evan, lounging on his pillows, looking indecent while he plays at innocence. Tommy wishes he was there, but he has way too much shit to do tomorrow to justify the drive, tonight.

"What the hell do you need a bandsaw for?"

Evan blinks. "You can find out Saturday if you bring it over."

"Evan, if you've been watching DIY videos to fall asleep again..."

"I get plenty of sleep, Tommy!"

Tommy begs to differ. If he's not around to point out Evan meant to be asleep an hour earlier, he's positive Evan loses at least three hours to YouTube and Twitter most nights.

Tommy sighs. "It's heavy as hell, Evan, and I'd have to jerry rig a pulley system to get it past the Impala while the engine's still out. Is this something we can do here?"

Evan contemplates. Nods.

"I'm assuming you need the truck, too."

"I can fit everything in the Jeep."

Tommy shoots him a look that does nothing to quell the shit-eating grin coming through the phone right now.

He bites back this particular sigh. "I'll pick you up."

"At 8."

Tommy shoots him a raised brow. Apparently Evan wants to piss off the neighbors.

"AM."

"Evan."

"I'll stop by that donut place early and get you that horrible pink drink you like."

Tommy's said 'no' to this man less times than he has drill sergeants. "You realize you're signing yourself up for the grumpiest boyfriend of all time?"

"I love grumpy Tommy," Evan says, and sounds like he means it.

---

"What are you doing Saturday?" Maddie asks, and Evan's gaze gets a little foggy for a moment.

His sister raises a brow at Tommy.

"Just a little inside joke," Tommy assures her, and can't hide his grin when Evan squeezes his knee under the table.

---

"What are you doing Saturday?" Tommy asks, and listens to Sal try to make excuses for a full minute and a half.

"...why do you ask," Sal finally asks after he runs dry.

"I'm moving. Thought I might bribe you with pizza and beer for some muscle."

Sal is quiet for longer than Tommy thinks he's ever managed. He ruins it by whistling his disbelief for at least fifteen seconds.

"Well, if it's that serious, Buckley better fucking be there so I can finally meet the kid who made you fucking crazy." He pauses. "Crazier," he amends. "What the fuck are you gonna do with the lift?"

"So I'll see you at my place at ten?"

"You're not freaking out. Why are you not freaking out?"

Tommy has a list of those reasons tucked behind a book Evan deemed 'the most boring thing I've ever let my eyes see' because he's still a little self conscious about the half-assed attempt at journaling he's been doing. He doesn't think Sal deserves a single one of those reasons.

"Bring extra packing tape," he shoots back, and hangs up before Sal can respond.

---

"What are you doing Saturday?" Eddie asks, and Tommy, irrationally, sort of wants to shoot him with lasers. Karen would probably let him borrow some.

He's not actually sure what Karen does in that lab of hers, but there has to be lasers, right?

Evan glances up from his perusal of the back of his beer label. "Um?" He darts his gaze to Tommy.

They haven't told anyone, and Tommy is pretending to be normal and chill and cool about that. He can keep a secret for another few days.

"If this is a sex thing you can keep it to yourself. I don't need another refresher on Tommy and Buck's sex life."

Tommy flickers between smug pleasure and exasperated annoyance. He settles somewhere in the middle, and spends the thirty seconds of eye contact and communicative facial expressions between Evan and Eddie thinking about what the weekend has in store for him.

"I mean, there's gonna be sex, but that's not, like, the point of the weekend."

Tommy raises a brow. "I never promised sex."

"It's a prerequisite for the other parts of the weekend."

"Oh look, I need a refill," Eddie says, already standing, holding up his mostly full bottle.

Evan kicks him under the table the moment Eddie's out of hearing range. "Stop freaking out. He's not the one who's getting a ring at the end of this trip."

Planning out their proposals together hadn't been something he ever thought he'd do, but once Evan had thrown it out there he'd gotten so lost in the sauce he'd forgoten it was weird. It's taken months to line this up and schedule it. They've talked it through so many times Tommy's pretty sure he could recite their itinerary from memory.

He's never gonna live down admitting he saw Eddie as competition. If it's not in Evan's proposal it might be in his vows.

"You didn't think I'd ditch you in a romantic cabin in the woods with a Jacuzzi tub that fits us both just because Eddie wanted to do something on Saturday, did you?"

No. But also yes. It's just his caveman brain shouting from behind the door Tommy locked it in when he finally understood exactly what he meant to Evan.

He's working on it.

"Just didn't want to spoil the surprise," he intones, and Evan narrows his eyes.

"Tommy."

Tommy slaps a hand on the table for Evan to grasp. "He's not the one getting a ring, Evan."

"Damn right. His hands are way too small. You ever notice he's got dainty fingers? That thing would fall off his thumb."

Tommy's dimples twitch, and Evan's grin is triumphant.

---

"What are you doing Saturday?" Tommy asks, and from halfway across the station he can hear a faint "Handbook!" in Hen's voice.

Evan rolls his eyes.

"I have to put on a tux and marry this dude," Evan says. "Why, you got something else in mind?"

Tommy shifts half an inch closer. "What a coincidence. I have to marry some dude this Saturday, too."

"Buck has work today, Thomas! And this is technically against the rules, you're not supposed to see each other!" Howie, this time, much closer to the bay doors than Hen was.

Tommy taps his knuckles against the hood of his truck. Leans into Evans space and steals a quick kiss. "See you Saturday?"

"See you tomorrow," Evan says, and ignores the peanut gallery to steal a lingering kiss of his own.

[moonshynecybin]

rosquez + true hate’s kiss :3

how did this end up at 2k words well i’ve been in the forest. and i love elle. anyways i briefly considered making this fic a list of vale going around trying to mack on all of his enemies in chronological order which really made me laugh. like do we think jorge lorenzo shuts the door in his face. anyways anyone in this bar read macbeth

Marc’s voice is flippant in that tightly controlled way of his. It grates— nails over a chalkboard, red lines scratched over the skin on Vale’s back. Lines that should be scarred over after ten years, but that still manage to throb here and now, when he needs something that only Marc can give him.

“Why can’t you try someone else? You’ve had lots of rivals that you’ve fought more than me— Stoner, Biaggi, Gibernau.” His voice drags out the list, counting on his fingers.

Vale grits his teeth.

“None of them are, speaking technically, still my enemies.”

Marc points bluntly into his own chest. Vale points his own eyes at the sky. Nothing is ever easy with him.

“And I am? Because honestly, I have not fought against you in many years.”

It stings. Whatever. Marc never admits that he hates Vale— he never did, even when it was plain for everyone to see, spelled out in huge letters all over the racetrack. Vale pictures him pouting, wide mouth red and worried. No, officer, I was standing over there. Honey from his lips as he hides the gun behind his back.

Vale sucks on his teeth. Smiles beatifically.

“Everyone is telling me so.”

Marc huffs something that might be a laugh.

“Right. Well there is no fight here, if that is what you want.”

“That’s good at least. Because I’m not here for a fight.” Vale corrects, reminds, shuffles them deftly into order. Irritation won’t help here. “I’m here for a curse.”

“Yes, you’ve said.” Marc sighs. “Fine. Okay— Then how bad is it?”

Vale bares his teeth, not a smile. He doesn’t want to tell Marc the truth, but he will. The same sort of speech he gives his mechanics: A calculated revelation of weakness made slightly more bearable by the possibility of an improvement in circumstances. There’s a trade off for everything— there certainly always is with Marc.

“I can’t ride. I try to climb on a bike— it breaks down. I take a turn— I slide out. I go somewhere else, use someone else’s gear—it rains, the suit rips. The engine jams, the track floods, the gas is gone, the flight is delayed, there’s a meeting I can’t miss. It never ends. It’s all fucked.“

He licks his lips, pressing them harshly together, trying to contain any frayed bit of feeling cracking out of him. It’s been five very long months, everything that matters slipping like soap between his fingers whenever he tries to throw his leg over a chassis— too consistent and uncanny to be anything but a curse, and a good one. It’s cornering him into one of his least favorite emotions: desperation.

It’s also the biggest stretch of time that he’s been off a motorcycle in over thirty years, since before Marc was even born. He swallows hard and grinds down the thought down to dust.

There’s a sound to his right.

He looks up to the sight of Marc chewing his lip, eyes lit from within with some spark of badly suppressed emotion. Anger floods in, a cleansing balm as he recognizes the expression: Marc is trying not to laugh.

At the look on Vale’s face, he gives up trying.

“And what did it sound like, when you called Casey?” He imitates the sound of a dial tone, harsh and honking. Enamored with his own bad joke. Mean in the way Marc always is— like he doesn’t even realize.

“Ha,” Vale asserts, too hard and too loud, another little revelation. “Very funny.”

Marc tilts his head, laugh dying a little. A divot forms between his brows, his eyes below wide and innocent. As if Vale took his thumb and pressed it into the smooth, soft clay that made him.

Vale takes a deep breath. Chews on his fingernails.

He hadn’t actually called Casey, even if he’d rather deal with his repressed smugness any day of the week over Marc’s donkey braying— there would be no point. Rivalries of yesteryear don’t count, the curse breaker he’d talked to had been very clear on that front. In a way, she had said, he’s lucky that he hasn’t resolved things with Marc.

Lucky. He almost wants to laugh himself.

He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if Marc doesn’t give him what he needs. Sharp pain stings at his fingers, followed by a bright blossom of Marquez red. He’s bitten the skin around his nails bloody, another wound Marc is responsible for, among many. He balls his hand into a fist, and the red smears over his knuckles, staining him. Out, damned spot, he thinks, furious.

“Please, it was probably one of your fucking fans that cursed me in the first place.”

All at once, the sun drains out of the room—Marc’s face closes down, his expression falling through a trap door into the abyss.

“Don’t talk to me about that,” He says, hard, and Vale nearly flinches in recognition. Saves it just in time.

It’s rumor, but confirmed enough. Five years ago, the beginning of the 2020 season. Some asshole had lobbed a bolt of illegal magic at Marc during the race in Jerez. Vale remembers watching it on the screen in his box, the electric flashing missile of the curse, how the protective wards around the barriers had failed, sparking out in a horrifying shower— and how Marc had somersaulted through the air, dragging the bike into the gravel with him.

He had ended up saddled with broken arm, one that would never completely heal. A nasty bit off black market cursework. It didn’t stop him from trying to race the next week—Vale still doesn’t know who the fuck let that happen.

News had wormed its way through the grapevine that they caught the guy who did it eventually, but only after Marc had seen a specialist to put a partial block on it— an experimental layer of spellwork that had left new runes over the existing ones, lurid and ruined over his skin. him to find a way to muscle his way through two curses tangling their way around him, both of them thick and iridescent as a fishing net.

Vale’s never asked if the person who cast it was one of his. It wouldn’t change anything. He guesses he has his answer.

He points at the almost-there glow of the arm. There’s a need to try to make this easy, understandable.

“Then what do you need for that, hm? Do this for me and I’ll get it for you. We’ll do a trade.”

Marc lets out a harsh noise, punched out of him in surprise. His shoulders get stiff, knitted across so snug he looks watertight. Vale wonders what he could pour into him— if he’d hold it, refuse to let it go.

Marc thinks on it for a second, his mouth twisting.

“Tell me why you didnt ask anyone else, first. Then I will.”

“I told you. My other rivals, they aren’t current enough.”

“And I told you, neither am I. You are still a racing driver, no? You have people you race against in that paddock, I assume. Or do you care enough over there to even bother to try and get mean?”

It feels like a slap.

Vale is silent. Seething.

Marc shrugs, chin-up at Valentino, handsome and terrible. Vale had almost forgotten: underestimating Marc is how you get hurt. He gestures at his arm, the glittering network of wards where the curse lives and throbs.

“Okay, you won’t tell me. Then we’ll both be broken.”

Vale takes a half step back before he remembers himself— failure isn’t an option here. He can’t have his ability to ride a motorcycle cupped in Marc’s hands like this much longer.

It would feel like he was a crow caught in a fox’s teeth. It would feel like this, right now, all the time. Unbearable.

“Because I need you to kiss me.” He admits. Not quite the truth, still close enough to the bone. He doesn’t know why it was Marc, exactly, except for all the reasons it couldn’t be anyone else. “That’s how to break the curse. Strong magic— If I want to get back something that I love, then someone who hates me has to kiss me.”

Surprise flickers over Marc’s face, and then cool nothing. Throwing a stone into a still lake and watching it swallow it up.

“Ah. I see. And you came to me.”

“Well, yes.”

Marc is silent, coiled around himself, mind working. Vale needed to kiss someone, someone who hates him, and he chose Marc. He feels horribly exposed— the blood on his knuckles drying gross and tacky. He takes a step forwards, forcing them back on track.

“So. What will you need, for your arm?” It could be anything— gold from a specific river, a lock of hair from a newborn cousin, a kind touch from a person who knew him when he was twenty, a plant from deep in the ocean, the feather of a rare bird, the blood of his grandfather. For Marc not to be able to get it, it must be hard to find.

Knocked out of his train of thought, Marc looks like he’s waking up, disoriented and off-balance. He glances up at Vale, and blinks hard enough that Vale could count every one of his lashes.

His mouth, red and lovely, opens. Trembles. It’s the same color as the wound on Vale’s hand.

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” He breathes, and he leans towards him.

Marc’s lips, when they touch him, are hot, hard, and spiteful. Giving up too much of both of them for Vale not to take something back for himself. He licks against the bow of his mouth, bites at him, and grinds against the flat plane of his stomach. Hands grip him. Marc, like Vale knew he would, shudders. Satisfaction curls in his chest, thick and ugly. Voracious.

He crowds him against the wall and Marc moans, sending electric shocks down his spine. He’s tried to come up with words to describe it— how he wants Marc. The dangerous, unending well of it. He’s never gotten particularly close. He tries another language: one desperate, clinging kiss.

When he pulls back there Marc is again, the liquid color of his eyes— a glow between them. Gold is shining out of Vale’s fingertips, the ends of his bloody fingernails. Something in him splits, separates, like cracking an egg into a pan for a Sunday breakfast. The curse coming apart, breaking. He knows that if he got on a motorcycle right now, it would listen to him, just like Marc never does. Red-orange light washes across his eyelids when he blinks, and he focuses in on the man in front of him, the simple feel of him.

It’s warm, in the his chest for a moment. And then, when he notices it, very cold.

Marc’s arm glows too— a bright throbbing purple and red wound of light wrapping its way around his humerus, jagged and beautiful. It’s shrinking, fading away like water slipping down a drain until the smooth skin of his bicep remains. Healthy, smooth, unblemished. A perfect form.

“I guess you were right,” Marc says, eyes blazing even as he sways towards Vale. The same kind of ugly happiness swimming in his face. “I fix you— you fix me. Nice trade, no?”

“What?”

Marc flexes his bicep, rolls his shoulder in a circle and raises his arm above his head— he smiles, teeth white and brilliant, dazzling. He looks half a decade younger, pain sloughing off of him in giddy waves. No— he looks like he did when Vale first met him, the time that he remembers anyways, when Marc was older. There’s that same shock of joy and something more smug spreading across his face, jam on toast, sweet and sticky.

It makes Vale’s teeth ache.

“I haven’t been able to do that for years.” He marvels.

“Marc,” Vale tries to speak. Bright eyes meet his. “Your arm. It’s better.”

Marc shrugs. “Well, you kissed me.” He says it like it makes sense.

“The way to break your curse— it was the same as me? You needed to kiss an enemy?” Why hadn’t he asked earlier?

Marc shakes his head, still wiggling his fingers. He lays his other hand cross-wise on a diagonal over his upper arm, illustrating the old runes that laid there.

“No, no. Similar, but not the same. The doctors told me— there wasn’t anything really, that could stop it, the spell work was too tight, bonded onto me. The attempts to break it only made it worse, that’s why the latest spell to try and fix it had to layer on top of everything. But, you know— There’s one thing that can break any curse.”

Danger pricks up the back of Vale’s neck.

“That’s an old wives tale.” He says immediately. That’s not real— that sort of thing doesn’t happen. It’s for stories, fairytales you tell children.

Marc ploughs on.

“It might’ve broken yours too, honestly— I don’t know. We’re not rivals anymore, so. I thought it was worth a try.”

“I don’t believe you.” He’s starting to put together why Marc is so smug. Assurance will do that to a man. It trickles like ice down his spine.

Marc’s face is feverish, delirious, flushed and rosy. He grins as if he’s cracked a code, solved a cypher, found some sort of key to a puzzle. Maybe he has. Vale takes a step back.

“Believe what you want. The curse breaker I went to in the United States told me, and it’s true— the only way to get rid of any of the curses on me was True Love’s Kiss. “

He teeth are like a fox, sharp and white.

Vale wants to throw up.

“So— I guess you love me.”

[spitefulsatanfics]

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

— by little devil 🖤

pairing: dean winchester x she/her reader tone: domestic fluff, angst-kissed tenderness, love under the weight of the world genre: canon-compliant headcanon list told like snapshots in fanfic form rating: pg-13 for language and suggestive themes synopsis: a list of what it means to be loved by Dean Winchester, one stolen moment at a time.

🥃 Late Nights at the Motel With Only the Lamplight Between You

He always turns the lamp on low when you fall asleep before him—never off.

“Just in case you wake up and think I left,” he mutters, almost too quiet to catch. You’re pretending to sleep, cheek mushed against the motel pillow, but his voice chases your heart like a moth to flame. He sighs, then adds, “I’d never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

Sometimes, you feel the ghost of his fingers trailing along your shoulder blade, the press of his lips against your temple. Dean Winchester kisses like a man who knows time is borrowed and the bill's already overdue.

🍔 Making You Breakfast at Weird Hours Like It's a Love Language

There’s a bacon-and-egg sandwich being shoved in your direction at exactly 2:47 AM.

“You didn’t eat earlier,” he says, chewing his own. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. “And you’re cranky when you’re starving, so. Eat up, princess.”

The paper napkin tucked beneath it has a doodle of the Impala on it with hearts for wheels. You pretend not to notice how your smile makes him beam when he thinks you're not looking.

🎸 Letting You Have the Aux Cord in the Impala—Sometimes

Don’t get it twisted—classic rock is king. But sometimes, when you’ve been hunting for days, tired and half-conscious in the front seat, he lets you play your playlist. Even if it’s “criminally poppy,” he doesn’t change it.

“Is this the same chick who sang that sad vampire song last week?” he asks, brow raised. “Yes, and she’s iconic.” “Huh. Guess she grows on you.”

Three days later, he’s humming the chorus under his breath while loading silver bullets.

💚 Overprotective? Try Terminally Attached

He flinches every time you’re out of sight longer than five minutes on a hunt.

“I’m fine, Dean.” “You didn’t answer your damn radio for twenty minutes. You could’ve been dead, Y/N, and I wouldn’t’ve known until I found the body.”

He doesn’t say “your body.” Never your body. He says it like he’s watching his world burn every time he thinks of losing you. And then he pulls you in like he’s drowning.

“Next time, I’m not letting you outta arm’s reach.”

And he means it. For two days, you practically share a coat pocket.

🎯 Teaching You How to Use His Favorite Guns, Even Though It Kills Him a Little

“Safety’s here. Recoil’s a bitch, so lean into it.” “Like this?” “Perfect.” (He stares too long. Blinks. Clears his throat.) “Yeah. You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

He tells Sam he’s just being practical—wants you to be able to defend yourself. But the truth is, he hates putting that kind of danger in your hands. Loves you too much to ever let you stay defenseless. Hates the world for making it necessary.

🍁 Fall Drives and Small-Town Diners

Every once in a while, when the world’s not ending and the salt lines hold, Dean takes you for drives with no destination.

There’s always pie. Sometimes two. You split the first, and he insists you each get your own for the second round.

“That’s not sharing, that’s survival,” he says, smug with a forkful of cherry pie. “You try to touch mine and I will fake my death.”

You try to steal it anyway. He lets you win. Every time.

🔧 Grease-Stained Love Letters in the Form of Impala Repairs

He teaches you her name like she’s a living thing. Teaches you how to listen—really listen—to her engine. Shows you which wrench to use like it’s a sacred ritual.

You come in once with a smudge of oil on your cheek. He stares.

“You got…” he gestures vaguely, brushing it off with his thumb. His touch lingers. “Better?” “Better,” he says. But he’s not talking about the oil.

🛏️ Late Night Confessions and Sleep-Tousled Softness

There are nights—rare and sacred—when Dean tells you things he doesn’t even tell himself.

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and this’ll all be some dream,” he whispers into your shoulder, arms locked around you like a promise. “Like, there’s no way I get to have this.”

You shift closer. Your fingers find the pulse point at his wrist.

“You do,” you whisper. “You get to have this. You get to have me.”

And he holds on tighter like the universe might steal you away the second he lets go.

✨ Falling Asleep to the Sound of Classic Rock and Dean's Steady Breathing

Sometimes, the hunts go bad. Sometimes, the world feels a little too sharp around the edges.

But there’s something about lying next to Dean—his arm slung around your waist, his breath in your hair, Baba O’Riley buzzing from the radio—that turns the whole mess into something survivable.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he says once, half-asleep. “How do you know?” “Because I’ve got you.”

And for now, that’s enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 Dean Winchester doesn’t love easy. But he loves hard. Fierce. Loud. In bacon sandwiches, in spare bullets tucked into your jacket pocket, in a glance that says please don’t die louder than words ever could.

Having him as a boyfriend is like dating a storm— chaotic, warm, dangerous, and impossibly beautiful when it hits just right.

You don’t tame him. You join him.

𓆩♡𓆪

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [13]

Part Thirteen | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh & Merle Dixon are the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, story follows the show but dialogue and events are paraphrased, abusive behavior, a very slow burn

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: I've been on kind of a roll with this series lately. It's just all been flowing nicely and I've felt super excited to write each new chapter. Thank you for all the love you've shown this fic over the years, but especially for the last two chapters. It's been so heartwarming. Let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

Your knees ache as your feet pound against dark, uneven asphalt. Glenn leads the group through back alleys and side streets while Rick and Daryl silently take out any lone walkers you run into as you all make your way back to the box truck. You and T-Dog trail behind the other men, carrying the gear you’ve all picked up in the city. Glenn turns down another narrow passage, and finally, the five of you can see the train tracks where you left the vehicle. But the sight is not one of relief. Instead, panic rises quickly in your chest as you notice that the box truck is missing. 

“Where the hell’s our truck?”

Daryl spits the question out through gritted teeth; crossbow raised as he observes his surroundings for any sign of an ambush. He doesn’t like this. Without a vehicle, the five of you are vulnerable. You all either need to move or find shelter — standing out in the open isn’t an option. Glenn takes his baseball cap off, running his hands through his dark hair, before responding to Daryl’s question. 

“We left it right here. Who would take it?”

“Merle.”

Daryl lowers his crossbow as Rick says his brother’s name. As much as he hates to admit it, the sheriff is probably right. His brother probably thinks he was left for dead, handcuffed to that roof — and he ain’t the forgiving type. Daryl nervously chews on his bottom lip as he makes eye contact with Rick. Rick waits for Daryl to blow up at the insinuation, but the youngest Dixon simply nods at his statement. 

“We gotta go. He’s gonna be taking some vengeance back to camp.”

Rick’s jaw clenches as he takes in Daryl’s words, but he composes himself before addressing the rest of the group. 

“Alright, drop anything we don’t need. We don’t have a vehicle, but we need to make it back to camp — fast.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Rick locks eyes with T-Dog, and you let out a tired sigh as you look at one of your oldest friends. You know that expression — you’ve seen it countless times. And you know you’ll hate the following words that come out of his mouth.

“We run.”

You rarely hate being right, but right now, you loathe how well you know Rick Grimes. Before you can ask what you’re supposed to do about the heavy duffle bag full of guns hanging off your shoulder, Daryl takes it from you with ease. He adjusts his crossbow to fall across his chest while the duffle bag rests against his back. A part of you wants to get defensive and insist that you can handle it, but you’re more impressed by how little Daryl reacts to the extra weight he’s carrying. The five of you give each other one last look before breaking off into a jog back towards camp. 

If you thought the hour drive to the city was long, the run back is excruciating. Your lungs burn as you keep pace with Glenn behind Rick and Daryl. Your lungs might feel like they’re on fire, but at least it means that you’re alive. And even if you thought about slowing your pace, Daryl’s occasional glances back to you are enough to keep you focused on putting one foot in front of the other.  

You glance at Glenn nervously as the sun sets behind you, noticing that T-Dog has fallen behind slightly due to the weight of the toolbox on his left-hand side. Glenn notices and spares an amused look back at his friend.

“You holding up, T-Dog?”

There’s a grin plastered to Glenn’s face as he asks the question. T-Dog rolls his eyes before quickening his pace slightly.

“Shut up, Glenn.”

Hours pass. And as your breathing becomes more ragged and your sweaty clothes cling to your body uncomfortably, you begin to believe that you may never make it back to camp. That is until a deafening scream rips through the eerily quiet woods. You share a panicked look with Glenn as Rick breaks off into a dead sprint towards the sound. Before you can follow suit, Daryl grabs your shoulder. 

“Don’t matter what’s there, just get your knife out and stay behind me. Okay?”

He searches your eyes as you nod frantically at his request. He huffs out a frustrated breath as the rest of you chase after Rick who has started cutting through the treeline, abandoning the dirt path you’ve been following. Daryl has his crossbow raised, and you've got a white knuckle grip on the knife in your right hand. As the five of you stumble out of the treeline and into camp, you let out a panicked gasp. To your surprise, Merle is not the culprit of the chaos, but instead, a small herd of walkers that just so happened to have wandered into camp. Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl immediately throw themselves into the action, but your entire body freezes as your eyes land on Amy’s bloody body on the ground nearly fifteen feet from the RV. 

No. It can’t be. You were all supposed to be safe here. Shane promised that you were all far enough away from the city — that there was no way walkers would make their way up here.

You shake yourself out of your momentary paralysis, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your free hand before rushing into the confusion with Glenn. The two of you make sure the children are accounted for and that everyone without a weapon is hidden from the carnage as Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog make quick work of the walkers with Shane’s help. You usher Jacqui into an empty tent, telling her to stay put until someone gives the all-clear before looking around the camp for any more stranglers. Your eyes land on Daryl, who shoots another walker straight between the eyes. He moves to reload, missing the walker approaching him from behind. Your grip tightens around the hilt of your knife as your feet move on their own accord.

“Daryl, behind you!”

You watch in horror as Daryl turns, and the walker grabs him by the shoulders. Daryl’s footing staggers as he drops his crossbow. He attempts to grab the knife at his side, but holding the walker back from biting into his flesh is taking all of his strength. Your legs move as fast as physically possible to make it to him in time, and you don’t think twice before plunging your knife into the back of the walker's skull. Daryl releases his hold as the walker becomes deadweight in his arms and turns to you with a bewildered expression. You look down at your shaky hands, dropping the bloody knife and taking a step away from the body.

“Hey.”

Your eyes shoot up to Daryl, who has ducked his head down to meet you at eye level. His chest is heaving, but the look in his eyes isn’t panicked. No, he’s looking at you with a gentleness and appreciation that seems misplaced in your current predicament — like you just saved his life. 

“I killed him.”

Daryl nods at your words before speaking.

“You had to.”

You did save his life. So why does the sight of the walker’s corpse make you want to throw up? You’re disgusted as you look down at the bloody knife. Not by the scene before you but by yourself. 

“Is it over?”

Your voice feels small and far away from your body as you look back up at Daryl. He looks around the camp — at who’s left after the devastation — before nodding. You let out a tired sigh before turning on your heel without another word. There’s only one thing on your mind as you make your way towards the RV: Amy. 

Daryl picks up his crossbow and your knife before following after you. He stops short as he watches you approach Andrea and Amy. You crouch down beside your friend’s body and hug Andrea. He doesn’t particularly like you being so close to Amy’s corpse, but he knows you need to say goodbye. He doesn’t want to take that closure away from you, so he makes his way to the front of the RV and slides down to sit on the ground. He’s far enough away that he can’t hear your conversation but still close enough to step in if anything happens. 

You know he’s watching over you as you console Andrea, and you find comfort in it. Andrea’s arms are tight around your body as she sobs into your shoulder, explaining that she was excited to celebrate her sister’s birthday tomorrow. You just hold her tighter, assuring her that this is not her fault. Eventually, Andrea pulls away and asks for a moment alone with her sister. You nod, tears rolling down your face as you hold Amy’s hand one last time. Finally, you tear yourself away from your friend’s lifeless body and make your way over to Daryl.

“You ‘lright?”

You slide down next to him, shoulder brushing against his. Your head leans back against the RV, and you can feel Daryl’s eyes on you as you take a shaky breath. You know you look like a complete mess, and your hands are still shaking at your sides, but he’s looking at you with a tenderness that makes you want to sob. 

“Feels like you’ve been asking me that question a lot lately.”

In spite of the circumstances, a huff of air escapes through Daryl’s nostrils — the closest thing to a laugh that anyone will hear tonight. The sound makes your lips quirk up into a small, sad smile.

“Lot’s been going on.”

He’s right. The last three days felt like a month, and you’re left with nothing but exhaustion. And today was nothing less than hell on earth for you, but you cannot shake off the feeling that this is just the beginning.

“Nothing’s going to be the same now, is it?”

You know the answer. 

After witnessing the destruction and mayhem in Atlanta firsthand. After taking down your first walker — knowing that even though their only instinct is to kill, it was once a person with dreams and aspirations. After watching a close friend meet a gruesome, untimely demise.

You know nothing can go back to the way it was. 

Daryl sighs, looking at you with a disheartened expression. It’s the first time he’s dropped his composure since you’ve both gotten back to camp.

“Nah, I guess not.”

His voice is strained, brimming with unspoken sadness and frustration. Your heart aches at the realization that he’s also had one hell of a day. After all, Daryl lost someone today as well. Your brow furrows as you peer at the man sitting beside you. A single question ricochets through your brain as you watch him pick at his thumb.

“Are you going to leave now?”

The question makes sense to you, and you’re expecting him to say yes — bracing for a goodbye that you’re not prepared for. But Daryl physically recoils at your words, and confusion washes over his tired features. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I figured with Merle still out there…”

Daryl’s face softens as you trail off. Oh. Merle was the last thing on his mind after everything that happened today. The hope he’d felt after seeing the trail of blood and realizing that Merle had managed to cauterize the wound immediately disappeared after he witnessed how many walkers there were in the city. Merle is headstrong and resilient; however, at the end of the day, he’s still just one man. Maybe if he were a better brother, finding Merle would be the only thing on his mind. Daryl knows that several weeks ago, he would have left without a second thought, not stopping until he found his brother’s body. But things have changed. It may be selfish, but after everything that happened today, the only concern on Daryl’s mind is keeping what’s in front of him safe. But anxiety suddenly courses through his veins as he realizes maybe that’s not what you want. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

Daryl cringes at his words. Maybe Merle was right. Maybe he is already whipped for a woman he barely knows. Because if you told him to leave right now, he would. He’d leave in the dead of night without another word. But he hopes that you don’t. Even though it makes him feel strange and uncomfortable, Daryl finds himself hoping that you ask him to stay. 

And you’re at a loss for words as you take in the vulnerability deeply etched into his expression. Even though you’ve known him for weeks, you feel like this is the first time you’ve actually seen Daryl Dixon. His stoic, hardened demeanor cracks for just a second, and the importance of this moment doesn’t escape you. Finally, you manage to shake your head at his question. Daryl smiles at that — genuinely smiles. And the sight is a breath of fresh air on your worst day. 

“Then I’m not going nowhere.”

You nod, biting back a smile before falling into a comfortable silence. Daryl leans his head back to look at the night sky. It seems so strange that after all the carnage he witnessed today, he can still find beauty in little things like stars — or how your breathing evens out beside him as you fall asleep. He knows you’d have a better night’s rest in your tent, but he doesn’t make an effort to wake you. He’s painfully aware that you technically still share a tent with Shane, and he really has no interest in going back to his empty tent filled with Merle’s belongings, so he just continues to sit next to you. And although every muscle in his body tenses as you lean your head against his shoulder, he doesn’t falter. 

He promised you he wasn’t going anywhere, and he meant it. 

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[marilynthornhilllover]

I know that you love me, you don't need to remind me,

Emily. P x Jennifer. J x Fem!Reader

Warning: talk of drug consumption, reader is high, mood swings, use of guns (weed) , bad flirting, mommy kink, praise kink, teasing, cringe kiss etc .

A/n: I saw that new jennifer and emily episode where Emily was high and they were so cute! Had to make a fic😌

It was that quite long awaited time of the year where criminal agents are given two weeks off from work. You were beyond exhausted but nevertheless was very happy to finally be able to take off your FBI vest and feeling relieved that you won't have to be picking it up for another week or so.

You soon realized that you literally didn't have plans arranged for the upcoming two weeks ahead, or even tonight. Everyone was pairing up as they packed up their office stuff and headed out. Spencer and Derek laughed and gave eachother a high five as they made their way downstairs to sign out while Emily and jj were already giggling about some random joke as they continued to pack up.

You nervously decided to walk up to them standing in the corridor like a shadow making sure not to seem creepy— but maybe you were doing the opposite. Ever since you joined the team, yes you did make friends but no one ever went the extra mile to offer to hang out with you. Only Emily would now and then eat lunch with you at her desk.

Jennifer wasn't bad either, she did offer to help you with a case file once, you went over to her house which you complimented her for the cozy interior, and yes the boys were also good to you but on a employee holiday like this no one was paying any attention whatsoever to you. They already plans of their own.

You on the other hand, had none, all you were gonna do was shower, eat, sleep and repeat for the next week or so. Nothing productive, not as if you had anything to do either. Prentiss and Mantegna had insisted that someone help you with case files so its not as if you have a major cade to crack over the holiday.

You were as free as a bird and your energetic self needed something to reinforce that energy into. If you could have went on a cruise for two weeks you definitely would have.

Emily scoffed at Jennifer's joke before turning around and spotting you cuddled up in the corner like a little mouse. She tilted her head to the side before approaching you with a warm smile.

" hey hon, you got any plans for the holiday?" She asked chewing a piece of gum that she had been for the entire day — somtimes you wonder if any flavour at all is still existence in it.

" uhh nope, but I'll sure my couch has plans for me though" you said sarcastically and of course she laughed, because Emily laughs at anything and everything which you did find cute. Emily always made sure that she kept everyone at a level where they felt at their absolute best when around her.

She was never mean to anyone really. Always funny, ambitious, smart and talented she was everything. Sometimes her aura was just too high, but she was always still approachable and not prideful.

Emily was like one of those drugs that you couldn't stop using because it feels too good, and when you do take it, it altars with your entire brain function and chemistry.

And speaking of chemistry, that was something you and Emily had alot of. Everytime her eyes made contact with yours, you felt as if your body was thrown into the deepest pits of hell. You'd get shivers everytime she passed you or called you a pet name. You'd go completely weak in your knees when she made the littlest amount of psychical contact with your skin — it was absolutely ridiculous just how easily she could get under your skin.

Or the time when you were making coffee in the kitchen and she needed to grab something from the top shelf and she moved you by putting her hands on your hips, with her chest pressed so closely against your back with face by your neck.

Emily made you question things. You knew you always had a thing for older women, always, since highschool and it never seemed to go away. And Emily was exactly your type, you just weren't sure if she felt the same way in return and you didn't wanna ruin the amazing friendship you both had by letting your stupid emotions and hormones get the best of yourself.

" well I'm sure you'll find something to entertain yourself, JJ and I are hooking up at her place tonight for snacks and a movie" she placed hands on her hips are she turned to look at jj who was texting away on her phone before turning back to you. You gaved her a akward smile, before a breathy nervous laugh escaped your mouth.

" hooking up huh" you saw as her eye brows quirked before a sly smile came into evidence on her face and quickly glanced at Jennifer who was now angrily texting before taking a step closer towards you, closing the the last gap space that was there. Her body heat and perfume over took your senses making your breath hitch.

You pressed your palm against her chest sneaking a quick glance at jj and the camera above. Emily was looking at you with a teasing smirk, she leaned down besides your ear and whispered.

" do wanna hook up with me as well?" She pulled back to see the reaction on your face and just as she imagined it was absolutely priceless. She chuckled before pulling away completely.

" oh my God emily would you leave poor y/n alone, let's go already" Jennifer said with a tint of exhaustion and annoyance her voice. Emily chuckled before gently caressing your cheek. The both women waved you goodbye before departing and going their way.

You sighed before picking up your bag and leaving, you locked your office door and went home. You did decided to walk with a few case files home and evidence objects to keep yourself busy during the holiday to stop yourself from going insane from the intense boredom you were prone to have.

— — — —

Emily and Jennifer had just sat down and were about to enjoy their late afternoon with wine and salt and vinegar chips when a continuation of loud knocking could be heard on jj's front door. Both women looked at eachother with utter confusion on their faces — the weren't expecting anyone. Jennifer decided to get up and go check the door, Emily following closely behind with her hand placed tightly on her gun.

The door bell soon started ringing along with the knocks which triggered Jennifer even more. Unlocking the door Jennifer threw it open, not caring what stood on the opposite side of it, after all emily was ready to protect her best friend at all cost, even if it meant shooting someone in their foor.

" if I had my way I swear I would—" as soon as she saw you she stopped talking, her eye brows quirked as she squinted her eyes to make a better appearance of your face in the dim moon light. Emily let out a soft sigh when she saw you but quickly went back into a state of worry at the same time.

Now you had both women wondering what you were doing at their house.

" y/n? I didn't know you were coming over, did Emily invite you?" Jennifer turned around hoping to get a confirmation nod from Emily but she shook her head and pursed her lips, letting her know she was just as confused as her.

" Well aren't you guys a bit rude, aren't you gonna invite me in?" You muttered but before they could react you let yourself in. You carefully walked down the long fancy corridor switching off some lights on your way because they made your eyes burn, making your way to the living room area, having knowing your way around jj's house since the last two times you were there.

You stumbled over the coffee table and landed right onto the sofa, face first with a soft groan. You dropped the ziplock bag of cheese puffs you had brought onto the floor.

She walked up to you and you and sat beside you on the couch, she picked you up by both your forearms and made you look at her.

Both women side eyed eachother, both in desperate need to know what on God's green earth was going on. Jennifer leaned against the wall to further scrutinize you. Emily on the other hand was just worried how you got here on your own with no car or phone.

" hey y/n sweetie are you..... drunk?" Her voice sounded like when water got into a phone speaker and you tried to play a song— you couldn't understand it. You rubbed your eyes and glanced at the table to which your face instantly lit up when you saw the salt and vinegar lays chips.

You grabbed them ferociously then took out some chopsticks you had stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans and started eating the chips. At this point both women were flabbergasted, mouths open, jaws dropped. Jennifer took a deep breath before she turned around and went to her fridge to grab you a drink to help you sober up because it was crystal clear that you were beyond drunk, drunk was an understatement.

" what time is it?" You suddenly asked putting the chips down and dusting off your hands.

" time for some hydration, here you go" Jennifer said as she passed you a bottle of cold cranberry juice. Once again your face lit up like a child on Christmas day.

" ohhhh, it's got what plants crave!" You exclaimed. The look on Jennifer's face when you said that was priceless as Emily silently continued to look at you with a completely blanket stare.

You placed the bottle of juice at the side of your head as if it was an ice pack and burped. You cleared your throat before speaking up again.

" have you guys seen that movie! Idiot city!.... wait city Idiot... wait... yeah" it's like your body was replaced with a child's and this called for huge concern. Emily sighed heavily and took the bottle from your hand.

" Idiocracy?" Jennifer whispered and you nodded.

" I knew I liked you! Ohhh, I and on my way here I saw a cat jumping off your house roof then it turned into a dog and flew away as a mosquito" you said before the loudest laugh took you over that you almost started crying.

Emily whispered " oh good lord" before she shook her head, Jennifer was still completely and totally lost for words. Jennifer had a feeling that being drunk would not cause someone to behave like this— well of course she knew, she's a profiler. She had a feeling you were high, but she didn't want you to act out and she would need proof for Emily because knowing her she wouldn't believe for a minute you would do drugs.

" umm y/n what's in the bag?" Jennifer asked and your eyebrows quirked, you placed your finger at you ear urging her to repeat even though she was so damn close to you.

" What's in the bag" she repeated as she dragged her words this time. You shrugged.

" I don't know what time the supermarket closes" emily stood up and walked towards to kitchen to grab her phone, you had the agent stressed. Jennifer just took it upon herself to grab the bag of " cheese puffs" before she walked towards emily.

" look I know you may not believe but I have a pretty good feeling that, that girl right there is literally the profound definition of what we call high" emily scoffed.

" Oh come on, she probably had too much wine I mean weren't we just about to drink wine as well?" She restated trying to convince Jennifer, but honestly to this rate she just couldn't, Jennifer was already convinced from her own opinion.

" emily elizabeth prentiss which wine do you know makes someone this drunk?" Jennifer asked, emphasizing on the last two words of her sentence. Emily shrugged before looking back at you, who was now sniffing the air every two seconds like a curious dog. Jennifer rolled her eyes before opening the bag of cheese puffs and taking a sniff.

She gaged before pulling away quickly.

" this smells like straight up weed!" She swiftly turned to let Emily have a sniff, to which Emily pulled away as well. Jennifer closed the bag and turned it around where there was writing in black. " DO NOT OPEN, CONTAINS CASE 101 EVIDENCE".

" you ate the case evidence! Oh my god!" Jennifer looked like she was going to erupt like a volcano and her high pitched tone of voice was making your head hurt and ears ring.

" I was hungry, and I didn't know that they were edibles" you whispered as you squinted your eyes since it was getting harder to see. Jennifer looked at you in disbelief as she turned to Emily for back up. Before Emily could utter a word Jennifer was already furious.

" Emily, don't even! She basically ate the entire bag!" She shouted. She saided pacing the room with her fingers gently massaging her temple to calm her.

" what are we gonna tell hotch, or even worst David" Jennifer covered her face with her both her hands before leaning over the kitchen counter.

" Well I mean, she probably just ate the backup stash, it should be fine, we should really be worrying about is her health" emily muttered scratching her head. Jennifer looked up at emily as her jaw dropped.

" your defending her?!" Emily raised her hands in defense but before she could reply Jennifer took the chance.

" I seriously cannot believe you right now!" Jennifer once again, started pacing the room, this time even more quicker.

" Oh come on jj, what are the odds that people make silly mistakes like these?" Jennifer stopped, and looked at emily with wide eyes.

" Well with the odds as high as her I'd say zero!" She said angrily before picking up her phone.

Emily sighed before looking over at you who was now eating the chips and gnawing your teeth wildly making crumbs fall all over the place. In a way Emily felt bad for you, mostly pity because she knew what you did was down right stupid but Jennifer was being a tadbit too harsh on you in your current position — knowing you couldn't properly comprehend the situation or what was going on.

" ok I'll take her home and we can speak to the team about this tomorrow when y/n is a better state of mind, ok?" Emily said in a reassuring voice. Jennifer sighed in frustration before biting her lip and nodding approvingly.

Emily carefully picked you up off the couch and wrapped her arm around your waist as she insisted to take you home safely. Her body warmth was comforting and her perfume was like a lullaby putting you to sleep this time. You melted in her embrace as she took you outside.

Your vision was blurred and the cold air on your skin — although you had a jacket on, was making you shiver. Seeing this emily hugged you tighter. She opened the door to her wagon and assisted you into the passenger seat and putting on your seat belt for you. You looked at her, she looked like one of those ancient paintings,the ones you can't withdraw your eyes from, the Renaissance ones.

You weren't sure if maybe it was the drugs or the hormones that came after taking the drugs but you felt the need to kiss emily, your eyes flicked down to her lips that were slightly parted as she concentrated on getting the seatbelt to adjust to your liking. Her smooth skin and wrinkled lines that ran across her forehead and eye line area, her little cute eye bags from all the hard work she does.

You couldn't resist the urge, she was a drug, she was your drug. You licked your lips and leaned in. Your lips connected with hers in a slow soft kiss. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. Emily didn't pull away, she was surprised yes, but she didn't pull away. Emily couldn't cover up the feeling she felt for you but she also didn't want to take advantage of your drunken state.

Taking it that she was enjoying it as much as you, you tried to force your tongue into her mouth but that's when she pulled away. Your brows furrowed and for a moment the drugs may have returned your common sense and you realized what you did — what you were trying to do. And soon the embarrassment and cringe settled in.

" sorry, oh God I'm so stupid!" You whispered as you fought back tears, you covered your face with both hands and started sobbing. Emily sprinted around to the drivers seat to comfort you. She gently peeled your hands away from your face, holding your palms in hers she caressed them with her knuckles softly. You sniffed and shook your head in denial before looking out the window.

" hey, sweetheart look at me please" her voice was as soft as an angel and so gentle as if you were something valuable that could be broken, that's something you loved about emily, she was so comforting in all circumstances, no matter what. She placed her hand under your jaw and turned you to look at her. She stared at you with her cute Bambi eyes so filled of love, and she so badly wanted to say " I love you" but she knew you wouldn't be able to comprehend them.

" look y/n, i wanna— kiss you back but I can't. That doesn't mean I don't want to, I just want you to be able to give me your full sober concent." She spoke as slowly and clearly as possible so you won't misinterpret anything.

" and your not stupid, we all make mistakes my love. Once I accidentally— well I got drunk the morning of my Law exams and failed them, and that did set me at a disadvantage for my career but I still made it into this job" she continued to rub your knuckles and wip every tear that fell from your eyes.

" and this joke takes y/n, but it also gives.... it gave—" she took a deep breath before exhaling heavily. " it gave me you." Hearing these words made your heart flutter souly. Your little smile came across your face which emily mirrored.

" now, my sweet girl, my I take you home?" She spoke in a old French accent waving her hand a fancy motion, You both laughed until you were out of air. after the laughter died down She chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh squeezing the tender flesh which made your breath hitch.

The drive home was long but certainly not quiet at all, you and Emily blasted high 2000s music all the way until she arrived at your home. You knew there was gonna be alot to discuss the next day but you should be fine once you have emily by your side.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 12

Source for pic

Imperfect 12

Word Count: 5443

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: Aaaaand we're down bad in the angst stage of this fic. I hope you guys are ready for it, because it's going to take a while before we're back to happy. I've envisioned that last scene before the cliffhanger FOR MONTHS in my head. That and what follows. I hope I did it justice. I love you all, but I hope I managed to crush all your pretty little hearts. Do tell me all about it in the comments! But refrain from being murderous, I still have to get to the happy ending!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

The rancid smell of the docks is overwhelming. Rotten fish carcasses left too long in the sun, half-devoured by the gulls; stale water splashing softly against decaying wood; and worse: the stench of the nastiest breeds of humans, gathering to add to their list of unending sins. Himself included. 

Kid has lost track of time since he dropped you off, with nothing but the twinkling of stars and the lonesome chirps of crickets to mark the progress of the night. 

Victoria is shrouded in shadows and silence, both acting as punishment for his actions. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles have blanched, and he can’t stop thinking about his mistakes. 

“You should’ve walked away when you had the chance, man.” Heat’s in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dash, arms behind his head. Kid closes his eyes and tries to swallow the lump of guilt that’s lodged in his throat. 

“But you had to be a selfish son of a bitch.” Heat turns his head, and Kid keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t need to open them to know what’s facing him, though. Half of Heat’s head is gone, his brain blown to shit by a PKM machine gun bullet. The Kevlar vest is nothing but a silly adornment, riddled with bullet holes and still-fresh blood. 

Wire laughs in the backseat, a low, rumbling sound. When he speaks, his voice sounds different from when he was alive. His vocal cords sound completely crushed under the weight of the pillar that collapsed on top of him, flattening him into an unrecognizable lump. “Crawling back to the Pit like a dog with its tail between its legs? I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“Coward.” The word echoes in his head in all their voices. An amalgam of misery, dragging him down with clammy fingers filled with shame. 

“If you couldn’t keep your promise of getting us out of there alive, Captain, you could’ve at least kept your promise to Kill.” Bubblegum pops his chewing gum loudly near Kid’s ear, and he wonders how he can do that when his lips are melted together by the unforgiving heat of the scorching flames that devoured his body. 

“You told him you’d stay out of Hellpit,” Quincy’s voice comes out in a wheeze, a charred hole in the middle of her torso leaving no doubt about the fate she suffered. “And look at you! You’re back already? Tsk…”

He senses Hip and Reck there, too. But they don’t speak. They never do. They got blown to shit right in front of him. Nothing but red mist, blood, and gore left behind. Nothing to bring home. Yet they still judge, they still make sure he carries the guilt on his shoulders. 

Kid removes his hands from the wheel and presses the balls of his palms against his eyes, trying to snuff out their accusations, their ugly truth. But they don’t stop. They never did, and they never will. 

“You hurt her,” Quincy says.

“Aren’t you ashamed of hitting a woman? Your woman?” Heat scolds.

“Daddy warned her to stay away, warned you, but you were never very good at taking orders, were you, Captain?” Bubblegum speaks right by his ear, and Kid swears he can feel the hot breath warming his skin. “Perhaps if you were… we’d all still be alive.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Kid mutters between clenched teeth. “Yer dead, yer all fuckin’ dead.” His voice trembles with desperation and guilt. They’re right.

Wire chuckles, his voice gravelly and rough. “We are. Because of you. And that’s why we’re here. You think a few hours in the Pit are going to help you? That you can drown us out with punches and silence our voices with blood?”

“SHUT UP! Shut the fuck up!” Kid slams his fist into the dashboard, and the plastic gives, cracking and leaving jagged, sharp pieces, splitting in a morbid mimicry of what’s happening to his heart and soul. 

“You’re still running away. From us. From her. From yourself,” Wire continues. “You will always be a coward.”

He wants to scream. To roar and tear his chest open. To lay himself bare and let guilt and pain wash him away. To be cleansed of his sins, to free his conscience… to rest.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, opens the door, and gets out of the car, leaving his demons inside, though their ghostly voices still linger in his head. 

The warehouse is dimly lit and looks as rotten as all the decaying souls inside. Poorly drawn graffiti lines the outer walls, fighting with splotches of rust in a silent battle to see which can overtake more space outside the building. The graffiti is losing. 

The man at the door tilts his head in acknowledgment and lets him in without a word. Inside, the air feels thicker, heavy with the scent of sweat, blood, and testosterone. This time, he didn’t call ahead, so he means to find Apoo. He doesn’t have to look around too much before Apoo finds him.

“Eustass, you bastard,” Apoo cackles, handing him a can of cheap beer. “When I called last week, you said you were done with me.”

“Put me in.” Kid doesn’t ask. Doesn’t plead; he doesn’t need to. Apoo will taunt him, annoy him, and then put him in. He always does. 

“Roster’s full. Wrap your dick back into your pants and find another place to itch your fists. I ain’t got room for you tonight.” Apoo’s snake-like eyes glint under the dim lights. 

“Put. Me. In. Apoo.” Kid’s clenching his jaw so tightly his ears nearly pop from the effort. 

“Geez, man. Calm your tits, I was joking. I’ll find you a spot. Drink that beer.” 

As if on cue, a roar erupts from the crowd watching. The fighter inside the cage drops to the floor, bloodied and beaten. Apoo shrugs and signals the cage handler.

“Clear that useless pile of trash from the cage. Eustass is in the house!” The crowd cheers. The regulars know him, and they’re always down for a good show. 

“Yes, Captain. Go on. Be a monster, you’re so good at that. Run away from us. From her. Run. Run. Run. Coward.” 

He can’t even identify who the voice belongs to now. The roar of the crowd is deafening. Finally. 

Kid knows they’re right. Monster, coward… he’s both. And perhaps that’s all he’ll ever be good at. There’s no use pretending. He should never have thought he had a chance at something else. A chance with you. 

He was always meant to wreck it. 

The cage door swings open with an ominous sound as they drag the limp body of the previous fighter out. Kid’s blood rushes to his ears, his hands clench, itching to hit something solid. 

And the voices?

They finally drown.

-*-

You didn’t sleep at all. 

Tears threatened to spill all night, but you wouldn’t let them. It was stupid, but you felt that if even one of them slipped from your eyelids, it would mean you’d have lost the battle. That you’d lost Kid. And that was unacceptable. 

Sometime during the endless night, you decided you wouldn’t give up. You wouldn’t let Kid wander out of your life just like that, not when it was clear you meant so much to each other. You would just do what you do best: fight for Kid. 

Fight until he gets it through his thick skull that you and he are meant to be. 

At breakfast, you put up a strong front and a smile on your face, giving your father no chance to unwrap his ‘I told you so’s.’ Not when you’re ready to fight for your relationship. 

After lunch, you barge into the garage like a hurricane following a storm. Shoulders held high, chin up, and determination fueling your steps. When you see Kid, the previously rehearsed speech goes out the window. Your heart beats like an ancient war drum inside your chest, and all you want to do is wrap your arms around his neck and pull him to you. 

He’s sitting inside Victoria, so you approach without hesitation, pressing your lips into a thin line to keep them from trembling. No weakness. 

You lean down, then jerk back with a shocked gasp.

“What happened?” Kid’s face is a mess, again. Purplish eye, split lip, dried blood caked in his eyebrow. “Kid!” Your eyes wander to Victoria as he pulls out the cracked dashboard. “What the hell happened? Did you get into an accident?”

Taking two steps back, you survey Victoria’s condition, looking for dents or any indication of what could have happened. She’s fine on the outside, which means… Kid did the damage himself.

“Nothin’ happened. Please, go home.”

His words hit you like a slap. He’s begging you to go away. He hasn’t even lifted his gaze to meet yours. 

“Talk to me, Kid.” You lean down again, extending your hand to touch him, but he climbs out of the car with the dash in his hands and puts an insurmountable amount of distance between you, even if it’s just three steps. 

“No. We ain’t doing this anymore.” He still doesn’t look at you. He turns his back and places the large piece of plastic on his workbench.

“Are you really giving up on us? After everything?” You already sound breathless, and you’re still at the beginning of the battle. 

The very air stills and hums, like it’s alive with your grief. Kid grasps the edge of the workbench, his muscles coiled tight with restraint. 

“You won’t even look at me?” An indignant scoff parts your lips. “You need to stop doing this! You can’t be hot and then cold; wise one minute and dumb as a rock the next!” Kid looks over your shoulder at you, but can’t seem to hold eye contact. 

“I know I didn’t ask for commitment. But at least show me trust. Trust in the way I feel about you, but mostly…” You swallow down a sob, clenching your fists to stop your hands from trembling. “Show trust in yourself, Kid.” 

You take a step forward, and he takes one back, eyes on the floor and clenched fists holding up his walls against your vicious strikes. 

“You said I was your girl! You called me yours, like I mattered!” A sob tears through your throat, and only by sheer will do you force your tears down. “You said I was special, Kid! What changed, huh? What changed between yesterday and today, Kid, because—”

“Ye wanna know what fuckin’ changed?” Kid roars, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours. They’re wild and red-rimmed, filled with the exact same kind of pain you’re feeling, but brimming with the shame and guilt you're trying so hard to rid him of.

You bite back the rest of the sentence that was already halfway out of your lips when he closes the distance between you with two angry steps. “This is what fuckin’ changed!” Without giving you a chance to react, his hand is at the hem of your shirt, lifting it and exposing a dark bruise on your side. 

You gasp as he takes in the blemish. It looks terrible, you’ve seen it. It’s large and purple, about the size of a grapefruit, and hurts like a bitch. But you try to school your features back to a more nonchalant expression. And fail miserably. 

Kid removes his hand with a resigned scoff, and your shirt falls back into place like a sad curtain fall at the end of a tragedy. 

“I fuckin’ did that,” he says, his voice hollow.

“It was an accide—”

“It don’t matter!” Kid waves his hands in the air, eyes widening as he shakes his head. “I still fuckin’ hurt ye! What the fuck don’t ye get?”

Kid turns away from you when you try to reach him again. He slams Victoria’s door so hard, you have no idea how the glass didn’t shatter altogether. 

“I am the fuckin’ monster yer father warned ye about!” He runs a hand through his already dishevelled hair, and the split on his lip opens up when he roars the words. “Angry! Dangerous! Volatile!” A loud, insane cackle leaves his lips next. “I ain’t changin’, sweetheart!”

Your throat tightens, and tears flood your eyes again. He’s not allowing you inside his walls. He doesn’t let you climb them and drag him away. He’s given up.

“Stop, Kid, please…”

“This is me! I’m a fuckin’ mess! A tickin’ time bomb, waiting to blow up in yer face.” Kid lets out another dark, humourless chuckle. “Run away while ye can.”

You step forward again, undeterred. Your relationship with Kid is nothing but a war zone, with battle after battle. Each one more exhausting and draining than the last, with barely enough time in between to allow you to breathe. 

You’ll be damned if you’re going to desert it without a proper fight.

“You’re doing it again. Pushing me away, thinking you’re protecting me, when all you’re doing is hurting us both. You want to drown in guilt and shame and self-loathing alone, so I can be happy on my own?” Your scoff nearly makes him flinch. “You’re just trying to punish yourself, Kid!”

Kid lifts his head, his gaze falling on yours, and for a moment, he looks so lost that you dare to hope. You keep trying to pull him to you, begging him to take the rope you keep throwing over the walls and either break through or let you in.

Anything.

“You think this is exactly what you deserve. That you should be alone, buried in pain and guilt with no chance of absolution.” You force back a whimper. This hurts you as much as it does him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he pleads with a growl, shaking his head and averting his gaze again. 

“No! No, Kid! I will not shut up!” The shrillness in your voice is as high-pitched as it is desperate. Your nails dig so hard into the soft skin of your hands that you already know they’ll leave red, angry marks. “I’ve seen who you are when you stop trying to blame yourself for every mistake!”

“Stop talkin’!” he roars.

“I’ve seen you smile and be happy! I’ve seen you try to be better! I’ve seen you stay!” Your voice falters as your breath hitches, but you keep ramming on those walls as hard as you can. “You made me feel safe! And—” You can’t fight a watery sob, nor the tears that crash down when it hits your throat. “—and wanted, Kid! Please… God, please… fight for us!”

“There’s no ‘us’ anymore.” The finality in his words is what shakes you to your core. He’s done this before. Pushed you away so many times, trying to be the asshole everyone paints him to be. 

Is this the final straw? Is this where you finally draw your limit and simply stop fighting? Because it hurts. It hurts so much to be the only one carrying all this weight. How can you keep fighting when it suddenly feels like there’s nothing left to fight for?

“Ye know ye don’t belong with me. Ye know, deep down, that yer meant for more; bigger, fancier things. Someone stable, safe, rich.”

The feeling of déjà vu almost takes you down. Your father uttered those words to you a long time ago. They hurt then, but now? Now they make you bleed. 

“I’ve fucking had that, Kid.” It’s the second time you’ve told him this, but you still know it won’t stick. “I told you.”

“But that’s what ye fuckin’ deserve!” he growls, eyes blazing with fury and a wish to be right.  “Not—”

“I don't want that!” you snap, voice cracking under pressure. “I only want—”

“—me!”

“—you!”

The silence is so heavy it almost bounces off the walls. You're both staring at each other, chests heaving, wearing your hearts on your sleeves; bleeding out emotions through your pores.

It’s not enough. 

You realise that as soon as he takes another step back. 

“This is the only me yer gonna get. The screwed up, broken and beaten up Eustass Kid. The one with nothin’ else to give but anger and pain. Ye don’t want that.”

And round and round in circles you go. 

A deep sigh leaves your lips as they tremble through the tears. It’s enough. For today, it's enough. You’ve depleted your ammo for this battle, and you need to recharge. 

You turn your back on him, silently vowing to return tomorrow and try again. “Clearly, you still have no idea what I want.”

You’ll keep trying. You have to. Because you know he’s worth it. Even though he’s shattering you into tiny pieces every time he pushes you away, you know he still holds the power to repair them.

If only he allows himself to. 

-*-

The next day, you try again. 

You figure that with sleep comes clarity, and perhaps today Kid is more willing to listen to you, to give you another chance, or, better yet, to give himself a chance. 

However, you didn't expect to be greeted by a ‘closed’ sign and no sign of either Kid or Killer when you arrived at the garage. 

Kid doesn't answer his phone, nor were you expecting him to, honestly. He's been ignoring your calls and texts since you came back from the road trip. You try Killer next, and he declines the call. 

You're already thinking that he might be busy when he texts you in reply. 

Killer: Hey, City Girl. I'm kicking some sense into him right now. Talk later? 

You reply with a ‘yes, please’ and let a smile wash away your worries. Killer instantly knew what you wanted before you even spoke to him. And he's talking to Kid, so maybe he can speak some sense into his thick skull. 

You hope. 

-*-

“Wanna tell me what the fuck happened?” Killer looks around Kid's living room. There's a pillow ripped to shreds, a bunch of crushed beer cans, and a half-empty scotch bottle. Kid’s on the floor, curled against his knees like a wounded dog, eyes empty, red-rimmed, and head swimming with alcohol and regret. 

“I happened,” Kid scoffs. A truth hard to swallow, but a truth nonetheless. 

“Elaborate. And don't fucking lie to me. I already know you went to Hellpit, even after promising me you wouldn't anymore,” Killer sounds pissed as fuck. He even removed his bandana to address him, which means business. 

“I fucked up, Kill. What else?” The slur in his voice comes from more than just the alcohol. It's deep pain, guilt, and shame, too. 

Killer sits on the couch and crosses his legs. “I got time,” he deadpans. “Spill.”

Kid fights with his conscience first. He's ashamed to share his faults. But then he looks up, and there's no judgment in Killer's face. There never was. Not once since he's known his best friend - his brother - has he laid judgment over his actions. 

So he talks. He starts at the nightmare because, really, that's where the shitshow began. He explains how you pulled him out and how he took advantage of that. Of you. 

Killer doesn't judge. 

“I could feel her tremblin’ against me, man. She was terrified that I would leave or push her away. Ain't even needed to hear the words. I could feel it.” Kid runs a hand through his matted hair and sighs. “And I didn't want to leave, Kill. All I could think about was how natural it felt to hold her. How good it would feel to wake every fuckin’ day with her in my arms.”

“So what fucked it up?”

A scoff leaves his lips before he resumes the tale. He talks about how everything was running smoothly until it wasn't. Until that fucker Basil Hawkins pointed out the differences between you and how much you didn't belong in Kid's world. 

“I saw it, I fuckin’ saw it. She was in her element. Usin’ posh words and bein’ all icy. Put him in his place, that's for sure. But made me see she's far off my league, man.” Kid reaches for the bottle, but Killer intercepts the action. 

“I'll make you coffee instead.” Killer gets up and navigates Kid’s kitchen like it's his own. “So was that it?”

“If only…” He tells his best friend all about how you told him that he's what you wanted, that it’s him you chose. And then… then comes the hard part. The part where he has to admit that he hurt you. 

Once he starts, though, he doesn’t shy away. He tells Killer how he only saw red when he heard you call his name in distress. All he could think about was getting the motherfucker away from you and then… punish him. 

“She tried to stop me and— fuck,” Kid groans into his hand. “I pushed her. I fuckin’ laid hands on her. Her back slammed into the payphone, and I only snapped out of it ‘cause she fuckin’ yelped!” 

He punches the pillow hard. Maybe not for the first time, since the fabric gives, and it deflates in a sad little poof. 

“Her eyes, Kill— fuck. She was scared.”

Killer places two mugs of coffee on top of the end table in Kid’s living room. Their steam swirls in the air, stealing time away before Killer even speaks. 

“You didn’t hit her, man,” Killer deadpans, his voice steady in a world that hasn’t stopped shaking since it happened. “And she wasn’t scared of you, Kid.”

“How the fuck do ye know that? Ye weren’t there!”

Killer raises his shoulders, twisting his lips into a sad smile. “She ain’t like that, Kid. She didn’t stop fighting for you once since she met you.” Killer leans forward, elbows steady on his knees. “She wasn’t scared of you. She was scared for you. That’s different.”

“Ye don’t know.”

“Wanna bet? How many times did she knock on that door? How many missed calls?” Kid’s silence is answer enough. “I rest my case.”

They drink their coffee in silence, Kid eyeing the scotch bottle like he’s being tempted by the devil himself. He gets up to set the mugs in the sink, and stays there for a beat longer, just staring at the black smudge at the bottom of it.

“I still ain’t right for her. I never should’ve led her on.”

“Aye, so you’ve fucking said. And still you can’t keep your hands off each other. Face it, Kid, you and she are meant to be together, no matter how hard you try to push her away.” Killer talks as if he’s teaching a preschooler his ABCs, like it’s common sense, as easy as breathing.

It’s not.

“I ain’t gonna pretend I’m not poison.” Kid turns the faucet and fills the mugs before rinsing them and setting them aside. 

“You’re not poison, man,” Killer scoffs, rising from the couch to lean against the counter and stare his friend down. “You’re damaged, sure. Hurt? Damn right. Broken? In fucking shambles. But you’re not beyond saving. Everybody deserves redemption.”

Kid’s head hangs from his shoulders. He’s heard that speech before. Every once in a while, Killer tries this. It never works.

“You need proper help. Professional help. Therapy, not the fucking end of a bottle or to rage against everyone and everything.”

He’s said this more than once, too. 

“I ain’t fuckin’ doin’ therapy, ye know that.” He tried it for a few months after he was discharged from the army. Never really worked, he fucking hated it. Hated having to speak and open himself up to a fucking judgy stranger. Fuck that shit.

“Why, Kid?” Killer snaps, a little growl slurring his question. “Is it because you think expressing your feelings is a weakness, or are you scared to break apart once you let someone see what’s on the inside?” Killer shakes his head. “Maybe you’re just afraid of who you’ll be once you’re not broken anymore…”

Kid walks away from Killer, pacing the room like a caged lion. Nowhere to go when the world is breathing down his neck. 

“Guess yer therapy is workin’ right!”

“Aye. I never miss a fucking session, Kid. I lost my friends, too. I can’t compare our situation, and I never meant to, but I’m broken too, brother.” Killer places one hand over Kid’s shoulder. He doesn’t squeeze, he’s just there. “And talking helps.”

Kid purses his lips together, jaw tightening, and doesn’t let out another word. Instead, he turns his back on his friend and faces the window. 

Killer knows that’s his cue. So, he picks up his jacket and keys and heads for the door.

“You’re not alone unless you choose to be, Kid.”

-*-

Luffy is having a party. One of his ragers, something more chaos than entertainment. You promised you’d make an appearance, even though it’s the last thing you want, but then decided to use the get-together to your advantage.

Kid has been avoiding you. He keeps leaving the texts you send unread, doesn’t pick up your calls, and you even stopped showing up at his garage because he kept the ‘closed’ sign in place, and you were feeling guilty that he was losing clients over this. 

That’s why you begged, pleaded, and even resorted to bribery. And it worked. You made Killer promise to bring Kid to Luffy’s house by any means necessary.

It’s a long shot, you know that, but it’s one you hope works. Kid would never go to one of Luffy’s parties of his own volition, and Killer told you he would try his best, but he wouldn’t make any promises. 

You can’t help the fluttering in your stomach from how nervous you are. Kid’s been very adamant about keeping you out of his life, and this is your only chance at speaking to him. It feels like hours pass between casual conversations with your friends until you see a glimpse of red near the entrance hall.

Muttering a quick excuse to Nami and Robin, you move, eyes peeled and, sure enough, there he is: black tee, jeans, a scowl, and attitude for days. He doesn’t want to be here, so you should account for his bad temper before you approach him. 

But you don’t even care.

Making a beeline towards him, you evade sweaty bodies and flailing limbs, reaching him already breathless. “Kid!” you urge, speaking over the loud music. “Let’s talk.”

He grimaces, shooting Killer an accusatory look before the blond disappears into the crowd. Only then does he look back at you. The wounds on his face are still very fresh, but it’s the growing shadows in his eyes that worry you the most. 

“I should’ve known it was a fuckin’ trap.”

You reach for his hand and pull him to a more secluded corner. He doesn’t pull away, nor does he resist you, but you don’t really know how to interpret that reaction. You don’t dare to be hopeful, but you don’t want to be downright pessimistic either.  

“You don’t even need to say anything, just let me speak, please, Kid. Please.” You squeeze his hand, eager eyes pleading with dull, amber ones. He opens his mouth, ready to contest, but closes it and nods instead. 

“You’ve been trying to push me away since the day you realised I was much more than just another girl. You keep saying you’re broken, that you’re a monster. Dangerous. And I keep coming back, Kid. What happened at that gas station wasn’t your fault. You were protecting me. I’m not scared of you, Kid. I never was. You know why?” 

You pause, but he doesn’t answer. “Because I know who you are here,” you whisper, placing your open palm against his chest. “You’re just a man who’s learning how to be whole again. And that takes time and effort.”

“Yer wastin’ yer time on me,” he drawls, eyes shifting without catching your gaze.

“I’m not. You don’t get to decide that for me. It’s always been my decision, not yours. You say you’re all the things my father warned me about, and I already told you I accept all of that, because it’s all part of you. But you know what?”

You take a tentative step towards him, one hand holding his, the other still on his chest. You chase his gaze until you trap him against your own.

“You’re not just that. You’re not just angry and dangerous. You’re also the man who called me his girl, who took me to the beach, and threw wet sand at my hair. The one who gave me his jacket to keep me warm and taught me how to fix a car. The man who held me close and told me he wasn’t going to leave—”

The words get stuck in your throat, and you swallow down a sob. It’s now or never. He needs to understand how special he is to you.  

“I love you, Kid. So much.” The words are barely a whisper, but you feel him flinch, his breath hitching, eyes widening, and his throat working to swallow a lump. 

“Don’t do this… It just makes it harder,�� he whispers, taking a step back and avoiding your gaze. 

What? How is he still pushing you away?

“Harder, Kid?” you croak. “This was never easy. I’m barely holding on as it is…” Your confession makes him flinch again, but the shadows in his eyes recede. For a few moments, the world stops, and there’s only you and him.

You, him, and the lightest flicker of hope.

Until he shakes his head, drops your hand, and disappears back into the crowd. 

-*-

You lost him. 

Not just emotionally, but physically. He’s nowhere to be seen. He vanished.

Thinking he's already gone home, you take another look around, trying to locate your friends to say you’re leaving, since you feel emotionally exhausted. You weren’t expecting to confess to Kid that you love him, but it happened.

And it didn’t change a thing. 

You have no idea what you are going to do now or where you are going to go from here. But you’ll figure it out. You always do.

But then you see him, across the room. 

Kid’s sitting at the impromptu bar, a high table Luffy set up with beverages and stools. He looks weary, ready to call it a night even though he’s nursing a drink. There’s a storm brewing behind his eyes. 

With a deep breath, you decide to try one more time. Maybe this time’s the charm, you hope. One of you has to give. Either he sees reason, or you give up. There’s no in-between.

You’re two strides in when Kid looks up. His gaze locks with yours, something unreadable behind his eyes. Shame? Sorrow? You can’t quite tell.

He swallows and, without breaking eye contact with you, reaches out and pulls a girl by the waist straight into his lap. 

You stop, heart thundering against your ribs. You barely acknowledge who the girl is or where she came from - does it even matter? She’s laughing and flirting, placing a hand on his chest. Kid’s hand grips her waist, and your world starts to shrink. 

He wouldn’t…

You know what he’s doing. Your mind knows he’s using every method he can think of to push you away, to make you see he’s not good enough for you, but your heart… your heart is in your throat, ready to spill out and shatter into tiny pieces. 

Kid narrows his gaze for a second, and then his hand slithers up the girl’s spine, settles on her nape, and curls around her hair. Your move. You’ve lost count of the times he did this to you…

You can’t breathe. The air is stale, there’s not enough oxygen in the world to fill your lungs.

You try to speak, but no sound leaves your lips, so you just mouth the words: ‘Please, don’t’. You desperately shake your head, pleading, begging him not to do this. He can’t throw away what you have like this. Because if he does…

Then what the hell have you been fighting for all this time?

You take another step forward, and your legs wobble. Your vision swims. Are you crying?

Kid is still looking at you. He pulls the girl down, leaning in, angling her face so he can kiss her.

You shake your head again, a breathless whisper leaving your lips, an unheard plea: “Don’t… please… no!”

And then—

Darkness.

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|Chapter 13|

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [7] - On Edge

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: New enemies can complicate everything.

Word Count: 3200

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You had to admit; your therapist had many good ideas but this?

You weren't so sure this was one of those good ideas.

You pulled the souffle out of the oven and took a look at it, then grabbed a toothpick and put it through the center, only to pull it out completely dry.

“God damn it!” you exclaimed, putting it next to the other five failed attempts, and grabbed the bowl again. “This fucking…”

“What are you doing?”

Your head shot up and you looked over your shoulder. “What the—go away, why are you here?”

Bucky raised his brows.

“Hello to you too Charm,” he said, putting his hands into his pockets, his eyes darting around the kitchen. Even you had to admit that the sight of you in the kitchen was unfamiliar, considering that you barely knew how to make eggs but seeing him in your kitchen was equally strange. Your chef would normally be in the kitchen at this time but you were pretty sure he wasn’t here to see her.

“Who told you I was here?”

“The maid,” he said and motioned at the bowl you were holding. “What is this?”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked first.”

You heaved a sigh and put the bowl back on the counter, then crossed your arms.

“I’m baking,” you said as if there was nothing out of the ordinary with that statement, and Bucky frowned slightly.

“Why?” he asked. “What is this, your plan to play house with your civilian boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“My therapist seems to think it’s a good idea,” you said. “She says I should do things like these to relax my mind.”

“Right, you sounded very relaxed when I walked in.”

“It’s because these fucking souffles refuse to have chocolatey center!” you snapped and Bucky blinked a couple of times.

“You’ve never baked once in your life and you decided to start with one of the hardest things to bake in the world?”

“Go big or go home.”

“I’m right with you on that but when it comes to baking, people usually start with cookies.”

“I already baked cookies, they weren’t challenging enough,” you said, motioning at the plate on the kitchen island and he walked to it to get a cookie.

“Did you poison these?”

“Yeah,” you said and he shrugged, then took a bite of it, a look of surprise crossing his face as he chewed on it.

“This is actually good,” he said. “Is this cinnamon?”

“It’s arsenic,” you deadpanned and he nodded his head.

“You know, if you ever decide to go into it professionally, we can get you a bakery.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious, we’d put it in the neutral territory if it makes you feel any better, it could work—”

“Why are you here?” you cut him off and he popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth, then leaned back to the island.

“I’ve been summoned,” he said. “So has everyone else.”

Your eyes widened. “Everyone else? What do you mean, everyone else?”

“All the bosses in the city.”

“What the—why?” you asked, lowering your voice and he shot you a smirk.

“How long have you been here?”

“Bucky!” you hissed and he grabbed another cookie.

 “There’s been an attack.”

“An attack?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat. “From a family?”

“Not from a family,” he answered. “An outsider, or so it seems.”

“What outsider?” you asked and he chewed on his bite.

“No seriously, if I paid you, would you make more of these for me?”

You smacked his arm and snatched the cookie out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“What outsider?”

“It happened in Stark’s territory,” he said, eyeing the cookie. “He knows more than I do, he and your father had a talk I heard but we will all be informed in the meeting.”

You arched a brow. “And?”

“I swear to you, that’s all I know. Can I get it back now?”

You heaved a sigh and handed him the cookie, making him shoot you a happy smile.

“Thank you.”

“Do you think they’re the same people who were involved in the shootout?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, then cleared his throat.

“Who knows?” he said. “So did you think about my proposal?”

You threw your head back in frustration, then jumped to sit on the island, crossing your legs.

“I did,” you said, leaning slightly back, resting your palms on the island and pretending to be in deep thought. “And you know what, it kind of makes sense to use a marriage for my benefit and rise to power.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was holding his breath, a hopeful light glimmering in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah so, Steve or Sam?” you asked airily and he frowned.

“What?”

“Yeah, I mean Romanoff is with Banner, Barton is married, so is Stark…”

A groan left his lips. “Charm…”

“So that leaves us Steve or Sam.”

“They’re my best friends.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I know that. So what?”

“They would never.”

“Why not?” you asked. “Because you called dibs on me or something?”

He averted his gaze from you and you sat up straighter, pulling your brows together.

“Bucky,” you growled. “You have exactly three seconds to tell me you didn’t call dibs on me as if I’m a cookie because we’re standing in a kitchen full of knives—”

“I didn’t!” he said. “They just…they won’t, okay?”

“Well then that plan is not going to work because I’d never marry you—” you started but heard a knock by the door, making you turn your head to look at Steve.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” you said. “Bucky was just leaving.”

Steve glanced around the kitchen with his brows raised. “Since when do you bake?”

“It’s very good for mental health!” your defensive answer came almost too fast and he held up his hands.

“Alright then.”

“It does calm you down,” Bucky said solemnly and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I’m going to take your cookie back.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Steve eyed the cookies. “Can I have one too?”

“See? He asks for permission,” you told Bucky. “Perfect marriage material there.”

“Excuse me, what?” Steve asked, gawking at you before Bucky grabbed a cookie from the plate and tossed it to Steve who caught it mid-air, then he turned to you.

“You know where to find me.”

“Yeah, between some woman’s legs,” you retorted, making him roll his eyes as Steve chuckled.

“I’ll see you around Charm,” he said and walked out of the kitchen with Steve following him. You nibbled on your lip, then grabbed a cookie and laid down on the island, keeping your eyes on the ceiling.

“So relaxed,” you murmured as you bit into the cookie. "I'm so very relaxed."

                                            *

That meeting took hours to be finished and even though you wanted to stick around in the house, you still had plans with Ethan for lunch. You were at the end of your wits from curiosity so by the time Ethan got there, you were still glued to your phone, waiting for a text from Becca.

“Hey,” he said, pressing a kiss on your cheek and you smiled up at him.

“Hey,” you said and took out the small container out of your handbag to put it in front of him, making him tilt his head.

“What is this?”

“Cookies,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. “I made them today.”

Ethan stared at you. “You made cookies?”

“Why does everyone sound so shocked about it?” you asked back and Ethan chuckled.

“Y/N, while we were dating, you tried to make toast in the microwave.”

“It’s not my fault if microwaves aren’t that advanced yet,” you told him and he chuckled.

“Of course,” he played along, opening the container to take out a cookie. “What brought on this sudden interest in baking?”

“My psychiatrist,” you said as he took a careful bite and his eyes widened.

“You made this?”

You gasped in a dramatic manner and pushed at his boot with your heel. “I take your disbelief as a compliment.”

“You should, it’s amazing!” he said. “So your psychiatrist told you to bake cookies?”

“Well not just bake but more like…you know, relaxing stuff,” you said. “I started with baking because it sounded more interesting than the other options. And more delicious as well.”

“I think you unlocked a talent there,” he said and you hummed.

“Eh, maybe. My souffles disagree.”

“You made souffles?”

“I started for souffles but now I have muffins,” you said. “You know, not much of a difference there.”

“Muffins are better than souffles anyway,” he told you, grabbing another cookie as the waiter brought his coffee. “Thank you.”

“So I was going to ask you,” you said, turning your phone in your hand. “Where is your apartment exactly?”

“Between 33rd and 34th street right across from the bank, downstairs there’s a cute—”

“Drawing supplies store,” you finished his sentence for him and he blinked a couple of times.

“Do you have a map in your mind or something?”

“My father made me basically memorize the whole city so yeah,” you said and heaved a sigh. “Great. Stark’s territory.”

He pulled his brows together. “Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily,” you said, running a hand over your face. “So hypothetically speaking—”

“Jesus, we’re back to that?” he teased you and you shook your head slightly.

“No I’m serious,” you said. “Hypothetically speaking, it wouldn’t be a good idea to wander around there late in the evening nowadays.”

His frown deepened.

“Is this related to that attack there earlier today?”

Your eyes shot up to his. “You were there?”

“No no, not very close at least,” he said. “It’s just—there was terrible traffic and I heard the police cards and the ambulance, and people were saying there was an attack.”

“At who? Or what?”

“I really don’t know,” he said, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t really think much of it. So is this related?”

You pursed your lips together and shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not sure but as my dad says, you can never be too careful,” you said. “Alright, here’s the thing. I’ll hire someone to keep an eye around your apartment just in case—”

“Wait, what?”

“Just as a precaution.”

“Y/N, I’m a civilian,” he said with a small laugh. “You said civilians don’t get involved—”

“They don’t, it’s a just precaution,” you repeated, taking another sip of your coffee. “I’m sure nothing is going to happen, but it’s good to be careful.”

He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

“I’m not gonna have a bodyguard following my every move, right?”

“No they do that with me, not you,” you said, a smile curling your lips. “I assure you, you won’t even notice they’re around.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Not really, I don’t hire amateurs.”

A small chuckle climbed up his throat and he shook his head.

“This is insane.”

“You wanted excitement,” you pointed out. “I’m just making sure that excitement doesn’t turn into actual danger, that’s all.”

He popped another cookie in his mouth. “Did you bring me these so that I would feel more relaxed?”

You shot him a mischievous grin. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“I feel better about it than I would have with zero cookies,” he joked, coaxing out a giggle from you. “So wait, you wanted to let me know first?”

“Yeah because I don’t want to be the psycho ex who puts people in your tail in secret.”

“No, just the ex who has the ability to pull something like that and bake cookies at the same time.”

“I’m nothing if not versatile,” you stated, making him laugh.

“Oh trust me,” he said. “I’m well aware of that.”

You mirrored his smile and held his gaze, biting at your lip before sitting up straighter.

“So,” you said. “Enough about me. How’s everything at the office?”

                                            *

When you got back home, the meeting was mostly over but apparently Bucky and Sam had stayed for a short talk with your father. Even Ian was sent out of the room which gave you a strange satisfaction but it didn’t last very long when you saw him smirking while talking on the phone in the living room. You stepped inside and flung yourself on the couch, crossing your arms while waiting for him to finish.

“Yeah no, because I said—that’s what I’m saying, just be prepared for anything, we don’t know whose territory it might be next. If it’s ours…”

You checked your nails, humming a song just so that you could get on his nerves and Ian stole a look at you.

“I’ll call you later,” he said and hung up, then put his phone into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Y/N.”

“Ian,” you said. “They kicked you out while the real bosses speak then?”

“I had to step outside to make some calls,” he said and you hummed.

“Before or after they kicked you out?”

“Better than not being invited in at all,” he stated, making your jaw clench. “I half expected to see you eavesdropping in the hallway, you surprised me.”

You clicked your tongue, then shot him a fake smile.

“Do they ask you to bring them coffee?” you asked. “While they talk? Like an assistant.”

“I know you find this hard to accept, but I hold a very important part in those meetings,” he said. “Seeing that I’m the heir.”

“Are you though?” you asked. “Father didn’t officially announce you.”

“And he certainly won’t announce you,” he said and you crossed your legs, trying to seem calm and collected.

“So what is going to happen if our territory is next?” you asked him airily and he sat down on the couch across from yours.

“We are going to retaliate.”

“And you hope our territory is next,” you stated and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Not at all but if it is, we will handle it.”

“And the rest of the city?” you asked. “The other territories?”

He rolled his eyes. “You might want to check your priorities there, Y/N.”

“Do you seriously think our territory can just survive on its own?” you asked back. “Do you think if it somehow leads to a war, if any of the other territories get affected, we will still be fine? That will affect the truce and if the peace—”

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Ian cut you off. “The exact reason why uncle chose me as his heir over you. I don’t care much for peace.”

You stared at him, your heart beating in your ears because of the fury spreading through you over his words but before you could say anything, you heard Bucky’s voice in the foyer. You shot up from the couch, rushed to the foyer to see Bucky and Sam, your heels echoing on the marble floor.

“Hi Sam, nice to see you,” you said without even stopping, and grabbed Bucky’s arm to drag him towards the spiral stairs. “You’re coming with me.”

“What, it’s not good to see me?” Bucky asked but followed you without so much as an argument. You made your way through the hallway after you reached the top of the stairs, then pushed him into your room and slammed the door behind you.

“Charm if you wanted me in your bedroom, all you had to do was ask—”

“Keep dreaming,” you snapped at him and he shot you a mischievous grin.

“Hi.”

“What did you all talk about?”

He looked around the room as if trying to take it in as much as he could, and you followed his gaze as it fell on the fireplace and to your reading corner by the window, then to the antique mirror and your vanity before he approached your bed to sit down on it.

“Lovely room,” he commented and you crossed your arms.

“Tell me.”

“This relationship is starting to feel very one-sided—”

“That’s because it is,” you cut him off. “What is going on?”

He heaved a sigh and ran his vibranium hand through his hair.

“Well, at least now we have a name,” he said. “One of the men Stark captured, he said something.”

You arched a brow. “What did he say?”

“Hydra.”

You pulled your brows together, deep in thought.

“Doesn’t sound familiar,” you said. “What, are they new or something?”

Bucky scoffed a laugh and shook his head.

“Not at all,” he said. “We’re still gathering more information about them but they’re not new, that’s for sure.”

You clicked your tongue.

“And let me guess,” you said. “They’re not just a couple of people?”

Bucky shook his head again and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting out a breath as you opened them.

“Fuck.”

Bucky shot you a dry smile. “My reaction exactly.”

“But either way, if all families are working together against them,” you thought out loud. “It means—where did they attack in Stark’s territory, by the way? One of his places?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“A café.”

“Stark doesn’t own a café.”

“No he doesn’t.”

Your stomach did a painful flip as you stared at him.

“Civilians?” you asked, your voice hoarse. “They’re attacking civilians?”

“They’re attacking everyone including civilians,” Bucky answered and you pursed your lips together.

“So no code then,” you murmured. “They’ll create chaos and…”

“We will stop them before they do that,” Bucky assured you as he stood up from the bed. “But Charm, listen to me. From now on, nowhere in the city is one hundred percent safe, no matter whose territory it is. That whole bullshit you keep pulling with no bodyguards—”

“I don’t have a death wish,” you cut him off. “I know how dangerous it can get in a situation like this. I grew up with the same stories as you, remember?”

Bucky’s phone started vibrating and he checked the caller ID, then put it back in his pocket again.

“I gotta go,” he said. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“To repeat, I—”

“Charm,” he interrupted you as if he didn’t have the time for nonsense, his tone completely serious. “Promise me. Please.”

You frowned slightly, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah sure,” you said and he nodded to himself, then walked to the door but stop when he heard you say his name.

“Bucky?”

He turned to you. “Yeah?”

“This whole thing, it won’t lead to the truce breaking, will it?” you asked, desperately trying to convince yourself. “Between the families?”

Bucky shot you an almost reprimanding look like he could see right through you.

“I’ll lie to you if you want me to but we did grow up with the same stories Charm,” he reminded you. “It will lead to something, and you know it as well as I do.”

With that, he walked out of your room and you sat down on the armchair across from the fireplace with a sigh, your heart slamming against your ribcage. You gritted your teeth together and leaned your head back, then pressed your palms on your eyes.

 “Oh,” you said. “God damn it.”

Chapter 8

[mokulule]

Dead on MAYn Day 1 - still untitled.

Prompts used: Dinner interrupted by a rogue/gang fight, courting rituals.

This thing keeps growing so I figured I should just post the first part. It will be continued eventually it’s kinda going places I didn’t expect. I am also using the flickering prompt, but it doesn’t appear in this first part.

Danny dug into his burger with gusto. It was not Nasty Burger, but it was greasy and cheesy and juicy and definitely hit the spot after a whole day walking about Gotham taking in the supernatural sights.

Sam was entirely less impressed with the vegetarian option and had set it down with a grimace and was now just picking at her fries. Tucker had taken it as a personal win for the Meat Team™ and was lording it over her with his eyebrows - thankfully he was too busy eating to actually say anything, which Danny was very glad of. You could only hear the same arguments so many times. At least age and maturity had assured they didn’t end their friendship over it.

“So,” Sam said, “What’s next after this?”

Danny finished chewing his mouthful, before speaking. “I’m not sure, I figured just go back to the hotel for a bit, chill until nightfall? Gotham’s court won’t be in session until then.”

“Seconded. My feet hurt,” Tucker chimed in.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend all your day sitting in front of a screen all day-”

And they were at it again… Danny tuned them out with the practice of years of being on the sideline, humming in agreement when prompted. He loved his friends dearly, but arguing was a part of their love language that he didn’t feel like participating in.

He let his eyes wander around the small diner, and found himself frowning as a group of men hurried inside.

If Danny had been less used to his ghost sense warning him of trouble, maybe he would have reacted in time - or at all. As it was he found himself frozen in shock when he saw the guns - regular human guns, not ecto-guns, ecto-guns he knew how to react to.

It was strange to realize that nobody had ever pointed a normal gun at him before and someone was pointing a gun at him right now - of course it would be in Gotham he got that experience.

“Hey you, stand up slowly and get over here. Hands where I can see them.”

Oh.

Danny’s brain suddenly caught up to the events.

A group of five armed men had entered the diner waving guns. Three kept their eyes on the door and windows as if they expected someone to follow them. One was moving behind the counter towards the back, maybe looking for the waitress who had skedaddled as soon as the armed men entered and the last one had his gun trained on Danny, who of all people in the diner he’d figured was the best option for a hostage.

Danny resisted the urge to laugh.

Slowly he did as bidden, raising his hands and standing up.

On the surface he wasn’t an unreasonable choice. He was short and lean, if he was completely honest he looked like a stiff wind could blow him over. Sam in contrast looked like trouble and Tucker had grown up annoyingly tall, and if Gotham police was like most places it was probably wiser to pick a white boy as hostage anyways. The rest of the people in the diner were two heavy set construction workers and a lady with arms broader than Danny’s thighs, like damn. 

So yeah, Danny was apparently the best choice. 

Regretfully, he left his dinner to cool on its plate as he took carefully measured steps towards the… what? Mobster? Gang person? 

A part of him was wondering how much a gunshot could hurt him. Would it hurt him? In human form probably, as long as he was tangible. Would it kill him the rest of the way? He wasn’t particularly keen to find out.

His eyes flickered to the other armed men when one of them hissed at the guy at the door. “Do you see him?”

Danny considered doing something for about three steps, but he wasn’t experienced enough with real guns and fighting humans that he thought he could risk it. He’d also prefer to fly under the radar while he was here. He was on vacation, not here to mess with anyone.

There was a familiar feeling in his throat, wanting to be let go. His head snapped towards the kitchen. What! That couldn’t be right?

The man grabbed him and put the gun to his head just as a crash sounded from the kitchen and the wisp of cold breath escaped his mouth. Everyone turned towards the noise. The man who held him tightened his hold and pushed the gun so hard against his head he had to tilt it. 

Something black came flying out the door and the jumpy gunmen shot at it, but with their attention on the object (a pan, it was just a pan) they didn’t notice the man who followed behind. He was fast, not much more than a red brown blur, shooting the furthest man in the arm so he dropped the gun and then coming in close, punching the first man and kicked the next in the belly. He moved so smoothly, effortlessly. 

Danny forgot to breathe. Because that there was the source of his ghost sense. Because that there was also a human.

Another halfa.

Here in Gotham of all places! 

His heart gave a hard thump in his chest and he gasped, remembered breathing was a thing he sorta needed as a human. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the other halfa. Now there was someone who knew how to fight. His core hummed pleasurably in his chest. The other halfa had taken care of those goons in less than ten seconds. The fourth one was probably dealt with in the kitchen. And the fifth-

Danny was abruptly reminded of how the fifth had a gun to his head, as he annoyingly poked him with that barrel and pulled him backwards towards the door.

“Not another step or he gets it!”

Danny grimaced. He finds another halfa and he’s a fucking hostage? Stellar first impression, right there! Someone please shoot him- or wait, considering the situation that was probably not the wisest turn of phrase. 

“How about you let the civilian go, and I won’t break your kneecaps.” The voice was menacing though clearly modulated and there was a delightful, almost cheerful undertone.

Now that he was standing still, Danny could better appreciate him. He was a big man, probably near a head taller than Danny and so much wider. Death had clearly not stopped him from putting on muscle. Normally Danny might have been jealous, but honestly he was too busy appreciating the other halfa. 

He was wearing a red helmet, faceless except for a pair of glaring eyes and he had a large bat symbol across his chest. This last bit should put Danny off. There were very good reasons Danny didn’t want to catch any attention here. He couldn’t think of them right now. But there were… reasons… yes… and thighs walking towards him-

“I swear I will shoot!”

Oh for fuck’s sake! There were too many people involved. Danny promptly stepped down on his captor’s instep, ducked and twisted out of his hold. 

Red Hood, because that was his name, Danny suddenly remembered, promptly shot the gun out of the man’s hold and took him down with a punch and a crunching kick to the right knee. 

Shit, Danny was jealous, not of the broken kneecap of course, but he also wanted to throw down. He could show the other halfa what he could do, make friends, or more? Would it be too forward to gift him one of his moon rocks?

It probably was too forward? This was the first halfa he met who wasn’t a fruit loop or related to him. At least he hoped he wasn’t a fruit loop.

“Are you alright?”

Danny shook himself out of his thoughts to find that he’d been approached.

Now that he was up close Danny could really appreciate how those arms looked strong enough to bend him in half and- Danny’s gaze stopped at his waist. Was he actually wearing a leather corset? It did great things for his-

“That was either brave or stupid.”

The words had Danny’s eyes snapping back up to the glaring helmet. Danny was frozen. How was he supposed to talk to him? His mind reeled. Do something! Anything!

“How’s this for stupid?” Danny blurted and promptly punched him in the gut with a good deal of ghostly strength. Red Hood bent over with a pained oof.

Fuck! Danny’s brain screamed at him in despair. He could not believe he’d done that! Glancing around he couldn’t find Sam or Tucker so he quickly ran out the diner. 

He was grabbing for his phone in his pocket while running, when he was pulled into an alley. He was so wound up he nearly threw another punch, but then he realized it was just Sam and Tucker.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Danny!” They spoke in eerie unison. Tucker snorted, but Sam continued, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Danny shook his head, realizing he must look a little dazed. He felt a little dazed. He didn’t even feel like taking the obvious bait.

“I punched Red Hood,” he admitted.

“What!” There they went again I unison, almost as if they practiced it.

“Do you think he’d like a moon rock?”

The looks they sent him then, they were indescribable. Absently he padded his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t grown a second head.

“Are you sick, Danny? Was there something in the food?” Sam put her hand on his forehead checking his temperature, even as she looked at Tucker, “What are the chances there’d be blood blossoms in a random burger?”

“Extremely unlikely, more likely something new, never seen Danny react like this.”

Danny grumpily pushed Sam’s hand away. “The food was fine. I’m fine.”

They gave him twin dubious looks.

“Look, let’s just go back to the hotel room. I just need a little rest and I’ll be fine.”

-

Jason gasped in pain to the sound of laughter in his comms. What the Hell was in that guy’s food that he could throw such a punch?

“What did he did the little guy do, Hood? Kick you in the jewels?” Dick managed to ask through laughter.

They didn’t have visuals, small mercies, but Oracle the traitor had let on to the former hostage’s scrappy stature in the run down of the situation.

“He did not.” Jason growled and turned off the comms, done listening to those idiots. Shit, fuck. Definitely a meta, that had been super strength. Keeping one hand over his pained abdomen he walked over to kick the goon who had decided to crawl for his gun in Red Hood’s apparent distraction.

“Don’t even think about it, I am not in the mood for it,” he growled and the goon whimpered.

When he finished securing the goons, of course the meta was long gone. Jason sighed in annoyance. Just his luck.

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XV: Right Now It Feels Good Not to Stand

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | read bee's diary

songs for this chapter: girl is a gun by halsey, you first by paramore, bloodhound by scowl, wonderwall by oasis, ICU by phoebe bridgers

summary: something compels you to keep exploring this new, friendlier territory.

a/n: strap in bitch (affectionate) this shit is LONG. have fun!

chapter tags: more ridiculous conversations, raunchiness, adult language, explicit descriptions of sex, hurt/comfort, angst angst more angst fluff but also angst. perv!Eddie strikes again, anxious reader, friendly flirting, idiots flirting without admitting it. lore drops, dialogue, cheesy pick up lines and bold statements. lots of fun!! | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. THIS WORK IS BEING REPOSTED TO MY NEW AO3! Feel free to check it out! Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. I am satiated by reblogs and comments, so please! Interact with my work! It motivates me to write more, and it helps to know someone out there is reading

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie

--

“What’d the waffle ever do to you?” Chris teases, sliding you a glass of orange juice as you continue brutally stabbing your breakfast. “At least let it die with some dignity.” 

You just grunt in response, shoving a bite of fluffy buttermilk goodness into your mouth. 

“C’mon, what’s wrong? Rough night?”

It’s Sunday, and you spent most of your Saturday off stewing in your thoughts, unable to relax after waking up in Eddie’s arms. Your brain has been going miles per minute, guessing and theorizing about what he could possibly have meant by “making up for lost time.”. “Yeah, you could say that.” You stab your fork into your plate again, barely getting any waffle onto the tines of your fork.

“Anything I could help with?” He leans on the counter, munching on a piece of bacon. 

“Probably not. I don’t think you’d be interested in any of it.” Plus, you’re missing massive pieces of this puzzle.

“Try me?” Chris sits down on the stool next to you, his own plate steaming with a pile of fresh waffles and crispy bacon. Breakfast has always been your favorite meal, and it’s sweet that your brother still puts so much effort into it for you. 

You fill your brother in on as much as you think is necessary, including the nightmare and how you’d woken up. When you’re done, Chris is gaping at you, half chewed waffle still on his tongue. “Ew, dude. Close your mouth.” 

He does, swallowing the bite before speaking. “You slept together?!” “No! That is not what I said.”

“Okay, then why are you freaking out?”

“Because! Since you’ve both come back I have fallen into this alternate reality where Eddie and I are almost friends, and it’s freaking me out. It’s like the anger I’ve been harboring in my heart is just gone, and that doesn’t feel fair. I should be seething at both of you, but mostly I’m just grateful you’re both alive and safe.”

“It sounds like you’ve solved your own problem, Bee. You’re mad for no reason, so you can stop being mad.” He says it so flippantly, and you feel your chest tighten.

“But I’m still mad. I’m pissed off. I lost six years with you both and with no scapegoat to blame it on.” You rub your hand down your face, trying to keep your tears from falling. 

“You want my honest opinion?” You nod. “I think you love him.” You roll your eyes, but he doubles down. “I’m serious! I know you love me, but I think this whole thing bothers you so much because you’re wondering what you two could have been if none of the bad shit happened. You’re dwelling on the past because you regret cutting him out, whether you can admit that to yourself or not. You’re coming to see that he’s not the selfish, careless guy you had been making him out to be in your head. I don’t blame you, and neither should you. You created that version of him with the information you were given. I would have done the same thing, probably. You have the right to be upset, but don’t let that prevent you from losing even more time with him. He’s here now. I don’t see him leaving again any time soon, either.” 

It pains you, how much sense your brother is making. As much as you want to be angry with him, with Eddie, you know it’s all in vain. “God, I hate it when you’re right.”

Chris’s face breaks into a shit eating grin. “I know.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“I don’t have that answer, Bumblebee. That’s for you to figure out. You’ve made progress, though. Just do what Eddie and I couldn’t. Be honest.”

–

> can we talk?

Oh god. You send the message before you lose your nerve. Then a second:

>  like in person?

Eddie (block later): now?

> if ur not doing anything. can i come over? chris is here, otherwise i’d host u

Eddie (block later): course

Eddie (block later): not yet tho come in like an hour i gotta shower

You find yourself stressing over what to wear to Eddie’s when you read his reply, digging through your dresser drawers for a shirt that doesn’t immediately give that fact away. Finally, you find the one you’re looking for: A cropped tank that rests just above your navel, a soft periwinkle color. You pair it with a flannel and a pair of baggy cargo pants, and slip on your shoes before you realize it’s only been fifteen minutes since he’d told you to wait an hour.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” You wonder aloud, frustrated with yourself. As a distraction, you turn your speaker on, your phone automatically connecting to the bluetooth. You scroll through your library until one song jumps out at you, the perfect one to take your mind off the waiting. You shake out your nerves as Halsey’s Girl is A Gun plays, probably annoying the shit out of your brother through your thin walls. You bang your head, two-step, and air guitar your way through the song, out of breath as it fades, and a new song begins. You keep the energy going, this time with Paramore’s You First. You remember fondly when you’d seen them live last year, the way Hayley thrashed to this song as they opened the show. The playlist takes on a theme of angry girls, and you’re not upset about it. Song after song features a woman scorned or screaming, sometimes both, until the alarm you forgot you had set goes off, interrupting your dance break. 

-

Eddie’s front room smells like weed when you enter, and it almost smacks you in the face as you enter. It’s not a scent that’s ever bothered you, but right now it seems to have embedded itself in your nostrils. “You just put that out or something?”

Eddie chuckles, clearly nervous. “Found myself pacing the floor waiting for you. Tried to relax before I put a hole in the floor.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say to that. “Did it work?” 

“No. I’m just doing a great job hiding it.” He smiles sheepishly as he nudges his area rug playfully, and you laugh at his discomfort. Maybe it’s mean, but you’re kind of glad he’s as jumpy as your heart feels right now. “So,” Eddie starts in when the giggles have subsided. “What does the princess wanna talk to a layman like me about?” His posture relaxes as he sinks into the couch, letting the buzz of the weed take root in his brain. 

“Oh, no. That’s not fair, you’re zoinked out of your mind!”

He frowns, sitting back up. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. You had something really important you wanted to talk to me about, and I’m not taking it seriously.” 

You huff. “No, it’s fine. It’s nothing, like, earth shattering.” Well, to a normal person. To you, though? “I just wanted to see you.” 

“Really?” It’s adorable, the way his tone lightens as he says it, his dimples deepening as he shows his teeth. 

You nod. “I think you had a really good idea, that whole being honest thing. So I’m trying it, too.”

His smile morphs. You’ve given him the upper hand, completely by accident. “How hard was that?” If anyone else had said it, the words would have hurt your feelings. Eddie, though, has such a way about him that you can’t even take his question to mean anything beyond exactly what he’d asked.

“Really, really fucking hard. But it’s harder knowing how much time I wasted because I couldn’t admit it.” It’s too early for such a serious conversation, and you’re starting to wish you’d waited a few more hours before coming over. “I forgot just how much I missed you, man. I got so used to being angry that it started replacing the… fun, important parts of our friendship. I started erasing the origin story of my best friend, and it was for fucking nothing!” You hadn’t planned on crying, but you can’t help it. The tears blur your vision before they fall down your cheeks, and not two seconds later Eddie is swiping them away with his thumb. 

“Please don’t cry.” He begs you, his voice low to keep from wavering. “You know I fuckin’ hate it when you cry.” 

“I wasted so much time… hating you.” You shake your head furiously, tears still falling freely as he wraps his arms around your shaking shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. I was so fucking mean to you.”

“Hey, hey. Stop. You had every reason to be mad at me, okay? I don’t blame you in the slightest. I had all that time to tell you the truth and I didn’t. Please don’t blame this on yourself, sweetheart. This isn’t your fault.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking deep breaths that you begin to match. You can feel him mumbling something unintelligible against your skin. “I have an idea.” Eddie pulls away from you, suddenly his usual, eager self. “You wanna see something cool?”

–

It’s been about twenty minutes in Eddie’s van when you finally crack. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see! We’re almost there.” He cuts the wheel, the force sending your body tilting into his personal space. “We go the rest of the way on foot.” Eddie throws the car in park and flings himself out of his seat and over to the passenger side, where he yanks the door open for you. “C’mon.” He then grabs his tattered backpack and guitar case from the backseat. 

He’s brought you to… the middle of the Hawkins Forest. “Did you bring me out here to kill me?”

Eddie scoffs, marching forward into the tangle of trees. “Please. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have a way better plan than bringing you out here. You’re safe, I promise.” He reaches his hand out behind him, wiggling his fingers at you. “You trust me?”

You do, without question, and you answer by grabbing his hand with your own. It’s warm. Strong, his skin rough with all the mechanical work he does. You follow him uphill, through the branches and finally into a relatively clear opening. “I usually come here to write my campaigns, it’s secluded enough while still being easy to find.” Eddie leads you to the far side of the clearing, where a makeshift tent has been propped against the trees. 

“This is like, your secret lair?” You question, taking in your surroundings. “What’s the point when you live by yourself?” 

“I like being outside. Reminds me of being a kid, playing stupid games in the woods with nothing but sticks and stones as props.” He muses, taking a seat on the rocks surrounding what looks like a fire pit. 

“Is this legal?” You kick one of the logs in the ashen pile, and Eddie chuckles.

“Probably not, but I haven’t been caught yet!”

“Careful, your stalker could be right on your tail.”

“Who, Hopper? Please, he wouldn’t have the heart to stop me. He has a soft spot for the freaks.” Eddie doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t feel like questioning him. From his bag, he yanks out a massive picnic blanket and spreads it in the grass. It’s unseasonably sunny for October, bathing Eddie in a soft light, highlighting the strands of caramel in his dark hair. “Come sit down.” He pats the spot next to him, and you obey his request, dropping to your knees on the soft cotton next to him. 

“You gonna play Wonderwall for me?”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at you. “You don’t wanna make that joke. I’ll sing that song like my life depends on it.” 

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back as you picture Eddie aggressively strumming, voice an exaggerated whine as he wails, “I SAID MAY-BAYYYYY,”

“I might have to take you up on that.” Though definitely a hilarious joke, Eddie’s voice is incredible. You wouldn’t mind him singing to you, even if it was Wonderwall. 

“Some other time, I promise. I brought you out here for a reason.”

“Ah, right. The murder you’re about to commit. Can’t believe the town rumors have been right this whole time.” 

“You caught me. There’s actually a goat in here I plan to sacrifice, too. Them’s the rules, right? A goat and a beautiful, pure woman?”

Your laugh comes to a halt in your throat, causing you to choke on your breath. “Pure?!”

“Yeah, y’know. You’ve only ever had, like, good intentions. You’re wholesome.”

“Oh, Eddie.” Your tone is condescending, pitiful even. “You have to know that isn’t what that means!”

Eddie bats his giant, pretty eyes at you. “You mean… you’re not a virgin?” He barely gets the words out before descending into laughter. 

“Oh, fuck you!” You shove him, and he topples over, rolling dramatically into the grass while he clutches his heart, all still while cackling.

“I’d be honored.” He sputters finally as he catches his breath. 

It takes you a second to understand what he means. “Eddie, stop. Seriously.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve never had a problem with my stupid jokes before.” Eddie plucks a joint from behind his ear, flicking his lighter open as he puts it between his lips. He has a point; he’s always been a little, well, inappropriate with his humor. You’d always laughed along, despite missing the joke half the time because you were too naive to understand the innuendo. Now, though, the subtext of his jabs are making your stomach flip. 

“Just. You’re such a guy!” You groan, frustrated when you can’t even defend yourself. 

“And you’re a prude!” He mocks your tone, exaggerating your whiny cadence. 

It’s then that you have what could either be a fantastic idea, or a horrible one. “I’m a lot of things, Eddie, but I promise you that is not one of them.” You lean back on your elbows to soak up the sun rays, exposing your neck to Eddie’s direct line of sight. You squint into the sky, pretending you can’t feel his eyes on you. 

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll prove it, if you want.” You swear you hear him gulp. 

“H-how are you gonna do that?”

You shrug. “Ask me something. I’ll answer honestly.”

“How will I know you’re not lying?”

“You won’t. You’ll have to trust me.” You wink at him, and he rolls his eyes. “I’ll give you five questions, but you have to answer them too.” 

“Fuck. Okay, give me a second. I gotta think.” He grabs his backpack again, digging for a full minute before pulling out his campaign notebook; a thick, leather bound journal falling apart along the cracked spine. He throws the book open to a new page, clicking his pen furiously, tongue sticking out through his teeth. You could tease him for this, call him desperate or pathetic, lighten the mood. Instead, you watch his brain work as he scribbles what you can only assume are the questions he’s about to ask you. His eyes flick across the page as he rereads them, mouth moving silently like he’s rehearsing his lines. it all feels… vulnerable. After what feels like forever, Eddie looks up from his notes. “Alright, I’ve narrowed it down.”

“I’m all ears.” You cross one leg over the other in preparation. “Shoot.”

“Okay, first. What’s your favorite position?”

You snort. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I’m asking the questions here.”

“Sorry, okay. Probably cowgirl.”

“Ah, you like to be on top. In control. Makes sense. Have–.”

“Ah! Hey, you gotta answer too!”

“Oh. Right. Definitely cowgirl.”

“You’re lying.”

He shakes his head. “Fuck, no. I get a perfect view and she does most of the work? Bliss.” The image of Eddie on his back underneath you flashes in your head, and you physically have to shake it from your thoughts. “Anyway, next! Have you ever… sixty-nined?” 

You groan. “Yeah, and it fuckin’ sucked. No pun intended.”

Eddie leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. “Really? Why?”

Fuck it, what pride do you have to lose? “He couldn’t get me off. Said I was ‘too good’ at it and he couldn’t focus. Never returned the favor either.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“What about you?”

“Nope.”

“No?!” You’re not sure why it shocks you. Eddie seems so… experienced? Curious? Horny. He’s definitely horny. 

“Swear to god. Never. The subject just never came up, I guess.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“Is it?” You shrug. “Right… Okay. Next question. What’s your stance on oral?”

You tilt your head. “Like, giving? Or receiving?” This conversation should be way more uncomfortable than it is, and yet you’re more at ease than you’ve been since you’ve come home. Eddie passes the joint to you, one you haven’t hit yet. You can’t even blame it on the weed!

“Either. Both! But it's still only one question. Two parts.” 

“Of course, the classic two part question. Giving, yes. It makes me feel in control, y’know? Powerful. Hot. And I love watching my partner melt and writhe at my touch.” Who are you? “Getting, also yes, but only when it’s, y’know, good. And that’s rare.” When you finally look from your lap back to Eddie, he might as well be drooling, his expression blank as he stares through you. “You okay over there?” You wave a hand in front of his face. 

“What? Shit. Fuck. No, I’m fine. Fantastic. Jesus christ.” He’s huffing between words, and you can’t help but love what this is doing to him. “Wait, hold on. You haven’t gotten like, good head?”

You frown. “I think it’s my fault. I get too in my head, and worry about what I must taste, smell, look like. I freak myself out of coming.” 

You wait for Eddie to respond, and worry when he doesn’t right away. Maybe you’re going too far. 

“Anyone lucky enough to be invited between your legs should relish in the way you taste. Anything less is a dishonor to you, and should be publicly shamed.”

You must have blacked out. There is no way he just said that to you. “Wh-,”

“I bet I could make you come with my mouth.” It doesn’t even sound like he’s talking to you anymore, the words said under his breath like he’s weighing the risk of them on his tongue. You pretend you don’t hear it, because you have to. You don’t know what to do with that information. 

“Eddie?”

“Sorry, hi. My turn?”

“Yeah, it’s your turn.” You shift in your seat, desperate for comfort, or friction, you can’t tell. 

“Well, obviously I love giving head. I talk too much, it’s a great way to shut me up.” You try to prevent the thought of shutting Eddie up by sitting on his face from being sucked to the front of your mind. It doesn’t work. “Getting head’s nice too, makes me feel special and shit.” You have no idea how to respond, wondering what series of decisions have brought you to this conversation. “Bee?” You blink.  “We can stop. Sorry, this stuff isn’t, like, taboo to me. I forget some people get uncomfortable-,”

“No! I’m okay. I told you, I’m not a prude. This is fine.” Your face is hot. You’re probably visibly sweating, but you need to see this through. You’re not an awkward teenager anymore. That doesn’t mean you’re not inclined to get extremely riled up, though. “You have two more questions, better make ‘em good.”

“Right, yeah. What was your first time like?”

The question relaxes you, somehow. It’s much easier to talk about, a horrible experience that you can laugh about now.

“It was awful. We were like, seventeen? He took me to Enzo’s and gave his fuckin’ dad’s name. We’d been dating for maybe a month, and we’d talked about it for a week in advance. He promised me it would be soooo beautiful, and that ‘I’d remember it forever.’ Then! He took me to his room, thrusted for, like, three fuckin’  minutes, came on my stomach without asking, then cried. For an hour. I did not get off. Duh. I left immediately, and I cried myself to sleep.” You finish the story with a pout. 

“Sure was memorable though, I’ll give him that.” 

“Oh, my god.” He’s trying really hard not to laugh, but ultimately loses the battle with his gut. “I’m sorry! I'm not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the situation. Poor fella was so overwhelmed.” 

“Oh, boo hoo. He could have at least tried to make it up to me. He broke up with me a week later.”

“Oh, well in that case, fuck him!”

“That’s how I got into this mess in the first place!” 

It’s all said between laughs, quick jabs to continue the joke on, comfortable enough to make fun of each other. 

“Right, my turn to answer. Do you even care about this one?”

“Nice try, buddy. Spill it.”

“Ugh, okay. I was nineteen. She was a cheerleader. She offered to blow me for free weed.”

“Eddie,” You hate this story already.

“I said no. I told her I’d do it if she could get me a date with her friend. She agreed, for some reason, and we started dating. Well, I thought we were dating. Turns out she’d been told she only had to have sex with me. Which was fine, but it wasn’t what I wanted from her. Broke my heart.”

When he finishes, you don’t know what to say. You sit there, the silence growing past awkward and into territory you’re afraid you won’t come back from. 

“I have one more question.” You nod, grateful for him changing the subject. “You ever wish we’d given it a shot?”

Good christ, will you ever catch a break? “Eddie.”

“You said you’d answer honestly.”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

Fuck. Fuck! “I guess you could say that.”

“Oh?”

You pinch between your eyes, squeezing them shut. “Please don’t make me do this.”

He backs off, much to your surprise. “Okay. Fine. I get it. Think about it, though. I’m gonna want your answer at some point.”

And just like that, the tension washes from your body. Eddie grabs his guitar from where he’d rested it against a tree, and unlatches the case to reveal a pretty acoustic, plastered in stickers sporting bands and guitar string companies. “Now, the real reason I brought you out here.” He doesn’t even mention his own answer to the question, and you already feel that gnawing at you.

“I wrote a new song. I wanted your opinion.”

You try to return to the present conversation, shoving his question deep into the recesses of your brain, only for it to slip right back out. “You couldn’t show me at your place?”

He shrugs. “Weather’s nice. Needed a change of scenery.” You could press him for a better answer, but there’s too much information already swimming in your brain to muster the strength it would take. Eddie fills the silence, strumming idly, humming under his breath. 

“Either my ears fucking suck, or you’re whispering right now.”

He looks up at you, revealing a pair of blushing red cheeks. “I’m on the spot!” “This was your idea!”

“I honestly wasn’t confident I’d get this far.”

“I’m trying this new thing where I trust you.”

He leans back, as if repelled by your words. “It’s weird.”

“Whatever! Show me the damn song!” 

You’re familiar with Corroded Coffin, obviously. The loud, dramatic, metal band, heavily inspired by 80’s hair bands, including elements of modern metal and punk. You’re not certain you’d call yourself a fan, but you can recognize that the music is objectively good. It’s well written, and Eddie’s a powerhouse behind the mic. And he writes it all, from the first chord to the last lyric.

That band, those songs, are his baby, and the rest of the band are there to raise it with him because they believe in it. In short, Eddie is super fucking talented. Usually, he’s the first to admit it, but that version of Eddie seems to have disappeared before your eyes. He’s been replaced with a fantastic dupe physically, but with the mannerisms of a terrified baby deer. 

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

You offer out your pinky. “And I keep my promises.” He doesn’t retort, but hooks his pinky around yours. The brief, innocent skin to skin contact still manages to make your brain fuzzy. 

He releases you and returns to his instrument, this time without stalling. He’s not using a pick, instead plucking individual strings with incredible dexterity. You like the way his calloused fingertips scratch along the strings, lending an authentic, raw touch to the clean sound of the guitar. You catch yourself watching his hands, the way they flex as he changes positions, stretching to reach a higher fret without any strain, and fight with yourself until ultimately, your eyes drift to his face. Big mistake. Huge. He’s studying you through the wisps of his bangs, but averts his eyes as soon as you catch him. 

“I haven’t written any lyrics yet, but I have this line stuck in my head that I wanna use.” He studies his hands as he talks. “It’s something like, Returning to earth sworn to be scorched / wish I hadn’t lit the torch.” The air is thick with the silence that follows. You’re in awe of him, the talent he possesses and the sudden lack of ego. 

“You are quite the enigma, Munson.”

His posture seems to loosen. “What?” He chuckles as he asks, placing his guitar down beside him. 

“I just had no idea you were writing a bedroom pop song.” 

“First of all, absolutely not. Gareth would rejoin the band just to kick me out if I did anything like that. This is all mine. I haven’t shown anyone, and I don’t plan to.”

You blink once, twice, three times. “Why did you show me?”

“It’s only fair that I show the muse what she’s inspired in me.” He shrugs. Like it’s nothing! Like he isn’t charming the pants off you currently. 

“Okay, Eddie. What gives?”

“Last I checked, quite a bit.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to this.”

Eddie frowns, repositioning himself to lay on his back, placing his head beside your outstretched legs. “There is no right or wrong way to respond to having a song written for you by the guy that abandoned you out of cowardice. At least, not in the handbook I studied.”

You snort, backhanding his chest lightly. “You know what I mean. It’s not everyday you have a song written for you by anyone!”

“‘Cause that would be weird.” He rolls his eyes up to look at you, lips stretching over his slightly crooked teeth in a big, pretty smile that makes his cheeks look like crabapples. 

“You wanna smoke some more before we go? It’s gonna be gettin’ dark soon.” 

“Yeah, sure.” You nod, and Eddie raises his head, and you think he's going to sit up right, but he just shifts to lay his head in your lap. “This okay?”

You nod, wordless. You’re much warmer, suddenly. You could sit here for another three hours. Eddie flicks his lighter, cursing as it flickers a few times before it catches, and offers you the half smoked joint. You take it, placing it between your lips quickly as Eddie raises the flame until it catches on the paper. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes while the tip of the joint illuminates as he sucks. He pushes the smoke from his mouth into his nose before exhaling through his nostrils, opening his glassy eyes as he passes you the joint. Plucking it from his fingers, you bring it to your mouth slowly, still unable to pull your eyes away from him. He’s the first to surrender, his eyes drifting from your stare to the sky above him. 

–​​​​​

The sun has retired by the time Eddie pulls into the complex garage. Eddie pulls into his assigned spot, killing the engine and cutting off a blaring guitar solo from his speakers. 

“What’re you up to tomorrow?” He turns to face you, throwing his seatbelt over his shoulder. “This might be annoying but I really, really wanna see you.”

“I work tomorrow, but not ‘til five. I have a lot of shit to do around the house…” You trail off, because why would house work be the first excuse you come up with? You do have a lot to do, though. “If you wanna come sit on my couch while I do laundry, be my guest.” You offer pathetically, shrugging. 

“Sounds good. I’ll be over by noon.”

“You don’t have to–”

“I know. I just told you, I wanna see you. If you’re not completely sick of this giving me a chance thing. I’ll bring snacks?”

With the way he’s pouting at you, that lilt in his voice, how could you say no? “Okay, fine. Maybe bring some more of that weed, too? The good stuff, not whatever you oversell to the freshmen.” You give him a grin, and he returns it with a shy smirk. 

“Anything you want, sweets.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He throws his van door open and makes his way to your side. You’ve stopped even reaching for the door now, used to his hospitality. To add, he walks you the five feet to your own vehicle. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

“G’night, Bee. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before you can move another inch, Eddie snatches your hand in his own, bringing it to his lips to plant a small, soft kiss on the top of your knuckles. “Drive safe, okay? Text me when you’re home.” He then, to top off this fever dream, opens your car door for you with a grand sweep of his arm. You curtsy, for the second time in the last week, and slide into your seat behind the wheel. He closes the door gently, and gives you a wave that you return, suddenly shy. 

Once you’ve pulled onto the main road, now lit every hundred feet with flickering lights, you crank your music. You can’t think about the series of events that took place today, not right now. Right now, you drown the thoughts, the fear, with loud guitars and guttural vocals, screaming along to songs nowhere near your vocal range to expel whatever this weird, heavy feeling in your chest is. 

The porch light is on when you get home, but the windows are dark. Chris must be out, thank god. You rush right to your room, tossing your clothes into the hamper before climbing into bed in your underwear with a quickness, like it’s safer under the blankets from the thoughts refusing to cease tumbling around in your brain. Eventually sleep comes, pausing the spiral for at least a few sweet hours.

–

[slowsonic69]

Leave My Body

Chapter 1

Benjamin Poindexter x fem!oc

Summary: His words collapsing Alex's walls as easily as a blow could collapse a house of cards. It had felt right. Authors note's: Story is happening during the five years between season 3 of Daredevil and Daredevil: Born Again. I don't what this is, but the lack of Dex fic made me write it. I am in no way an experienced writer, so bare with me. I hope everything is coherent and if you notice any grammar mistakes, please tell me and I'll fix it. English is not my first language. Maybe I'll write more about those two maybe not...enjoy!!

Word count: 2.7k

———————————————————————

The most horrifying aspect of life for Alex Hazel was change. Change in seasons, in people, in time. Everything seemed to move toward someplace or another, in a hurry for something different — something better.

Alex preferred stagnation, using the same trustworthy tools she had been given at a young age. The same vanilla scented softener her older sister used to wash her clothes with. The same gun her father taught her how to kill with.

With change came complication, unknown factors accumulating into an uncomfortable feeling that settled heavily in her chest. So heavy that she had to focus on her breathing while watching Benjamin Poindexter make omelets in her kitchen — with the wrong pan.

“You like ’em scrambled or flat?” His back was turned to her. His muscles shifted underneath the tight-fitting black t-shirt he had stolen, as he shook the eggs in the cast-iron pan instead of the non-stick one.

With no answer, he turned, an eyebrow raised, unsure if she was still there.

“I don’t like eggs,” Alex finally responded, her hands tightening into fists. He noticed and smiled, turning back to the chaos he was unleashing in her kitchen.

“Of course.” A chuckle resonated deep in his throat, mocking her in her own kitchen. Wearing her t-shirt and sweatpants, using the wrong fucking pan. She had to look away, to let it go. He was here only for a few days, and then he’d be gone.

She’d never have to deal with him again after finally repaying this favor — they’d be even and strangers once more.

With all the strength she could muster, Alex moved her legs toward the sofa, sitting herself down with a rigid spine. Her hands awkwardly placed on her lap. She didn’t know what to do with herself, not when someone else was here. A long-forgotten skill of sharing spaces. The last time had been when she still lived at home with her siblings and father. Since then, she was alone — for the better.

Seemingly trying to torture her, he came to join her at the sofa, a plate in hand and cutlery. He sat with a flop, a lot more comfortable than she felt. From an outsider's point of view, he seemed more at home than she was. It irrationally irritated her.

Placing his plate on the living room table, he picked up the remote and put on whatever channel she had last been watching: Cartoon Network. He eyed her for a moment, the same mocking smirk on his lips.

“Watching kid’s shows?”

Her fingers twitched to grab her AutoMag III hidden underneath the couch and put a bullet between his two eyes. But she didn’t — for some unknown reason.

“It’s entertaining,” she answered instead, her gaze laser-focused on the screen in front of her. Not absorbing anything of the show. Benjamin Poindexter hummed in a taunting way but didn’t change the channel. He preferred to lean forward and start eating his omelet instead, one big bite at a time. Some pieces fell from his chewing mouth back into the plate.

Alex felt her face contort from disgust — She might watch kid’s shows, but he ate like one.

“How long will you be staying?” The question slipped out of her, in desperate search for a possible release from him.

He shrugged, taking another bite. Her left eye twitched. “That’s not an answer.”

Swallowing after barely chewing his food, he placed his fork and knife crisscross on the now-empty plate. Finishing his omelet in record time —Did he even taste it?

“Already growing tired of me, Hazel?” He leaned his elbows on his knees, his head tilted, as if this was a genuine concern of his. She knew better.

“I ask for inventory’s sake,” Alex reasoned, wishing it were socially acceptable to just say ‘yes’ to such a question. Then again, she shouldn’t care about what was socially acceptable with a man like Poindexter. He surely didn’t.

For a moment, he just looked at her in a silence only filled with whatever show was playing in the background. His black pits searching hers, perhaps for a weakness, or maybe a hidden weapon stashed behind her eyeballs. A show of strength, most likely. Alex had never found the hitman intimidating — or anyone.

She had no reason to. He was like every person she had ever met. Annoyingly human with badly hidden insecurities. He was flesh and blood, something she could pierce and hit until it was black and blue and dead.

“A week or two. Depends.” An answer, less vague but still unspecific. Every fiber in her body wanted to ask for more, to know the whole ordeal of his stay here. She restrained herself, deciding it was better to know as little as possible to avoid getting involved altogether.

With a nod, she stood, escaping to her bedroom.

“Oh! Before you go.” She stopped mid-walk, slightly turning.

“Next time you order groceries on your phone, can you add a pack of beers?”

A pause. “I’ll consider it.”

Without waiting for an answer, she retreated to her bedroom, sat in the corner of her bed, wiping the tiredness from her face with her hands. Finally alone, Alex was left with one last question echoing through her mind.

How did he know she ordered her groceries

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

Poindexter was strange, but ultimately not such a bad roommate. He cleaned up after himself, cooked his own meals, and most importantly — left her alone. Most nights, when Alex came back from her office job, the apartment was empty, as if no one else had ever lived there but her. It was only hours later, in the early mornings, that she would hear the keys jingle in the door lock — then a loud thud on the couch.

Leaving for work, she sometimes inspected his unconscious body from afar. Checking if he had any open wounds bleeding into her couch, if he was really asleep or simply resting his eyes. She even kept quiet while making her breakfast, glancing over every so often to see if he stirred at any noise. If he did hear anything, he didn’t seem to mind — too tired to care, perhaps.

And after each morning, watching him snore softly, more questions kept popping up in her head about his whereabouts — questions she would never ask, even if it ate her alive. She couldn’t. She had left that life behind, and tipping one foot back into it would be enough to make her topple forward in full force. Alex had to accept the mystery, for her own sake.

She contented herself with imagined scenarios, ones she built from the few clues he left behind. An open newspaper on the kitchen island—a picture of a New York lawyer winning a case, a red bullseye scribbled over his head. His next target? Although throughout Poindexter’s stay, no news ever came of the lawyer’s death. Strange.

There was also the collection of knives drying on a towel in the bathroom, ranging in size and thickness. Some duller than others, telling her he preferred the thinner ones. They must pierce skin easier—he preferred quick deaths, then.

Mud-stuck shoes were neatly placed in the hallway closet. A H-S Precision sniper rifle rested upright next to them, a model well known among federal agencies. An ex-fed? His stiff mannerisms pushed her more toward a military angle. Perhaps he had been both.

She couldn’t build a coherent story for him, and it made her brain itch and stretch, frustrated by her own imposed rule of not looking him up.

It was a good exercise in self-control—one she planned to succeed in. He wouldn’t destroy what she had worked so hard to build.

So days went on, the both of them almost never crossing path. Even when they did, not much was said. Only the few things he needed her to order from the groceries. Beer, mac & cheese, premade meals ect…

Whatever asked the least of effort to make but gave enough fuel to go through a day —practical stuff. It became a routine, one she could follow. One she could accept for the time being.

Until she came home after two weeks of living together. He was sitting at the kitchen island, a cold beer in hand. She froze for a second, not expecting him at this hour.

The thought of greeting passed through her like a shiver. An urge to ask about his day, if he enjoyed the beer she had bought for him. If he was as lonely as she was. Alex shook her head, silently scolding herself —they weren’t even real roommates.

He ignored her too, facing the kitchen his back to her. Lost in his own a daze it seemed. Did he even know she was there?

“Welcome back.”

Of course he knew she was there. “Hello.” She settled on as she put her coat and shoes away in the hallway closet. A stinging sensation crawling up her spine —she realized she was nervous. How stupid. How pathetic.

"Good day at work?" he asked, sipping from his beer and finally turning his whole body to face her, a curious look in his eyes. He made it seem so simple, these questions — as if they were nothing, a leaf in the wind.

"I didn’t take you for someone who participates in small talk," she said, placing her bag on the island and unloading her empty lunch box and reusable water bottle.

"What can I say? I’m full of surprises." He smiled, his full upper row of teeth on display, leaning toward her. She could smell the beer on him — and something else. An odor she had noticed in her bathroom towels and the cushions of her couch.

Leather, with a hint of gunpowder and soap. A scent that had crawled its way into her home. She had been alarmed when she first detected it — it was different, it wasn’t hers. She had washed the cushions and towels, using more detergent and softener than needed. But it stuck, and it only amplified every time he reused them. So she gave up.

Then — without even realizing it — she grew used to it. To him.

His smile suddenly became unbearable to look at.

“It was fine. Work was fine.”

It felt unnatural to answer, to even consider how her day had gone. Alex didn’t think about such futile things. Days were days; how she felt about them didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change the fact that she had to go back to work the next day.

"Susie didn’t give you any trouble today?"

Her movements halted, her eyebrows creasing together. She figured.

"How long have you been following me?"

He chuckled. "Well, I had to know what kind of person I was dealing with."

She had been too focused on how she acted and spoke, questioning every action with tedious care — not even spending a second to look further than her own nose. Her father would be disgusted by her carelessness.

Alex managed to stare him down then, not out of anger or fear; she simply looked at him. Observing him, catching up to the fact that he had observed her first.

Crooked dirty-blonde hair, gray strands growing from his sideburns. A square jaw meeting in the middle at a cleft chin, covered with light stubble. A straight nose, and two brown eyes beside it, heavy eye bags holding them tightly.

He was handsome —she concluded with a frustrated sigh.

“And?” She asked, taking her empty lunch box and bottle to the kitchen sink.

He finished his beer with one last sip before answering. “I was disappointed to find out about your change of career.”

Washing the metal box, her back now to him, she shrugged. There was not much to say. Not much she wanted to tell him. Or anyone. It was a choice she had made on her own, so, she would handle it alone.

“You know you can’t run away from it forever right?”

Alex placed the metal lunch box on the dish drying rack, turning her attention to the water bottle. She could feel the wall between them building inside her — brick by brick. He could spy on her, mock her, steal her clothes, use the wrong kitchen utensils — but she wouldn’t allow him to give her advice. As if he knew her. As if they were friends.

Finishing up, she passed him with hastened steps. "I’m tired. I’m going to bed."

A small gasp escaped her as he shot forward, his finger wrapping around her arm painfully. "You can’t throw away what you have like it’s nothing. I’ve never seen anyone fight like you, kill like you."

The couch was only 6 feet away. Beneath it, the AutoMag III was still waiting to be used. She could reach it in time, before he could even throw the first object at her.

His hold tightened as if hearing her thoughts.

“That night... when we first met." A low wavering whisper, only for her to hear. Stepping closer the smell of cheap beer followed him. Overfilling her senses once more, but Alex stayed put nonetheless. Focusing forward, waiting with a squeezing heart on whatever he was about to say.

"When we fought side by side, it was effortless. It felt..." . She could grab her gun now, easily. Yet she didn’t, instead her face turned on its own. Meeting glistening brown eyes with apprehension.

“It felt right. Didn’t it?"

Did it?

They were both cornered, she remembers — strangers accidentally caught in the same problem at the same time. Alex knew then she couldn’t take them all on by herself; there were a dozen broad, strong men ready for the kill. She had to use Poindexter to survive.

And when they fought, she did what she did best — imitated his movements: a precise swing of the wrist, balanced feet, and a right hook here and there. In that large, desolate storage unit, just for one fight, they were one. She complemented his close encounters by moving to the back, throwing whatever she had in hand — hitting their knees, their hands — pushing forward only when his knives started flying through the air, piercing them between the eyes each time.

In the end, they were the last ones standing. At least Alex tried to keep herself upright. Although, with two bullets in her stomach and another in her left knee, it slowly became harder to do so. That’s where the favor came from. Poindexter took her in, treated her wounds, and helped her survive another day.

“It was out of survival,” Alex rationalized, pulling her arm out of his grasp. He let her. “Nothing more.”

In a blur, she reached her room, locked the door, and sat back down on the same spot at the end of her bed. Immediately grabbing her own arm, clutching it as tightly as Poindexter had, closing her eyes firmly, savoring the feeling just a little longer. Her chest tightened, her breath jagged and uneven, almost painful. His words collapsing her walls as easily as a blow could collapse a house of cards. It all fell down upon her — what she refused to recognise.

It had felt right.

When they fought together, when he tended her wounds in complete silence afterward, when he had grabbed her arm just then—his glistening brown eyes swallowing her whole. Begging her to admit it too.

Her hand left her arm as she startled at the harsh sound of the front door closing. He left as she had left him. Her breathing worsened. Goddamn it, Alex. She didn’t even know him. They had barely talked. He had been here for only two weeks.

And yet, in the last five years, he had been the only one who had ever touched her outside of a fight. Who had talked to her like a human being. The closest thing she ever had to a friend.

[blackseafoam]

Marked Part III

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations)

PART 1 - PART 2

Word count: 2002

CW: Stuff you'd normally find in a western story. Swearing, smoking, gun touting, bullet wounds, horse jokes.

“Why do you keep looking over there? The job is as good as done, Arthur.” Javier gestured with his whiskey glass, elbows planted on the bar top.

“Yeah, have a drink. We earned it.” Lenny nodded with his beer.

“Slow down, Summers, remember the last time you came here to ‘wind down’” Javier jabbed, snickering.

“Shut up, Esquella.” Lenny muttered into his glass as he raised it.

Arthur barely noticed the two bickering. His mind elsewhere. There was a nagging feeling those three soldiers weren’t done fighting yet. The energy between those men was almost as if they could talk without speaking. Their expressions clearly showed they were not ready to give up yet. Like an animal in a snare, biting and scratching to its last breath, chewing off its leg to get away if it has to.

He sipped his whiskey but kept one eye dutifully on the front of the Sheriff's office, just in case, even as the sun went down and the warm light of lanterns and candles became the only way to see.

BOOM. Every glass on every table shuddered at once. Lenny choked on his drink.

Dutch’s boys knew the sound of dynamite all too well. Arthur got to his feet and ran outside, closely followed by his inebriated posse.

The side of the sheriff's station was blown wide open, a gaping hole in the wall revealed the inside of the holding cell, and prisoners nowhere to be seen. Arthur cursed, making eye contact with the deputy inside, on the other side of the bars, standing frozen in shock.

“Damn, these guys might be even crazier than us.” Lenny huffed. Javier sighed with frusdration.

“Goddamn. I can’t believe it.” Arthur couldn’t help but sound a little impressed.

Arthur’s attention went to the muddy ground, to the scrambling footprints, four, no, five sets of boots led toward the main road, then disappeared.

“They got on a wagon, come on.” Arthur growled, then turned to get his horse. This bounty was now officially giving them a run for their money.

“Do you think they heard that?” Wrecker laughed as soon as his brothers climbed aboard the wagon. With a flick of the reins they were off as quickly as Murray could pull the full load. Tech, being the designated driver, climbed to the front and took the reins. They headed south out of the town,the opposite direction of their old camp. It almost felt good to get into some action again, almost.

“Where’s Meggy?” Hunter huffed as he took a seat.

“In here!” His seat spoke. Echo huffed a laugh as Hunter stood in shock and opened the crate. The three siblings in the cargo area shared a reunion hug.

“How touching.” Crosshair caught up to the wagon on Havoc, rifle trained to the sky in one hand, reins in the other. The jet black steed’s nostrils flaring with excitement. “Celebrate later, we’re being followed.” He cast a glance over his shoulder.

Three horsemen coming up from behind caught the light of the train station on the edge of town. Barely visible at this distance, but closing fast.

“Did you bring our guns?” Echo began moving the supply crates to barricade the rear of the open wagon.

“In here!” Meggy handed him a saddlebag from the floor.

Echo moved one crate toward the front of the wagon. Hunter motioned Meggy to take cover behind it. “Do not move from this spot until we say so.” He said sternly. Meggy looked at him with eyes wide open, nodding and sitting frozen still. The intensity in his expression taking her aback.

Wrecker loaded his sawn-off shotgun, Echo spun his pistol, and Hunter turned the safety off of his revolver. Tech urged the horse to continue as fast as he dared into the night. He wasn’t familiar with this road but from his vague recollection of maps it was relatively straight.

The first shot rang out, splintering through the back of the driver’s seat. Missing Tech’s hip by inches. Being on the wagon meant their aim would be marginally better than their pursuers at full gallop. Hopefully.

Sure enough, it was their three escorts from earlier that came into view in the moonlight. One of them took another shot, but it went wide. Hunter and Echo returned fire, forcing the bounty hunters to spread out evasively. Meggy watched in horror over the crate, covering her ears and not daring to move a muscle as she crouched in the corner. Her limbs shook with adrenaline.

“We are not going to outrun them, we need a plan!” Tech called over his shoulder.

“No way we’re surrendering!” Wrecker bit out as he rolled into the back to take cover.

“I have an idea.” Tech gritted his teeth and veered the wagon onto the train tracks.

“TE-ECH, what are you do-oing!?” Echo yelled, the seriousness in his tone cut by his jostling voice. The wagon wheels bumped violently as they rolled over the railroad ties.

“Blackwater!” Is all he said in response.

Echo didn’t have time to ask more questions, as more shots rang out. A shot went straight through Hunter’s side, and into the crate protecting Meggy.

Hunter staggered, Echo noticed. “Hunter’s hit!” He announced. Hunter was still firing after he stumbled to his knees, Wrecker stowed his shotgun went to his brother’s aid. His close-range weapon wasn’t much help in the firefight anyway.

“We still need more distance!” Crosshair spat, his expression steeling as he thought. He knew that as soon as their enemies caught up with the wagon, it was all over. And they were getting uncomfortably close by the second.

The massive railroad bridge that was Bard’s Crossing stretched high over the yawning mouth of the Dakota River before it spanned out into Flat Iron Lake. Tech was leading them straight for it, an absolute madman, but probably one of the only people who could pull it off. Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk at his brother, the lunacy of the situation.

In that moment, Crosshair realized what he needed to do. He slowed Havoc to a canter. The stallion grunted, wanting to stay with his herd.

“Crosshair, what are you doing?!” Wrecker called out, crouched over Hunter, trying to staunch the hole in his side.

“Buying time.” Crosshair said, releasing the reins to cock his rifle. Using his seat to further slow his horse.

“This isn’t part of the plan!” Tech started to slow Murray.

“Too bad, it is now. GO! I’ll meet you in Blackwater.”

Tech nodded reluctantly, and urged Marauder back up to speed.

“This is not good, we shouldn’t split up!” Echo lowered his pistol, watching Crosshair and Havoc disappear into the darkness. “Running off to be the hero never works Crosshair!” He futilely called after his brother.

After the bridge, Tech steered the wagon back onto the road uncomfortably close to an oncoming train, thankfully still going slow as it left the nearby station. He cast an apologetic wave at the conductor who was visibly angry. They pulled the wagon over as soon as possible, Tech held up the driver’s lantern to check on Hunter. “How bad?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“A little worse than a graze, but I don’t think it hit anything important.” Wrecker reported.

“I’d… beg to differ, Wrecker. Feels pretty important.” Hunter huffed a small laugh which became a groan.

Echo rummaged through the kitchen crate for a whiskey bottle. Handing it to Hunter, who took a long swig before returning it. His face scrunching in anticipation before Echo splashed the stinging liquid onto the wound.

Tech finished by cleaning and staunching the wound with fabric from their triage kit, leftover from the war. They hadn’t had much use of it since then. After the train went by they were left in hanging silence. The tension began to abate, though worry about Crosshair still hung in the air. Wrecker looked out toward the bridge as if he could see his brother through the darkness if he tried hard enough.

Echo turned toward Meggy, still cowering in the corner of the wagon. Still doing exactly as Hunter instructed, staying put. Her face was lined with horror and her eyes were wet, as she hugged her still shaking legs.

“Hey, hey Meggy. We’re okay.” Echo went to her side. She glanced at him, then looked back toward Hunter and Tech. “Here, uh, come sit up here.” He took her elbow. The poor girl looked shell-shocked as if she were the one who’d been through a war. She took his offer to get up off the floor and sit on a crate with him, still shivering.

Crosshair halted Havoc, still on the bridge. He could already hear the hoofbeats of his pursuers pounding on the wooden struts. He deftly uncaulked his rifle and stowed it in the saddle as he slid off. Walking several paces toward the enemy, he raised his hands toward the stars above.

The gang got on their way again. “The closer we are to Blackwater, the safer we’ll be.” Tech assured, steering Murray to ford a shallow creek, letting the loyal beast take a long drink of water before continuing on.

“Why’s that?” Hunter croaked, taking another swig of whisky while trying to get comfortable against a sideways barrel close to Meggy’s seat.

“A few weeks ago the Van der Linde gang were here, and… left quite the mess.” Tech snapped the reins and Murray continued at a walk. “The gang robbed the Blackwater ferry. $150,000, according to the paper.” He added.

Wrecker whistled in amazement. “That’s a lot of cash…”

“It was a bloody affair, the Pinkertons got involved.”

“We should probably stay far enough away from the town if there are feds about, not to mention in case Meg–, I mean our wanted posters have made it out here.” Echo pointed out, casting a glance at Meggy beside him, still as a statue with Echo’s jacket draped over her shoulders. Hunter looking at her with concern, despite being the only one bleeding.

“Meggy, are you okay?” Hunter put the bottle to the side and reached out to her, wincing as the motion tugged painfully.

“She’s not hurt...” Echo pondered. “I think she’s scared, but she hasn’t said anything.”

“I’m okay.” Meggy nodded, and a tear ran down her face. She wiped it quickly, hoping no one saw.

Her brothers continued to console her as the wagon continued into the dark.

Arthur, Javier and Lenny rode up on the lone dark-clad outlaw with guns drawn.

“You’re coming with us.” Lenny spat, leveling his pistol.

“I would like to come to an arrangement.” Crosshair called out. “I have… a proposition.”

Lenny and Javier looked at Arthur, who raised his chin in interest. “Let’s talk somewhere we aren’t about to get crushed by a train.” He responded after a beat of consideration. Crosshair spun around and saw the light of an engine appearing on the other end of the bridge, when he turned back around Dutch’s boys were trotting back to solid ground. Crosshair mounted up and followed.

“You sure this is a good idea, Morgan?” Javier chided.

“Let’s hear him out. It’s our only option now.” Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Blackwater.

Between two prairie hills just outside Blackwater, the Bad Batch gang had settled in for the night, huddled against the wagon with a small campfire. Coyotes yapped nearby, and the crickets added to the chorus with their own nighttime song. Meggy laid on her bedroll between Hunter and Wrecker. Tech took the first watch after he untacked Marauder and brushed him. All five of them were silent with worry since the wagon wheels stopped. Every little sound had Tech looking up from what he was doing, hoping it was Crosshair catching up with them. Wrecker took the next watch, then Echo. Meggy and Hunter were allowed to sleep off the ordeal. The night slid by with no sign of their absent brother.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup @happydragon @fionas-frenzy @dizzy-9906 @coruscanti-travelguide

Author's note:

"It didn't hit nothin' important!!" That scene from the Ballad of Buster Scruggs kept playing in my head while I wrote this. I might add some more illustrations to this later, cuz I still have some ideas, but for now I just wanted to get this OUT THERE. I've completed a rough outline of the whole story at this point, and I'm so excited for the stuff at the climax. I have no idea how many chapters this will be but I'm trying to keep each one around 1.5 - 3k words.

I am so grateful for the positive feedback on the first two chapters thank y’all so much! I am certainly not the most experienced writer, and have been kind of hard on myself with this chapter, but had to keep remembering that this is all just for fun and doesn’t have to be perfect.

[ravennaortiz]

October 20th B is Happy with the prompt: phantom love. Requested by the lovely @jstarr86

Happy chewed on his toothpick as he watched you sleep. Frowning as he watched you toss and turn. He thought he had been clear on his last visit. Obviously not he thought as he moved to the bed. His hand resting gently on your hip where he knew his crow resided and always would. Bending down he planted a gentle kiss to your temple as he used some of his energy to lull you to sleep and soothe your anxious mind. He wished you had moved on. Stopped tormenting yourself with perpetual loneliness. He kept sending you signs but you stood firm it seemed. You didn’t owe him this loyalty. Tonight it would end. He had enough power this Halloween eve to either come back in another form and never interact with you again or make you happy forever with someone else.

Once he was satisfied you would sleep through the night he walked out of your bedroom and down the hall. Walking into your daughter’s room he looked around smiling at all her biker dolls and teddy bears. Daddys little rider he thought to himself. His heart ached at all the moments he would never get to have. Her first day of school, father daughter dances, teaching her how to ride a bike, maybe a motorcycle if he could have talked you into it. Getting to haze her dates, teaching her how to shoot a gun, getting engaged, her wedding and getting to hold his little girls babies. Yes, he could watch but it would never be the same. Kneeling he tucked her in a little tighter and gave her a quick kiss before fading away.

Juice had just gotten out of the shower when he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Whipping around he frowned as he saw nothing and shrugged it off as his imagination. Moving into his bedroom he went to grab a shirt off his bed and screamed.

“Unnecessary” stated Happy as he sat on Juices bed glaring at his friend.

 Juice stared at him in wide eyed terror. No way was this happening. It had been two years since one of his best friends had been killed. He had to be losing his mind.

“I’m a ghost” stated Happy as if that explained everything that was happening. Standing up he dug around in his pockets. “Here” he stated before tossing a small box in Juices direction.

Juice fumbled the box in his shock. Happy sighed and shook his head as Juice picked it up. “Need you to marry my girl” he stated as Juice opened the box and glanced at him quizzically.

“Your daughter?” questioned Juice with a frown.

“No you idiot. My other girl” stated Happy with annoyance as he glanced at the clock. “Why would I ask you to marry a five year old?” he demanded.

“I don’t know Happy. Not like I get request from ghostly specters on a regular basis” retorted Juice as he motioned at him. “Besides, I don’t know that your girl wants to “started Juices before Happy cut him off.

“She does. I’ve been watching this whole time. I’ve seen how she looks at you….. and how you look at her. “stated Happy. “Don’t deny it. I’m dead not dumb or blind”.

Juice glanced down at the ring again as he thought over the last two years. A lot had changed that was for sure. He couldn’t deny he had developed feelings that were more than just friendly. He nodded as he glanced back up at Happy.

“Thank you brother” murmured Happy before vanishing into thin air.

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