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finniestoncrane · 2 days

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Pornstar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, multi-part au fic cooper howard is a former actor, novice pornstar, and current wasteland escort. reader mistakes him for a bounty hunter and ends up getting far more entwined in his lifestyle than they intended in a bid to get what they need from the first 'kind' person they've met in a long time🤎

☢️ Chapter 1: A Bombshell, word count: 3.5k exposition time!! cooper's recent divorce has hit hard, personally and professionally. vault tec have made it impossible for him to find work in any movies so he's turned his talents to porn to make some money. as horrible as he thinks his day is though, his future is only going to get worse (reader shows up next chapter) request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: age gap reference, angst, oral sex, pornography

From the corner of the small, hideously decorated set, Cooper watched the skeleton crew work to clean things up after the last movie wrapped just an hour before. His skin began to crawl, a shudder rolling through his body, as he considered the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone take away dirty sheets or bring in clean ones since he arrived.

And he was expected to fuck in these conditions. It was a living nightmare.

Trying to lighten his mood, he murmured what was supposed to be a positive sentiment.

“At least it’s not snuff. Way my luck’s going, wouldn’t that just be the cream on top of the pie.”

Cooper looked up to the ceiling, shielding his eyes from the bright studio lights which provided a familiar, albeit less high-end warmth than he was used to. He was working though, so he couldn’t complain too much. A paycheck meant he wasn’t out on the streets, the hot sun beating down on his face instead. And he had to face facts; the snap of some powerful fingers and he could be out on his ass at a moment’s notice, fired even from a gig like this.

No prospects. Vault Tec had made sure of that not long after he’d confronted Barb. She’d gone straight to her bosses, that panel of cruelty he’d listened in on, and their retaliation, preventative measures to ensure they could continue on their journey of annihilation, had been swift and immeasurably evil. His reputation was ruined, the earth in which he’d grown and nurtured a career scorched, much like they intended to do with the rest of the world. Any upcoming opportunities, any interest that anyone held in him, gone.

They’d been thorough, efficient. News reports, gossip between housewives, notes passed across the desk during auditions. They’d made sure he’d never work again, not in anything worth while, of course, holding his earnings hostage. And when he thought that was all they could take from him. His life, his money, his house, his wife. They had come for more. Armed Barb with the best lawyers money could hire and then offered him the worst deal.

His silence in exchange for some brief, supervised moments with his daughter. Something about alcohol abuse, a half-truth at most, but enough to convince the judge.

It felt cruel to him, that he was put in a position where he had to choose between Janey and the rest of humanity. A shitty thing to do to a man, that’s what he thought of it. And a shitty choice to make. And a shitty decision when he threw altruism to the side and secured the rest of humanity’s fate. He was just as complicit as they were, really, if he thought about it too hard. Which of course, he did. Each night as he struggled to sleep in his apartment. But whatever time was left, he reasoned that he might as well spend it being as happy as he could, even if that was only for one day a month when he was allowed to see Janey.

What was it? Two days ago he'd taken her to the zoo? So almost another month until he saw her again. A month of work. Blood, sweat, and tears. So much sweat.

He let his gaze fall down, taking in his body. Wrapped in a robe, nude underneath it, primed quickly by the makeup artists who seemed to only be making sure that his body hair was tidy and he wasn’t going to sweat too much during his part. Neatly trimmed pubic hair and strategically shaved nipples wouldn’t save him from that though. This was his third film, and each time his nerves, his guilt, his unrelenting shame as he drove his cock into the expert, very formal, professional cunt of whoever his co-star was, it was certain that he’d be sweating copiously only ten minutes in.

“Coop? Hey, Coop! Howard! Keep your head in the game. Both of ‘em, heh.”

Now he was being bossed around by the lighting guy, someone whose name Cooper had forgotten already. The snorting laughter echoed in Cooper’s mind, bringing him firmly back to reality from his daydreaming. It was more mindless worrying than daydreaming, really, but it was the only reprieve he got these days, and now it seemed he couldn’t even find a moment of peace for that.

Daydreaming suggested something positive, thoughts filled with desires or nostalgia for days gone by. But there wasn’t a single remaining vestige of his former life that he was happy to cling to, all of it tainted with soured memories and terrifying future prospects. And knowing what he knew, he still had to keep going. He had to pretend like nothing was wrong. A fake smile plastered on his face despite the mess that he was in.

“Howard? Come on, man. Pull it together.”

The lighting guy was calling on him again, and this time he had the gall to look at Cooper with an impatient, furrowed brow.

“You know they used to call me Mister Howard.”

“And they used to say I looked young and fresh faced, shit changes, man. You coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Keep your pants on… at least you get to.”

He knew he shouldn’t be so flippant, but his patience had worn thin over the past few months. Now that there was nothing to be charming for it was no longer second nature to him. He was rude, cold, and found he was losing himself. Deep down, there was a voice scolding him. Telling him to be thankful that when there were no more studios with their doors open to him, that he was at least able to find some places willing to hire. And while it was a lot less glamorous, he should still be grateful.

But it was hard to feel that way when his new profession was clouded by his own insecurities.

Cooper was well aware that he wasn’t by any means experienced when it came to the world of sex. His first foray into anything of that nature was with his highschool sweetheart on prom night. An unfortunate experience that taught him nothing and ended up igniting the spark that ended that first love. Then there was Barb. He’d met her in college and they’d been together until their bitter divorce. A single one night stand between then and his current career, and that was his sexual history summed up neatly.

It always struck people as funny when they learned about his very short list of sexual conquests. He was Cooper Howard. Charming, charismatic, handsome, famous. A verified heart throb. But he was woefully unsure of what to do with that reputation, and always had been. While other stars would flirt with fans or interviewers or even directors to get a little bit more attention, Cooper was never able to offer anyone anything but a genuine and pleasant smile and maybe at a push, a mischievous wink to accompany his signature smile. He wondered how much of it had to do with the fact that he only had eyes for Barb, but even when she had pushed him to ‘play the game’ he’d still found himself unable to.

Now, all of a sudden and based on a perception of him that was built upon years of good PR, he was thought of as some kind of casanova, and expected to act as such. He had to act like the kind of guy who charm the pants off a woman, with very little plot to back that up, and who could fuck for thirty minutes solid in front of a crew and without cumming too soon,

Interestingly, at least to Cooper, they had told him that would be the hardest part. Stamina. The suspension of orgasms. But he found it all too easy, mostly because there was never a point where he felt any kind of deeply sexual attraction to his co-stars. Much the same as his previous acting roles, he’d always viewed it as a job. It would be inappropriate to have any other feelings. The women he worked with now were beautiful, skilled, talented. But Cooper wasn’t in love with them, and he found that made it hard to coax an orgasm out of him. Luckily, that seemed to suit his new bosses pretty well. He was handsome, a known commodity, and could last a while before they worked him up to his big finale, even if they had to cut the cameras while they waited for him to get to it.

“Alright, Howard. Robe off, let’s see that cock.”

Sighing, his eyelids closing as he tried to separate himself from his actions, Cooper shrugged off the robe that covered his body, letting it slink to the floor and pool at his feet. Despite the heat, his skin still prickled as it was exposed. Nipples hardening, hairs standing on end.

“Can we get a little enthusiasm, Coop? Like your other movies?”

Cooper muttered under his breath.

“You can get the same enthusiasm when I’m getting the same paycheck.”

“What was that, buddy?”

“I said, where do you want me?”

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Ok, Phoebe’s gonna be on her back, that ok, doll?”

“Of course!”

“Perfect… so, you’re gonna be here. We’re doing missionary first, then maybe we cut to some doggy style. Remember, eyes away from the camera, and make sure that whatever you’re doing we can see those genitals. They’re the real stars!”

This was his life now. His body getting first billing above his soul under whatever lewd title this was going to be given.

“Mr Howard? I just wanted to say, I’m a huge fan. I watched your movies as a kid, you’re like, my dad’s favourite star.”

His co-star, Phoebe, if he remembered correctly, was laying on her back on the bed, waiting for him. Her big, green eyes were wide with excitement. She’d been a fan. And when she was a kid. Looking at her now, he wondered how he hadn’t noticed how young she was. Barely pushing her early twenties, fresh-faced, keen, full of hope.

How would her dad feel about him now? Would she mention this? Talk about meeting Cooper Howard, but skirt around the exact details? Or would she brag? Maybe it was just him who had a disdain for this line of work. He certainly didn’t judge anyone else on the set. Only himself.

“Uh… thank you, darlin’. Always nice to meet a fan.”

Phoebe giggled, a sweet sound that made his heart sink. She spread her legs wider, eyes flitting down to his cock which he was stroking slowly in a bid to get it stiff.

“You ready to go?”

“I’m ready! Mr Howard?”

Cooper looked down in dismay, his flaccid member refusing to play along. A stubborn diva, it turned out.

“Is… is there something wrong, Mr Howard? Is it me? I’m so sorry, you must be used to much bett-”

Cooper’s natural empathy, at least the last reserves of it, were pulled out of hibernation as Phoebe began to blush, embarrassed at what she perceived as her inability to turn him on.

“Oh, no, darlin’. This is a ‘me’ problem. You don’t worry about it at all, ok?”

He placed a hand on her bare shoulder, all lust evaporating as he comforted her, smiling back as she beamed appreciatively to him.

“God damn it, ok, let’s get Harv in, he can do his scene with Phoebe, that ok, doll?”

“Oh for sure! I’m good to go.”

“Perfect, you’re an angel. You, Howard. We can shoot the exposition scene just now. Go to wardrobe and get your outfit.”

Oddly thankful, even though he was embarrassed at his inability to perform, Cooper headed to the small room where they held the small wardrobe for cast members. The exposition scenes were his favourite to shoot. Of course, they were poorly written, and his co-stars weren’t exactly professionally trained actors. But it at least felt like old times. Lines to memorise, a character to portray. And limited sexual encounters for him to fuck up.

Besides, it was porn, and he was the star. Which meant there was a lot more wooing. A lot more women, various actresses playing a myriad of characters, all of whom were seemingly desperate for Cooper’s cock, whatever role he happened to be playing. Once the exposition was out of the way, he had to fuck. But these scenes? He got to be enticed, which always made it a little easier on him. He might have even been looking forward to it today. A stroke to the ego, among other things. A boost to his confidence, and a little physical comfort to stave off the looming spectre of complete loneliness.

When he sifted through the rack and found his name on a plastic covered bundle, however, his brief glimpse of joy was stolen away.

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close enough. The deep blue shirt, bright, golden yellow detailing. And the hat. Not identical, but anyone watching would know that he was supposed to be portraying his old self. A cowboy, the Cooper Howard people knew and loved.

On the table behind him, he rifled through the ‘scripts’ until he found the one with his name scribbled on the top. Ten lines, some room for ad-libbing. All of it cowboy themed. Pulled directly from his movies, albeit changed a little for the sake of copyright infringement.

He couldn’t do it.

But then he remembered Janey. How badly he’d wanted to treat her, to spoil her. And how little money he had left after alimony. And how expensive the rent was at his new apartment, which was overpriced, disgustingly decorated, and didn’t even allow pets.

Maybe everything would be ok in the world. Maybe he’d go on living, get to see retirement, see the world flourish, the wars end. Maybe, Vault Tec and Barb would see the light, change their ways. Maybe it was all for nothing.

So maybe he better get his shit together and start making some money, so that what was left of his future wasn’t so abysmal.

“Put on a smile and go get your cock sucked, Cooper. Not the worst day in the world, really.”

WIth a sigh of resignation, he chose to listen to his conscience, the little voice that steered him in the right direction, and put on the suit. The material was a poor quality, some cheap polyester deal, ill fitting, too baggy for his frame. And the hat was clearly something from a cheap party supply store. But as he looked in the mirror at himself, he could push away the feeling of seeing a ghost and focus on the positives. He looked almost like himself again.

“Mr Howard? They’re ready for you.”

The polite knock and the soft voice of the only runner on set came through the door, and Cooper exited, surprising the young man in the corridor.

“Oh wow.”

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Nothing, nothing. You just… you look like you did in your movies. I’m a little bit starstruck.”

“You gave me my coffee this morning.”

The runner looked to his feet, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to explain himself.

“Yeah, but that was… now you look… y’know?”

Trying not to be impolite, Cooper pushed past him, muttering under his breath.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

Back in what the director insisted on calling “the studio” despite it being a hastily fabricated sound stage in the middle of some tacky, shared ownership mansion in the hills, Cooper was met by a new woman who introduced herself as Veronica, before quickly telling him that everyone called her Ronnie. He smiled, clutching her hand between both of his in that confident way he used to greet fans, smiling at her as she bit her lip and smirked. It was a flirtatious look, one that gave him a bit of a boost as he subtly eyed her up and down and judged her silently.

“She definitely likes you… and she’s not too bad to look at herself. Look at you, seeing the positive side of things! Well done, Cooper. Well done.”

He made his way through the first few lines, trying his hardest to maintain a look of arousal as his co-star clumsily worked through hers, emphasis and inflections all over the place, the puns not quite hitting right the way she was delivering them. But he could forgive it all as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Well, I have to give you something for saving me from those bandits, kind sir… maybe this will be enough to repay you.”

She was adept at unbuckling his belt, repetition and muscle memory aiding her, and he could feel his erection stirring as she pulled his flaccid cock free from his pants and began to stroke it.

“Now, ma’am… that won’t be necessary…”

Cooper’s voice trembled over his words as he took his semi-erect cock from her and began stroking it slowly himself to keep the erection building.

“... I did what any good man would.”

“Then let me do what any good woman should.”

He cringed hard at the line, but luckily, the grimace was covered by his mouth dropping open as Ronnie took his cock in her mouth, sliding her lips over the tip with a gentle ease that made him forget momentarily how terrible his life was at that point.

Her tongue slid over the tip, teasing over the slit and collecting his pre-cum with a satisfying moan that vibrated through him, tingling over the sensitive nerve endings. Cooper was able to sink into it, some of the muscles in his back loosening as he let himself go. Something so satisfying about the way she held him, one hand on his testicles, the other stroking his shaft as he lips puckered around his head.

Cooper wanted to show her. Not that she was doing anything wrong, she was doing a better job than anyone else had. Ever. But he wanted to guide her, to ease her throat over his length, to breathe through her nose as he filled her mouth, to show her how he liked it. He kept himself to himself, however, putting his fingers in the belt loops of his pants so they couldn’t reach for anything before he could stop them, like the back of Ronnie’s head to down to her round, firm breasts, or even letting his fingers trail over her-

“Cut! For fuck’s sake.”

“Just as things are looking up…”

Cooper’s attention was focused on the director who sat lazily in his folding camping chair. All of him reacted to the interruption, the disruption of his genuine pleasure, finally, for the first time in who knew how long. Tense, irate. And not in the mood.

“Alright, alright… I thought this was gonna be a one take situation, but geez, Howard. If it’s not one thing, it’s the other with you! You got lines to be getting through, imbecile! How you got hired before, I’ll never know. If it wasn’t for that wife of yours, you’d-”

“Now wait just a damn minute!”

Cooper pulled away from Ronnie, his cock bouncing around as he stomped in a way that might have seemed comical to the crew if he hadn’t looked so intense, filled with complete rage as he shook a pointing finger at the director.

“I am sick of taking this from-”

Everyone was jolted into a panic as a rumble spread through the ground. One burst.

“Can’t be an earthquake…”

The runner had only just come into the room when everything in Cooper’s vision was blocked out by a bright, white light. A quick flare, like a firework, or a flashlight being turned on in a dark room. He could see it still, but smaller, and somewhere on the horizon, down in the city.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Get down.”

It was perhaps the last truly selfless thing Cooper did. The glass landed on them, some people got splintered by the small shards as they fell to the ground. But they’d avoided the worst of it. And he didn’t need to help them. These were not people he cared for. They were people who were cruel, difficult, practical strangers. People who didn’t deserve what Cooper knew was coming.

He thought of that day a lot. Of how he’d had it somewhere in him, a long, long time ago, to offer himself or his wisdom in exchange for nothing, to people who these days he’d sooner shoot in the head before spitting in their cup.

Bitterly, he indulged himself, hoping that at least some of them were suffering a fate worse than his, if such a thing actually existed.

“Maybe the mutants.”

There was hardly any time this evening for him to satisfy his desire for revenge with fitful fantasies, however, because he was rudely interrupted by who he expected was yet another customer tapping on his shoulder. A new client who didn’t know the rules.

No touching before payment.

So he turned to politely inform them, and make sure they didn’t forget it next time.

#walton goggins #fallout amazon #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout fic #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard one shot #cooper howard smut #cooper howard imagine #fallout tv #fallout tv series #cooper howard x fem!reader #fallout #finnie writes

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turtletaubwrites · 3 days

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 18

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 9508

Ao3 Link

Summary: Old friends reconnect, Buggy shows off his work, and you feel time moving by too fast. How can you enjoy the day when your world is falling apart?

Author's Note: This is the first chapter where I still think a lot of you will hate it, but I don't care as much because I'm super proud of it, lol. Although I realllyyy hope you like it!!! It's a rollercoaster 😵 (BIG DRAMA & EMOTIONS WARNING)

Alternate POV Symbols:

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

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, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Degradation, Biting, Vaginal Fingering, Hair-Pulling, Cunnilingus, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

“You know, I can’t help but be curious,” Shanks wondered aloud, taking a sip of black coffee. He smirked at you from the newly added table on the balcony, the single round one wasn't nearly large enough for the appetites, or the sheer space that all these pirates demanded.

“What’s that they say about cats,” Crocodile grumbled, tossing a napkin onto his empty plate before snagging the paper from Mihawk to flatten out on the table. He stared down at the page, giving the air of not caring whether the red headed guest lived or died, let alone replied.

Buggy floated his hand toward you from the second table. His body was so close to his old friend, but his smile was on you while he kept feeding you bits of fruit as he had all morning, his thumb rubbing over your lips when sweet juice would spill.

Crocodile and Mihawk said nothing about it.

But Shanks had too much to say.

“It just seems silly to me,” he continued, those brown eyes holding you in place, “that Miss Mystery Girl is keeping secrets from her lovers. Especially since they’ll be forced out of you after the party anyway. Why not share before then?”

“Leave her alone, shitbrain,” Buggy ordered, but there was no real bite in his voice.

Your mouth went dry, the Emperor’s prodding words had twisted at your growing anxiety, even dipped in that friendly charm.

He’s right. It’ll be worse if I wait.

“Aren’t all the party guests your friends, Y/N? Do they know your little secret?”

“I think that’s enough curiosity for the day, Shanks,” Mihawk drawled as he rested a hand on the hook that had started scraping across the table.

“No worries,” Shanks winked, letting out a relaxed sigh as he stretched his arm toward the morning sun. “Your sweet, little bunny is just so darn interesting.”

“And you’re so darn annoying,” Buggy mocked, earning a playful smile from Shanks’ lips when he met those pretty, brown eyes.

“Alright, President,” Crocodile cut in while the red haired pirate leaned his face closer to your clown. Buggy perked up at the title of his position as their figurehead, his eyes a bit wide as he looked away from Shanks’ gaze. The dreamy look on his old friend’s face didn’t fade when Crocodile went on. “I’d like for us to sit in on your rehearsal this evening. Party’s in two days, we need to know what to expect.”

“Uh, sure, boss,” Buggy straightened up. You smiled to yourself as you caught his gloved fingers tapping and walking up and down his own thigh. “Let’s do dinner and a show!”

“Lovely,” Mihawk said dryly, although his eyes lingered on Buggy longer than usual before looking toward you. “I’m sure our clown will be busy preparing. Why don’t you all join me for a walk?”

“Got your garden set up yet?”

“Not at all,” Mihawk sighed at Shanks’ question, looking up at Crocodile after the larger man had huffed a laugh.

“Too busy building a cat palace, and terrorizing your other pets?”

“I have many fulfilling hobbies,” Mihawk smirked back, before narrowing his eyes at the rest of you. You and Buggy looked away quickly, while Shanks beamed at them.

“Let’s have a tour then! I’d love to go play in the dirt,” Shanks laughed, his wicked eyes burning into you.

“Miss Y/N and I have some work to take care of,” Crocodile ordered, resting his arm across the back of your chair. If these men were slightly less terrifying, you might have laughed at their antics.

Shanks laughed for you, a low chuckle that sent shivers over your skin, still tingling after Mihawk led him away.

~~~🔴🗡️🔴🗡️~~~

Shanks whistled softly, a comforting tune to keep his steps light as he followed his golden eyed friend outside this castle disguised as a circus tent.

That thought made his steps light.

Mihawk stayed silent, not a hint of lightness in his gait, except for his predator’s grace. He avoided glancing toward the source of that whistled tune he’d been humming lately until they were hidden away in the empty, walled garden, free from prying eyes.

“What exactly are you doing here, Red Hair?”

Shanks ignored the hidden threat under Mihawk’s bored voice as he chose one of the empty beds to inspect. Fisting into the soil, he let the dirt slip through his fingers, taking in the scent.

“Think you’ll be here long enough for grapes,” Shanks rasped, standing as he tilted his head toward the other man. He wiped his hand on his thigh, huffing a laugh when Mihawk frowned at the stain of dirt on his pants. “You never change, old friend. Wanna hose me down before we go back inside? I’d hate to dirty up your shiny, new dollhouse.”

Shanks was one of the only people in the world that could notice the shift in Mihawk’s expression, his face almost sinking deeper into that lazy mask.

“You’ll never match me with cutting words, Shanks, just like you’ll never best me with a sword,” he reasoned, an unexpected tightness in his chest that he discarded, letting his body be nothing but air in this charged moment. “I’d rather not stand here all–”

“Come on, you ol’ son of a gun,” Shanks laughed, stepping across an invisible line of comfort Mihawk had drawn, touching his shoulder. “Don’t be a sourpuss. I told you I could use a little vacation, and I–”

“And you saw Buggy’s poster,” Mihawk noted, brushing that dirty hand away to wipe the evidence off of his coat.

“You all looked real cute,” Shanks breathed, his eyes leaving heat as he dragged them down Mihawk’s skin. His lips parted into a cocky smile as he admired the column of Mihawk’s throat, and that chest covered in so many pretty scars. He smirked as he searched for some of his own making.

“So that’s all you’re here for, then,” Mihawk asked, slipping into stillness under Shanks' hungry gaze. “Just drinking, and fucking as usual? Or just to steal our clown away?”

His hand flexed just slightly. He hadn’t meant to say those words quite like that. And the shadow that grew across Shanks’ face confirmed that he should have reined that question in.

“Didn’t you used to call him my clown,” Shanks countered, gesturing to himself as he stepped even closer. “You know, back when you would give me shit for talking about him?”

“I…”

“Dracule Mihawk is speechless,” Shanks laughed, the sound jarring compared to the way laughter normally poured out of him. He stepped away, but only to pace in front of the swordsman, spitting words like daggers at his feet. “Always got something to say, except for now, huh? You’ve said so many things. Ooh, how about when you said I only liked my pathetic clown because of his powers, and that I’d be better off with a pretty, blue dildo? That’s definitely in my top ten. Or what about–”

“I’m sorry.”

Mihawk choked on those words, but he found himself in stillness for a different reason. A different danger.

Shanks stared, his mouth held open as if waiting to catch whatever word had been left forgotten from the shock.

“What,” he growled, watching those glittering eyes for any hint of a feint.

“I’m sorry,” Mihawk confessed again, realizing that it was true. “I didn’t plan on–”

“Didn’t plan on fucking your best friend’s ex,” Shanks fumed, voice echoing a bit in the walled garden. “Keeping my clown as a toy? Have you used him as a fucking dildo yet, or are you still pretending to care about anyone besides your fucking cats?”

Mihawk cringed, taking each blow like a sword across his flesh. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this affected by words.

Not words.

Guilt.

“I’m–”

“So how’d it happen then, old friend,” Shanks dared, anger still radiating off his skin, the air getting a little harder to breathe. “If you didn’t plan on it, did you just run around with your cock out until it landed in something?”

Mihawk tried to turn his surprised laugh into a cough, but Shanks’ eyes went manic at the sound.

“Who knew all my stoic friend needed to make him laugh was to fucking betray me. I can’t believe I’m surprised.”

“Shanks, wait–”

“Fuck off,” Shanks warned as he dodged Mihawk’s grasping hand, walking toward the exit.

“Crocodile was going to kill him,” Mihawk called, hoping his friend would stop moving since he couldn’t seem to start. Shanks slowed, stopping to look over his shoulder, silent and waiting. “I suggested we keep him alive as our figurehead. I knew how you… I wouldn’t let him die.”

They faced off as they had countless times before, taking in every detail, every movement the other made. Shanks caught what looked like pain in those golden eyes, and his jaw clenched at the sight.

“That’s a pretty low bar for a friendship.”

After a heavy pause, Mihawk lowered his predator’s eyes, nodding as he looked toward Shanks’ feet. The swordsman was truly speechless now, nothing coming through until he braved looking back up when his friend broke the silence.

“Are you gonna let me take him?”

“Of course,” he breathed, watching Shanks build up his walls again.

“What about Crocodile,” Shanks questioned. His lungs burned from it all, but his breathing slowed, still not sure what to feel about Mihawk’s words, about the emotion in those emotionless eyes.

“He will. We promised Y/N,” Mihawk rasped. Shanks furrowed his brows, about to ask for more, so he continued. “She doesn’t want us to force him to stay if he wants to go, and we’ll honor that.”

Shanks tilted his head back, a heavy sigh forced out of him. Mihawk tried again, but he knew that none of the words that flew through his mind would help this moment. This guilt.

“So it’s up to Buggy,” Shanks whispered before walking away, leaving Mihawk with his empty dirt.

~~~🔴🗡️🔴🗡️~~~

“Want me to drain the life out of him,” Crocodile grumbled as he opened the door to the lounge. True laughter let your lips now, and you took in a deep breath as you hugged his waist. The pleased hum that rumbled through him felt almost too comforting as he brushed your hair from your face. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Crocodile’s desk was comically large, and you wondered if he could hide a person in the bottom drawer. He stole your focus again, offering you a seat on his lap.

Work…

It was ridiculous how eager you were, how much you craved his attention.

“Top drawer, darlin,” he rasped, not reaching down to meet your lips as you leaned into him.

“Okay,” you blinked, stuck for a moment before you obeyed. The heavy wood slid open, revealing your notebook with all of your contacts, and their details. Your blood chilled when you set it on the desk, his voice taking too long to question you, leaving you in the discomfort.

“Do these people know your secret?”

Your body slumped at his question, his voice not cold or angry, but still not the way you wanted him to talk to you.

He’s never going to talk to me that way again. It’s over.

Heat built up in your throat as the grief and fear you’d been ignoring all this time crashed over you.

“Hey,” he soothed, guiding your weak body to sit on the desk, your feet dangling between his legs as he studied you. The back of his golden hook lifted your chin. That hook you knew you should still be afraid of, but instead made you sigh, savoring its cool touch.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, babydoll,” he urged, and his sweetness brought a tiny choked sob from your throat. Then the sweetness was replaced with a steady calm, a voice that could tip either way. “I promised you that you could tell us after, but I need your word, Y/N. Give me your word that your secret won’t cause any problems at the party. If you can’t do that–”

“I’ll tell you,” you gave in, tears already racing down your cheeks, sobs too heavy to swallow were ripped from you until he pulled you to him.

“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” Crocodile whispered, only making your cries more painful. He held you as you ruined his silk vest, falling to pieces in his arms.

“I don’t want it to be over,” you finally managed, hating yourself for crying, for thinking you could have this. You met his eyes, wanting to shrivel up, and disappear from the concern and questions they held. “Can I… can I please have one more day?”

His pause felt like more weight tied to your limbs, dragging you under.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, carrying you to the couch to stroke your hair, and call you pretty things while you tried to stuff all those tears back inside.

~~~~~~

Crocodile stayed with you, the bandage on his palm tickling your skin as he left soothing touches on your arms and back while you cleaned yourself up.

“How did you get hurt,” you choked, searching for anything that would get your mind off of it. “I thought you couldn’t…”

Regretting the question, you cowered under that frightening stare through the mirror.

“I have a secret too,” he rasped, his breath slowing as he stared through you. “Can I trust you, sweetheart? Since you’re sharing yours…”

“I—” you started, body humming, tingling with fear and something else from the intensity in that deep voice. “I promise. I’ll keep your secret.”

Crocodile leaned over you, enveloping you to turn on the faucet.

“Try to punch my hand, sweetheart.”

Questions filled you, but you obeyed, fascinated at the sight of his flesh turning to sand to avoid the blow. He reached lower, letting water rush over his fingers, coating the back of his hand.

“Again.”

No hesitation as you followed his addictive voice, you gasped as your fist connected with the center of his palm, punching straight into the center of the bandage.

“What—“

He went to his knees, turning you to face him, gripping your hand in his.

“Sand doesn’t flow when it’s wet,” he whispered, the dangers of what he was sharing sending chills through you. “I can’t protect you as well when liquid touches my skin. Remember that, sweetheart, but never speak of it.”

“Never,” you vowed, wanting to cry again from his trust in you. “I promise, daddy.”

~~~~~~

Your attempts to clean your grief away didn’t matter. Every other lover clocked the evidence in your eyes when lunch rolled around.

“Pretty star, you okay, baby?”

“I’ll be okay,” you probably lied, wondering if Crocodile would punish you if it never came true. Buggy wrapped his arms around you, trapping you in place as you caught Shanks’ gaze behind him. The crease between his brows could have been for anything, and you didn’t have the energy to guess what he was thinking.

“What happened,” Mihawk asked, an unfamiliar strain in that liquid voice as he sat you down beside him. He held your face, studying you so intensely it felt like your skin would go raw.

“Y/N’s going to tell us her secret tomorrow instead of after the party, but we can discuss that in the morning,” Crocodile ordered as leaned back to blow smoke away from the group. “Let’s enjoy the day, the next few are bound to be hectic.”

Avoiding so many eyes ruined any appetite you might have had, but you did accept a few more pieces of fruit from your clown, his eyes going soft when you smiled.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

“How the fuck am I supposed to work like this,” Buggy snapped to no one in particular, pacing as he reviewed his plans, needing everything to be perfect.

All he could think about were Y/N’s red eyes.

And before he’d seen her like that, all he could think about was that stupid red hair.

He checked every light, barked at every musician until they were all in tune, and snapped at the kitchen staff to coordinate dinner with the show. The clown went over every single detail until a light sheen of sweat coated his skin, making his greasepaint too shiny under the stage lights.

Now and then, Buggy would remember that this wasn’t just a show. This was it.

His one chance to prove that he wasn’t a worthless piece of shit.

“Which idiot left this fucking table here,” he spat, focusing on anything else. Anything but the way his pretty star had seen him bleeding on the floor, useless to protect her. Anything but the tears she must have cried today. Anything but that thing he refused to think about.

Anything but that stupid red hair.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

“I’m sorry about this morning,” Shanks purred, lounging on a loveseat while he watched you twirl for Mihawk, still deciding what you should wear. “I think I’m–”

“An asshole,” you quipped, trying not to gloat as Crocodile’s pleased laughter floated through the suite. Mihawk just cleared his throat, fetching another dress.

“Jealous,” Shanks confessed, eyes shining with amusement even as his voice went serious. “I’ve been a jealous brat, and I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out for a long moment. The air was thick with the silence of the other men in the room.

“A jealous brat, and an asshole,” you finally teased, the air shifting again as if time had reset itself. “Don’t forget that part.”

A shocked, yet playful grin hit his parted lips, then his eyes trailed down your body until you shivered. It hadn’t felt strange to stand there in lingerie until this moment, until the subtle bite he gave to his bottom lip before meeting your eyes again.

“How could I forget, when I’ve got such a sweet little bunny to remind me?”

“Not yours,” Crocodile warned.

“Of course,” Shanks conceded with a nod toward the larger man, though he never stopped watching you.

Mihawk kissed your shoulder while he pulled you into another dress, and a bit of tension returned to your body as his silence continued. The instinctual fear that silence meant someone was mad at you made your stomach flip, but you couldn’t handle any more stress at the moment, so you shoved yet another feeling as far away as you could.

You were grateful that his hands still touched you, even though his wicked voice was absent.

Shanks hopped up from the couch, his informal attire switched out for slightly less informal attire that suited him well. Darker fabrics, with no trace of sand, made his skin gleam as he sauntered over to you. He took your hand gently, leaning down as he gave you that disarming smile you’d seen when he first walked into your world.

“Think you can forgive this jealous, bratty, asshole, Miss Y/N?,” he charmed, the force of it hitting you like a lovely ton of bricks.

“Maybe,” you managed, unable to hold onto that bite in your voice.

“I’ll take maybe,” he winked, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before Crocodile pulled your hand away.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he prodded before leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Let’s go see our clown.”

~~~~~~

“What do you think, rabbit,” Mihawk checked in, pulling your eyes from the stage. “Will those boring, wealthy clients of yours enjoy this little show?”

Buggy was tossing daggers at his empty wheel. There was no poor soul strapped on for a spin, so Buggy called out parts of the Marine’s symbol that was freshly painted across the wood, landing every shot. Performers and dancers took turns on the small stage, music and lights bringing everything to life.

You knew Buggy was nervous, but as soon as the spotlight touched him, he was in another world.

Your shining star.

He led the show before and during the lavish meal, until it would be time for him to hand over the reins, time to drain as many berries as possible from the guests. His speech was the perfect amount of charming and frightening that any of those guests would be craving for their little adventure, their little holiday getaway.

Crocodile grumbled when Buggy urged him and Mihawk to stand from their place at the long, head table beside you, shaking his head when the clown announced them as his “Executives.”

“And let’s give a round of applause for our Chief Financial Officer, the stunning and talented, Miss Y/N!”

Choking on a sip of wine, you caught Buggy’s exaggerated wink, your coughs turning to laughs as Mihawk pulled you to stand. You smiled at empty tables, pride followed by emptiness when you remembered your promise for tomorrow.

“Sorry we didn’t have time to find a promotion gift for you, sweetheart,” Crocodile rasped as he kissed your cheek.

“I have some ideas,” Mihawk purred, his breath teasing along your ear after he kissed your other cheek.

“Are you serious,” you laughed, your body tingling as Buggy’s head flew toward you, stealing a kiss. “I don’t need anything, this is…”

Shanks interrupted your almost tears, lifting his glass up with a shout.

“To Y/N! Buggy, can the band stick around for a bit? Your C.F.O. deserves a party!”

Buggy obeyed without a thought, and soon the air was filled with joyful music, your body starting to sway.

“May I have the first dance,” Shanks grinned, stepping around Mihawk to offer you his hand.

You could almost feel it as the bodies around you went stiff.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” you said softly, though you couldn’t stop swaying.

“Who cares,” the Emperor laughed, the infectious sound pulling you in. “Let’s go see how much fun we can have with three hands, and three left feet.”

Your hand was in his before you realized you’d moved, and he whisked you away. No one stopped you, and soon you were giggling too much to think about why they would.

“Are you this bad too, or are you just trying to make me feel better about myself?”

“You’ll have to keep dancing to find out,” he teased before grabbing your waist, pressing his hips against you. “Maybe we just need a different dance.”

Already breathless, you stopped breathing completely when he stared down at you, pressing his hand into your lower back. You swore you could feel his pulse against your skin as you swayed together.

“I love how happy he is,” Shanks whispered, guiding you closer to the stage, the music louder with every inch. “That’s your doing, isn’t it, bunny?”

Shanks’ eyes flicked back to you from over your shoulder, and he rotated your bodies so you could look for yourself. You’d already seen Buggy laying across the table in front of Crocodile and Mihawk, alternating between watching and cheering you on, and animatedly talking to his “Executives” about the show. Now you noticed Mihawk massaging Buggy’s disconnected hand the way he always does for you when you’re sitting beside him. A tentative warmth surged through your chest, even though Mihawk dropped Buggy’s hand when he caught you looking.

“You’re running from something, aren’t you?”

The heat in his almost silent voice, and the way he guided your body against his confused the icy fear that those words shot through you. You gasped, almost moaning when he flipped you around, his knees bent a bit as he rubbed against you from behind. His fingers dug into your hip with such strength and control that your body ached to feel them inside you right there on the dancefloor.

He leaned down, breathing against your ear, the music vibrating through you with so much force that you could barely hear him.

“There’s no better place to run than the sea. You can be free, Y/N, and we can make him happy together. We can live his dre–”

“Mind if I cut in?”

A voice as sharp as a blade chilled your blood, but Shanks didn’t let you go just yet. He hugged you to him, kissing your cheek, and you could feel a smile on his lips before he released you. His thumb rubbed over your fingers as he lifted your hand to place into Mihawk’s, who held his outstretched while he watched Shanks’ every move.

What happened? Why are they so–

“Hello, darling,” Mihawk purred, interrupting your thoughts as he pulled your body against his. You smiled up at him weakly, moving how his hands pushed and pulled.

“What’s wrong, pet?”

Shaking out of your daze, you blinked up into those golden, searching eyes.

“Noth–”

Fingers like daggers pressed into your back, pulling away in an instant, your gasp lasting longer than the pain. Those eyes were wide now as he scanned your face, and you held your breath.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, the words sounding strange, as if he’d just learned them. “I’d hate to tattle on you, rabbit. Although I must confess, I am morbidly curious to see what daddy does to liars.”

A nervous laugh left your throat, and he gave you a few moments to breathe as he guided your steps around the gleaming floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried,” you managed, knowing that wouldn’t be enough. His stare confirmed it, so you tried to find a way to hide without lying.

I can’t tell them. What if they’re angry? What if they fight, or kick him out? What if Buggy can't live his dream because of me?

What if I want to—

You shut down your thoughts, the sound of Buggy’s joyful voice pulling your eyes away.

“I’m worried about what’s gonna happen with…”

Mihawk followed your line of sight, catching the old lovers laughing. Shanks’ hand rested on Buggy’s thigh while he listened to the clown’s stories, the adoration on his face so vivid it was almost funny.

Almost funny, if not for the fact that the look on Buggy’s face was starting to match it more with each passing minute in the red haired pirate’s company.

“Is my old friend hurting you, love?”

Mihawk had stopped dancing you, tilting your chin up toward him.

“Only by existing,” you laughed, not sure if you were dizzy from dancing, or from the chaos of emotions that Shanks had made you feel since he’d invaded your life the day before.

“Come on, Miss C.F.O.” Shanks beamed. His eyes were obscured by Buggy’s extravagant hat, sitting askew on that pretty red hair. “It’s afterparty time!”

The two of them dragged you along, almost pulling you into your old suite before other hands pulled you back into the hallway.

“You wanna sleep in there again,” Crocodile asked, and you almost felt fear as his frustration with your guest had seemed to build and build. But all you had to do was tell him what you wanted.

“I do,” you breathed, going on tiptoes even though you’d never be able to reach his lips on your own. “Goodnight, daddy.”

His annoyed huff held a bit of satisfaction after your words, and you melted into the kiss he gave you.

“I’m right next door, sweet girl.”

Mihawk pulled you aside, and you waited for evil, filthy words as he pressed you against the wall of the corridor, everyone else already in their chosen suites. It was hard to tell on his bored face that he’d worn most of the day, but he seemed to be frowning at you as he ran his fingers through your hair before cradling your face.

He didn’t say anything for too long, until you flinched at the burst of laughter from the middle suite.

“You are not a pet.”

“W-what–”

“You are not a toy,” Mihawk continued, those whispered words sounding vicious, speeding your pulse. “Do you understand?”

You lied with a nod, not knowing what else to say to those burning, golden eyes.

“May I kiss you,” he breathed after staring at you some more. He tasted your lips as soon as you gave another nod.

“Mmn,” you moaned into his mouth, eyes rolling back as he kissed you with all that wicked passion you crave from him. His fingers curled into your hair, and he bit your lip before letting his tongue claim you again.

You were whimpering, whining now, gasping as he lifted you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you lost yourself as he growled against your lips, grinding himself against your core.

“Mihawk…”

His teeth were on your neck, biting deep, biting until your body tightened with need. That sharp, growing pain was its own pleasure, and you pulled at his soft, black hair until he moaned around your skin. Slick was smearing over his leather pants, your dress hiking up until your drenched cunt rubbed over the fabric, nothing but lace panties in the way.

“Always so greedy,” Shanks purred, leaning against the doorframe. His voice was light, a friendly tease, but the hallway felt sickeningly heavy, like gravity had increased, and you’d all be crushed to the floor.

Mihawk released your neck from his teeth, but pressed his forehead against the wall for a few seconds, leaving you to stare at Shanks, then Buggy over his shoulder, and then Crocodile who opened the other door to scowl at the scene. The swordsman lowered you gently, smoothing your dress into place, and whispering in your ear while he fixed your mussed hair.

“Just say my name,” he breathed before turning around, failing to fix his own mussed up hair.

“The little rabbit and I were just saying goodnight,” he brushed off, heading toward the door. “See you all in the morning.”

Everyone stared as he left, until Crocodile frowned at you. You gave a weak smile and a shrug, and he narrowed his eyes, but let Buggy pull you along.

Two doors shut, leaving that heavy air to fester in the corridor.

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

“What the fuck was that about?”

Mihawk didn’t reply, refusing any thoughts until he had a glass of wine. Something to sip, something to hold, something to stare at.

“Hawk Eyes,” Crocodile growled, moving to loom over the man who’d just gulped down a glass of wine he’d normally savor before pouring another. “What happened? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the world’s greatest swordsman is throwing a tantrum.”

Mihawk barked a laugh, walking away from the larger man without looking up to meet his eyes.

“You may be right,” he said wistfully, wandering through the suite until he stopped at the heavy trunks they hadn’t finished unpacking. He lifted one of the lids, revealing the pile of fantasy books Crocodile had gifted Y/N.

Mihawk frowned at the colorful covers, thinking about his own gift. He’d remembered that she said she loved cats.

But he would have gotten Adam for himself anyway.

Crocodile’s body was on edge, waiting for danger as he observed the man before him. It was still Mihawk, still powerful, graceful, yet his usual faces of boredom or vicious glee were dulled, and Crocodile did not fucking like it.

Mihawk ran his fingers over one of the covers, tracing the shape of a dragon before he snatched the book up. He could feel the other man’s steely eyes as he plopped onto the loveseat by that connecting wall, a new one brought in since the scotch covered sofa had stunk up the whole suite.

Crocodile sat beside him, still watching, still waiting as Mihawk sipped his wine, and tried to read about dragons and heroes.

“Should I just guess what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

A brief exhale, and an almost smile left the man who turned a page he hadn’t read. Still, he put it all away. Put everything away.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need, little bird.”

Golden eyes shot up toward Crocodile, as if he’d offered a threat instead of whatever those words were.

Crocodile bit his tongue, refusing to look away, and reveal the discomfort he felt as those words slipped past his better judgment.

Mihawk had never had a day like this. A day when sharp words wouldn’t leave his lips, when sharp blades could do nothing for him. A day filled with so much guilt it made him unsteady. There were plenty of guilty days to forget or regret, but this one felt violent, urgent, and he didn’t know what to do with it all.

What to do with Y/N.

The words, “Shanks is right,” played on a loop, until his mind was sick of everything but wine.

“I don’t like the silent treatment.”

There wasn’t real danger, Mihawk’s body didn’t register it. Yet Crocodile fisted his hair, yanking his neck back to expose his throat until that sharp point kissed it, cold metal ready to spill red.

Mihawk had dropped the book onto his lap, though never dropped a glass of precious wine, especially over his clothes. His lips parted, forgetting everything in his mind for just a moment as that scarred face lowered over his.

“Are you gonna tell daddy what’s wrong, or do I need to tear it out of you?”

The swordsman’s body went loose, his eyes rolling back as Crocodile pressed their cheeks together, rubbing along his skin as he breathed in the scent of him.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Crocodile released him, brushing his thumb over those pretty lips while Mihawk caught his breath. The satisfaction that pulsed through Crocodile at the other man’s fluttering eyes was intense, piercing, and he had to hold himself still.

Had to remind himself that he needed to know what the fuck was going on.

Mihawk hated how much he missed the touch of that hand when it was removed from his skin. Hated how needy, how fucking weak he was. Hated that no matter what he did, he would be betraying someone. Hated having to decide who it would be.

Hated the sick wish that he could stop caring again, that he could treat everything as meaningless.

That was how he ended up here in the first place.

Finally, he took another large swig of wine, choosing to side with the friend that would never forgive him. Even though he might lose everything.

“I have come to the unpleasant realization that I am a bad person,” Mihawk drawled, his voice almost perfect as he straightened up.

The deep, overwhelming laughter of the man beside him made him forget the world again, shock and annoyance pouring through him.

“I didn’t realize my existential crisis would be so amusing to–”

“Where do you think you are,” Crocodile choked out, still laughing as he wiped a bit of moisture from his eyes. He gestured to the suite, to himself, shaking his head. “Did you forget what this fucking Guild is for? We are all very bad people.”

Mihawk’s mouth hung slack for a moment, until his head fell back. Laughter, thick as honey, filled the air between them, until his hand grazed the book in his lap, tracing over that colorful dragon.

Crocodile couldn’t shake the feeling that the swordsman was holding things back. He wanted to pull until he got the whole truth, but there was something in Mihawk’s eyes that made him quiet, made him want to see the man with that wicked smile again first.

“Come on, little prince,” Crocodile soothed as he stood, holding out his hand. “Wanna show me what a bad person you are?”

A tiny version of that smile graced those lips, and Crocodile inhaled pride as he stared down at his little prince.

His breath caught at the thought, at all these dangerous, stupid, distracting thoughts.

“Thank you, daddy,” Mihawk purred, his voice breathy as he held himself under his mountain of guilt. “But I had hoped to rest and listen tonight, if that’s alright?”

Crocodile nodded, unease flooding his veins again. He tried to convince himself that it was nothing.

“How are they doing in there,” he asked softly, wanting to shake the man, but not wanting to push their new arrangement too far.

“Oh, they’re having a wonderful time,” Mihawk reported. The words that would have been tasty the night before were like ashes on his tongue, and he went to pour himself another glass so he could stomach listening.

Mihawk just brought the bottle with him, drowning while he listened to Shanks steal away both of his shiny new toys.

Hoping that Crocodile wouldn’t hate him for letting it happen.

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

“Afterparty,” Buggy yelled, pressing that sexy music tone dial before floating you through the air. Giggling, you reached for him, pulling his hair loose to flow around you both.

“You were amazing, Bugs,” you grinned, the tension of the hallway forgotten when he looked at you.

“Of course I was,” he agreed, making you gasp when he connected with his lower body to press you onto the bed. His weight was such a perfect relief from every worried thought you wanted to burn.

Shanks sat on the corner of the bed, but Buggy distracted you, kissing across your face, your chest, humming until you squirmed beneath him. He went still, his face hovering above yours with one of your favorite smiles. Soft and sweet, his crystal blue eyes dancing over your features as if needing to catch every slight movement, every piece of you.

“Bug–”

“You’re my shining star, Y/N,” he confessed, a reverent tone in his voice that made you shake your head, twisting under him.

“I thought you were the shining star,” you purred, struggling as he trapped your arms, holding your body down. “You’re the shining star of the show, and I’m the pretty star by your side, helping you shine.”

Buggy’s eyes looked down as he quirked his fading red lips, and your cheerful tease felt wrong. Anxiety started to fill you until he met your eyes again. He kissed you slowly, deep and thorough, savoring every bit of you until you whimpered, then you tasted his smile before he pulled back.

“You’re my shining star, baby,” he whispered, squeezing your cheeks before kissing your puckered lips. “You’re my everything.”

Joy was everywhere as Buggy kissed your lips, then down your neck and shoulders, both of you laughing as you pulled him to you.

You went cold when you remembered what the morning held, desperate to hang onto this feeling for as long as you could. Your head relaxed to the side as you tried to breathe out those thoughts, and you found Shanks observing you. You felt bare before him, like he could see through every uncomfortable feeling you tried to shove down.

“She’s your star, huh, Buggy,” he purred, trailing his hand through Buggy’s hair until he stopped kissing your neck to look at the red haired man.

“Of course she is,” Buggy bragged, tracing a gloved finger around your face. “Just look at her.”

His name left your lips in nothing more than a whimper, and you loved the way it made him straighten, his chin raising slightly as if your voice could lift him up.

“I watched you feeding her fruit all day,” Shanks’ voice shifted, moving his hand down Buggy’s arm to his wrist before pulling those gloved fingers up to kiss his knuckles. “You were getting her ready for me, weren’t you? Want me to taste your shining star? Make her scream for you?”

Buggy lifted off of you, sitting back on his heels. His hungry eyes looked back and forth between you and his old friend, and you knew it was true.

“Mm, I knew it,” Shanks rasped, now pulling your hand up for a kiss, staring heat into your skin. “Buggy wants me to taste you. Can I please taste you, little bunny?”

The weight of both of their stares tore you free from the world. You had to say yes.

“Please.”

“Such a good girl,” Shanks praised, moving between your legs as Buggy helped you out of your dress, your bra, stopping there when Shanks reached out. “Hold on, friend. These are too pretty to get rid of so soon.”

He followed that order by pressing his hand down over the top of your thigh, and rubbing his thumb up and down over your lace covered clit.

“Please,” you gasped, back arching when Buggy pinned your wrists. He sat behind your head, facing Shanks across your body, and you could see his breathing shift while he stared at the other man.

“Bunny’s being so polite,” Shanks taunted, his voice laced with danger that had your heart racing, “but if you don’t tell me what you’re begging for, I’ll just have to guess.”

He emphasized his threat by pressing his thumb into your desperate, clothed cunt, the lace panties straining under the pressure of his touch.

“Please, taste me,” you choked out, catching Buggy’s face above you as he scraped his lip though his teeth.

“My pleasure,” Shanks teased, tugging that fabric down your hips until Buggy’s hands floated down to help. “You know what she likes. Gonna teach me, Buggy?”

“Fuck,” Buggy breathed whiled he watched Shanks setting himself up between your legs. “Fuck yeah. Kiss her clit first, Shanks. Lick and suck her like candy.”

“Anything you say, Bugs,” Shanks agreed, pressing that charming mouth to your core, and your mind couldn’t decide which name to moan, mixing sounds together. “Gods, she’s so sweet for me, Buggy.”

“Quit talking, and make my girl come,” Buggy demanded, grinning at you when his words made you moan. He kept giving Shanks commands, until you were shaking, and those brown eyes stared up at you with so much focus, it made you dizzy before you screamed, coming all over that charming face.

“Pretty bunny,” Shanks hummed as he moved up your body. He kissed the taste of you into your mouth before leaning toward Buggy. They kissed above you, the sight making your whine.

“Looks like she needs some more attention," Shanks whispered at Buggy, until they both smirked down at you. “Wanna teach me how to finger your pretty girl now? I bet you know her pretty pussy so well, huh? Know just how to make her scream?”

“Buggy…”

“You hear that, star,” Buggy bragged, kissing along your ear. “I’m gonna do a magic trick. Make you come without even touching my pretty girl. You want that, baby?”

“Yes, ple–”

“Shove two fingers inside her right now,” he ordered, and you cried out when his words came true. “Spread her out. You feel that perfect cunt, Shanks?”

“Fuck, yes, Buggy,” Shanks rasped while he scissored those fingers inside you, spreading and feeling around, exploring. “She feels–”

“Wreck her. Make her scream,” Buggy growled.

Buggy sent one hand to trap both of yours, and pressed the other down on your lower stomach. You glanced down just in time to see the spark in Shanks’ eyes when Buggy commanded him, and then his fingers were so fucking deep.

“You heard him, bunny,” Shanks taunted, a wicked laugh as his strong fingers fucked you until you forgot your name. “You gonna scream for him now, or do I need to shove my whole fist into this sweet, little pussy?”

“Fuck,” you moaned, then screamed as his fingers curled inside you, his thumb attacking your clit. Buggy laughed before kissing you, inhaling your screams until you twitched all the way through that pleasure, twitched until it was too much.

“Bugs, did we kill your star,” Shanks teased in mock horror, lifting and dropping your limp arm.

“Nuh uh, my baby can go all night, huh,” Buggy praised, kissing your cheek while you tried, and failed to move. “She just needs a little break.”

“Breaks are nice,” the red haired pirate hummed. He laid next to you, trailing his hand along your body, and you sighed as Buggy laid on your other side. Their bodies, their voices, their heat, everything helped. Everything was good.

“I know you like to watch,” Shanks rasped, speaking to Buggy before directing his voice, and his wicked gaze to you. “But how about you, Y/N? Do you like to watch your shining star?”

“I–”

“Yeah, she does,” Buggy bragged, interrupting you before kissing your cheek. “You got in soo much trouble. Remember, baby? You couldn’t take your eyes off of me and Mihawk.”

You almost missed it when your eyes fluttered at the memory, but Shanks’ jaw clenched at Buggy’s playful words, his fingers pressing into your skin for a moment.

“Do you wanna watch us, bunny? Watch me make your shining star feel good?”

Shanks’ request sounded light, sounded like fun, but you felt it. You felt the pain in him, and you watched him blink and move his eyes around, trying to hide it. He failed, those brown eyes heavy on yours until you smiled.

“I wanna watch.”

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

Y/N’s voice was so sweet, so sweet when she said those words.

And now Shanks was crawling over him, and Buggy stopped thinking.

This couldn’t be real.

Shanks stared down at his old friend, his old lover, wanting to kiss Y/N again for giving consent. For giving permission for this moment right now.

“Can I make you scream now, Bugs,” Shanks asked, tracing his fingers around Buggy’s face, his jaw.

“You can try,” Buggy taunted back, but his hands had already flown away to grab a towel and lube, dropping them in front of Shanks with a grin.

“Come here,” the red head growled, lunging forward to grab that beautiful blue hair. Kissing Buggy almost hurt from how unreal it felt. Years and years poured into each other, and Shanks straddled his old friend, uselessly pinning one of his wrists above his head.

Dizzy.

So fucking dizzy.

Buggy knew he hadn’t drank enough tonight to feel like this. His gloved hands were shaking as they ran over Shanks’ bare skin beneath his loose shirt, and he couldn’t think clearly. Every time he almost had a thought, a hungry noise from his old friend’s throat would make him frantic.

“Can I help you out of these,” Shanks purred, his eyes sparkling with old laughter as he sat back to grab one of Buggy’s hands.

Buggy’s eyes flicked to Y/N, and her gorgeous smile made everything alright.

“Mhm,” Buggy nodded as he tugged one of his gloves off with his teeth. Shanks did the same with the other hand, biting down, and pulling at the fabric.

“There’s my Bugs,” he breathed, kissing those bare fingers. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

A hint of ice flashed across Buggy’s face, and though the clown caught and killed it, giving a smile to cover it up, Shanks felt that ice slide down into his gut.

“I’m—“

“Don’t you have something you’re supposed to be doing right now, shithead,” Buggy stopped him with a laugh, tracing along his waistband. “Or are you here to break more promises?”

“Take your clothes off, clown,” Shanks ordered, heat and happiness in his voice. The two of them stood, almost stumbling off the bed with a laugh while their hands searched and freed each other's bodies. Buggy turned to do a silly strip tease for Y/N, earning another beautiful smile as she bit her lip.

Buggy almost leapt for her, but strong fingers fisted into his hair again, pulling him into another chaotic kiss.

“Lie on your back. I wanna see your face when you make all those pretty noises for me.”

Shanks’ whispered command burned along his skin, making Buggy’s knees weak. Shanks used that opening to shove him onto the bed, finding his way between those thighs. The red haired pirate sat back on his heels as he watched Buggy’s chest heaving, his body already writhing. Smeared red lips, and sparkling, hungry eyes made the breath catch in his throat.

This moment was frozen, crystallized in Shanks’ mind. A moment of elation and gratitude, shot through with grief that it would be the last. He swallowed that fear, refusing to believe it.

Refusing to lose him again.

“Well,” Buggy prodded, breathless as he gave an impatient face.

“Lube,” Shanks smirked as he held out his hand. Buggy’s floating hands filled his palm, then dropped the bottle as Shanks grabbed Buggy’s swollen cock instead of his own. “Couldn’t resist. You’ve got the prettiest clown dick I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck yo–” Buggy started, his words cut off by his own gasping moan when Shanks massaged a lubed finger around his asshole before pushing it inside him, slowly adding another.

“Don’t worry, Bugs,” Shanks taunted as he watched Buggy’s face go desperate. “Help me get ready, I’ll give you what you need.”

The clown sent his hands to rub lube onto that veiny cock, just the touch of it making his eyes roll back. Thoughts kept trying to roll in now, to ruin this, but he shoved everything away. Right now their bodies were together, their bodies were taking pleasure, giving pleasure, and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but those soft, and dangerous eyes.

No more words. No more teasing.

Buggy held his thighs aside easily, all that circus flexibility having so many benefits, and helped Shanks line himself up. The touch of him, barely any pressure yet, was too much, not enough.

Shanks caught Buggy’s eyes as he sank into him inch by inch. He didn’t have to say it. Buggy kept those eyes on his, and Shanks felt the pleasure of watching Buggy fight not to break eye contact. The look of frantic, painful need on his clown’s face felt even better than that perfect tight pressure around his cock.

“You feel so fucking good, Buggy,” Shanks praised, falling forward onto his hand so he could be closer while he started to move, to fuck, to make Buggy moan. He was thrusting harder, more desperate with every breath. “How’s that feel, baby? Needed my cock, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, ye– fuck, please.”

“Please,” Shanks purred, slowing to smile down, noticing the matching sheens of sweat on their skin. “I want you, Buggy. I want you inside me right–”

Buggy’s cock floated out from between their bodies, his hands going so fast as he lubed himself up, then shoved fingers into Shanks ass while he laughed and moaned, still fucking into him.

“Oh gods, yes,” Shanks breathed, pausing his movements while Buggy started filling him, taking him, fucking him. Shanks' eyes rolled white, throwing his head back as he started his rhythm again.

Nothing could compare to this.

Not when he looked down into those perfect eyes, tears forming at the corners while his moans got louder with every rough thrust. Not when he lost himself inside Buggy’s body, while Buggy took and gave it all to him too.

“Come inside me, Buggy, I need to feel you,” Shanks begged as his body fell apart, almost there, but not wanting it to end. “Gods, I missed you so fucking much, baby.”

“Shanks…” Buggy whined, feeling the insane moment of pleasure when they came inside each other, the heat and force of their come bringing wild, needy moans from their throats.

Dripping with sweat now, they relearned how to breathe, still twitching inside each other. Buggy started to move, but Shanks dropped from his hand to his elbow beside Buggy’s head, pausing to look at him before he lowered his sweaty face down, kissing those faded red lips.

Neither had any thoughts in that moment. They finally won that battle in their minds, that battle to enjoy this moment for what it was. Whatever it was.

That kiss was the only thing in the world.

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

You weren’t breathing. You had no idea when you’d stopped, or if you’d ever start again. You might die on the edge of that bed, suffocating without ever making a sound.

They wouldn’t even notice I died.

Bile rose up your throat at that hateful thought.

It didn’t make sense. You felt so fucking selfish, so disgusting. What gave you the right to feel jealous? After everything Buggy went through, everything you put him through…

They still haven’t noticed me.

Entitled. Stupid. Ungrateful bitch.

So many words and emotions flew through your mind, the speed and chaos of them only making your nausea worse. Anger, jealousy, self pity.

You fought to keep your face neutral in case they remembered you were there, but your lip quivered, replaying every beautiful fucking moment.

They love each other so much.

Swallowing a sob, you dug your nails into your palms.

I can’t have love. I can never have love.

All you wanted to do was disappear.

“How’s my star,” Buggy asked, his voice shaky as he pulled away from his lover.

“Beautiful, that’s how,” Shanks praised, mirroring Buggy as they moved in to kiss your cheeks.

Liar. I’m a liar.

Your practiced smile, your fake happiness that was trained into you since childhood lifted your lips, and you filled your eyes with as much of the truth as you could. You were happy for them.

Part of you was, at least.

Yawning instead of speaking, you let Buggy kiss you, giggling as he carried you to the shower. You felt lost, empty, trapped in an echoey room, only vaguely aware of the world outside.

Buggy laid you on the soft carpet while they struggled to change the sheets, laughter, and insults, and deep, heated kisses kept interrupting their task until you wanted to scream.

I just want to disappear.

“Mihawk,” you breathed, hoping he could hear you over their laughter and moans as Shanks kissed along Buggy’s neck.

“May I come in?”

The room froze at the knock, and the cold voice on the other side of the door. The lovers stepped away from each other before Buggy sent his hand to the doorknob.

“What is it,” Shanks asked, his own voice drained of all the mirth it had held tonight.

“Sir Crocodile,” Mihawk cleared his throat before his eyes found yours. “He’s tired of sleeping without his sweet girl. Would you mind, darling? You know how cranky he gets.”

“O-okay…”

Buggy came to your side, helping you up since your wobbly limbs didn’t seem to work anymore.

“Thank you,” Shanks breathed into your ear before Buggy carried you to your golden eyed lover. “You’re amazing, Y/N.”

His sweet words brought back the bile in your throat, and you thought you might explode if you had to hold up that performative happiness any longer.

Get me out of here.

“Goodnight, my shining star,” Buggy hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple before placing you in Mihawk’s arms. He smiled at you, but didn’t wait for you to say anything in return before closing the door.

“Shh,” Mihawk soothed, almost silent while you started to shake in his arms.

It was just a few steps to the other door, which flew open as Crocodile stood waiting, anger radiating off of him.

“What the fuck happened? Get out of my–”

“They didn’t hurt her, Crocodile,” Mihawk sighed, walking into the room, and softly kicking the door shut behind him. “At least not on purpose. You’re okay, right, love?”

You were gone now, everything was foggy, and nothing mattered. It was nice.

“Why do you smell like four different wines?”

Both of them paused before Crocodile sat on the edge of the bed, deep, belly laughs filling the air. Mihawk looked half annoyed, and half pleased, eyes dancing over your face.

“Five actually, but I’m impressed. My lovely, little bloodhound,” he purred as he laid you in the center of that giant bed. Stroking your hair, he whispered the words that finally broke you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

It was a silent, choked nothing at first, your body almost heaving as it tried to fight. Heat built and rolled through your throat until burning tears finally fell, and it felt like the bile would soon follow.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Crocodile calmed, sliding in beside you until they both touched your skin, both watched you struggle to breath around tears that made you sick. “Tell me what you need, Y/N. Anything for my sweet girl.”

You almost begged for them to make the night end, but knew the morning would bring fresh, new pain. Your last night before it was over, and you spent it twitching with pathetic, quiet sobs, unable to ask these men for help. Their comfort only made it worse, and after tomorrow, they would never look at you this way again.

Would they still care if you cried? Would they use you just like everyone else?

Would they send you back?

They held you now as you lived in this torture of a night you needed to end, and a morning you needed to never begin.

Somehow sleep ripped you from the world, shoving you back onto stormy seas. You hung on for dear life, waiting for that voice to call your name.

That voice didn’t call tonight.

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

a/n: Writing this chapter was such a blast! Helped me through a tough week, and pushed me to write outside of my comfort zone. I would be eternally grateful if you tell me how you felt about the drama! I've been going nuts holding all this in 😅 Also, sorry about the big pile of emotions!! 😭

Part 19

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.

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cdragons · 3 days

Text

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 5

Previous Chapter, Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. And if you end up murdering your English Professor for forcing you to be paired up with him, WHO COULD BLAME YOU???

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Mention of SA/SH, BDSM (sex dream), M/M/F sex dream, Felix is a pig, Reader claws Oliver's face, Michael loves Reader so much y'all, Farleigh is on Team Michael, Oliver is delusional and awful, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic.

Author's Note: Finals are a BITCH, but I'm finally done...except I have to do my summer classes soon. But I really wanted to put this chapter out since it's been a while. Thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

Michael’s head was about to explode in the next thirty seconds if fucking Farleigh Start didn’t stop digging his paws through his closet and drawers. No amount of clinking and clacking from tapping on his keyboard would be enough to dull out his shirts shuffled in his chest and hangers shrill screeching against the metal bar in his wardrobe.

“Dear God,” the Yankee, stick-figured giant groaned. “How many math pun shirts do you have? Don’t you have any normal ones? Oh my god, are all the pants you own khakis or Oxfam jeans? Do you seriously not own a single pair of corduroy slacks?”

He slammed his laptop shut. God-fucking-dammit, he was going to kill this asshole if he didn’t shut the fuck up.

“Maybe,” Michael gritted out, “if you just focused on the presentation we’re supposed to be working on, it’ll not bother you.”

Farleigh Start clicked his tongue. “Now, now – it’s not nice to be so testy. Most would consider themselves very lucky that I’m providing my services for free.”

The blonde-blind nerd balked when the word ‘services’ entered his ears. Immediately his mind thought of all the rumors that latched to Felix Catton’s mysterious American cousin – who apparently sucked off every teacher in England. Not that he was homophobic or anything – kiss, fuck, marry whoever you wanted, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.

“Services – are you trying to suck my cock so I’ll do your work for you?!”

“…First off, ew,” Farleigh began. “Second, if I left you to do my side of the work, I’m about…86% confident that you’ll end up tanking my grade.” He strolled to Michael’s closet, pulled out a blue gingham-checkered shirt, and grimaced. “Thirdly, I am referring to how I am going to turn–” he nodded towards Michael in disgust “–this, into an actual suitor for our dear (Y/N). Or are you two still doing this little dance of being nauseatingly following each other around like sad puppies and giving each other bedroom eyes without actually fucking?”

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the–

Michael slammed his laptop shut and tiredly rubbed his eyes. With a loud and audible groan that he dragged out, he rubbed his eyelids until he could see the kaleidoscope of stars and squiggles in the dark.

Fucking damn it.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you?” he damn-near shouted. “It’s not like that between us!”

Farleigh quirked a brow. “The bedroom eyes or the not-actually-fucking? Because if it’s the former…yes, it is, but if it’s the second,” he brought his hands together in a slow clap, “then well done, Gavey!”

Michael shot up from where he was sitting and ripped the shirt in Start’s hands before throwing it back in his silky oak wardrobe and slamming it shut. Was it so necessary for him to be so fucking insufferable? Was he born this intolerable, or did his fucking cousin, Felix fucking Catton, infect him because being a coked-up narcissist was contagious via proximity or blood?

He heard a few clicks behind him, and the scent of Marlboro Gold cigarettes filled his room.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Michael turned around and stared at his completely useless study partner for this stupid project for his Classics course that he needs to fulfill his fucking “General Education” requirements. Farleigh Start was leaning against his dresser and staring at him with the most judgingly empty gaze ever worn – all while holding a cigarette between his two fingers and getting ash on the floor.

Great – like it wasn’t a bloody fire hazard to cover his carpeted dorm in hot ash.

He shrugged. “What’re you on about?”

Farleigh took a long drag on his lung cancer joystick before exhaling deeply. His disappointed look made Michael’s eyes twitch in irritation.

“About a certain mutual friend we share and adore,” he drawled. “Whom just so happens to be in my dear cousin’s room right now…at night…on a weekend…alone.” He paused to take in Michael’s reaction and smiled. “Ohhhhh, so you do care.”

Michael shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen between ‘em. (Y/N)’s too smart for that.”

“Yes, you see – I know that…and you know that. But my cousin?” Farleigh scrunched up his face and made a wish-washy motion with his hand. “Ehhhhh…he��s more the type to think a giant, glaring red-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘STOP’ is another giant, glaring purple-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘Come Hither’ in porno studio 69 font.”

Michael Gavey rolled his eyes and reopened his laptop. “Whatever, I’m not worried.”

“You’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you that our friend is currently in the lion’s den with Oxford’s king?”

“Of course it bothers me,” thought Michael, “but I trust her more than I trust you.”

But Michael wasn’t going to let his forced-upon acquaintance know his thoughts, so all he said was…

“She’s not in the fuckin’ lion’s den, alright? They’re in the Bodleian. I’m going to pick her up from there in like thirty minutes.”

Farleigh cocked his head to the side. “Don’t trust our girl to make smart choices?”

“I trust (Y/N) just fine,” Michael bitterly retorted. “It’s your fucking cousin I don’t trust.”

Because he does – he trusts you so much. He knows how sweet and kind you were to everybody you thought deserved the benefit of the doubt. ‘Deserved’ being the very fine keyword in the detailing because there was no fucking way in hell you were dumb enough to think Sir Felix Catton of fucking ‘SalTbURn MaNor’ deserved your kindness.

Mary, Jesus, and Joseph – he wanted to strangle the old kook when he announced the assigned pairs.

It was Classics English taught by Professor Radcliff Michael Charles Douglas. He droned on about what materials would be on the end-of-term examinations. Everyone in the classroom, save for you and a few others, was either passing notes by throwing them across the room or staring aimlessly at the air with red-rimmed eyes.

“Ya’ ready, partn’r?”

You pursed your lips as a groan fought to escape. You would regret introducing John Sturge’s 1960 American Western masterpiece, “The Magnificent Seven,” to Michael Gavey if he kept up with that god-awful Texas accent.

You turned to your left and shot a blank glare at Michael. “Listen, Billy the Kid, we don’t know if we’re going to be assigned together,” you said.

“Come on, Professor Douglas always pairs the people sitting together as partners so far in the entire term. If it’s not broke, why fix it?”

“Melanie Brown…paired with Bryce Landon…Kemi Brown…paired with Amelia Sanders…”

You leaned on your elbow to whisper in Michael’s ear to drown out your professor’s blasé voice.

“Can we do our project on Hercules?”

He leaned back. “Why him?”

“I want to present on the glorification of toxic masculinity in mythology, and he’s the prime example.”

Michael chuckled. “You just want to piss off old Douglas up there.”

“Katie Caldwell…paired with Oliver Quick…”

“Is that so wrong?” you asked with a smirk. “You can either be one jump scare away from seeing Jesus or a product of institutionalized glorification of misogyny – but you cannot be both.”

Michael stifled a laugh. “You realize that takes away pretty much half of the English, Math, Science, and every fucking department on campus, right?”

You innocently tilt your head to the side. “Does it?”

“You’re terrible,” Michael snickered. “Completely evil.”

“Oh, please,” you swatted his arm. “You love me anyway.”

“Michael Gavey…paired with Farleigh Start…”

You and Michael turned to the front with disbelief. Wait…if Michael was paired with Farleigh…then that meant…oh, no.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…paired with Felix Catton. That will be all – no changes.”

Michael watched with wide eyes as your head slowly turned to the back of the lecture hall. He watched your face pale in disgust and horror when your eyes stopped at Felix Catton. Michael’s blue eyes narrowed at the lecherous grin Felix shot to you before he puckered his lips to blow a little kiss with a wink.

Your body involuntarily shuddered at the predatory implications. Michael watched as his best friend buried her face in her hands. He heard her say the exact same thought he was having.

These are going to be the worst few weeks of my life.

To say it bothered Michael that Felix Catton was making the moves on you, so to lure you to his sex dungeon of a dorm was an understatement. It was killing him to know that you were essentially forced into a vulnerable position, but when he brought it up to your professor, the old cunt-rag didn’t give two flying fucks.

“Professor Douglas, please,” Michael pleaded. “I really think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you could make this exception this one time. I promise it has less to do with me and more for (Y/N)’s sake–”

But the ancient windbag wasn’t interested. “Whatever accusations you and Miss (L/N) intend to throw at Mister Catton, I am uninterested. Honestly, Mister Gavey, I expected this kind of nonsensical drivel from your friend, but to see you being caught in her schemes disappoints me greatly.”

Michael bit his tongue to choke down the tongue lashing he wanted to give. He wanted to tell this wrinkled ballsack about how the ‘fine Mister Catton’ basically assaulted you. He wanted to scream how worried he was when he didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He wanted to shout how when he knocked on your dorm and entered, he froze and paled at the sight of you crying your eyes out until they were red and puffy. He wanted to roar out the fury he felt when you revealed to him the incident with Felix Catton that morning in the empty lecture hall. The very same one where Professor Douglas taught.

*TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING SCENE FEATURES PAST SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND A DISCUSSION OF THE TOPIC, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT, PLEASE SKIP OVER*

“I couldn’t do anything,” you whimpered. “I felt like…like such an idiot! I just froze and stared and did nothing!' You started to cry all over again, and Michael wiped your tears with his thumb before holding you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey – it’s okay. Freezing and doing nothing are two different things. You were stunned by what happened, and your body reacted the same way – anyone who tells you differently is a liar.” You shook your head. “I couldn’t even speak…it was like my body – it ju-just shut off on its own. My brain kept screaming, ‘Let go,’ ‘Get off,’ or ‘Stay away from me!’ But I…the words and my voice just failed me when I needed them the most.” Michael blurted out the first thought: “(Y/N), you need to report this.” Your eyes shot open in fear. “Michael, no–” “Look, I know you’re scared, but this is assault. He touched your inner thigh, and you clearly didn’t consent – that’s sexual assault, or at the very least sexual harassment! If you report it, at least the campus police know about this and keep an eye out for you.” But you weren’t listening. “Nononononono—Mikey... that’s not how it’ll go down. Even if I report it, they won’t believe me.” “You don’t know that!” “But I do!” you cried. You shot up and started pacing across the room. “I do know because I’ve seen it happen! Almost every girl I knew growing up—it happened to them! At school, on the trains, some at their own homes! Whether they knew every detail of their assaulter or just saw just a patch of skin – it didn’t matter!” You weeped. “And if I tell the cops, they’ll just throw away the report because they’ll think that ‘all he did’ was touch my thigh. Consensual or not, I’ll be labeled as some fucking crazy man-hater who’s grasping at straws to ruin a fine young man’s life and reputation.” You collapsed back on your bed. “I just…I can’t deal that kind of shit right now. Not with…” you took a deep breath, “Not with everything that’s happening right now.” “…What can I do to help?” Michael hated how his voice cracked. He hated how completely useless he felt at that moment. More than anything, he wanted to march to the campus police and report it. But he knew that by doing so…he took even more control away from you by going behind your back. And then he would be a no better monster than Felix Catton. The idea of him going beyond the point of no return made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. But when you touched his hand, all the tension flowed out of him like a creek. “You already did the best thing anyone could do for me right now,” you reassured him. “You listened to me. You cared enough to look for me when you felt something was off. You reached out to me and stayed and listened. And most of all…you believed me.” Michael felt his throat go dry. You looked at him with so much trust, as if he were the safest place in your world. He wanted you to look at him that way forever. “I’ll believe you,” he swore. “I’ll be there for you – no matter what. I promise. Whenever you need me, I will be there.” No words can describe the relief you felt from hearing Michael’s promise. When you entered Oxford's campus, you never expected to meet someone as endlessly loyal and trustworthy as him. You were prepared to keep your head low and remain friendless for the next four years. You were ready to spend the next 1460 days crying your heart out from homesickness and imposter syndrome. But somehow, near the beginning of your first term here, you met Michael. And you were so grateful for him. You leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. “I know. I know you will.” And you believed that with all your heart.

*TRIGGER SCENE END*

Michael promised you – gave his word – that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone. But, fuck, this asshole was making it hard to keep that promise.

“Mister Catton is a fine young man…”

No, he’s not.

“…one whom I have full faith will end up as remarkable as his father and grandfather before him.”

They probably pulled that same shit, too.

“A man with a future as bright as his does not need some upstart with delusions of grandeur to dismantle an institution as fine as Oxford blatantly spewing out trash about him.”

It’s not trash.

“Unless it was something with proof and worth my time?”

Michael looked at his Classics professor with empty but enraged eyes. “…No, professor. It’s just a personal matter between me and Felix – (Y/N) has nothing to do with it. She’s just…protective, I guess.”

This surprised the sagging skin suit. “Hmm, well, that sense of loyalty from such a strange girl is surprising, to say the least – especially when you take account of her…troubling background as an American from that horrible city. But perhaps there is a chance of decency in her, after all.”

Michael’s right eye twitched slightly. “And what do you mean by her…background?”

“Oh, come now, Mister Gavey. She’s a New Yorker. That city is full of…of…gang-bangers and drug addicts.”

“Her dad’s a professor at NYU, and her mum works for the buildings that host Broadway shows.”

Douglas scoffed. “HA! New York University – what a joke. A campus that’s filled with hippies and no class. And Broadway? Of course, Miss (L/N) is connected to the theatre community. Now, if that’s all, Mister Gavey, I have an important meeting to get to with the chairman of my department. I trust that this matter is settled?”

No, not even close.

But all Michael could do was clench his fist over his backpack’s strap. He forced an unconvincing smile and tersely nodded.

“Yep, won’t get any more problems.”

When old man Douglas replied with his patronizing smile, Michael wanted nothing more than to knock out the rest of the tenured professor’s teeth with a fire hydrant.

So…no, Michael Gavey was not at all okay with the fact that you were with Felix Catton. He was not OK with the idea that you were within ten feet of that depraved vampire.

All he could do was be reassured you were in a very safe and very public space with lots and lots of people who could serve as potential testimonial eyewitnesses if Catton tried anything.

…Provided that Catton Sr. wouldn’t be able to pay off everyone, their third cousin, and their dog.

You wanted to die. You wanted to literally sink into the ground. You wanted there to be a sinkhole to open under you, swallow you whole, close up, and you would never see the light of day again.

…Actually, you wanted all those things to happen to your useless fuck of a project partner.

“Y’know, if you’re bored here, there’s a party going on at one of my mates’ flats not far from here.”

Felix moved to the seat right next to you and limply swung his arm over your chair. “So why don’t we–”

You shot up and moved one seat over. “Considering how we’ve been working on the research for almost two hours, and you haven’t gotten any work done,” you bit out. “Getting wasted and losing more brain cells isn’t the right call.”

Taking your open hostility as a challenge, Felix continued to move closer to you. “Exactly! We’ve been at this for two hours, and nothing got done!” His face was inches from yours, and you could smell the rank stench of craft beers and rancid cigarettes on his breath. “So, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

Oh my – this is getting fucking ridiculous.

You started to pack your bags and gather all the borrowed books. “Parties aren’t my idea of ‘fun.’ And I already told my friend to meet me–”

“So bring him too! The more the merrier!”

You took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. “Our presentation is due in a week, Felix. One week to hand the paper in and present our topic to the class.”

You swung your backpack over your shoulder. “I take my coursework very seriously, and to say it’s frustrating to have a partner who doesn’t take it as seriously as me would be a supreme understatement.”

“I think from now on–” a swift *RIP* echoed between them as you took a page out of your college-bound notebook. You quickly jotted down instructions for topics so simplified a child could figure it out, “– it’d be best if we work separately.”

Felix shot up from his seat with a panicked look. “Wait, now hold on – let’s not get hasty.”

“I already have a basic outline for the paper - I’ll type up the paper,” you continued while not looking at him. “All you have to do is find the books I’ve so nicely labeled on that sheet of paper I’ve given you.”

“Wha-what happens after I find them?” Felix stammered; his heart broke from how his time with you was so cruelly cut short.

But your tone and body language remained as rigid as it was apathetic. “You have my email, you have a laptop – figure it out, genius. We’ll meet up at a specified time and place; you hand me the books, and we move on with our very separate lives.”

You walked out of the crowded library and toward the nearby bench where you and Michael agreed to meet when he picked you up. You barely had time to sit down before you were bombarded with the presence of a much worse pest stuck to your shoe.

“You get off on bein’ a downright bitch?”

God, was every asshole trying to piss you off tonight?

You turned around with a prominent scowl that further deepened as your eyes took in the insufferable bastard who was clearly trying to pick a fight with you. You don’t know why you bothered to look for confirmation. You immediately knew who it was just by the sheer arrogance oozing from his tone.

As an artist, you had a special relationship with the color blue. In the summer, there was a point in the early mornings when it felt like the world was bathed in it. There was even a period when you were downright obsessed with it. You loved anything and everything blue: the sky, the ocean, hydrangeas, the Obrina Olivewing butterfly – but eyes, you loved painting blue eyes.

You thought of them as these warm, magical rarities that belonged to the stuff of fairies and Disney princesses. Of course, you also knew the popularity of the usage of blue with winter and death, but you never felt that duality…until now.

Because as much of a slimy bastard Oliver Quick was, you had to hand it to the guy…he was one of two people with some of the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

Which gave you all the more reason to hate him. He made blue eyes look so cold.

You clenched your backpack strap. “I’m not in the mood, Quick.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’d disagree – you’re always in a mood.”

“So stop talking to me,” you snarled, turning around. “And go away, Michael’s meeting me here soon.” You started to walk away when you heard Oliver speak again.

“I’m surprised he hadn’t dropped you left,” he maliciously quipped. “With you and Felix and all that.”

Your nails dug deeper into your backpack strap. “There is nothing between me and Felix – nothing at all.”

“Yeah, for now,” Oliver shook his head. “But you’ll be crawling to him with your hands and knees on the ground, worshippin’ him like he’s Hercules or Apollo.”

He leaned in closer from behind you. “And you’ll compare Gavey to Felix and look back and wonder ‘how the hell could I have missed being with Felix Catton over some pathetic’–”

Stop it. *clench*

“–unimportant–”

Shut. Up. *dig*

“– know-it-all –”

I hate you. I hate you. *pierce*

“– nobody.”

You turned around and dug your nails into his face as you poured every bit of rage and disdain for the single most insignificant person you’ve ever met in each word that came out of your mouth.

“Enough,” you roughly whispered. It was taking everything inside you to stop lashing out even further. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“What? Plan to –” Oliver winced as you cinched onto his skin.

“Of all the mind-bogglingly,” *clench* “douche-like” *dig* “and despicable” *pierce* “crap you’ve spewed out,” you rasped. “Implying that I would ever choose as dull as Felix Catton over someone as rare and wonderful as Mikey has got to be one of the worst.”

“Do not push me any further, Quick,” You felt him tremble as you slowly released him from your grasp. “I’ve tolerated too much from you and the object of your obsession for far too long as is.”

You stepped back and gave the boy before you a good, hard stare. You never felt rage so deep, so demanding.

It was exhausting.

But you heard your name being called out from your left as you turned your head to see Michael waving to you with his arm high in the air. Had it been anyone else calling out your name, you wouldn’t have felt so quickly eased. You were about to move ahead to meet him halfway in the distance before Oliver’s voice stopped you.

“…What could possibly make him so special?” Oliver pathetically whimpered. “Why would you ever choose him when someone as bright as Felix is begging for you? Do you know what being with him means for you? What it gives you?”

…Was that it? Was that his best shot to get under your skin?

Looking at Michael, you answered him without meaning to.

“There’s no point in explaining it to you,” you calmly stated. “And I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

You picked up your stuff and left him alone with his thoughts. As you walked away to join your friend, you could feel his icy sapphire eyes digging into your back. Michael could feel how tense you were and asked if there was anything he could help with – but you waved away his concerns, stating that you had already wasted too much of your time with Felix and Oliver and didn’t want to waste anymore. Slipping your arm over his, you snuggled closer to his side and let the familiar scent of old math textbooks and coffee comfort you.

Oliver would make you pay for what you did – you’d be naïve to assume otherwise. He won’t do it directly, but it will happen. He’s the type to drink poison and expect you to die…only to learn too late that it worked as you lay on the ground bleeding and screaming your throat raw for help.

But right now, you were with your best friend; you two were going back to his dorm for a best friend sleepover, and it’d be enough.

…Yeah, it’ll be enough.

Oliver needed to make a plan – and fast.

Getting into your good graces was no longer a viable option for him; you made it annoyingly clear of that by the way you attempted to maul his face off. He gingerly touched the claw marks you imprinted on his cheeks as you tried to dig for his blood and bone with your nails. A corner of his mouth went up as he remembered your viciousness. He could practically taste the blood that nearly trickled down his cheek after you pierced his skin.

He hadn’t expected such a blatant display of violence from you, of all people, let alone on the campus’ hallowed grounds so near an establishment as ancient and crowded as the Bodleian.

For you, sweet, innocent (Y/N), to show such open hostility…to know he urged that beautiful, dormant impulsiveness to emerge…it thrilled him like nothing else. At that moment, he so clearly saw it. A darkness that was hidden deep inside you – bursting open from your carefully stitched seams. A deep desire for more in the dull, dull life God cruelly set upon you. Why else would a sweet, little all-American girl such as yourself travel all across the Atlantic to one of the most prestigious universities?

No, you were like him – exactly like him. Your reaction to his goading only proved that to him.

You weren’t used to it – that much was obvious…but that meant little to him. If nothing else, Oliver was resourceful. He’d learn more and more about what makes you tick before plucking you piece by piece into what he needed you to be for him. He’ll watch you explode before making you fizzle.

The idea of you at your fiercest – only for him to break it down bit by bit until all that was left was a more…subdued version of the hardheaded American girl from the Big Apple who loved to aggravate him during her first-year days at Oxford.

The thought alone made him salivate.

He could only dream how you’d be in bed. Your tight, hot little body would be squirming and writhing from the pleasure he and Felix bestow upon you. You, helplessly lying on your back while being fucked dumb by the two of them.

God, he felt himself getting hard at just the image alone – to make it a reality…that sort of victory, along with having Felix, would be nothing short of heaven for him. He unbuttoned his jeans as he took out his hardening cock into his hand. Not wanting to bother himself by starting slow, he immediately stroked himself with a rough and unforgiving pace. He wanted the pleasure from the fantasy to overwhelm him.

You looked perfect—replete, ethereal, and effervescent. Your entire body twitched as your eyes were blown wide, and drool dribbled down your chin. You put up quite the fight; the scratch marks on his and Felix’s chests proved that. But seeing you on your back on red silk sheets with your wrists and ankles tied to the bed posts made the struggle worth it. The red and pink bite marks that begin from the column of your slender neck down to your plush and tender inner thighs made for a prettier picture you could ever paint. “Oliver,” you pitifully rasped. “P-please, m’sorry – AH!” Your body jolted, and your back arched as he slapped your swollen clit. He struck his hand down one, two, three more times and watched as you thrashed and cried before another peak was forcefully ripped within you and came gushing out. God, how many times was it at that point? Three, four? It must have been quite a high number, judging by how tightly your cunt clenched onto his fingers when he thrust them inside you. “Look at her,” Felix cooed from behind Oliver. The Saltburn heir’s hulking frame towered over his lover as they watched their pet beg for mercy. “You almost feel sorry for her.” His hot breath panted into his ear as Oliver shivered in delight. The Quick boy gasped when he felt Felix’s large digits begin to enter his tight, puckering hole. “Take your fingers out,” he ordered. “And stick your cock inside her. You’ve been so good to me that I’ll let you fuck her sloppy cunt while I finger-fuck your arse.” Oh god, yes. Oliver took out his fingers and immediately positioned his hard cock at your leaking pussy as he spread your legs apart and forced your knees to press against your chest. “Wait,” you slowly blinked. “Wha…what’re you do–” Your back arched as Oliver pushed into you before thrusting into your cunt at a brutal pace. Tears were streaming down your reddened, flushed face as ecstasy-laden sobs filled the room. “Good boy, Olly,” Felix praised as he continued to push his fingers inside Oliver while the nails of his other hand dug into his hips. He let out a ragged gasp from how Felix deliciously stretched him out. He started out slow before moving his fingers at a faster and steadier pace. “That’s it, Olly. You’re so good – so good to me.” God, the contrast between the firm grips and harsh thrusts with gentle whispers of sweet nothings was like nothing he had ever experienced. And it only made the pleasure of Oliver plowing into your weeping pussy while you cried like a bitch in heat feel too good to be true. “Oh, you’re getting so tight,” Felix groaned. “You wanna come, don’t you? You wanna spill your cum into our pet’s little cumdump hole, right?” “Yes,” Oliver rashly answered before snarling to you. “You hear that, you dumb slut? I’m going to cum in you, and you’re going to take it.” “N…not i-inside,” you begged despite your walls clenching tighter around his cock. “P-please not inside!” Oliver just laughed. “You want it – oh, yes, you do.” He released one of your legs to grip your jaw and forced you to stare at him. “Don’t bother denying it. Your body knows how a whore like you is just desperate for me.” He chuckled as he thrusts into you even harder than before. “Well?” “Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, Oliver! Let me be your cumdump! I want your cum so badly!” Before Oliver and Felix permitted you to do so, you spilled onto Oliver’s cock, and the tightening of your walls, mixed with how deep Felix pushed his fingers inside him, made Oliver’s mind go blank – and soon, all he could hear was white noise.

Oliver slumped into his chair as a coat of sweat covered his entire body. Thick, white ropes of cum were still spurting out of his softening cock despite it coating his right hand. He ran his left hand through his dark curls as reality settled back in. Cold, bitter loneliness engulfed his body as he realized that you and Felix were not with him, and he remained as alone as before. A newfound determination to make his fantasy a reality soon took place.

His vision will be a reality. Felix will love him. And you will be their pet whose sole purpose in life is to take load after load of their pleasure.

But such things were too early to think about with how you were now. No…no, no, no…you were far too raw in your current state…too volatile…too stubborn…too American. He supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising that you latch onto fitfulness and inconsistency.

You were an artist, after all, and such was the fate of your kind to be destined to forever claw their way from the bottom as a means of survival.

But, however charming your unpredictability may have been in your concrete-paved, urban paradise that you call ‘home’ – that simply won’t do for him. He was more than confident that he could make you see things his way, but there were…problems needed to be resolved.

Namely, one in particular that came in ill-fitting apparel and bulky-framed eyewear – Michael Gavey.

Only an utterly blind idiot would miss how you pathetically secure your entire emotional well-being onto him. Oliver watched in total desolation and disappointment at how your glorious rage dissipated at the sight of him. But a part of him was equally as impressed at the mask you so expertly paraded, going so far as forcing your body language to adapt to the circumstances.

But…it wasn’t a mask, was it?

You looked at Michael Gavey the way he looked at Felix – complete and total worship. Michael Gavey, for whatever reason, was your sun, moon, and stars. The way you protected and so ardently adored him made the conclusion all the easier to reach.

Suddenly, it all became clear.

Of course…how did he not see it? The answer was so obvious. What better way to force you to his and Felix’s side…than to separate and condition you?

Isolation was a cruel and sadistic thing to thrust upon anyone – let alone who had so few friends in a foreign country like yourself. But he knew how much of an effective tool it could serve for him. Oh, it would be arduous initially – yes, it will. But it would all be worth it in the end. After all, in a way, this was your fault. If only you had complied with him when he was being nice, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such drastic but necessary measures.

Oliver darkly chuckled to himself.

Yes…everything would turn out in his favor. He’d make sure of it.

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz, @ma1dita, @jeondeluxe111, @itszzmoon, @wolfeginny, @mioshasworld, @bre99

Let me know in the comments your thoughts and if you want to be tagged when I update!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go pray to my ancestors and beg for their forgiveness for writing Oliver's POV 🥲

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #felix catton x oliver quick #felix x oliver #oliver quick x reader

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blueberry-obsessed · 2 days

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Growth

The Lestappen Song of Achilles inspired drabble based on this wonderful anon over at @f1writingbyme's blog!! Dear anon, I hope you find this somehow, I'll upload it on AO3 at some point (just not now, it's just too short to deal with right now).

Also!! @iamred-iamyellow mentioned that they wanted to be tagged so here you go!! Special thanks to @marieshyperf1xations for putting up with me

This is essentially a rewrite of the first scene in Chapter Ten (10) in the original book! I might make this a series of drabbles if anyone is interested

Word Count: 855 words (I tried to keep it short and sweet!!)

Fic is under the cut!!

They turned fifteen just before winter came, their world frozen in time in anticipation of winter’s icy hold yet kept alive by the faint rays of the sun. Summer had lasted longer than usual, kept them nice and warm under its yellow beams and fresh blue skies—Charles had been incredibly grateful for all of it.

Now, he’s covered in a fluffy fur cloak—one that is, admittedly, a tad large on him—and has been sentenced to chilly winds and quick washes in hollowed-out rocks by the Gods themselves. Despite the weather, Max chooses to take a stroll outside, beneath the frozen sun.

“It is too cold, Max,” Charles had chastised.

“We have spent too long indoors,” Max had pouted, pink lip jutting out against skin too fair given the climate they resided in. “My muscles are stiff. I will be useless at practice with Chiron if I do not stretch.” He had already made his path halfway outside, there was certainly no stopping him. Charles could not let him leave alone, surely.

They did not do much. They stuck to walking through the forest, playing a chasing game until they came across a river. It was partially crystallised—almost mirror-like—and they spotted a few pieces of stone nearby. The rest of it is fairly obvious.

°°°°

Max throws another pebble in. It ripples against the river water three, four, five times and lands further than Charles’ last one had. The river is clear—clearer than it has ever been, but Charles doesn’t track the movement on it. He watches Max, instead—watches him pick up another stone, watches the movement of the slight muscle in his limbs.

There are no mirrors here, and the surface of the river, unsteady. So, Charles has only ever been able to measure his growth by the changes in Max. Max’s limbs are slender, despite the muscle Chiron has worked into him—it is to be expected, they are still young. Charles imagines he is much the same. Although Max’s chest is broader, his shoulders are square, and his face firm around the edges—he, somehow, still looks soft.

“You have grown,” he mutters, chucking another rock. It is too heavy—bounces once, twice, thrice and unceremoniously sinks into the depths of the river. In their swishing reflection, he can see Max’s raised brow. “You look older,” he tacks on.

Max turns to him, fully now. The pebbles slip from his hand and crush the fiery leaves as they fall to the earth.

“I do?”

“Yes.” It is said with a finality and he has to play with the cold soil beneath him to avoid his companion's gaze.

“Wait, turn here.” And, well, Charles has no choice but to force his hands by his sides and turn.

Max’s hands find purchase on the sides of his face immediately. He moves Charles’ head around as if he is inspecting him for any injuries. He’s a bit ashamed to admit to himself, but it’s not an unfamiliar feeling.

“You are different as well.” Max’s eyes shine with something Charles does not quite know, and he notes that Max’s hair is longer too.

“Different how?” his voice is quiet, and all his energy is focused on willing his hands to stay by his side—lest he do something unwanted, like brushing droplets of splashed water away from blond hair. Max regards him for a moment too long.

“Your face, mainly.” Max traces his fingertips along his jaw. The attention makes Charles feel warmer than the fur cloak ever did. “You are sharper here.”

“A lot?” He brings his own hand up, the touch of his flesh is cold. He does not find anything new, however—he still feels the same, flesh and bone.

Max takes his hand. His grip is apprehensive at first, yet growingly confident as he drags it further down. Despite the training Chiron has put him through, Max’s hand remains soft as it meets Charles’ collarbone.

“Sharper here too,” he comments, intertwining their fingers and sliding them back up. He gently pokes at the newly emerged Adam’s apple on his throat. He swallows under the weight of Max’s finger just because he can and wants to—wants to feel Max’s skin move along his. “But here. You are soft, yet still sharp.”

That does not make any sense, Charles wants to say, but he finds himself unable to speak.

Max does not mind his silence and instead drags their palms further down.

“That’s enough.” It is more abrupt than intended, yet Charles’ face is unusually warm given the weather and Max looks flushed from the cold. “We should head inside,” he offers, softer this time. Diligently, Max nods, still slightly avoidant, though. Thankfully, he helps Charles clamber onto his feet regardless—their hands intertwined once again.

“You would not be displeased,” Max shrugs, his hand in Charles’, “with how you look now.” His face grows warm again, and he can not help himself anymore—he brushes a stray leaf out of Max’s hair. His hand lingers for a second too long and he prays to the Gods that Max misses the action entirely.

“Neither would you.”

They speak no more of it.

#M's writing ☘︎#lestappen #lestappen fic #charles leclerc #max verstappen #CL16 #MV1

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lovelyfred · 1 day

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Let’s gooooo, made another comic!!!

This is based of a fanfic called “I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good” by Dandy, and it was a lot of fun to make ^^

If anyone is confused let me clarify two something’s; Leo’s a “ghost” and Mikey is the only one who can see him so Micheal is copying Leo’s sign so Donnie can translate. Oh and might be good to mention that the boy’s are trying go get Leo’s soul back to his body.

If you are interested I would highly recommend reading the fic, if you haven’t already. I will link the story and to the chapter I took the scene and dialogue from.

If it’s hard to read, here is the dialogue:

Mikey: I can text Barry, he might have heard of them or someone like them.

Raph: Good idea, Mikey. Maybe we can go to Run of the Mill, too? See if there have been any rumors.

Donnie: Draxum… Run of the Mill…. Do we have any other contacts in the Hidden City? Once who don’t want to kill us, anyway.

Leo: Rock, paper, scissors!

Mikey: Pfft

Mikey: Our social circle is mostly full of people who hate us.

Donnie: Okay, well, Mystic Library first. I’ll drive

Leo: Whoa, hey, hey! Slow down!

Mikey: Leo wants to say something.

Leo: The first thing you guys should do is get some sleep and eat some actual food. And not just snacks! I’ve seen how all of you have been treating yourselves!

Yellow bubble: Mikey is copying Leo’s signs

Mikey: What’s he saying, Donnie?

Donnie: He’s being ridiculous.

Mikey: Donnie!

Donnie: Sigh, fine! He’s saying we should all take some time to sleep and eat. And he’s being rude about it.

Leo: Rude!? I’ll show you rude, Bitch

Mikey: Uh, Leo, I don’t think I can repeat that one with Raph here.

#rottmnt #comic #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #fanfic #tmnt fanart #fanart #digital art #i may be invisible but i still look good

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seiya-starsniper · 22 hours

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Rating: Teen || Chapters: 2/5 || Word Count 3.5k/??

Summary: The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.

AO3 Tags: POV Multiple, Hob Gadling gives live advice to a bunch of teenagers, while helping them solve cases, that's it that's the fic, also he maybe plays matchmaker for his hot mess bestie

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2 below, or using the link above on AO3!

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

Hob Gadling considers himself to be a rather open minded man. He's lived hundreds of years, and seen thousands of strange and unusual things in that same amount of time, so the chances of something catching him completely off guard are rather slim in the year 2024.

The last few days, however, have proven that there are still many, many things that can surprise him.

One of those things being one Charles Rowland, who is currently waving at Hob from the entryway of the New Inn.

Hob normally doesn't like to get involved in anything having to do with the supernatural, and especially not anything related to the type of work that Edwin and Charles do. He'd met them purely by chance after some asshole with delusions of grandeur had tried to frame him for a series of murders. He’d sent Edwin and Charles on a wild goose chase in a poor attempt to cover his own tracks.

Hob thought that once they caught the real murderer together and cleared things up, that would be the end of things. But then, Hob kept getting involved in their cases over the years, all of them entirely on accident. Eventually, somewhere between the fourth and fifth poltergeist, Hob decided he might as well figure out how to defend himself against supernatural entities, and maybe make himself useful for these poor boys too. They certainly needed all the help they could get.

Hob had been glad to hear that Edwin and Charles had recently gotten some sort of amnesty in exchange for continuing to help ghosts and other souls move on. It was good work, what these boys did. Hob has seen ghosts that haunted the same places for centuries finally be to pass on into the afterlife thanks to them. And now, they not only had permission to keep going, but had gotten more help to do it too.

The addition of Crystal to their little crew had been a surprise, and Jenny an even bigger surprise, though the latter seems less interested in solving cases, and more in making sure Crystal doesn't get herself killed in the process.

Still, Hob's only ever seen the teens all together in some sort of group, never alone, and he's definitely never seen Charles without Edwin. From the moment Hob had first met the two ghost boys, they’d always been a singular unit in his mind. And yet here Charles was, alone and looking strangely expectant while trying to appear casual as he waits for Hob to close out the tabs on the last remaining lunch hour patrons.

“Everything all right?” Hob asks when Charles approaches him once his last customer leaves.

“Of course!” Charles answers, his signature smile bright on display. “I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hello. And to thank you again for the assist the other day.”

As a ghost, Charles is technically always in the neighborhood, so Hob knows that that’s not all that there is to his visit. It also hasn't escaped Hob's notice that Charles specifically picked the one day Jenny wasn't working the kitchen this week to drop by the pub. He clearly doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s here.

But Hob knows by now how to deal with skittish teenagers. Even dead ones.

“Well I'm almost done here and then I'm gonna head upstairs for a cuppa,” Hob says. Mark’s going to be here soon to relieve me of duty. Happy to have some company if you have the time to spare for an old man.”

“Oh! Yeah sure, I'm not busy,” Charles says, and cute that he’s still trying to pretend that he hadn’t come here with a purpose, when his eagerness is so clearly written all over his face. “Don't need any food though, as you know.”

“Sure, sure,” Hob replies, waving his hand dismissively so Charles can head upstairs ahead of him. He's going to make a cup of tea for Charles anyways. The boy always seemed to love the steam that came out of the mugs, even though he’d never admit it out loud.

Mark comes in exactly at 2:00pm, and Hob chats with him for a few minutes, before he clocks out and heads upstairs to his flat above the pub. Charles is already waiting for him in the living room, and Hob immediately sets to the task of warming up some hot water in the kettle and grabbing some mugs for tea.

“So how are things at the agency?” Hob asks as he waits for the water to heat. “Busy as ever, or more so now that you’ve got yourselves a psychic?”

“Definitely busier,” Charles says. “Crystal’s been a massive help with our cases, we're solving them even faster than before.”

“Good,” Hob replies, just as the kettle clicks, letting him know the water is done. “I’m glad she’s using her powers for good nowadays,” he adds as he brings the two mugs over to the couch. Charles looks surprised by the extra mug, but accepts it without a word. Hob doesn’t expect him to drink any of the tea, of course, but as predicted, Charles seems to fall into a trance watching the steam rise out of the cup.

“Thanks for not giving her too much of a hard time,” Charles says when Hob sits down in the recliner across from him. “She’s been really down on herself lately for everything in her past.”

“I can only imagine,” Hob agrees. He knew a thing or two about wanting to reinvent oneself and burning away the past. He’s had hundreds of years to do so after all. In fact, it could even be argued that Crystal was far ahead of where Hob would’ve been had he been in her shoes. The girl he’d met a few nights ago was so different from the one he’d met a year ago in court that Hob would’ve thought she had a twin instead.

“Seems like you two get along well,” Hob notes after a brief silence has passed. Charles perks up immediately, taking the opening in the conversation.

“We do,” Charles replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s amazing.”

“Yeah? So are the two of you a thing then?” Hob asks, and would you look at that, turns out ghosts can blush after all.

“I—maybe?” Charles says, his voice pitched higher with uncertainty. “I don’t know, actually. I mean, it's, well…complicated I guess?”

“How so?” Hob asks. He’d suspected there had been something going on between them, it was obvious in their body language, and how they gently teased one another throughout the night after the banshee had gone. Now Charles is talking like a man newly in love and completely besotted.

“Is she giving you mixed signals?” Hob follows up when Charles doesn't answer.

“No!” Charles exclaims, shaking his head. “It’s me really, I’m—I don’t know.” He sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought for a while that’s what I wanted and then Edwin—” he suddenly cuts himself off, a small amount of panic now crossing his features.

Ah. Now the reason for Charles' visit suddenly makes itself clear. Crystal clear even, but Hob keeps that terrible pun to himself.

“So Edwin finally told you how he felt about you?” Hob asks, deciding to rip the bandage off now and quell the strange awkwardness in the room. Charles’ head whips up so fast Hob feels his own neck start to cramp up in sympathy.

“You knew ?” Charles asks. “But Edwin said he’d only figured it out when we were in Port Townsend!”

Hob shrugs. “Sometimes, things are easier to spot when you’re not in the middle of them,” he replies. “But it was pretty clear that, at the very least, Edwin considered you the most important person to him. It's not surprising he fell in love with you too.”

“You really think so?” Charles asks. “Because I don't—I’d never really thought about it before, you know? He's my most important person too, but I never thought that we would be more than that. But now that he's said it, I can't stop thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” Hob asks. “Does it bother you that he feels that way?” A shake of the head. Good. “Do you ever think you could return those feelings?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the problem!” Charles cries, his voice pitching near to a whine. He stands and paces around Hob’s living room, and Hob has to try not to laugh into his tea. Teenage problems were always the same, whether a live or dead.

“To be honest, I’m still really into Crystal,” Charles starts, “...but then after everything with Edwin, and what happened to Niko, I started thinking, well, how long will that really last? Crystal’s alive, I’m not. She’s going to—she won’t—she’ll eventually—”

“Grow up?” Hob offers when the teen can’t find the right words. “Grow old, hopefully? Live a fulfilling life with someone else that’s flesh and blood?”

“I—yeah. Ideally yes,” Charles replies, though it's clear the thought bothers him by the way he scrunches his features. “But also, what if us being together puts her in too much danger? What if she—if what happened to Niko happens to her, I couldn't bear it, Mr. Gadling.”

“Hob,” Hob corrects the boy gently. “I've told you before that you don't need to call me Mister anything, makes me feel way older than I already feel,” he adds with a laugh. Charles gives him a half smile and just shrugs helplessly. Some habits were impossible to break, it seemed.

“And those are perfectly reasonable fears to have,” Hob continues. “Crystal is her own person though, and you need to take into account that she might find the risk worth it. And to be honest, I feel like the risk to her life is the same, whether you two are romantically involved or not.”

“Yeah, I suppose you're right,” Charles agrees, flopping back down onto Hob’s couch and staring back into the still steaming mug of tea. “So do you think we should give it a go, then?”

Hob shrugs. “I think you two like each other,” he replies, “but whether you think a relationship is worth it is up to you. Does Edwin know about you two?”

“He knows—some stuff yeah,” Charles replies sheepishly. “I had told him I liked her way before he, you know, confessed to me and all. And like, even afterwards, it seems like he’s fine, but I really don’t know if it’s all actually fine, or if he’s just trying to act like he’s fine just because I look fine but he’s not really fine and what if I’ve mucked everything up or—”

“Hey, slow down, Charles,” Hob interjects, and the boy’s mouth clicks shut immediately. “From what I can see, nothing has changed between you, so I wouldn't worry about it,” he adds, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Besides, you and Edwin have been together this long now, you've got more than enough time to sort things out, one way or the other.”

“Yeah,” Charles agrees, his voice now wistfully soft and clearly full of affection. “When we were in Hell, I said that to him,you know. That we have eternity to figure it all out.”

“Did you now?” Hob asks, now smiling himself. “Sounds like you two are on the same page then, as per usual. Now you just need to make a decision yourself and Crystal.”

“Yeah…yeah you're right,” Charles says, seeming to come to a decision. His back straightens and he sits up, his signature smile back on his face. “Edwin and I may have forever, but Crystal doesn't and it's rude to keep a lady waiting right?”

“Absolutely," Hob replies.

Charles leaves shortly after, promising not to overthink everything and let his feelings come naturally to him. Hob is fairly certain he knows where things will land eventually, and he's sure Charles does too. It doesn't make the journey to get there any less worthwhile.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives fanfic #the sandman #payneland #dreamling #charles rowland #edwin payne #crystal palace #hob gadling #seiya writes #seiya writes dbda #chapter 2 let's go friends whooooo

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deathbecomesthem · 22 hours

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Exile in Guyville 1 - Mesmerizing

Moodboard by @onegirlmanytales

Record shop Eddie Munson x AFAB Reader

*Disclaimer* This story is written in second-person POV for reader immersion. I am labeling it an Eddie Munson x Reader fic. Reader is a unique character. They have a shaved head, are physically disabled - sometimes walking with a limp -, tattoos, and piercings. They have a backstory. If you are not interested in a fic written in that way, simply do not read it. Both Eddie and reader are bisexual. Reader is physically disabled and has PTSD. Eddie is bisexual, has PTSD, and chronic pain.

Series Summary: It's 1995 and Eddie is still looking for a home. His nomadic lifestyle as a studio musician for hire has become lonely as he watches his friends move on and start families of their own. The loss of Wayne, and the relationship he forms with an old rocker brings him to a college town where he meets you. Is there room in your life for him?

Chapter Summary: It's tattoo day.

Self Insert Fan art by @dr-aculaaa

It’s quiet, and it’ll be quiet for months. A respite from the nonstop energy that the college kids provide. It’s the first week of summer break, and all of the outsiders have been shipped back home to mom and dad for the hottest days. Even your own house, normally buzzing with activity, is empty with the exception of your ghost roaming the halls in the early mornings and late at night.

8 bedrooms, 7 roommates, 2 bathrooms. Summer means it’s just you and Mo. Mo’s mom lives in town, so she doesn’t have to stay in the big house with you. She can sleep in her childhood bed, eat dinners made by her mom, and take real baths in a shiny bathtub instead of standing in a shower with mold growing in the corner. It’s one of the many problems on the list for your landlord, never to be addressed. Despite the mold, the cracked tile in the kitchen, the lock that sometimes doesn’t work on the back door, and the complete lack of insulation in the walls – every single one of your roommates signed a new lease. It’s hard to beat $120 a month.

You love the empty streets, the quiet, the way the heat of the sun brings out the details on the otherwise drab streets. Every face you come across you know. This is a small town, really, when the kids are gone. Maybe you’re a kid, too, but you belong to this town, so you’re welcome. Mostly.

Right now your jeans are hanging low on your hips, the ends dragging under the bottom of your boots forever a murky brown color from wear and tear. You’ve had them for years, and you’ll have them until the holes are too big to be patched. You decided to forgo the bra for your appointment. One less thing to worry about while Danny did his thing. You threw a flannel over your black t shirt for modesty’s sake, and so no creepy douchebags decided to take no bra as some kind of invitation. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The nose piercing you got at the shop last week was healing slowly. Slower than it should, it was painful and red for three full days before the inflammation finally calmed. The piercing, a hack job performed by a tattoo apprentice, was a bloody experience that left your roommate sitting on the ground after nearly passing out at the sight of your face. She had her head between her knees while James, the dickhead, was sweating so much while he had his head hovering over your face you could feel it drip onto your own neck. That day you left swollen, sore, and with an important life lesson tucked away in your mind – never trust a piercer with no piercings.

When you reach the shop, it’s dead. You decide to wake it up, throwing the door open – hard – letting the little bell jangle loudly to announce your arrival. The front windows are street level, making it easy for passersby to sneak a peak into the shop as they wander the streets. You know that’s where you’ll be today. Danny will prop you up in the chair that sits in front of those windows, a stage where he can perform his great trick and draw in new customers. That was fine by you, but you always thought it should earn you some kind of discount to be his model for a few hours. Someone always came in when you were in the chair.

“Who’s there?” The question comes from the back room, along with disgruntled muttering about someone breaking the goddamn door. James, Danny’s apprentice, is sat behind the counter scratching at his sketch pad. When his eyes find the answer to Danny’s question, he rolls them, and drops his head back to his drawing.

“It’s your little pet, the Queen Bitch.” James’ usual greeting rubs a little more than it should today. You’re on edge, more than usual, and you have no patience for his bullshit. You show him your middle finger, too annoyed to spare the words, and stand in front of the counter with your arms crossed and eyes glaring. James only cares about the college girls that come through that door, the ones that he thinks might suck his dick if he gives them a free tattoo. The last time you were here you heard the work “dyke” muttered between him and one of his buddies, and you assume that’s why he hates you. Why waste the time? No time for a “carpet muncher,” as he affectionately calls you occasionally. To your face.

“I can head down to Sparky if you guys are too busy for me,” you make sure to call out loud enough for Danny to hear you from the back of the shop. You need him front and center, get some space between you and his minion. Plus, you made a fucking appointment, didn’t you?

There’s a small crash, and Danny’s rounding the corner and buckling his belt. You don’t want to know what he was doing back there, but you hope he was only taking a piss. “Sparky is a fat slob. What do you, fucking hepatitis?” He grumbles as he pushes past you and into the open shop.

“Please tell me you’re about to wash those hands.” Your wrinkled nose and mouth turned down with a sour expression are turned on the old man jerked his way across the room beyond you.

“Don’t start shit, you already know that’s what I’m doing,” and he is, hands running under the little sink sat near the tattoo stations, “I want you in the front today. You ok with an audience, my delicate little flower?”

You give a small involuntary head shake at his sarcasm before a nod in affirmation. You head to the chair, one you’ve been in half a dozen times already, and straddle it to fully expose your back to the empty room waiting for Danny to make his way over to you.

“So, I had to make an adjustment to your design. No complaining. It was too small, and you don’t want the lines fucked to hell.” He hands you the design to check out before he puts the stencil to your back. It’s bigger – by a lot, but you didn’t mind. You don’t tell him that though, you need haggling room. That’s the fun part. You have to put up at least a little bit of a fight.

“Come on, Dan. How much more is this gonna cost me?” You wave the paper in his face for a second, and he’s snatching it out of your hand with a grumble.

“We agreed on $80 initially, I’ll do the revised design for $125.” It’s your turn to grumble.

“Sparky would do it for $100.” Your sing song voice is laced with venom.

“Yeah, and you’d come out with an infection. $115, final offer.”

You pretend to make serious consideration of his final offer, but you both know you’re gonna take it. It’s fair, and it’s still less than you should be paying. You’ve never understood why, but Dan has a soft spot for you, and he always shoots low on the price.

On your first visit to the shop to get a tattoo you pointed to a design from the wall. It didn’t matter to you, it could have been anything. It was a tattoo, anything to mark your skin, to distance yourself. That day your hair still hung low, and you were in the pretty clothes your mom picked out for you. Danny had laughed at you, actually laughed.

“Baby girl, tattoos hurt. Maybe you should go get your nails done and sit in the tanning bed instead.” The smile he wore that day cut deep, and only added to your determination.

You had shocked the absolute shit out of him by falling asleep while he gave you the purple butterfly tattoo on your left hip. That day it was impossible to hide the scars. Danny saw them, you wanted him to see them. He knew from that moment on, pain wasn’t an issue for you.

Today, you look forward to the pain. The feeling of the needle penetrating your skin. Your mind has been loose and chaotic. Being in the chair always helped to bring your focus back. A meditation of ink and blood. Even James keeps his mouth shut while Dan’s working unless he’s directly addressed by his mentor. If you had the cash, you’d come every week, a tithe to your chosen church.

The next hour is a practice of meditation, transcending the scratching pain at your skin. You relax and let Danny work, you’ve learned to trust his arthritic hands. They steady as soon as the gun is turned on and his gloved hand rests on you. You listen to the rhythmic sounds of the gun and James’ scribbling at his sketch book. It’s not until the jingle of the bell at the front door that you’re roused from your sleepy state.

You listen. You’re on high alert always, more so when your back is exposed, and you can’t see behind you. You don’t need a problem, but sometimes one finds you at the worst time. What you hear is the sound of boots scuffing the tile floor, slowing at your chair before making their way to the front counter. Not a word exchanged with you or Dan, but you felt the eyes on your skin, watching the ink mark you.

“Hey man, what’s good?” You let out a little snort, you’re sure Dan can hear. The greeting is overly friendly, something you never hear from James. You can hear hands meeting hands behind your back. James sounds like a little kid, he’s kissing the ass of this new visitor. Not a girl, you know by the person’s gait. They’re sure footed and you can hear the jangling of metal. A wallet chain, you assume.

Danny pauses the tattoo gun to make his own greeting. He rarely tries to hold a conversation with anyone when you’re in the chair, which is appreciated. You want his focus on your body while he permanently marks your skin.

“Eddie, man! I was gonna stop by and see how the shop’s comin’ along once I was done with Ms. Congeniality here.” You bring your arm out to show Dan your middle finger, again thankful for a way to communicate your feelings without having to open your mouth.

A loud laugh, uninhibited, echoes through the small shop. Not Dan or James, they never laugh at you anymore, it’s the stranger, Eddie. You hear the boots click against the tile floor again as Eddie makes his way back to see the progress Danny’s made on your shoulder piece. You can feel him close, this new guy, but you keep your face pressed to the black vinyl of the chair. Anyone that friendly with James cannot be a friend to you.

“You really know how to charm your customers.” The voice is speaking over your back now. It’s deep and coated with honey. You’re very thankful to have your face in the opposite direction of them, because the sound of that voice caused your eyes to pop open unexpectedly. A tingle runs through your body knowing how close that the owner of that voice is to you right now, looking at your exposed skin and appraising it. After another beat, he must have really been inspecting Dan’s work, you hear his footfalls move back to the counter and away from you.

“Store is coming along. I’m getting more product tomorrow. You boys know anyone looking for some part time work? It’s a fucking ghost town around here right now?” Dan and James both let out little noises of ascent. Yeah, it’s summer in a college town and the locals aren’t lining up for part time gigs. A lot of the local shops end up keeping short hours or shutting down all together for a while.

“I’ll keep my ears peeled, brother.” You can’t help but laugh a little at James’ eagerness with Eddie. Brother, what a douchebag. James pretends he didn’t hear you, and continues talking, although a little less enthusiastically, “Ed, take a look at this, I’ve been working on your piece. Tell me what you think.”

The two men at the counter go back in forth in a conversation that doesn’t interest you. You’re letting yourself get loose, lighten and drift. Danny’s steady hand and the gun lull you back into that calm space that only exists in this chair in this tattoo shop. It’s another 20 minutes until the pressure on your skin disappears, and the sound of the gun stops. Dan groans a little as he moves off the stool, “Alright, Trouble, you’re all done.”

You stand, your arm still pushed through the neck of your t shirt, and head to the full-length mirror to take a look. It’s a damn good job, exactly what you asked for, even if it is a little bigger than you initially wanted. It’s better than you thought it would be. Again, though, you play your hand close to your chest. “Hmm, not bad, Dan. Some of those lines, though. Hmm, did you forget your coffee this morning?”

Eddie’s loud laughter, you know now it’s probably something he gives freely, finally brings your gaze to him for the first time. Your eyes’ progression is slow, moving from the black leather boots, up the tight black jeans to find a black leather jacket. Loose curls hang around to frame his face, the rest of his hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck. Despite the out-of-date look, he’s gorgeous, and you hope he doesn’t realize it’s taking you far too long to peel your eyes away from him.

“You boys have a livewire here.” His smile is big and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes tell you he’s probably a little older than you initially thought. You narrow your own eyes at Eddie while you feel Danny cleaning and wrapping your new tattoo. You’re trying to get a fix on this guy. Trying to understand why he’s even looking at you and trying to be friendly with you.

“Let’s settle up, boys. I’ve spent enough time in this hell hole.” You move past Eddie to the counter where James is waiting with you. You pull your arm back through the neck of your shirt and wrap your flannel over your chest, suddenly feeling very exposed. You place a stack of bills on the counter, there goes your hope of anything other than ramen and peanut butter sandwiches until pay day. “I still think I should get a discount after you fucked up my face last week,” you mutter out, sadly watching James palm the cash that belonged to you only moments ago.

“Your face was fucked up before you even stepped foot in the door.” James’ jab misses its mark completely because Eddie’s eyes are still on you, and you can’t hear the process the insult.

You slip a couple of 20s in Danny’s hand and head towards the door. Before you step out, you turn back to address the metalhead leaning at the counter. His hip’s jutted out and the light is hitting him like he was some sort of Heavenly creature sent down to provide you with extra grocery money during the off season.

“Oh, hey, Eddie, right? I work at the coffee shop across the street, but I could use another part time gig,” your voice is casual, but you are actually desperate. James opens his mouth to say something, you can hear his breath dragging through his crooked teeth, but Eddie puts a hand up to stop whatever insult he has in mind.

“The Record Exchange on Water. I just opened last week. Come down and we’ll work something out.” Eddie’s hand is open to you, palm up. An invitation.

You nod and duck out. You should have known. The hot metalhead owns the new record shop.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x afab!reader #stranger things au #tw stalking #eig

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imzadi-caskett-huddy · 3 days

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Break First (1/1)

I know I owe you guys chapters on “Hell Hath No Fury” and “It Started With a Kiss.” Trust me, I know. And I would love to be writing them for you. However, as I was listening to some music, minding my own business, this idea hit me BAM! Like lightning. And now instead of writing the fics I’ve already got going, I’m writing this one-shot to get it out of my head so I can get back to my regular scheduled fic writing.

This fic takes place after “The Limey” in season 4. The fic is inspired by the song “Break First” by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw. If you look it up to watch on YouTube, I recommend watching one of the versions from their live concert because their chemistry together is unreal. The words will appear in the fic, so it’s not completely necessary to look up the song…but you won’t regret it if you do. You’ll get more emotion behind the words if you listen to them with the music as opposed to if you just read them.

I do not own the song “Break First,” nor do I own Castle.

xxxxx

Standing at the bar tryin’ to get a drink

Got one I haven’t touched at the table

Somebody said you’re here, but I ain’t gonna leave

Maybe I’ll just act like you’re a stranger

Kate was sitting at the airport bar next to the handsome Scotland Yard Detective Inspector, nursing her glass of whiskey…whiskey, because after the day–well, few days–she’d had, there was no way she could settle for beer or even wine, and her only answer when Colin had asked what she wanted had been to say whatever he was drinking.

There was nothing particularly wrong with Colin. He was ridiculously handsome, sexy even…she’d snuck a peek at his body when his towel had dropped. He definitely checked off all the boxes from a physical standpoint. He was interesting enough, and even if he wasn’t, he had an accent that automatically made everything he said more interesting simply because of how it sounded coming out of his mouth. They even had things in common professionally.

So no…Colin wasn’t a bad date. But she found herself doing her best to feign interest as he talked, as her mind kept wandering. She kept replaying how Castle had pulled up to her crime scene in his Ferrari with that blonde floozy, and much as it had that night, she felt her heart clench and a sinking feeling in her gut. Lanie’s voice echoed in her head–Like you waited too long. She took a drink of her whiskey at that thought.

As if on cue, she spotted him…no, them taking an empty table across the bar. Jacinda. She was pressed against his side like she was glued there, and Kate guessed she may as well have been with the way Castle’s hand was around her waist, holding her against him. And then her damn eagle eye spotted the blonde’s hand running up along his inner thigh; a wave of jealousy,

anger, and hurt rolled through her body, and she felt almost sick…definitely like she’d just been sucker punched.

Do you know how hard it is, tryin’ to hold a conversation

Knowing you’re right there across the room

So I don’t hear a word that they’re sayin’

No I don’t hear a word that they’re sayin’

“I’m sorry, Kate; I’m boring you,” Colin apologized, realizing he’d lost her attention.

“What? No…no, you aren’t boring me,” she tore her eyes away from the scene that was breaking her heart as she finished the alcohol in her glass and ordered another. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a long few days,” she apologized, turning to face the bar in front of her completely so she no longer had to watch Castle get a handjob from his latest squeeze underneath his table.

Colin studied her a moment before turning to look in the direction she’d been staring daggers at moments ago. Seeing Castle and a blonde woman, he turned back to her. “Must be hard working with your ex. How long ago did you break up?”

“We didn’t break up.” Seeing his confused look, she continued. “He’s not my ex,” Kate told him simply.

“Really? I could have sworn you two…”

“No,” Kate interrupted him. “Castle and I have never dated,” she exaggerated her annunciation of the word dated as the bartender placed a fresh glass in front of her, and she took a drink.

“Ah,” Colin nodded his understanding then. “But there’s something there?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I thought so.”

“But you don’t think so anymore?”

Kate offered a half-shrug and took another sip of her drink, letting the burn of the alcohol take the edge off the sting of it all. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

Who’s gonna walk up and say “Hi”

Then lean in a little too close to whose lips

Say “What the hell are we doin'?”

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

Castle had spotted her almost as soon as he’d entered the bar with Jacinda. He was a writer…he paid attention to the details. Even with the uncomplicated distraction of the attractive woman on his arm, there was no way he wouldn’t spot Kate. Unfortunately, he also spotted him. Of course, she was there with Scotland Yard. Just one more guy she could add to the list of men she dated. It seemed like she was willing to date anyone but him…almost as though the first criteria a man had to meet to score a date with Kate Beckett was to simply not be Richard Castle.

He watched as the other man placed his hand on her arm, earning a small smile from her in return. The Englishman stood from his seat at the bar then, and Castle was relieved it seemed like he was leaving. Only then he leaned in and placed a kiss on Beckett’s cheek, and Castle saw red. He immediately slid the hand that had been on Jacinda’s waist down to her ass, leaning in to whisper into her ear with a smile, his lips grazing the skin of her neck.

I’m dancing with a girl, got my eyes closed

Actin’ like I’m lost in the music

All I’m thinkin’ ‘bout is holdin’ you close

I don’t know how much longer I can do this

When he pulled back slightly from Jacinda and braved a glace in Kate’s direction, he was pleased to find that Scotland Yard was gone. He’d probably had to catch his flight. But Kate was still there, drinking alone now. Part of him wondered if she’d noticed him come into the bar with Jacinda. Part of him hoped she had, wanted her to see the way the blonde woman wanted him, touched him. Part of him wanted her to know that he didn’t need her.

Only…he did. Because while the flight attendant was attractive and fun and uncomplicated, she just…wasn’t Kate. She wasn’t as beautiful as Kate. She wasn’t as witty as Kate. She didn’t smile or laugh like Kate. She definitely wasn’t as brilliant or as intelligent as Kate. Her eyes weren’t the right shade…her hair wasn’t the right color. He hated himself but he still wanted her…he still wanted Kate. Jacinda was nothing more than a blonde distraction, the same way Gina had been.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind play tricks on him, letting his mind convince him that it was Kate he had his arm around; it was Kate who had her body pressed up against his, whispering seductively into his ear; it was Kate’s hand on his thigh. For as long as he kept his eyes closed, it worked. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend that she loved him too, that she was with him…finally. Kate... But when he opened his eyes, it wasn't Kate’s hazel eyes looking back at him.

Do you know how hard it is, bein’ in this situation?

Knowing you were everything

And now havin’ to act like we’re nothing

And pretendin’ that I don’t still love you

“Who’s Kate?”

Castle froze. Shit. He hadn’t realized he’d said her name out loud, but obviously he had. “She’s nobody. Just…a character in a chapter of a book I’m writing,” he tried to cover. “I was trying to figure out how to say goodbye to her. Her chapter in my book is over.”

Jacinda wasn’t as quick or as brilliant as Kate, but she wasn’t completely dumb either. “Sounds more like an old girlfriend to me,” she stated, pulling back from him slightly.

“Well, she’s not,” he shrugged. “In fact, I can promise you that she is not now, nor has she ever been, my girlfriend.” That part was painfully true, unfortunately.

“I’ve got to go, Ricky. My flight is boarding soon,” she told him, slipping out of his grasp.

“Jacinda, wait…”

She paused and leaned in to give him a gentle kiss. “When you finish working out whatever is going on with whoever Kate is, give me a call,” she told him, offering him a small smile before exiting the bar.

Castle sighed deeply. Damn it. He hadn’t ordered a drink when they’d entered because he was being nice about the fact that Jacinda couldn’t have one right before she went on duty. But now he definitely needed a drink. Only he couldn’t go up to the bar because Kate was still sitting there.

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

Who's gonna walk up and say “Hi”

Then lean in a little too close to whose lips

Say “What the hell are we doin’?”

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

Kate noticed the blonde leaving the bar out of the corner of her eye. She decided she had enough of this…whatever this was. Tossing back what was left of her whiskey, she placed her glass on the counter and slid out of the chair. She wasn’t drunk by any means…no, Kate Beckett could hold her liquor. But her filter was no longer operational after 3 glasses of whiskey. She marched right over to his table. She didn’t bother with pleasantries, she cut right to the chase. “What the hell are you doing?”

His eyes narrowed at her. “What the hell am I doing? What the hell are you doing? I thought you said Scotland Yard…”

“His name is Colin,” Kate interrupted him angrily.

“Fine…I thought that Colin was flying back to London,” he countered, his own anger flaring.

“He did.”

“His departure for London obviously made him irresistible to you. Can’t get much more one foot out the door than a relationship with a man who is a 7-hour flight away from you,” he stated.

“Why do you care? Didn’t you have a date with Jacinda?” she practically spat her name.

“Jealous?” he smirked smugly.

“Of your flight attendant floozy? Please,” she snorted. But oh…she was jealous. Jealous of the way Castle looked at her. Jealous of the way Castle talked about her. Jealous of the way he so easily handed the keys to his Ferrari…his Ferrari…to her. Jealous of the fact that Jacinda had driven his Ferrari more in 3 days than she had in 3 years.

“You sound jealous.”

Kate clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not jealous. If you want to fuck your way through Delta’s entire fleet of flight attendants, be my guest. Just keep them the hell away from my crime scenes, and the hell away from my investigations,” she growled.

“Because you never mix business with pleasure,” he commented sarcastically.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorenson…you kissed him at the house of the kidnapped girl. Demming…you kissed him in the precinct, slept with him while you were working together too. Josh…paraded him around the precinct and couldn’t keep your hands off him. Now Colin. Only a matter of time before you sleep with him too…assuming you haven’t already. And those are just the ones I know about,” he said lowly.

She swallowed hard, her hands clenching into fists as her anger flared. They were standing almost toe to toe now, staring each other down…no, more like glaring at each other. Her eyes were getting watery, and she hated, hated the fact that when she got this angry the tears came without her permission and were completely out of her control. “You’re a jackass,” she hissed lowly.

“You’re a coward and a liar,” he growled, trying to mask his hurt behind the venom in his tone.

Who’s gonna say, “What were we thinkin’?

Who’s gonna cut right through the tension?

Who’s gonna admit that they miss who worse?

Who’s gonna tell who how bad it hurts?

His words felt like a slap in the face, made her heart feel like it were being ripped apart by that bullet all over again. For a moment, she found herself wishing it had been a bullet ripping through her heart again; at least a bullet’s damage could be repaired easily by a doctor. The damage his words were causing, however, would require much more than the skilled hands of a surgeon.

Their eyes never left each other as they remained in their glare-down, standing so close they were invading each other’s personal space, neither one willing to back down. It wasn’t until she felt a couple of rogue tears slipping down her cheeks that she was finally the one to break first. “What the hell are we doing?” The words were soft when they fell from her lips, and she couldn’t hide the hurt in them. “What did I do to make you hate me?”

He simply stared hard at her for a moment before his eyes finally softened just slightly. “I don’t hate you.” He didn’t hate her. He could never hate her. But he did want to hurt her, inflict some pain the way she’d hurt him.

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure as hell feels like you do,” she wiped her cheeks. “I miss my partner…I miss my friend…I miss…you. So please…just…tell me what I did. Because this…” she gestured between them, “this hurts.”

“You want to talk about hurt?” he started. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to find out everything you believed in for almost a year, hoped for, were working toward for so long is nothing more than a lie from a coward too afraid to just come out and tell you it was never gonna happen?”

She shook her head. “Castle, what are you talking about?” She genuinely had no idea where all of this was coming from.

“I heard you,” he finally stated lowly.

“You heard me?” she shook her head, still not following.

He just stared at her. Did she really not know? “In interrogation. With the bombing suspect.”

She stared back at him, trying to put the pieces together. And then it clicked. Oh shit. “Castle…” she started. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not what I think?! Kate, you lied to me…this whole time you knew, you knew how I felt about you. And you said nothing!” he said lowly, the anger overruling the hurt in his tone at the moment. “And what’s worse…you made me think there was something between us, something worth waiting for. But the whole time…everything…it was all just a damn lie.”

That’s what all this was about. He’d been waiting for her…and now he thought there was nothing worth waiting for. “Castle, please…just…just let me explain…”

“Explain what, Kate? That instead of just telling me the truth you would rather lie? That you would rather just string me along for God knows what reason instead of just putting me out of my misery? That you would rather be in a relationship with literally anyone but me?”

“Castle, that’s not it!” she tried.

“I’m so tired of this dance, Kate. I’m so tired of doing this with you. Just…just tell me you don’t feel the same and let me go on with my life, let me get over you.”

“Castle…”

“Tell me!” he insisted.

“I love you, okay!” she finally practically yelled at him. Only the fact that the bar was busy kept her confession from being overheard by more than just a few of the closer patrons who, thankfully, didn’t seem to pay them much attention outside of a wayward look at the commotion.

He was frozen at her words. So was she. The look of panic in her eyes told him that she had no more meant to say those words than he had expected to hear them from her. But they were out now. “What?”

She was still frozen, like a deer in headlights. She could feel her heart racing as the walls seemed to be closing in. She could feel the grip of panic rising in her throat. And like a deer in headlights, she turned and ran.

“Kate!” he called after her. But she had caught him off guard with her words and her sudden movement, and it took him a few seconds to get his body to move to chase after her. By the time he made it out to the main terminal, he couldn’t spot her through the crowd of people heading for baggage claim at JFK. Damn it! But he knew where she was going. It was late, she didn’t have a case…she’d go home. And he’d meet her there. This was not over.

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

Who’s gonna walk up and say “Hi”

Then lean in a little too close to whose lips

Say “What the hell are we doin’?

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

“Kate!” he stood outside her apartment, banging on her door. When she didn’t open it, he kept banging. “Kate! I’m not leaving until you open the door and talk to me!” He banged on the door again to reiterate his point.

She stood on the other side of the door, her back leaning against it as she wrestled with herself over what to do. She could test him…let him keep banging and yelling and maybe he would get tired and just leave…but she would have angry neighbors. Or she could just open the damn door and face him. She’d rather have the angry neighbors. After a few moments of his continuous banging, she finally opened the door, ready to yell at him.

Only before she was able to say anything, he pushed into her apartment, took her face in his hands, and kissed her hard. The way he moved was so determined and swift that she had to grip his shirt to keep from falling backward. It took several moments for her to get past the shock of his action, but she finally gave herself over to the kiss, the grip on his shirt loosening slightly, her mouth softening under his lips.

His kiss was demanding and thorough. He’d loved her, wanted her, thought he would finally have her…only to have it ripped away because he thought she didn’t feel the same…to then have her admit, albeit accidentally, she did feel the same…and then run away from him. He was making it clear, there was no way she was getting out of this yet…they were going to work this out now. She wouldn’t be able to run from this.

When he finally pulled away, they both stared at each other breathing heavily for a few moments. Kate finally broke the eye contact and moved past him to close the door. “Castle…” she started, only to have him interrupt her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighed softly, leaning her forehead against the door for a moment before finally turning to face him. “At first I didn’t know what parts were true, what things actually happened, when they happened. Castle…there were so many flashes of things…I didn’t know which ones were real, which ones I’d hallucinated, or which ones were drug-induced. I was a mess…I had to work through so many issues…” she tried to explain. “By the time I actually remembered and knew it was real…there were so many other issues I needed to work through. I didn’t know how to deal with everything. But I never lied to you about what I wanted.”

“So the relationship you mentioned wanting to have…”

“It was with you. I should have just said that…I shouldn’t have expected you to understand what I meant…” she shook her head. “I’ve been seeing a therapist, Castle. He helped me work through my shooting, my PTSD…he’s helped me with my wall. He’s still helping me,” she told him quietly. “I see him once a week.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he found himself asking her again.

She shrugged. “I just wanted to show up and put in the work without making any excuses,” she answered.

“So this therapist…he’s helped?”

She nodded. “He has.” She was quiet for a few moments. “I need you to understand that me not telling you I remember has nothing to do with how I feel about you. It is and was about me...it never had anything to do with you,” she told him softly. “And I’m sorry…I never meant for you to find out the way you did. I was going to tell you…”

“When?”

She was quiet for another few moments. “After this case, actually. When I asked if you had a minute to talk.”

“Only I didn’t…” he realized, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, Kate…about Jacinda…I just, I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” she held up her hand to stop him. “Did you sleep with her?” she asked quietly after a few moments. She needed to know.

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m not going to lie…I tried. I wanted to. But every time we got close I…I couldn’t,” he admitted quietly. “I felt like I was cheating on you, and I couldn’t go through with it.”

“Castle…” she murmured, moving into his arms, burying her face in his chest and just inhaling him.

His arms wrapped around her tightly, resting his head on top of hers as he held her tightly. “I’m sorry…I’m so, so sorry…” he murmured.

Her arms tightened around him as well as she turned her head to look up at him. “Me too,” she

murmured. She tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “Are we…okay?” she asked nervously.

He looked down at her. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that, considering?” he asked softly.

“We’re ok,” she nodded, resting her head back against his chest.

He released a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. He hadn’t messed this up. “We’re ok,” he repeated with a smile.

She felt a weight lift off her chest as he repeated her words. She hadn’t messed this up. “Castle…” she looked up at him. “That wall I told you about? It’s coming down,” she told him.

“I’d like to be here when it does,” he told her seriously.

She bit her lip again as she smiled slightly. “Maybe…we can knock the rest of it down together?”

“You mean…?” he trailed off with his question, wanting to make sure they were understanding each other since they seemed to have issues actually communicating with anything beyond subtext.

“I mean together,” she nodded. “I’m tired of waiting. We’ve both waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Her words brought a smile to his face. “Together…” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her, this one much slower and more gentle than the last.

She smiled against his lips, her hands sliding up his back to pull him closer as she returned his kiss. "So...can I drive your Ferrari now?" she asked softly with a smile.

He chuckled at that. "Kate, you can drive my Ferrari whenever you want," he promised, kissing her again.

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

Who’s gonna break?

You or me baby, who’s gonna break first?

xxxxx

So this fic didn’t exactly go way I had envisioned it when the idea struck me, but I’m still pretty pleased with how it turned out.

And now I can go back to writing the newest chapters for Hell Hath No Fury and It

Started With a Kiss.

I hope you all enjoyed this little angsty piece. I look forward to your comments!

#castle #caskett #kate beckett #richard castle #castle fanfiction

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