#i do get annoyed when a fic has a wall of content warnings and you're like 'yeah im okay with all that'

[winterarmyy]

Thin Walls, Thin Lines

What will happen if a fuckboy falls in love with a hopeless romantic?

Summary: Modern society surely had corrupted the mind of the hundred-something year old man, Bucky Barnes, when he seemed to have forgotten the art of courting a lady. Lost in lust and pleasure, he had been indulging with endless array of different girls on his bed almost every night. And the opposite side of that thin walls of his room, lives a hopeless romantic who he was madly in love with.

Navigation: Original Version || Deleted Scene* (alt. ending)

Pairing: fuckboy!bucky x female!reader

Words: 4.9k++

Warnings: avenger au, explicit language/contents, angst, lil bit of drama, fluff, please bare with the fuckery of bucky barnes, reader is sensitive yet quite fiesty too. i can't backup steve on this one, he is on his own.

A/N: As you can see from the navigation bar, we have two different endings for this fic, because I am greedy and indecisive. The original version ended with fluff and the deleted scene (alternate ending) ended with absolute filth of a smut. So... enjoy! 💕

P/S: And this is also my submission for @jessybarnes 's writing challenge. I have chosen "Kiss me again" from the prompt list and I hope you like the way I used it in this fic!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N has always been a hopeless romantic. She dreams of a love like the ones she read in books. She craved someone who loves her so deeply that she could never find peace in anyone else but him. She wanted all the love songs and poetry to be reminders of him; his beauty, his charms.

Fresh flowers, stargazing, coffee dates, kisses that tastes of cotton candy, warm cuddles, and every little things in between; she longed for it all. She dreams of a love that is so consuming until all that's left in that small bubble of infatuation is their entangled soul mending each other to the bone.

That's what makes her a hopeless romantic.

And very much the opposite of her was Bucky. He is an infuriating flirt. There's not a day goes by that he doesn't call her with sickeningly sweet nicknames; doll, gorgeous, princess, darling, you name it. He will definitely drop some suggestive lines at any given chance and most of the time when she least expected.

He can charm anyone just by his presence, and if you're lucky enough to get one of his infamous smile; then you best believe that you won't be going home alone that night, or able to walk proper the next morning. He is the typical playboy you know and hate; very often she'll see different girl in his arms or on his bed. And that man seemed to not know when to stop. Sometimes, she do wonder if he ever got tired of sex. Because she knows for certain that he can go on and on for hours, daily.

"Fuck,, that's it. Spread your legs for me. Yeah, 'atta girl."

Speaking of the devil.

This has been recurring for months now. It seems like the man never sleep because his voice would always wake her up. She couldn't decide what was worse; between being forced to hear the sounds of the skin slapping, the bed creaking, him groaning and her squealing or being a super light sleeper that even a whisper in her room would jolt her awake.

Y/N let out an annoyed grunt when she swoop her head under the pillow, hoping to silenced the noises even just a little bit. Surprise; it didn't help at all. Her body cringed and her face contorted into a squint when she hear the other woman announcing her release as the headboard hits the wall a little harder, a little faster.

Bucky Barnes sure is a fuckboy but unfortunately for her, he is also the man she fell in love with.

She refused to show it, but lord knows how much her heart simply swell to the sight of his smile. Despite the flirtatious tendencies of his, there was something about him that attracted her like a magnet; or like a moth to a flame.

Maybe it was his old soul, or maybe because she saw glimpses of timeless charm in him; the way he moves, the way he gazes, and the way treated her. Nevertheless, it was such a devastating thing for someone like her to fall for someone like him.

The last thing she wanted in a man, is to look at her like she was just a good fuck and nothing more. She just couldn't imagine herself to be tied with someone like that. And Bucky was exactly that someone.

Y/N haven't been able to get more than 2 hours of sleep for months now. The lack of it had caused her to drastically lose physical strength and lately fatigue has been a constant presence as well.

So she decided to go the medbay to consult Dr. Cho about it. After running some tests, she sat her down for some Camomile tea as she went through the results, "It seemed like the severe lack of sleep had took a really heavy toll on you."

Y/N sighed as she place the tea cup on the back on the table, "Yes, I am well aware of that. That is precisely why I am here."

"Nightmares?" Dr. Cho speculated.

If the definition of nightmare is 'the moans of the man, that she had a crush on, fucking someone else next door' then, yes. She was having long and nearly endless nightmares for months now.

"Something like that." She lied.

"Then, I have some medication that I can prescribe to you. You should take it daily after dinner and..." Before Dr. Cho managed to finish her instructions, Y/N quickly asked, "Is it possible to fix me without meds?"

Dr. Cho frowned curiously, "Why wouldn't take meds? That's the quickest way to help for your situation, as far as I know." she asked.

This was not her first rodeo; she had troubles sleeping back when she was merely teenager. And the last time tried using meds, she ended up almost overdosed herself from it, "It's just... I prefer not to." she evaded.

Dr. Cho nodded understandingly before clarifying the current situation, "Well then, I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do for you. Though some research suggested that meditation routine before sleep can help. Or putting up some natural ambience like the sound of rain or waves--"

Y/N wasn't really listening after the first sentence. Because all she could thought of was how much longer she can bare with this and what will it take for her to finally snap.

Y/N was dying. At least it felt like it.

With her deprivation of sleep and the intense combat training she had to go through today, her patience was reaching it's limit. After visiting the medbay 2 weeks ago, she had tried to approach Bucky about it but he always took it lightly.

There was series of insincere apology followed by a cheeky promise to 'keep the tone down' for her. But nothing changed. She asked him again and again; days gone by he didn't live up to the end of his bargain.

For those past week, Y/N had resorted to sleep in the living room for most of the nights. How she dreaded to leave her comfy bed but she could no longer tolerate the sounds coming from the other side on the wall. Though she still jolted awake from time to time due to how uncomfortable it was sleeping on a couch, but at least she got more than 2 hours of sleep if she was to compare to the nights she slept in her own room.

It's not she didn't notice it at all; she knew exactly how and why it happened. The habit of microsleeping that she developed during the course of this training. The slowed reaction time, the lack of energy, she can feel it. But, there was nothing she can do about it.

The only cure for this was to get some rest. A proper rest. And that can't happened, not without Bucky's cooperation.

When Y/N was marching towards the sargent who was sitting way across the gym; she could see how his eyes undress every piece of her clothing, how his tongue rolled out and his teeth sunk into his lips.

She wasn't even wearing anything remotely provocative but here he was lusting over the way her hips sway especially when he was the one she's walking towards.

The moment she stood in front of him, his mouth lifted into a smirk, "Yes, princess. How may I be of your service?" His voice was sultry and the way he towers over made her slightly nervous for no reason.

Her heart fluttered, yet her lips refused to form a smile, "Don't call me princess."

"I apologize, my queen." Bucky gave her a cheeky smile.

Y/N didn't want to drag this any longer than she should, so she quicky jump into it and said, "So you know how I’m like-"

"-absolutely embarrassingly in love with me? Yes, I'm familiar go on." Bucky cuts in. If panic ever rose in her chest, then she was doing an incredible job of hiding it, "Can you just shut up for a second and take me seriously?"

His eyes glint with flirtaous mischief when he replied, "Doll, you know the fastest way to shut me up is to kiss me."

Y/N simply sighed before she began to rant, "I really don't have the mood for this banter with you, Barnes. I just want you tone down your nightly routine. It is because of you I've been having trouble sleeping and--"

He quickly stopped her before she nags even more than she already did, "Okay, okay I get it. We've been through this, doll." Bucky's face lit up when he suggested, "How about I help you sleep, hmm? I may know a thing or two about tiring someone out." There was surely something unholy in those steel blue eyes of his.

And Y/N picked it up rather quick, but considering the amount of times he had insinuate something more than just a friendly banter, then of course she knew exactly what he was suggesting, so she simply replied, "No offense, Barnes. But, I don't do one night stand or no strings attached thing. And with a manwhore like you? No, thank you." sassy was her answer.

Bucky's head tilted back as he laughed, then when he spoke his voice was like a devil luring an angel to sin, "Oh babydoll, if I were to be a whore, it'll only be for you." He stepped closer so that only she can hear his confession.

His masculine scent hits her nose, mixture of the citrus cologne and his natural odour was just perfect. Annoyingly alluring; but perfect. And it took all her will to hold it together and blatantly rejects him, "Still not interested."

Bucky groaned in protest, "Come on, princess. You can't keep dreaming for some prince charming to court you, do you? You know that's probably never going to happen right?"

Surely he meant only to tease her; that it was less likely that an actual prince to romance her. Not that she did not deserve the world; she does. And Bucky was more than will to burn it to the ground if that's what she wanted.

But, Y/N didn't see it that way. She thought that Bucky meant that she is not worthy enough for a decent man to court her with respect and chilvary; that she was just a toy fit for fucking and nothing more. And the fact that her "insomia" had affected her usually high patience and reduced it to almost paper thin, it was only fair for her to finally snap.

She can tolerate his endless flirtation but she can't simple turn a blind eye for his insult.

Bucky was caught by surprise why Y/N harshly grabbed him by the collar, pushing him back and nearly stumbled; her eyes was pure fire when she growled, "Don't you dare mock the way I value relationship, Barnes." Her nose flared with anger and the commotion has attracted some prying eyes towards the two.

"Just because you enjoy fucking anything that breathes, that doesn't mean that everyone else does." She seethed, "The only cock that will be wrecking my pussy would belong to someone I love and if you have a problem with that, you can fuck right off." She forcefully pushed him until his ass landed on the bench behind him.

Her feet stomped all throughout her exit out of the gym, leaving Bucky in a blinking confusion.

He knew it was wrong.

It felt good. It felt right.

But, it was so fucking wrong.

To keep moaning Y/N's name when he railed those strangers to heaven; when he came so hard into the thin layer of condom. And it was always a soft and slow type of whimper, right in those girls' ears. So intimate, so careful not to let his secret out; knowing how thin the walls between him and the love of his life.

But, he certainly didn't care about the girl he was fucking. If it wasn't for his heavy body pinning her from behind, she would've elbowed him right in the guts for moaning another woman's name. Unfortunately for him, she quickly ditched and see herself out after the first round.

Now, he laid there; naked and bare. Thinking of how he simply couldn't help it. How could he not think of Y/N all the times? Not when he was deeply, helplessly in love with her. But, he knew she wouldn't bat an eye at him now that he had the reputation of a "fuckboy", as the young ones describes it. She especially made it clear today at the gym. She's never going to give him a chance now.

Not when she's a hopeless romantic. And the fact that he too was once the same was just aggravating to him. He was such a gentleman decades ago; before Hydra, before the war, when he was but a young man living Brooklyn.

His Ma had really shaped him into the perfect gentleman; every parents in the neighbourhood wanted him as their son-in-law. They claimed he would make the perfect husband for their daughters. But, things are different now. And he knew that the man he was before was long forgotten.

It was just curiosity at first; about how sex works in the 21st century. However, Bucky quickly fall into the promises of lust and pleasure; changing girls like changing clothes. He let himself dosed in ecstasy, as if it was a drug to silenced the dark and haunting memories of his past, like it was a quick escape from reality, from the Winter Soldier.

Then, Y/N happened.

Bucky never saw it coming; but, he fell. Hard.

They were colleague for years and had been a good friend he can rely on besides Steve. She was so sweet and pretty. Probably the most gorgeous woman he ever laid his eyes on, in the hundred something year old life of his. Most importantly, she was kind and patient and strong and fierce yet so unforgivingly selfless. 

But that didn't matter now, does it? Especially when she despise him. And it was all because of the unholy title he held.

At first Bucky didn't notice it, but now that he stepped closer into the living room, he heard it again. The rustling fabric, the quiet whimper coming from the sofa. His steps were as careful as a wolf on a hunt, stalking a hiding prey in between the trees.

If Bucky were to guess what he would find on a late night trip to the kitchen, he would've probably said 'ice cream' and not 'Y/N sleeping in the living room'. His eyes briefly raked her sleeping figure, curling uncomfortably into the pastel purple blanket. Then at the scattered pillows on the floor around her.

Why was she sleeping in the living room?

Another whine passed her lips and his attention was locked on her frowning face; it seemed like she was having a bad dream. Bucky carefully crouch next to her, and ravel in her beauty. Such delicate features, long lashes, pretty freckles across her nose, and those soft looking lips; he would kill just to taste her them, to sink his teeth in between them.

It worried him though; to see her sleeping here. She was clearly uncomfortable, it was a mystery that she managed to even fall asleep in the first place. Bucky suspected she simply passed out due to today's training. It was particularly hard, even for him. Let alone a normal human being like Y/N.

Not to mention the fight that they had.

Then, it clicked. The complains about how she had trouble sleeping. It wasn't just to make fun of him or tease him in any way. It was a plead. She needed to be heard and he completely blew her off with jest and jokes.

"Was it because of... me?" Bucky thought to himself. It all made sense now, "Shit." A curse rang in his mind when he bit the insides of his cheek. He was mad at himself. How could he be so insensitive? And he claimed to love her? Please. What an absolute piece of shit he was.

When Y/N began to toss and turn, her blanket fell from her body. Even in her sleep, the cold managed to catch her. She instinctively curled towards herself, seeking warmth but was no avail.

She look so small and Bucky felt a surge of need to cuddle her close, keeping her safe, keeping her warm in his arms. But if he does that, he'd probably get kicked in the nuts. So instead, he picked up the fallen blanket lay it back across her whole body; carefully not to disturb her sleep.

Bucky smiled softly when she snuggled into the fabric and before he walked away, he swore to stop this corrupting habit of his and apologize for being such a douchebag to her. And if he's lucky, maybe he could even properly court her.

But for now, he just needed to go through tommorrow's mission. So does everyone one else in the team.

"Do you realized what you have done?" Not matter how hard he tried to hold it back, everyone in the Quinjet can see how Steve was seething.

Y/N's lost of sleep had took a toll on her more than she realized now that it had affected her performance in mission. She tried to ignore the way she was basically seeing Steve's feet multiply by the second, and continued to look down in shame, "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Don't apologize to me. Nat's the one who got shot because of you!" He yelled as he pointed at the red haired woman at the side of the plane.

No matter how much she wanted to blame Bucky on this; how he literally robbed her from fulfilling her human needs to rest at night, but she just couldn't. It was her fault that Natasha got hurt. If she was more alert, she would've seen the enemy standing right in front of her. If she was awake enough, then Natasha wouldn't get hurt.

Tears threatened to form when she looked over at her dear friend, bleeding at the side, "I'm so sorry, Nat. I really am. I didn't know what came to me and I--"

"Oh please, I'd take a bullet for you any day of the week, honey." Natasha swiftly cuts into her apology, in attempt to diffuse the heated situation.

But, Steve totally disagree with her, "Don't make this 'okay', Nat. You almost died because for her carelessness. Being inadequate shouldn't be okay for any agent to do. It is extremely reckless and downright stupid."

There was a sound of a distant gasp from the pilot pit, "Language!" Tony was clearly trying to lighten up the mood but it failed rather miserably when no one reacted.

Steve had every right to be mad, especially when his girlfriend was injured because of this, but oh does it hurt to hear his stabbing words. It hurts more when it comes from the Captain America himself.

God, she was extremely tired.

Physically, mentally and that's what happens when a person is lack of sleep. Then when she thought about all her hardwork and struggles to train amongst the superhero themselves, she couldn't help but to crack; and the tears that was building up in her eyes finally fell.

When Steve saw it, he lost it completely, "Oh, you're gonna cry now? WOW. Real mature, y/n. You can't disappoint me more can you?" At that point, he was being a little too mean for anyone's liking.

Especially Bucky.

So Bucky slowly pulled Y/N back, and shielded her body behind his as he went on face to face with his bestfriend, "That's enough, Steve." He warned but Steve doesn't seem to get the idea, "No, Buck. Do you see--"

Bucky took one step closer, his menacing glare went right through Steve's soul, "I said... that's enough." He repeated his words. This time the message went through.

Steve gulped and cleared his throat as he waved a dismissing hand, "I expect a full report and a letter of apology from you when we get back, y/n." He ended his sentence with his back turned and then walked away towards his girl.

When Bucky turned around to face Y/N, she was but a crying mess. Tears kept streaming down and her lips quivered in so much sadness. Now, that she was in the light, Bucky could see the darker shades on the bag of her eyes.

This was his fault. If he just stopped goofing around and listen to what she had to say yesterday, she wouldn't need to go through this, "Oh sweetheart..." though he meant to call her in his mind, it might just slipped through his lips.

Y/N glared up at him, "This was none of your concern, Barnes." She spat.

He shrugged, "Well, lucky for you, I don't care whose it is. What I know is I care about you. Now, let's get that wound patch up." Bucky simply said, and that was when she realized that her ribs were slashed open, bleeding and torn. Maybe it was not too deep, that was why she didn't notice it.

But it is an injury nonetheless, and it was a surprise to her that Bucky noticed it. "I don't want your help." She frowned yet continued to sniffle.

"Yeah, but you need it." He replied as he carefully tucked the loose strand of her hair behind her ears.

Unable to think of any comebacks, she let her fatigue win over. Her lips shut tightly and her chest shuddered for breaths. And when Bucky took her hand in his and lead the way, her body instantly responded by gripping him tight.

Bucky's heart soared at the touch of her small hand in his, while fire was burning in hers.

She hates him. She hates how caring he can be. She hates how soft he was when handling her. And she hates how easy it was for him to make her fall for him even more.

Y/N's body quickly went on auto pilot; she let him undress the blood soaking top and patch her wounds. And Bucky let her cry her heart out on his shoulder all the way back home to New York.

That night when everyone had settled back to their own rooms, Y/N was prepping to sleep outside again. It was like a schedule for Bucky to always fuck whatever his frustrations out when they finished a mission.

And she doesn't want to hear any of it. Not tonight.

Thankfully, her wounds were mostly healed thanks to Dr. Cho and her ingenious of a machine, Cradle. That thing fixed the teared tissue right up with its regenerative  functions.

Now, Y/N just needs to endure the bruises but those are bearable. What she couldn't bear is the lack of energy and goodnight's sleep. She wished to just pass out for days and not wake up even if a prince came to kiss her to wake.

And she knew that sleeping in her room won't give her that.

Y/N piled her pillows and blanket on top of another before scanning the room one last time to make sure she didn't leave anything behind. Because she was not planning to step foot in her room until dawn comes, hoping the sounds from the other side of the room died down by then.

When she was walking pass Bucky's, she noticed how awfully quiet his room was, but she didn't think about it too much. She waited for the elevator to open its door only to reveal the man himself, "Barnes."

He eyed how Y/N's figure almost hidden behind the piles of pillow in her hold. He stepped out as he asked, "Where do you think you're going?" Bucky knew exactly where but he was not having any of that.

It was weird to her that she didn't see any sign or Bucky's hook-up in his arms, but she bet that there will be one after she's gone downstairs, "Away from you, that's for sure." She said, taking a step into the elevator but instantly stopped the moment Bucky blocked her path.

Bucky lips flatten against each other; he didn't say anything, he only frowned down at her then simply grabbed her wrist and dragged her back to her room.

Utterly confused, "What are you doing? Hey, let go of me." She twisted her wrist in his hold, while trying to balance the pillows from falling. A useless trial it was; because who could even escape that metal grip of his.

Bucky quickly respond, "No. You're not sleeping on that shitty sofa tonight." He stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to her, "You're injured, y/n. You need on a proper rest on a proper bed." He coaxed.

How did he know that she had been sleeping on the coach? She thought before saying out loud, "I'm fine, Barnes. It's not even that deep of a wound, the Cradle fixed it clean. So, can you just... let go of my hand?" She sighed.

But Bucky refused to even spare her a glance, he silently tug her and stomp his way towards her room. There waa retaliation on her side, but his lack of response had lead Y/N to her defeat. She begrudgingly followed his long strides until she they stood by her bed.

He snatched each of the pillows and blankets off her hands, while Y/N simply blinked speechlessly as she watched Bucky started set up her bed like he had been doing it everyday.

Weirdly, at times like this, she found him extremely lovely. There was no corny and flirty comment about her, or his annoying habit of teasing every little thing she does.

There was just a comfortable silence and a kind gesture; the type that pulled the red strings of her heart just enough to make her want to dream of him.

Fucking hell, she can't believe that he managed to do that again! Making her fall for his antics. He really needs to stop doing that, it's simply rude.

Y/N broke from her love struck trance when she felt his cold metal laced around her hand again, he pulled her closer, "Now hop on, bunny. You need to rest." He lead her under the blanket and she grumbled curses under her breath, something about he need stop calling her weird nicknames like that.

When she was well tucked in and comfortable, Bucky sat at the edge of the bed by her side and spoke, "I'm sorry. For not trying to listen to you at the gym yesterday. I was a jerk."

His apology was so sincere that Y/N caught herself in a shock. Who is this man? What has he done to Bucky Barnes?

His eyes lingered to the wall behind her bed as if he was trying to find the right words to address it, "About the noises..." he trailed, "...it'll stop from now on."

Oh. Nevermind. She liked this Bucky. She wants to keep him forever, "Really? You mean it?" There weren't any effort put to hide her excitement when her voice nearly squeaked.

Bucky chuckled amusingly at her reaction, "Really, doll. But, you gotta promise not to sleep on the couch again."

Sparks of joy filled her chest when he confirmed his decision. Sure, it was such a small favour to do to anyone. But, she appreciate his efforts to make amends. "Hmm, I promise." She hummed happily, blinking slow as the comfort of her bed lured her into a drowsy state.

"Thanks, Bucky." Her mentioned his name.

Thank god for the super sensitive hearing ability, cause Bucky surely love the sound of her voice whispering his name so softly, "For apologizing or for tucking you to sleep?" He jest.

It only made her eyes rolled to the side and a smile spread across her face, "Both." she said. "And for what you did on the jet."

Bucky simply shrugged as if it was a normal thing to do. But, it wasn't. It was rare for him to challenge Steve like he did. And he did it for her, "Really, I owe you one." She said assuringly.

A playful smirk pulled on Bucky's lips when he spoke "Doll, you shouldn't be saying that so carelessly. Who knows I might use it for despicable things." Surely, he love to be the cause to bloom those red shades on her cheeks.

But it didn't happened when she asked quietly, "Will you?"

And the silence that came after was heavy with tenderness while their eyes spoke the truth to one another. As the thin lines in between got blurry, for once, there was just streams of genuine feelings pouring out of them, leaking through and contaminating the air with its magic.

Would he? Take advantage of her?

How could he though? He loved her too much to even think of purposely hurting her. "No." Bucky replied as he leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead, "Sleep well, princess." He mumbled against her skin.

And he pulled back, he grinned a cheeky smile. There it was; the pink blush on her face, wide surprise of her eyes and her slightly parted lips. She looked so adorable. He swore couldn't get enough of it.

"Kiss me again..." she nearly growled, but her blushing on her face didn't indicate anger, "...and I will choke you in your sleep." Though it was an attempt to threaten but typical of Bucky to just love to turn things around, "Hmm, is that an invitation, princess?" He purred and stole another kiss; this time, on her cheek. "Then, I will be looking forward to it." He whispered as quickly as he removed himself from the scene.

When he found his own bed, he couldn't help but to laugh at the muffled scream coming from the opposite side of the thin walls, "James. Fucking. Barnes!!!"

End.

Alternate ending (smut edition): Deleted Scene >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I hope you drop some thoughts behind before going to the deleted scene. Which I know you will. See you on the other side 👀

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 4

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You shiver and hide behind your eyelids. The air swirls around you in a cyclone as you clasp to the icy metal against you. You can't believe this is happening and yet your imminent doom cannot be denied. 

You squeal as Tony lets you go. You squeeze him tighter, knowing you won't be able to hold on forever. Not with the whipping winds and bone-deep chill.  

You brace yourself, trembling, and your feet meet solid ground. A gentle tap on your side has you tearing away as the dearth of sound and motion hits you like a truck. You look at Tony in defiance, your embarrassment curdling just under your skin. 

"That was fun," he chuckles as his mask retracts to reveal a taunting smirk. 

"Whatever. Go back to New York, I'll find my way--" 

You turn and swallow your words. Your grandmother's house is right behind you. You peer around and push your shoulders back. You really aren't winning this one. 

"Can't say I never did anything for ya. Lot quicker than the bus," he snorts. 

"Oh," you spin back to him, "so you think this makes us even?" 

"It's a start," he shrugs. "Now," he holds his wrist up as if to check the time and a projection casts from a microscopic projector. He swipes through the wall of text as a lens extends from his suit and hovers in front of his eyes. "If I'm gonna get that trailer, I need to speak with the leasee, a Darlene? Is that mommy?" 

You suck in your cheeks and puff out through you nose. It's like pulling wisdom teeth but you're getting somewhere. You put your hands on your hips and nod. 

"Yeah, I'll go see if she's home." 

"You know, I'm not sure how things work around here," he lowers his arm as the projection disappears and the lens folds back into his suit, "not sure about how things work around here but typically when someone brings you home, you invite them inside." 

You stare at him, your brows arching. He scoffs and tilts his head. 

"Tell ya what, I'll even dust my boots off." 

He kicks his feet and brushes his metal gauntlets of his chest place. All at once the suit folds into itself. You frown and examine him, trying to figure out where it's hiding under his blazer. He straightens his tie and comes out his hair with his fingers.  

"There, all dolled up to meet mom," he winks.  

You chew your lip. He's annoying but he says he's going to help. Besides, you'd rather he deal with your mom and be done with him. 

"Fine, come on." 

You turn and march away. He snickers and follows, "so hospitable." 

"Well, sorry to disappoint but we don't have a butler." You go up onto the low porch and pull open the screen door with a squeak. 

"Huh, that really what you think of me?" He grabs the door above your head as you unlock the inner one. "I sit in my ass all day and drink champagne and smoke cigars? I'll have you know I do all that and save the world when it comes calling " 

"Mm, got it." You drone as you push inside, "mom? Grandma? We got company." 

"Really rolling out that red carpet," he scoffs. 

"Stay here," you say as you head down the hall. 

"You know I don't usually take orders," he intones, his voice drifting off into words you can't make out clearly, "...kinda hot..." 

You don't think it's too bad. Your grandma's place is usually blistering in the summer but it's just about tolerable today. Her bedroom door is closed, signalling she's probably sleeping, but your mother isn't where you expect to her. Her ash tray is on the table but the kitchen is empty. 

The back door is open. You swing open the screen and lean out. She's puffing a cigarette over your grandmother's pansies. 

"Mom, someone's here about the trailer." 

"Tell the damn landlord I'm not payin' til I get a new one," she snarls. 

"It's not him." You insist. 

"Huh, insurance peddler?" She butts out the smoke on the wooden railing, leaving the stub there. 

"Tony Stark." You answer bluntly. 

She cackles, "fucking smart ass. Go away." 

You state at her and she scowls. She huffs and tramps over to you. You hold the door for her and she enters. 

"You and your goddamn jokes..." she grumbles as she crosses the kitchen.  

You stay a few feet back as you follow. She stumbles to a halt as she reaches the doorway. She coughs and looks at you over her shoulder, "holy shit." 

You shrug and shoo her with your fingers. 

"Darlene, wonderful to meet you," Tony sounds almost charming as his footfalls creak on the floorboards. 

"Mr. Stark," she preens. You haven't heard that simper in ages. "What are you doing here?" 

"Well, I did say I'd fix what I broke." He explains. "Really unfortunate what happened. Sometimes we can't avoid a little collateral but just happy no one was hurt." 

"Of course," she chimes. "Well, it wasn't much but it was our home." 

"Humble," he praises. "Your daughter has been a great help too. Such a lovely girl." 

"Eh, oh, I s'pose," her voice slants with uncertainty.  

"We got a lot of details to go over. I had my people come up with some options but I want you to be happy so I'll leave the choice up to you. Gonna take a bit so how about I order dinner. My treat, of course." He pauses and you peek put from the kitchen. He smirks past your mother, "you like pizza?" 

"Oh, Mr. Stark how generous. Whatever you like is good enough for us." She giggles. You wince. She doesn't giggle. 

You retreat back into the kitchen. She's just like those kids clamouring for autographs and the star-struck residents completely unbothered by the burning ruin. They don't see anything but him. 

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 33

Keep Me Warm

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Shanks x Fem!Reader x ???

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 10,625

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Chapter Tunes: Tainted Love ~ Holy Wars | Hatef--k ~ The Bravery

Summary: You're finding ways to cope, Shanks is finding ways to win, and the truth is finding its way out.

Recap: Emperor Shanks won the first hunt, and the first private date. The Cross Guild learned how you feel about about your red haired suitor, and the swordsman declared his plan to leave.

Author's Note: Hi friends! Just want to say that sharing this story with you means so much to me. I wish I had some Cross Guild backup in my life right now, but having y'all reading my obsession makes me so grateful! I'm trying to get back to interacting, I'm just having a hard time doing anything that's not writing this right now, but all of your words make me so happy, thank you!! 💜🙏🏼✨

Dark Content Warning: It's not the reader, but within this chapter there are references to suicide through engaging in dangerous and destructive behavior. The violent activities are mentioned within canon, but the emotional motivations are added. The situation ends well, but I'll bracket those sections with ~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~ in case that topic is triggering. Please, take care of yourselves, and know that you are not alone! 💜

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic currently contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc. As we get further into Egghead Arc where our lovely boys are showing up more, there will be more spoilers as time goes on. Sorry y'all, I'm trying to keep most spoilers small details, but Cross Guild is endgame, lol.

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Mental Illness, Grief, Toxic Family, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Pain Kink, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Relationship Drama, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Uncle Cedrick Has Become His Own Warning, Splinters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

“That’s one creepy ass boat.”

“Excuse me?”

Mihawk couldn’t be annoyed with his clown when that observation had their much taller lover nearly buckling beside him. Those large fingers dug into his shoulder while Crocodile laughed at his expense, his voice even rougher than usual at the early hour.

“Hitsugibune is a fine ship, and has carried me across the Grand Line for years,” Mihawk countered. 

Crocodile took the luggage from his hands to toss onto the one-man vessel. 

“It does have a certain flare,” Crocodile hummed, leaving a quick kiss to his temple. 

“It’s just your aesthetic, though, right,” Buggy shook as he prowled closer. “It’s not a real coffin?”

“Not yet,” Mihawk teased. It earned him an adorable frown that made him laugh, and the movement reminded him of all the delightful things they’d done to him last night. 

“Sure you’re gonna be alright all cooped up in your coffin so soon,” Buggy taunted with a few prods and pokes along the swordsman’s healing chest. 

Moans left those cruel lips, and he tried to back away, but ran into a wall made of muscle and heat, and wrapped in a purple, velvet smoking jacket.

“Promise you’ll be a good boy for me?”

Mihawk almost buckled then, loving the satisfied noise Crocodile made when he reacted to him. The three lovers kissed goodbye, until he was alone again. 

The World’s Greatest Swordsman drifted alone on his one-man boat, and wondered how long it would take for Crocodile to realize that he hadn’t answered his question.

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~ 

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

“King of Diamonds,” Shanks beamed at her, mesmerized by her every move, and getting caught on the gentle sway of her locket while she laid out the trick for him again and again. 

It was Buggy’s trick. Buggy’s locket.

The Emperor of the Sea didn’t realize how much he‘d needed this. Seeing Y/N’s enduring love for their lovely clown gave him a burst of hope that clouded his mind, but he kept up the front.

Maybe playing the villain won’t be so bad.

“I’m afraid you missed this one, Shanks,” she breathed, eyes fluttering a bit as they darted back to her hands. Her movements had to be practiced in front of a crowd like this, but he found himself drawn into her orbit, yet again. 

“That’s alright,” he teased, snatching the card from her. He huffed a laugh as he dropped the Ace of Hearts before taking her hand in his. Y/N’s lips parted in a soft exhale, and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from them.

“I always win when it counts.”

The sound of bells filled the air.

“Do I count,” she teased, pressing those lips into a subtle, biteable pout for him. 

Hope and greed brought his lips to her skin, just a press against her wrist while he fought the urge to throw her over his shoulder and run. 

“I think she likes you, Chief.”

“What can I say,” Shanks smirked as he plopped down beside his first mate. Y/N’s eyes were following him so clearly on the huge screen that he didn’t need to glance back to check. “I think I might just win this little game.”

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

“I hear you’re the best there is!”

“That’s correct,” Dracule Mihawk deadpanned. He was only twenty-two years old, but the brightness shining off of the boy that had invaded his corner table made him feel aged and weary. 

Shanks didn’t think his eyes could get any wider. This dangerous, infamous man was so… pretty!

“Run along now.”

“No way,” Shanks laughed, leaning over the table. He froze for a moment under the glare of the strangest eyes he’d ever seen. “Come on, Hawk Eyes, I’m challenging you to a duel!”

The Marine Hunter didn’t spare him another glance, just returned to his book as though Shanks didn’t exist. 

“Come ooon, I bet you’re bored on this little island. I’m only here so my sniper can visit his wife, and they’re not open for company right now. Plus, my first mate already left me for the barmaid so I’m...”

Rambling. Why am I rambling?

Shanks didn't know why he couldn’t let it go, but he had to try. The young captain saw the chance to test himself sitting before him with a beautifully bored look on his face. 

“I wanna fight you.”

“I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for slaughtering children today.”

“I’m eighteen, and my sword is ready, so let’s—“

“Let me see your sword,” Mihawk ordered. He had to stifle a smirk when the redhead obeyed him instantly. 

The saber was longer than was typical for that type, with an extended, green hilt that showed a subtle, but elegant artistry in its craftsmanship. Mihawk was tracing his fingers around the pommel before he remembered that he should have killed the idiot for handing his blade to an enemy. 

“Where did you get this,” he asked instead of stabbing the rookie, letting the young man take the exquisite weapon back. 

“Oh, uh…” Shanks’ cheeks almost matched his hair while he decided what to say. The image of this man laughing him off made sharing the full truth unappealing. “I’ve always had it. My mentor taught me how to use it. So, will you fight me?”

“You’ve piqued my interest. That’s often a fatal mistake, so if you choose to walk away now, I’ll let you go.”

“No one gets away from Red Haired Shanks that easily,” he winked, holding out his hand. 

Mihawk offered his own, and Shanks grinned as they clasped each other’s forearms for a moment. 

“I like your jacket.”

The swordsman narrowed his eyes at the compliment, but followed the young captain out of the tavern, and into the lightly wooded area outside of town. 

He could have sworn he’d seen that ugly, straw hat somewhere before.

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

You weren’t supposed to think about him. 

How could you hold up that perfect, doll face in front of all the leeches if they smelled any hint of weakness?

How could you keep yourself from crying when you remembered Buggy’s laugh that made you laugh, his touch that made you his, or his pain that broke your heart? 

Yet you kept surrounding yourself with every tiny piece you had left, a masochistic challenge to spice up this auction for your life. 

And here was the man that had hurt Buggy. The asshole that had left him wounded for decades. You had to convince him to apologize to the man he claimed to love, only for the traitor to abandon him when he needed him most. 

I hope they take care of him…

You didn’t have room for too much hope. Not when you could end up trapped with this viper, especially if Uncle caught a whiff of your disdain. 

He’s staring at my lips like he did that first day. Like I’m just something sweet for him to taste. 

“I always win when it counts.”

The sound of the ending bells felt like applause, and another smiling face filled your mind. Blood had dripped onto that stage like scattered petals, all for you. 

Pouting for the Emperor gave you a thrill of pride over how easy it was to make his eyes flash with heat. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, and you didn’t have to fake the shivers it caused. 

The red headed pirate sauntered off, but your eyes were drawn to him again and again. 

The prey had its own target now. 

I’d rather die than marry that traitor, but if he traps me…

I’ll fucking kill him.

I’ll kill him for you, Buggy.

 ~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🔴🗡️⏰~~~

“Holy shit,” Shanks panted as he narrowly avoided being cleaved in two by that tiny fucking dagger.

“Ha, already lost your confidence, boy?”

Mihawk hadn’t lied. He hadn’t planned on killing anyone on this boring, little island, but fresh blood on his blade had him losing himself. He’d had a few moments of hope for a real challenge, but the building disappointment was about to quicken his opponent’s death.

“Nope! Just– fuck!”

The red haired youth dodged too late, collapsing to the dirt. He clutched at his side, hardly doing a thing to staunch the blood that was slowly staining the forest floor. 

I can’t die yet. He didn’t even draw his sword… 

“You’re the strongest fighter I’ve met in awhile, yet you’re still such a pitiful creature,” Mihawk scowled, kicking the saber from the rookie’s weak grasp. “And here, I was almost having fun. What a waste of time…”

“W-wait, Hawk Eyes,” Shanks coughed, spreading more blood around. “You’re bored, aren’t you? You like fighting?”

“People can be so perceptive in their final moments,” he drawled. Mihawk brought Kogatana to the boy’s throat, the small blade poised to cease his blubbering.

“You said you almost had f-fun,” Shanks bargained, his eyes wider than ever while beautiful death loomed over him. “I'll make you a deal, alright?”

Golden eyes seemed to sharpen, just as the blade pressed into his neck a bit more.

“Don’t waste any more of my time,” came his vicious, yet waiting voice. 

“I won’t,” Shanks panicked, smiling under that cold glare. “It's too early for me to die, friend. There's so much for me to learn. I promise that if you give me a chance, I'll get stronger! Let me live, and I'll get strong enough to give you a real fun fight, I swear!”

One of the longest moments Shanks had ever experienced dragged on, while the unreadable swordsman above him hardly moved at all, until his head cocked to the side.

“Intriguing,” Mihawk frowned, still holding steel against that young throat. “I suppose I can hold off on killing you for now.”

“You can– ow!”

Mihawk removed the blade that Shanks had leaned into in excitement, and rolled his eyes with instant regret. 

“Don’t challenge me again until you’re ready. I’ll kill you slowly for making me wait.”

“No problem,” Shanks waved to the man’s back. Dracule Mihawk had already left him bleeding in the dirt. “I’ll get you back, Hawk Eyes.”

~~~⏰🔴🗡️⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡~~~

It felt so quiet with just the two of them, even with all the hustle and bustle of the guild getting to work.

He’s like a big, scary teddy bear.

“You alright little clown,” Crocodile soothed, rubbing softly between Buggy’s shoulder blades while he had a coughing fit. 

The clown gave a thumbs up, grateful that he hadn’t spoken the thought out loud. 

Mihawk had been gone for hours, and the afternoon was aging fast, but neither of the men on the couch had cared about dressing for the day. That soft smoking jacket made Crocodile’s warm body almost too soothing to lean against, especially while the clown listened to his star do their card trick again and again.

When the coughing stopped, Crocodile’s large hand pulled gently, guiding the clown back into that comfortable position. 

Buggy didn’t fight it. He knew he might be an idiot for getting used to this strange reality where Sir Crocodile cuddled with him, but he needed it right now.

Maybe he needs it too.

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

I’ll skin him. Boil him alive. 

“You look amazing,” Kat muttered, avoiding your death-filled gaze in the mirror. 

“Tell me,” you growled at the nearest staff, “why the fuck do I need to wear a swimsuit on a first date?”

They’d given you a variety of options, all of which were as red as that stupid hair. You’d chosen the one that came with a tiny bit of cloth to wrap around your hips, so you could at least pretend you were wearing some fucking clothes. 

“I’m so sorry you weren’t given more notice, Miss Sylvad,” she hurried, her empty words already draining your resolve. 

It’s not their fault. It’s his. 

“As you know, the hun– suitors, excuse me,” she coughed nervously, and you saw Kat’s eyes widen over her shoulder while you shoved down the manic laughter in your gut. “The suitors get to choose the themes of the first dates, and the Emperor stated that he enjoys long walks on the beach, so–”

“I can walk fine without–”

“There’s my lovely nieces,” Cedrick beamed, nearly hitting one of the staff with the door when he barged in. “Everyone out, even you, sweetheart.”

Kat stepped back from his touch on her shoulder, but you told her it was fine before her fruitless argument could leave her lips. 

He was going to get what he wanted, so she might as well save the energy, though she scowled at him all the way out the door.

“Nice pick,” he taunted, gesturing at your swimsuit. “I preferred the little, frilly one, but I’m sure the pirate can tear into this one just fine, even one handed.”

Nothing. Give him nothing.

“Did you have something to tell me, Uncle? I have a date to prepare for.”

“Atta girl,” your uncle laughed, lounging in the nearest chair. “Just wanted to check in on who your favorites are.”

“It’s too early to tell,” you reported, fighting to keep your voice even. 

“Well, be sure to keep me posted,” he ordered with a smirk. “Unfortunately there’s already one name that needs to be crossed off the list. I want him to have his little date though, and we should send someone else home before him. The last thing the family needs are accusations of racism if we boot the only Fishman first. Inclusivity bullshit is always a fucking headache.”

“Why…” 

Fukaboshi was overwhelming. He was two stories tall, and you couldn’t imagine leaving your whole world behind, or how any of that would even work.

Yet, he’d seemed truly kind. The prince had almost put himself, and his people, in danger with his earnest questions about your captivity. 

He’d come to this land of leeches looking for allies, but only cruelty lived here. Only gluttonous, selfish, hateful—

“Who would you like to send home first,” Uncle Cedrick asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’ll be rigging tomorrow's game so the Fishman should win the next date, then we can send him off with no worries. So who’s your least favorite?”

“I really don’t know, Uncle. I haven’t spent enough time with them to be sure.”

A little movement around his eyes, a little smirk. You weren’t going to fall for it. 

“Let’s remedy that, dear niece,” he declared as he moved toward you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He turned you toward the mirror, and his reflection was frightening. 

He was gleeful.

“I have put quite a bit of berry on your red haired date becoming the next King of the Pirates. Make sure you treat him like royalty tonight.” He left you there to wince while he called over his shoulder. “I know how much you enjoyed whoring for those pirates, Y/N. Now you could be their little whore queen!”

~~~

You were carted around like royalty in your uncle’s obnoxious carriage, already feeling the cool, gentle breeze through the wood paneling as you neared one of the only sandy beaches on the small island. The rest of the coastlines were rimmed with craggy cliffs at the edge of forests, and perching on those rocks was your preferred way to enjoy the ocean. 

Not shivering in a swimsuit at dusk, with sand already creeping up your legs.

“Wow, you look…”

All the staff scurried to the little trailers nearby, leaving you face to face with him while he scanned over your mostly bare skin. 

Shanks looked right at home on the beach. 

He’d managed to find a dark green version of his hardly-buttoned shirts that looked unfairly good against his skin, but his loose fitting pants were still covered in a headache inducing pattern. They were gathered below the knees, presumably to make his long walks on the beach in those lame sandals that much easier. 

And his cape. How could you forget the cape? 

He was still gawking at you while you tried not to fume at how fucking stunning he looked in his stupid clothes. 

“Why are you dressed like this?”

“You don’t like it, Emperor,” you pouted, playing pretend with a wobble of hurt in your voice. “I heard you wanted a beach date.”

“I like it very much,” he purred, bringing a gasp to your lips when he was suddenly inches from you. He trailed his fingers down your neck and chest, following the chain of your locket until he smiled. “I just don’t want my little bunny getting cold tonight.”

Shivering under the weight of his warm cape, you thanked the charming villain while he led you to a little table by the fire. Staff rushed up to serve you, but Shanks snagged the open bottle, and waved them off while you tried not to let your mouth water at the platter of hors d’oeuvres between you. 

He poured the sake, but said nothing while you toasted. Just stared at you, his little half-smile growing deeper when you accepted a bite of food from his hand.

At least you didn’t have to worry about your food with Shanks tasting everything along with you. No one would dare spike the Emperor’s drink.

I might. If I have to.

You faded in and out of daydreaming his murder, and nearly forgetting. 

Shanks was the perfect predator, luring in his prey with such playful joy and power. He was pure light, drawing in the moths until they burned to a crisp in his cruel, selfish flames. 

You knew this, yet there were moments when he made you truly laugh, and you clutched at your locket, silently vowing again and again that you would destroy this man. 

If he didn’t kill you while you made him pay, then his crew surely would. It was a last resort. 

You didn’t want to die, and it felt nice knowing that.

Yet if the only options you had left were being owned by this monster, or dying while you took him down, then you’d get him drunk and happy on your honeymoon, and gut him like a pig. 

Until then though…

“You feeling alright, gorgeous,” your prey checked in, guiding you to a trailer to wash up. The staff disappeared again, scattering like cockroaches, but the illusion of privacy never fooled you. 

“I feel good.” Your hum made his eyes glint for you, and he pulled you down the shore, away from the staff, and their snail-covered equipment. 

“Wanna dip your toes in,” Shanks ginned, wrapping his arm around your waist. It felt like he wouldn’t give you a choice either way. His strong fingers curled around your hip, teasing along the edge of your swimsuit, and your body ached when you remembered what they could do to you. 

You wanted to forget for a while. You wanted to pretend. 

Might as well enjoy myself before I kill him. 

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

He’d almost forgotten where they were. 

It doesn’t matter. I’ve got her, Buggy. Your shining star.

When she laughed, the Emperor of the Sea forgot everything. 

It was a perfect sound, a beautiful movement of her body, her head thrown back just a bit, as though he’d shocked the laughter out of her. 

She didn’t look like a wounded star tonight. There was fire beneath all of her flirting, and he had to feel it.

Greed crept back into his heart the longer he spent by her side, and he couldn’t help but reach for her, pulling her toward the gentle sea. 

He wanted her. He wanted all of them. 

Shanks wanted everything, and that sweet, little pout of hers seemed to promise it. 

“It’s too cold,” Y/N shivered, avoiding the soft waves that lapped along the shore.

“I’ll keep you warm.”

She snorted, clamping a hand over her lips when he cocked a brow at her. His lovely date dipped her toes in, then took off up the beach, her laughter filling every bit of his mind until he joined in, chasing after her.

“How are you going to— oh,” she panted, gasping when she turned to find him so close. 

“Bunny,” he laughed as she tripped on his cloak trying to run backwards. He caught her just in time to fall with her, bracing with his elbow to keep his full weight from pressing her beneath him.

Shanks forgot. 

That shining star was still gasping as she laid on his cloak, a perfect blanket spread out to watch the night sky she must have fallen from. The soft tint of the night made her skin seem unreal, intoxicating. 

He had to touch her.

She touched him first.

Y/N’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, fingers curling into his hair when she pulled him in for a kiss. He couldn’t hold in a low growl that grew when she drank it hungrily from his lips. 

Nothing else existed when she pulled him closer, tugging at his shirt to tease her nails along his back. She moaned so sweetly around his tongue when he grinded himself against her, barely any cloth to keep them apart. 

He almost forgot.

“Mmm… Hey, bunny,” Shanks purred, his eyes heavy lidded to match the lovely ones beneath him. “Are you sure—“

“Aren’t you going to keep me warm?”

Y/N was pouting, teasing, begging, her fingers still trailing over his skin.

Everything about her was giving heat. 

Everything was perfect. 

Everything except for a flash in her eyes that plunged Shanks’ heart into the icy depths of the ocean at his back. 

“Is something wrong,” beautiful death asked softly, her mask so exquisitely crafted. 

“No, not at all,” Shanks cleared his throat, pushing himself away. “I just… It would be a shame to have my first time with such a beauty in front of an audience.” 

The sound of bells saved him.

She tilted her head back, sighing when she saw the vehicles approaching. 

“Bunny, I—“

“Thank you for the lovely date, Emperor. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He helped her up, brushing the sand from her skin while he tried to figure out what to say. 

He didn’t think fast enough, and soon the staff had swarmed her, wrapping her in a fluffy robe before whisking her away.

The red haired pirate declined a ride back to the estate, waving the people, and their watching snails away. 

It was a long walk. 

There would never be enough distance for Shanks to cross to get away from the sickness that had seeped into his bones, into his every organ. 

Y/N’s empty eyes had branded guilt onto his heart before, and he couldn’t stand his arrogance. He thought he’d already made it all better, that his greedy heart was going to take everything it wanted. 

I wanted to own her, just like the leeches.

Tonight, Y/N’s eyes hadn’t been empty, but she was so good at hiding.

Or I just saw what I wanted to see. Until she…

What Shanks had seen in that flash, in that glimpse beneath her mask, was evil. It was frightening, sick, manic.

It was hate. 

I did that. I filled that lovely girl’s heart with hatred. 

The walk wasn’t long enough to shake off his self loathing, but Shanks knew what he needed if he was going to make things right. 

He needed one more chance. 

One more private date. 

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Look, I’ll taste it,” your mother sighed before taking a drink from the steaming mug she kept brandishing at you. “Now please, drink it, sweetie. You look…”

“I look like death,” you drawled, wishing the coffee would cool down so you could chug it. 

“Not at all, Miss Sylvad, you just need some brightening up! We’ll take good care of you,” chirped your mom’s favorite makeup artist. You couldn’t remember his name this early in the morning, but you were fighting not to throw the hot coffee at him so he’d stop being so fucking cheerful. 

You hadn’t been able to fall asleep last night. 

The scent of him had lingered around you, even after you’d tried to scrub him off of you in the shower. 

The whole night had replayed in your mind, making you dizzy with guilt over every moment when you relaxed, when you forgot.

Then it would cycle through again, rage building until you chewed your tongue to keep from snarling to the empty air around you. 

But your body…

Frustration nearly clawed itself out of you, and you’d had to hold your breath to fight the screams and tears it would have left in its wake. You’d been so fucking close to having something to turn your brain off for a minute, even if it was him.

All of your attempts to take care of that need on your own left you defeated, your guilty hunger twisting every image you tried to cling to.

You couldn’t imagine his fingers without picturing the gloved ones you missed so much. 

Couldn’t picture Shanks fucking you without remembering him making love to Buggy. You were trapped in silence on the edge of that bed again, but there was no one to rescue you this time. 

Last night, you’d fallen apart. It had to be it. You couldn’t afford these emotions. 

You’d bitten your pillow to stifle the wracking sobs while your mind tore you down, forcing you to mourn more than just Buggy. 

It felt like you were choking on their names, all the men you’d left behind. 

If loneliness alone could kill, you would have died there in that luxurious bed, aching to be smothered in the heat of bodies you’d never feel again.

Shanks was torturing you. His very presence was a reminder of the daydream you had fooled yourself into thinking you could keep. 

“Are you alright, Miss Sylvad?”

“What? Oh, I’m… I’m fine.”

The sound of tears in your voice was enough to drag you back. 

You let yourself fall away. 

Empty.

Empty’s good.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

Benn literally kicked his ass out of bed this morning, ripping the expensive bedding off of his captain while he scolded him out of the dream world. 

“Quit complaining,” his first mate commanded him, rolling his eyes at the pathetic groans. “You’ve got a beautiful girl to win, Chief. You can sleep when she’s yours.”

Shanks’ morning mind was still soaked in last night's attempt to drown it in sake, so he couldn’t tell if he’d thanked or cussed out the older man for his help. Regardless, the red haired pirate was dressed for breakfast, luckily remembering his appointment.

After the first dates, the suitors got to have breakfast with the Sylvads. 

Maybe I’ll get a moment alone with her.

“There’s our favorite Emperor,” Cedrick called through the door, gesturing for Shanks to join them. “Make yourself at home!”

“Home” was strangely sterile, more of a conference room than a dining area. Cedrick sat at the head of the table, offering the empty seat beside him, opposite Y/N, and her practiced smile. 

I can do this. I can convince her I’m on her side.

I have to.

“I thought this was gonna be a family breakfast. You’ve got a little sister out there, don’t you, gorgeous?”

“I—“

“Don’t worry, Shanks,” Cedrick waved off the question. “There will be plenty of time for family get-togethers. Since you joined our game at the last minute, I figured we should have a little business talk before you get back to all the pleasure.”

Shanks almost shoved his fork through the man’s throat. 

The taunting glance he’d given his niece at the last word tested Shanks’ self control, and he couldn’t believe how calm she seemed. 

“Of course. I understand it’s not just love we’re fighting for.”

“Not love. Family,” Cedrick vowed. He emphasized his words with a firm grip on Shanks’ shoulder, and the pirate had to hold his breath to keep from shaking him off.

How does she do this all day?

“Whoever marries my dear niece will be family, and Sylvads take care of their own. I know there’s a lot we could do for each other.”

“It’s an honor to be considered,” Shanks toasted them both, aching to see anything real behind her polite mask. 

“You know, Shanks, it’s a real shame you went to the wrong brother all those years ago,” Cedrick mused, shifting his tone just enough to suck all the air from the room. “You might have been King of the Pirates by now if you’d asked me instead.”

“What do you mean?”

Shanks mumbled those loathsome words while the ground disappeared beneath him. The question in her eyes sparked his panic, but it was too late. 

“Please, Arbo loved to brag about drinking with Roger’s apprentice. I could never understand how he let a little girl spook him out of the deal of a lifetime.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her eyes were wide when she asked, but Y/N wasn’t looking at either of them. She was slipping further and further away with every word her uncle spewed, and Shanks had no idea how to stop it. 

“You know the family stories, niece, and you’re smart enough to figure out which ones are true,” he chided. 

Cedrick would have lost his hand when he tapped the tip of her nose, but Shanks was frozen. 

“Your daddy turned down the chance to help the Pirate King’s apprentice build the next ship to conquer the Grand Line. Arbo could have made history, but he decided not to because his ‘widdle numbers girl’ cried about some gods damned tree.”

…

“Wha-what?”

She was so good at hiding, so it felt like his soul cracked when her voice did. Horror and shame filled the Emperor of the Sea when a daughter’s grief shone in those beautiful eyes. 

“It had to be fifteen, nearly twenty years ago now, wasn’t it?”

He sounded fucking jolly while he ripped both of their hearts out. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Shanks coughed, caving when the man gripped his shoulder a bit harder. 

“Well, I don’t have the same qualms as my dear brother, so I might be willing to butcher an Adam Tree. Only for family, of course.”

Unshed tears were balanced in her eyes, and she seemed to be turning herself into a statue before she’d let them fall. 

There had been time to tell her. Shanks’ mind flew through a list of excuses for why he hadn’t, why it wasn’t a good time, how she’d been going through too much to tell her a story about her dead father. Yet this whirlwind of a woman had cleared away his old disguises, so he could no longer believe his own lies. 

I didn’t even think about telling her. All I cared about was getting what I wanted.

I’m no hero.

“I was wondering if that’s why you joined the game,” Cedrick smirked. He squeezed Shanks’ shoulder one last time before releasing him, but the relief was lost when the next words spilled from that evil mouth. 

Shanks watched every bit of movement on her face now. He watched his selfishness curdle around her, poisoning any slim chance he still had to gain her trust. 

“All the players are going for the One Piece, so Red Haired Shanks is back to get his miracle ship,” Cedrick taunted, his eyes glued on his niece. “And now he can finally teach the little brat that cost him his boat a lesson. I wonder if my sentimental brother would have chopped down that tree if he knew his favorite daughter would have to spread her—“

“What about you?”

“Excuse me,” Cedrick turned toward the growl, his brows raised a bit. 

He’s not nearly fucking scared enough.

Shanks paused too long, but the second the asshole started to tilt back toward her, the pirate started talking. He had no idea what to say, but he knew he had to keep that piece of shit from looking at her again. 

“Families help each other out,” Shanks flirted, feeling like he was swallowing venom with every moment he smiled at this monster. “So, what about you? How could I help out my new family, if I were so lucky?”

“I have a few ideas,” Cedrick purred as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes were relaxed, and slow while they scanned over him, as though he had all the time in the world to make an Emperor of the Sea wait on his every word. “I think that’s enough business for today, though. Let’s get back to pleasure.”

Cedrick Sylvad forced them to toast at that, and Shanks couldn’t understand how his niece had kept all of those tears from falling. Y/N’s cheeks were dry, and she smiled at him when their glasses touched. It was a perfect smile, welcoming, alluring, and sweet. 

It was a death trap. 

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

Every time Shanks walked into a tavern, he knew he might meet his death. Would it be with his weight in alcohol, or with the slim hope for a golden eyed grim reaper tucked into a corner booth?

Shanks had gotten stronger before, but since a few stupid words had taken all the joy from his life last year, he couldn’t focus on anything else.

Beautiful death sounded pretty good, but all he kept finding was booze. 

Until tonight.

“Hey, Hawk Eyes.”

“Hmm? Here to interrupt my lunch,” Mihawk noted, boredom radiating from him. “How delightful.”

The new Warlord of the Sea could feel the difference in power in his former opponent. He could see the muscles born of years of holding a sword in the redhead’s forearms while he carried two heaping mugs, invading his table again after four years. 

Mihawk could see the dim light of this sticky tavern glinting off of that lovely sword.

“I prefer wine,” he drawled, returning his gaze to his book while he tried to catch the man’s heartbeat over the noise. He’d have to get closer for that, but it was an unnecessary risk.

That sword deserved a true fight. 

“More for me then,” Shanks shrugged, gulping down one of the beers while his enemy sighed.

“If you’re not serious about challenging me, then kindly leave me to my reading.”

Shanks reached for the hand that held the book, but it withdrew so fast, danger in those golden eyes now as they narrowed on him. 

“There’s the monster I remember," Shanks raised his mug, drinking in the sight before him. 

Dracule Mihawk pulled his feet down from the table, and set his book aside, never taking his eyes off the pirate. Adjusting his jacket looked like an instinctual habit, the maroon fabric and floral patterns seeming out of place on a killer’s skin. 

“Do you shave your sideburns all pointy like that, or–”

“Are you suicidal, rookie?”

“What do you care,” Shanks scoffed. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to. “You’ve been looking forward to killing me, haven’t you? And I don’t see any blood on that big sword of yours, so you must be bored here.”

Mihawk wanted to stay bored, but this pretty pirate, and his ugly hat were getting on his nerves. 

“I’m sure one of the local drunkards could grant your death wish in a back alley brawl. I don’t need to dirty my blade on weak blood like yours.”

Oh, but he wanted to. 

And the red haired captain could see it. Just the slightest curve of those cruel lips, a faint intake of breath when he stretched his arms above his head, that dangerous gaze caught on every mark of training on his body. 

Shanks was fucking high on it, and he wasn’t going to let it end so soon.

“I’m here to challenge you, Hawk Eye Mihawk,” he smirked, finally free of thoughts as thrills shot through him. “I’m here to end you.” 

“You’re here to try.”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

It’s okay. You’re okay.

Soothing words were bad.

Not real. It’s all pretend. 

Uncle Cedrick was talking again, lording over the lunch that had been laid out along the beach today. 

The beach where you’d begged him to touch you last night. 

Not real. 

Nothing matters. 

Fake is fine.

Not real. Can’t feel. 

“Come now, niece, don’t keep the hunters waiting!”

He handed you bit of cloth, and you had no idea what the fuck to do with it. Reality reformed around you, and you found your suitors lined up on the sand, watching your every movement. 

You held up the flag and dropped it down, grateful that you’d guessed right when most of the men started running toward the waves. 

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” came a deep, deep voice that almost pulled you free. 

“Hi, uh… Hello, Katakuri,” you shook beneath his gaze.

Oh yeah. Maybe this gentle giant will crush me to death tonight. That might make things easier.

“I was hoping that since it’s our night tonight, I might be able to sit with you today?”

“There’s no rule against it,” your uncle shrugged, snagging his drink to raise it toward the crimson haired man above. “Don’t ignore your other suitors though, niece. They’re putting in a lot of work to win you today.”

The portable screen that had been set up between some of the larger vehicles caught your eye. It showed Giberson lounging with a cocktail, sticking his pasty toes in the sand while he waved at the younger men running past.

Thankfully, the cam snails shifted their focus to your other suitors, their powerful bodies gleaming while most of them tore their shirts off before diving into the waves.

It was hard to enjoy the view with that glaring, red hair always hogging the screen. 

I bet he’s a fan favorite, that fucking—“

“Do you like sweets, Y/N?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked, head twisting to meet those stunning eyes. 

“I’ve noticed that you don’t seem to like the food they’ve been serving here, and since I was hoping to make something with you during our date tonight, I want to be sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Katakuri was shielding his eyes from the sun to look down at you, and you felt a stupid bit of guilt for ignoring this seemingly sweet man that came here to own you. 

“I love sweets, I’ve just been so nervous,” came another lie that was true. “It’s hard to eat when I’m nervous, but if you promise to share with me, then I can’t wait to—”

“Well, Emperor, that’s not quite what we were looking for,” Uncle Cedrick teased as he followed Shanks back to your table. 

“I found what I was looking for,” he rasped, going to a knee beside you. Your image on the screen held you prisoner, just as he planned to do.

Shanks’ title had never suited him so well. The Emperor of the Sea was drenched, his red hair gone dark, clinging to his face and neck. Drops of the ocean fell from the ends to pour down his body in hypnotizing lines. His chest was almost always bare, but the way his skin glowed under all that salt and sun turned his body into a work of art, something to gaze upon and enjoy, and you fucking hated him for it. 

Monsters should look as ugly as their souls. 

“I realized I didn’t bring you a gift last night, and I had to make it right.”

You heard the sand shifting as Katakuri moved closer, but Shanks held your gaze. 

Those soft, brown eyes held nothing but lies. 

“A beautiful shell for a beautiful girl,” he breathed, wincing slightly when your uncle joked for the crowd, lamenting how “lovey dovey” things might get if all the hunters tried to spoil you. 

You had to accept his gift.

It was a large conch shell, and it was beautiful, with spirals and spikes laid out in gentle colors. 

“Listen to it, Y/N. Can you hear the ocean?”

“I… Yeah, I can,” you nodded, holding the shell up to your ear. Distant music filled your mind, and you shoved the memories down. Luckily, a trail of dripping suitors was headed toward you, and you were grateful for any excuse to stop looking at him. 

You were so fucking close to smashing that spiky shell into his face.

“The deep, blue sea loves its creatures so much that it sends its ears along with them.”

“Uh, thank you? I–“

“And the winner of today’s hunt is Prince Fukaboshi!”

Shanks had no choice but to move when Uncle Cedrick grabbed your elbow to guide you to another small stage, riding it into the air beside you. 

The merman prince looked like the God of the Sea. 

His spotted tail made giant patterns in the sand as he floated toward you, shaking out his light blue hair before you came close to his glinting smile. His teeth.

Shark. He’s like a shark.

“For you, Miss Sylvad. I hope that whatever this treasure is brings you as much pleasure as your company brings me.”

So very carefully, Fukaboshi’s massive fingers placed an ornate wooden chest on the platform in front of you, and a look from your uncle sent you to your knees to open it up.

Salt water and seaweed poured out, sending chills over your skin before you reached inside. The treasure was hard to identify in the soggy container, but soon you held it up for everyone to see. 

Everyone could see you while you stared at the intricate ship in a bottle, your dad’s signature redwood still painted on one of the sails. 

“Thank you for finding this for me, Prince Fukaboshi,” you praised, teetering on the edge of tears again. “I… I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

You hadn’t seen one of his little ships since you’d smashed a few of them to pieces ten years ago. The rest had been hidden away before the spoiled heiress could destroy them all during another tantrum. 

More of dad’s perfect creations that he’d lovingly stuffed into a pretty cage.

The world swerved, and by some miracle, your shaky hands placed the bottle back into the chest, closing the lid with a soft thud.

“Are you feeling well, niece,” Unce Cedrick crooned as he laid his hand on your back, painting the picture of a loving family.

“Yes, uncle, thank you,” came your soft, gracious voice. Your Sylvad smile was the only armor you had against the onslaught of eyes.

“I feel perfect.” 

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

It was the perfect fight. The perfect dance.

“Where was this fire back then, Red Hair? This rage?”

“You trying to distract me, Hawk Eyes?”

Shanks pressed all of his weight against that powerful blade, their swords scraping against each other like deadly instruments. Mihawk had that huge weapon tilted down for an attack he couldn’t finish, and the younger pirate laughed as he caged him in against a tree. 

“There’s no need,” Mihawk growled, his body singing with the first true challenge he’d faced in years. “You’re still an overconfident, little boy.”

“Well, this— gods damn it, really,” Shanks groaned, unable to rub the pain off of his face with all of his strength holding his sword against the other. “Aren’t you a fucking swordsman? Head butts don’t seem that honorable.”

“A true fighter knows when to be flexible,” Mihawk taunted, finally slipping from Shanks’ hold. 

Perfect. 

Any of his previous opponents would have been sliced in half by his quick recovery, Yoru gliding through the air like a bird of prey.

Yet this man parried the attack with hardly a second to shift after Mihawk’s escape. 

And he was smiling. 

“I told you we’d be having fun.”

“That’s what you’ve been training for all this time, Red Hair? You’re willing to die for a bit of fun?”

“Aren’t you?”

Their taunts grew breathier as the clash of blades went on, but soon they both carried feral grins, laughing at every near miss. They didn’t notice all the trees they knocked down, or the creatures of the forest that fled into the golden glow of the coming sunset.

This perfect dance had lasted for hours, but it could have been seconds or days to them. 

The dancers lost themselves in the sounds of bodies and blades, in the strength and will of their beautiful enemy, and in the sweat, blood, and dirt that only made them seem more like beasts, hungry for more. 

Until the end. 

“Do it.”

Mihawk couldn’t believe it. 

He’d slipped. Hours and hours of sweat and blood dripping through his fingers made him slip just enough for his enemy to slip through.

I should have wrapped the handle better. 

The swordsman huffed a laugh at his own arrogance. He hadn’t had to worry about sweating through that fabric in years. 

“Laughing in the face of death, huh,” Shanks asked, holding Gryphon to the Warlord’s throat. He’d pinned the man down, his weight pressing his enemy into the rough ground. 

“I’m waiting for death, Red Hair,” he sneered, stretching his neck to give the man a clearer target. “Get on with it.”

“Now why would I wanna do that,” Shanks rasped. The chaos in those pretty eyes was hypnotizing. 

Shame and fury almost broke the man loose, but all he could do was seethe while blood started to trickle down his throat from his movements. 

“If you don’t finish this I’ll—“

“Make a deal with me,” Shanks purred, leaning close to breathe his bargain over those snarling lips. “I want you to live, and get stronger, so we can have even more fun next time.”

“If you don’t end this now, I will kill you sl—“

“Slowly, right? Sounds like fun to me.”

He freed the monster, collapsing onto the ground beside him to laugh, and wince with the pain of their dance.

This feels good.

“Tomorrow. You die tomorrow, Red Hair.”

The Warlord felt pathetic spitting the threat from his back, but he tilted his head to find that shiny, bloody smile again. 

“Tomorrow it is,” Shanks agreed, before diving into even more dangerous distractions. “What about tonight, Hawk Eyes? You got any plans?”

“You are truly magnificent, you suicidal fool,” Mihawk laughed, a lovely sound from those cruel lips. The redhead wouldn’t stop beaming at him, and something in him snapped. 

Mihawk couldn’t stop laughing, even through the soreness, even when his ridiculous enemy joined in. 

“What do you say, swordsman, wanna go grab a beer?”

“I prefer wine.”

“Whatever you want, loser—mmnf.”

“I will kill you tomorrow,” Mihawk sneered, rolling to hold Kogatana to that pretty throat.

“Let’s go celebrate your victory then,” Shanks winked, his jaw shifting in playful challenge. “Do you prefer red or— It’s red, isn’t it?”

“So perceptive in your final moments,” Mihawk drawled after too long a pause, but he helped his enemy off the ground. 

He walked beside the man that could have killed him. That should have killed him. 

This isn’t safe. 

Mihawk tried to listen to his instincts, every muscle in his body screaming for him to take down the smiling threat at his side. 

Yet all he could do was follow that red, unable to look at anything else. 

~~~

“What are you doing,” Mihawk growled, shrugging off Shanks’ touch when they entered the tavern.

“Don’t you wanna clean your pretty clothes first,” he teased, before nodding his head toward the hallway he’d tried to pull his enemy down. “My room’s this way, and it’s got a nice bathroom we can use. We look pretty fucked up, Hawk Eyes.”

Shanks leaned in again, his lip scraping through his teeth just a bit. Just enough.

Fuck being safe. 

“Getting cleaned up is going to take awhile,” Mihawk gave in, returning that heated stare. “How many bottles can you carry?”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡~~~

Shanks had finally figured it out, but the weight of nausea wouldn’t leave. Buggy knew she’d wanted him, he knew that breathing, but listening to Shanks touch her when he didn’t know how she felt was… 

“You need to get some sleep, little clown. Do you… Did you wanna sleep somewhere else?”

Crocodile tried to sound light, as though he’d be fine with an empty bed knowing that his clown would be whimpering in his sleep like he had every night since she left. There was a growing awkwardness in the air since that private date started, and he didn’t know how to quash it, or if he had any right to.

“No, I don't,” Buggy admitted. That scarred face seemed so careful, as though the man were holding still so he wouldn’t spook him. With a sigh, Buggy knew it was probably true. He let himself be swallowed by that comfortable, deadly warmth again. 

Holding him close, Crocodile fell through his own mind.

At some point, he had lost sight of his goals. The greed of how to reach them made him lose the vision, and ultimately lose it all. How many other things should he have protected instead of destroyed? How could he ever balance the scales with those he wanted to keep?

“Hey, boss,” Buggy cleared his throat, lips twitching nervously when he turned to look at that frightening face, unreadable as stone. The tension in his body was pretty readable though, and it didn’t seem like either of them would be falling asleep anytime soon.

“I know it’s late, but do you, uh… wanna call him?”

~~~🤡🐊🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

They set their swords down. 

Mihawk had almost walked away, but Shanks tossed his sword out of reach first before backing into the bathroom with a crooked grin, and an open bottle of wine in each hand. 

“You comin’?”

The Warlord followed, not knowing if he could see the other man as anything but an enemy, even for a night. 

The bottle of red helped. 

“Here, let me help you with that.”

“It’s fine, I’ve— fu-uck!”

An absurdly large splinter had pierced into Mihawk’s lower back sometime during the fight, and although the two men had been staring at each other while they showered, they hadn’t touched until Shanks saw him struggling with that invasive bit of wood. 

“This little thing hurt that bad, huh,” Shanks teased as he tossed the splinter, reaching for the first aid supplies the bartender had shoved at them when they walked in dripping with blood. 

He soaked a swab in alcohol, and pressed it to the small wound before the swordsman could dodge him, and the desperate noise he let out made Shanks’ jaw drop. 

Mihawk turned away, grabbing a towel to tie down his body's reaction before leaving the redhead in the bathroom with his mouth still hanging wide. 

“I’ve got some extra pants you can—“

“I’m not wearing your ugly pants. They look like an old lady’s couch.”

Shanks snorted, admiring the sulking Warlord that was cleaning his already clean blade. 

“No pants then. I can live with that.”

“Is this what you wanted all along, Red Hair? I would have have fucked you on the tavern table if you’d just asked nicely.”

Shanks had left his towel in the bathroom, and his body’s reaction to those words was on full display while he leaned against the doorframe. 

“I don’t think losers get to be on top, Hawk Eyes.”

Rage was back. 

“And I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow to kill you.”

“Come on, friend,” Shanks dared, taking another swig while the hissing monster held that tiny blade to his throat again. “Let’s have some more fun.”

Who moved first? Neither could tell, but however it started, nothing in the world could stop them now. 

That kiss between rivals sparked another dance that would last for hours. 

Another fight that left them snarling and breathless, throwing taunts back and forth while they tore each other apart. 

Another battle of strength and will to see which man would fall to the other. 

“You truly believe you can take me,” Mihawk laughed, shoving his opponent against the wall hard enough for the wood to groan, and the dust to shake loose from the shelves beside them. 

“I believe you want me to,” the redhead taunted. It felt so good to be lost. “You keep hunting for someone who can. I bet you’re just dying to get fucked into the ground, aren’t you? Want me to hurt you?”

He fisted into that soft, black hair, yanking the man’s head back. That pathetic moan was music to his ears, and his cock was dripping with the need to shove it into the swordsman already. 

“And what about you,” Mihawk growled. He grabbed onto Shanks’ pulsing cock, and laughed when his knees nearly buckled. “You’re so obsessed with fighting me, trying so hard to fuck me. Willing to die for some fun? I’ve never met such a desperate whore.”

And they were kissing again, with Mihawk laughing into Shanks’ mouth while his cruel fingers made his enemy whine.

“Gods, if you’re gonna be such a sore loser, I guess you can take the win,” caved the redhead, breathless and aching to let this man clear his mind for as long as he could. He stumbled over to his bag, and tossed his rival a bottle of lube.

“Knew this was what you wanted,” Mihawk purred, already fisting the cool liquid over his swollen cock before bringing the bottle to his opponent’s waiting body. “You even came prepared.”

“Never know who you might run into at a— ooh, f-fuck. Mm, you’re so good at that.”

Mihawk smirked while his fingers tore so many noises from this gorgeous man, adding and stretching while he taunted him.

“I’ve never fucked someone I planned to kill the next day,” he threatened. That tiny smirk on the redhead’s lips was a challenge, and he needed to make this smug, little pirate beg.

Gods, he’s so pretty. He—

Shanks’ eyes rolled back, whatever he’d planned to say disappearing when the swordsman pierced him. Rough, angry, owning. Exactly what he needed.

“Hawk Eye— Hawk. Fuuck, you feel so fucking good, baby.”

“This it, huh,” he snarled, shoving Shanks’ thigh toward him with one hand, and grabbing that whining throat with the other. “Are you a little toy made just for me? Following me around until I sink my blade in you?”

Oh, those golden eyes. Shanks could have died right then, letting this man have him, but he didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want him to leave. 

And he just couldn’t help himself.

Mihawk had never made that sound before. He had his prey beneath him, flushed and desperate, those soft, brown eyes almost broken. 

Then there was pain.

He didn’t know what was happening until he saw that fucking smirk, but it was too late.

Shanks had found that little wound on his back, and dug his nails in. 

He looked so fucking smug before he followed his lover, arching his back while he came across his chest and stomach. It didn’t stop him from making Mihawk twitch and moan with sharp pleasure from the pain he kept twisting into his skin. 

They both whimpered and gasped while Mihawk kept fucking his come even deeper. Shanks’ nails in his skin were the strings of a marionette, controlling him, owning him.

It felt unreal.

The Warlord wanted to be angry, wanted to punish the grinning lover he still pierced, but he couldn’t think. 

Just a little while. A little while longer without thinking, until the enemies were taunting and teasing again, another round of showers to clean a different kind of mess away.

It felt…

It wasn’t safe.

“Where ya going, loser?”

Shanks’ high dropped fast, almost as fast as Mihawk climbed back into his fancy clothes. 

He didn’t want it to end.

“Sleep well, rookie. Tomorrow’s your last day.”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

“Can’t sleep without me, clown?”

“No, shithead,” Buggy sneered, and Crocodile’s deep laughter poured through the transponder snail until Mihawk felt an almost smile touch his lips. “You’re an agent now, and we’d like an update.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” he teased, though he felt heavier with every breath. “This very late night update is that I’m floating on the sea.”

“Where did you end up heading first,” Crocodile interrupted Buggy’s grumbles, and his lovely voice sent guilt coursing through Mihawk’s veins.

“With these conditions, I should make it to Majiatsuka by this time tomorrow.”

“That’s the, uh,” Buggy groaned in thought, with the sound of rustling paper accompanying his noises. 

“That’s one of the island kingdoms around Dress Rosa, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Buggy answered Crocodile’s question, while Mihawk stared into nothing. “It’s right here, but that’s– You’re not gonna check out Whole Cake first? And Germa’s creepy boats are parked to the east. Which suitor lives–”

“Mihawk.”

He couldn’t speak.

“What’s wrong,” Buggy asked, quiet after Crocodile’s rage. 

Until he found his own. 

“Are you fucking STUPID? We don’t have a plan! I can’t believe you, you BATSHIT CRAZY fucking asshole. I’m gonna–”

“Explain,” Crocodile ordered, that dangerous purr ending Buggy’s rant. “Why are you going to the estate?”

“I’m going near the estate,” the swordsman cleared his throat, grateful that there was just enough room on his boat to pace. “I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful, but I didn’t quite lie. I’ll still try to gather intel to thin the crowd, bloodlessly if possible.”

“You do realize the sheer amount of manpower between you, right? The fucking surveillance?” Crocodile’s voice was edged with that dangerous disappointment, that waiting rage. “Hells, he probably already knows where you are with how much the Marines–”

“I can’t take it! I can’t take another fucking second of this!”

Nothing but the wind in the sails. 

Nothing but his ragged breathing, and his heart that was too fucking loud.

“Mihawk,” Buggy asked softly. True softness for the man that had tortured him, tormented him, taken and used his lover like a fucking whore. Mihawk couldn’t understand the forgiveness he’d been given.

He didn’t need it anymore.

“I’ll try, I will, I swear,” the swordsman vowed, not sure if he was telling the truth. “But I need her!”

“Little prince–”

“I don’t want to force her. I don't ever want to force her again. I want to respect her wishes, and wait until we know what she needs, what she wants… but I don’t want that. Not really.”

Mihawk gave a hateful laugh, nearly choking on his self loathing, but his rage would stop spilling out.

“I want to go in there, and grab her, and slaughter everyone on that island! I want to kill everyone that’s ever fucking looked at her! I want–”

“Hey, crybaby, you think I don’t fucking want that,” Buggy fumed, death in his voice.

“That’s why I’m doing this,” Mihawk slumped, not knowing when the tears began. “You deserve her. I’ll try not to go in there unless there’s no other way, but I need to be close.”

“What are you talking about,” Crocodile breathed. 

There wasn’t enough room on this boat to have these emotions, and Mihawk had to clench his fists to keep from tearing it to pieces.

“I need her, but I’d rather she hate me than… I’ll be the monster, so you don’t have to. I think I can live with her hate if I know she’s with you. With someone she loves.”

Nothing but the waves. 

“The security is still fucking vicious,” Crocodile rasped, anger draining from his voice. “And with the suitors’ people, and Sylvad’s pet Marines… That’s a lot of armies to fight.”

“I’ll be fine, and she already hates Shanks, so he can do whatever he has to,” Mihawk sighed as visions of violence soothed him. “The two of us should be able to tear the place asunder. The Cross Guild will need to relocate if it comes to that though. Probably disband, and go into hiding. You can take her somewhere. You can take care of her.”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not doing this! She wouldn’t want—“

“Buggy, I’ll try to wait,” Mihawk pleaded, surprised that he still wanted permission. “Please, let me be the last resort. Call me if something happens, and I’ll bring her back to you. I’ll be the monster. Let me… please.”

The swordsman could hear his silent clown, those desperate breaths echoing through the night air.

That silence dragged on too long, and he couldn’t get her broken laughter out of his mind. Her uncle’s threats that Buggy had scrawled and crumpled in his rage and despair. The wound she had dealt him when she left. How perfectly cold her eyes had been. 

Until she wouldn’t meet his gaze. 

“I think she was telling the truth,” Buggy whispered, hardly breaking the silence. “She wanted to go, even though... I don’t think she’ll forgive you.” 

“I know. She shouldn’t.”

“Are you trying to be selfish, or selfless, little prince? Because either way, you’re fucking doing it wrong.”

The swordsman let out his own broken laughter, ducking into the small cabin to find a bottle of red. 

“Listen to me, bright eyes,” his business partner urged. “If you need to be out there, then do it, but don’t do this.”

“Don’t drink and sail,” Mihawk asked, popping the cork to pour the fine wine down his throat. 

He didn’t want to taste it. To observe the colors. He didn't want to notice the hint of plums, or the lack of his little bloodhound that he had wanted to taste the world with. 

“No, don’t be a fucking idiot,” Crocodile sighed. “Don’t act like you’ve already lost her. You don’t know what you’ll be able to do yet, or how she’s gonna feel. Our sweet girl is fierce.”

“Of course she is,” Buggy agreed, a steady faith in his voice that Mihawk envied. 

He had changed too late.

“Don’t throw your heart away because you don’t think you deserve it.” 

His scarred lover had touched the truth too close, as though the grief in those words wasn’t just for him. 

“You’re not gonna find a way if you think you’ve already lost, so if you’re gonna do this, then quit fucking around. Find out what our girl wants. Get her back. Convince her to stay.”

“But—“

“And you’re gonna work with us,” Buggy cut in, sounding brighter, his rage shifted back to annoyance. “We’re getting my star back, and I’m not gonna let you take all the credit, asshole.”

The World’s Greatest Swordsman was drifting alone on his one-man boat again. 

Not so alone. 

“You’ll call me if…”

“If we need a monster, you’ll be the first one I’ll call,” his clown promised, bringing a wave of sick relief at the thought. “But this whole sacrificing yourself for our happiness shit is fucking lame. Can you try not to be so dramatic?”

Silence. Nothing but the water. 

Nothing until the laughter started. Warm, deep laughter at their tearful swordsman, and their dramatic clown that joined in with a snort before they all forgot what they were laughing about. 

“I’m sorry I lied, daddy,” Mihawk breathed, suddenly cold at the thought of sleeping. 

“You’ll get your punishment. Just fly back home, little bird.”

“And stop being such a dumbass, please,” Buggy groaned, sounding squished as though a massive arm had curled around him. 

“No promises,” Mihawk laughed, “but I will try… Thank you.”

The Cross Guild said their slow goodnights, leaving the swordsman on that quiet sea.

He drifted alone on his one-man boat, but this time he floated between his distant lovers, knowing that he had always been right. Love isn’t safe. 

Fuck being safe. 

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: So I went a little wild here. Writing Mishanks' backstory felt like utter self indulgence, so I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! I love all of our fucked up boys so very much 😭 Who's ready to make some sweets with Katakuri though? 🍩😏

Fic Updates & Extras:

Special thanks to the commenter who referred to Shanks' pants as "grandma couch patterned" a few months ago, it has lived in my brain rent free. I can't find the comment on tumblr or Ao3, but you have my eternal gratitude for making me snort every time I see him and his stupid fucking pants now 😅🙏🏼

I've included a timeline below with OP Canon and Numbers Game events in case y'all would like to see where all the flashbacks line up. I left out any events that gave away the Reader's age for those that don't want to see that, but I'll make a separate post with more details for those that do.

You have no idea how much I reduced this timeline, lol. My actual timeline is full of a ton of canon details since I plan to reuse it for other fics, and I of course left out the Numbers Game spoilers. I only brought this version up to six years before the current time because I'm still cleaning up the rest of my notes, but I'm happy to share more later if you're interested.

I apologize that I don't have the timeline in text format yet. I will be adding that soon since images aren't accessible for everyone. Please let me know if you'd like that so that my adhd brain doesn't forget!!

The vast majority of the canon details were compiled by the sweet, glorious, super heroes at the One Piece Wiki, and The Library of Ohara. I would be lost without them!!!! 🙌😭🙏🏼

I'm basing the Numbers Game geography off of This Map by xads181 on Reddit. It is absolutely stunning, holy wowzers! 😍

Do you know how little fucking time it takes to get between most of these islands? I thought my timeline was going too fast, but Oda really just had them speedrun their adventure while we take 25+ years to watch it. I love him so much 😅💜

Numbers Game Abbreviated Timeline ~ 6-52ish years ago:

I made this timeline using Miro if you're interested. It's got a free or paid version, and it's been helping me so much. (I completely ignore the AI (🤢) and collaborative features, but the mindmapping and such is just so good!) Writing this long of a fic with so much to keep track of was wild in my messy, poorly titled google docs list 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97

Part 34

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[mattsfavbigtitties]

BlackCat!Matt S. Headcanons

Warnings: fluff, smut, shy!matt, sub!matt, tit sucking, fidgety touching, tit play,

MASTERLIST TAGLIST

A/n: just a filler for now while i work on the next fics

BlackCat!matt who takes an infinite of naps everyday. Always so tired from doing nothing. After a short day of sleeping until 2pm, he seems to always nap around 6pm. If he has an early morning he’ll be the most grumpy boy ever and take at least three 1 hour naps. Whether you’re there or not he will no doubt have his nap/s. If you’re there, he’ll be right by your side whether you're playing on your phone, watching a movie or eating. He'd just sit as close to you as possible and lean his head on you. When you’re not there and come by, you’ll find him in the most bizzare places or positions. One time you found him just at the table, a small chip bag in his left hand and one of the chips in his right hand, his head resting sideways on his left arm about to eat the chip.

BlackCat!matt who doesn't initiate the first touches. (even if you’ve been together for years) Tho he's very gentle when he does. Whenever you ask for a hug the first time he would say yes, but wait until you made the first direct contact before wrapping his hands around your waist or shoulders with a barely recognizable kiss on the head. Even before sex, you’d be making out in his bed and you’d take off his shirt and he’d stop you asking shyly if you wanted to go through with it.

BlackCat!matt who loves getting mouth fed most times just cause he's too lazy to eat himself. Sometimes he’ll bring you a snack already open for you to feed him while watching a movie or something. Chris and Nick seem to always make fun of him when they do see it happening. But you always have his back and repent the allegations of the two dummies.

BlackCat!matt who is so shy he never talked about any type of sexual related things around you. His cheeks just get so red whenever you say anything even close to sex, even when it’s a joke.

BlackCat!matt who accepts your head pats like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He’d act like he hates them every time you do. But you and him both know deep down he absolutely loves them. As the relationship proceeds, he starts to only show he likes them with a small, content smile on his lips when around no one. But still acting like he dislikes/ is annoyed by the head pats when his friends or family are around.

BlackCat!matt who keeps himself well groomed and clean. In both aspects.

BlackCat!matt who paws at your chest and body when you ride him into the next universe. He clutches at both your tits with his hands while you slam down your tight heat onto his length. His whines and moans ricochet along his room walls as you clench around. “You’re such a pretty boy, you know that?” You glide your fingers to his nipples, making goosebumps crawl up his skin as he bucks his hips, wanting more. One of his hands paw down to your waist, squeezing enough to form a bruise later white the other stays put, kneading your right titty. “Please-uh, ma.” He breathes out and you move your hands to hold onto his pecs as you lean forward to brush your lips together. At this angle, your tits fall right into his face as he stares at them with stars in his eyes like it was a piece of candy put in front of him. He grappled at them with his hands once again, reaching his mouth to one, putting your nipple in his mouth, suckling at it as you continued to ride him to his and your ecstasy. One of your hands in his hair petting him and praising him for doing so good for you once again.

TAGLIST: @riowritesitall @conspiracy-ash @miyasturniolo

[ughgoaway]

under the mistletoe // day 3

content warnings; kissing and probably swearing, I don't remember tbh <3

a/n; okay re-reading this one lowkey killed me... I feel like it's SO cringy and bad??? but it's too late now! despite my self-consciousness, I hope you guys enjoy <3

word count; 2k

(this fic takes place after they have gotten together)

12 days masterlist

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

"You're kidding," Matty says with a crestfallen look on his face. Currently, he looked similar to a 10-year-old being told they weren't getting a puppy for Christmas. But Matty would attest that he had it much, much worse.

"Nope!" You say popping the p as you finish. "Matty, it's Christmas. You can only kiss me if we see a mistletoe!” 

Matty scoffed at your words, “as if you are going to be able to resist kissing me until we are under the mistletoe, I give it a minimum 2 days before you do those pouty ‘please kiss me lips’ and beg me” he said confidently.

“Pfft. I won't kiss you without mistletoe until Christmas day. You underestimate my stubbornness, my dear” You pat Matty's head consideningly.

“Wanna bet?” he smirks, leaning slightly closer to your face.

You lean closer too, watching Matty’s eyes flick down to your lips the nearer you get, “deal. If I win, you make me breakfast every day next week. And if you win, I'll do the same.” You narrow your eyes at matty, challenging him. 

Matty nods quickly, now unabashedly staring at your lips. “One last kiss for luck?” he asks as if he is doing you a favour, rather than yearning for one last kiss.

You teasingly lean in but snap away just before your lips touch, “ah ah ah, no mistletoe. Those are the rules i'm afraid love" You pout at Matty teasingly before spinning on your heels and walking away.

You knew it would be a matter of seconds before he came following, and sure enough, a few seconds later, you heard the sound of footsteps coming behind you into the kitchen.

The water in the kettle is just beginning to boil when you feel a pair of hands sliding over your hips and meeting on your stomach.

Matty's curls tickle your face as he presses his face into your neck, leaving open-mouth kisses at your pulse point and working down your neck. You hum and lean back into him, loving the feeling of his warmth behind you. 

His head smoothly slides out from your neck, and his hands slither from your stomach to your waist. He grips and spins you around. Pressing your back onto the kitchen counter with a dizzying pressure. His red kiss-bitten lips were already pouting at you, teasing you. But you were committed. As was Matty.

“C'mon baby, why won't you give your poor boyfriend a kiss?” Matty says, leaning in and pressing kisses to your cheeks. You smile at his actions, seeing right through his sweet facade.

“Oh, I will,” you say, and you've never seen Matty move quicker. He shoots back with wide eyes. 

“Really?” Matty was shocked you would fold so easily, sure he'd have a battle on his hands.

You lean close to Matty and brush your noses together, exchanging desperate breaths between the two of you. Softly, you whisper, “Yup, as soon as you catch me under some mistletoe, I’m all yours” You smirk and spin around to finish making your drink.

You hear Matty grumble and shuffle away, annoyed that his pretty boy tactic hadn't worked. But he was gonna catch you. He's determined to win.

///////////

It was a few hours later and suspiciously quiet in the Healy house, you tiptoe around every corner, preparing for Matty to leap out with mistletoe in his hands. The cold concrete on the floor radiates through your feet as you creep through the corridors. You walk past each painting on the wall and, for the first time, really look at a few of them. Matty has interesting taste in art, that's for sure.

As you approach Annie's room, you start to hear hushed voices speaking so you sneak up and listen intently. The warm glow of the light filters into the hall from a crack in the door.

You manage to peek in and see Matty sitting on the floor with Annie standing over him, fiddling with his hair. He has various clips and bows hidden in his curls, Annie having recently fallen in love with playing hairdressers. She will have your hair in her hands as soon as you are within reaching distance.

Most times, he begrudgingly agrees and ends up sitting on the floor with his daughter's hands raking through his curls and carefully placing glitter clips and hairbands. She studies his whole head carefully, thoughtfully placing each item and moving them around until she gets the look she's going for.

Matty once came into the studio with a glittery butterfly clip still caught in his hair, which earned him endless teasing for the whole session.

The teasing continued until the next time Annie came in, she promptly sat Ross down and did nothing but focus on playing with his hair for about 45 minutes. Adam and George were suddenly very happy for their short locks, watching in fits of laughter at Ross’ disgruntled face as Annie placed yet another hair clip in. 

So it was a normal sight for you to see, Matty's hair full of accessories and Annie's tongue sticking out with her focused face as she styled him. What you weren't accustomed to was the topic of conversation; you.

“So you know Daddy really likes to kiss y/n?” Matty says, wincing at the pain of Annie tugging particularly hard at one curl to get it to stay in place. 

Annie pauses what she is doing before saying, “Yes Daddy it's yucky. But you have to be quiet if im doing your hair. I can't focus!” she says exasperatedly, throwing her hands up dramatically. 

“Okay im sorry, baby, but I need your help to play a little trick on her. Do you want to help?” he asks, placing his hands on his daughter's waist and pulling her into his lap.

She fiddles with his curls as she thinks, even using one finger to tap her chin pensively. “Hmm, what would the trick be? Would it make her sad?” 

Matty smiles at his daughter's caring nature. It makes his heart happy knowing his two girls love each other so deeply. Knowing the two people he cared most about had such a connection was one of Matty's favourite things.

He knows the way he and you met wasn't the most ideal circumstance, but the connection it gave you with Annie was worth any trouble it caused.

“No sweetheart, in fact, it would make her happy. You know how she smiles after I give her a kiss?” Annie tentatively nods, and Matty continues, “Well there's this thing at Christmas that grown-ups do called mistletoe, and if you go under it together, you have to kiss the other person.”

Annie's face immediately crumples into a disgusted look that has Matty lightly laughing and squeezing her sides, “don't worry, peanut, you won't ever have to do it if you don’t want to.” her face lights back up, and Matty secretly hopes she doesn't participate in the tradition until she's at least 30.

“y/n has said she’ll only kiss me if I catch her under the mistletoe, so I want you to help me surprise her with one. How does that sound?” he looks down at Annie, whose eyes are sparkling with mischief already.

God, she really was his daughter. 

She nods excitedly, and Matty starts tickling her all over, telling her all about how fun their secret spy missions are going to be.

You sneak back to the kitchen, grinning to yourself at the idea of Matty roping in his daughter just so he can kiss you. You have to give it to him, he's definitely determined. 

Just as you're finishing off some tea for you and Matty, you feel a familiar pair of hands slide around your waist. A wave of deja vu washes over you as they do.

“No ill intentions this time, baby, I swear. Just wanted to touch my girl” Matty says softly into your ear before hugging you properly from the back, putting his head in your neck and breathing in your perfume as he does. He thinks that scent might be the most soothing one in the world.

Matty never told you this, but once he found out what perfume you wear, he bought some for himself. He somehow convinced himself that it wasn't creepy or stalker-like, that he simply liked the smell. But when it wasn't on you, it didn't feel the same. It didn't have the same all-encompassing warmth behind it. 

“Well, let’s go cuddle on the sofa, my love. Just no kissing,” you say, leaning back into Matty with your eyes closed in bliss. As you turn in his arms and meet his eyes, you teasingly wag your finger at him. He simply looks at you with enough love to make you dizzy. 

The two of you plod your way over to the sofa, clearly ready to relax. As Matty sits down, he lifts his arm for you to wiggle into his side. As you lean your head on his chest and burrow your nose in, you feel him relax, and you audibly sigh. The comfort overtakes you, and you fall asleep burrowed into his side, your tea forgotten once Matty drapes a blanket over you.

////////////

A few hours later, you awake to the sound of rushed whispers and giggles. You keep your eyes closed and try and discern what's happening around you. 

“Okay, Annie. Now is the time. Go and get the mistletoe from the kitchen side. And make sure to be really quiet, okay? It's a secret mission, and we want y/n to stay asleep” Matty whispers carefully.

“Okay,” says Annie, trying her best to stay hushed but her excitement can't help but leak into her voice, you hear her small footsteps trailing away and briefly consider getting up and running away. 

But now that Matty has roped Annie in, you can't help but let them win. You weren't going to complain about kissing your boyfriend again. Even the past few hours felt like torture, and the loss of the gentle kisses you shared was worse than you imagined.

You had come to learn Matty's way of showing love was stolen touches. If he could stay attached to you, you're sure he would. Every time he passes you, you get a kiss on the crown of your head or a gentle brush on your back.

If you were out with him, his hand would be in yours. But on the odd occasion he couldn't hold your hand fully, he would simply link your pinky fingers together. He needed a reminder that you were there. You were connected to him.

Despite being together for a little while now, every touch still felt electrified to Matty. He went so long without being able to touch you, and now he could do it whenever he wanted.

So he did.

He does it subconsciously. Even in bed he’ll stroke your arm until he falls asleep. And as Annie skulks around the kitchen, he does the same thing, tracing your arm with a featherlight touch. 

You hear the pitter-patter of Annie's feet running back in and wait patiently until you feel her standing over you to flutter your eyes open and act shocked. The gasp escapes your lips just as laughter escapes Annies. Matty smiles down at you, too, looking quite proud of himself for his seemingly master plan. 

“You didn't even manage to last a day, my love. What a shame. you're going to have to kiss me now” he says, shrugging his shoulders and leaning in. 

“Oh you two are cheeky, well if I have to” Your stress on the word only pulls more giggles from Annie and earns you a disparaging head shake from Matty. 

You and Matty only share a small peck with Annie there, although you can feel Matty’s tongue poke at your lips instinctively before pulling back for an innocent kiss. 

Annie cheers as Matty leans in to hug you, just as you're settling in his arms you feel his hot breath on your neck and hear him whisper, “I knew you were awake that whole time by the way. Just couldn't resist kissing me, hmm?” 

You pull back with a smirk and press another kiss to his cheek brazenly, winking at him as you do.

[astxrwar]

blunt force trauma [2/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content + ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[1] [ 2 ] [3]

It’s the first thing he realizes when he wakes up the next morning; he’s going to have to fix that giant fuck-off hole in the wall.

Bucky only remembers after he’d gone through the convoluted and absolutely unnecessary process of the Home Depot self-checkout— gloves don’t work on the stupid fucking touchscreens they have now, and neither do half of his fingers, which is just such bullshit, god, everything was easier when you could just hand some guy actual money and be done with it— that the government tracks his purchases. The military, technically. Parole condition, again, since they’re paying his rent and also all of his bills, and because, he suspects, him having an actual job would limit the amount of time he’s available as a state-sponsored superweapon of last resort. 

“What’d you get at the hardware store?”

Doc’s tone is light, nonchalant, and painfully fucking contrived. A nail gun, he thinks about saying, and some rope, and duct tape, and, oh— a band saw. Whatever he can think of that sounds the most like he might be planning to commit murder; just to be an asshole. But she already knows exactly what he bought, courtesy of the modern-day surveillance state dystopia that already pretty much existed even with that HYDRA mission falling flat. 

What he bought was a seven-foot oak two-by-four, a C-clamp, wood glue, and twelve 3” galvanized screws.

Nothing villainous, nothing remotely illegal , or whatever the hell these people think. That support in the wall is fucked, but he’d done some amount of woodworking, just as an odd summer job way back when he was fifteen or so, and he knows enough, he thinks, to be able to fix it on his own. Even if he doesn’t, tough shit, he can figure it out— he’s not going to explain to his fucking super why there’s a massive hole in the drywall and the beam’s been split nearly in half. No bullshit excuse he could come up with for any of that even came close to sounding like it’d be believable, and, besides, he kind of likes having something to do. Progress that’s visible. A goal that’s concrete. 

“The TV stand,” he lies. “It— broke.” He’d worked out the details while he was on the subway headed here, decided on exactly when to pause and hesitate like he’s admitting to something, the points where he’d inject some moments of performative vulnerability into it, not too much, just enough, he hopes, to get everyone off his fucking back. 

Doc’s eyebrows raise briefly. She taps her pen against the pad. “Broke how, James,” she prods, on fucking cue.

He hesitates, on purpose, and looks away from her, also on purpose, and then says, pointedly monotone, “I had a nightmare.” 

She leans forwards, just a little bit— she’s probably not even aware of the fact that she had, the way most people tend to be oblivious to their tells— and he knows she’s interested. Thinks this is something. “Walk me through how those are connected.”

The implication is pretty fucking clear, because she already knows he sleeps on the floor in the living room more often than in his own bed, and she knows that he has a temper, a violent one, one that he controls with precision except in circumstances where he doesn’t have to. Like when he’s alone. But she wants to hear him say it; so many appointments end up like this, the both of them already knowing whatever unspoken thing that’s been brought up, and her just— obsessed with the actual speaking. It’s annoying, but at least it’s fucking predictable. “I had a nightmare,” he repeats, not even having to fake the irritation, “And I was in the living room, and I woke up, and I was— in a bad mood. So I broke it.”

She writes something down on the notepad and he has to restrain the urge to roll his eyes. This is not the first time he’s talked about breaking shit when he’s angry. There is fucking– nothing new here. 

“So you’re planning on fixing it, then?” She says when she’s done, studying him. 

He grits his teeth. Again with the fucking obsession with stating the obvious. “It’s new. I don’t want to just— throw it out.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, her expression too relaxed to be vetting the merit of what he’s said; more like she’s contemplating it. Eventually she blinks and shifts in her chair, crossing one leg over another and sets the pad and the pen on the edge of her desk, seemingly satisfied. “That sounds like quite the project,” she remarks, in that tone he can never quite place, whether it’s approving or patronizing or something else altogether. “I think this has the real potential to be a valuable lesson for you, James. Fixing something you've broken instead of discarding it– it can be a therapeutic experience. It might help you work through some of the guilt you’re feeling.”

He doesn’t bother to stop himself from gritting his teeth at that; it would have annoyed him even if he hadn’t been lying.

~

Bucky fixes the beam, hammers the splintered wood back into a vaguely-straight line and seals the cracks with wood glue and attaches the new two-by-four to it with the galvanized screws; it’s called sistering, what he does, and the last time he’d done this shit was something like 1934. It’s what you do when the alternative would be jacking up the wall and tearing down the entire thing, which would be a massive fucking pain and require more tools and more expertise than he has.

He doesn’t see her again between then and his next appointment.

Doc grills him about his ‘project’ the next time he sees her and he says some stupid shit like yeah, it’s going fine, I feel better, I guess, about not throwing it out. And I was thinking I kinda don’t want to break it again, ‘cause I put a lot of work into fixing it. 

Doc looks satisfied with that. It’s not entirely a lie; he knows, now, what this kid is capable of. Next time he really will be more careful.

He makes sure, when he gets around to buying the spackle and the mesh and the paint to patch the drywall, that he pays in cash.

~

The second time she’s a whole lot more sneaky about the breaking-and-entering. 

Bucky wonders, briefly, if this is how it felt for his targets to come home and see him there, straight-backed and still like a statue, just– waiting. Not blinking, hardly even breathing, motionless and so utterly detached that it was hard to tell if he’d been there for hours, or if it had only been minutes. 

This time, he knows better than to try to get close. 

He’d been at the package store, picked up a case of beer, but she’s in the kitchen again and between him and the fridge, so he decides to just set it down by the door. He makes his way into the living room empty-handed, arms raised like last time. He doesn’t go further than the single armchair about halfway, just kind of rotates it around so it’s facing the kitchen, and sits in it. Focuses real hard on looking– safe. Nonthreatening. Whatever the fuck that even means.

“Sorry,” she says, after a while, the word kind of– slurred, like her tongue isn’t moving right in her mouth, thick and clumsy and unused to the dexterity speaking requires. “About your– wall. I didn’t– I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, after a while. “I fixed it.”

She stares at him, for a long time, not even blinking. He stares back, unfazed.

All of this feels like the weirdest kind of deja vu– like how sometimes in his nightmares he watches himself, in the third person, like he’s an observer in his own memories, or sometimes even from the eyes of victims or bystanders, even though that’s impossible and doesn’t really make sense. That’s what it feels like, now, kind of, except where the nightmares feel visceral and frightening and have him jolting awake drenched in sweat and violently sick, right now he’s– fine.

It’s one of those nightmares, except all of the pieces are cut up and rearranged and the details are all disorganized, like somebody’s telling a story all out of order. Like the cinema, back when he was a kid; he had had this friend before he’d dropped out of high school who worked in the back room at the theater, and he’d gotten to watch, one time, and see how the movies that look like they play out as one cohesive and unbroken event when you’re sitting in the audience are really just a whole bunch of smaller reels, switched out between two different projectors to give the illusion of continuity. Right now, if this were a movie, all of those reels would be all jumbled up, and whoever’s running the show keeps forgetting how to time the switch between the projectors right; things keep overlapping, getting lost. Remixed.

“You want to maybe tell me what’s going on?” he says eventually.

“I–” She finally blinks, then, and tears her eyes away, looks somewhere over his shoulder, glassy and sightless. “I don’t– I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Bucky shifts on the chair as he watches her, leaning back, resting his elbows on the arms, trying to appear casual, relaxed, which is– not how he feels. He’s not stressed out, really, but that same thing is going on with his awareness, like the last time; everything is sharp and bright and detailed, and he’s here, he’s present, he’s not caught up in his own thoughts or in his memories or in the past, separated from everything else in his head like he’s cordoned off from it all by this thick pane of glass. “Okay, well, what do you know?”

Here is what he knows: when he’d gone back through the memory, some of the patterns she’d used when they’d fought were HYDRA, but a lot of them weren’t. He thinks she’s probably been brainwashed, but it’s hard to tell to what extent, and even harder to tell why. She knows him, and he’d bet that’s why she keeps coming back here.

She doesn’t answer the question. She still hasn’t moved, not even to shift her weight, like she can’t feel the way her body must be getting sore from standing in the same place for a while. Normal people, they fidget a fucking lot. Bucky’s not as bad as he used to be, so he moves, now, occasionally, aware of his muscles complaining if he’s stayed still for too long, but it’s infrequent enough to make people uncomfortable. 

He figures it probably doesn’t make her uncomfortable. He figures even if it did, deep down– she probably wouldn’t even know.

“You know me,” he presses, after the silence has drawn out for a long time. “You knew my name.”

She looks back at him again. Even the way her eyes move is strange, unnatural, too sharp and too sudden and too intent. People don’t realize this, either, but when they look at stuff, they never really look at it; the eyes move, back and forth, just a little bit. Compensating for the fact that the human field of vision is actually pretty narrow, filling in the bits in the periphery. When she looks at things, there’s no movement. Just this unwavering precision. That happens to him sometimes, still. 

“Do you know your name?” he asks her, and she flinches. 

That thing that he’d seen the last time, like a spark, or a glint, or something, when she’d been about to do some serious damage to herself in order to escape and he’d let her go, when she’d recognized that– it’s back. 

Absently, Bucky thinks about Romania. This apartment is way fucking nicer than the one he’d had then; a one-bedroom, new, light fixtures that all work and really great water pressure and a kitchen that’d been remodeled just last year. In Bucharest, he’d lived in a studio, with windows that didn’t latch and leaked when it rained and hot water only sometimes. 

“How about you just tell me your name,” he says, more firmly than the first time. “You know it, it’s always the first thing to come back.”

That’s not really true. The first things are feelings, but they’re fleeting and sometimes wrong. A name is a concrete thing. It’s a fact. You can write it down and you can say it aloud and you can hold onto it.

She jerks back like he’d slapped her. “How do you know that,” she replies, still flat, but wavering a little; so little that if he didn’t know , he probably wouldn’t notice.

James Buchanan Barnes. He’d carved it with a pocket-knife into the floorboards of that studio apartment, above where he’d hidden his go-bag underneath, in the spots where water damage had rotted it, made the wood soft, like carving into skin. It was insurance. To make sure he couldn’t forget. He’d stare at it, when his nightmares would keep him awake, and the letters would float out of focus and distort and stop making sense, like when you say the same word over and over, until it means nothing.

Eventually, there were other things, too. 

Your mother’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Bucky says. “Tell me your name.”

That spark in her eyes is bigger, flickering, like watching a candle in a windowsill. “I– I don’t–”

“You can tell me,” he repeats, louder, “You know it. You’ve said it, haven’t you? Out loud, to yourself, and I bet you’ve written it down somewhere, you know it, I know you do–”

His voice rises in volume and lowers in pitch without him meaning for it to, and something inside of her flips like a switch, that candle stops being a candle and it flashes bright and wild like a molotov cocktail or a fucking car bomb, like flames licking up the side of a building, the veneer of neutrality cracked open and something vicious and violent and vulnerable underneath and whatever of that is still left inside of him rears up to press at the surface of his skin and he thinks yes, come on, just fucking say it–

Her eyes flash and harden and her mouth presses into this trembling line and she turns and disappears down the hallway.

“Oh– god damn it,” Bucky says, the tension he hadn’t even registered collecting in his body giving out, his back slumping into the chair cushions. 

He sits there for a long time before he finally gets up and goes down the hall to his bedroom, where he stares at the open window, and then pulls it shut.

~

Bucky sleeps in his bed, that night, and not in the living room. He doesn’t have nightmares, and he doesn’t even really wake up on the hour like he’d expected to. Instead, he dreams. In his dream, he comes home to a darkened apartment, case of beer in hand, and he walks the length of the living room and he opens the fridge and sets it inside. When he closes the door, she’s standing behind it, and dream-him jerks like he’s been startled, though he doesn’t feel any actual fear.

She has a gun to his head. She’d been in civilian clothes both times he’d seen her, but in his dream she’s wearing black. Body armor.

“Sorry,” she tells him. Like she’s talking about the hole in the wall.

Her finger tightens around the trigger.

He closes his eyes.

Bucky wakes up before it goes off. His bedroom is flooded with morning light and his heart is beating slow and steady and he feels, strangely, fine. 

~

Doc stops halfway through a back-and-forth about whether or not he’d consider actually picking up woodworking as a hobby– you need hobbies, James, it’s part of being a well-adjusted human being, to which he’d flashed a not-smile and said back, I thought the reason I come here twice a month is because I’m not one, Doc.

She’d looked at him like a parent looks at a child who’s being snarky on purpose, which– fuck that, honestly. He’d been alive probably before her parents were even born.

And then she’d just leaned towards him and tapped her pen against her notebook and stared, the way normal people stare, her eyes fidgeting back and forth, not staying anywhere for long, flicking over his expression and his posture and the way that he’s holding himself in the too-small annoyingly-uncomfortable chair–

“You’re in a good mood,” she says, and then, as an afterthought. “Relatively speaking.”

Bucky scowls at her. “I'm not in a– good mood,” he says. 

She raises an eyebrow at him like she thinks he’s full of shit. “I’d like to discuss it. Your mood. Good or otherwise.”

The scowl deepens. It’s real fucking aggravating, the way that she always prefaces shit with I’d like to and let’s try and if you would as if he has any choice in the matter. As if this isn’t a session he’s forced into attending because the alternative is– many years in prison. Many. So many.

He closes his eyes for a second. He has a headache starting; he always gets fucking headaches, here. “It’s nothing, I don’t know,” he says. She stares some more, the way she does when she’s not going to say shit, the threat of talk or I’m court-ordering you back to sessions more frequently than either of us want to be seeing each other lingering unspoken in the deeply annoying silence.

Bucky makes some vague frustrated noise and then does what he usually does when she gets like this; racks his brain and makes something up. 

“I met someone,” he says finally, which is true. “They’re a veteran,” which is also true. Kind of. “I’ve seen them a lot,” not really, three times isn’t that much, but the context kind of makes it feel like it is. “And I guess I’ve just been thinking about them. We’ve started– talking. Kind of. Not really friends, but– acquaintances. We have–” he shifts on his chair, crosses an ankle over his knee, thinks, again, about how the government could buy furniture that doesn’t suck. “We have a lot in common.”

Doc blinks at him; she’d sat forwards, the way she does when she’s pressing him, and she leans back, now, which he’s sure makes him palpably relax. “A veteran,” she repeats, pensive, “World War 2?”

He scoffs. “No.” 

“Korea?”

“No.” 

She gives him this look, which he figures is something along the lines of would it kill you to just answer the obvious question here?

Bucky sighs, long-suffering. “Recent. I don’t– it hasn’t come up, but they’re pretty young, so.”

Doc makes some approving sound and nods and writes something in her notebook. He hates that fucking notebook. Sometimes he thinks about breaking into the office and setting it on fire, but the risk-to-reward ratio, he figures, just isn’t worth it. He’d probably go to prison. Or worse, he’d be sent all the way back to visits twice a week. 

“If they’re around your age–” he opens his mouth to say something technically probably obnoxious, but she shoots him a sharp look and says, “Your physical age, James,” before he can– “--it’s likely to have been Iraq or Afghanistan.”

She glances up and to the left of him– the clock. Great; they have to be almost done. “Both of those wars were– complex. Most of my clients served in one or the other,” she says. “Quite a large number of soldiers who were simply following orders found themselves responsible for the deaths of innocents; I’m not surprised you have things in common. I think it would be beneficial for you to make friends you can relate to.”

What he thinks: 

I don’t have anything in common with people who chose to follow orders. People who chose to do-- anything.

What he says, instead; “What, you want me to make friends with them?”

She sets the pad and the pen down on the table beside her chair. “This is one of those things that’s more about what you want, James,” she says eventually.

“I don’t know what I want,” he replies.

~

It’s been a week, since he saw her; she’s not there, when Bucky steps into his apartment after taking the subway back from therapy. He wonders for a second if he’d fucked up the last time, scared her off, but he knows, objectively, it’s too early to consider the possibility. Not like he could do anything about it, anyway; he doesn’t have the connections to be able to figure out who she is without a name.

That night he has the dream again. The apartment, darkened and silent. The bright, washed-out white of the open fridge, setting the case of beer on the second shelf, the inside otherwise empty. Spotless. Like a prop. Dreams are weird.

He knows what’s going to happen when he closes the door, this time. For a second it looks like there’s something red on her arm, at the shoulder, but when he looks harder for it there’s nothing, just unbroken black.

“Sorry,” she tells him, again, only this time she keeps going. “I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

“It’s okay,” he says; this is new, too. “I know. It’s going to be okay.”

Her finger tightens around the trigger in slow-motion, and he doesn't close his eyes, this time.

Bucky still wakes up before the gun actually goes off, and he still wakes up feeling weirdly calm. He prefers this, he decides, over the dreams about killing people. Dreaming of being killed– that’s fine. Better, actually.

He sits up and he swings his legs over the side of the bed– he’d been taking advantage of the lack of nightmares and the suspicious ease with which he’s been sleeping, lately, because he’s kind of getting old and his body has started to hate him whenever he doesn’t sleep on an actual mattress– and when he stretches his back doesn’t ache or twinge or crack the way it does when he sleeps on the floor.

He yawns. He rubs at his eyes until splotches of color burst behind his eyelids, and then he opens them, and he waits for his vision to unblur, and–

He zeroes in on something moving on the windowsill with an instinctive and familiar efficiency.

It’s a slip of paper, folded up and trapped between the glass and the mesh screen, fluttering gently with the breeze. It’s from a notebook, ripped out, the kind that comes from one of those slender, flimsy little pocket-sized spiral ones you can get at the dollar store, the pages inside so thin they might as well be tissue paper.

On it, scrawled in shaky, uneven handwriting, is a name.

~

He has the dream a bunch more times after that, and it's mostly the same, and then it isn't.

Stepping through the door to his apartment, stepping into an open mouth; the lights are on, this time, but somehow the room is still dark, just these glittering shards of white on the ceiling that look like sharp, gleaming teeth. He can’t see her as he rounds the counter to the fridge, and though he tries to turn his head and look, the dream body won’t obey. Just opens the door, puts the beer inside– there’s stuff in the fridge, just splotches of color that could be anything– and then closes it again.

Gun to his head. The muzzle is touching his skin, this time, which is weird, and also stupid. You don’t touch people with the gun you’re pointing at them; that’s a really good way to get it taken from you. But it’s a dream, and even though he tries to turn and disarm her, his body stays still.

“Sorry,” she says, “I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

It’s okay. I know. It’s going to be okay. He’s had this dream a lot of times, now, and so he expects–

He says the name from the notebook paper. Her name. She’d given it to him, she’d wanted him to have it. 

Her finger tightens around the trigger all at once, and he doesn't wake up, this time, but the gun doesn’t go off, either. 

It clicks. Jammed. She opens her hand, and it drops, and then it disappears instead of hitting the floor, because– dreams.

“What do I do now,” she says. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

"It's okay,” he hears himself reply. "Just-- let me help you."

[dickarchivist]

Stars and Scars

Clone oc Specter x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1878

Song: Empty Crown by YAS

Rating: 🔞 MATURE!! 🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Contents and Warnings: self-harm/talks of suicide (Specter), blood, abandonment issues, off screen character death (not Specter or reader), trauma and pain, Post Order 66, just the saddest most painful fic I've written to date I am so sorry

Summary: It's rare to see a clone trooper outside of imperial control, especially on Coruscant. Specter asks you to meet him for a drink, and the night doesn't go as you'd expected.

Author's Notes: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a heavy fic!! If you are in any way triggered by anything that is up there, DO NOT READ THIS FIC!!!

I will NOT be putting the taglist on this one because of the contents of this fic. Please read at your own discretion. "The Midnight Tavern" is a nightclub with live music and an escort service that my partner and I created for our Star Wars OCs.

That shock of white hair always seemed to catch your eye in the neon lights. You'd never seen Specter at The Midnight Tavern without his brothers there, but this time he was alone. You take your time getting to him, stopping just shy of his side to wait for him to notice you with a smug smile. "You like me."

"Kriff you're annoying," his glare, and his words, did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that his arm pulled you closer into him, thumb running over your shoulder as he surveyed the bar, "Lucky you're so pretty, Cyar'ika. I'd be less inclined to keep you around if you weren't." Yet still, his actions betray his words as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

You can hear him whisper to you, "Thought about you the whole time we were apart," and you feel blush bloom across your face.

"I missed you too Specs," you tease, leaning into him a little more with your arms around his middle, "What happened, where did you go? With the jedi, the-" he effectively shuts you up with a kiss that knocks the wind out of you. He dips you a little, and your hands to find purchase on his back as you grip his shirt.

When Specter pulls back, his eyes show pain that wasn't there before the end of the war. "Not here... can't draw attention." He kisses you once more before setting you back on your feet.

You swallow thickly, dazed, butterflies in your stomach, "Do you... want to leave? We don't have to stay here, we could take a walk?"

He simply nods, arm around your shoulders, not wanting to let you go even for a second. You'd be lying if you said you wanted him to let go, anyway. Your arm goes around his waist, the other hand lacing your fingers with his as his hand draps over your shoulder. You liked that he was clingy with you still, at least that much hadn't changed.

The air has bite to it, cold with an impending rain. Before you can shiver, Specter takes off his jacket and puts it around you. That's when you notice the bandages wrapping his arms, red lines of blood showing on the white gaux. "You're hurt... Specter, what happe-"

"An order came in." He snaps, breathing harsh, eyes dark, "We were told-- it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. My brothers- we're hiding, I can't be out long, I just-" his shoulders relax, warm breath causing clouds of steam in the cold, "I needed to see you one more time."

The phrase sits strange in your mind, and you want to ask him what he means, but suddenly he's pushing you against a wall. Your breathing hitches as Specter's body shields you from passing Corries, as if he wasn't the one who'd be taken if he was recognized. This close, you can feel his warmth, his heartbeat visible under his shirt. You're not sure if it's the close proximity, or the adrenaline of the moment, but the heat blooming in your core makes you blush, "Specter..."

"Shh", with his hand on your mouth, it only makes that burning heat more intense, "We have to get out of here, know a place to lay low?"

You guide Specter back to your flat, not too far from Midnight Tavern. He chuckled, "That's why you preferred it over 79's."

"Well, that, and Midnight's never let anyone get hurt or drugged," You're quick to add, "Not that 79's is! It's just... different in a smaller club, especially when their headliner is also the bouncer." You get a chuckle from Specter with the last bit, and your heart feels warm.

Now in the safety your studio flat, Specter's hands are on you again. He feels greedy, almost, the way his hands trail your body almost too rough, but never harder than you like. He tugs your bottom lip with his teeth and you instinctively open your mouth for him, moaning into that rough kiss. Possessive, you think. That's the better word, he's possessive of you. You belong to him.

When your hands touch his arms you recoil fast, pulling away, "Specs-" you push his face away, and a look of horror flashes across your eyes when you see blood on his face where you'd touched him. Specter reaches up to hold your face, concern in his eyes, "Did I hurt y-"

His eyes go dark again, looking at the bloodied bandgaes on his arms, "Kriff... you have anything for this? Bacta patch, gaux?"

As you hurry away with a nod, you hear Specter drop himself onto your bed. "Do not ruin my sheets!"

"Not yet anyway! That's a team effort," he chuckles, but when you return with tears pricking the sides of your eyes, his humor fades. His mouth is dry as he looks at you, voice softer now, "Bunny hey... no, I'm fine, really. Just-- just some cuts."

He tries to take the bandages from you, but you hold them away, "Let me see."

"Bunny, no, I--"

"Specter let me see your fucking arms." You know his habits. You know what he does when he loses someone. You know that everything is messed up right now and you don't know why, but you know something terrible happened to him specifically.

Tally marks. Fresh, all over his arms, dozens. The red cuts mar his skin in painful lines, and his lip wobbles as you look up into his face with fear, "I ran out of room..." You've never seen Specter cry before, but his quiet, broken mutter breaks into tears.

"Why didn't Wraith dress these? Fuck Specs, what happened to you?" As you dress the wounds, wrapping them tight after spraying them with bacta, you notice there's a dark patch under his shirt, and your stomach drops, "No..."

You don't ask as you pull the shirt off of him, seeing a small square bandage over his left pectoral, directly over his heart. You pull the soiled bandage off, and cover your mouth. Six tally marks, fresh, bigger than the others. Specter swallows hard, his body shaking, "Athena's dead."

"No, no, how- how do you know, maybe she-"

He snaps, yelling now, his hands on his head, eyes shut tight, "WE SHOT HER!"

You sit in silence.

Specter doesn't move, he looks like he's vibrating, holding his breath, holding in all the pain in his heart. When you reach for him, he pushes your hand away, but you lock your fingers with his, and grab his face with the other, making him look at you, "You're not dying on me, Specter."

He hiccups, shaking his head, "No, no I-"

""I needed to see you one more time,"" you parrot his words back to him, anger in your eyes, "That's not something you say to someone you plan on sticking around for. Now tell me what the fuck happened to you."

He chokes through his story. Order 66. The nightmare that came to life. Phantom pulling the trigger. Athena's fearful expression as she hit the ground. That curse being broken as soon as she hit the ground. The roar they knew so well, Dax'Malkin now hunting them, broken and turning toward the dark side. The brothers splitting up in the chaos, losing each other.

"I don't know who I am anymore... what I am. We killed our little sister, our fa- Dax, he's... Banshee left me," he breaks again, hugging himself tight, "He left me... we promised, and-- I went back to The Crypt, but it wasn't there, Ban wasn't-- WE PROMISED!!"

You dress the tally marks on his heart, placing a soft kiss over the bandage, and then press your hand firmly in the center of his chest, "Lay down. I'm going to get you some water, and something to eat. You're going to finish all of it, and then we're going to lay down, and I'm going to hold you, got it?"

You wait for him to nod, then help him get his boots off. Once he's comfortable in your bed, you head to the kitchenette and fix yourself and Specter something quick. Two small bowls of soup, but it was enough. "Hey, sit up for me, come on."

Specs does as he's told, but doesn't bother with the spoon you hand him, only drinking from the side of bowl because it's all he can really muster at the moment. He looks deep into the bowl, eyes glassed over, "You know... I don't think I'd be here without you."

"Shut up," you elbow him a little as you settle in beside him, drinking your soup in the same fashion, "Of course you would be."

"No." Specter lets his arms down, gaze still fixed on the bowl in his hands, "You're the reason I didn't kill myself that day. That's-- that's such a shit thing to put on you, kriff... I just-" he covers his eyes, tears flowing again, "If I'd lost you too, there'd be no reason left in the fucking galaxy to go on."

He turns to you, his head on your shoulder, "There's nothing left but you... my whole life was made for a war that's over, everything I know, everyone I loved... They're tally marks. All but you..."

For the first time, it hits you just how much of Specter's life wasn't his. He always talked about "being here for a good time, not a long time", always making a joke about his mortality, how expendable he is. "Credit a dozen toy soldier." You never believed he really thought those things until this moment, when you'd seen him raw.

"Finish your soup, Specs..." you kiss his head, caressing his face with a free hand, "You're okay... I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Again, he does as he's told, and manages to pound the glass of water you'd brought for him as well. He struggles with that most, choking a few times, but eventually you're clearing away dishes and giving them a quick wash. When you're back in bed, you cradle Specter against you.

His arms wrap around you instinctively, face buried in your chest. You'd been like this before, held him like this before, but it felt different now. Your hands lay against him, rubbing his back and carding through his hair. He feels heavy in your arms, the exhaustion and sorrow physical weights on him.

"I'm sorry Cyare..."

"You better be... you know you're more than a soldier, more than a brother, right?"

He nods, but doesn't speak, and you huff. "Say it, dummy. Tell me, "I am more than what I was made to be."... please, Specter."

With slow movements, Specter moves his head to be nuzzled into your neck, his nose between you and the pillow, lips on your throat. He kisses there once, before whispering, "I am more... than what I was made to be..."

"One more time, okay?"

"I am more than I was made to be."

"Good boy..." you kiss his forehead, and soon he's drifted off, feeling safe in your embrace.

You won't press him tomorrow, you think to yourself. For now, you just want to keep him safe. Just keep him with you.

[9leaguesofmirrors]

Call Me (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

A Discord mutual and I were having a conversation about Ross having a borderline k!nk for Lisgoe's voice, and this is what came of it

I know I promised a wholesome Gainsgoe fic... but that's still in the works

CONTENT WARNING: Phone s*x, mutual m*sterb*tion, semi-public s*x, slight edg*ing and degradation

Being an internal investigator wasn't easy, especially not when it meant he had to spend his days putting up with the demented witch from hell. Recording device in hand, cleverly concealed (if he did say so himself), the spying was the easy part. It was the devil's wife that was the problem

Well, that and his irritating partner

He did care about him, Lisgoe was a much-needed glass of wine after a miserable day of shove after shove, but that doesn't mean he wasn't annoying at times. They were both busy men, but that didn't mean, on certain occasions, Lisgoe had time to, in layman's term, take the piss

<[Lisgoe has sent an image]>

<Looks like you that does>

>Joseph, I'm working<

<Not my fault you look like a blobfish>

>Stop texting me, I'll talk later<

<[Lisgoe has sent an image]>

<[Lisgoe has sent an image]>

<[Lisgoe has sent an image]>

>And stop sending me photos of blobfish<

<[Lisgoe has sent an image]>

<Nah>

"Oh, well I am terribly sorry!" The condescending tone of Pauline caused Ross to jolt his head up "Is this boring you, Ross?"

"No, Pauline. But it was about an appointment."

"Was it an appointment to schedule a job interview?"

"It was for my docto-"

"No, of course it wasn't an interview, because you're so distracted by tech that you probably couldn't find a job if it bit you on your bony arse!"

Ross put his phone away and, once Pauline turned away, checked his tape recorder was still rolling - it was. At least that was one thing that was going well

Now, all he needed to do was verbally throttle his partner

*********************************************

"You're awful. I mean it, you're awful."

During his lunch break, Ross had turned off his tape recorder and made a beeline for the most private place he could manage - which happened to be the a corridor near the lunch area. With the exception of the occasional passer-by, it was pretty much secluded

Making it a perfect place to chew out his partner over the phone

"This is serious, I'm not here to play games. I need to be completely focused-"

"Oh fuck off, it was a bit of fun. Lighten up!"

"Right. So I can spam you during work then? Is that it?"

"Jesus, breathe! Not my fault, I thought your lunch was at 12!"

"It's not. It's at 1pm, I've told you this before."

By now, he was less frustrated by the misunderstanding and more frustrated by the sound of Lisgoe laughing on the other end of the phone

"It's not funny, I can't afford to draw attention to myself-"

"Deep breaths, you'll get over it."

Rolling his eyes and leaning against the wall, Ross let out a frustrated sigh. Joseph Lisgoe was going to be the death of him

"Aren't you meant to be working?"

"I've done most of it, and I haven't been called out yet." Lisgoe's voice then took a turn, falling into a lower, slightly gravelly register "I'm free for the rest of the day, so I'm talking to you."

Ross didn't like the sound of Lisgoe's voice in that moment. That wasn't because it sounded bad. In fact, it sounded good

Far too good

"Why do you sound like that?" He asked, keeping his voice steady

"Bored, sick of everyone's shite, I can't wait for the day to be over." There was a gentle sigh on the other end of the phone "I wanna go home."

That voice

That sigh

Ross knew it was being done deliberately

"I'm in public, Joseph." He warned "Don't do anything risky."

"Can't I tell you that I want to be home with you?"

"No. I know what you're doing."

A short pause

"You like it."

That whisper tone, I swear to-

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm not thick. Why else do you think I'm using it? I want you, and I know exactly how to get you."

Despite the sound of Lisgoe's voice being extremely pleasing, Ross couldn't help but roll his eyes and laugh slightly at his partner's arrogance

"Don't know why the fuck you're laughing, Ross."

"You sound so sure of yourself."

"Because I am. You know me, Ross, I get what I want."

"And you want-"

"I want to use you."

It was spoken so casually, but with an underlying edge to it. Something sharp yet completely flippant. There was something in the way he spoke that sent shivers down Ross' spine

"Use me?"

"Yeah." Lisgoe's voice dropped to a raspy half-whisper "Like I said, I'm wound the fuck up. I blame my co-workers, my boss from hell... and you."

"Me?" Ross furrowed his brows "Why? What have I done?"

"Well, I'm bored of my co-workers, I'm sick of my boss, and I'm so. Fucking. Desperate for you. So, with all that considered, I need an outlet. And I'll gladly smash all of it into you until you can't fucking talk."

At this point, Ross was extremely aware of his surroundings. Anyone could walk through at any point and see him like... well, like this. So much for "laying low". He really should've been annoyed at his partner for this, it could've jeoparised his whole operation

And he was annoyed, truly... his anger was just slightly distracted at the moment

"You're going to make me lose my job." He muttered "And, if I do, I swear to-"

"I can hang up if you want."

Ross was sure that Lisgoe knew he didn't want him to hang up. That was the worst part, he should've probably hung up ages ago. But that voice, so different to his partner's usual punchy loudness, was like a hypnosis spell. He was drawn to it, he wanted to... no, he refused to let his mind go there. If he went there, he'd never want to get out. His resolve would snaps

"Ross-"

"I have time." He said quickly, trying to level his voice "Plenty of it. But I need to go somewhere else."

"Part of the fun, the risk of getting caught."

"Joseph," he looked around, then spoke quietly into his phone "the whole point of this is that I blend in. How am I supposed to blend in when I'm in the middle of a corridor trying not to-"

"Alright, calm down! Just find an empty room, not my fault you're a whore for me."

Ross was too preoccupied with finding a private place to hear that

*********************************************

Why is it, whenever you actually need one of these rooms, they're being used?

In a last-ditch effort, he made his way to the men's bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed nobody was there. He locked himself into one of the cubicles and phoned his partner up again

The wait was agonizingly slow, he was convinced Lisgoe was letting it ring. Keeping him waiting. Toying with him

"I thought you'd pussy'd out."

"I thought you'd lost your phone," Ross retorted "is your eyesight going already?"

"Fuck you." Lisgoe muttered breathily, a chuckle colouring his words "Like I said before, I just wanted to talk to you. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Yes, because initiating phone sex while we're both in public spaces, when we both should be working is a very normal thing to do."

"Could've jerked off on call and made you listen, consider yourself lucky."

This was a really strange situation, if looked at from an outsider's perspective. Ross was in a cubicle of a restroom, that anyone could walk into, pants tight at the groin thanks to his partner - who wasn't even in the same room as him! What was even stranger was that Ross didn't even feel uncomfortable - well, sitting in a cubicle with semi-erect penis wasn't comfortable, but he found himself having no problem at all with the situation itself. Lisgoe's voice in his ear... talking like that...

"Ross? You still there-"

"I wouldn't mind that."

Pause. Then the velvety, dark laughter of Lisgoe from the other end of the phone. Ross bit down hard on his lower lip, his breathing stuttering

"Sometimes I forget how much of a slag you can be!" His partner teased. Then there was a sound, a sort of short groan that sent a pulsating wave through Ross' body "Christ, you don't make self-restraint easy."

The laugh that came out of Lisgoe was full of breath, then the laughter started the fizzle out as his breathing became more like bursts of soft pants. His voice sounded as if he were slowly starting to unravel, losing it's edge and keeping it's gravel

"Really... Really don't make it fucking easy."

It wasn't like Ross had never heard what Lisgoe sounded like when he was having sex, but hearing it this time felt different. Obviously, they weren't in the same room, so there was an added feeling of unobtainable need. Ross could hear him, he could picture him, but he couldn't touch him. He couldn't even have the simple pleasure of touching his partner

He found himself missing the way that heavy breathing felt against his bare skin, the way Lisgoe's cold waves sent shockwaves through him at every touch. Those hands... god those... fucking hands. Tough from hard work and strong as nails. Even though there was distance between them, Ross had memories the way those hands felt as they gripped at him, clawed at his skin, wrapped around his throat...

God's sake, why is he so far away?

"Ross," Lisgoe's voice, smoky and commanding, broke him out of his thoughts "I want you to do exactly what I tell you."

Ross closed his eyes, trying to collect his voice before speaking, wanting to keep it as steady as possible. He managed to position himself so that any... mess he made would go into the toilet instead of a wall

"Yes, OK."

"What did you just say?" Hissed the grainy tone of his partner "Repeat that."

"I said yes." He tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible, praying that nobody would decide to walk in - which was a stupid thing to hope, considering it was a public space "Make it quick, I can't risk-"

"Touch yourself." If Lisgoe kept speaking in that authoritative, almost whispered tone, Ross wasn't sure how long he'd last "Over your trousers. If you jizz before I say you can, then god help you."

Biting his lower lip again to muffle the sound he knew he'd make, Ross pressed the palm of his hand against his groin. Immediately, relief surged through him and it took a great deal of self-control, which he prided himself on, to massage himself slowly like he was asked to. Joseph's name tumbled from his lips in a low moan

Click

Creak

The shuffling of several pairs of shoes

Of course this is when people walk in...

"What's going on?" Lisgoe had snapped his voice back to its regular, if slightly breathless, tone

"It's fine," shockingly, Ross' voice came out relatively normal, as if this was a normal phone call "a few people just came in."

"Right. Carry on."

At first, he thought his partner was joking. Ross waited for a laugh or, at the very least, a chuckle. There wasn't one

"Joseph." His voice dropped to a quiet murmur "Are you sure-"

"Listen to me." That voice again: soft, hissing, hints of gravel. It set Ross off all over again "You're not done. I'm not done. Neither of us are finished here. So you're gonna jerk that cock of yours until you either scream into your hand or those bastards outside know my fucking name."

Ross hesitated. Not because he didn't want to do it, he'd been reckless up until now so it seemed odd to stop now. It was just something he wasn't used to, the combination of nerves and thrill. A good sort of nervous, a fun sort of nervous

"You don't have to-"

"No, that'll be fine." He said into the phone, hoping to deliver a false sense of banality to those outside "It might just take a bit."

"Go slowly," Lisgoe murmured, now more of a piece of advice than a demand "if you go slow, you won't make as much noise."

Nodding, Ross let his hand fall back into position and continued, biting his lower lip to muffle the sound

"Good boy." Lisgoe breathed down the phone, which seemed to spur his partner on even more "Doing so fucking well."

Ross let his head leaned back as his hand moved. He could feel him whole body contract slightly, he let out a breathy, whimpered curse - instantly clamping his hand over his mouth. His heart dropped and his eyes darted towards the door, trying to gague if he was heard

Of course, Lisgoe found it very funny

"Careful, Ross." He teased "Would be a shame if someone saw you looking so fucking needy."

"Asshole." Ross muttered in retaliation

"You alright in there?" Called a voice from outside

Damn it, damn it, damn it-

"Yes." Ross responded quickly "I'm fine."

"Are you sure-"

"Just a stomach ache. I'll live."

"OK..." the voice didn't sound sure but, to Ross' relief, he heard footsteps as the group started to leave

He let his breathing fall a little heavier

"That was close." He murmured

"Speaking of things being close-"

"How original."

"Could've been a real dick."

Pause. Shuffling on the other end. Heavy breathing

"Could've told you exactly what I wanna do to you."

The way Lisgoe sighed those words caused Ross' to adjust himself, wanting to aim in the toilet as opposed to his trousers. Damn it, as annoying as he was, that voice was enough to cloud his rationality

"What would you do?" He closed his eyes, his breathing shaky "If we were together, right now, what would you do?"

"What wouldn't I do? Fuck, Ross, you wouldn't be able to breathe or walk afterwards."

Subconciously, Ross felt his hand pumping even quicker, his breaths coming out in pants

"You'd be a pathetic pulp with teethmarks and bruises all over your body."

Ross could hear his partner groan softly and it very nearly sent him over the edge

"Joseph... I'm-"

"Stop pumping."

He obliged

"What's the time, Ross?" His tone had changed to its usual register

Taking a few seconds to adjust to the sudden change, Ross quickly checked the time on his phone

"5 to 2, why?"

"Oh shite, I'm sorry." Lisgoe remarked innocently "Your lunchbreak ends in 5 minutes, I should let you get there."

"No. You're not leaving me here." Ross tried to sound assertive, but the immense pressure in his groin was set to burst like flames and he was struggling to ignore it

"I know how important work is to you, I'd hate to get in the way of it."

Gritting his teeth and welding his eyes shut, Ross gripped the top of the toilet backrest. The last thing he wanted, even now, was to give Lisgoe the satisfaction of his complete submission

"Joseph." He managed to strangle out of himself "I swear-"

"Beg."

Damn that tone

Damn that rasp

Damn the guts he has to ask such a thing

"You gone fucking deaf?" Lisgoe snapped "I said beg for it, you little slut."

Fuck him

God, I would

Don't think that, it'll make things worse

But I absolutely fucking would

"Joseph, I'll finish myself if you don't-"

"Excuse me?"

Lisgoe's voice had lost it's gentleness, which had been replaced with vicious command - a dangerous quality soaking his words

"Ross Gaines what the fresh fuck did you just say to me?"

"... I said I'd finish off myself."

It was stupid, and Ross was desperate, but it was the voice. That's all he could say

"Finishing yourself off in a public restroom because you couldn't wait?" Lisgoe's voice dripped with teasing mockery "God, I didn't realise I was with a desperate little whore-"

"Then let me." Ross snapped harshly, not caring if anyone was there "Please. It's painful. Don't be difficult!" He opened his mouth to speak again, but it came out in a strangled whimper - Ross was too overwhelmed to care

Silence

Then a dark chuckle

"Go on," he whispered, soft as a prayer yet tantalisingly gritty "do it for me."

That was all the permission Ross needed, and it wasn't long until Lisgoe followed suit

For a moment, they stayed there, breathing in near-perfect unison. Although it was tricky, Ross just managed to stand on his shaky legs

"Feeling better, Ross?" There was a smugness to his tone that Ross would've been annoyed by if he wasn't so exhausted "Ross?"

"Fine... I'll live."

"Take the day off, come home. You're too fucked to go back."

Ross considered this. On one hand, he hadn't missed a day since the first, and he really needed to collect more evidence from Pauline. However, he had mentioned a stomach ache to someone earlier, so that could be used in his favour... and he really did feel his focus wavering

"Don't try anything, I don't have the energy-"

"Jesus, I'm not that bad! You sound like you need to hibernate!"

"OK, can we drop this? I get it, I'm tired." In spite of himself, Ross' lips formed a smile "I'll see you in about 10 minutes."

"I'll be outside." Lisgoe said "Take your time to pretend you haven't just jerked off in a toilet."

"And who's idea was it?"

Lisgoe just laughed on the other end and, despite himself, Ross found himself laughing too - if at nothing else, at the sheer thrill and strangeness of it all

[calliedion-dungeon]

𖤓Sore Kisses

Picture Kath on Pinterest

(oooh look! another Mary Goore/Fem reader fic) (Also, first time posting a Mary Fic in here)

Chapter 1. Spider vs Bat

Read on ao3 <<<

Summary: Your best friend Frank wants to include you in his circle of friends, that triggers a series of encounters with one of his rommies, Mary Goore, at first they get along fatally, but it's just that you don't know each other. How many steps does it take for you to get along?

Warnings: MDNI +18, Smoking, Heavy Drinking, Fluff and Angst (later) Swearing, Crossdressing (later), Adult Content, Eventual Smut, Blonde Mary Goore!! Everyone is a Little Shit in here, later it gets all Soft and Smutty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Trope.

//If you have read my other fics with Mary, you'll know this is the most self-indugent piece of shit I make :D//

While you light a second cigarette, sitting on a very short wall as your feet swing, you playfully kick your friend's shoulder, Frank, the one who always accompanies you, he’s sweeter than anyone in the world, but his image of a rough, tan, muscular metalhead helps you go out and nobody bothers you thanks to his intimidating physique, no one knows that usually you’re the one who takes care of him, you, who is up to his elbow in height, yet fierce and short temper, often he’s the one stopping you from starting a fight.

You find yourself sitting on a block fence, waiting for some boys to arrive that he wants to introduce you to, his plan is to merge circles of friends. You give him another little push with your boot, he knows you're bothering him on purpose, you've known each other for so many years that he's immune to your anger, your impatience and especially your high-pitched voice, that tone you make when you're bored, just like now, you've been waiting for half an hour, and your friend just takes a step away from you so your foot won't reach him.

“They aren't coming, dude…” you tease your friend, as you often do by telling him “She doesn’t love you” or “They changed you for a better person” and “We’re secretly cousins”

“Yes, they are… stop that!” Frank pleas about your annoying foot, holding his arms crossed giving you a side eye, that was one of his virtues, he never got angry at you.

“They better be worth it; you know I hate meeting new people” you anxiously give your cigarette a couple puffs more, rather dead than to show that you are nervous.

“You need to expand your horizons, Y/N. I can’t your only friend”

“I mean, you're the best, but not the only one, I do have other friends, but we’re meant to be together forever” you say as affectionate as a death threat.

“The eldest teachers in art school don't count” ignoring the part last of your sentence, he laughs.

“Fine! It's just that… people our age are so fucking stupid, they never know anything beyond their noses”

“There's a reason why I’m introducing you to these guys, two of them are my roommates and you don’t even know them”

“Because they sound like idiots…”

“Frank!! Hey, man!”

A group of young people arrive, they greet your friend so familiar that it makes you a little jealous that he has more friends besides you, but that feeling confirms what your friend told you seconds ago, some look at you curiously as you drop from the fence and put out your cigarette, your combat boots make a sound that caught the attention of some boys and the single girl who hugs one of them, while you shake your plaid pants off, Frank introduces you to everyone, some want to shake your hand, but you just wave “hello” to everyone with one hand and you take a step back sticking close to the fence.

“You’ll excuse my friend; she gets shy with strangers” Seeing that you refrain from touching them, Frank knows how to excuse you for being more withdrawn than usual.

“I’m not shy, I’m just looking” Your careful look follows the small group of people, some know well what you are doing, others do not even turn to see you.

“More like judging” Frank isn't one to do you much of a favor, but you like that he doesn't mince words about calling your shit out.

“Oh yeah? Too bad we already have one like that” One of the boys who had a very pretty girl hugged with one arm, says this while with the other arm he pushes someone you haven't seen, hidden among his long blond hair, he seems shy at first, and just gave a little smirk, he had a baggy t-shirt from a band you like, that made him seemed like an approachable person, maybe later you'll try to make conversation, you don't remember if they told you his name, he just smiles at the others without looking at you, bumps fists with Frank like If they've known each other their whole life.

All this time you both had been waiting for the boys outside a bar, you don't love those places, those nights always end badly, but Frank was always determined to go to these kind of bars to hang out, you reluctantly accompany him when he insists too much, so you enter with the group without much desire, when you all walk to the bar together, you get upset because they leave you behind, while everyone talks to each other, things that everyone knows in a group, things that you are not aware of, therefore you cannot participate.

You move on auto-pilot, they sat at some tables a little tight between everyone, Frank was next to you, you stayed on the edge of the table, so you had to scoot over every time someone wanted to go to the bathroom, that added a little more to your annoyance, you tried to drink as much beer as possible hoping that it would cheer you up a bit and not ruin anyone's night, especially your friend’s. At one point when you were drinking from your bottle without looking, Frank nudged you.

“Hey, you took Mary’s bottle” Frank yells at you over the music.

You look in front of you that there are two bottles and the one you have in your hand is much fuller than yours, you look at the shaggy young man who looks at you confused.

“You want me to buy you another one?” the loud music barely let you even hear yourself, your offering was not well received, maybe it was because that guy didn’t hear you well, he wrinkled his face at you.

“Do whatever you want” he huffs barely looking at you.

“It was an accident, dude” you try to be polite, but your annoyance is quite noticeable, although he has the right to refuse your offer, that tone was not necessary either.

“I said, whatever” He gets up and walks on top of the table, everyone yells at him as he just jumps off knocking over some beer bottles.

“Hey, cut it out” everyone complains but he goes in the direction of the bathroom, stumbling slightly.

“Come on, let’s go smoke outside” Frank proposes to you, knowing it’ll calm you down, one of his friends follow you two as well. He seemed nicer than the other blond sucker, his name is Nick and just as he offered you his lighter you immediately liked him better. You’re half hidden behind a door in a dark corner outside the bar, the others were near the light post by your side, the one called Nick was showing off his newest tattoo and to be fair it was really cool, they were making small talk to make you show off your piercings, some of them you made them yourself at work.

“Sorry for that” Nick excuses as soon as he lights your cigarette, you tilt your head and knot your brows in visible confusion “I mean Mary?” You're still not sure who's he talking about, you forgot his name so quickly.

“The blonde that knocked all of the bottles on the table because you stole his?” Frank helped complete the thought of what Nick meant, they were both looking at a certain point towards the bar entry, you couldn’t see from your hiding spot.

“Oohhh, that major dickhead? What an…” Your tone accompanied by a cloud of smoke denoted that you were still bothered by what had happened inside, you expected one of the two to say something about it, but you only heard a voice approaching and asking.

“Who’s a dickhead?” This Mary appears interrupting the conversation and you just remain silent, while they offer him your cigarettes.

“Nobody… Anyway… uhh we’re hanging in the apartment later, Y/N you wanna come? You’ve never been there” Frank tries to lighten the conversation by diverting the thoughts of the two of you to something else, you really don’t want to encourage conversation anymore, at least not with them.

“No” you kill the cigarette butt with your boot, if you turn to see anyone it's only Nick or Frank.

“Come on? I promise we cleaned this time, no more banana peels and…”

“Who is we?” you interrupt him.

“Actually, we all three, Nick and Mary are my roomies” you use all your strength not to yell 'fuck no!' Frank has invited you to his apartment so many times that it was embarrassing, but now knowing that he lives with that… guy, now you want to go even less.

“I don’t know… there are no ghosts in your apartment?” you jokingly say to Frank, even venturing to smile a little, knowing that it was an old building where they lived, you often joked about him being cursed.

“Only those with huge tits” you hear that blonde speaking, you glare at Mary, not responding, what’s with this guy meddling in your conversations? You give him a murderous look, without even bothering to hide your annoyance.

“Y/N, it's just a joke...” Frank warns you; Nick looks at you amused by your interactions, puffing on his own.

“That's what you get for mixing circles of friends” you tell Frank in a calmer voice, it's obvious it's not his fault, even if it’s not fair, sometimes you can’t help yourself but to react to idiots, it’s not like you should be patient to a stranger.

“…and you are not part of any” You immediately frown looking directly at Mary, leaving your spot, you get up angrily, he turns to look down at you smirking with that stupid smug face begging you to punch him.

“What the fuck did you say?” you spit at him; Nick widens his eyes and takes a couple of steps back still hiding his laughter.

“Hey! You, stop it” Frank points at Mary and calls him in a stern tone “You, calm down” he holds your arm, knowing you, he should be thanking that there’s no bottles around for you to throw.

“He fucking started it!” he gives you a smirk, while continuing to smoke your cigs and winks at you, at this point it has to be on purpose and you fell for it.

Would it be too immature to leave? Would it be considered a tantrum? Maybe, but it's for the best, you don't have to put up with the words or the terrible welcome from someone so... The word doesn't even come to you, undesirable? So guy-like? That's not even an insult, though in the proper context... either way, fuck him.

[stellarboystyles]

Chapter One — Begin Again

a/n: hiii chickens! so this is the start of a chaptered fic i've written over the past six months and she's finally ready! this story was very fun and painful to write because it's based off of the whirlwind that has been my life over the past year, so i hope you love it &lt;3

content/warnings: first base shit, oversharing and a night full of wholesome cuteness. you're welcome

"Do you remember the night we met?"

A sweet smile crept up onto her face, one she couldn’t hide, but tried to as she took another sip from the glass she was holding. 

"I do."

"Ooh, haven't heard those words in a while."

"Shut up." she laughs.

"Oi, fuck you then." he bites, failing to hide the smirk on his face behind his own glass.

"Please?"

"Easy." he warns with one finger. "Don't make me come over there."

It was easy with them, the connection they had. They've always been that way.

"Best first date ever though, right?"

"Right." she giggles at the smirk on his face before taking another sip.

"No matter how much I forget short term," he narrows, rolling his eyes for a moment at the annoying reality. "I still remember that night like it was yesterday."

March 2nd, 2019

"I can’t believe I’m doing this."

Parker's gripping her steering wheel, white knuckles and all after she rushes through the motions; putting her seatbelt on, shifting into reverse, all the while genuinely shocked by her own actions, that she’s actually going through with this. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

She repeated the same sentence over and over as she sped off down the street and into the city. It was her first first date in five years. How people do this on a regular basis, she truly can't fathom how. Who just meets up with a stranger on the internet after texting for a few days?! Parker, apparently. She's starting to question her own morals, because where did they go?

She was always the quiet kid in school. Kept her head down, never spoke out of turn and always avoided unnecessary social situations. It's more of a curse that a blessing, really. Considering it takes a lot for her to speak out against anything came with everyone else typically leaving her alone for the most part. On the other hand, as she got older she realized that it sucked to feel lonely. No matter how introverted she was, everyone wants friends. Parker grew up in a small town where if you weren't an athlete or a mean girl, no one really paid attention to you—and when they did, they never had anything nice to say. High school sucks for most of us, and she was no exception.

In other words, if you told seventeen-year-old Parker that she'd be going on a date with a stranger she's never met, she would've never believed you.

She's grown up a lot since then, though, and she's proud of that. It took years, but healing doesn't come easy. And right now, Parker was in the middle of that moment that everyone talks about.

Where you finally feel like you're ready to date again. When you've finally broken the walls down, ready to put yourself out there and see what happens.

She had a good feeling about this guy—if not she would've canceled days ago. Parker doesn't go on random dates, and if there is so much as a sliver of doubt, whether it's something they said or she's just getting an off vibe, date canceled. No energy needs to be spent on unnecessary ventures, right?

But this one felt different. She couldn't explain it...she'd never met him but she could feel in her heart that he was a good person. Sure, they've only been talking for a few days, but something about him just felt good, and right. When he talked, you could just tell he was good.

They'd "met" online, the god-forsaken dating app that most people used for casual flings or random hookups; however, they were part of the fraction of decent human beings left in the world looking for something real, and long term. To no avail of course (until now) swiping left, left and left again was exhausting. Until she saw one that piqued her interest in a way that just felt different. Of course, there were a few she’d matched with, but they never made it past hey or what's up due to either her being distracted by this one, or the typical outcome of them just not responding. Leading her to become bored of the rest. 

Harry, 20 Raleigh, NC Duke University

Not to be cliche, but to say this one was gorgeous was the understatement of the year. The goofy videos on his profile combined with the "I have a Damon Salvatore complex" in his bio definitely had her starting to crush on him.

What’s your major? was met with It’s complicated. That’s a conversation we should have on snap (:

He was really cute, no doubt about it. He had that all-American baby face, good hair—

and those eyes, my God.

It's important to mention, though, that if he was simply looks and there was no substance to him then there would've been a zero percent chance of her falling for him like she did. But there were little things that set him apart from others.

He sent her videos a lot instead of just snapping pictures, because honestly, talking is a way better form of communication. It was different and it was clear that he really tried to make each moment with her special. He'd cancelled their first date a couple of times (due to running behind because of one of his classes getting out late) and he'd told her he wanted to be able to give her all his time and attention. Which, was one of the sweetest things ever. It gave her a good feeling about tonight, for sure.

In the first video he sent to her that night, he started to explain how he was dropping out of college to go into the military, and eventually he would become an agent. She was impressed. Mostly because of the fact that he had real goals and dreams for himself, his future; something that a lot of people their age seemed to lack; drive and ambition. However, being a Virgo, she couldn't stop herself from picturing her future if they ended up together.

The CIA? What would that mean? Long distance, for sure. There was so much unknown, and Parker was slowly coming to terms with the solid fact that you can't control every part of your life. It didn't help either that her neurodivergent brain hated change, especially one so drastic. Regardless, she had to learn how to cope with this new chapter of her life. You could imagine that being newly single at 24 was not in her 5-year plan after college.

Parker's well aware of the fact that the current state of her life feels and looks just like a shitty Hallmark movie. The thought makes her want to gag, but that's what coping skills are for, right? So you're not cringing at every inconvenience at every moment? If there's one thing you need to know about Parker, it's that she hates small talk with a burning passion. If she could damn the mere idea of it back to hell, she would, because how could anyone enjoy that?! It's the number one reason she dreads first dates.

The further she got into her drive, the more nerves started to build up. Mistaking anxiety for butterflies was a feeling Parker knew all too well. Her past few boyfriends weren't exactly Romeo, so she was well versed in spotting a toxic person from a mile away.

However, with that came something more edgy. The sole idea of dating again petrified her. Getting close to someone again, being vulnerable and real just to get heartbroken again? The mere thought of it was enough to make her swear off dating ever again, but she told herself she wouldn't let it win, and she meant it.

Deep breaths. Whatever happens, happens.

It's easy to say, but as much of a control freak as Parker is over her life, so much easier said than done. She's had a 10-year plan outlined for her life since she was six years old, for Christ's sake. But that's another story for another time.

They'd decided to meet up in a parking lot, then they would both get into his car and go together. So when her peripheral picked up a car pulling up next to hers, she thought her heart wanted to beat out of her chest. It’s him, she knows it’s him, but she doesn’t react yet. Still staring down at her phone just in case it was some random person, even though the probability of that was less than likely. But if it was, how awkward would that be?!

Snapchat from Harry

She has to stop the smile creeping on her face. Now it has to be him. It was, because when she opened the snap and it was a picture of her in her car looking down at her phone, she's got a light smile on her face as she gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger's side. Moments like this happen so fast, you can't really plan for them, can you??

"That would’ve been really awkward if that wasn’t you."

They shared a laugh as she got into the car.

"So…Starbucks or Dunkin?"

"Definitely Starbucks."

"Y'know what, I respect that."

The more they talked as he drove, the more Parker realized Harry had something that was hard to find these days; that old school charm. Opening doors and all that. As soon as they walked in, Harry leaned down to her ear.

"M'gonna take a slight detour," he mumbles, one hand slipping from her waist. "Gotta pee, I'll be right back."

She looks up at him. "Do you want me to order yours?"

"Oh, no, it's ok." he assures. "I mobile ordered, I don't order in person...I'll be right back."

She didn't really have time to respond, which was probably intentional on Harry's part. On another note, how and why has she never thought of doing that?!

"Hey—"

The voice made her reluctant to turn around, because she knew it wasn't Harry.

"Is that your boyfriend?"

He was taller than her, dark hair. Nothing to write home about, but it was obvious he was trying to be semi-intimidating. She gives him an annoyed smile.

"We're on a date."

"Oh, gotcha." He nods and goes to turn around but stops. "You know he's not allowed to go on dates, right?"

"What?"

She can see Harry in her peripheral walking back towards them, thank God.

"I'm back." he turns to the guy that was talking to her, but he's already sitting back in his seat across the cafe. "What was that about?"

"Something about you not being allowed to go on dates?" she answers before thanks the barista for their drinks as they’re walking back out to his car.

"Yeah," he starts, pulling his safety belt. "We go to college together. And we're not allowed to date anyone, or like be seen out with a girl, y'know. At our school, I mean."

She nods in realization when he cuts in.

"But tomorrow's my last day, so I don't care."

He shifts the car into reverse. She almost forgot about the fact that his leaving, so really, it doesn't matter if they were seen together but Harry did a good job of easing any anxiety she could have about the possibility of getting him in trouble.

"I'll take you to my favorite spot." he mentions. “It’s a really good view.”

The drive was only a few minutes, but it felt longer. In a good way. He really wanted his hand to hold hers, but he was nervous. Little too soon too, right?

"You look really beautiful." he breathes. "I mean, you look amazing."

She bashfully thanks him, looking down at her knees while he's keeping himself from putting his hand on one of them.

"Okay," he sighs, trying to distract himself. "What music do you wanna to listen to?"

Of course, she gave him the typical response that the genre didn't matter. "It doesn't matter, anything."

"Really? 'Cause I don't think you'd like the music I listen to." he jokes.

She shakes her head dismissively in response to his satiricy. "It's fine."

"It's fine?" he teases, leaning into her as he starts messing with the aux. "I mean, it's kinda metal."

"Perfect."

He shows her two bands, and she recognizes both almost immediately.

"I grew up listening to this."

"Really?!"

"Yeah," she continues. "My dad loves rock music, we'd always listen to it when we were travelling."

"Did you travel a lot growing up?"

"Like vacations and stuff." she nods. “We used to live in the OBX.”

"Ah, gotcha." he nods before referring back to the previous conversation. "Yeah, I just went to one of their concerts, actually."

It was obvious that Harry was a passionate person; passionate about things he loved, like music. He was showing her concert videos on his phone and was telling her about the ideas and concepts behind each of his favorite bands.

"I love that...that's what makes big artists as successful as they are." she adds. "When you have something that sets you apart from everyone else."

He can't help himself, looking at her in pure disbelief for a moment before turning back, laying his head on his headrest. "You are the girl of my dreams, Parker Finn."

She lets out a giggle, rolling her eyes at the not-so-subtle remark at her Tinder bio.

girl of your dreams x

"How was your drive here, by the way?"

Okay, maybe she could tolerate some small talk...from certain people.

She also begrudgingly knows that you have to have some miniscule amount of small talk to get to know each other, so she allows it.

"It was good." she smiles. "I love driving, so--"

"Me too." he smiles. "In my hometown...I love just driving and listening to music."

"I do too!"

They quickly discovered there was a natural flow between them, something that you couldn't force. It was just there.

"So do you come to Raleigh a lot?"

Parker shakes her head. "I haven't been back in a long time."

"Well," he muses. "Today's your lucky day, because you have the best tour guide."

He leans into her, pointing at different buildings and what they are. Where he goes to school, where he used to work, stadiums and others similar.

"That’s where I went to school…that’s where I used to work, and that—" he points over to the far right. "Is the best stadium in the world."

she nods. "Home of the Blue Devils."

"Exactly." he looks at her with a narrowed eye. "Y'know, I love a girl who knows sports."

"Well that is where I went to school." she mentions.

"Ah, okay. So you're not really into football."

Guess it's your lucky day."

He chuckles in disbelief. Not only is she breathtaking...he couldn't really explain it yet. He'd only just met her, but there was just something about her. Whether it was the way the moonlight glows on her face, or the way her cheeky smile gave him butterflies, he was hooked.

"So what made you want to join the military?"

He lets out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "Well,"

She notices his apprehension. "You don’t have to tell me—"

"No, no, it’s okay." he reassures. "Basically…I’m just not happy with the direction I was going, if I stayed at school."

"I hear that."

"It’s just…I just feel like I can do so much more, y’know? For the world."

"That’s how I feel a lot." she adds. "I always think, like…if I can help just one person feel like they’re not alone, or help them get through a hard time, then I’ve done my job—but if you can help more, and make a career out of it, that’s amazing."

"Do you ever get sick of your job?"

"No." she lets a light laugh. "I love what I do. You just have to find something that you’re really passionate about."

"I love that." he hums. "I need that."

"It takes time." she adds. "At least it did for me, to get where I am now. Everyone has their thing. The thing they love. Not like a person or anything like that. It could be a hobby, something you're good at or just something you want to be good at."

"Are you doing that? You're a teacher, right? S'that what you wanna do for the rest of your life?"

"I love teaching." she admits. "But I have other passions, too."

"What are the other ones?"

She shrugs. "Guess you'll have to stick around and find out."

He catches himself staring at her in awe, but he couldn’t help himself. The high points of her face were glowing in the moonlight.

"Where did you come from?"

She turns her head, looking out at the skyline. She doesn't quite know what to say, and doesn't really have time. He places two fingers on the right side of her jaw, turning her head. She smiles out of knowing what he's doing, and her smile is contagious, leading him to quickly mirror her action.

He kisses her.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered, and everything made sense.

[mixelation]

Oh yeah not saying that people shoulf stop writing those fics, I was mostly venting and I guess it comes off as very adamant but yeah it's mostly just that I'm tired of closing every third fic I open just because the way those subjects ate often handled squicks me - which is a me problem.

i don't think it's 100% a "you problem" when there's not really a good way to make informed decisions as a reader about it without attempting to read the fic? i mean, it's a "you problem" in that everyone has their own set of preferences for what content they want, and those preferences shouldn't control what individual fic writers want to make, but in a system like ao3 where you're meant to be able to filter out content you don't want and search for content you DO want.....

idk, i don't think it's possible to tag fic for every conceivable squick and trigger, but i do wish this very specific thing had its own tag, especially since it's something that entire fics are based around. i didn't interpret your ask as trying to get rid of those fics; i just wanted to make it clear to other people reading this blog that i don't think it shouldn't exist..... i just want a way to avoid it

[wymthatsillegal]

question anon back again :)

ah okay, understandable!! i don't know i feel strange asking but this idea has been in my head for weeks and you're the only person that would do it justice.

can you do keoghan's joker with a male reader? like theyre in their arkham cells nearby and get a little chatty. joker is obviously really flirty and the reader returns it, but don't make the reader... weak if that makes sense. a firm male reader? idk

"Something about your eyes, pretty boy, let's me know you'll be lots of fun." "That right?" like that type energy

thank you so much!!! again, drink water and have a great day :)

Just Jokes

Keoghan's Joker x Male Reader

Contains: lots of laughing and variants (obviously), discussions of violence, mental illness, tall reader, reader with a sense of humor, ACAB

Content Warnings: detailed violence, potentially disturbing descriptions of said crimes, i don't shy away from them being mentally ill

Summary: You're introduced to a new wing of Arkham and find that the man in the cell next to you will certainly keep things interesting, and can't help but put a smile on your face.

No usage of Y / N

Word count: 1470

Author's Response: Fuck yeah! This was so much fun to write, and so different than my usual asks that it was really refreshing! I normally read up on other people's fics before I do mine so I get a vibe going, but there aren't very many for him, and correct me if I'm wrong but this is the first K-Joker fic where there's a male reader! I went a little ham on the reader deserving his spot in the same wing as The Joker, so bro's a little bonkers. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this, I know I certainly did writing it. Thanks! Cheers!!!

asks will be closed at 12:00pm tonight, get em in while you can >:)

You shuffled down the concrete hallway of Arkham best you could with the ankle cuffs tight around your legs, thin gaze angled towards the floor. Sighing, you realized it didn't matter where you looked since every surface was the same damn color, the metal only adding to the coldness of the stone. The most annoying part was each time you had to lean to get through each door, whoever designed this place made really short doorways. "Inmate!" The guard behind you yelled unnecessarily loud, voice echoing harshly, "Turn with your back against the wall!" To your surprise, you watched as only one or two shapes stirred from behind their windows, you'd been expecting all the cells to be full. Despite the number of rooms, you were looking at four guys, tops. You hadn't really wanted to draw attention to yourself but oh well, seems the guy next to you had you covered. "No problem, piggie." You said with a dramatic bow of your head, eyes wide with a large grin as you came up, fucking with this guy. He glared at you, moving to unlock your new door.

When he stepped forward, a fifth shape in the cell next to you that was previously behind the cop caught your eye. Peering at it, you took notice of patchy green hair and nearly melted skin, what looked to be a big bloody smile straining against his face. You felt his eyes snake all over your body, the gaze intense even from behind the door.  You were oddly excited, meeting his pupils best you could in the dark, gauging where they were from the glint in them. He giggled, or at least you could've sworn, a joyous, genuinely happy sound that brought a smile to your lips out of reflex. A rough hand grabbed you by the shoulder, yanking you into your cell, unlocking your cuffs. "Have fun in Arkham, criminal." He sneered one last time, slamming the door in your face.

"Oink oink, asshole." You muttered under your breath, scanning your new room. It wasn't as bad as you were expecting, an elevated bed, a sink, a mirror. Snickering, you realized these were the long-term cells, unlike the temporary one you were in before this. Oddly enough, you had a mirror and a window near the ceiling, luxuries not given to you before. Eyeing yourself in the reflective surface you hopped up on your bed, testing its durability before taking in the outside world in all its glory. Gotham and its big, dark skies with huge weathered buildings to match stared back at you over more damn concrete walls. "You'd think they'd have a designer for a place so exclusive..." You chuckled to yourself, giving out your knees and flopping on your bed.

Once the sound of your amusement cut out, it continued in the cell next to you, light laughter echoing into your cell from small holes punctured here and there through the concrete wall. Don't know how inspection managed to miss that, but this is Gotham, after all. You eyed a hole big enough to see through, although just barely, pressed close to the corner farthest from your bed at eye-level sitting down. "Funny... am I?" You muttered amusedly, knowing the guy next to you could hear you. His laughter increased for a moment, once again bringing a wide smile to your face out of instinct, "Very," He paused for a moment as if thinking. "What's your name, handsome?" You got out of your threadbare bed, sitting on the floor, your back pressed against the wall where the big crack was. "I thought you weren't supposed to let out that kind of thing in here, never know what people'll do with that kind of information." He let out a long, low breath at that, "You're also smart... I might have to keep an eye on you." He said gleefully.

You furrowed your brows, turning slightly towards the hole with an amused smile, "Something tells me you were going to do that anyway." You noted the heavy rasp in his voice despite the high pitch of it, an odd duo that you couldn't help but want to hear more of. He also spoke breathily, as if his vocal cords were weak, you supposed the reasoning for that was the same as his appearance. You uttered your name, hearing the gasp come from the other side. "I trust you know who I am, Jokes?" He let out another long breath, " 's not every day you hear the voice of a murderer like you. Someone with such beautiful crime scenes..." He said with almost sickening affection, you imagined that if he had more of his hair the clown would be twirling it right now. "What got you in here, sweets?" He added, genuine curiosity in his voice evident.

You sighed in annoyance at recalling the story, letting your head loll back again and hit the concrete. "Too much fun 'n too many coppers. Crew got sloppy, didn't monitor an entrance..." You trailed off, assuming he knew where you were going with this, listening to his little sounds here and there to let you know he was paying close attention. "In a shoot-out, I got clipped in the back and rushed to the hospital, only for some asshole to try and kill me in my sleep." You smiled widely at the thought of the lackeys' eyes looking up at you, begging with mute lips and on deaf ears, peepers almost ready to pop out of his head as you hovered over his body, choking the life out of him with your bare hands. Coming back to the present moment and down from the slight rush you continued, "Course I didn't like that, then a doctor walked in and tried to call in more cops, so I had to knock him out..." You groaned, "Then they put me in here because I ripped a guy's tongue out in the cafeteria 'n made him eat it, saying I couldn't be around people." You smiled to yourself, "Oh, but it was fun to watch him gargle."

The green-hair man mumbled something incoherent before muffled, sick laughter rang out again in his cell, bouncing ecstatically off each surface. You could hear that he had both hands over his mouth to cover the audio of his enjoyment, sounding like he was going to pop a lung with the intensity of his fit. You joined him quietly, the infectious noise wrapping around you, making a strange home. He continued his giggling, the sounds of him shifting against the wall behind you made you curious so you turned to sit in front of the hole, looking through it with relative ease. You saw his eyes again, this time in far better detail, and you couldn't help the noise that escaped your lips in seeing him. Something about him just captured your attention and held it firmly, quite honestly you didn't know if you wanted it any different.

His unnaturally bright green irises encased bottomless black pupils, surrounded by his burned yet fair skin. Aggressive red gashes trailed from his temple to the edge of what you could see, looking like scars from a deadly battle, a circumstance you knew all too well. You realized suddenly from the deepness of his smile lines and the fact that they had been unwavering in the time you both had spent studying each other that it might have been a condition, his skin twisted into a permanent sick grin. With a shiver, you uttered, "Fascinating.", not even bothering to hide your intentions. "Something about your eyes, pretty boy," He turned his head slightly, giving you a glimpse of his puffed lips and marred teeth before he straightened again, eyes narrow, "lets me know you'll be lots of fun."

You raised an eyebrow and smiled at him, "That right? Something tells me the same about you, Joker." He raised his eyebrows at that, eyes widening briefly in recognition, "Of course, someone smart as you knows me..." You cocked an eyebrow again, "Your crime scenes aren't so bad yourself." He winked at you at that, "Aww, how sweet. You know..." He leaned forward just slightly, "I think that the two of us are going to get very, very close... I like you." He added at a whisper, like something someone shy would admit to their crush during a free period. You dramatically mulled the idea over in your head, humming and tapping your pointer finger on your lips before dropping it. "I suppose I could come to tolerate you, J." Waiting a second for comedic timing, you winked back at him.

The two guards shared eye contact outside of the entrance to the ward, wondering if they should do something about the shared boisterous and uncontained laughter coming from the closed door behind them.

[piratesfromspace]

Tequila shots (Triple Frontier)

Pairing: Triple Frontier boys x Reader

You know the way they drink tequila in that dumb movie “Project X”?

Yeah, that's it, that’s the fic.   

Word count : 850

Content warnings: alcohol & food, kissing, poly vibes

Gender-neutral pronouns

MASTERLIST

“Sure you don’t want to play this tequila contest, love?” 

“Nope!”

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re already wasted?” Santiago mocks. 

The music is just a tad too loud for your taste, but otherwise you feel good. You’ve already had a beer, the sweet buzz of alcohol making your muscles lose and your laugh easy. The night is clear and warm, you can even see stars from this deck behind Will’s house.  

“The loser has to strip...” Santiago grins. 

He can be annoying when he wants, but you’re actually happy he’s still here to annoy you. You and the whole team had been through quite a gruesome mission a couple months ago, barely making it alive. You’ve all needed to settle down for a while, but you all couldn’t spend more than a day away from each other. You were... close, closer than ever. So when Will had bought this huge house just a few weeks ago, you all went to help him move in, and you basically never left ever since. 

“Are you afraid to lose honey?” Garcia taunts once again

You know you physically can’t win against those grown up men, but even if you had your chance, you can’t stand to watch them drink their tequila shots like this.

“It’s not that. It’s just… I can’t bear seeing you guys wasting tequila on such a boring game.” you pout.

“Did you miss the part where the loser will be in their underwear for the rest of the night?” Benny chims in.

“I mean, not that part. How you drink tequila. There is this one special way to do it that makes it taste better, you know?” 

“Well sweetheart, I think you owe it to tell us now, we’re all ears.” Francisco's voice almost startles you because you forgot he was leaning against the wall of the house, in the shadows, where he always prefers to be. 

“What about a little demonstration? I’ll need someone’s help. Santiago, you mind?” You say like you were a freaking science teacher choosing which student to help you with your little experiment.

“I’m all yours.” he croons, too happy that you’re finally taking the lead. 

The 3 other guys are just looking at you over their beers, stupid smiles on their faces as they think you’ll probably end up spilling the tequila on Garcia or something. 

But you don’t. 

You grab one of the green lemons on the table, reach for the knife in your boot under the men’s whistles and cut a generous slice. 

You ask Santiago to bite in it, but on the skin part, holding it out between its teeth. 

“Perfect! Now, don’t move.” you instruct.

Benny starts to guffaw uncontrollably because first you finally managed to shut up Santiago. And second he’s looking kind of goofy, blindly following your lead, with just a freaking piece of lemon in his mouth, waiting for your next command without knowing if you’re just pulling an elaborate prank on him or not. 

You take your sweet time going over the table to grab the salt, before sprinkling some on your fingers and applying it delicately on Santiago’s neck. You’re not sure why you’re gonna do what you're gonna do, but there is no getting back now.

Will’s smile grows bigger as he seems to be the only one connecting the dots. Santiago is just looking intently at you, as you fill your shot of tequila. 

“Ready? Guys, watch and learn.” you say, a bit nervous but determined. You come close to Santiago, and wink at him, before getting on your tip toe. You lick a wide stripe on the side of his neck, the salt of his skin mixing with the actual salt you put there earlier. You step back just enough to raise your glass and gulp down the shot. And the second you have finished the last drop, you get on tip toes again and just go for the piece of lemon in Santiago's mouth. Except you don’t use your hands and grab it with your own teeth, your lips lingering just a bit against his. You finally turn back to face the guys, sucking on your lemon piece. 

“And that’s how you do it.” you beam, very proud of yourself.

Frankie is swearing in Spanish under his breath. Benny is just staring in awe, mouth half closed, and Will, well he tries to look unbothered over his bottle of beer, but the truth is you can clearly see the bulge in his pants. You turn back to Santiago, his usual grin somewhat more dirty. You don’t know why you tease them like that, but you know they’re the only men in your life you trust enough to act like this and be sure they won’t take advantage of the situation. Unless you want them to of course. The tequila is making its way down your belly, and a new heat spreads in your body. The shot of liquid courage is making wonder for your nerves. You grab another lemon and your smile grows mischievous.

“So, who’s next?”

[animatedrapture]

pairing: suna rintarou x f!reader.

content warning: nsfw with some fluff. mentions of mommy kink. heavy degradation. tummy bulge (but like, vague?) mean!suna. breeding kink. daddy kink. rin doesn't like that you keep insisting that he has a mommy kink cause he simply doesn't so he snaps and makes you regret fucking with him so much. (the only time i'll write anything close to a mommy kink fic)

wc: 1.2k

notes: happy father's day, daddy rin!

It's your fault.

The past week, you've been teasing him nonstop about having a mommy kink. (Over something he said as a joke, mind you.) Smiling tauntingly at him, you'd say, "If you had a mommy kink, Rin, you could've just told me! I would've let you indulge."

And Rin is a very patient man, so even when you tease him about it during dinner, or that one time Osamu came over, or during the time he was playing while on voice call with the twins—even if you bring it up multiple times a day the past week, he doesn't spare you a glance.

He doesn't look annoyed, he doesn't glare at you, he doesn't even give you a snarky reply. He gives you no reaction, as deadpanned as ever.

He kisses you lovingly, still. He cuddles you and spoons you in bed, he fucks you mindless into the mattress without taunting you back about it, he talks to you as if you don't bring up that annoying insinuation of him having a mommy kink nonstop, he's nice to you even after all that. He tells you he loves you, still.

And you almost applaud him for having that amount of patience, not knowing it was all the calm before the storm.

Not until you're under him and he's driving his cock in your clenching cunt harshly, then his mouth latches on your nipple and he sucks.

It makes you gasp, makes your thighs tremble around his waist, but your comment falls from your lips anyway.

"Rin sucking on mommy's milk?" You tease him, your giggle cut off by the sharp gasp at the twist of his hips.

That's when his movement halts. His closed eyes flutter open, his stare as he looks up at you from your chest feels like it's drilling.

He pulls his mouth away from your nipple agonizingly and tortuously—teeth lightly biting on them as he pulls away, like he's making sure it'll hurt.

You feel the air get knocked out of your lungs at the sudden rush of movement as Rin pulls you up so that you're sitting on his cock impaled deep in you so much that it's creating a small protrusion against your stomach.

You're gaping, as your knees tremble, as he brings his arms folded behind his head. He relaxes against the headboard, his eyes bored and uninterested as he stares back at you with a particular glare that lets you know he's had it.

And you finally understand he's had enough. He finally snapped.

His voice is chilling when he speaks. "Go on, Mommy. Shouldn't you be makin' me feel good?"

The words roll off his tongue naturally, no hint of awkwardness, no hint of embarrassment, rather, it sounds so, so condescending.

Your attempts to move are nothing short of pathetic—you're trembling and panting as you bring yourself up and whimper at his cock burying deep inside your tight cunt every time you come down on him.

It's nothing like the way he fucks you, or even the way he would bring his hands to your waist in this position and force the guide of your body up, down, up, down with steady, pleasurable movements. Still, your moans are breathy and pleasing—and it's all because his cock feels good inside you. Full and thick and warm, massaging against your walls.

Even so, he clicks his tongue with a tsk, watching you struggle to take his length and move, "Aww, Mommy can't take my cock, hm? Can't do shit without my help, huh?"

"Rin…" You whimper, still trying to bounce on his cock at a steady place, already gushing at the base.

He tuts, trying to fight smirk a tugging on his lips—all your teasing about letting him indulge on 'his mommy kink' when he knows you're like this, so submissive for him all the time.

"Keep going, Mommy. Isn't this what you wanted?" But he still looks bored and almost pissed and the way he's watching you is berating enough.

And you try, you swear you try. But nothing about the way you're moving is enough—with your shaking legs, you're grinding against him too slowly, too softly. Frustrated whines erupt from your throat, your palms laying flat against his chest curling into fists, head hanging in humiliation. Of course you can't make it feel as good without his help.

Rin juts his lip out with faux sympathy, trying to meet your eyes. With a disappointed sigh, he's sitting up and tugging your hair harshly.

The shift is sudden and overwhelming, he brings your body completely still, nosing your neck as his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. "So pathetic, mommy."

He lifts your body up, then he's bringing you down on his cock as he thrusts into you—making sure to get that dizzying gasp and hazy look in your eyes. His movements are precise like he's proving a point, watching with heavy lidded eyes your fucked out expression.

Your drool trailing on the corner of your agape mouth and the mewls from it, your fluttering eyelids barely kept open, and the short gasps with his every thrust.

And a cherry on top, the string of apologies leaving your mouth.

But Rin all but scoffs a laugh, looking over you unimpressed, yet satisfied with how broken down you look right now.

"Maybe I should knock you up, hm? Make you a mommy, yeah? Since you're so eager 'bout me calling you mommy," his voice borders a growl, each snap of his hips unforgiving.

"'m sorry, daddy. Won't do it again, I promise," you babble with tears falling down your cheeks.

Your arousal building up on the base of Rin's cock is evident with the wet, slapping sounds and he can feel it trickling down his balls as you clamp down on him like you're begging for his cum inside you.

"'Course you won't do it again, mommy," he whispers in your ear—full of threat in the timbre of his voice, his hot breath hitting your neck. His grip from your hair loosens until he's completely let go of it, moving only to wrap around your throat—your body is trembling against him and you're completely at his mercy.

His head dips again, taking your nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly. The sensation goes straight between your legs and with a loud moan of his name, you're convulsing around him and falling apart.

Your own orgasm has him groaning against your skin, fucking into you deeper. Your limp body moves with his harsh thrusts and there's nothing in your mind except the idea of him knocking you up.

He pulls away as you slump against him, moaning wantonly still as he chases his own release.

His hand releases your throat, moving to take your arms and locking them behind you. Even with your body nearly jerking with overstimulation, you plead, "D-daddy—hah, breed me please!"

"Fuck, baby," Suna hisses, burying his face into the crook of your neck, sucking on your skin—his grip on your body tightening so much that it hurts.

"Gonna turn my baby into a mommy, hm? S'that what you want?"

You nod your head eagerly, "Mhm, mhm! Want your—oh fuck—babies, daddy!"

With a loud groan, his movement halts, his breath hot against you and cum shooting inside your swollen cunt and into your womb, your mouth hanging agape at the warmth filling you.

You feel his tense body relax, pressing a kiss on your shoulder blade before pulling away to take a look at you—tear stricken and fucked out.

"Now what do you say, Mommy?"

Your lips wobble, humiliation sinking back down on you, "Thank you, Daddy."

[iovelore]

❝ MORTAL TALES ❞ ( O1 )

summary and word count: a certain fae can’t help but find amusement in the youngest elfhame’s prince‘s frustration. wc — 1493

pairings: the cruel prince!cardan greenbriar x fem!reader

contents and warnings: jealousy, hinting of threesome, mentions of knife (nothing extreme), suggestive content, mutual pining-ish, fluffy?

a/n: i used tcp cardan because i couldn’t see any context of y/n being used in a fic in the other books (i also need it for the next part </3). i tried my best to include the tail bit since it didn‘t come out right, ill add it in either part 2/3. cardan is a bit ooc (i made him a bit idk how to put it besides: sub?man whore. because i believe that’s what he is 😁). and y/n resembles jude just a little bit with the blade thing, but only a little because jude is neither very flirty or open up about her sexuality (more so in the first book) and that’s what i made y/n like.

also, since this was more in y/n’s perspective, next part will be more so cardans <3

Y/N's legs crossed as she leaned her head on locke's shoulder, while Poppy, a half-faerie: who Locke has shown great interest in— for all the wrong reasons — sat before them and told them of the mortal tales her father would recite to her every night or the ones she gathered on her own from her adventures back where the humans lived.

Y/N found them odd: how they all were almost nothing compared to the people here; they were fragile, but she found similar enjoyment in them all nonetheless — and perhaps she had the eldest duarte to blame for her obsession with all things mortal, and Poppy's tales weren't helping either — which has unfortunately gained her the harsh scowls from the youngest prince of Elfhame.

Though that was no surprise. The boy had never been kind enough for her to realise that his treatment towards her was almost cruel — not that it had mattered, because to Y/N it was a show; she knew where his feelings lay, and it was nothing but amusing. To everyone with eye sight as clear as day, he'd never liked her, but when in class, when he believes her to be ignorant of his stare or his wagging tail; she has a classmate whisper every move his body makes, and it fuelled her heart all too much.

"It's not quite normal there, unlike here, if anyone decided to walk around with it they'd get humiliated till they're six feet under," Poppy snorted, covering her mouth with the back of her palms.

Locke turned to stare behind him, catching sight of the prince and Nicasia — both pouting miserably (one much too obvious than the other), and at that, he smiled. "Oh you’re right, tails are quite odd aren’t they? More so on a prince,"

Y/N shrugged at that, "It's alright, I do think Cardan makes it quite, charming? He’s always wagging it around like some...was it a cat you called it?"

"Yes a cat," Poppy shook her head positively, "though don't say that out loud, I doubt he's as clueless on mortal knowledge as we think he is."

Locke hummed, a smirk growing on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on his friend, Y/N following suite of his gaze and sultry grinning at the boy from afar, ignoring Nicasia — causing his eyes to widen momentarily, before the scowl found home on his face once more.

"He's never quite liked you has he?" His words were soft against her ear, his lips landing gently beneath her ear-lobes, kissing it tenderly as he kept his eyes trained on his flaring friend — who if one squinted, could perhaps see smoke escape his ears, if they ignored the immense swinging of his tail.

Y/N smiled, a small amount of malice lacing her intentions, "hatred I'd say, though he doesn't think I'm that foolish does he?"

Poppy, who now stared at her feet, hands tugging the grass with a blush coating her tanned features, "he's looked like he wanted to murder Locke."

Y/N snickered, a sickeningly sweet one at that, as she lowly muttered, "it’s all working then, sweetness."

Later on, when Y/N was left with no one to keep her company — as Locke found himself adorning Poppy and Nicasia's presence, alone — she took notice of the emptiness of Locke's home. It was beautiful, nothing as extravagant as Hollow Hall, yet she found herself admiring the interior all the same.

And as her hands traced the designs etched on the walls, as if it were a reminiscence of her first time staring upon them, a deep, and rather annoyed cough fleed her from her thoughts.

she stayed in position, her back facing Cardan and only gripping the knife resting on her waist, "now what would the prince need at a time like this? Should he not be in his humble abode by now?"

"Should you not be with your lover boy? Or is it that you enjoy using people like he does?" His tone was hostile as he spat his words, however the light softness that rippled around it was evident and Y/N couldn't help her lips tugging upwards.

She turned around, staring at him — where he leaned cooly against one of the walls — with squinted eyes, faux contempt present in her stare, and he shifted in his spot at her gaze.

She swiftly walked, her steps careful as to not trip on her dress. And when she reached him, she, boldly, placed her hands on his chest, dragging it downwards firmly — and his thumping heart beneath his rib cage could be faintly heard from the short proximity between them.

Y/N titled her head when he clenched his fists, but found a smile etching on her lips when his eyes were lightly fluttering. "Do I really threaten you that much that your hatred towards me is the only thing that keeps you going? It's pathetic truly, especially for a prince."

Cardan gulped, mind hazy at the contact and his body was supported by his tail, that was wrapped roughly around one of his legs. He could not utter the next words without stroking her ego, and it was then he'd wished — though he'd never admit out loud — that he were mortal, because he needed to lie if not keep his mouth shut.

More so with her trapping him, her knees coming forward and slightly spreading his legs, so that the entirety of his body leaned upon the wall. And despite him towering over her due to one of her legs bending in-front of the other, he could not move, catching sight of the shiny blade securely placed on her hips and her rigid grasp on them.

She had been around a certain mortal for too long, he thought, and at that his sneer was present again.

Y/N gently bit her tongue to stifle the giggle from escaping her, "what, cat's got your tongue?"

His lips were tightly sealed, and though he already knew the effects she displayed were affecting him, greatly, he refused to acknowledge her — especially that any movement could cause his legs to move slightly forward and brush . . .

She shook her head with a light hearted laugh that had his heart beating just a little bit faster, just a little bit. Her hands releasing the grip she had on her blade, before placing it on his cheek and patting him smoothly.

"You're quite humorous you know, would be a shame if you wasted all that energy on 'hating' me when it could be used for something else, you decide, my prince." she said, her tone sensual and low, before gradually stepping away allowing room (only a small amount at that) for the boy before her to breathe, she let one of her fingers crawl delicately on his hollow cheek bones, that though looked sharp, were as soft as anything could be.

Cardan's eyes widened ever so slightly, now registering her words, "are you flirting with me?" He asked. The space between them now slightly obvious, and he hated it — almost as much as he pretends to loathe her.

Y/N raised her brows, crossing her arms in an unlikely childish manner before nodding, "you're quite oblivious you know? Yes."

"Well," the confirmation enabled a smirk to appear on his face, only to be dismissed by her voice, again.

"Well? Is that all? Because I have things to do, and if my offer does not interest you then I'll gladly leave and find another willing volunteer," she purred, ignoring the way his brows harshly and quickly furrowed, creating a crease, "how about Locke? We are reasonably close, and he does not have a tail — which looks a bit foolish, don't you think?"

He was blushing crimson now, red sparklings littering his pale cheeks, but then his lips curled up — however, he does not look as frighting as he's expecting to be, he knew that, especially with her knees still resting between his thighs (which is all he's trying to drift his mind from at the moment).

"I don't see anything off with it, I've been told it makes one interesting. You've spent too much time with mortals and those alike." Cardan's jaw clenched and his chest was rising a lot more than it was a few minutes before.

Y/N pursed her lips, "Well then, show me how interesting one can get." She leaned forward, her breath fanning atop his lips and he found his own hitching.

His eyes were wandering from her eyes, which he secretly adored, to her lips, and he subconsciously nodded, leaning forward.

Only then, her hands rested on his chest, pushing him away slightly and his head came in contact with the wall yet again, and he had to bite his bottom lips in hopes that she had no idea how much he’d needed her, all of her.

Y/N stepped backwards, finally standing straight. Her hands on her side once more and she gave the prince an alluring smile, "I'll see you later, cardan."

He glared at the spot she had been standing in once she’d left, and he knew that it was a silly game she’s playing.

And what is a game if it involves one player?

[hexonthepeach]

dark & stormy 6&7: aftermath & epilogue

summary: you’re a housekeeper in a seedy hotel working through the worst hurricane of the season when you’re invited to spend the evening with your two sexy but enigmatic co-workers. when you accidentally uncover their secret identities you're dragged into a darker world—one you may already know too well

pairing: jaehyun (nct) x johnny (nct) x fem!reader (code name: jenny)

genre: the late-70s/early-80s miami vice/nice guys/secret agent johnjae/reader au no one asked for or: a work of madness inspired by the infamous w korea shoot

word count: 9.7k of 63k

warnings: explicit sexual content (m/f, m/m, mmf threesome) [see chapters for detailed tags], dark themes, implied murder, drug-use (alcohol, quaaludes), drugging w/o consent, stalking, kidnapping (non-sexual), bondage, minor knifeplay/gunplay, slight age gap [y/n early 20s, jj late 20s/early 30s], y/n implied dark origins/criminal history (OC vibes but history left open for interpretation), sleep paralysis/nightmares, walk-on guest appearances from other nct members inc. sungtaro in later chapters

fic masterlist

part 1: landfall | part 2: disturbance formation | part 3: eye of the storm | part 4: dissipation | part 5: blue skies | [current and end]

read on AO3

chapter warnings: nothing you haven't seen before but! explicit sex, discussion of kink, heavy sir kink, service top!johnny, double penetration [f receiving], anal penetration [f receiving], blindfolds, edging, coming inside (established earlier y/n is on birth control)

recommended listening: Roberta Flack's 1973 album Killing Me Softly

"Rise and shine," Johnny says, voice filtering though layers of sleep as Jaehyun re-enters the world.

Jaehyun’s left hand dips heavy with the loaded Browning, swaying as he aims it for the wall instead of the man obscuring his bedroom doorway.

"You know if I wanted you dead you would have been gone five minutes ago."

“Go away," Jaehyun mutters. His mouth is sour with sleep and day-old bourbon as he turns to set the gun on the nightstand rather than tucking it back under the unused pillow on his bed. The clock reads a quarter past ten. It’s not late but later than he expected, having crawled into the sheets at dawn that day.

"How'd you get in?" Jaehyun asks when he finally accepts that Johnny isn't leaving.

"You gave me a key, dumbass. What are you doing out of the hospital?"

"Then lock up on your way out,” he answers, collapsing back into the pillows. The minor gesture has him wincing at the throb from his Frankensteined shoulder. In a better world he'd be operative by now, but he’d learned all too well a side effect of untreated open wounds was blood poisoning.

“Brought you a gift," Johnny says, shaking an orange plastic container. He eyes the whiskey bottle on the nightstand. "Probably not a good idea to mix."

"I already told Zhong I'm not taking that shit," Jaehyun grumbles.

"Different kind of pain, huh?" Johnny tosses something on the bed. “Brought something for that too.”

"Shouldn't have." Jaehyun kicks the bundle off his legs–flowers from the shape and the rustle of plastic.

"They're not from me."

He can’t remember waking up but he can read between the lines of his partner’s words. It's as effective as an ice bath, making him sit up again.

"Figured you'd need a few extra hands since yours is out of commission," Johnny’s silhouette nods towards the cloth arm brace he's wearing, a requirement for leaving observation. It's annoying but a useful reminder to not to put weight on the healing muscle.

“Who's here?” Jaehyun asks, guarded.

“Who do you think? Get up and eat.”

The smell hits him, warm and fragrant. He feels like one of those cartoons following the smell of a pie on a windowsill as he shuffles out of bed, the cool air a shock with the way his sweats are plastered to his skin.

"God you need a shower," Johnny jokes, helping him when he finds it difficult to stand. Jaehyun shoves his good elbow into his ribs half-heartedly.

This close he can read so much more from his partner: the restaurant smell of fried food and beer, but also the faint trace of lipstick on his collar and the brightness in his eyes.

Johnny is always performing some kind of act when he's feeling anxious but this is different. Seven years of shared service had given Jaehyun a view behind the curtain enough times to know he’s troubled.

“Why did you bring her here?” he asks.

“She asked me to,” Johnny says with a trace of dishonesty, letting his arm go.

It's been unseasonably cold in April, and the rain is a sheet over the windowed attic roof overhead. Everything else under it would seem to be in the right place, if not for the figure in his kitchen, straining to reach the dark-glazed bowls he’s sure have gathered dust since he’s last used them.

You're still wearing a thick, wool coat and he’s reminded how dismally cold it is in his apartment, with its exposed brick interior and practically non-existent glass walls and ceiling. At the best of times he has a view of the stars beyond the city lights, but now the space feels so much smaller.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You turn around, just slow and deliberate enough that he knows you’ve been hanging on every word of exchange behind you. It's hard to have privacy in a loft. Jaehyun hadn’t bought it expecting company.

Seeing the pitiful look on your face has him ready for flight. Not just pitiful because of the obvious discomfort but in how you’re looking at him right now, like you’re afraid he’s going to break if you speak.

"Hey," you say, forgetting the dishes. "Are you alright?"

He wants to go back into his room but Johnny is right behind him and there really isn't an exit besides his front door or the rickety old fire escape.

"Yeah." Jaehyun says. He forgets not to lift his right hand to his head until the pain of movement has him reeling.

In the few moments between accepting he might pass out a second time in front of you and still finding himself upright you wrap your arms around his middle. Moisture seeps into the cotton of his shirt as you pretend not to cry in the same stubborn manner he’s seen before.

"It's really not that bad." Jaehyun pats your back awkwardly with his left hand, angling away his brace. It hurts but not nearly enough to break contact, not with you holding him like your life depends on it.

"I missed you," you say into his breastbone. The tone of your voice is heavy enough he knows you're not talking about the last week.

"I missed you, too," he admits, resting his cheek on the top of your head. It's like you'd never been separated since that last conversation in Verona, the joy of having you back in his life just as fragile.

Still, this is what he really needed, he thinks. He recognizes the lemony, powdery scent of Love's Baby Soft under whatever expensive products you're wearing these days. It's comforting to know that beneath that newly polished exterior the girl who'd hid from him in an empty room whenever he was in the same hallway would always be there, just under the surface.

He's never told you what it was like to wait. He'd only been able to show you, in that weird way that had you as still and braced for flight more times than he could count. You were always the predator waiting in the grass in his mind: too smart for your own good, too patient to land the killing blow when that's all he really wanted.

Johnny had figured out the same thing, months ago, sitting in a police holding cell in the Reykjavik airport, of all places.

"She knows," he says, still laughing at the fact that they'd been picked up after an emergency triage of their Swedish language skills hadn't saved them from a cursory interrogation and a call to the American embassy. "Flagged us and disappeared in the time it took us to get to the terminal."

Jaehyun says nothing, picking at the gold braid on the pilot's uniform they'd lifted before trying their hand at the last flight out.

"You sure do know how to pick them, brother."

"She'd be at Quantico right now if it wasn't for you," Jaehyun answers.

"A waste." He can hear how it picks at the man's pride to be questioned about that decision.

He’d seen it play out over months in dive bars near Control, where they’d gone back to their pre-operation roles: Jaehyun patiently listening and defusing the conversation whenever it circled back, inevitably, to the newest recruit, Johnny threatening to break into the company Rolodex after too many Old Fashioneds.

Somehow in the time since she'd been given basic clearance to NeoTech every secretary and assistant on every floor had become immune to his charms, like the Ghost of Exes Past had walked through and warned them of where that road would lead to.

Even steadfast Moon Taeil hadn’t broken, smiling like a saint when asked for information about her that breached past clerical. "Got it bad, Suh? Why don't you just try asking her out?"

That was the last time Johnny had tried to get her contact information, the story already an office legend once Donghyuck heard about it. Thank Christ the surveillance boys were still the picture of innocence with regard to the events at Magic Carpet. Johnny’s regular gifts of coffee and kolaches to their van during stakeouts was sign enough that he'd worried about it.

Everyone seemed to know but her.

"She'd be poring through call records for three years before seeing daylight," Johnny says, as if he isn't also under lock and key because of her tip. He's assuring himself more than his partner.

"You really don't see it, do you?" Jaehyun says.

The last time he'd been in the same building with you was all the way back in Gran Hotel Ciudad in Mexico City, where you'd mingled with the black-suited vultures closing in on some shady IMF meet-up. All those scavengers picking at the bones of a country in crisis couldn't see you coming, your teeth shining bright as you went in for the kill.

He’d kept tabs on you from well above the lobby, watching as you spun your web in a gold lamé evening dress and blonde wig. It took less than a half-an-hour for you to leave, separately of course, an untouched cocktail traded for a room key.

Another fatcat foreign banker dying of natural causes wouldn't make local papers, much less international ones, but that was the beauty of your work: small and necessary changes with downwards cascading effects towards something better. Uncelebrated and too ugly to look at closely, like wiping the dust off a grimy wall with the hopes that if you did it enough times it might be clean someday.

The closest he'd gotten to being marked was the day after, when he’d followed you to Chapultepec Park. Johnny was nursing a headache after a night on comms, so Jaehyun had gone alone, unsure of where your path was taking you now that the job was out the door on a white-sheeted stretcher and loaded into a quiet ambulance.

He didn't expect you to go to the zoo.

You'd beelined past the butterfly exhibit for the main attraction, the flimsy chain-link fence separating you and a crowd of children with preciously-held balloons and cheap merchandise. You'd all watched through the fence as a large, round ball of black and white fur carefully picked from a pile of bamboo, its back turned to the crowd.

You'd waited long after others walked away from the disappointing display, no signs of fidgeting or disquiet. Just a woman in a red coat, your hair covered in a shawl better suited to someone older.

He'd wondered how long it would take you to give up and find a different vantage.

And then, like a dandelion fuzz caught on the wind, a smaller ball of black and white broke free of its mother's reach, tiny legs toddling into the dusty yard.

"El pequeño panda!" repeated chant-like around you, growing louder before breaking into quiet applause. As careful as observers were to not disturb the baby panda, the crowd surged to see it, and in an instant he'd lost you.

Later, wandering through an aviary of birds, fighting to glimpse a flash of red in the greenery, he realized you'd lost him.

"You chase her but she’s never going to be the one who gets caught." Jaehyun finds himself explaining. "She‘s better than either of us."

As inept as he feels he's still able to pull your chin up with his offhand to kiss your face. He follows the tracks of smudged mascara down to your lips. And then he holds, letting you lead, even if it kills him.

He's back in the dark of a basement pool, knowing you'll follow. There’s the careful response, reading intent, waiting for an explosive risk that will never come. A trauma response he understands too well, just like he understands when you finally close in to consume him.

You don't seem to mind that his mouth stays closed, kissing him deeply for the both of you. Your hands thread over the back of his neck, gentle to keep from hurting him, as you show him what he already knows.

"Well, I should get going," Johnny says nonchalantly, giving you both a wide berth as he skirts towards the door. It's not nearly enough space–you turn around and snatch his jacket, yanking so hard he stumbles.

"No," you say. "Don't think you can weasel out of this."

Jaehyun meets Johnny's apologetic look over you, tossing his head rather than shrugging.

"Stay," Jaehyun says. "We have a lot to talk about."

Another room, another rainy evening edging into hours past the acceptable point of socialization. But there’s a different kind of mood as you put the record on the hi-fi, the black and gold sleeve propped up on the clean shelf.

You turn up the volume knob until the ambient recording drowns out the drum of the weather, Roberta Flack's vocals put to tape a decade ago rising over a familiar melody.

"I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style

And so I came to see him, to listen for a while . . ."

By the chorus you’ve moved away from the sound system, sitting at the dinette set table next to the man picking from an already-withered clutch of daisies. You’d bought them from a bodega near the restaurant, sure they wouldn't live long in the bottle you'd dumped them in after pouring spoiled milk out of it. At least you think they add a touch of sun to the clean but dark space.

"He loves me . . ." You pluck from the flower Johnny’s mangling, yellow pollen dusting your fingers.

". . . she loves me not," he says, crushing a petal.

He leans back in the too-small chair, eyeing the doorway to Jaehyun's bedroom. Both of you spend a few moments listening to the shower as it continues, gauging his response before speaking again.

"Thank you for . . . “ you say.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about keeping me here," he jests, lamely.

"Fuck off," you shoot back immediately.

His eyes go wide, but so does his smile. "That’s better."

"I was going to thank you for introducing me to the best late night restaurant in the DMV," you sigh with a dramatic flourish. "Shame you can't take a compliment."

"I told you, it's his favorite Tom Kha Gai. Also it's not usually open that late, I'm just that good."

"Oh really," you say. "Someday you'll tell me how you ended up fluent in Thai."

"Someday," he assures.

"What does dor sun mean, exactly?"

"Nothing you have to trouble yourself with," Johnny says. "Before I go–"

"You're not leaving," you cut him off.

"As I was saying, before I go," Johnny acts like he hasn't heard a word out of your mouth. "I'd like to see you again, alone. Maybe one drink. Or two. To celebrate, of course."

"You're really going." You can't hide the disappointment that seeps into your realization.

"Just looking out for both of us, babydoll," Johnny says, grabbing his overcoat from where it's draped over the couch. “We’ll see each other at the office.”

“Is that all this is to you?”

The shower stops in the next room, leaving you both hanging as the next track on the record begins. It’s an appropriately sad song for a goodbye which is why you move to turn the stereo down immediately, knob twisting in time with his own on the door handle.

"You convinced me to stay earlier and now you're the one running," you continue. "Do I really scare you that much?"

"No," he says, not turning around but not opening the door.

"If you're going, I'm going–"

There's a loud clank and a ringing behind you as something hits the table, both of you turning to see Jaehyun set down a bottle. He’s still shirtless and wet-haired from the shower, the sling he’d been wearing discarded on the table.

"Feels like I'm watching Days Of Our Lives," he laments, pouring clumsily from the half-empty bottle of Maker’s Mark into his water glass. "Either of you walks out and I'm drinking this entire thing by myself."

Your attention stays on Johnny, praying he'll give in before you do. You see the indecision burning in his brown eyes, flicking between you and the door.

"Drinking game. My choice," Jaehyun says, downing two fingers without a sign he’s registering the burn.

“One condition,” Johnny says, sighing. “Take it easy or I’ll drag you back to medical.”

You’re sure the threat is real from the atypical irritation in his movements. He drops his things by the door, sliding past you without looking at you except to turn the song back up. Again you chase him, this time into the kitchen where he’s retrieving glasses and ice.

“What‘s your problem?”

You’re blindsided by this change after the easy chatter you’d had earlier, sitting in an empty, neon-lit restaurant teasing each other over bottles of Singha. Talking to Johnny had distracted you from your nervousness, even if part of the reason you felt so out-of-sorts was sitting across from you, picking at a green papaya salad.

He’d seen your relief that Jaehyun wasn’t in his mandated bed, and while he didn’t say anything about it you needed to explain. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, but that you just really didn't know what to say.

That open conversation in Verona made you realize how completely unschooled you were in the messy business of feelings. Sex was easy, or at least you'd thought it was; you knew how simple it would be to disappear into the chemistry that had always been there.

This–being wanted, wanting someone back–was like reading a map of the moon while strapped to a rocket on a collision course with it.

“I’ve never . . . Done this.”

Johnny doesn’t react with his usual quippy response.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never dated anyone?” he asks.

“You know my record.” You pick at the label on your beer bottle. “I’m just . . . going to need your help to figure all this out.”

“I’m flattered but you’re asking the wrong person.” He smirks at you, but you don’t miss the way he fidgets, clearly wanting an out from the conversation.

Everything you’d heard about him not being the “feelings type” wasn’t going to deter you, not when you knew someone like Jaehyun trusted him with his life, and with whatever intimacy they had outside your purview.

“You’ve never dated, either?” you ask.

“There’s probably a few people out there who’d be upset if I said ‘no’,” he jokes. “Job doesn’t really allow for it.”

“Could it, though, if you wanted it to?”

Johnny smiles wryly, looking away as the owner returns with two grocery bags loaded with much more than you'd heard him order.

“Let me know when you find out.”

Behind you Jaehyun has sat at the old but loved piano taking up a corner of the room, playing a one-handed accompaniment to the music. It gives you an opening to close in on Johnny, touching his arm and making him look down at you.

“Seriously, be honest with me, what’s your problem?” You repeat.

He pushes you into the counter with a movement of his hips, reaching around you to drop ice in a set of mismatched crystal tumblers.

“I don’t have a problem.” Johnny says just loud enough for you to hear. “You two have a problem. And a critical lack of communication skills. Just talk to him. Or don’t, I don’t know. Make it simple.”

“I wanted you to–”

“You really don’t need me here to mediate,” he says. “You’d be fucking it out right now instead of having another of your little mope sessions.”

He’s jealous, you think. You feel a tiny bit of satisfaction that he’s being honest with you, even if it isn’t direct.

“That sounds suspiciously like our problem,” you say, pressing back into him. “Is this a classic case of projection?”

Johnny looks at you like he's embarrassed for the both of you, cringing.

“At least let me get drunk before you psycho-analyze me,” he says. “And don’t say I'm deflecting.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of taking his bait. “Earlier when I was asking for help figuring this all out, you do know I was talking about us, right?”

“Us as in all—“

“You and I, whatever we are.”

“Right,” he says. “Now you know why I wanted to leave.”

“You’re not leaving,” Jaehyun interrupts from the other side of the room, sounding exasperated. “And if anyone is mediating, it’s me. Get over here.”

Johnny opens his mouth to say something but immediately stops, gritting his teeth.

“Thank you again for being here,” you say, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

The look he gives you is dangerous, especially with proximity.

“You should be saying ‘sorry’,” he says, under his breath. You act like you don’t have a clue as to what he means, smiling carefully. He doesn’t break his stare, slowly backing you out of the kitchen.

“Scratch that: you will be,” he promises as he passes by.

It takes a second to compose yourself, the apartment feeling much warmer. You shrug out of your coat and a second layer of suit jacket, untucking your blouse before sitting down between the two men at the table.

“No strip poker I take it,” Johnny says, already drinking.

“No Never Have I Ever, either.” You shake your head.

“Two truths and a lie.” Jaehyun informs you.

“You sure that’s fair to her?” Johnny asks, cryptically.

“You’d be surprised at what I know about you,” you answer for him. “And what you still don’t know about me.”

“Fair enough,” Johnny says. “Truth and lies it is.”

“I’ll start,” Jaehyun says, pouring two fingers of whiskey followed by an equal amount of water. “I’ve never ridden a horse. I won a state championship for swimming 200m freestyle. My first assignment was in the Philippines.”

“Lame,” Johnny says. “It’s the horse one.”

You nod to indicate your guess.

“Drink,” he says. “It was the 400m.”

“Even more lame.” Johnny says, swallowing. You sip yours, meeting Jaehyun’s eyes over the rim of the glass.

“Your turn.”

“I’m allergic to cats. I don’t like okra. I didn’t graduate high school.” You look up and find them nodding at each other in some kind of secret agreement.

“Cats,” they both say, in stereo.

“Drink.”

“What? You have one—“ Johnny says, cutting short when he realizes his admission. “I saw the hair on your coat.”

”Allergy shots,” you shrug. “I don’t mind okra.”

“You two having a contest to see which one of you is more boring?” Johnny asks, scowling. “Can we move on to the fun part?”

“By all means,” Jaehyun says.

“Let’s see,” he rolls the glass on the tabletop. “I had my tonsils taken out when I was nine. I was born in Chicago’s South Side. I haven’t had sex with anyone in over a year.”

“The sex one, obviously,” you say, but Jaehyun shakes his head.

“Different neighborhood, right?” he asks, earning a nod from Johnny.

“Oh,” you say, drinking. You’re flushed, transported back to the Tiger’s Den.

“It’s actually been two years, but that’s still over a year,” Johnny says, staring at you. “No offense Jae, drunken hand-jobs don’t count.”

“None taken,” the other man says tiredly, pouring more liquor.

“So?” Your face is burning, not just from the whiskey. “What do you want, a medal?”

“For starters it would be nice if you stopped telling new people that I’m a—and I quote—‘walking, talking health risk’.”

“Take it up with Donghyuck, he’s the reason the secretarial pool thinks you have syph—“

“Stop it.” Jaehyun snaps. “None of us have slept with other people since Miami, none of us is handling it well.”

Neither of you have a rebuttal.

“So try this for two truths and a lie: Johnny is in love with you,” Jaehyun starts, ignoring the startled look on his friend’s face. “He mistakenly thinks this makes him a bad friend. He was planning on telling you all of this.”

The record has played out, so Jaehyun’s words are punctuated by the mechanical click of the arm automatically moving away.

“I was. Eventually,” Johnny says, but he still drains his glass. He looks at Jaehyun pointedly. “And to be clear, I don’t think it makes me a bad friend to you.”

“It does, but not for the reasons you think, John,” Jaehyun says, quietly. He places his hand over yours on the table. “You okay?”

“No,” you confess, still watching Johnny act like the exposure of his feelings means as much as a weather forecast. “My turn, then.”

They both look at you like you’re a bomb set to explode, tense and unsure of how to stop it. You let them suffer as you think of the best way to word what you’ve wanted to say since you’d left them in Florida.

“If I can’t be with both of you, romantically and equally, I would rather we just end it here,” you say, trying not to quake with how hard it is to say aloud. “I spent two years lying to myself about my own feelings and what I’m capable of and I’m tired of it.”

You feel like you’re rambling, waiting for Johnny to chime in or Jaehyun to move to you, but they let you catch your breath. You finish your drink, lips numbed.

“And I am definitely, absolutely, fully sane and rational and not in love with two of the dumbest and most frustrating men I have ever met in my entire life.”

You wait for them to respond, feeling like the earth has slowed down enough that you’re no longer crushed under the gravity fixing you to your seat.

Jaehyun speaks first, hand rising to your cheek. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Learned from the best,” you say, kissing his palm. He leans in to kiss you properly but your chair is pulled back and almost out from under you. Johnny forces you to look at him.

“We’re going to have to work out some ground rules before I share you with this loser,” he says. He’s so close you can see the day-old stubble forming on his cheeks, blushed cheeks making him look younger.

“Don’t talk about my partner that way,” you warn.

“You'll see,” he says, pulling you up his thighs. He wraps you in a surprisingly gentle embrace, chin on your shoulder. “You can take over wrangling him out of his moods.”

"He’s talking about his moods," Jaehyun says wryly.

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me, anymore?” you ask.

“No," he says, kissing your cheek. “But I’m grateful you’ll have me anyway.”

“As if I’m not the lucky one—“ you begin, interrupted when Johnny stands up, arm wrapped under your thighs, taking you with him.

“Where do you want her?”

“I haven’t changed the sheets—“ Jaehyun says.

“Couch, then,” Johnny says, impatiently. “This isn’t going to reopen your stitches again, is it?”

“Again?” You look over his shoulder to see Jaehyun flexing his right arm with a grim smile on his face.

“Not if we’re careful.”

“You hear that baby, you’re going to have to be gentle with him,” Johnny says into your hair. “I’m not going to promise the same thing.”

“Don’t you think we should wait—“

“No,” they answer in unison as you’re dumped on the low sofa, Jaehyun sitting down beside you. You climb up onto your knees to inspect his injury, kissing the top of his shoulder once you’ve confirmed it’s healing well, fully closed and not radiating redness.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, trailing light kisses up his neck. He’s tense beneath your exploration, a little more than uncertain when you reach his mouth.

“Not anymore,” he sighs. “But really, I don’t want to rush you—“

"We can take our time later." You cut him off, tongue tangling with his. His bare skin is hot under your touch, feeling the dusting of hair on his chest and belly as you run your hand down to the band of his track pants.

"When I'm cleared we're taking a week," he promises. You love the way his eyes flutter close as you stroke him through the thin material, Johnny rubbing your back assuringly. You turn to him but he shakes his head, more serious than you expected.

“I just want to make you feel good right now,” you tell Jaehyun. He eases a little, looking at you with unfiltered adoration. "Thank you for being there for me when I needed you."

He’s not wearing underwear and is already thick and heavy, springing free when you pull the elastic down and around his muscled thighs. Your mouth follows your hand, taking him in your mouth until you feel him nudge against the back of your throat. Every stroke on your tongue is gentle but he’s writhing within seconds from the stimulation.

Johnny moves behind you, pulling you back on your knees. You don’t mind him as you take Jaehyun’s cock deep into your throat, precum coating it with each bob of your head.

“So pretty,” Johnny says, hiking your skirt up so your garters and lingerie set are visible. You feel a cautious slap on your ass and lean into it, focusing on the head of Jaehyun’s cock when a heavier blow lands on your thigh, nearer to your aching sex.

“Oh,” you say when he slaps between your legs, hand teasing through the damp silk.

“Still wet from when I almost fucked you on that conference table,” Johnny says. “Dirty little thing.”

“Not . . ." Jaehyun groans as each strike has you taking him deeper down your throat again. "We eat on that table."

“You should have seen Doyoung’s face,” Johnny says, making you move with gentle pats between your legs, following each up with a teasing rub. “Said we needed a form.”

Jaehyun isn’t far enough gone yet to not laugh at that. He pulls you off of him so he can kiss you, while your hand continues to work. His eyes are glazed once he’s done tasting himself on you, good hand fumbling at your blouse.

“Which one of us do you want first, baby?”

You glance behind you at Johnny kneeling on the couch, admiring the way he’s rolling up his shirt sleeves. “Think you can wait?”

“I can do better than that,” he says, sliding forward until he's pressed against you. You expect him to help you undress but instead he guides your leg over Jaehyun’s lap, hand moving up to pull your underwear to the side. You gasp as he nuzzles your neck below your ear. "You asked me for help, didn't you?"

You take your cue, gripping the back of the couch to steady yourself. Jaehyun's head follows, bent back when the other man helps angle his cock into you, finding you wet but oh-so-so-so-tight. Your mind dissolves with the first push, your body struggling to stretch after so long without.

“Good girl.” Johnny says, taking over. He grabs your rucked-up skirt over your hips, forcing you down and up until you're whimpering into Jaehyun’s mouth. Once you're coated enough to slide with ease Johnny guides you at a more punishing pace, not satisfied until you're riding the way he wants you to.

"Fuck," Jaehyun shudders, his hand coming up to palm you through your shirt. He fights at it until Johnny helps him unbutton and pull it open.

"Taste her for me," he says, freeing your breasts of the sheer fabric of your bra. Jaehyun's teeth scrape at the meat of them as he sucks on you, Johnny tweaking your other nipple into hardness.

"You're so good to me," you say, movement slowing as your hand snakes down to your aching core. Your lace underwear is making you feel constricted and you want him to feel you come before he loses it, but Johnny catches your wrist, holding it to the couch cushion until you stop fighting him.

Your other hand settles on his thigh, attempting to turn to kiss him while rocking up and down on Jaehyun. He grabs the back of your neck, fingers trapping you like a kitten by the scruff.

“Eyes on him,” he instructs. “Let me be your hands.”

Just that offer has you feeling hotter than a burning building, mind blanking when Johnny reaches down between you to lift your underwear to the side. He expertly rolls your clit with the pads of his fingers, making you cry out and Jaehyun moan when you clench around him.

His beautiful face is your whole world, the sharp pain of joy inside your chest feeding the growing tension inside you. You surrender control outside of how fast and how deep you can take him knowing he’s being pushed to the brink just as quickly.

“You’re so good,” you say, standing on your knees to take him so deep on the downward that you feel him in your core. Jaehyun rocks up into you, making low noises in the back of his throat as he fights his release. You kiss his nose and cheek, licking the sweat from his upper lip before biting it.

“I’m not—I’m—“ he says into your mouth. You can feel the build, can sense the way his breathing goes staccato, all while Johnny pulls you tighter like a string wrapped around his finger.

“Don’t stop,” you tell him. "Come for me, my love."

In moments Jaehyun crumbles, jerking up into you, quiet and yet somehow loud in the way his mouth is open and eyes are shut, releasing inside you.

You repeat the words silently as you settle into his lap, not wanting to follow so quickly but taken down anyway as Johnny applies just the right pressure in circles in your folds, making you orgasm so hard your vision flashes white as you seize around the pulsing cock inside you.

You finish with a whimper, kissing Jaehyun until his eyes finally open again.

"I don't think I actually woke up today," he murmurs, nose nudging yours. "Thank you for such a nice dream."

"Anything for you," you say, suddenly conscious that there's no one at your back.

You break away from kissing Jaehyun to claw at the man behind you, fingers twisting in Johnny’s vest and tugging him until he's close enough for you to taste the whiskey on his tongue.

You have a moment to feel everything you've been missing in that contact before Johnny leans forward to grab Jaehyun's face and give him the same deep kiss, pulling his bottom lip in his teeth when he parts.

"That was my way of saying sorry for being a bad friend," Johnny says. "And for the hand job comment."

“Thanks, I guess,” Jaehyun says once he’s able to breathe freely again. He’s beautifully fucked out and messy against the cushions, still favoring his right side.

“You can make it up to me later,” Johnny says, attention back on you as he pulls you off of him, hand cupped around your sex to keep the drip of cum off the couch. He settles for taking off your shirt and using it to clean up the mess.

You think you’re going to have a moment to reacclimate yourself but Johnny lifts you up again, hoisted into a bridal carry.

"I'm taking this to the bedroom," he says. "Be a pal and give me a head start.”

"There's clean–" Jaehyun begins.

"Fuck the sheets," Johnny says. “You can change them after I make her regret getting herself into this arrangement.”

You struggle only for as long as it takes for Johnny to take you into the half-lit room and plant you on the bed. He crouches over you where you lay, belt buckle digging into your bare thigh.

“You know you don’t scare me,” you say, sitting up on your elbows, bracing for an attack.

“Who says I want you to be afraid?” He counters, lifting you up. Once you're eye-to-eye and perched in his lap he waits, studying you, clearly with something to say.

"Then what do you want, sir?" The reminder of your offer is meant to be flirtatious but his response is bordering on sadness. Your hand immediately rises to his cheek as if you can keep the smile on his face by holding it there.

"I'm not going to lie and say I don't like hearing that," Johnny says, cautiously. "Just not right now."

"Okay," you concede. "Would you rather call me ma'am?"

He pulls you closer, forehead knocking against yours. "Stop being a brat for five seconds and let me think."

You nod into him, all too quickly reminded that he's still fully dressed while you’re half-naked and growing colder by the second.

It's clear Johnny is stalling when he breathes out explosively.

"Fuck, this is hard," he says. You don't interrupt, but you do run a hand through the long hair settling on his jaw, letting him know you're with him as he closes his eyes to find security.

"This was supposed to be something we talked about on the third or fourth date," he says. "I've had a few years to think about it, too, you know."

“We can still do that,” you say, earning a tap on your mouth from his finger.

"The one thing I kept going back to was that I wished I could have had my head screwed on straight when Jaehyun told me what kind of person you were. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Your expression makes him wince a little at his own words.

"Not the–not anything we did, sex included," he explains. "Well, maybe the sex. The fighting-as-foreplay thing is nice, but if I'm being honest with you, I'm really not that kind of guy."

"I never would have guessed," you say, unable to refrain from teasing him.

He re-adjusts, clearly distracted by your weight on his thigh. "I have some pride, you know. I don’t want to just be someone you go to when you need a release with no strings attached."

"You know that’s not what I want, either," you say.

"Good,” he breathes. “Because I'm not a jealous person but I think I will be if I don't get all of you, when I want and how I want."

He leans in and kisses you, mouth tracing your pulse in your neck. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

You shake your head, feeling abruptly self-conscious. His hands trace lazily over your back, soothing you until you relax again.

"You're going to be a good girl for me,” he says. “Just me.”

It sounds a little like a warning, and you nod unconsciously.

"You're going to tell me what you want, and you don't get to run away or pretend like everything means nothing when it gets hard. And I promise if you can do that I can try, too."

He pulls back, studying your face. "Now tell me you regret asking me to stay."

"No," you look at him, warmly. "Why should I?"

"I really wanted to wait until we were alone but it's only fair," he says with an increase of threat. "Stand up for me."

You comply, watching as he moves to the edge of the bed, unzipping your skirt and letting it slide down your hips. Bare before him you’re reminded of the first time you’d undressed in front of him, and the way he’d kept his metaphorical cards in his pocket. You weren’t getting under his skin, anymore–he was getting under yours.

“What would you like?” You ask, placing your foot on his thigh for him to help take off your hose.

Johnny stops unclipping your stockings from your garter belt, smiling sweetly up at you.

“We can start with you calling me ‘sir’.”

His tone hasn’t changed but you sense the shift, complacent as he removes the last of your clothing, unclipping your bra and letting your ruined panties fall to the floor. He leaves your garter belt on, tugging on it to situate you between his knees.

“Yes, sir,” you say, softly.

“Do you know how to tell me when you’re feeling unsafe or uncomfortable?” He asks, stroking the outside of your leg in the same way one would pet an animal. He waits for you to reply, as calm and welcoming as he’d been in the office earlier.

“Do you mean a safe word?” you ask. “What are you wanting–"

“Traffic lights. Yellow for slow, red for stop. If I ask you if you’re green you say green. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” You bite back what you really want to say, feeling your hackles raise. “Are you sober, sir?”

“Are you?” He counters, squeezing your thigh.

“Yes." You're reminded of your role when his grip tightens on you, fingers digging in. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he says. “Just needed a baseline for what we’re going to do.”

“What did you have in mind, sir?”

“For starters I think I’d like to make you beg me to fuck you,” he says, smoothly, “and then I’ll make you beg me to let you come.”

You shiver, gooseflesh prickling your bare arms and chest. The picture that was forming in your mind of being asked to jump headfirst into some kind of kink after this whirlwind of a day is suddenly very different.

"You can watch," he says–not to you. You look over to see Jaehyun in the doorway, getting a glimpse of his neutral expression before your chin is turned back to the man in front of you.

"Did I say you could look at him?" Johnny asks.

"No, sir," you murmur. He releases your jaw after the other man has moved into the room, not to the bed but somewhere else behind you.

"You don't do anything unless I tell you to. Don’t touch yourself, don’t touch me."

"Yes, sir."

Johnny stands up, loosening his tie as he switches places with you, pushing you back only so far. You feel the bed behind you but don't sit when he hasn't told you to, surprised when he drops to his knees. He’s so tall even on the floor he can kiss your ribs, having to crouch to touch your belly with his tongue.

This is the softest you’ve seen him, and it makes your heart race, not knowing how or when that explosive strength you’ve experienced firsthand will reveal itself. You watch with growing nervousness as he leans forward to kiss the crease between your thigh and lower abdomen. The gentle glide of his tongue there has you squirming, and he taps your leg in warning.

“Hold still,” he directs, working his way to the center and your puffy lips, parting them with soft flicks of his tongue. He opens you with his thumbs to lap up and down the short path between your entrance and where you need him the most, playing with you.

It's so good and so overwhelming that your legs shake, hands ghosting over his head rather than risk him telling you not to touch him, as desperately as you want to. Your knees finally buckle when he buries his face in your cunt, tongue curling into your entrance as he holds you up with flexed forearms.

He pulls back, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Lay down."

You don’t need to be told twice, collapsing on the bed, breathing heavily as Johnny takes up position between your legs again, reaching up to run a hot hand over your breasts. He goes back to eating you out so slowly and tenderly that soon you are angling your hips, trying to get more pressure relief, but his hand splays wide on your stomach to hold you down.

“You can make noise, baby,” Johnny says. "Tell me what feels good."

You’re not used to being vocal, but it’s easy when his fingers enter the mix again. He doesn’t penetrate you, just collects the wetness in circles, barely dipping into your entrance. You grip the bed the first time his tongue flicks against your clit, feeling every brush of it as a jolt of anticipation too far and few between to have you doing anything but whining.

"Please, sir, more," you breathe, gripping the sheets so you don't forget and touch yourself.

"You think it's that easy? After making me wait for you?" He nips at the inside of your thigh. He must like your response because he bites you again, this time pulling one of your sensitive lips with a sharp tug.

It's painful but not enough to make you stop, the flat of his tongue following somehow worse. You cry out when he sucks again, and again, still with those two fingers pressing just far enough to remind you that you're empty.

"Please, please sir," you moan, feeling like it's been an eternity since you'd begun. "Please fuck me with your fingers."

Johnny slips one finger inside you, hooking up to the roughness inside. Your hips move on their own, and he pulls out, reaching up to squeeze your breast.

"Relax or you get nothing."

It's actually difficult to not be tense, consciously willing yourself to limpness until he's satisfied. He pulls on your sensitive nipple, returning to his work.

Johnny's hands have always engulfed your own in size but just half of one digit is a cruelty compared to when you've abused yourself on your own. He pumps inside of you slowly, letting you pull him in when you consciously squeeze around him.

"Pretty girl wants to swallow me whole," Johnny says, almost admiringly. "You want more?"

"Yes sir, please," you plead.

"What's that?" He asks, giving you two fingers again but letting his hand rest the moment he’s inside of you. Your mind races for the right thing to say in spite of your incoherency, gripping around him as if it would do you any favors.

"I need to know what you want, baby girl."

“More please,” you say, but he pulls out, lapping lazily.

“Please, sir,” you correct.

“I don’t think you’ve earned it, yet,” he says lightly. He sucks on your clit without warning, making you jerk.

“Please give me your fingers, sir,” you whine. He’s getting more aggressive in his actions, pulling on your hood and letting spit drip down on it.

“Be specific.”

“Three, please, sir?” you ask. “Just fill me, please.”

You hear him huff, reaching to a completely unexpected destination, much lower. His attention is on your rim, gentle as he pushes against the much tighter hole.

“Green?”

“Green, sir,” you say, relaxing now that you’re over the initial shock. He probes with a single finger, stretching you as your cunt clenches around nothing.

It's a new sensation, taking a while to get accustomed to, but not unpleasant. You can feel how close it is to typical penetration, how it must feel so much more intense for the person inside.

"Breathe, baby," Jaehyun says, from the corner of the room. You sneak a look at him, seeing his fist dropping lazily over his lap in a way that has fire igniting in your body.

Johnny's off you so quickly you don't even realize he's gone until you hear the nightstand drawer opening.

"Did I say you could look at him?" He asks.

"No sir, I'm sorry–"

"You know how to play games but you don't know the rules," he drawls. "You only say sorry when I tell you to be."

You nod rather than reply, hands clenched at your sides, looking at the ceiling as your thighs close on the need you've laid bare, wetness cooling as it dries.

Johnny sits beside you on the bed, removing his clothing.

"Look at me," he instructs. You roll your head, and whatever he sees on your face prompts him to hold it, lifting your head gently and wrapping the embroidered silk of his tie around your face.

With the impromptu blindfold on there's nothing but the sound of your own breathing and the involuntary shudder that courses through you as you feel lost to that blank space. It's too much, too soon, but you can’t bring yourself to say the word yellow.

Johnny fixes your hair, pulling errant strands from the fabric. You flinch when he touches your face, thumb tracing your lips.

"Shh. You're safe here, I'm never going to hurt you or make you afraid. Even if you want that, we'll talk through it first," he assures you. "Are we good?"

You nod. "Green. Sir."

"Thank you," he says, pulling your hand from where it's wrapped defensively around your middle. He places it on his bare chest, letting you feel how much his heart is pounding.

"You really are such a good girl. Now show me what you want."

He brings your hand down with yours, lets you figure out how to unbuckle his belt and undress him in the dark. You want to surge forward but it's so much more beautiful discovering him with your fingers, without any reminders of the outside world besides the soft drum of rain outside.

Johnny isn't quiet whenever you find a sensitive place to touch or place your mouth, letting out a moan when you wrap both hands around him, finding each vein and ridge with your tongue until he's pulling you back by the hair.

"That’s enough," he says.

There's no fighting or protesting left in you, as much as you want to make him feel what you feel. You're enraptured the moment his mouth is on yours again, supported by long fingers holding your neck as he fills you with the taste of your own arousal.

You've got a good memory, you'd been kissed plenty today and in the past, but this is so different it may as well be another person. He's tender, every move laced with barely-contained passion, not fucking you at all but somehow still making love to you as he drops over you on the bed.

“This is what I wanted, baby. You with your walls down. No games,” he hums. Johnny pulls you on to your side, still kissing you deeply. You can feel his length against your belly like a brand, leaving a trail.

"I want you to come without touching yourself," he says, breath on your cheek as he reaches over you. "I want to feel it."

You don't know what he means but you're not thinking anymore, feeling something cold and liquid slide over your backside, right before he penetrates you with his fingers. You can't count while trying to calm yourself, little aahs fed into his mouth.

"Please, please fuck me," you cry out, arching into him and wrapping your leg around his hip. His body against you grants just a little relief every time he slides up against your throbbing cunt, but you don’t force it.

"So tight, baby," he says, "Just a little more. Relax for me."

You melt into him, relishing the way his fingers push you open, fingernails in his shoulders transcribing your comfort when your words are gone. He still isn't in you, not even when you're truly begging, curled into his chest.

"I'll come, I'll come," you promise.

"Stop torturing her," Jaehyun says, moving behind you.

Johnny's fingers slip out of you, replaced by something much larger and warmer, only the tip but making you burn, your choked cry captured on Johnny’s tongue as he fucks into you at the same time.

There's nothing in the entire universe now but you and the two of them on either side of you, Jaehyun holding you tight as Johnny eases into you, hand gently pulling your thigh to angle you just so. Neither of them is moving fast or rough, just taking their time, kissing you in turns until you don't recognize whose mouth it is, unsure even of your own.

You feel how little the barrier between skin and sinew is now that you’re being pulled apart and back together again. You didn't know it could feel this good, but it’s not the fullness or the way you're being used now but the way you feel completed, like there never was an end or a beginning to the three of you at all.

"Oh god, you feel that," Johnny says, voice strangely weak. "She‘s coming so hard."

You didn't even realize but it's true, you're clenching in such powerful ticks and stops that it seems unreal. Neither of them waits, taking turns to work their way in. Jaehyun holds still when Johnny begins to let go, just half-way sheathed but rutting like he’s going to force every last ounce of your orgasm onto himself.

You know he's coming when he's ripped the blindfold from you, fingers clenched in your hair, making you watch as he fucks you full. Your belly blooms with warmth as you comfort him through his own intense finish, stilling him with kisses.

You body is still seizing around the intrusion of Jaehyun’s cock, and you jerk when he moves again behind you, penetrating you deeper than before.

"No baby," he says, holding you. "Is it too much?"

"No, please don’t stop," you tell him, face in the sheets. You feel Johnny reach over you to hold his head like he did yours, both of you assuring him as he chases his finish. It doesn't take long, soothed by gentle kisses from the other man still inside you.

Jaehyun pulls out in the end, coating your back in heat, head pressed into your shoulder. You reach behind you to feel his closed-mouth smile, making sure he knows you're with him still.

"Told you not to worry about the sheets," Johnny says, tracing circles on your temple with sticky fingers.

"Do you regret it now?" Jaehyun asks, kissing your spine. Johnny pulls back a little to check your face, and you wipe the sweat and hair from his forehead with a newfound sense of ownership.

"Not even a little bit," you say. You've never felt more confident in an answer in your entire life.

epilogue

Johnny waits at the doorway, hands going numb as the glasses in his hand sweat with humidity. It’s warmer than it should be on the coast, the air quiet except for the discordant buzz of insects in the palms and bushes outside the house. The sky is blessedly calm, burnt purple by the sunset.

You’re sitting with your feet buried in the white sand, laughing at something he can’t hear, as Jae’s shoulders curve into his own response, low and relaxed.

He doesn’t know what you’re talking about but there’s a number of things that cross his mind: the absurd episode of Dallas you’d caught before the nightly news, or maybe the old woman in the grocery story who’d asked which one of the spies you were married to before giving you an earful about there only being one brand of peeled tomatoes on the island.

It had taken close to a decade to find himself here drowning in domesticity–not exactly the reward he’d imagined doing his time in shitty hotel room stakeouts or staging extrajudicial assassinations. Uncountable hours lying in wait for action were all for this: another kind of boredom, but at least a chosen one.

Taeyong had given you all two weeks, maybe three on Sanibel–an assignment, of course. Johnny knew better. That manipulative little bastard had laughed in his face the first day after everything had resolved, recognizing the spring in Johnny’s step even when he’d tried to hide it.

“You happy now?” Lee had asked, looking pleased with himself. The promotion had been his idea, as had been locking you both in his office to either fight or fuck it out. He’d been there to see the absolute disaster of your interrogation, trying to hold in laughter as the first prospective female field agent candidate in years of NCTA scouting turned the tables on them all.

You’d been a special project after that, carefully pushed around with a catspaw touch until he’d felt the time was right. It wasn’t the first time the Director had played puppeteer to keep his agents sane and functioning, buying into that new-age bullshit about psychological well-being having just as much importance as security in a job with a high risk of death or dismemberment.

Johnny was all too familiar with Taeyong’s Bohemian philosophy on the subject of sex: when one’s life was one’s work, or vice versa–get it out of your system as frequently and as safely as possible. He supposes he agrees with it, but it had never really been enough in the past and it certainly wouldn’t be now.

“Yeah, I think maybe I am,” he’d answered. Just not for the reasons you think I am, he’d thought.

And maybe he is happy. Ecstatic, even if he refuses to show it.

He’s come to realize that he’s happiest when he can just have you around, when he can know you’re taken care of and getting a full night’s sleep.

A difficult thing when you’d refused to share a bed with either of them in that capacity–you wouldn’t stay the night at either of their places if you could help it, using that dumb stray cat you’d adopted as an excuse. Jisung was probably already in Medical with toxoplasmosis from having to feed it, another concession from the Director when you’d tried to get out of this trip, too.

In a one-bedroom bungalow with a single king-size bed, your choices in how to work out the next steps in your relationship had dwindled to nil. Jaehyun had all but chained you to it (still very much something Johnny wanted to try, when and if you wanted it again). You’d fought tooth and nail, only giving in when you’d seen how much it hurt the man. As if the worst thing in the world to deny someone with a world-record-worthy count of snapped necks was a cuddle.

You claimed you weren’t used to their animal-like snoring or the tangle of limbs but Johnny knew better. He’d found you curled on a rug next to the living room table your second night of vacation and had left you there, undisturbed, your face finally free of whatever made you jolt awake in a cold sweat in the middle of the night.

He knew you’d come back, eventually. In the hours before sunrise your hands would quietly encircle his neck, your nose buried in his hair or the pillow between you and Jaehyun. You’d pretend to sleep but he can feel you listen, breathing deeply, unburdened, until the light slants heavy over the ocean.

“Penny for your thoughts,” you say, looking up at him with the expression he knows too well—guarded but hopeful.

He’s told you that you’re beautiful a hundred times and he thinks maybe in a few hundred more you’ll believe him. It’s not in how you appear or even how you act but in the way you observe and are ready for whatever comes your way. That’s what he likes–you will always keep it interesting.

“You’ll need a dollar,” he says, slipping beside you and handing you your drink. Your hand closes around his, but it’s your head on his arm that makes his heart sing.

“Should have known not to put a price on whatever is going on there,” you say, taking a sip. “How did you know this is what I wanted?”

“Lucky guess,” he says. You lean in to kiss him, ginger and rum and lime on your tongue. It tastes a little like love.

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