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the-kr8tor · 2 days

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Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

��Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

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turtletaubwrites · 2 days

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 22

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 4300

Ao3 Link

Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: It's the morning of the big event, and these lovers are distracted, stuck in their own minds. Too many truths, and too many fears seem to pull everyone apart.

Author's Note: This chapter contains big DRAMA, GUILT, & SMUT. Pretty much no one's having a good morning until they decide to blow off some steam. Our lovely reader is NOT in a good mental state right now with all of her fears looming today, but the majority of the chapter is from the boy's POV. I apologize for all the angst, I swear this story won't be so angsty forever! 😭😬

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, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Grief, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Pain Kink, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Gagging, PIV Sex, Creampie, Hair-Pulling, Scratching, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

“Shh, babygirl,” Crocodile soothed, kissing Y/N’s temple to quiet the hint of that sick laughter on her lips. She’d woken up with the word ‘daddy,’ on her tongue, but the tinge of sorrow in her voice, and the sheen of sweat on her skin told him she hadn’t been calling for him.

The sight of that red haired bastard in his bed would have sent him into violence, but he couldn’t look away from her, from her quivering lips. He brushed the hair from her face, trying to smile, trying to be comforting.

Don’t leave me, sweetheart. Not before I can help you with this.

The thought of his girl all alone after that trauma, all alone without her father to care for her so young hit him deep. It felt like he’d been gutted by his own hook.

It’s my fault. She’s gonna leave because I’m a monster.

The image of her terror filled eyes wouldn’t shake loose from his mind, just as she couldn’t shake loose from his hook around her neck. Her feet had dangled, tears staining her cheeks while she held her tongue to protect her lover.

Told her I’d kill her. Told her I’d sell her. Told her–

Crocodile had to look away from her, clenching his eyes shut to ward off the vision in his mind.

The vision of hurting her. Hurting something, someone precious to him. Skewering her on his hook like a piece of meat, the scent of her blood on the wind as it soaked into the sand below her.

No.

Shanks was distracting his boys. Buggy’s eyes were wide as the red haired pirate leaned over to kiss his shoulder, rubbing his hand along the swordsman’s thigh while he did.

But Mihawk was looking at him.

Crocodile glanced away quickly, telling himself it was because that sight was too annoying to deal with this early.

It was.

“Come with me, sweet girl. Since these boys clearly have better things to do.”

“Looks like someone woke up on the—“

“Don’t be an ass, Shanks. We have a lot to take care of this morning,” Mihawk scolded. Crocodile clenched his jaw at the teasing lilt in his little prince's voice. More than sex.

More than what he'd shared with him.

Y/N crawled out of bed to take Crocodile’s hand, his clown following close behind to kiss her on the cheek.

She’s the one that needs our attention.

Shanks looked too pleased after Mihawk’s reprimand, apologizing while he kissed up the back of his neck. The swordsman’s argument was weak, his eyes fluttering shut when that red haired bastard nibbled on his ear.

He lied.

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

~~~~~~

The world was a blur, and you let yourself be guided, cared for. Breakfast was held before a line of servants and officers, all taking their turns in front of your intimidating group to give their reports, to take their orders.

“I need to check with Alvida about the party favors. Why don’t you relax for a while, sweetheart? You’ve done enough.”

Your clown had already chugged his too-sweet coffee, running off to his chaotic day. He'd left his head behind just long enough to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

“See ya, star.”

Of course, Shanks had snatched that blue hair, stealing a kiss from your grumbling clown before letting him loose.

Crocodile smiled down at you, his eyes looking strained while you tried to understand what he’d said.

“I’ll be checking in with security, but I’ll be back with plenty of time to help you get ready, darling,” Mihawk purred, his voice breaking through your fog to make you shiver. “Not that my little rabbit needs any help looking exquisite. You look good enough to eat this morning, love.”

“Mm, you are a tasty, little bunny.”

“Enough.”

Crocodile’s voice sliced through the air, bringing all eyes to his. He shifted his hook onto his lap, the movement only bringing attention to the thin line scraped across the table. He cleared his throat, turning to you while he spoke to the other men.

“This will be a stressful day. Y/N has to pander to a bunch of rich idiots she hates, just so we can all make some berry. My sweet girl deserves to be treated like a princess today. Don’t you dare ignore her, and if you two treat her like one of your fucking toys, then she and I will be drinking your blood instead of wine tonight.”

A look almost like regret flashed across his face when your eyes went wide, but you took his offered hand, ignoring the men he’d just threatened for you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he soothed, his thumb rubbing along the back of your hand almost nervously before he pressed it to his lips. “Daddy’s gonna be scary today. Never to you, though. Never again, babygirl. I swear it.”

Your mind was still keeping you behind a wall, trying to protect at least the deepest parts of you from the sting of their inevitable betrayal. Yet… Silver eyes pulled you in, chains tightening until you couldn’t breathe. He swore it.

He hates liars.

Chills ran over your skin while you nodded, but you still couldn’t. Couldn’t risk it.

Never.

“I’ll go double check the seating arrangements,” you decided. “Make sure the ushers don’t accidentally cause an international crisis.”

“My girl,” Crocodile hummed, kissing your cheek before scowling at the remaining pirates. You stared at the expanse of his back as he disappeared down the corridor, until you gasped at the touch of Mihawk’s cold fingers on your thigh.

“I won’t be long, darling. I’ll come, and find you. We can… relax before the big show. I’ll help my little princess forget all her worries.”

“Don’t call me that,” you breathed with no bite, aching for whatever distraction he could give. “Please, sir. Just call me–”

“Rabbit,” he purred, taking your lips in a slow kiss that made you melt, dropping the fork you forgot you were holding.

“The prettiest bunny rabbit I ever did see,” Shanks praised, his sweet words sounding so delightfully filthy while Mihawk trailed his lips down your jaw to your neck. You found those brown eyes looking at you with even more wicked mirth than usual.

“Executive Dracule, sir…”

“Don’t try interrupting on a normal day,” Mihawk warned, leaving a few more kisses on your skin before following the security officer down the hall.

“Can I walk you to work, bunny?”

You took that offered hand, letting the red haired pirate’s charm distract you for a little while.

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

This is a dream.

Waking up to a world where both Buggy and Mihawk were with him, touching him, smiling at him, kissing him…

It was unreal. Shanks didn’t think anything could sour this feeling. Not that big, scaly villain. Not the stupid, greedy party on the way. Not even the strange distance in her eyes.

Not until that distance grew around her, throwing a bucket of ice over him.

What’s wrong…

That worry brought guilt, not just for his selfish desire to ignore everything besides his long awaited bliss, but for the feeling that he’d caused it. He’d pushed her further than he meant to, even though he had wanted to help her.

I wanted Buggy more.

There it was. The bliss was fading fast, replaced by the reality of what he’d done to get it.

This sad, empty girl. She hadn’t been empty when he got here. She’d been feisty. Brave. She’d cared.

“Y/N?”

She ignored him, calling for one of the servants. Shanks watched her work, watched her body shift into someone else. It was unsettling, like a doll that was almost perfectly lifelike. Almost real.

The twisting in the pit of his stomach only grew.

“You don’t have to stay here. You can go find Buggy, or Mihawk,” she suggested lightly, a smile that was too serene on her face.

“Is it alright if we talk, sugar? Away from…”

Y/N’s eyes unfocused for a few seconds before she nodded, leading him to a conference room connected to the large banquet hall. Leaning against the oval table, she was still frighteningly unreal. She tilted her head, waiting, but Shanks had to force himself to speak. Force himself to get out all the words he knew he should say, no matter how much it made him want to jump out a window.

I can do this. She deserves to hear it. Just say it.

“I wanted to tell you,” Shanks started weakly, gaining momentum, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t consider your feelings enough when I… I’ve missed Buggy for so long, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry I put so much pressure on you. I used you, and I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right, no matter how much pain I was in.”

Y/N stared, eyes wide, unblinking.

“Everything I said is still true,” he promised, caution pulsing through him. “I’ll protect you, both of you. I would love to have you on my ship, if that’s what you want. But I’m sorry I–”

“You love him?”

Movement in her eyes, movement as she touched his arm. Shanks could breathe again when he saw life return.

He didn’t realize that he didn’t hesitate at all.

“I do.”

Sweet, sad smile. Why…

“Take him.”

…

“What,” Shanks rasped, his brows scrunched together as if he couldn’t hear, hadn’t heard her.

“I forgive you. Please, take him. You should be together.”

“Y/N, what about–”

“I want him to be happy,” she ordered, and his eyes flared at the sudden fire in her veins. The anger. “I can’t go with you. Please make him happy.”

This isn’t right. She’s not right.

“Bunny…”

“Don’t tell him,” Y/N hissed, a bit of herself in her eyes as she leaned toward him, pleading. “I’ll convince him. Just promise me, please.”

Shanks’ lips parted, staring down at this strange girl. She fisted his shirt in her hands to pull him in, and he couldn’t resist, drawn toward her like a magnet.

“Promise you’ll love him,” Y/N demanded, fierce words almost spat against his lips. “Promise you'll make him happy.”

“Y/N–”

“Promise me.”

He couldn’t lie. Not against that beautiful, tortured look in her eyes. Not against the desperation in her voice.

Shanks couldn’t lie.

“I’ll love him with everything in me.”

She relaxed, letting Shanks hold her to him, and he felt her body sink into a looseness that was more concerning than comforting. Guilt filled him. Guilt and fear for what he’d put her through. For what she was running from, refusing their help with. It wasn't right.

“Please, let me help–”

“I just need a minute, thank you,” Y/N soothed. She pushed away from him gently, her voice calm, empty. “I’ll be fine.”

“Bunny, I can–”

“I asked you to fucking leave.”

Her fists had clenched, nails digging in while they shook over her lap, eyes going vicious when she snarled at him.

What have I done?

“I’ll be fine. Just need a minute,” she smiled. The dissonance between those pleasant words, and the rage she’d just shoved down deep made this Emperor of the Sea’s hair stand on end. “Please.”

“Of course,” he gave in, leaving her presence slowly, backing away as if she were going to transform before his eyes. She didn’t. Y/N kept that empty, almost smile, and it made him want to throw up.

What the fuck have I done?

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Ice slid down Shanks’ spine when he stared at her from the doorway, her bland face still hiding that wrong voice.

“You owe me.”

Shanks didn’t know he could feel this nauseated. Didn’t know he could feel this disgusted with himself while he looked at this sweet, sick girl that he’d played with too recklessly.

“I won’t tell,” he breathed, the words feeling like bile in his throat. “I’ll just say you wanted a break.”

She thanked him.

Shanks’ body walked away, but his mind couldn't. His guilt wouldn’t let him.

She thanked him for stealing her love. She thanked him for leaving her with that poison in her smile, that evil in her voice. The red haired pirate left that empty girl sitting on the conference table. He ran away from her like a frightened child.

He had no fucking idea what to do.

“There’s the layabout,” Mihawk drawled as Shanks charged into the corridor. “Need me to find you a job to–”

“Y/N’s taking a break in the conference room,” he choked out, wanting to keep his promise, but still send her help, knowing that his eyes were crazed. “I think she could use some company.”

Mihawk knew him. Hawk could read him like a fucking book. The swordsman’s nostrils flared as if searching for her scent on the air, and he didn’t say a word before charging past Shanks.

Charging past the coward that hurt her. That hurt the girl that both of his…

The man that hurt that sweet girl.

Fuck.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

That’s good.

That’s better.

That means everything else is fine.

Your feet dangled off the edge of the table while your eyes floated, not pulled toward anything while you imagined Buggy smiling, adventuring with his true love. The thoughts were relaxing, taking you out.

If that happens, then everything is okay. Nothing else matters.

“Little rabbit?”

“Hi, Mihawk,” you smiled, wanting him to take the rest away. “Are you here to help me relax?”

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

“Who’s having a breakdown in the dressing room,” Buggy sighed, surprised at how well everything else was going. “Eliza? Why?”

Buggy stomped backstage, eyes scanning everyone, every stage hand, every performer, every prop lined up on the table. He sent a hand just to nudge something more into place, an unnecessary action as he’d done so well at preparing for this night.

Too well.

Buggy felt on edge without things to fix or people to yell at before a show. He couldn’t just sit around and wait, he’d go fucking insane. Especially with the confusing picture of the extra lover on the bed this morning stuck in his head. Especially with Y/N's smiles, so fake that he couldn't break through, couldn't find her. Especially when the weight of everyone’s happiness seemed to be on his fucking shoulders. How was he supposed to…

Nope.

Thinking was bad. Out of the question, especially before the show.

Luckily, his best aerial dancer was having issues. He almost whistled on his way over there, but didn’t want his crew to think he was happy, to get complacent.

No one takes a happy clown seriously.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Everything was right there. Everything he’d ever wanted.

More than that.

Shanks had spent decades wishing that one of his loves would be his. He’d tried to find another, but there was no one like Buggy. There was no one like Mihawk.

He’d built this moment up in his mind for years now. This would be his chance to be with Buggy. To offer him the life they should have had. Find him, take him away, and have that adventure they’d always dreamed about. Finally hold him, keep him, make him smile.

The Emperor of the Sea was pacing through the corridor, his mistakes playing on a loop in his mind while he tried to figure out what to do, what to say.

Shanks scoffed at himself for his confidence. All these years of dreaming, and worrying, and hoping, yet he’d just walked in here fully believing that Buggy would take his hand. That Buggy would leave everything behind.

That Buggy wouldn’t have anything to leave behind.

Piece of shit.

He had to lean against a wall, staring down at his feet while even more nausea flooded through him. This place had shoved a mirror inside his mind, forcing him to look.

Red Haired Shanks didn’t fucking like what he saw.

I didn’t think anyone else would love Buggy.

Sinking to the floor, Shanks wallowed in guilt. He was about to spill his shame across the fancy carpet, the burning in his throat too fucking much.

Buggy.

All those years spent telling him the truth about how wonderful, how beautiful, how talented he was, yet Shanks didn’t think anyone else would see it. Not like he could. He couldn’t decide what that said about him, but it was foul.

Resting his head back against the wall, Shanks realized how fucking greedy he’d gotten.

They fucking tortured him! Crocodile is a tyrant!

Somehow those truths were sounding more and more like excuses. Especially after Shanks saw what they had here. That sweet girl that he’d prodded until her pain came out, breaking her into pieces…

Buggy loved her. Jealousy had taken him over, but the more he saw, the more he wanted it all. He needed to take them both away. To have that sort of love for himself. To have Buggy, to see him smile like he does with her.

The greed only got worse the more he watched the men touching his clown, how they all seemed happy, and the pain of Mihawk got all wrapped into it.

Shanks had woken this morning with greed instead air in his lungs. The sight of Crocodile last night with his three beautiful lovers. The sight of the four of them together like that was more than he’d ever imagined, and after last night with Hawk, the red haired pirate knew what he needed.

All of them. I’m taking all of them.

Everything had been at his fingertips. He’d seen something so bright that he had to take it for himself.

A butterfly, crushed to death by the child that wanted to look at its pretty wings.

I’m losing them all. So close. I ruined it. I hurt… I don’t deserve…

He wasn’t used to this. The guilt he still felt with Buggy felt distant, the mistakes of youth, and he was just waiting for the day he could make up for it all. This new guilt was caustic, too fresh, and made him question the kind of man he thought he was.

A hateful laugh left Shanks' throat while he stayed slumped on the floor, pathetic pity and self loathing drowning him deep.

I guess I’m the villain here.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

Why is she? What happened? I should have been listening to her. I should have–

“You said you’d help me forget all my worries.”

Mihawk stood just inside the conference room door, almost trembling at the sight of her.

Beautiful.

Wrong.

“Please, sir. I need you.”

These last few days had shaken the world’s greatest swordsman to his core. He’d always taken what he wanted. Didn’t care. He never hesitated.

Yet, Y/N had trapped him. Mihawk’s lips parted, almost dizzy from the battle within him. Paralyzed.

Need.

She needs help. Something’s not right. She needs me. She’s trying to use her body against me, to manipulate me. She needs me.

“Mihawk,” she begged, and the hint of pain in her voice sent him to her. He touched her, felt her cold hands, kissed her temple, pressed her against his chest while panic set in.

“Tell me what’s wrong, darling.”

Need her to be alright.

“I’m fine,” she lied, but he wouldn’t tell. “Just waiting for you. Do what you always do. Be mean. Hurt me. Make me need you. Make me forget.”

Guilt.

He’d been so caught up in Shanks, that he hadn’t seen her fall this far. Guilt at the thought of pushing her, of not listening to what she wanted right now. Guilt for his aching need to punish her, take her.

Gods, her scent… Can’t. Can’t.

“Please, love, let me help– fuck.”

“Help me by hurting me,” she ordered, releasing the flesh from her mouth where she’d bitten his chest. He’d thrown his head back, moaning at how perfectly she’d controlled him. Moaning at the need to make her pay for it.

Pulling himself out of that chaos was almost painful.

“Y/N–”

“Pretend.”

She sliced up his back, brutal nails down his skin under his jacket. He lost it.

She needs me.

“You’re fucking lucky that we need you pretty for the party, darling,” Mihawk growled, loving her desperate yelp when he grabbed her, cruel hands flipping her, shoving her face down onto the table. He held both of her wrists in one of his hands behind her back, using his free hand to lift her dress.

“So wet for me,” he taunted as he pulled himself free, teasing his cock over her pretty pussy, still hidden beneath those soaked panties. “This what my little rabbit needs?”

“F-fuck me– fuck!”

The delicious sound of her panties ripping as he tore them from her was nothing compared to the sweet, muffled cries she let out when he shoved the wet fabric into her mouth. Her eyes were fluttering for him, her body writhing, her hips trying desperately to move toward his, begging, fucking begging for him.

“You haven’t been very polite today, rabbit,” Mihawk drawled, satisfaction running through him as he forced his cock into her. She was always so wet, so ready for him, but with no prep, and with her legs trapped how he had her bent her over the table, he couldn’t hold in a moan at how fucking tight she was. “So you’ll get just what you asked for. How’s this for mean– Ha, my little vixen. Coming so soon?”

He could barely hold on. The swordsman could still feel the sting where she’d scratched his back, deep enough to draw blood. The thought of his red on her fingertips made him forget, made him hold her down, made him fucking take her.

“Mine.”

Mihawk fisted her hair, yanking until her back arched painfully over the table. Seeing the drool from her stuffed mouth just made him fuck her harder, blind to everything but her perfect, pliant body. He hadn’t realized that he’d released her hands until she reached up behind her, clawing her nails into his wrist while he pulled at that pretty hair.

“My wicked angel,” he praised, a dangerous chuckle following the moan her lovely pain had pulled from him. He had to fight to keep from slamming her face back down on the table, from fucking her throat until she choked and cried, from slicing his own red lines across that gorgeous skin.

Just enough presence of mind to remember that he shouldn’t wreck her too much, although he couldn’t remember why.

“Fucking mine,” he growled, spellbound by her sweet, greedy cunt, and her weak, little fingers still trying to hurt him. Her body danced for his again, struggling against his rough grip while she spasmed, milking his cock like she was made for it.

“Hear that, darling? You’re mine. My rabbit. My love. Fucking need you, fuuck…”

His last, dangerous words were snarled like threats as he thrust so fucking deep, making her cry while he spilled his hot pleasure inside her, stuffing her full until it dripped down her shaking thighs.

Ragged breaths, and their frantic hearts were all they could hear as he released her soft hair from his cruel fingers. Still twitching, he was unable to resist the urge to watch his cock sink back into her a few times before leaving her body. Leaving a sticky, beautiful mess that he almost cleaned up with his tongue.

Until the world returned.

“Fuck, are you alright, rabbit?”

“Mhm,” she hummed lazily, tugging the ruined panties from her mouth. She kept humming, and sighing for him while he helped her move. He was extremely grateful for the box of tissues on that long conference table while he wiped up his extravagant mess.

Mihawk focused on her, focused on caring for her, focused and focused, and didn’t think about the things he’d said. That was easier than he expected once guilt crashed over him again.

Y/N. She’s hurting. She’s lost. And I just used her again. Used her like a toy.

I’m still a fucking monster.

“Thank you,” she purred, resting her head in the crook of his neck while he carried her to the suite. Carried her to where he’d been looking forward to getting her ready. Looking forward to dressing up his pretty doll.

All the relief that last night with Shanks had brought him seemed stale. Too little, too late. No matter how much forgiveness he was granted, nothing could take away everything he’d done. Nothing could fix what he’d done to her, and now his greed was twisting him further.

What was the point of deciding not to be a monster, if he would just give in to this compulsion, this sick need? A need that he knew he was going to succumb to. Had to give in to.

Mihawk hoped he wouldn't have to be a monster for this.

I need her. No matter what happens.

I need her by my side.

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

You felt so good.

Relaxed.

Buggy would be safe and happy, and they would keep pretending until the end. You wanted to hope that you’d have more time than just tonight, that they hadn’t made a deal so soon, but you couldn’t afford to hope.

So you accepted it. Whatever they did, whatever happened, you’d made your deal with yourself. Buggy safe. They pretend. You enjoy every last moment with these beautiful villains before they send you back…

Send you back to choose your fate. Pros and cons.

If he even gives me a choice now.

Mihawk sat you down on the edge of the bed. He kissed your cheek, and called you pretty things, and you followed your own orders while he dolled you up.

Time to pretend.

~~~~~~

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

a/n: Oh gobs, how y'all doing? I know things seemed like they could be hunky dory at the end of the last chapter, but I hope you'll forgive me for exploring the messy minds of our big bad pirates. I just couldn't let them off scot free, alright? They needed to sit down, and think about what they've done 😅

Part 23

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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