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beargyu313 · 14 days ago

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We be outside 𓇼 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Untie my leash, take off my mask, This world flips, turned into a bad love

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: what better way to meet your boyfriend’s friends than going on a trip with them, right?

Pairings: Sunghoon x you (couple), Niki x you (side piece),

⋆˚꩜｡WC: 17.2k (guess this is my new norm…) ⋆⭒˚｡CW: this story includes CHEATING/homie hopping, if this is something you don’t like then simply don’t read the story. Obviously, I don’t condone cheating irl and am hence using fiction to explore a fantasy…

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ Tags: Cheating, cockwarming, sexual tension, semi-public sex (Niki fucks you in the living room while everyone’s watching a movie), fingering (m!giving, f!receiving), sneaking around, heavy petting, teasing, talk of anal,, dick size comparison, marking, light choking, hair-pulling, size kink, praise kink, jealousy (from both lol), pussy licking, crying during sex

𓆉⋆.˚𓆟A/N: apologizes for not posting sooner, just been in a weird funk, reblogs and likes are as always appreciated<3 also next in the making is Jake with the trope of friends to lovers (After a tipsy kiss, you both agree to "see what happens" with strictly no feelings. (Spoiler: There are so many feelings.))

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You watch Sunghoon wrestle a large silver suitcase out from under his bed, the corners bumping against the frame with a dull thud. His brows are drawn in concentration as he unzips it and starts mentally organizing stuff—socks, chargers, skin care.

You sit cross-legged on the floor beside him, back resting against the edge of the mattress, your phone glowing in your lap. You scroll idly until a notification catches your eye.

“Who’s ‘h1seungsgirl’?” you ask, squinting. “She just sent me a follow request.”

“Hmm?” Sunghoon doesn’t look up. He’s busy tucking his cologne into a small pouch. “Oh. That’s Heeseung’s girlfriend. She just joined the group chat.”

You tap into her profile, skimming. Her feed is warm-toned, curated, clean. Sun-kissed selfies, gym mirror shots, a laugh caught mid-frame. She’s pretty. Like... really pretty.

“Is she the one he met on twitch?” you ask, glancing over the phone at him.

“I think so.” He shrugs, casually. “She’s cool. You’ll probably like her.”

“Yeah, she seems sweet… Wait- Jay just added me too.” Your thumb flicks upward. “That’s…?”

“Jungwon’s boyfriend.” This time, he does glance at you, briefly. “You met him at that rooftop thing, right?”

“Oh, yeah. With the guitar,” you say, smiling faintly at the memory. “He was nice.”

“Mm. They’re inseparable. They’ll be in the other bungalow.”

“So it’s them, Heeseung and his girl... and us?”

Sunghoon pauses just long enough for you to notice. “Technically. Niki’s with us.”

You try to sound casual, try to keep your pulse steady.

“Right. Of course.” As if you hadn’t spent the last few nights spiraling down his Instagram, heart hammering at every pic he’s in, every grin, every blurry photo of him at a club (yes you also went through his tagged photos). (It’s not a big deal – you just like his aesthetic)

Sunghoon pauses, glances at you like he’s trying to remember something.

“You’ve met him before, haven’t you?” Sunghoon asks offhandedly, now folding a hoodie into a tight square.

“Once or twice,” you murmur. “Very briefly.”

A silence settles. It’s not tense, just familiar. You start to wonder if you’ve run through your daily word limit with him when he speaks again.

“He can be kinda weird with people he doesn’t know,” Sunghoon says, not looking at you. “Just ignore it if he’s awkward.”

You tilt your head. “Weird how?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. He’s just... Niki.”

Your phone buzzes again, and this time it’s from the group chat — the one you were only added to yesterday. Seven unread messages. You scroll past a selfie from Heeseung’s girlfriend and some chaotic voice notes from Jungwon until you reach the newest one.

ki005__ ok but who’s driving with who tmr lol i’m not tryna get squeezed into jay’s clown car again

You snort softly, thumb hovering over your screen.

“Group chat’s already getting spammed” you say, glancing up at Sunghoon. “Niki just asked who’s riding with who.”

Sunghoon doesn’t pause in his packing. “He should just go with us.”

You tilt your head. “Do we have space?”

He zips the suitcase halfway and nods. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” you say, a beat too quickly. Then you add, more casually, “Honestly, we might as well. Makes sense.”

You type out a reply: you can ride with us if that’s easier,, plenty of room

Sunghoon, kneeling by the suitcase again, barely glances over. “I thought you said you didn’t like long drives with other people.”

You scroll, pretending not to hear that. On the screen, Niki’s typing…

ki005__ bless ur soul 🙏 see u two losers at 10?

You feel the corners of your mouth pull upward, slow and involuntary. “Ten okay with you?” you ask, not looking up.

“Sure,” Sunghoon says, then stands to stretch, like the conversation's already over.

Your screen lights up again.

ki005__ shotgun btw don’t fight me

You laugh under your breath. Sunghoon doesn’t ask what’s funny. You don’t tell him.

The next morning, Sunghoon’s alarm blares, slicing through the silence of his dim bedroom. You blink awake slowly, watching him stretch one arm toward the phone. He shuts off the sound, sighs, and sits on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, you think he might turn toward you, maybe brush your hair out of your face like he used to. But he doesn’t. He just stands, yawns, and walks into the bathroom without a word.

“Morning to you too,” you mutter under your breath.

You both get ready in now-familiar silence, trading only the essentials, such as

“You packed your swimsuits?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

By the time you’re lugging your bags to the car, you feel like you’re with a roommate rather than with your boyfriend. Everything is just too… habitual, stale almost.

You help Sunghoon fit the luggage into the trunk, neither of you offering much more than grunts of effort. Once seated, with Sunghoon in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger, you unlock your phone and connect it to the car’s Bluetooth.

You scroll for something upbeat. Maybe something to lift the mood. But just as the opening bars of the song start playing, Sunghoon taps the steering wheel screen and changes it to something else. A playlist of low-effort indie tracks he listens to when he’s zoning out.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t explain. Just... switches it. You sigh, long and quiet, and turn to the window. Pull out your phone again.

A notification lights up your screen: @ki005__ liked your photo.

And then — a second later — unliked it.

You bite back a smile, heart kicking up a notch against your will. You try not to read too much into it. You fail.

Turns out, Niki only lives three minutes away. As you pull up outside his building, you automatically sit up straighter in your seat, fixing your hair in the rearview mirror without really thinking.

He’s already outside, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, matching sweat set hanging off his tall and lean frame. Messy blonde hair covering his face. Sleepy-eyed with pouty lips. Effortlessly attractive.

He opens the back door and climbs in, pushing his platinum hair out of his face with one hand. The scent of his cologne filters through the car as he settles in.

“Yo,” he says easily to Sunghoon and you.

Sunghoon glances at him through the rearview. “Right on time. Proud of you.”

“Only because I didn’t sleep,” Niki replies, voice even deeper than you remember. His eyes flick to you briefly, and for a second just a second you swear his gaze lingers before he looks away.

About forty minutes into the drive, Sunghoon pulls off at a gas station. The three of you had just settled into a comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the radio filling the car. You were almost asleep as the car stills with a gentle jolt and Sunghoon parks. He yawns mid-sentence.

“I’ll go pump and pay. You two good?”

You nod, already checking your phone. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Niki’s voice comes from the backseat. “I’m good.”

The door thuds shut behind Sunghoon, and the hum of the engine is replaced by a quiet kind of stillness. The type that immediately makes you aware of every movement, every breath.

You feel Niki shift in the backseat, the soft rustle of fabric as he stretches his legs out. “You always sit that still?” he says after a beat.

You glance at him through the rearview mirror. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You just got all… proper. Like you’re waiting for roll call or something.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile threatening. “I’m literally just sitting.”

“Yeah, but it’s very... formal,” he teases. “I feel like I should be speaking in full sentences or something.”

You huff a laugh. “Sorry I don’t slouch dramatically the second I sit down.”

“Oh, this is dramatic?” he leans his head back against the seat, totally relaxed, baring his long neck. “This is me conserving energy.”

You give him a sidelong look. “Sure. You’re the picture of restraint.”

He hums, smile still tugging. “So you’ve noticed.”

You don’t answer right away. The inside of the car suddenly feels smaller.

Before either of you can say more, you spot Sunghoon heading back. You shift slightly in your seat, eyes flicking to the window. The moment passes. Light and forgettable, except for how it settles somewhere under your belly.

“Let’s go,” Sunghoon says, his mood noticeably uplifted now that he’s returned. The car hums to life and you guys spend another hour or so driving on the highway, the sun setting high in the sky.

Sunghoon’s hand rests on your thigh as the car crawls to a stop, fingers warm and absent-minded, more of a habit than a gesture. You barely notice—you’re too busy staring out the window.

The afternoon sun streaks gold across the sky, bleeding into the ocean just visible beyond the trees. The air is warm and thick with salt, the kind of coastal humidity that makes your clothes stick and your skin feel sun-kissed even before hitting the beach.

Ahead of you, two bungalows sit side by side, like mismatched siblings. The one on the left is signed as B2 and is clearly the nicer of the two, it’s slightly raised on stilts, white wooden siding faded just enough to look effortlessly aesthetic. There's a wide patio lined with string lights and a grill already set up near the steps.

B1, the one you’re pulling into, is smaller. Cozier. A single narrow porch leads to the front door, and you can already tell from here there isn’t a lot of space. You imagine the living room will barely hold three people, let alone host them.

Sunghoon shifts into park.

“Welcome to paradise,” he says, removing his hand from your thigh as he leans over to turn off the engine. You don’t answer, your eyes are already on the two cars in the driveway, the figures moving around them.

The second the doors open, chaos spills out.

“I swear if someone forgot the speaker—” Jungwon’s voice rings across the driveway before you’ve even unbuckled your seatbelt. He’s halfway out of his car, waving a pair of flip-flops in one hand like a flag.

Jay hops out after him, laughing. “Why are you yelling like we’re not all within three feet of you?”

Heeseung leans against his trunk, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His girlfriend stands beside him, cool and quiet, scrolling on her phone. She barely glances up as people start unloading bags, her vibe unreadable but somehow calm amidst the noise.

You open your door and stretch your legs. The drive wasn’t long, but sitting between Sunghoon’s silence and Ni-ki’s quiet energy in the backseat had left you buzzing.

You glance around just in time to see Niki hop out of the back. He pulls his duffel bag over one shoulder and pushes a hand through his hair. His hoodie’s half-unzipped, sleeves pushed up. You try not to stare at the way the tank top underneath the hoodie hugs his waist, as he blinks into the sun, the breeze catching his platinum hair.

“Yo! You finally made it,” Heeseung calls out to the three of you.

“Traffic was ass,” Sunghoon replies, grabbing both your suitcases from the trunk before you can even protest.

Jay points to B1. “That’s yours, right? The little one? Y’all better cuddle tight.”

You force a laugh. “Guess we’re the cozier bungalow.”

Niki gives the house a once-over, then squints. “Damn. Tiny thing.” His voice is light, but there’s a subtle lilt of irony and when his eyes flick to yours briefly, you feel your stomach flutter.

You pretend not to notice.

The group starts dragging bags toward the houses, voices overlapping again as flip-flops slap against the pavement and someone cranks the volume down on the speaker.

“Okay” Heeseung holds up his phone, squinting at the Airbnb confirmation as everyone crowds loosely around him. “Let’s figure out who’s sleeping where before someone tries to claim the grill as a bed.”

“If I snore, me and Won should get the master as a courtesy to the rest of you,” Jay says, tossing his bag over his shoulder and leaning into Heeseung’s space. “It’s a kindness, really. You don’t wanna hear what happens when I hit REM.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend lifts her head from her phone just long enough to give Jay a side-eye.

“Dream on, man.” Heeseung scrolls with his thumb, then looks up. “Me and my girl have the master in B2. Y’all can fight over whatever’s left.”

Jungwon groans. “If I end up on the floor I’m spooning someone, no discussion.”

“As long as it’s not me,” Jay mutters, already heading up the steps.

“Yeah right,” Jungwon says, playfully slapping Jay’s ass, a soft fondness in his eyes as he does so.

You trail after Sunghoon, letting the rest of them peel off toward B2 in a wave of teasing and mock complaints. You can hear Jungwon’s voice bouncing off the side, something about who packed the best snacks and whether or not cold brew counts as hydration.

Sunghoon stops just short of the door to B1 and turns toward Niki, who’s lingering a few steps behind you, hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Bedroom’s ours. You’ve got the couch.”

Niki lifts a brow, clearly unfazed. “As long as it pulls out. Or doesn’t.” He glances at you, just for a second.

Jungwon snorts loudly from the other porch. “Niki, you’re disgusting.”

You pretend not to catch the innuendo, but your face feels warm.

Niki just grins and kicks at a loose pebble by the steps. “I’m easy, anyway. You could toss me a towel and I’d make it work.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, turning the key in the lock. “You say that like you didn’t once refuse to sleep in a tent because it ‘smelled like nylon.’”

“Okay, first of all, it reeked like wet socks and shame,” Niki shoots back, following him up the porch. “Second, you promised there’d be a cabin.”

“I lied,” Sunghoon shrugs simply.

You trail behind them, amused. “Didn’t you also say he whined the whole hike up Mount Seorak?”

“That was different,” Niki says quickly. “I had altitude-induced existential dread. You can’t control that.”

You lag behind as the door swings open and your eyes scan the inside. The bungalow’s exactly as expected. Modest and slightly cramped. The living room couch is a muted beige, already half-unfolded, and the small hallway beyond it leads to a single bathroom and a closed bedroom door. A window unit hums quietly, cutting the humidity.

You step inside last.

There’s something about the space. How close everything feels. How there’s no room to hide if anything starts to unravel.

Sunghoon snorts as he pushes the bedroom door open. “You had blisters.”

“Blisters and dread,” Niki corrects, glancing over his shoulder at you with a lazy smile. “She gets it.”

You raise your brows. “I’m not taking sides until I see who actually makes the best barbecue.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Niki grins, brushing past you, “I hope you like your chicken emotionally charred.”

Sunghoon mutters under his breath as he steps in behind you, “That’s rich coming from the guy who once set noodles on fire.”

“I was experimenting,” Niki defends. “Creativity can’t be contained.”

You spend the afternoon like that, bantering with each other. The sun is starting to set as you change into a pastel linen set compromised of shorts and a crop top. You felt pretty as you brushed your hair, spritzing light perfume on before joining the rest of the group outside, by the grill.

The patio of B2 was bathed in golden hour light, the grill heating up and a portable speaker was playing something upbeat. Laughter and beach air are thick in the atmosphere. There are coolers, soda bottles and bags of half-opened chips.

As you step out you already hear Jungwon. Jay is already holding a spatula he definitely wasn’t asked to touch.

“I swear if someone forgot the buns again!” you hear Jungwon shouting.

Jay is grinning as he waves the bun bag around, “Your savior has arrived.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend is leaning against the railing, sipping from a can and listening quietly as Heeseung frowns at the grill knobs like he’s diffusing a bomb.

“Why is this one hissing?” Heesung asks her.

“Because you turned the wrong burner,” she deadpans, moving to show him how to do it right.

“It’s gonna be a long weekend,” you hear Jay mutter as he huffs over to Sunghoon. Who you’re sitting next to at the edge of the patio bench. As soon as you stepped out Jay handed you a cold can of probably beer, that you’re nursing in your lap.

Even as you’re sitting next to Sunghoon he’s mid-conversation with Jay and doesn’t notice when your knee touches his. Just as you were starting to feel awkward only listening in to their conversation Niki slides onto the other side of you.

He was close enough for you to smell his cologne, but not close enough to touch. He took his hoodie off now, sporting a black tank top that hugged his frame – leaving nothing to the imagination. His skin golden under the last of the sun looked inviting and you do your best to gather yourself.

A moment passes.

Your thigh brushes his. He doesn’t move away.

He’s talking to Jungwon about some movie, but you swear you feel the pressure shift. It’s like he leans into the touch just a little more deliberately. Or maybe you’re imagining it. Your drink suddenly feels warmer in your hand.

Sunghoon laughs at something Jay says — something about their shared gym horror stories — and you smile faintly, eyes drifting as Heeseung fiddles with the grill knobs again, one hand shielding his eyes from the low sun.

Heeseung calls out, increasignly more annoyed, “Who said they were good at grilling and lied?”

“I never said I was good. I said I was confident,” Jay tells him with full mouth.

A small gust of sea breeze picks up, carrying the scent of salt and charcoal. The sky’s starting to stain dark red at the edges.

Niki shifts beside you to grab a paper plate from the stack in the center of the table. His knee bumps yours, firmer this time. And again, no apology. Just a tiny glance your way, unreadable. Then he returns to his casual lean, resting his forearm along the edge of the bench, figertips grazing your shoulder.

Just then, Jungwon loudly appears with a bag of ice in his hands, “We need drinks, or I’ll start chewing on these hot dog buns out of boredom.”

“You say that like you haven’t done it before,” Niki deadpans.

Jungwon shrugs, “A man’s gotta survive.”

Everyone laughs. Sunghoon stands and takes the plate from your lap without saying anything, walking over to help Heeseung. You’re left sitting with Niki, who doesn’t move.

“He usually like that?” Niki playfully asks, as he leans a bit into you, his voice low so only you hear him.

You glance at him, confused. “Like what?”

Niki shrugs, his lips spread into a half-grin “A little… married already.”

You snort, it slips out before you can catch it.

“I guess he’s just focused.”

Niki hums, “Mm.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “You don’t seem very focused.”

Your brows lift. “Excuse me?”

Niki fully grins now, staring forward, “Just saying. You keep…” he pauses and looks down at your joined legs, “…accidentally touching me.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you glance down and gulp as your eyes trace over his legs, noticing how much bigger Niki seemed to be than you. It gave him the effortless ability to make you feel small. And horny, you wonder what else-

“You always this quiet in groups?” he casually asks, almost crowding your smaller frame with his much bigger stature.

You shrug, noncommittal. “Depends on the group, I guess.”

You glance at him. Hold it a little too long. He smiles, just a little. You unknowingly lean your head to the side, admiring the slight blush covering his cheeks.

Jungwon across the table from you two, loudly laughs at something unrelated, but still he notices the moment between you and Niki, “Damn, she’s studying him like she’s about to write a dissertation.”

You immediately look away, biting back a smile. It’s a joke light and harmless but it makes Niki huff out a laugh.

“Better get my citations ready, then,” Niki quietly huffs, just loud enough for only you to hear.

You don’t answer. But your thigh presses just a little closer to his under the table. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to feel his warmth seep into you.

At the cooler, Sunghoon tosses a cold can toward Niki. Niki catches it with one hand.

“You still drink this crap?” Sunghoon grins.

“Only when I’m pretending I’m happy to be here,” Niki fires back.

They grin at each other, an old rhythm. Laughter hums around the table. Bottles clink. You're halfway through your drink, Sunghoon’s angled toward Jay and Heeseung, deep in some debate about gas prices or whatever. You’re not really listening.

Niki shifts beside you to reach for the last can in the cooler. His fingers brush over yours deliberate or not, you can’t tell. He pops the can, leans back with a low sigh.

Just then Jungwon from across the table proclaims, “I call not washing dishes tonight.”

“You didn’t even cook anything,” Jay points out, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Yeah, because I bring vibes.”

“You bring crumbs, bro,” says Heeseung with tongs in his hands. He’s by the grill flipping the last few pieces of meat left over, “These aren’t cooking fast enough.”

“That’s cause you’re sober, bro,” says Jay, holding up a can of beer.

Once you’re all sat down Heeseung declares “I did the meat,” arms crossed like a judge.

“And I chopped stuff,” says Sunghoon, leaning back in his chair.

“I set up the table,” Jay chimes in, reaching lazily for another chip even though dinner is clearly over.

“I brought vibes,” Jungwon adds with a grin, mouth half-full.

You raise an eyebrow. “You literally showed up with a bag of ice.”

“Exactly,” Jungwon says, smug. “Essential.”

You glance at the pile of dishes accumulating on the patio table. Bowls of melted ice cream, skewers, empty soda cans and beer bottles.

“So, who’s cleaning?” you ask, even though you already know where this is going.

Jay waves a lazy hand. “Not it.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend stands, already brushing off her shorts. “I helped cook. I’m off-duty.”

Jungwon taps at his phone. “I’m on aux. Very important.”

There’s a pause. Then everyone looks at you.

And then at Niki.

“Fine,” you mutter, pushing your chair back. “I’ll start rinsing.”

Niki’s already gathering plates with one hand, sipping from a half-empty can with the other. “I’ll help,” he says, eyes flicking toward you — casual, like he’s not secretly delighted.

Sunghoon doesn’t comment.

In the small bungalow kitchen of B2, you pile dishes beside the sink while Niki turns on the tap. He nudges your elbow as you reach for a bowl. “You dry. I’ll rinse.”

“So bossy,” you mutter, grabbing the towel anyway.

You fall into a quiet rhythm. Steam curls from the hot water. The only sounds are dishes clinking and the faint bass of music still playing outside.

He hands you a plate, fingertips brushing yours.

Then the next.

Then—

“You’re kind of… small, huh?”

You blink, caught off guard, still holding the bowl he passed you. “Excuse me?”

Niki doesn’t look at you. He’s smirking at the faucet. “Not in a bad way. Just—” he shrugs, “Everything about you’s tiny.”

Your jaw drops slightly, face burning. “That’s not— You can’t just say that.”

“You can’t tell me I’m bossy and then act offended when I observe facts,” he says, playfully bumping his shoulder into yours. You sway at the contact, Niki smiles.

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips. He sets the next plate in the drying rack, then finally turns to look at you.

“Your hands are small too,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought. “Here—” He holds his palm up. “Let me see something.”

You hesitate, heartbeat quickening, then lift your hand to his.

Your fingers meet. His are thicker, longer, they swallow yours easily.

Niki tilts his head, watching the contrast. “Thought so.”

You say nothing, but you’re very aware of how warm his palm is against yours. And how long he lets it linger before pulling away. Aware of the way he has to look down, and the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him when he’s this close.

You take a deep breath, a familiar heat spreading through your lower belly. Your mind is in overdrive, dizzy with a growing need and you wonder if Niki can feel it too, can feel the electricity between you two.

Outside, a burst of laughter is heard. Jay probably dropped something.

Niki gives you one more plate. “Last one,” he murmurs. Your fingers brush again. Neither of you moves when your shoulders touch, standing just a bit too close to each other to be considered platonic.

After the kitchen is finally cleared, the two of you now also joined with Sunghoon, drift back toward B1 with the sort of wordless quiet that only comes after hours in the sun. Flip-flops slap softly against the concrete path. You trail a little behind, watching Sunghoon and Niki.

Thoughts of comparison sneak into your mind before you can stop them. They’re both very tall, but Sunghoon never made you feel tiny and you couldn’t understand why Niki, who’s at most 5cm taller than your own boyfriend continuously made you feel this way.

It wasn’t just the height, Sunghoon was a good boyfriend, but you couldn’t deny that recently your relationship started to feel a little stale, too familiar. Niki on the other hand intrigued you, he was quiet but not shy. Reserved, but not apathetic. Filled with endless oxymorons that you wanted to pick apart until you understood him fully.

You glance at their backs. Same broad shoulders, same lazy stride. But when Niki walks, it feels like the air shifts. Like you’re meant to follow.

Sunghoon is the first to speak again, voice low as he thumbs through his phone. “Jungwon’s making me download some old movie for movie night. Like, black and white old.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Said it’s ‘actual cinema.’”

Niki lets out a snort. “Bet it’s boring as hell.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Sunghoon mutters, fiddling with the door key.

“He probably already knows,” you say with a small laugh.

Inside, the bungalow is darker and cooler than outside. You click on the hallway light and a soft glow spills across the small space. The couch is still pulled out halfway, pillow already set up, and a folded blanket rests on top. Someone probably Sunghoon tossed it there earlier without comment.

Niki toes off his slides and heads straight for it, dragging the blanket to one side as he drops onto the cushions.

“I got couch,” he says, almost too casually, pulling the pillow under his arm. “You two go pretend you’re dating.”

You roll your eyes, but Sunghoon just stretches. “Not pretending,” he mumbles, already heading to the bedroom. “She steals all the covers.”

“You snore,” you call after him.

He doesn’t deny it.

The bathroom door creaks open and closed as Sunghoon steps in to brush his teeth. You hover by the small hallway shelf, fidgeting with your toiletry bag, but your eyes drift back toward the couch.

Niki’s tossed his phone on the edge and is flipping through the TV menu, blanket over his lap like he’s done this a thousand times before. He doesn’t look tired. Just… calm. Settled.

You pause for a second longer than you mean to.

He glances up, catching your gaze. His voice is quieter than before, almost lazy. “Don’t worry. I won’t snore.”

“I know where to come then, if Sunghoon gets too loud.” You mean it as a joke but it comes out more suggestive than you intend.

Your face burns as Niki raises his eyebrows, a slight smirk stretching across his lips.

“You might regret that. I’m not great at sharing space.” He lets it sit for a beat, then adds with a half-smile, “I do like to cuddle though.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. You laugh a little too quickly.

“Just as long as you're not a blanket thief…” it slips out before you think, and now it’s your words hanging between you like smoke.

His eyes flick up. The moment stretches.

You scramble to fill it.

“I— I mean, not that I’d actually, like… come over. That’d be— weird.” You’re already backing up a step, fingers twitching at your hair.

“Right?”

He doesn’t say anything, he just watches you, unreadable, lips still curled.

Heat creeps up your neck.

You turn before he can answer. Practically flee into the bedroom.

Behind you, you hear his soft laugh low and amused, followed by the gentle click of the TV remote, the hum of something starting to play.

Not much later, after you’ve both freshened up in the bathroom, you slip beneath the covers beside Sunghoon. Your thighs ache annoyingly and betrayingly. You replay the memories of Niki, all the teasing, all the quiet touching. You shuffle closer into Sunghoon, hoping he can eradicate any thoughts of other men. You cuddle into his side and nuzzle your face into his neck.

He lets you, wrapping an arm around you. As you kiss his neck he stiffens, “babe, Niki’s right next door.”

“So?” you ask, moving to straddle him as he continues laying down.

“It’s fine, we closed the door,” you say, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. It lands somewhere behind you.

Sunghoon rests his hands on your hips, satiated with your excuse. You can feel him getting hard under you and you smirk.

You lean down, enveloping his lips in a passionate kiss as your hands move under his shirt, softly scratching at his plush skin.

“You’re really needy tonight, huh?” Sunghoon comments, more to himself than you.

“Can’t help it when I have such a hot boyfriend,” you say, rocking your hips against him. Willing yourself to stay grounded in the moment and not let your thoughts escape to a taller man, a man who was in the next room.

Sunghoon groans softly, the sound caught in his throat as you roll your hips again. “Fuck… babe…”

“Did you bring condoms?” you ask, as you already move to his suitcase.

“Yep, left corner at the bottom,” he tells you, and when you’re back on him you’re both naked. You rip the wrapper open with your mouth before rolling it onto his hard length.

You watch as his eyebrows pinch together and squeeze him a bit, just the way he likes.

Sunghoon softly groans as he throws his head back, allowing you to essentially play with his dick. And you do, gripping it and jerking it as you please.

Your hand can just barely envelop his girth, he was big but since Niki was bigger in all other aspects would that also mean he’s… you shake the thought away, and rock your wet folds against Sunghoon’s dick, almost laying down on him.

He watches you, flexing his abs in quiet restraint.

You knew your boyfriend and you knew if Niki wasn’t behind closed doors Sunghoon would’ve already had you the way he likes it. Passionately, deeply and roughly.

Which was why you wanted to tease him more, not getting this opportunity often, but alas your impatience drives you into sinking on him too quickly. You both groan, trying to stifle any noise as you adjust – you to the stretch of his dick, and Sunghoon to how tightly your little pussy wrapped around his dick.

The mattress creaks beneath you, old springs giving way with every motion. It’s subtle at first, but soon it starts sounding unmistakable. Rhythmic. Inescapable.

From the other side of the wall, the TV volume suddenly clicks louder.

You freeze for half a second, not stopping entirely, just… aware that Niki definitely knew what the two of you were doing behind closed doors. Your breath catches.

Sunghoon notices. He laughs a little, low and amused, his hands squeezing at your hips. “What, getting shy now?” he murmurs, his voice brushing warm against your collarbone.

You don’t answer but your eyes flick toward the wall.

Sunghoon’s grin is slow. He’s misreading it. “C’mon,” he says, lifting his hips to meet yours again. “I’m sure Niki doesn’t mind hearing your pretty little moans.”

Your body jerks involuntarily. Your thighs clench tighter around him. He feels it.

His voice drops, half teasing, half turned on. “Oh… you like that?”

You try to play it off, but your face is already hot. You look down, lips parted.

Sunghoon sits up slightly, flipping you two, so he’s on top of you.

His mouth brushes your jaw possessively, like he’s a predator guarding his prey and it turns you on, thoughts of Niki eradicated. For now.

“You want him to hear us? Want him to know how soaked you get just from riding me?”

Your breath shudders out, lashes fluttering, “Yes” you dreamily sigh.

He groans, voice rougher now, “Dirty girl…”

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you again, this time rougher, his hands gripping harder as you move together, it’s messy and heated. The bedframe knocks softly against the wall.

The TV volume clicks up again.

Your eyes squeeze shut. You imagine Niki with his hands down his pants, listening to you. Playing with his hard dick and wishing you were in the living room with him instead.

You moan loudly. Sunghoon growls in a possessive warning to be less loud. But it does nothing to stop your mind from picturing Niki on top of you.

Ater all is done and you sloppily clean up together Sunghoon dozes off, spooning you from behind.

You on the other hand can’t sleep. The ache between your thighs is still present, even more intense now. You can’t stop thinking about Niki, his bigger frame, his dark eyes, the way he always seemed to be close to you or watching you…

After more tossing and turning around in the bed you finally manage to fall asleep to Sunghoon’s soft snores, the even and familiar rhythm lulling you to sleep.

You wake to a soft rustle of sheets and the sun warming the back of your neck.

Sunghoon is curled around you, one arm snug at your waist, his chest rising and falling against your spine. His breathing is steady, calm. He smells like salt and warmth and the lingering sharpness of last night.

Your body aches, pleasantly sore from last night but something inside still gnaws. That deep, low ache hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s worse now.

You squeeze your thighs together, as if that’ll ease it. It doesn’t. It’s not Sunghoon’s fault. He was good, sweet, and familiar. The kind of rhythm you knew by heart. But it still wasn’t enough. Because someone else is in your head.

Still.

You finally slip out of bed once you’re sure Sunghoon’s breathing has evened again, brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom and rinsing your face with cold water in hope it clears your thoughts. It doesn’t.

You step out into the main room only to stop short. Niki is already up. Sitting sideways on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm draped over the backrest. His hair’s a mess. A thin silver chain around his neck. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looks like he didn’t sleep or like he hasn’t been to bed at all.

You hesitate, but he doesn't look at you. Doesn’t even flinch.

You go to the kitchenette, grab a mug, pour some coffee from the thermos left out by Heeseung when they made the first pot before heading to B2. The silence stretches long. Too long.

You glance over again.

He still hasn’t looked at you. Just staring blankly at something on his phone. His expression is unreadable, still and blank in that way he always is, like there’s something going on inside and he just won’t let you see it.

The coffee’s hot against your tongue. Too hot. You burn your mouth slightly but don’t react.

He speaks just as you’re lifting your mug again.

“Sleep okay?”

You nearly drop it.

You nod too fast. “Yeah. You?”

Niki hums. Barely.

“Not really, t’was kinda noisy, I heard you.”

The mug clinks against the counter. You choke a little. “Heard…?”

Niki finally looks at you.

His eyes are dark not sleepy, not soft. Just focused. Direct.

“Sunghoon,” he says simply. “He snores.”

You exhale too loudly. Your laugh is brittle, cut at the edges. “Oh. Yeah, he does that sometimes. I’m used to it.”

He nods once, looking away again. But not before his gaze drops just briefly to your legs, bare beneath your oversized tee. His mouth twitches like he was going to say something else but thought better of it. You pretend to busy yourself with stirring sugar into your cup. Your hands are shaking. You tell yourself it’s the caffeine.

But you can’t stop thinking. Did he hear more than snoring? Did he hear you moan? Did he want to? His voice was unreadable. But his eyes… There was something there.

You go back to the room after that, crawl back into bed where Sunghoon sleepily tugs you close again. You let him. You even kiss his cheek, nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck.

But your pulse is still skipping. Your body is still awake. Your mind is already elsewhere. And you know exactly who it’s with.

When you step into the kitchen for the second time today, it’s already a little warm from the early sun. Sunghoon’s already poured your coffee. You sit beside him, trying not to look like you didn’t sleep or like your brain has been replaying someone else’s face since 2AM.

Niki walks in a moment later. His hair’s damp from a shower. He’s shirtless again, wearing only swim trunks, towel over one shoulder, phone in his hand. You don’t look directly. You can’t. But your pulse stutters when he brushes past you, reaching for a mug.

"Groupchat says beach by eleven," he says casually. “Jay and Jungwon are already down there. Heeseung’s girlfriend brought one of those fold-up coolers.”

Sunghoon leans forward to check his phone. “Sick. We can just bring drinks and chips or something.”

Niki nods, noncommittal. He sits across from you, sipping quietly. You feel his eyes once. Just once. Why does he sound so casual, but look like—

No. Stop. You exhale. You’re imagining things again.

...Aren’t you?

After breakfast is finished, you dig through your suitcase for your black one-piece swimming suit. The safe one. The covered one. The one Sunghoon likes and specifically asked you to take. But your hand hits string. Ribbed fabric. Triangle cups. Your stomach drops.

“Shit…”

You’re still holding it up dumbly when the bedroom door creaks open behind you.

“You almost ready?”

You turn. Sunghoon’s leaning against the doorframe, rubbing sunscreen between his hands. You hold the bikini by the strap, like it might explain itself. “I thought I packed the one-piece.”

He pauses. Then frowns. “That’s not it?”

You nod. “They’re both black. I grabbed the wrong ones.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, pointedly he asks “…You’re really gonna wear that?”

Your brow lifts. “I mean… yeah? I only brought one swimsuit with me.”

“I just—” he laughs under his breath, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t think you’d bring the tiny one.”

“It’s not that tiny,” you huff.

He raises an eyebrow.

You cross your arms. “It’s just a bikini, Sunghoon.”

“Yeah, but—” He sighs. “Come on, baby, like—the guy’s are gonna see you in that.”

That catches you. Sharp and immediate. Your eyes narrow. “So? It’s not like I took them on purpose.”

Sunghoon’s tone shifts, it’s still soft, but strained. “I just don’t like the idea of them seeing you like that.”

You pause.

“Then don’t look,” you say, turning away.

You walk to the bathroom with the bikini still in hand. Behind you, Sunghoon exhales but doesn’t further comment.

From the couch in the next room, Niki doesn’t say anything. But you’re sure he heard.

You glance at him just once and catch him watching the TV, expression unreadable, remote still in hand. Too focused for it to be natural.

His eyes flick to you as you pass, just for a second. Just long enough to make you heat up, shyly speed up your step. But neither of you speak. You feel his gaze on you as you enter the bathroom, heartbeat spiking and you can’t deny it. You’re secretly looking forward to him seeing you in this set.

By the time you’re walking down to the beach, the sand is still cool beneath your feet. It’s an easy silence. Or at least it would be, if not for the way Sunghoon keeps close to your side, hand occasionally brushing yours, like he’s reminding everyone who you belong to.

You feel Niki fall into a step behind you. Not quite trailing. Just… not rushing. You don’t turn around. Not at first. But then, a whisper of fingertips grazes the small of your back. Just one second. Maybe less. A ghost of touch, light as air.

You jolt barely and glance back, pulse ticking up.

Niki is looking straight ahead, board tucked beneath one arm, mouth unreadable. Not a smirk. Not even a glance. He could’ve brushed past you by accident. You could pretend it was nothing.

But your skin is burning where he touched. You bite the inside of your cheek. Keep your face neutral. Force your eyes back to the ocean in the distance. But your heart is hammering.

Sunghoon doesn’t notice a thing. “Did you remember sunscreen?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna need a lot in this tiny thing…” he dryly comments, still sulking that you’re wearing it.

You glance down at yourself. Black, tiny, sure, but everything was covered. Even if you could feel the bottoms digging into your asscheeks, even if you had to keep adjusting your top so you wouldn’t flash anyone by accident.

“I already told you thought I grabbed the other one,” you sigh, annoyed. “They’re both black. I got confused.”

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “Well, now every guy here is gonna get confused too.”

He drapes a towel over your shoulders, tugs the ends together at your chest like it’ll hide anything. It’s not that you don’t appreciate the sweetness. But the tension in his jaw makes it feel... like a leash. You let the towel fall back open.

Just then, Jungwon whistles as you approach.

“Damn girl,” he grins, lounging on a towel next to Jay, “you’re making the beach jealous.”

Niki snorts. “Don’t start.”

You barely have time to laugh before Sunghoon throws a look that could slice steel. Jungwon lifts his hands innocently, grinning wider.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything just steps closer, wraps an arm low around your waist. You stiffen a little. Smile for show. And feel Niki’s eyes before you see them.

When you finally glance his way he’s not subtle. His eyes are already sliding back up your legs, past your hips, then lingering just long enough on the line of your chest to make heat spark beneath your skin.

And when your eyes meet, he doesn’t glance away. He just looks at you like he’s thinking about something. Something he shouldn’t be.

Your stomach dips.

You force your attention forward. Pretend the air isn’t suddenly warmer. Pretend your thighs aren’t pressing a little tighter together beneath the towel slung around your waist.

So, when you all move to the water, you angle yourself away from him. Playfully splash at Jay. Duck behind Sunghoon. Anything to stay far, far from him.

It’s working.

Until it’s not. Jay lunges at someone — Jungwon shrieks — a huge wave rolls toward you, foam curling at the top. You brace, but your foot slips, and in the brief chaos, something catches you.

No—someone.

Hands, firm at your waist, steadying you.

You freeze. You know who it is before he speaks.

“Careful,” Niki says, voice low. You feel it in your core. His breath brushes your ear. His grip firms for just a second, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you how much larger he is. How easily he could move you if he wanted to.

You’re painfully aware of the way your body fits against his. Your head barely at his shoulder, your waist swallowed in his palms.

You turn to look but he’s already gone. Already stepped away, drifting toward the others like nothing happened.

Your heart pounds. Your pulse thrums between your legs. You’re not imagining it. Not anymore. Later, when you’re drying off, you catch him watching again. And this time, you don’t look away.

Everyone’s sitting around on the beach towels, casually snacking on fruit and sandwiches. The group’s easy laughter fills the air, but your eyes keep drifting to Niki, who sits a little apart, fiddling with a seashell. Heeseung leans over Jungwon, nodding toward you and Niki. “You notice how these two barely talk? Like, they’re around each other but kind of distant?”

Jungwon shrugs. “Yeah, it’s weird. You guys don’t really vibe with each other, huh?” He tells you and Niki. But before either one of you can say something in response, Jungwon continues.

He turns to Heeseung, “but I figure they’re just not that close or maybe still getting to know each other?”

Jay chimes in, grinning, “Definitely not like the rest of the gang. They’re like… polite strangers.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend laughs softly. “Maybe they’re just on different wavelengths or something.”

Sunghoon catches the comment and smirks. “Probably. You know how some people just don’t click right away.”

You nod, chewing your sandwich, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. It’s true you and Niki do act different around each other. Not quite awkward, but definitely not easy either.

Niki glances over briefly, and you quickly look away. The group moves on to another topic, unaware how loaded that quiet distance really is between you two.

You clear your throat and stand up, forcing a smile. “I’m just gonna grab some more snacks and water for everyone.” You grab your bag and head toward B1.

A minute later, you’re pulling out some bottled water out of the fridge and a bag of gummy worms. You’re rifling through the small plastic bag of snacks when you hear footsteps behind you.

Niki’s voice follows a second later, low and casual. “So… we’re polite strangers now?”

You nearly jump, hand still buried in the bag. “I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, turning your head over your shoulder. “And they’re just being dramatic. We’re not strangers.”

Niki leans against the counter beside you, arms crossed. “Polite, though?”

You huff a small laugh, plucking out a gummy worm and popping it into your mouth. “Only to keep the peace.”

He nods slowly, watching you chew. “Mm. What flavor was that?”

You hold up the bag. “The best one. I only like the red ones, so I’m picking them out before the others get to them.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re hoarding gummy worms?”

“I’m curating an experience.”

“Uh huh,” he murmurs, slipping a hand into the bag before you can stop him.

“Wait—!” you lunge for it, but it’s too late. He’s already fished out a red one with unholy accuracy, grinning like he planned it.

“This one?” he asks, holding it just out of reach. You reach again, but he easily steps back, long arm lifting the candy above your head like it’s a game. Because for him, it is.

You scowl. “That’s mine.”

“Then come get it,” he murmurs, voice dipping low, teasing. “Come on, pretty. You want it, don’t you?”

You poorly try to snatch it again. His height makes it a joke. One hand to your shoulder, one holding the worm, he keeps you at bay like you weigh nothing.

“You’re so tiny,” he teases, smirking. “It’s cute. Like watching a kitten try to climb a cabinet.”

You glare, lunging again, and he just shifts his arm higher with obnoxious ease.

“Oh no,” he adds mockingly, eyes gleaming. “The ground-level threat is back.”

You huff, stepping in closer, pretending to try again but this time you shift the game. Your hand slides along his side, just below his belly button, fingers grazing the skin just above his waistband. You feel it immediately. His sharp inhale, the flinch in his posture. His muscles tense under your touch like you flipped a switch.

His smirk drops. His whole body stills. You look up at him through your lashes, playing innocent. “Problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares down at you, eyes dark and unreadable.

Then he moves.

In one step he’s crowding you back against the counter, towering over you, voice a low scrape of gravel. “Fine, you want it? Then open your mouth.”

You freeze. The tone is different now. Serious. Darker. Your lips part instinctively.

He slides the gummy worm between them, slow, deliberate. His fingers brush your tongue.

You close around them. Suck just faintly. Purposefully.

His jaw tightens. His breath catches. His hand curls tight around the counter behind you. “Good girl,” he mutters, low and rough, like the words cost him something.

Your mouth pulls into a slow smile as you chew. “You shouldn’t have teased me,” you murmur, voice light but your eyes say something else entirely.

He exhales hard.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters to himself, thinking you wouldn’t hear it (but you do), already turning to leave. He grabs the big water bottle from the counter and walks off, shoulders tense.

When you join the group outside a few minutes later, with cheeks flushed and heart pounding, you settle beside Sunghoon. But you feel Niki’s eyes on you. You’re on edge for the rest of the day, jumpy, too observant. The restlessness follows you into nighttime.

One again you’re tossing and turning in the bed, unable to sleep. Sunghoon’s snores don’t help lull you to sleep this time. Instead, they act as a bigger distraction to your lack of sleep. You sigh and grumble to yourself before sitting up.

You contemplate for a moment and then you’re off. Wrapping your silk summer robe over your naked body you quietly shuffle out of the bedroom. The purpose? Getting water. Water that’s located in the kitchenette, but to get there you have no choice but to pass through the living room. Where Niki was.

You just had to open the bedroom door and you’d be in the living room. A small hallway that could barely classify as that was where you’d have to pass to see him. A door and 5 steps. That’s all that separated the two of you. You’ve been avoiding him ever since the incident today. Constantly reminding yourself that you have a boyfriend, like it’s a mantra.

You walk painfully slow past him, padding softly on your tippy toes and slightly hunched over. At any other time you’d look hilarious, but you’re too nervous tonight to think about that. You don’t want to wake him up. You don’t even dare glance at him, knowing that knowing what he looked like while he was sleeping would consume your mind, the image etching itself deep into your brain.

Which was why you don’t notice that he’s awake, scrolling on his phone, only wearing his boxers, also unable to sleep. His eyes follow your figure all the way into the kitchen, watching, calculating… The fridge hums behind you as you fill a glass with water, your silk robe barely clinging to your skin. The quiet should be peaceful.

It isn’t.

“You really weren’t gonna say anything to me all night?”

Your hand freezes. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

Niki’s voice is low. Hoarse. Just behind you in the dark.

You whisper, “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I was.”

Silence stretches.

“I watched you walk past. Slow. Quiet. Pretending you didn’t feel me watching.”

Your pulse kicks up. You clutch the glass tighter. “Please don’t start—”

“Start?” he cuts in, voice soft but deadly. “Sweetheart, you started this. Every time you run, you’re the one starting it all over again.”

You finally turn to face him.

Niki’s leaned against the counter now, towering over you. His hair is messy from sleep. His eyes stormy. Wild. “You think I don’t notice?” he murmurs. “The way you react whenever I touch you. Your body doesn’t lie.”

“Niki—”

He steps forward. Just one slow, measured step. “Do you have any idea what it’s doing to me?” Another step. You’re backed up to the wall now, between the fridge and hallway, cold tile against your calves.

“I can’t sleep. I can’t fucking breathe around you. And you know what makes it worse?”

He leans down, lips near your cheek. “It’s that you want me just as bad. And yet you still go back to him.”

You whisper, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But he’s not me,” Niki says like a sin, like a prayer.

You open your mouth to reply, but he beats you to it.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it. How good it felt when I touched you. When I put that candy in your mouth and you sucked on my fingers.”

He exhales hard. “Fuck—You looked up at me like you’d let me ruin you right there.”

Goosebumps raise on your skin. His voice, even deeper than usually, was finding home somewhere deep in your belly. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, trying to escape but Niki’s bigger frame has you caged in place.

“But you are.”

He slips one naked thigh between yours. “You’re not wearing anything underneath this robe? Don’t act like this was innocent.”

His voice drops lower, slight growl to his words, the desperation slipping through his nonchalant facade. “You still wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

He cups your jaw, tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “You wanna be my good girl so bad it’s killing you.”

You nod once, barely breathing.

His lips brush yours in a not-quite a kiss. Not yet, even though you chase his lips. But he stops you, speaking. “Then be good for me.” His hand slips under your robe, up your thigh, to your soaked center. “But you don’t get to cum.”

Your breath stutters. He’s already pressing his middle finger into you slow, hard, firm. “Not here. Not yet.”

You let out a soft sigh, spreading your legs in silent consent for him to continue. He bites your earlobe gently. “You’ll cum when you admit who you really want.”

You shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut, lips trembling. You grab onto his forearm that’s between your legs, grinding onto his finger. But he doesn’t move.

“Say it,” Niki whispers, grinding you into the wall. “Say my name. Say it and I’ll let you fall apart on my cock right here outside his door.”

His body is so close now, it’s all you can feel. His thigh between yours, his hand under your robe, the heat of his mouth against your ear.

“Niki,” you silently cry out in a desperate plea. You feel him slipping another finger into you. Your wet velvet walls sucking him. Fuck. If his fingers felt so thick in you, then you couldn’t wait for his dick. You clench around his fingers at the thought and Niki’s towering frame leans down, close to your ear.

“Still pretending this means nothing?”

“It doesn’t—” you moan out, barely controlling your volume. His thumb grazes your clit. Your eyes shut as you cover your mouth with your hands to prevent any noises from escaping.

“Bullshit,” Niki hisses, he pinches your clit, pressing it with his thumb into the side of his palm in punishment. It makes your walls tighten even more. A sob escapes you when he presses his hips against yours.

“You don’t even believe that. You’re dripping. And your boyfriend is nowhere near, you thinking of him or me right now?”

You flinch. Shame and need twist in your gut. But they’re squashed by an overpowering and ever growing need for Niki.

“I shouldn’t—”

“But you are. You came out here wearing nothing under this robe. You walked right past me, like you wanted me to stop you.”

You close your eyes, head tilting back as he curls his fingers, finally pushing them in and out. “Niki…” you choke out in a broken whimper, hands curling around his biceps to steady yourself.

His mouth is at your neck now, kissing, claiming you. “There it is.” He rasps, biting you just under your throat softly. You squeeze his bicep in warning. He just licks over the bitten spot.

“Say my name again,” he says, sounding utterly destroyed already.

“Niki—” you whimper, quietly. Too quietly.

Through gritted teeth, “louder.”

You hesitate. He drags his fingers along your slit, barely there. Not enough. It’s maddening.

“Niki,” you quietly whimper, squeezing your walls when Niki changes the current rhythm. The speed picking up with your growing desperation.

“Fuck—say it like you mean it,” he breathes, sharp and strained.

You whimper as starts rubbing circles over your clit as he’s still fingering you. Your hands claw at his chest.

“Please…”

“No.” He stills his hand. “Not until you say it.”

You’re walking on the edge of tears and pleasure, too dumb to think about anything, anyone other than Niki,“Say what?”

“Say you want me,” he says, lips against yours, not kissing you yet.

He strokes deeper. Your knees buckle. He catches you, arm wrapping around your waist.

“I want you,” you pant, grinding on his hands. Your eyes burn and you can feel a tear slip down your cheek.

“Not enough.”

He stops again. Cruel. Controlled.

You pout up at him, he bites his lip, eyelids dropping slightly. He leans into you. “I want you, Niki. I want you,” you breathe your voice breaking and cheeks wet with your tears.

His breath leaves him like a punch. He back-walks you gently into the hallway against the wall. The wall that separates the bedroom from the rest of the house. Where Sunghoon is sleeping.

No hesitation now. The robe slips open just enough. “That’s all I needed.” He pushes down his boxers, his cock springing free. He doesn’t give you any time to look at it, sliding his cock inside you. He’s slow, thick, unbearable.

Your robe bunches up at your waist, you feel his cock dragging between your folds, veiny and heavy. Thicker than you expected. The kind of thick that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Shit—” you whisper, body trembling.

Niki chuckles low behind you. It sounds dark, satisfied, already flushed. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, guiding his cock to your entrance. “You haven’t even felt the whole thing yet.”

You brace yourself, hand gripping his shoulders. “You’re not small.”

That gets a sharp exhale out of him. He leans forward, his chest brushing your back, his voice dipping into your ear like a secret. “You’ll take it. You’re already soaking for it.”

“God—” you half sob, your walls continuously clenching down on him as you try to adjust to his thick length, splitting you apart.

Niki’s voice cracks with restraint, “don’t move.” His hand clamps over your hip. His forehead presses to yours. “Just stay like this.”

“Why?”

Niki’s barely breathing, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he tries to calm his ragged breathing down, “Because if I fuck you the way I want to… we’re gonna wake your boyfriend up.”

You gasp. He smiles. Dark, unhinged, wrecked.

“So be good. Take it. Feel me.” He rolls his hips once. Slow, still not fully in you. Deep. “You’ll cum when you admit I’m the only one who gets to have you.”

Your head falls back. Eyes flutter. His thumb catches a tear tracing your cheek.

“Fuck,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your eye. “So pretty when you cry for me.”

He cups your jaw, then your breast roughly, wordlessly claiming. You hiss as he squeezes hard, too hard but he’s already pulling you forward, sliding out.

You make a strangled noise, empty without him. Niki doesn’t pause.

He shoves your robe up, pushes you over the couch. Your knees dig into the cushions. One hand braced on the backrest.

You hear the sound of him spitting in his palm. The slick stroke of him lining up again.

A moan, low and raw, as he grinds the head of his cock between your folds. “Every fucking night,” he mutters. “I think about this. About bending you over like this. Filling you up so deep you forget how to lie.”

You whimper. He grabs your hips, hard enough to bruise.

“You were made for this,” Niki breathes, more to himself than you. “Made for me.”

He pushes in, slow at first, the stretch near unbearable. You’re choking on your own gasp, trying to breathe through it, but your walls spasm around him, trying to force him out.

Niki groans, it’s a sound full of restraint and disbelief. “Fuck. You feel like this for him?” He starts to push deeper, jaw clenched. “No… you don’t. You can’t.”

You moan but it sounds more like a sob. His size splits you open, the burn meeting something deeper, something you don’t want to name yet.

He sinks in all the way. Your hips jerk forward, eyes fluttering shut. “Such a good girl for me,” he pants. “That’s it. Let me fill you.”

His hands spread across your waist, holding you steady like you might run. But you’re not running. You’re melting.

“God—Niki—” you whisper, your fingers clenching the cushion.

“Too much?” he asks but the smirk in his voice is already smug.

“No—just… just big,” you confess, voice cracking.

That shatters something in him.

“Say that again.”

“You’re… big,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I can feel it in my stomach.”

He snarls softly behind you, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you deeper into the couch as he starts to move. Slow, dragging strokes that scrape along every nerve ending inside you.

“This pussy’s mine already,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You moan like you’ve been waiting for this.”

“I haven’t—” You’re cut off by a sharp thrust that knocks the breath out of you.

“No? Then why’d you keep looking at me every time he touched you?”

His voice is venom and honey, seething and smug. “You’d kiss him, and still look at me like you wanted more.”

Your whole body tenses. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You meant it,” Niki snaps, grinding deeper into you. “You wanted me to notice. You wanted me to get jealous.”

He yanks your hair back just enough to turn your face, so he can see your lips parting in a moan you’re desperate to hide. “And I did. I noticed everything.”

He slams into you harder, rougher now. You whimper it’s too much, too deep, and somehow still not enough.

“I see the way he touches you. All careful. Like you’ll break.”

He bites the shell of your ear. “I won’t be careful.”

Your orgasm builds fast, overwhelming the stretch, the fullness, the jealousy behind his words. You’re panting, desperate.

“I can’t—Niki, I’m gonna—”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him as he fucks you through it murmuring filth into your ear while you shatter.

“That’s it. Come for me.” His voice breaks. “Show me this pussy is mine.”

You cry out, body convulsing as you clench down on him. His pace stutters, cock throbbing inside you.

He follows with a low groan, spilling inside you, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Just heavy breathing. Sweat-damp skin. Your body pulsing around his.

Then, quieter Niki presses his forehead to your spine. “You ruined me,” he breathes.

You don’t answer. You can’t. But your hand reaches back trembling to find his. And he laces your fingers together. You stay like that for a while. Folded over the couch, skin damp, heart pounding.

Niki doesn’t move. He’s barely still inside you, his chest pressed to your back, both of you trembling with the aftershocks. His hand is still locked in yours. His breath hits the curve of your shoulder, ragged and hot.

No words.

Slowly, silently, Niki pulls out and you both gasp like it hurts. You don’t dare look at him as you pull your robe down and sink onto the couch, legs tucked under you. You feel stretched, sore, leaking.

You feel ruined.

Niki leans against the wall across from you. His hair is a mess, sweat shining on his chest, and his eyes they’re not smug anymore. They’re starved.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod.

But your eyes don’t meet his.

You fix your robe. Run fingers through your hair. Like if you’re fast enough, no one will know what just happened.

“I should go,” you whisper. “Sunghoon might wake up.”

His jaw ticks. He hesitates. For a second, it looks like he might say something else, something too real. But then he exhales, pushes a hand through his hair, and doesn’t say anything as he watches you leave.

Your body is warm. Too warm.

It takes a second before you remember where you are, who you’re with and why your thighs ache. Sunghoon shifts beside you, arm slung lazily over your waist, his chest rising and falling in slow, peaceful rhythm.

He mumbles your name. It should be comforting. And it is. But it also feels like being caught. You stare at the ceiling.

You did it. You crossed the line. And it wasn’t a mistake. And you have a feeling it wouldn’t be a one time thing either.

Your fingers twitch. You can still feel Niki’s breath in your ear. The rough press of his palms all over you. Sunghoon sighs again and pulls you closer, nuzzling the back of your neck like instinct.

You feel different now. Like you’re split in two halves. The girl who touches her boyfriend like nothing happened... and the girl who can still feel Niki’s fingers between her thighs.

You tie your robe tighter and pad out, barefoot on cold tile. Your hair’s a mess. You haven’t even washed your face. The kitchen’s quiet but not empty.

Niki stands near the counter, tousled bedhead, glass of juice in one hand, phone in the other. He looks up.

“Morning,” he says low, unreadable.

You swallow.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Like a rock,” you say, forcing a brittle smile, reaching for a glass of water.

There’s a slight pause.

“Yeah,” Niki murmurs, gaze flicking to your mouth. “You looked wrecked when you left.”

The glass nearly slips from your fingers.

But Niki doesn’t move. Doesn’t smirk. Just sips his juice and scrolls casually, like he didn’t just ruin your nervous system in three words. Sunghoon joins you two just then. And the three of you have breakfast, the two guys seem to be in a good mood, bantering and teasing each other.

The sun’s high already when you three join the others on the beach.

Your bikini feels too small the minute you leave the house — or maybe it’s the way Niki looked at you when you stepped out. Not directly. Not for long. Just… long enough to know he noticed.

You hold Sunghoon’s hand like it anchors you to the right version of yourself. You laugh too loud at his joke. Kiss his cheek too quickly. You’re trying.

Maybe if you play the part well enough, you’ll forget what you did. Who you became.

Sunghoon’s still talking, half-focused, half-scanning the crowd. “Okay, so we rotate after every point, right? Heeseung always forgets that. Also, snacks. We need more of those sour gummies—”

He pauses, eyes flicking toward where Niki’s lounging in the sand, shirtless, arms behind his head.

Then he grins and nudges you lightly. “And someone better remind her to reapply. Last time she turned into a tomato.”

You roll your eyes, faking a yawn. “I’m fine.”

But Sunghoon’s still looking at Niki as he adds, teasing, “If she burns, it’s your fault too.”

Your stomach flips.

Niki grins slow, deliberate but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

You almost choke on your water at the implication. Sunghoon just laughs, oblivious.

As you all lay your towels down, Sunghoon starts rubbing sunscreen over your shoulders, he’s sweet, focused, unbothered. Niki watches briefly, jaw tight, before tossing him a comment.

“You missed a spot,” he says, touching the place he means, the dip just below your bikini bottoms. “That’ll definitely burn.”

He says it like nothing. But you know. He knows you know. You meet his gaze over your shoulder for just a second. And something sharp passes between you, an unspoken possession.

Like a warning.

The volleyball net is up by the time the two guys deem you protected enough from the sun. Jungwon’s already flinging a ball into the air like a golden retriever with caffeine in his system. Everyone’s loosening up, laughing, yelling across the sand.

You’re standing with Sunghoon, sipping from his can of soda, and trying very hard to subtly adjust your bikini top like it’s not deliberate. But it is.

It keeps slipping a little, well not off, just… shifting. The fabric is damp from ocean water, clinging to the peaks of your nipples. You tug it up again.

Sunghoon notices. But so does Niki.

You catch both of them watching you at different times. You feel their eyes burn as they trail over your chest, down your waist, over your thighs. It’s hard to breathe, but you smile anyway.

You lean into Sunghoon. Kiss his cheek. He grins, tapping your nose. But Niki’s sunglasses tilt up slightly from where he’s standing. You feel his gaze rake your body like a challenge.

Just then Jay starts calling out teams.

“Alright, me, you” he points to you, “Niki, and Jungwon. Let’s go.”

You pause for half a second, not enough to be noticed, but just enough to feel it in your spine. Niki steps forward, tugging his shirt off in one fluid motion. He spins the volleyball once in his hand and smirks faintly.

Jay tosses him the ball. “We good?”

Niki shrugs. “Yeah.”

No snide comment. No suggestive grin. Just calm. Unbothered.

But when you brush past him to join your side of the net, your shoulder grazes his chest and you swear you feel him inhale.

It’s subtle, but he doesn’t look away.

The court's uneven, half-sand, half-sunbaked grass. The net’s a little crooked. No one cares. Jay serves first; sharp and fast. You barely get your hands up in time, but the ball pops cleanly into the air. Jungwon tips it up. Niki lunges, spikes.

Cheers erupt. “Nice!” Jay claps him on the back.

Niki smiles, his eyebrows subconsciously quirking up, but his eyes flick to you lightning-quick.

Across the net, Heeseung groans. “Alright. No mercy.”

His girlfriend laughs, nudging him.

Sunghoon wipes sweat from his jaw and grins. “Let’s go.”

The game rolls out in bursts sand kicking up, laughter breaking through competitive yells. You’re too aware of everything.

Niki’s footsteps behind you.

The way he moves to cover your side, even when he doesn’t have to. The sharp grunts when he jumps, muscles flexing under sun-warmed skin. How he murmurs “mine” when the ball arcs high, and every time, it hits harder than it should.

You almost trip once trying to pivot.

Niki’s hand touches your back, steadying you, it’s fleeting but firm. You flinch like you’ve been burned.

He says nothing.

But later, when you call out a ball and dive for it, squatting before bending over as you serve the ball lowly, Niki swears low and hard not at the game.

At you. Or maybe for you.

You need water. Not just to drink but to cool down. Everything is hot. Your cheeks, your chest, the way Niki’s eyes follow your movements even when he’s pretending not to.

You step toward the cooler, reach down to grab a bottle.

That’s when you feel it. A whisper of heat. His fingers graze your lower back. Barely. You freeze. He’s behind you now, one arm resting on the lid of the cooler. Not blocking you. Not touching you again. Just close.

His voice is low “Avoiding me again?”

You suck in a breath. Fumble slightly with the cap.

You want to say something biting. Sharp. Dismissive. But your voice comes out too soft, too unsteady.

“I’m not.”

Niki leans in, just an inch closer. “Mm, you always shake this much when you’re not avoiding someone?”

You grip the bottle too tight. “I have a boyfriend.”

His smirk returns slow, almost cruel. “That didn’t stop you from moaning into my mouth last night.”

Your eyes snap up to his, but he’s already walking away. You stand there, holding the water bottle like it might explode.

After the game of volleyball ends (with Sunghoon’s team winning), everyone’s collapsed on the beach towels, salt-streaked and lazy. Jay’s half-asleep. Jungwon’s playing something on his phone. Sunghoon lies beside you, propped up on an elbow.

You’re restless. Overcompensating again. You reach over and thread your fingers into his hair. Lean down to kiss him a bit longer than necessary.

Your tongue just barely traces his bottom lip.

Sunghoon flinches back, blinking.

“Babe,” he says, confused but sweet, “not in front of everyone.”

You smile, trying to play it off. But your mouth is dry.

“Sorry. I just…” You shrug. “Felt like kissing you.”

Sunghoon grins and kisses your cheek instead. Harmless. Soft.

But behind your back, across the circle of towels, Niki’s watching again. Still shirtless. Still silent. His jaw tight, his fingers curled loosely in the sand. He sees everything. And you feel everything.

The sky begins to shift then, almost too fast. What was golden and hazy becomes gray and heavy. You glance up. Thick clouds roll in over the water, veiling the sun. Thunder grumbles low in the distance. A breeze lifts the ends of your hair.

Someone groans.

“Seriously? This early?” Jay complains.

“Guess the ocean playlist’ll have to wait,” Jungwon pouts.

A sudden gust sends sand flies into your shin. You wince, brushing it off.

Sunghoon nudges your side, “movie night?”

You nod automatically, but your eyes flick again to Niki.

Within minutes the group’s scattering, grabbing towels, speakers, empty bottles.

“B2, thirty minutes. Everyone shower unless you wanna smell like death,” Jungwon says, a comically large towel wrapped around his waist as he tries fit five different things in his arms. Heeseung groans but agrees, already hoisting up a cooler.

The mood lightens. Laughter, teasing, towel snaps echoing around you as people head back toward the bungalows.

You stay quiet. Let Sunghoon lace your fingers with his, pull you toward the path. But you can feel the shift in the air. It isn’t just the weather. It’s something heavier. Louder. Waiting to break.

By the time you’re all piled into B2, the rain’s already started. Soft and steady, threading down the windows like something cinematic. This bungalow’s a little bigger than yours, meant for hosting, maybe. The open-plan living room spills into a small kitchen, sleek and sunlit even with the storm outside. At the center of it all is a small burgundy couch. It’s deep enough to sink into, angled so one side stretches toward the kitchen, and the other points toward the mounted flatscreen.

A shaggy rug softens the wood floor. Throw blankets are everywhere, tangled and half-folded. Someone’s dumped a few pillows in the corner. A string of fairy lights buzz faintly over the windows, casting a soft gold haze now that the lamps are off.

It’s cozy. Safe. Or it should be.

Just before the movie starts, you’re rinsing strawberries in the kitchen when Heeseung catches your wrist. Not harsh just enough to pause you.

“You good?” he asks you.

You blink, startled. “Yeah. Why?”

He tilts his head slightly. That familiar half-grin on his lips but his tone’s changed. He’s watching you.

“You and Ni-ki aren’t… weird, right?” he asks, eyes full of sympathy.

You laugh. Too fast. Too thin. “What? No. Why would we be?”

His gaze lingers. Not unkind. But not letting go, either. Heeseung carefully explains, “I noticed he keeps trying to talk to you. You keep slipping away. And honestly?”

He shrugs, “You’re being weird with Sunghoon too. If we’re being real.”

You stare at the cabinet. Like it might open up and swallow you whole.

“I don’t care what’s going on. Just don’t let it get messy. Especially not here.” He softens it with a small smile. Like he’s giving you room to save face.

You nod too quickly. Your palms sweaty. And then you join the rest in the living room, plopping in the center of the couch.

By the time the movie starts, the seating’s already sorted. Jay and Jungwon are curled up on the floor with a blanket pulled over their legs, sitting cross-legged with a bowl of popcorn between them. Heeseung and his girlfriend are on the smaller love seat, arms tucked around each other, their view of the TV clear, but not the couch behind them.

And then there’s the main couch. It’s closest to the kitchen, and furthest from the screen. You, Sunghoon, and Niki end up there.

It’s kind of crowded.

Sunghoon claims the far side, legs kicked out. His arm stretches behind your back, lazily. You squeeze into the center cushion. Niki takes the end.

He doesn’t say much. Just sits there. One arm draped along the top of the couch, the other curled into his lap. Eyes half-lidded. Calm.

Rain lashes against the windows as the movie starts, some pretentious black-and-white thing Jungwon begged for. Everyone’s piled into the main room of B2, wrapped in throw blankets, half-limp from sun and salt and too many chips.

You hear a few groans as the movie opens up in a black and white picture and Nosferatu – the oldest version, starts playing.

There’s barely space. The couch is too small. You’re wedged between Sunghoon and Niki. Sunghoon tuggs you into his side, his arm around your shoulders. Niki shifts closer, silent. The blanket from the back of the couch gets pulled over your legs, accidentally shared.

You should say something.

But you don’t. The movie drones on and on. Someone snores lightly. A bowl clinks from the kitchen.

You feel the blanket shift. Niki’s hand brushes yours under the fabric. You flinch but don’t pull away. He pauses, but when you don’t pull back, he takes your hand. Guides it down, slow and steady, until your palm is cupping him through his shorts.

He’s already hard.

Your breath hitches. You glance once toward Sunghoon. He’s half-asleep, lips parted, breath warm on your neck .

Niki leans in, mouth near your ear. “Go ahead. Pretend you’re not dying for it,” He whispers, his breath tickling you neck, goosebumps rise.

His fingers slip beneath your waistband. Push inside.

You gasp, barely. Bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. “Are you this soaked from playing the perfect girlfriend? Or because you know I’m going to fuck you right here?”

Niki’s fingers on your clit are slow. Cruel. Tiny circles, teasing, not giving you enough. Just reminding you who can make you this way. Turned into a puddle through simple touch.

The room is dark, except for the flickering light of the movie and the occasional flash of lightning outside. Thunder rumbles low and slow, like it’s warning you. Across from you Heeseung and his girlfriend, curled on a love seat, half-asleep. Jungwon and Jay are tangled together on the floor under a mountain of blankets. And beside you, too close is Sunghoon, with his arm still lazily slung over your shoulder.

Your head is spinning.

You grasp Niki through his shorts, fondle him. A smile tugs on your lips when you feel him twitch under your touch.

He presses down on your clit more firmly now, finger sliding down your slit to your hole. You subtly scooch closer to him. Sunghoon’s arm around your shoulders slides off, but before he can say something you angle your body towards him and slightly lay your head on his shoulder/bicep. It’s somewhat awkward since you’re’ still in an upright sitting position but you don’t notice any discomfort.

Because Niki’s starts pushing your panties aside. Then, he slowly, forcefully bullies his dick into you. No prep. No fingering.

You nuzzle your head into Sunghoon to prevent yourself from making any noise. He thinks you’re scared of the movie, patting your head while whispering a small ‘cute.’

Meanwhile Niki sheaths himself into you so deep you’re shaking from the stretch. From the silence. From how still he is.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to. One arm’s casually thrown over the back of the couch. The other is under the blanket. Hidden, anchored around your hip like he owns it.

Owns you.

And in a way he does, because he starts pulling you closer to him. So much bigger than you, it’s easy for him to do that. You couldn’t stop him now even if you wanted to, your brain turned into mush because of the dizzying and pleasurable stretch of Niki’s dick deep inside you.

“Feel that?” he murmurs near your ear, low enough only you can hear. “No one has a clue. You’re so tiny, I can get away with anything.”

You clamp down unintentionally. He feels it.

His breath stutters. “God. You’re so fucking tight.” He bites down on your shoulder to stop himself from moaning.

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. But the tension in your body gives you away. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His lips graze your ear again, words like smoke and sin “They’re all right here. Sunghoon. Jay. Heeseung. If one of them turns around…”

He shifts inside you, just a little. Grinding his hips frustratingly slow into you “…they’d see the way I’ve got you stuffed full. Dripping. Shaking.”

You dig your nails into his thigh under the blanket. He doesn’t stop.

“I could make you come like this,” Niki breathes, voice darker now. “Without moving. Without touching anything but this.” He squeezes your hip possessively. “You’d fall apart, right in front of your boyfriend. And he’d never know.”

You want to scream. Instead, your breath comes in shallow, silent waves.

“Ignored me all day,” Niki murmurs, his tone bitter now, jagged. “But now you’re letting me fuck you inches from his face?”

The weight of it presses down on you, the reality. The risk. If Sunghoon moved just a little… leaned forward even slightly… They’d all know.

Niki’s hand slides up past your stomach, under your shirt, palming your breast. Rough. Familiar. His fingers pinch your nipple hard and you twitch.

“Say his name,” Niki growls into your neck.

You whisper it. Quiet. Shaky. Like you’re afraid it’ll break the spell.

His grip tightens. “Now say mine.”

You don’t. So he thrusts once. Deep. Sharp.

Your breath hitches, eyes fluttering. A quiet noise escapes before his hand slaps gently over your mouth.

“Say it.”

You do. “Niki.”

His head drops to your shoulder and you feel it in the way he exhales against your skin. Like your voice undid him. Like hearing his name on your lips makes it all worth it. His dick feels even stiffer in you, you push back against his strong frame.

Outside, the rain’s gotten louder, wind pushing against the glass. Inside, the couch creaks once. But no one stirs.

And that’s when he starts to move. Tiny thrusts. Barely-there movements. But you feel all of it. The stretch. The pervertedness. The weight of him claiming you in the same room as everyone else.

He fucks you like it’s punishment. And it kind of is, for running, for pretending, for not saying his name sooner. One hand over your mouth. The other wrapped firmly around your throat, fingers curled just under your jaw like a tether.

And you. You’re falling apart. Silently. Desperately. Completely. Because this isn’t just sex. You’re his. Even here. Even now.

Especially now.

He spills inside of you, biting on your shoulder as he does so. You squeeze your eyes shut so hard the room spins when you open them again. You stay connected like that for the rest of the movie. Niki’s length has gone flaccid, but his girth, his thickness… you still felt too full of him.

By the end of the movie, the room is nearly silent. The credits flicker across the screen in eerie black and white, accompanied by soft thunder outside. Niki slips out, fixing your panties and his boxers. You feel cum ooze out of you, sticking to your panties. Jay’s asleep on the floor. Jungwon’s curled under a blanket, half-awake. Heeseung and his girlfriend are whispering something to each other, focused completely on one another.

But on the couch you, Sunghoon, and Niki have somehow ended up tangled together.

Sunghoon’s arm is back around you, head heavy against your shoulder. Niki’s hand rests loosely on your thigh, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just ruin you in the shadows of this very couch. You’re stiff between them. Smiling. Laughing at something dumb Jungwon muttered as the lights come back on.

You play your part. You always do.

Everyone stands. Stretches. Groggy and full of popcorn, ready to go to bed and collapse. You follow them, grabbing your phone off the counter. Just before you head out, it vibrates.

[seungie 🌀]:

hey glad you and niki are good now things feel less weird hoon looks happy too proud of you 🫶🏽

You stare at the screen. Three words echo in your head like a curse ‘proud of you’. Your heart sinks. Your stomach flips. Niki brushes past behind you as you freeze and you feel the smallest tap of his fingers against your back.

A reminder. A thank-you. A secret. You smile. You type back.

[You]:

yeah. all good now :)

And you follow Sunghoon outside.

You feel different in the morning. You wait for the guilt to hit you, wait for the sense of responsibility to weigh down on you. But it never does.

You feel happy, Sunghoon sees it too, as you eat breakfast with the boys like your body doesn’t still ache from what happened on the couch hours before.

Sunghoon nudges your arm with his and grins around a mouthful of toast.

“Damn, baby. This vacation’s been good to you. You look all… glowy and relaxed.”

You glance at him, hiding a smile in your coffee.

He leans in, peering at your face.

“Like, really pretty. I don’t know — it’s cute.”

You blink innocently. “Must be the ocean air.”

Across the table, Niki doesn’t look up from his plate. He spears a slice of mango, pops it into his mouth.

Then, effortlessly he says “Yeah, she looks good when she’s been taken care of.”

Your breath hitches.

But Sunghoon just nods in agreement, oblivious. “Right? I knew this trip would be good for her.”

Niki’s eyes flick up. Just for a second. Right at you.

And there’s nothing innocent about the smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

Your stomach flips. Not with guilt, not anymore. That’s the strange part. The guilt should be there. But it isn’t.

Maybe it burned off sometime in the night, in the warmth of Niki’s breath on your neck, the ache of him inside you while Sunghoon’s arm was draped over your shoulder. Maybe it’s because Sunghoon still smiles at you like nothing’s wrong. Maybe it’s because nothing feels wrong.

Niki’s just helping you scratch an itch you could never ask anyone else to touch. It’s only physical and you would make sure it would never be deeper than that. You were still Sunghoon’s. And Niki, he’s just helping you scratch an itch. A very deep and needy itch.

You take another sip of coffee and peek at Niki. He’s licking mango from his thumb. It’s ridiculous, how something so small makes your thighs press together under the table.

“You want the last one?” he asks casually, holding up the final piece.

You shake your head. “All yours.”

His smile is lazy. “Didn’t know you weren’t into sharing.”

Sunghoon, doesn’t look up from his plate. “She’s not. Don’t let her fool you — she’ll stab you over fries.”

“Only if they’re mine first,” you add sweetly, leaning toward Niki just slightly. His knee bumps yours under the table. You don’t pull away.

Eventually, Sunghoon pushes his plate back and stretches. “Alright, I’m gonna shower. You guys start packing, yeah?”

“Sure,” you chirp, too fast.

The moment the bathroom door clicks shut, you glance at Niki.

He’s still chewing, watching you with slow, cautious eyes. Like he doesn’t want to assume anything. Like he doesn’t believe this is real yet.

You stand. Don’t think. Just move.

You pad down the hallway. Leave the bedroom door open just long enough for him to see you slip inside. And you don’t wait.

You strip your shirt first. Then your shorts. By the time he reaches the doorframe, you’re sitting in your and Sunghoon’s bed in nothing but your panties.

He exhales something between a laugh and a curse. Steps in. Closes the door.

“You’re not serious.”

You cock your head. “I’m naked in his bed. What do you think?”

He walks to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

His voice is low. Rough. Almost reverent. “You really want this?”

You nod. “I want you.”

His gaze dips to the mattress beneath you. His mouth twists like he’s trying not to smile. “In his bed,” he mutters, half to himself.

You smile, slow and wicked. “Didn’t want you thinking I’d change my mind.”

Niki lets out a breath, close to shaking. Then he laughs, low and stunned.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he says, moving closer. But there’s something in his voice, something cracked open. Relieved, like he was afraid you would run away from him again. It’s like he’s finally sure. Like he finally believes he’s not just your secret, he’s your choice.

You go on all fours, angling your ass towards him. Niki steps closer, softly fondling your ass, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve, every dip.

“Fuck,” he breathes, climbing onto the bed like a man starving. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

He flips you so you’re laying on your back and you grab him by the shirt and pull him down to kiss you.

It’s filthy instantly all tongue, no hesitation, teeth clicking as you both try to taste too much too fast. He groans into your mouth and presses you back into the mattress, body already hard against you.

He bites at your jaw.

You grab his hand and shove it between your legs. “I’ve been wet for you since I woke up.”

His breath stutters.

Then he flips you fast, chest to the mattress, ass in the air. His palms spread your cheeks without hesitation. And he laughs. Dark. Disbelieving.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters. You hear a ripping sound, your panties slipping off of you. And Niki doesn’t even apologize, he just bends down, your ass in his face.

You whimper as his mouth drops down, tongue sliding over your folds, teasing, tasting. Until he’s devouring you from behind. Tongue fucking your pussy, then higher, licking over your asshole like he’s lost all control.

“Niki—fuck—” you gasp, he pushes his middle and ring finger between your mushy walls.

“You let me do this in his bed,” he groans. “So filthy. You want me to fuck you here?”

“Yes—please—” you plead, in hurry now too, Niki scissors inside of you. Prepping you for his thick length.

When he pulls back, he’s stroking himself slowly.

“Bet you’d let me in your ass if I asked nicely.”

You whine, burying your face in the sheets.

His hand comes down on your ass, a soft slap. “Don’t hide now. Not after this.”

“Next time,” you manage. “Just—fuck me. Please.”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, lining up behind you. “I’ll make you beg for it next time.”

And then, he pushes in. All of him, all at once.

No fear of being caught, knowing Sunghoon needs at least 20 minutes to shower. No need to muffle the way your breath breaks. You moan into the mattress, and he just holds your hips tighter.

“So tight,” he growls. “Like your cunt knows who owns it.”

He fucks you hard, dragging your body back into each thrust, hair wrapped in his fist so your mouth brushes his ear when you moan.

“Say it again,” he pants. “Say you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you.”

He flips you again. Your back hits the mattress. Your legs spread wide.

He thrusts in deep and holds.

“Look at me.”

You do.

Eyes locked, he fucks you like it’s the last time. Hard, slow, deep. Like he’s memorizing every sound, every clench, every twitch of your hips under his.

He doesn’t break eye contact. Not even when you come.

Not even when he does, pulling out and finishing across your chest with a grunt, panting above you, his name still wet on your lips.

You don’t wipe it off. You just pull him down. Kiss the corner of his mouth. And stay.

Because now?

Now you’re not pretending. Now you both know the truth. The sheets are still warm when you slip out of bed. Your legs ache. Your chest is sticky. And your heart is an echo chamber. Loud and quiet at once. You don't say anything to Niki as you wipe yourself clean. He doesn't try to stop you. You think he gets it. That you have to reassemble the version of you that belongs to someone else.

By the time Sunghoon comes out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, you're in a hoodie. Hair damp. Smile practiced. Niki’s gone from the bedroom, like he never came at all.

The front of B2 buzzes with the quiet chaos of departure. Suitcases thud against gravel. The sky is overcast, the air heavy with leftover rain and that weird post-vacation stillness like everyone’s trying to delay the inevitable.

Jay and Jungwon are finishing their last photo op, laughing at the blurry selfie timer results. Heeseung’s girlfriend is squatting next to the trunk trying to zip her overstuffed duffel while muttering under her breath.

Niki is arguing with Sunghoon over who left the aux cord behind. Loudly.

“Bro, I swear I gave it to you yesterday.”

“No, you left it on the porch table. Like a dumbass.”

“You were literally DJing from my playlist.”

“Yeah, because your music’s decent for once.”

“You’re welcome.”

You smile into your hoodie, watching them shove each other lightly between loading bags. There’s no tension between them. No suspicion. If anything, they’re closer after this trip.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you out of the moment.

It’s Heeseung.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, almost too quickly. “Yeah.”

His gaze holds steady. “You seem lighter.”

You blink.

“Whatever was going on before…” He glances toward Niki who’s now making a dumb face at Sunghoon behind the car, then back to you. “Glad you figured it out. You look better.”

There’s a beat of silence. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You smile, soft and quiet. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He just nods.

Eventually, the group breaks apart with lazy goodbyes. Jay hugs you like a big brother. Jungwon thanks you again for organizing everything. Heeseung’s girlfriend waves from the passenger seat, already applying lip balm.

And then it’s just the three of you left.

Sunghoon slaps the roof of the car like a dad and grins. “Alright, losers. Time to hit the road.”

You’re halfway to the front seat when Niki tugs the door handle ahead of you. “Shotgun.”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes. “You’re seriously calling it?”

“You drove my playlist into the ground,” Niki shrugs, already sliding in. “This is penance.”

Sunghoon groans but gives in, climbing into the driver’s side. “Unreal.”

You climb into the back, the leather still warm from the sun.

Niki glances back at you briefly. “You sure you don’t wanna swap?”

You smirk. “I’m good for now.”

Sunghoon starts the engine, windows cracked to let in the humid breeze. As he pulls onto the road, the bungalow shrinking behind you, Niki kicks his feet up.

“Try not to get carsick this time. I’m not cleaning anything,” Sunghoon tells him, teasingly.

“I’ll throw up on your playlist.”

Niki glances back at you, smirking. “Last chance, you sure you don’t wanna sit up front? Might get lonely back there.”

You smile lazily, stretching out. “I like the view from here.”

“Thought you get crancky in the back,” he says, twisting around in his seat just a little.

You tilt your head. “Only when I’m bored.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So basically whenever Sunghoon talks.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, starting the engine. “Disrespecting your driver? Bold move.”

“You’re not a driver,” Niki fires back. “You’re a menace with a license.”

“Keep talking and I’ll hit every pothole from here to Seoul.”

You laugh, light and unbothered, resting your head against the window.

Niki glances back at you again, conspiratorial. “If I end up puking, I’m aiming for your knees.”

You deadpan, “Joke’s on you. I brought wet wipes.”

He mock-gags. “You’re disgusting.”

“You started it.”

Sunghoon cuts in with a snort, shaking his head. “God, you two are so annoying.”

But there’s no edge to it, just fondness, worn-in and easy. You catch the way his reflection softens in the rearview mirror, eyes crinkling slightly. His shoulders relaxed.

He’s happy. They both are. And so are you.

The road curves out of the bungalow’s driveway, tires crunching over wet gravel. Trees blur past. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the engine and the soft playlist Sunghoon has playing. One of those moody acoustic mixes. Your throat tightens at the lyrics.

Niki shifts in the passenger seat beside Sunghoon, exhaling sharply. He leans his head back against the headrest, eyes squinting toward the window.

“Dude,” he says after a beat, voice low and a little strained. “I think I’m getting carsick again.”

Sunghoon turns briefly to glance at him, brows pinched. “Seriously? You were fine earlier.”

“Yeah, well,” Niki sighs. “Something about your tragic-ass music and winding roads. Not vibing.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Sunghoon mutters, but he’s already pulling over.

You stay quiet, curled against the side window in the back, pretending to be asleep.

“Is she out?” Niki asks, peeking behind the seat.

Sunghoon lowers his voice. “Looks like it. Just crash back there, it’s fine. But if you puke on my upholstery—”

“I won’t,” Niki says, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll aim for your sweater.”

Sunghoon groans as Niki climbs out and slides open the back door. You don’t open your eyes, just shift slightly, your legs curled up.

Niki settles in next to you without a word, sitting directly behind the passenger seat (you’re behind the driver’s seat). Carefully. Quietly. The door shuts, muffling the outside world again.

“Better?” Sunghoon calls back once they’re moving again.

“Yeah,” Niki answers, voice relaxed now. “Much.”

You don’t reach for Niki. Not at first. Not until twenty minutes pass and the silence gets thick again. You shift in your seat. Let your hand rest on his thigh.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

You lean in anyway, close enough for your breath to brush his jaw. “You’re quiet.”

No answer. You squeeze gently. “Pretending to sleep?” A beat. “Or just sulking because I didn’t kiss you goodbye?”

You feel it, the slow inhale. The way his body tenses just slightly under your touch.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he murmurs finally. Voice low. Rough. But quiet enough that Sunghoon, humming along to some song up front, doesn’t notice.

You smile. Let your fingers trace idle shapes over his thigh. “You knew what this was,” you whisper. “You knew I wasn’t done with him.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t argue. But after a second, he turns his head, eyes half-lidded and focused fully on you. “I didn’t think you’d do this.”

You just tilt your head. “Do what?”

“Pull me into his bed,” he says, voice like gravel, “then hold my hand in the car like nothing happened.”

You shrug, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

A dry laugh escapes him. No humor, just surrender. “I don’t even know what I am to you.”

You lean in. Closer. Your lips graze the edge of his jaw.

“You’re mine,” you say softly. “Even if I don’t belong to just you.”

His hand finds yours again, locking your fingers together, tighter this time. Not asking, just taking. Letting himself want, even if it’s not enough.

“You’re messed up,” he mutters, almost fondly. “You know that?”

You grin. “And you’re still here.”

He huffs a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m still here.”

And he will be. Even if he’s just your secret. Even if it eats him alive. Because this time, he doesn’t let go. And neither do you.

2K notes · View notes

flowersforbucky · 1 year ago

Text

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.”

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees.

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all.

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.”

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?”

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.”

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.”

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.”

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding.

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape.

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning.

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee.

“Thanks, but I think I can–”

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?”

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun.

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC.

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride.

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch.

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can.

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.”

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour.

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–”

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth.

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel.

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision.

“Never because of me.”

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line.

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly.

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?”

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.”

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you.

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind.

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion.

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it.

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it.

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up.

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced.

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee.

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain.

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you.

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them.

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake.

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–”

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!”

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.”

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down.

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.”

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him.

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.”

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity.

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.”

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee.

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver.

— — — — —

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite.

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts.

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month.

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room.

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing.

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit.

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons.

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?”

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.”

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?”

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.”

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues.

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.”

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?”

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.”

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender.

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.”

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?”

— — — — —

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table.

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are.

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here.

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago.

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you.

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening.

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself.

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.”

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?”

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit.

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath.

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night.

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky.

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.”

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion.

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening.

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards.

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.”

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour.

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position.

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying.

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.”

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?”

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — —

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound.

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.”

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin.

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room.

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you.

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win.

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long —

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box.

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–”

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more.

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans.

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?”

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.”

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you.

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile.

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare.

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission.

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.”

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.”

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly.

Truth.

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?”

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands.

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–”

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly.

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try?

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.”

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity?

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly.

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.”

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?”

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer.

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked.

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.”

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before.

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline.

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point.

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.”

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him.

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards.

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison.

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans.

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line–

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings.

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing.

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.”

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it.

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants.

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles.

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest.

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–”

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center.

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit.

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed.

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center.

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax.

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris.

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth.

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him.

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices.

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter.

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck.

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue.

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants.

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.”

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest.

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked.

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them.

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts.

"You're goddamn stunning.”

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering.

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance.

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once.

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already.

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head.

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?”

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back.

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.”

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you.

With you still panting and limp beneath him, his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you.

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you.

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened.

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before.

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #pvris #oil & water #oil & water by pvris #song fic

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zyafics · 20 days ago

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MAKE RAFE GREAT AGAIN | Campaign

OBJECTIVE: In response to the rise of violent misogynistic, manospheric, red-pill and incel (romantic) characterization of Rafe Cameron, I decided to create a campaign for writers to join me to combat it.

RULES: Simply, write a fic about Rafe and Reader where Rafe (a) doesn't act like those terms above, or (b) if he does, where Reader doesn't tolerate that behavior and calls him out on it. You can create a mean/bitchy Reader if you want, but it's not required. All this campaign aims to do is bring together more writers and readers who want to see less of those misogynistic fics and more nuanced takes.

INTERACTIONS: I will be reblogging all those who join this campaign. I want to help facilitate and build up the community. To do so, either drop your link in my inbox, and/or use the tag #zyafics-mrgacampaign. Also, I will be adding the work to this post for a curated list.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: (Optional) If you want to follow the theme of this post, you absolutely can! The hex codes I used for this post are: FCDD00 - E62601 - 28282B, and the divider I created myself, so feel free to use them!

TO CLARIFY: In this campaign, you can also go the DDDNE route! You can create a misogynistic, incelic, or manospheric character of Rafe. But the objective is to not romanticize it. Address it. Inform your audience narratively, lyrically, or thematically that the context is harmful. That's all I ask.

DATES: 06/24/2025 – Present

#00 EXCERPT

@zyafics ⋆˙⟡ RIVAL!BIKER!MAYBANK!READER

#01 RICH GIRL

@promiscuousg1rl ㅤ⋆˙⟡ KOOK!READER

#02 OLD HABITS

@mrsbarnesblog ⋆˙⟡ GF!READER

#03 TEACHING WINNIE TO DRIVE

@rafesteddy ⋆˙⟡ DAD!RAFE

#04 BABES, BUMS, AND BITCH SLAPS

@rafeslovey ˙⟡ GF!POGUE!READER

#05 INTRODUCING BITCHY!PRINCESS!READER

@tinythebunni ˙⟡ PATHETIC!RAFE

#06 POOR ETIQUETTE

@cherrygirlfriend ˙⟡ HOUSEWIFE!READER X CEO!RAFE

#07 CAVEMAN

@sarahroutldge ˙⟡ OVERPROTECTIVE!BF!RAFE

#08 MAKE THIS PLACE YOUR HOME

@whytheylosttheirminds ˙⟡ MAYBANK!READER

#09 GETAWAY CAR (SMAU)

@zyafics ˙⟡ HE RUNS READER OVER W/ A CAR

#10 RAFE DEFENDS YOU AT THE COUNTRY CLUB

@hearts4hughes ˙⟡ GF!READER

#11 FLAWLESS

@railingsofsorrow ˙⟡ MAYBANK!READER

#12 ALL TIED UP

@cherrygirlfriend ˙⟡ PERVERT!READER x NERD!RAFE

#13 MANCHILD

@esotericcangel ˙⟡ BITCHY!READER x MANCHILD!RAFE

#14 AMNESIA

@pittsick ˙⟡ EX!GF!READER

#15 THE BASTARD & THE CLOWN

@7-deadly-cats ˙⟡ WITTY!BARKEEPER!READER X BOXER!RAFE

#16 WORKAHOLIC

@calypso-rt ˙⟡ MARINE BIOLOGIST!READER

#17 TO BE LOVED IS TO BE KNOWN

@starkeyvhs ˙⟡ SOFT!RAFE

#18 CHOSE THIS CYCLONE WITH YOU

@goldsainz ˙⟡ MOM!READER x DAD!RAFE

#19 TEACHES RAFE A LESSON

@crushpunky ˙⟡ KOOK!READER

#20 PUTTING RAFE IN HI PLACE

@rafesteddy ˙⟡ BULLY!DOM!READER

#21 TOWARDS THE SUN

@loveharlow ˙⟡ MOM!READER x DAD!RAFE

#22 NO STRINGS, NO MERCY

@bithewayellie ˙⟡ BADASS!READER x SITUATIONSHIP!RAFE

#23 BEST SERVED SWEET

@khloberry ˙⟡ BITCHY!READER

#24 DUMB & (NOT) POETIC

@ordinary-barbie ˙⟡ KOOK!READER x FRAT!RAFE

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daxisyzz · 3 months ago

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Why so serious? Sergeant

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine, Domestic Fluff

Summary: It’s a lazy weekend and you’re bored, so naturally, you ask to practice makeup on your very serious, very grumpy boyfriend. He reluctantly agrees… not knowing you’re about to Joker-fy him and put it on tiktok. The twist? He looks too good, and now you’re the one suffering.

Warnings and tags: grumpy!bucky, but he loves her so soft for her, joker!bucky??, chaotic avengers' group chat, reader is clearly turned on by him.

Word count: 1k+

A/n: yes, this was inspired by Sebastian's role in the short film "The magic of passion", but he's a magician in that. Check it out if you haven't already. 500 followers special.

Saturdays were for pancakes, questionable movie choices, and Bucky grumbling around the apartment like a feral cat learning to be domestic.

Today, however, you were dangerously bored.

You were sprawled out on the living room rug in one of Bucky’s ancient hoodies, surrounded by your makeup collection like it was a war zone. He walked in slowly, suspiciously, like he was approaching some kind of trap.

“What... are you doing?” he asked, voice still gravelly from sleep.

You sat up like a puppy spotting a treat. “I’m bored.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s never ended well for me.”

You gasped dramatically. “Rude. I’m an angel when I’m bored.”

“You convinced me to sign up for goat yoga last time.”

“And your glutes looked amazing for weeks, so you’re welcome.”

He sighed, already regretting asking. “What do you want?”

You grinned. “Can I do your makeup?”

Dead silence. The kind that stretched just long enough for a tumbleweed to roll by.

“No.”

“Pleeeease? You have the best face. Like, if Michelangelo did eyeliner.”

“No.”

You crawled over on your knees, giving him the full wide-eyed, pouty-lip, you-know-you-love-me look. “Pretty please? You’d be helping me grow as an artist. You’re like… my beautiful, brooding canvas.”

Bucky blinked. “That sentence gave me secondhand embarrassment.”

You clutched your heart. “That’s a yes.”

He groaned but sat on the edge of the couch anyway. “Fine. But no glitter, no lashes, no weird colors. Normal makeup.”

“Of course,” you lied sweetly, already grabbing a white foundation stick.

The man was so tragically trusting when he loved someone. He let you brush and blend and buff without question, arms crossed like a sulking statue while you worked.

He muttered under his breath, “This better not end up on TikTok…”

You gave a noncommittal hum. Because, obviously, this was not going to be a natural glam look.

And of course you filmed it. You’d propped your phone up sneakily on the bookshelf, recording the whole transformation in time-lapse: serious, scowling Bucky slowly morphing into a chaos-clown masterpiece.

You whispered to the camera, “Trust. The. Process.” before cackling silently.

No, this was Heath Ledger Joker territory. And the best part? Bucky hadn’t caught on.

You smeared more white across his face, added deep shadows around his eyes, a little black liner for depth… and then came the red. You dragged the lipstick in that jagged grin shape across his cheeks, trying not to burst out laughing.

“This feels clowny,” he said, suspicious now.

“Shhh,” you whispered. “Trust the process.”

When you were done, you stepped back with a breathless grin. “Okay. Ready?”

Bucky opened his eyes. You handed him the mirror. He stared.

“…You made me the Joker.”

You waited for the grumbling, the classic “Doll, I said normal!” speech—but instead, something entirely different hit you.

You blinked.

Because… damn.

The chaos of it. The cheekbones. The angry smudges. The “I might burn the world for you” look in his eyes.

You felt something stir in your soul. And maybe lower.

“…You good?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing.

You stared at him. “Okay but like… why is this kind of hot?”

He froze. “What?”

You stepped closer, eyes wide. “Like—I thought this would be funny, but now I want to crawl into your lap and make out while ‘Candy’ plays in the background.”

His expression flickered between horrified and smug. “You’re insane.”

You whispered, “Say it like you’re threatening Gotham, please.”

Bucky covered his face with one hand. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

You were already straddling his lap, giggling like a woman possessed. “Do the voice.”

“No.”

“Do the voice, James.”

He exhaled, deadpan. “Why so serious, doll?”

You gasped. “I’m going to combust.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, hands settling on your hips anyway. “You have issues.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped suddenly. “This is going to break my feed.”

Bucky froze mid-eye roll. “You filmed it?”

You nodded gleefully, already editing it to the “Joker stairs” soundtrack.

“If this ends up on the internet, I swear—”

You kissed his cheek, smearing more red on his jaw. “Too late, internet’s already falling in love with you.”

He groaned into his hands. “I hate Saturdays.”

He tried to fight it. He really did. But you looked too happy, too deranged, and clearly too turned on by the Joker makeup to argue.

“Alright,” he muttered. “You got your fun. Take it off.”

“Not yet,” you said, eyes gleaming. “We’re gonna reenact that ‘You complete me’ scene.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Bucky, please, I need it emotionally.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he grumbled, but he didn’t stop you as you dragged him toward the bedroom, red lipstick still smeared across his perfect jaw.

And maybe—just maybe—he did the voice again.

The next morning...

(The avengers find the tiktok you filmed, which may or may not have gone viral)

Avengers GC: “Earth’s Mightiest Disaster 💥”

Sam: nah. NAH. you let her joker you up AND film it???

Tony: I just choked on espresso why did that actually go hard

Peter: I don’t know whether to scream or hide he looked into the camera like it owed him money

Bruce: the eyeliner is flawless why was the growl necessary

Steve: …what did I just watch? why is Bucky in clown makeup? why is he talking like that?

Loki: because Midgard is rotting.

Thor: I thought it was performance art

Wanda: he did the voice now I’m rethinking some things

Nat: my soul left my body i need to lie down

Sam: [NAME]. [NAME] GET IN HERE. you enabled this

[Name]: I was bored he was sitting still what did you expect

Steve: what is “break me like a glowstick” and why is it the top comment? what does that even mean?

Peter: I googled it i regret everything

Bruce: there’s fan edits already one has “Toxic” playing over it i need bleach for my brain

Bucky: no one talk to me ever again

Sam: too late joker boy you’re the main character now

Clint: someone printed a screenshot and put it on the fridge in the kitchen btw not saying who but it’s me

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #Avengers gc #text fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff

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seraphicloves · 1 year ago

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𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞

⊱✿⊰ summary: your family wants to protect you but its impossible with the life you all lead

⊱✿⊰ warnings: kidnapping, minor torture, it will be angsty, almost dying, spitting on your face, the joker deserves his own warning tbh

⊱✿⊰ notes: this is for skye because she wanted some angsty batfam stuff and here we are. I am just shitting on the page and hoping words form at this point. I hope you enjoy and feel free to send me requests. Also this is a platonic fic sorry if you were hoping for romance action

⊱✿⊰ tags: @kozumesphone @fizzywashere87 @fashionablysouly @witherwallflower @goldierey

@finleyforevermore @baecakie @gergthecat @mqstermindswift @anyas-shitposting69 (comment on this or send me an ask if you want to be added to my DC taglist)

"Well, well, well. Looks like baby bird got caged." The clown sneered, leaning close to your face. You scrunched your nose and tried to scoot away despite the ropes scratching your wrists raw.

The Joker's finger runs along your cheek, a horrific grin on his face as he stared at you. You tried to keep a brave face, you tried to act like the domino mask over your eyes was really a shield. You tried to act like your dad, Batman.

Maybe it was your fault you got kidnapped. He said you weren't ready to go out and patrol with your family, but you went away. You stole one of Damian's mask and put on the most costume adjacent clothes you owned.

"Where should I start, little one?" Joker asked, breaking your train of thoughts. Placing blame would be set for another time. Not now, its not time yet. "Should I give you a smile that matches mine? Should I turn you into a firey decoration before dear ol' daddy bat gets here?"

You winced, trying to prevent the ice filling your veins and the fear weighing your stomach down. The Joker grabbed a knife from his table that had numerous weapons littered on top. Carefully the cold metal of the blade brushed against your skin, not harsh enough to cut just yet. He wanted to scare you first.

•───────────•°•❀•°•──────────•

"I am going to kill that son of a bitch." Jason growled as soon as he heard the news. Bruce gathered the family in the batcave, and explained the Joker had kidnapped the youngest of the family- you.

"Jason, I understand your frustration but we can't act with haste. I won't let her face the same fate you did. I won't make the same mistake twice." Bruce replied, already dressed as Batman. He was doing his best to stay professional despite his fear being ever present.

"I don't want to wait too long either." Dick added, crossing his arms over his chest. Everybody was tense, wanting their sister to be safe once again.

"I'll find where that stupid clown is keeping [Name]." Tim said, standing up and rushing towards the computer before anybody could even reply. Barbara silently followed, knowing she would be the most help to Tim.

Bruce looked at all of his family and nodded, "We'll find her and get her back."

•───────────•°•❀•°•──────────•

Your throat was hoarse and tears had dried on your face. There was no point to fighting it anymore, you only hoped he would kill you soon.

"Aw but doesn't the bird look good with her wings marked?" The Joker chuckled, slicing yet another line into your arm. The cuts were deep, sure to scar, and they were deliberate. You could only guess what he was spelling on your arms.

With the amount of blood flowing down your arms like a red river, it was to no surprise you were fading in and out of consciousness. That would be nice, at least you wouldn't be awake while he tortured you.

You almost settled into the pain, eyes fluttering close to let yourself rest, when you heard a crash. Glass was broken and there was yelling everywhere.

The Joker grabbed your face with his hand and forced you to look forward, where you saw your family (the only thing disguising their horrified looks were their masks)

"Looks like they showed up in time for you, baby bird." He grinned, spitting on your cheek. You were too tired, too fragile to even bother being disgusted. It was better than the cutting.

"Let her go and I'll think about not crushing your head into the wall." Red Hood barked out, already aiming his gun at The Joker. You tried to pay more attention but you were fading slowly,, ready to force your body to rest.

The Joker dropped your body like it was nothing, your face smashing into the concrete. It hurt, pain forming in your forehead but it was a distraction from the blood oozing out of you.

Despite your best efforts, you finally blacked out. The last thing you saw was your family lunging at the Joker, rage thick in the air.

Light flooded your eyes, fresh air blasting your lungs. You were laying down on something soft and warm, contrasting against the mildly scratchy fabric on your skin. You blinked your eyes a few times, forcing them to focus despite the dull ache pounding in your head.

"You're awake." Damian said, apparently sitting beside you. It took a little while but you realized you were in the personal hospital at the manor. He had a few scratches and bruises but nothing as horrific as the scars on your skin (and in your brain.)

"Wha-what..happened?" You croaked, throat feeling like sandpaper. Like magic, Dick appeared with a glass of water you gratefully took. The liquid in your throat was almost heavenly in the way it made you feel infinitely better.

"The Joker kidnapped you and we rescued you." Your father explained calmly, not bothering to add details. Which was probably good for you, the devil's in details.

"I'm glad your back, sis." Jason said, making you suddenly aware of his presence in the back of the room. Your entire family seemed to be in here, ready to see your betterment. Despite he general aversion to touch, Jason wrapped you into a hug.

Of course, everybody else joined in (forcefully or not) for a big group hug. You laughed, despite the hollow of your heart, watching as Tim was pushed into the hug by Dick.. It was ridiculous having a group hug after a traumatic event...how family sitcom could you get?

But somehow, it felt good to be in the arm's of your family. It felt like home.

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transmascjasongrace · 2 months ago

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fuck it, jason grace fic recs

first off author recs - ethannku, leovaldez & QueenJunoTheGreat have great fics with jason often as a focus/one of the main characters in them. also, consider going through the jason tag on my blog to find a couple other reblogged rec lists if i have any! i know i rb at least one :)

all of the links are from ao3. feel free to reblog with your own!

jason grace and the dii consentes by leovaldez / @bunkernine - series that fleshes out a pre-hoo, pjato-style backstory for jason. incomplete but parts can be found under tags like "roman prequels" on the tumblr page. summary: first book (the son of lightning): hunger games-esque survival games. jason meets reyna and octavian, solidifying them as a trio.

no rest for the cursed by ethannku / @ethannku - short & sweet fic where jason becomes an einherjar. summary: Jason wakes up in Valhalla after the events of The Burning Maze.

i used to float, now i just fall down by pupscotch - if juno became mortal instead of apollo after the war. incomplete/wip. possibly my favourite fic ever. summary: how jason grace learned to be a real boy, and juno learned to be a good mother.

Blood of the Covanant by plutomilo - hurt/comfort & jason meets sally and paul. summary: In which Jason gets the family he's always deserved.

All That Glitters by Irisviel101 - 5+1 fic about jason's fucked up backstory/childhood. summary: Five times Jason’s memories made Leo panic and the one time it was actually kind of normal.

the fall from grace into gotham. by aurantiumred / @aurantiumred - amnesiac jason gets dropped in gotham, in an alternate universe, and is picked up by bruce wayne. incompete, very well written so far & the chapters have me on the edge of my seat. hints of valgrace 🥰🥰 summary: Or, Jason Grace doesn't die, but his memories do. With the divine equivalent of throwing a dart at a map with your eyes closed, the gods drop him in New Jersey in some random universe. Lucky him, because there's a recently free position at the worst city on Earth, that may or may not entail dressing up in traffic light colored spandex and busting the brains out of a really weird clown.

When in Rome by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle - jason is in elysium, but he’s not satisfied. then he embarks on a series of adventures to become a real boy! incomplete, great so far. summary: Jason is trying to have a productive death. Unfortunately, a certain son of Hermes is making his afterlife harder than it needs to be.

pretty boy by sunshinemidnightrain - jason & being objectified. summary: Jason Grace, and the problem with being beautiful.

Leo and Jason DoorDash A Baby by EleenaDume - post-canon valgrace au fluff where pretty much exactly the title happens. adorable & lightly angsty. the author’s also written other valgrace stuff i adore. summary: Someone leaves a baby at the entrance of the Waystation in the middle of the night. It’s not quite how Leo and Jason expected this whole adoption process to work, but, well… when has anything in their lives ever gone the way they expected it to?

Blonde Superman by orangie14 - jason doesn't know who superman is! this calls for chb's resident superhero authority. summary: Turns out, being raised by wolves and then a demigod military left some pretty wide gaps in Jason’s pop culture knowledge. An exploration of Jason’s complicated feelings towards heroism and his place in the world as he learns about mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent.

Dearly Departed by kingburu / @kingburu - godswap jasico au where Jason is the son of hades and nico’s the son of jupiter! really good writing & super angsty (this is a new addition to this list, added 4 jun 25) summary: A godswap!au, where Son of Jupiter Nico di Angelo does not want to be praetor and could not care less about what Ambassador Grace has to say about his late sister. No matter what that Son of Hades thinks.

skies and shadows by whatanaccidentwaitingtohappen / @transmascjasongrace - okay this is a cop out because i wrote it BUT i promise it's good! dcu crossover where dick grayson was also beryl grace's son. incomplete (wip - 3 chapters out so far), semi-regular updates. summary: The king of the gods loves Beryl Grace three times in her life. His wife is not happy.

#jason grace #hoo #fic recs #sam.txt #heroes of olympus #rick riordan #riordanverse #pjo #percy jackson #valgrace #jasico

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clownyclaushoe · 7 months ago

Text

blood red

art the clown x reader 🔞

afab reader, period sex, overuse of the pet name baby, but art is a baby - he's my babie boo. (i know i already added this to my other post and i don't want it to be like i'm spamming the tags but i'm actually really happy with this and i want people to see it. plus i NEVER finish fics this quickly so i'm happy about that. part of me feels like i didn't take this as far as i could have, if that even makes sense idk 😅😭)

you knew you were about to start your period all day. your cycle was always regular and there were the familiar pre-period symptoms like lower back soreness and a particular kind of fatigue. but you swear art could smell its impending presence every time. unsurprisingly, he would become animalistic, unable to satiate the craving over each of the five days of your period. it would've been too much for your drained body, if it weren't for the unshakeable pleasure he gave you each time.

you also appreciated and loved how art wasn't horrified or disgusted, as many men, even friends and an ex-boyfriend, had been at even the mere mention of the dreaded p-word.

art stepped behind you, placing his hands over your hips, moving them around to your bloated belly, his touch firm but gentle. you nearly swooned every time he exerted such restraint, knowing the supernatural strength he possessed, how he could tear your heart out of your chest as easily as one flicks a speck of lint from their sleeve.

you leaned back into his embrace, knowing what was on his mind. "baby, i'm only spotting. i thought we'd just have a quiet, cozy night, hm?" you say, sweetly, looking at him with big, doe eyes.

he nuzzled at your neck, his right hand shifting to the crotch of your sweatpants, fingers flexing just right to press the menstrual pad against your clit. he knew you weren't being truthful. sometimes it was just too much fun not to tease him a little.

"oh, art," you whimper, eyes rolling closed, imagining the grin spreading across his face at hearing you sound so needy for him already. but the truth was no matter how tired, sick, or busy you were, you always were needy for every part of him - and he damn well knew it too - his fingers caressing every inch of your flesh; his mouth pressed against your pussy; his tongue fucking so deep inside you; and his cock -- his long, thick cock, thrusting inside you at an unrelenting pace, able to hit your gspot with ease.

he walked you over to your shared bed, tugging down your sweats and underwear to the floor, pausing for you to sit on the bed for him to remove the unwanted clothes, taking a moment to notice the mess you'd made and to sniff at it, the intoxicating metallic scent filling his nostrils all the more. you lie down and art gets on the bed, kneeling between your legs, gripping your thighs and gazing down at your pussy, blood collecting between your folds. art licked his lips and wiggled his brows.

you laugh, shaking your head at your ridiculous clown boyfriend. "don't make me wait any longer, baby. i know you love how my blood feels, how it tastes."

he nods, tilting his head, his right hand moving to gaze along your puffy pussy lips, fingertips pushing between your folds, and down to slip the middle and ring digits inside you, your wetness and blood making the motion smoother. he curls his fingers to stroke your gspot while thumbing at your clit.

"oh fuck," you circle your hips to meet his hand. "another finger, please, baby, please." art obliges you, knowing how much you love feeling so full of him.

he slips the index in along with the other two, stretching you so much as he continues to fingerfuck you, pushing you closer to orgasm.

"you're so fucking good, baby, ahh. don't stop -- don't you dare fucking stop." you gasp, gripping his shoulder.

he pauses his hand deep inside you, continously pressing against your gspot, and you swear you feel just a fraction of his supernatural strength - the slight pain adding to the pleasure - his face contorting to a snarl with the effort.

you come, your body thrashing - not unlike art's victims- as he resumes thrusting his fingers inside and out, watching his blood covered digits. as the warm flicker of your climax passes, you lie back, catching your breath in the afterglow, orgasm helping ease your cramps.

art pulls out his red soaked fingers, raising them to show them off with a wave, and you can't help but be reminded of the song, red right hand. you tell him and he silently laughs, throwing his head back and smacking his knee. then he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking at the blood, and shimmying his shoulders.

"why don't you put that mouth to better use, baby?" art goes wide eyed, gaping at you, and it could've been mistaken for genuine coyness, but you knew better. it was apparent from your first time together that he knew exactly what he was doing.

he leans down, nearer to your pussy and sniffs the even stronger scent of your menstrual blood, then ducks down to attach his mouth to your pussy, sucking and licking at your labia, ravenous and rough.

"oh, art," you exclaim, on the verge of tears, "you're so good for me, baby. the fucking best."

the praise urges him on, and as much as its true that art does what he wants, when he wants, you've come to learn he also loves following direction and seeking approval - at least from you, laps up appraisal like a puppy.

he flicks his tongue over your clit while staring up at you, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear.

"i'm close, baby, you're gonna make me come all over your sexy face."

you let out a squeak as art closes his lips around your clit, sucking hard.

"oh my -- fuck," you gasp, your back arching as your second orgasm grips you like a vice. art's hand trails up your body to squeeze at your tit, and you moan like a whore for him, only for him.

his tongue plunges into your pussy, fucking your hole, and your orgasm intensifies somehow, in a way that only art could do, and you're gushing into his waiting mouth.

art tilts his head up enough to grin and show the smears of blood all over his face, and dripping from his mouth. you giggle at the sight, somehow falling even more in love with him, he endears himself to you so much. he gently nibbles and kisses at your inner thigh, as a sign of gratitude.

"you're welcome, baby. and thank you."

---

hope you all enjoyed! 🖤❤🖤❤

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nevadancitizen · 20 days ago

Text

-> CH. 10: A HOUSE CALLED CARMODY DELL

synopsis: you tag along with hosea to set up a business deal.

word count: 4.8k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: sorry i was gone for so long! i stopped writing, felt like shit, started writing, and now i feel better. who'd have thunk?

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @lazycowboah , @shackspossum , @swedesfics , @literallyrousseau , @xprloki , @pedifero , @6esi , @xnorthstar3x , @scorpio-echo , @eafv2323 , @junesfruits , @gallantys (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

You were never one to find robberies and petty crime exciting, but sometimes you do what you need to because you must. And Hosea – the arbitrator of god’s will, apparently – has deemed that you need to come on a petty stagecoach robbery because you must help the gang acquire money. You’re not exactly keen on putting out and you’re not sure you’d generate any sizable revenue anyway, so this is the next best (and profitable) thing.

You wait nearby, sitting on a crate as Hosea continues to talk to Seamus: the guy Hosea wants to exploit as a fence. The barn all three of you are next to faces the outskirts of town, so there’s less of a chance of nosy ears listening in on this private conversation.

“Well, every half-dollar robber says he’s capable,” Seamus says. “I never met an idiot that called himself one.”

“Very true. In that case, me and my friend here are idiots,” Hosea says. “But we know how to get things done efficiently.”

There’s a lull in conversation. You take the chance to say, “Hosea’s been robbing longer than I’ve been alive. What – what’s this guy’s place like, Fort Knox?”

“Well, no,” Seamus says. “The closest thing we’ve got is Fort Mercer.”

You look up just as the sound of footfalls meet your ears. It’s Arthur, looking between Seamus and Hosea and you. You have to bite your tongue because you just got away from him – just got an excuse to be outside of camp while he was in it – and now he’s here. Because hey, why the hell not? It’s not like this is your first actual job that you want to go smoothly. No, it’s totally one hundred percent okay that Arthur’s here. Honestly…

“Arthur,” Hosea greets. “This is Seamus – he’s our new partner.”

“I ain’t no such thing,” Seamus says.

“Prospective new partner,” Hosea corrects himself, “if he likes us.”

“Liking ain’t the problem – trusting is, as I said.” Seamus stands and checks around the corner. “And keep your voices down. I don’t want my boss hearing… This is a side line.”

“‘Course,” Hosea says. “Look at the three of us – honest as the day is long.”

“We can do some light work for you,” you offer. You stand, looking between the three men. “Give us an opportunity to, um… prove ourselves?”

A surprised exclamation of “Prove ourselves?” leaves Arthur’s mouth amid a laugh. He glances over at you and Hosea, gesturing at Seamus. “To this clown? Whatchu talkin’ about?”

“Good day, both of you,” Seamus says. He turns on his heel, his boots making a schlock sound in the mud as he walks away.

“Listen,” Hosea says quickly. He starts after Seamus. “He’s rough and ready and quick with his tongue, but I swear, you can trust him, you can trust them, and you can trust me.”

“I…” Seamus turns and glances over Hosea’s shoulder at you and Arthur. His eyes mostly linger on Arthur – probably figuring out the ratio of brains to muscle (which has a strong negative relationship in Arthur’s case). “I’m an old man.”

“You’re not old, Seamus,” Hosea says.

“I’m old enough,” Seamus counters. “And you know why I ain’t dead?”

“You don’t trust idiots.”

“Exactly.”

“We’re not idiots,” Hosea insists. “Let us prove it to you.”

You watch carefully as Seamus considers it. His face twists as he thinks, probably weighing the pros of working with someone like Hosea and the cons of working with someone like Arthur. You hope you at least mostly fall into the pros category.

“I tell you what,” Seamus eventually says. Your ears perk up and you turn your attention to him as he continues talking. “Old Bob Crawford and his boys just bought a beautiful stolen stagecoach from upstate. It’s in their barn. Now you go get that – and then we can work together.”

Hosea puts a hand on Seamus’ shoulder and guides him back to where you and Arthur are waiting, talking as he does so. “Who’s old Bob Crawford?”

“An… acquaintance of mine,” Seamus says.

“So you want us to take out your competition?” Hosea asks.

“Well, he – he’s not just an acquaintance,” Seamus says, “but a cousin… by marriage. I also wanna see if y’all got what it takes. Now, you survive that…”

“Where is he?” Hosea asks.

“He’s in a farmhouse just northwest of here, called Carmody Dell.” Seamus gestures down the beaten dirt road. “It’s just up the train tracks as you’re headin’ up towards Fort Wallace. There’s also money in that house – but that’s your business, not mine – but don’t kill nobody. Folks know we ain’t intimate no more… they’ll know it was me.”

Before you can question the use of the word “intimate” when regarding a cousin (by marriage, but still), Hosea speaks. “But you’re fine with us robbing your cousin?”

“By marriage,” Seamus insists, pointing a finger at him as if that further proved his point. “And yes, I’d love it.”

“You heard the man.” Hosea touches your shoulder as he turns to walk towards the horses. “Let’s go rob his cousin.”

Seamus mumbles “By marriage,” but you just hide your half-smile and follow Hosea. You mount Bronya and tug her reins, leading her away from the hitch.

Arthur mounts Belmont, and Hosea mounts Silver Dollar. They follow you a little ways away from Seamus’ barn.

“Really?” Arthur grumbles.

“Really,” Hosea says. “Lead the way. He said the place is just northwest of here.”

Belmont breaks into a trot as Arthur guides him onto the beaten dirt road. “Me?”

“You’re the one who’s been out gallivanting around here,” Hosea says.

Arthur passes you to lead, while Hosea lingers beside you. You pass by barns and fenced-in livestock on the way out of town.

The valley opens before you, the ground turning from shit-mud to packed down dirt. Winding, patchy desire paths join actual trailways, all bordered by grass that almost seems to roll when a breeze wisps by. A herd of horses slowly move out by the horizon, dotting the prairie with spots of black and white and brown.

Jesus, that’s beautiful, you think to yourself.

“Jesus, that’s beautiful,” you decide to say out loud.

“It is quite something,” Hosea agrees. “I’ve seen a lot of nature in my time, but the Heartlands trumps them all.”

“I’m… I’m jealous. Of your travels, I mean,” you say. You think for a moment. “Hey, maybe one day I can move my family out here? It seems… quiet enough.”

“Now, I – I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Hosea says. He glances forward at Arthur, then turns away to look out on the prairie. “Your girls are in California, aren’t they? They’re safer staying put for now. We can grab them on our way out of the country.”

“Do you…” You look forward to Arthur. He’s looking forward, most likely paying you and Hosea no mind. “Do you actually want me to run with you? Like, is this The Plan? Dutch’s Plan?”

“Ah, I’m just thinking out loud.” Hosea waves a hand dismissively. “Arthur – you couldn’t have played that thing with Seamus better?”

“Thought you wanted me here to show some strong arm?” Arthur says. “That’s usually how it goes.”

“Yes, but…” Hosea pauses. “You know how this works.”

“C’mon, Hosea,” Arthur drawls. “That feller’s a joke.”

“And that’s why he’s perfect!” Hosea exclaims. “He won’t cause us any problems. A safe spot to fence wagons and coaches, that’s easy money for us.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Come on, it’s not like he’s asking us to rob a bank.” He gestures over to you. “It’s perfect for their first job! If the two of us can’t teach some down-and-out how to steal a stagecoach, we should hang up our hats.”

You make a face at that but don’t comment on it. After all, you are some random person that came across them as a stroke of luck. If you were a bit less lucid in that cabin, Arthur could’ve shot you – so you guess that counts as another stroke of luck. It’s only a matter of time before that luck runs out.

“Thank you for that,” you blurt. “For – for trusting me with this job, I guess.”

“You need to start somewhere,” Hosea says. “Besides, we’re doing better. We won’t be in any major trouble if you make any mistakes.”

“Y’know, I figured more folks would’ve cut and run on us,” Arthur says. He looks to his left, like he’s thinking of looking over his shoulder at you, but he doesn’t. “Given all the trouble we’ve already gotten ourselves into, and the mistakes we already made.”

“Like Dutch says, a lone wolf don’t last long out on the plains,” Hosea says.

Arthur huffs out a laugh. “He does like to trot that one out.”

“People see that, especially when they get a few years on ‘em.” Hosea pauses, then admits: “Even someone like Micah.”

“There’s a couple of folks I wish had cut n’ run,” Arthur says.

Hosea pauses, then says, “I bet there’s some folks that feel the same about you.”

Even though you’re expecting it – Arthur’s eyes on you, staring you down and reminding you of what a burden you are – it never comes. He keeps his eyes straight ahead on the beaten dirt road. He doesn’t look to his left, he doesn’t look to his right. He doesn’t pay you any mind at all.

That’s good, isn’t it? You ask yourself. I’ve made myself useful. Useful enough…

The rest of the ride to Carmody Dell is mostly quiet, occasionally punctuated by people riding in the opposite direction or a bird flying overhead. Once the homestead came into view, Hosea had instructed you and Arthur to wait while he distracted the boy chopping wood at the front of the house.

Your back is flat against the trunk of a dead tree a little ways away from the house, and you can barely see the brim of Arthur’s hat peeking out from behind a rock. You’re both watching Hosea, waiting for his move.

“My good man! My good young man,” Hosea practically bellows as he approaches the teenager, throwing his arms in the air in greeting. “Fare thee well, fare thee well. Is your father home, son?”

The boy brings the axe down with (what you assume to be) way less power than he intended. He almost looks conscious and embarrassed at the poor display, but neglects to even acknowledge it. “Sure is.”

“Get him down here,” Hosea says. “Please, get him down here.”

You look over at Arthur’s rock. He’s halfway out of cover now. He points at the back of the house, and you point at Hosea.

The boy puffs out his chest a little and puts his hands on his hips. “Get lost, mister.”

“I was lost! For many years, I was lost.” Hosea nods sagely. “Many years. Now… I’m not.”

A man opens the front door and steps out onto the porch. You look over at Arthur and he nods.

With quick, light steps, you follow Arthur to the back of the house. He puts a hand on the doorknob and braces the other against the door.

“You know what to look for?” He asks, his voice hushed and almost rumbling.

You think for a moment, then answer, your voice just as quiet. “Cash, jewelry boxes… I – I’ve done this before, y’know?”

Arthur raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “I did not.”

Before you can ask him what that facial expression meant, he turns the doorknob and slowly opens the door. It opens to a small bedroom and suddenly, robbing a house feels a lot more real.

“I’ll clear the rest of this storey n’ check upstairs,” Arthur says. “You start with this room.”

And like that, you’re left alone. He didn’t even give you enough time to explain that yeah, while you’ve robbed a house before, it wasn’t like… this. You rifled through drawers at some house party with lots of people, lots of music, and – most importantly – lots of drugs. Most people were too out of it to understand why you were doing that, and the people that weren’t were blissed out on ecstasy and didn’t care anyway.

You inhale sharply to try to shock your system into being not as nervous. It only kind of works. You start to open drawers of the dresser and focus on what you can hear from Hosea’s conversation to try and ground yourself.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you can hear Hosea’s muffled voice say. “I was just chatting with Junior here a bit.”

“You sellin’ something, partner?” A man’s voice says. Probably Crawford.

“Free!” (You can almost hear the way Hosea threw his arms up, flourishing his faux excitement.) “A free spinal alignment.”

You bite back a smile and move to the chest at the end of the bed. You need to ask Hosea where the hell he learned about chiropractors, of all modern things. You shift aside the folded clothes and find a small clip of money at the bottom. It’s not much – maybe ten ones – but it’s still something. You take it and move on.

Keeping in mind what Arthur did earlier, you brace a hand on the door and slowly open it into a small living room. There’s a fireplace with a mantle, a rug laid out across the wooden floor, and a table pressed up against the wall with three chairs.

“The Lord God Almighty, or who-whoever built us, put our brains in our heads,” Hosea says, “but our souls in our backs. You, sir, y-your back looks kind of tricky, and complicated.”

You move to the fireplace, making sure to tread with light footsteps. His voice is closer now, and a door you can see in a corridor nearby looks like it leads to the front porch.

Two mostly burned candles and a small picture in a frame sit on the mantle, and a larger portrait hangs above it. The candles and the painting are useless, but…

You take the small picture and flip it over, then dig your thumbnail between the backing board and the frame. It pops open, revealing four fifty dollar bills behind the picture. You take them, then put everything back in place and move on.

“I can fix those spinal troubles for you,” Hosea says. “Just ten or fifteen sessions.”

“Whiskey suits me fine, sir,” Crawford says.

As you move into the corridor, you realize it’s a small entryway and kitchen. A brick oven sits across from cabinets with a sink and fruit on the countertops. Stairs lead up to the second floor, where Arthur is surely pilfering.

“Whiskey? Whiskey is – is causing the problems!” Hosea exclaims. “You ever meet a Scot who didn’t hobble in old age? But the English stand tall, sir – gin! They drink gin. And what is gin made with? Junipers. And what does juniper do? Creates movement in the spine, whereas your whiskey – made with grain as it is – leaves the spine brittle! Hence, your hobbling Jock.”

You turn towards the stairs when you hear footsteps, and Arthur is quickly moving down them, a hand on the banister. He snatches a mostly-full bottle of whiskey from a shelf near the oven.

He pats your shoulder as he passes. “We gotta go.”

You put up no fight at all and follow him. He leads you back through the living room and back bedroom.

He takes the steps down the back of the house slowly, looking towards the front. You follow, minding your footfalls. He checks over his shoulder, back at you, then points over at a barn on the other side of a clearing.

“Hosea’s got ‘em distracted,” he says, his voice hushed. “Now, you wait for my signal and we’ll go.”

You peek around the corner. The boy is a ways away, leaning on the fence and looking out on the pasture. Hosea… has the man of the house face-down on a picnic table, rubbing and poking at his back.

“See, now this, here…” Hosea looks over and spots you and Arthur. He nods over at the barn, then presses the knuckles of his thumbs into Crawford’s back. “This…! Is a technique from the Far East. You should be feeling some – some movement along your spine.”

“Kinda, yeah,” Crawford mumbles into the table.

Arthur sticks low to the ground, so you copy him. He snaps his fingers and starts walking, and you follow. He leads you around the back, past the water tower, and into the barn; all the while, Hosea still has that man (metaphorically) showing his belly.

Arthur pulls the barn door open just wide enough to usher you inside, then he follows and shuts the door. There aren’t any windows, and despite the one desperate oil lamp, it’s still reasonably dark.

Two horses are strapped to a fancy-looking wagon. It’s coated in a fire engine red paint-job and the brand on the side reads DAVIS OVERLAND DESPATCH CO.

“Overland Despatch,” you say, pointing up to the yellow lettering. “Isn’t it spelled with an ‘I’? D-I-S…patch.”

Arthur pats one of the horses on the neck. “How am I supposed to know?”

I’m just trying to talk to you! You say in your head in a sing-song voice. Who could ever imagine… Me, of all people, trying so hard to be nice for some jerk!

“I… you… read,” you mumble. “I thought… you liked reading?”

“Well, now you can go and have a nice conversation with Lenny.” Arthur tugs on the horses’ straps and reins, making sure they’re connected properly. “The kid loves readin’.”

“I know,” you say. “I-I’ve talked to him before – about books.”

One of the barn doors swings open, Hosea sneaks in, then promptly closes the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and brushes the lapels of his coat clean of nonexistent dust and dirt.

“My friends, the time comes where we must make our exit.” Hosea points at you. “You – get in the wagon. Arthur – come drive with me.”

You open the carriage door and hop inside, while Arthur and Hosea climb up into the driver’s seats. There’s the sound of a horse being whipped, then the stagecoach jolts forward and starts moving.

The barn doors crash open accompanied by the sound of hooves pounding dirt. You brace a hand against the side as the carriage rocks. Through the window, you can see Carmody Dell getting smaller and smaller in the distance. Belmont, Bronya and Silver Dollar trot behind, easily keeping pace with Arthur.

This is nice. The job was clean – you did well. At least, you think you did well… didn’t you? $200 wasn’t something to stick your nose up at in 1899 (or even in 2024, really).

“So, what were you able to lift from the house?” Hosea asks once Carmody Dell has disappeared over the horizon.

“Found some money stashed away upstairs,” Arthur says. “Must be a few hundred – not too bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Hosea agrees.

I’ll tell them about my find later, you decide. Talking would be awkward, given that they’re outside of the carriage while I’m inside… or maybe I’m being weird.

You settle down and actually take the time to look around. The inside of the stagecoach is plush – or what flew for ‘plush’ back in the now. There’s a seat that kind of looks like the seats at the back of the bus on one side, and another on the opposite side.

You sit and push down on the upholstered leather. It’s firm, but soft. You shift how you’re sitting, and the firm cushions give way to some amount of comfort.

It’s not quite as comfortable as the mattress you have at home, but it’s loads better than the nonexistent mattress you have at camp. You lean your head against one of the wooden beams that lines the window.

The plains outside are marked sparsely, only by bunches of shrubs, trees, and the occasional homestead. It kind of reminds you of long car rides when you were a kid, without a phone or music to distract you from the exceptionally boring ride.

The way Arthur drives causes the stagecoach to rock back and forth slowly. The horses almost seem to pound their hooves to a steady, rhythmic beat. Your eyes are heavy, and you feel tired.

Robbing a house really takes it out of someone that’s not fit to rob houses, you guess.

Your shoulders sag, heavy, with the weight of a child. A blond boy named Sasha, no older than seven. You know this as a matter of fact, of course.

There’s something resembling a kalash in your hands, and a revolver serves as your sidearm. Sasha had really only come with you after noticing the guns you have with you – and his uncle’s guts splattered on the metal floor. He hadn’t screamed or yelled or done anything a normal child would’ve done. He just sat there, saying, “He’s dead? Uncle’s dead? But how will I get home? He was supposed to take me home.”

The children of the Metro are a perplexing thing. They were born underground, are being raised underground. Sasha alone has been through hell, and from what he told you about the monsters and the nosalis that attacked his uncle, he only stayed alive by sheer luck. Yet he’s still chugging along, gripping the top of your head for balance, not a worry in the world aside from when you’ll shoot your gun next and how loud and exciting it’ll be.

The tunnels you and Sasha snake through are claustrophobic, just barely bent into a shape meant for long-term human inhabitants. The V.I. Lenin Metro was never meant to have so many bodies crammed into it, but humans have a tendency to do anything they can to survive. Both parties just cursed their rotten luck and made do.

The ceiling, once so low you had to take Sasha off your shoulders to crouch down with you, now opens up into a silo-like room that breaks the surface. Sparse planks of wood are nailed into a makeshift roof, but slits of light still break through. The sky you can see is a bleak bluish-white, and you can hear the faint sound of a blizzard a few kilometers away.

“What’s that up there?” Sasha asks, pointing to the partial ceiling. Before you can respond, he continues: “Wait! Uncle showed me a picture once… The sk-sky. That’s the sky, isn’t it? It’s like… a painted ceiling!”

“Mhm.” You nod as you survey the room. There’s a tunnel up a good eight or ten meters in the side that leads into Hole Station. Light from lanterns leaks from the station’s entrance into the greater area. A scout fire at your feet illuminates a ladder that leads up to platforms that give way to a precariously-balanced extension ladder that rests on the lip of the floor of the station entrance.

“I’ll be famous,” Sasha parades from atop your shoulders. “I saw the sky!”

Not so sure about that, kid, you want to say. I see the sky all the time and I’m a perfect nobody.

You hold an arm up above your head and Sasha latches on. You lift him halfway up the ladder, then let go of him to stabilize the outer rails as he climbs. Once he’s up and out of the way, you follow after him.

You lean and put one of your feet on the platform Sasha is on to test the stability with your added weight. The sheet of metal doesn’t move. With careful steps, you get onto the platform, ushering Sasha along in front of you until he stops in front of the foot of the extension ladder.

“Hey!” You try to call up into the station’s entrance. Your voice is too weak, and the wisps of wind coming down from the surface isn’t enough to carry it. You bend down and bang your palm against the sheet metal below your feet.

Two men peek out, each dressed similarly to you – guns, kevlar, light and malleable metal bound to their shins and thighs by rope. A woman pushes one of them aside and immediately cries out a hoarse, “Sasha! That’s my boy; they have my Sasha!”

You snap an arm around Sasha’s middle to prevent him from running to his mother. He thrashes against you, but stops when his mom tells him to.

“I’ll hold this side of the ladder,” one man shouts over the gap. He gets on his knees and holds the ladder’s outer rings. “You get the other.”

You point at Sasha with a stern finger. “Wa… wait.”

You shift and hold the outer rings, then lift Sasha onto the ladder, careful of the flat-ish angle. He climbs on his hands and knees, completely focused on the ladder and oblivious to his mother’s fretting. She watches him with wide eyes, back and forth between Sasha and the ladder, her bottom lip pinched between her thumb and forefinger in worry. He just bumbles along, laughing delightedly when his mother scoops him up as he crosses into Hole Station.

You carefully follow Sasha’s footsteps, although you have to accommodate an extra ninety kilograms – both from you being an adult and all the gear you have on your person. Your ascent is not nearly as eventful as his.

A man claps you on the shoulder as you enter the station. He watches with you as Sasha’s mother fusses over him, pulling his clothes aside to check for any injuries, speaking to him in a soft but quick Ruslish.

“Thank you.” The man removes his hand from your shoulder. He starts walking, and you follow him.

The entrance is small and defensible. Hooks hammered into stone walls hold lit oil lanterns, their small flames contained by glass. Your headlamp would be a better source of light, but you don’t say anything. It’s called Hole Station, and probably for a reason. (You don’t really know if it was named that before 2013, but it’s not that important now.)

“If you had any idea how much that boy means…” The man shakes his head. “His father is really important to all of us, and if his son died, well… It would’ve killed him.”

You look over and see Sasha’s mother kneeling, her son in front of her. Tears carry the kohl that lines her eyes into black rivers that cut down her pale face.

“Where’s Mikhail?” She asks. “How’d you get up here?”

“Uncle is dead, Mom,” Sasha says. It’s clear that while he knows what the words mean and what order to put them in, he doesn’t fully know what it means when a person dies. “But this person took me on their shoulders – I helped them shoot the monsters!”

Sasha’s mother catches you out of the corner of her eye and stands, cradling Sasha’s face to her belly. “O, слава богу. Thank you for saving my son! I – I can never repay you, but…”

She pulls a cartridge – 45 military-grade bullets, you presume – out of her pocket and holds it out to you. “Take these cartridges. At least it’s something.”

Something in the back of your mind snaps. It tells you to take them. You scraped your way into adulthood, and you need everything you can to stay out of a shallow grave. This woman has a husband and a father for her child. And it’s not like you’re robbing her, either – she’s willingly giving up something with purchasing power, which is rare in the Metro. She fully knows what she’s doing.

You reach out and wrap her fingers around the cartridge, pushing them back towards her and shaking your head. She waits for a moment, then nods and tucks it away in her pocket.

As the two men lead you further along into Hole Station, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Sasha’s mother is back to fussing over him, holding his baby-fat face and talking to him softly.

Your teeth grit together and you’re suddenly seething with jealousy. What are you jealous of? Sasha? He’s a child. You don’t want to be a child. Sasha’s mother? She nearly worried herself to death when her kid went away from home. You don’t want to worry like that. Maybe you’d like to have someone worry over you like that, but, no… this is a distinctly different feeling.

So why are you jealous? Are you angry? What do they have that you don’t? What the hell of theirs could you even want?

A child, that something in the back of your mind says. Where’s your baby? Your beautiful baby girl… Have you put her down to bed? Where’s she gone?

60 notes · View notes

turtletaubwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 28

Just Daydreams Now

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 6.9k+

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You spend the morning with Uncle Cedrick while Buggy listens in. The rest of your lovers aren't used to feeling helpless.

Author's Note: Hi! I've been nervous to give more backstory since we're all here for our big baddies, but I hope you enjoy learning a bit more about our Numbers Girl!

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, Anal, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Face Slapping/Hitting, Relationship Drama, Scratching, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

It’s cold.

The cold turned cruel the moment you woke, remembering why there were no warm bodies surrounding you.

That wasn’t real. Just pretend.

Back to your boring life.

“Good morning, Miss Sylvad,” an unpleasantly cheerful servant greeted you. They'd barged into your quarters after a single, patronizing knock, proceeding to hang a few dresses on the coat rack, fluffing the skirts before eyeing your hair. “Your uncle has requested your presence at breakfast, so I have prepared–”

“I can dress myself.”

Their eyes widened for just a split second, so very good at their job.

Can't manage rich pieces of shit like me if you remind us that you're a real fucking person.

“Of course, Miss Sylvad, but if I may–”

“You can report that I refused your assistance. I’m sure you’ll have someone waiting in the hall to show me where to go?”

“Yes, Miss Sylvad,” they nodded, brows creasing just enough for you to know they had a thought, but not enough to know what kind. You stared at the door when they left you alone, and almost screamed for them to return, just to have something else to focus on besides the empty bed. Heat climbed up your throat, but the thought of crying more tears after how many you’d drained last night made you want to stop breathing.

The thought of Uncle Cedrick seeing you cry was enough to pull you in, emptiness radiating from you like twisted heat.

That silver chain seemed to pull at your restless fingers, and you couldn’t decide if it made you more or less likely to cry if you carried it with you.

You carried it with you.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

“The locket,” Crocodile breathed, his soothing hand halting its movement down Buggy’s legs.

“You can hear her,” Mihawk praised. His voice was unbelieving, almost reverent.

“Buggy, you’re brilliant,” Shanks laughed, leaning in to kiss his clown.

“SHUT UP!!”

The clown’s three lovers jolted at his yell, watching his face crumple while he curled in on himself.

“I need to listen,” Buggy muttered as he shoved a finger in his remaining ear. “Gotta make her stop crying. Gotta stop…”

Looks were shared between his old enemies, their gentle hands unable to stop the flow of tears that stained that colorful face.

~~~

“Buggy, you need to sleep,” Shanks pleaded, pulling him back against his chest. The three men curled around him on that giant bed, yet no word or touch seemed to calm their clown. Shanks held his lover from behind, wishing that he could wrap around him completely, protect him from all this pain.

“Have to listen,” Buggy almost whined, exhaustion dripping from him.

Mihawk was afraid to reach out, as though his toxic touch could somehow sever that precious connection, somehow tear her from Buggy, yet again. He faced the clown as they laid on that glorious bed, this man that he’d ridiculed, tortured, abused…

I don’t deserve–

Crocodile disrupted Mihawk’s self pitying thoughts, reaching around his body to touch Buggy’s face, brushing that pretty, blue hair aside.

“We’re here, Buggy. We’ll help you. We’ll get her back.”

“She needs you to sleep now, baby,” Shanks whispered along Buggy’s ear.

“Thank you for helping her,” Mihawk choked, that broken sound bringing the clown back to the room for a moment.

He found golden eyes struggling to meet his gaze, and silver eyes staring as Crocodile hugged the quivering swordsman from behind.

“I can’t help her. I can’t do anything,” Buggy rasped, his mouth dry as too many hands reached for him again.

“You’re going to save her, Buggy,” Mihawk vowed, tracing fingers along his face, through tears and faded paint. “We’re going to help you. You have my word.”

Y/N’s sobs had slowed and quieted by now, fitful breathing letting him know that she was moving toward sleep.

All alone. She’s…

Mihawk’s dangerous fingers trailed over his lips, those deadly eyes wider and softer than he’d thought possible.

“Thank you, Buggy.”

This wasn’t the sort of kiss Buggy was used to, at least not from anyone besides Shanks and his star.

It was just a kiss.

Just a bare touch of lips that asked nothing of him. The swordsman kissed him, then cuddled against his chest, his scent and warmth finally slowing the clown’s breathing.

Buggy fell asleep to the sound of her beating heart, while laying in this bed that felt empty, even with the four bodies upon it.

I’m listening, star. I’m listening…

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Gods, he could listen to himself talk all fucking day.

It seemed that Uncle Cedrick had called you in just to spout nothingness, blabbing about his recent deals, and “charity” ventures that were nothing more than ego boosts and tax write offs.

Kill me now.

“What was that, niece?”

An exhausted laugh escaped your lips, and you had to fight yourself not to give in to your useless desires to insult, to scream, to hurt.

Now that he wasn’t restricted by the Cross Guild’s security regulations, Uncle had his personal guards trailing him everywhere, even on his own ship.

Pathetic.

“I do hope that your time as a hostage to pirates wasn’t traumatic enough to make you lose your sense of propriety.”

“Is that the party line, Uncle,” you sniffed, forcing another bite down. You wouldn’t let yourself be any weaker than you were, no matter how ashy the expensive food tasted. “Should I prepare a statement? Practice my crocodile tears?”

“Very funny,” he frowned, setting down his silverware to give you his full, disparaging attention. “Luckily, the people aware of your recent hobbies have a vested interest in keeping that knowledge close to the chest. But yes, if anyone asks, you were kidnapped by the clown, and held for ransom. I, of course, found and rescued you before they could– Well, that leads to our other concern…”

“And what would that be, uncle,” you scowled while you pictured all of the ways your daydreams could have killed him.

The smile that tugged at his sneering lips almost had you spilling what little breakfast you’d managed to eat.

“You did say you were ready, Y/N,” he gloated, dabbing nothing from his face with his embroidered napkin. “It’s time for you to get married.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Buggy woke in a panic, already hearing Y/N’s voice. Her annoyance at some stranger wanting to dress her made him want to flay that person alive. The clown ignored everyone, everything in his path, until he tore through the old suite he’d shared with her.

His star had barely brought a thing with her when she joined him. Lingerie and birth control, some expensive, but mismatched clothes, and of course, her notebooks, pens, and an old calculator.

Why didn’t I see you were running from something, baby? I’m so–

“How is–”

“SHUT UP!”

Three, dangerous men hovered by the door like strays begging for scraps. The clown would have laughed at that pathetic picture if it hadn’t shown just how fucking helpless they were to save her right now.

“She’s talking to Uncle AssHat. Close the fucking door,” he ordered, cracking open one of her empty notebooks to feel like he was doing any fucking thing to help her. Her pretty pen scratched away at the page. Something about party lines, kidnapping, and…

“It’s time for you to get married.”

The fuck?!

“Don’t worry, niece,” that fucking sleezeball continued, “it’ll still be your choice. Your mother will be thrilled to help you prepare to meet your suitors. It’s been too long since you’ve taken this seriously.”

“No. Nononono, star! This is stupid,” Buggy whispered, dropping her pen as his fingers tapped along his thighs.

“My choice,” she said with a dark laugh, clearing her throat to clear it away. “When does the parade of boredom begin?”

Pride for her attitude was sunk by the realization that she hadn’t argued, hadn’t resisted with anything more than her snark.

“Come now, Y/N, not everyone can be as interesting as the mass murderers you’ve been bedding down with lately.”

Buggy held his hand over his mouth, the angry beat of her heart sending sick fear straight through him. Sweat poured through the muted paint he hadn’t removed the night before.

“You have put us in quite the predicament, niece,” Cedrick paused, and Buggy couldn’t hear past that frantic beat to know what else might be happening in the room. “When all you were doing was playing at being poor, I didn’t see the harm in letting you wait. Now that you’ve shown the outlandish, dangerous situations you’ll put yourself in, I can’t risk you destroying the family’s reputation.”

Why aren’t you saying anything, baby? Your heart…

“We'll have to wait at least a month, I’d say. Can’t allow people to question where any new little heirs might have come from. Although, if anything pops out with a fucking clown nose, we’ll just have to send it–”

“Fuck you.”

Buggy had stopped breathing, trying to wake himself the fuck up from this piece of shit dream.

“You can’t expect me to have any sympathy for those freaks. Not when you didn’t even trust them yourself,” Sylvad laughed, smug and shitty. “I watched you lie to them, niece. Don’t pretend they were anything real to you. Just a little adventure for an attention-seeking–”

“Shut up,” Y/N seethed, though it was too quiet.

Star…

“You never trusted those criminals, not for a second,” AssHat kept gloating. Buggy was about to explode with the need to stab this man in the fucking throat. “Don’t lie to yourself. You didn’t tell them the truth, because you know exactly what they would do to you if they found out.”

Her heart was too much, it didn’t sound right.

This couldn’t be right.

“Arbo Sylvad’s little heiress only inherits her daddy’s wealth when she gets married,” Sylvad mocked, each new word like rotten food forced down Buggy’s throat. “And her lucky spouse gets their own hefty chunk of the company as soon as the vows are sealed. Which one of your pirate lovers do you think would have won the fight? I bet the swordsman would have–”

“You won,” his star growled, the sound forced as though her teeth were clenched. “I’m here, so why don’t you shut the fuck up already?”

“Don’t be so tense,” that asshole chuckled, voice a bit louder as though he’d leaned toward her. “You’ll have over a month until the wedding to pick your favorite suitor. You should be grateful, Y/N. It’s a lot more generous than I should be, given the damage you could have caused.”

“Fine.”

Buggy had forgotten that he existed. His head was in his hands, his eyes wide and dry while he gaped at the floor. Pieces of his body were scattered, but he couldn’t fucking feel a thing.

“I’m certain we’ll find a suitor that you’ll be content with,” her uncle needled, that saccharine voice making the clown gag. “Besides, something good came from this little tantrum of yours. Now that I know my pretty niece prefers men my age, I’ll be setting you up with some friends of mine. They’ve been asking about you for years. I’m sure that at least one of them will let you call them da–”

Her heart.

Her rage.

A crash of noise shook the clown to his core. Y/N’s yells, broken glass, and “soothing” voices, did nothing to drown out that fucker’s smug laughter.

All Buggy could do was try not to die.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

Helpless.

Sir Crocodile.

Dracule Mihawk.

Red Haired Shanks.

Each of them was helpless, useless, pathetic.

They couldn’t help Y/N, and now they couldn’t help their clown, the only one of them that had held themselves together for her.

Crocodile huffed a laugh at the thought while he lit a cigar. Breakfast was a discarded concept as these three, powerful pirates moped in the lounge.

“We have an in,” Shanks soothed the air, since no words could be soothing to the two men on the too empty couch.

“Yes, astounding work retrieving a business card,” Mihawk snarked, his head leaning back against the couch while he clenched his eyes shut, fighting the urge for violence. “I wasn’t aware that you had such impressive networking skills. I would have—“

“Don’t be a brat,” Crocodile purred, drawing the other men’s eyes to his. “We can let out steam later. Right now—“

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Shanks stared.

And stared.

“You alright, Red Hair?”

Crocodile frowned at his enemy, letting it go. Letting it go for the two men he wanted to see happy again.

Letting it go for the sweet girl that just might need this man’s help.

Well, he tried to let it go…

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Shanks shook himself, absolutely fucking bewildered by everything he’d witnessed since he stepped foot on this island. “Buggy’s right, though. We can’t go until we know she’ll want us to. It’s up to Buggy.”

“Can we at least plan out all the pretty ways we can end that Mr. Sylvad,” Mihawk sighed as he turned, stretching his legs across the couch, and over Crocodile’s lap.

“I’m partial to gutting,” Crocodile gave the swordsman a tiny smile, laying that large hand onto those leather clad legs.

Shanks frowned at the green couch, and at the men flirting over the topics of torture and death.

“I’ve got a headache,” he groaned, covering his eyes.

“There’s more scotch on the bar,” Crocodile jerked his head, ignoring the rest of the trashed room. “I’ll take a glass.”

The red haired pirate laughed, pouring peaty glasses all around.

“Good morning.”

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Why are you so quiet, star?

Her heart got slower as that shithead’s laughter faded into the distance. Too many, “right this way, Miss Sylvad’s,” made him feel spun around, until a door shut, and quiet took over.

“Fucking stupid,” Y/N berated herself, quiet thuds making Buggy cringe, the sound as though she’d hit the meat of her thighs before falling to her knees.

Baby, let me help you…

Sick laughter bubbled up, just enough to freeze the blood in his veins, though she choked it down fast. Near silent whispers left her lips in a panicked slur, and Buggy curled in on himself, too weak for this torture.

“Don’t show it. Don’t let him see. Just daydreams now, just daydreams. Daydreams are good. Just…”

Her body drifted further and further away with each moment on that asshole’s ship, yet Buggy felt like they were inches apart, crumpled on the floor while broken sounds left both of their throats.

“Why didn’t you trust me, star,” the clown cried, reaching for her, finding nothing. “Why did you leave me?”

“Buggy…”

His eyes flew open, forgetting that she wasn’t here, that she couldn’t hear him when she whispered his name. He listened while his pretty star sobbed, until her breathing stopped being human.

~~~

Buggy had to be in a fucking nightmare. Nothing made any fucking sense anymore.

He snatched the notebook and pen, racing to the lounge with a finger in his ear to keep track of her soft, wounded noises. He charged into the room, his upper body floating close enough to smell the foul stench of Crocodile’s scotch, like a noxious cloud over the too relaxed men.

Crocodile gazed at Mihawk, rubbing along his calves and feet where the swordsman had laid them in his lap, his extravagant boots tossed to the side of the couch.

Shanks was on the floor, leaning against the couch in front of the swordsman, sighing while dangerous fingers played in his hair.

“Buggy,” Mihawk breathed, looking genuinely pleased to see him.

“What the FUCK are you idiots doing?”

“Waiting for you, little clown,” Crocodile rasped, patting the back of the couch between him and the swordsman.

“Did you hear something, Buggy,” Shanks breathed, sitting forward to reach his hand out. Soft, brown eyes scanned the clown too deep.

Buggy’s need to scream at someone fizzled out, the looks on their faces reminding him that he wasn’t the only one that wanted to save her.

“She’s gonna get married.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

“I love you, Y/N,” your first love purred, kissing his way up your neck until he smiled down at you.

He didn’t wait for you to respond, just tasted your frozen lips, bringing his hands back down your body until you sighed.

“Don’t tease—“

“I’m not teasing,” he vowed, trapping you in his joyful gaze. “I love you! I’ve loved you for ages, you big nerd!”

“Hey,” you laughed, skin going hot while you tried to cover your face. He wouldn’t let you, lips pressing against every bit of burning skin he could reach while you squirmed.

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Y/N. Your uncle’s stuffy mansion, your tiny, shitty dorm room, we can even run away and change our names. Just as long as it’s you and me…”

“Really,” you asked, not meaning to sound so lost.

“Really,” he promised, stealing your heart. “Do you love me too?”

“I do,” you breathed, tearing your chest wide open for him. “I love you.”

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

I’m fine.

It was easier to lie to yourself when you remembered your new personal guards outside the door.

More like prison guards. My other cage was prettier.

Biting down on your fist, you fought to silence anymore laughter that could mark you as wrong. You needed to get your shit together now. You couldn’t fall apart like you had at breakfast. Couldn’t let him push you…

“I’ll just turn it all off. Shut it all down.”

Sighing at the pathetic words you hadn’t meant to say out loud, you fought to remember how you used to live.

Breathe, slow and steady. Remember that nothing matters, so it shouldn’t bother you. Just focus on numbers. Counting, multiplying, dividing, making up random problems to solve in your head all day.

I’ve got this. I’m fine.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

“What did you say,” Mihawk growled, the rumble of death in his voice.

Buggy’s body pulled together before this ragged group of pirates that had just looked as pathetic as humanly possible for such powerful men.

Until he’d said those words.

Now there was a thrum of violence that seemed to steal the oxygen from the air.

Doubt filled the clown, those vicious eyes freezing him, trapping him with decisions that all felt wrong.

The red haired pirate sat up enough to grab Buggy’s hand, guiding the man to sit on the ground with him, to stare up at those towering villains on the couch. Shanks wanted to move him when he saw the view, but his clown was shaking, so he just held on as much as he would let him.

“What did you hear,” Crocodile rasped, stretching out his fingers, fighting not to clench them, to tear them through the world to get to her.

“I’ll kill you,” Buggy threatened, brushing off Shanks’ concerned grip. “If you hurt her, I won’t give a fuck. I’ll blow myself up to take both of you with me.”

Mihawk stared into those crystal eyes, seeing that same look that had been there all this time. He had laughed at it, punished it, until he was finally grateful for it. Buggy’s bravery, and his love for Y/N never wavered, even when they had smeared his blood across the floor.

“If I ever hurt her again, I will gladly let you kill me.”

Statues carved to gaze at each other, the swordsman and the clown might have remained there forever, if Crocodile hadn’t leaned close.

“I don’t care what you heard, Buggy,” he assured, remembering her laughing in his clown's arms. “I’ll never be able to make up for what I did to you both, but I’m gonna start by getting our girl back, safe. No matter what.”

Crocodile offered his hand, meeting Shanks’ gaze over Buggy’s shoulder.

“You were right about me, Red Hair,” he confessed, his shoulders relaxing when Mihawk’s hand joined his. “I’m a monster, and I can’t change what… I’m never gonna hurt Y/N, or Buggy, or Mihawk again. I know it’s not–”

“That’s a lot of words for ‘help me,” Shanks teased lightly, tilting around Buggy so he could join Mihawk in touching the larger man’s hand. He apologized quickly, soothing Crocodile’s weak huff. “Turns out I’m not the best person either, but I’m here. I’ll do anything I can to bring her back.”

“I swear it,” Mihawk breathed, imploring the clown to let them in. “I don’t deserve her, but you do. I’ll–”

“How much fucking scotch did you guys drink,” Buggy scolded, his nervous laughter lightening the mood, but not the tension. Those three hands still waited, three sets of eyes on his skin.

Three, old enemies that could betray him, could hurt her, could take her.

Three lovers that had been saying such wonderful things.

“I will blow us all��”

“I know you will, little clown," Crocodile praised, his face softening even further when that gloved hand finally touched his.

Don’t turn it all off, baby. We’re gonna get you out of there.

Buggy felt like a fucking idiot, but he couldn’t stop this feeling.

Hope.

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

It was getting a little late, but you weren’t bothered at all. You waited, enjoying your cheap cocktail, and the cheesy grin that you couldn’t keep off of your face.

I love him. He loves me.

Brand new words. Words that you hadn’t expected to find. At least, you weren’t supposed to, not unless the person who said them was on a certain list.

You didn’t give a fuck about any of that while you swirled your colorful straw, letting yourself feel it all.

“Hello, niece. Aren’t you looking adorable this evening?”

“Why are you here,” you spat while your eyes scanned the restaurant, hoping that your boyfriend would be late enough to miss meeting Uncle Cedrick.

“Are you looking for your date,” he chuckled, picking up your drink just to sniff and scowl at it. “I’m afraid he was in a bit of a hurry, and didn’t find the time to write a goodbye note for you. Something about an internship with Galley-La… I did save his signature though.”

Denial paralyzed you, even as he laid the contract out on the table. Every word on the page was a knife through the heart, but you couldn’t look away until you’d read it all, until you should have been bleeding, dying in the middle of that shitty restaurant.

“You know, it didn’t even take him five minutes before he decided to sign your love away for some pocket change, and a potential job,” Uncle Cedrick gloated, snatching up the contract before your humiliating tears could smudge the ink. “That sort of trash doesn’t belong anywhere near the Sylvad name.”

“I don’t want that fucking name,” you choked out, eyeing the guards he’d brought with him.

He sat back, his arms spread wide, just like his disgusting smile. So at ease, so fucking pleased.

“Are you feeling well, niece? Relationship troubles can–”

“I’m fine.”

Uncle Cedrick smirked, leaning over the table to touch your chin. You held your breath to keep from flinching, to keep from smelling that stupid cologne.

“I knew you’d be fine. You’re such a smart girl,” he praised, and the urge to throw up in his face was getting harder to fight. “It’s been too long. I have some suitors for you to meet, and I can guarantee that none of them would stand you up for such a meager amount of berry.”

“No, you’d cut your friends a much better deal,” you seethed, shaking beneath his gentle touch.

“You’re not a child anymore, Y/N,” he purred, and you had to close your eyes. Had to remind yourself why biting his fucking fingers off would be a bad idea. “You should know that people like us don’t get to marry for love, and I will do anything to protect this family. Even from my brother’s irritating obsession with his favorite daughter.”

He radiated satisfaction, and you knew exactly what smile he’d have when you opened your eyes. You could finally breathe again when he pulled away, taking his fingers, and his scent with him.

“We’ll get you set up with a date this weekend,” he chatted, his friendly tone giving you a headache. “I found a gentleman that looks quite like your wannabe shipwright, so feel free to have a little extra fun if you need to. Just don’t forget your pill, at least not until the wedding. We don’t need any more complications…”

Uncle Cedrick finally left, but your thoughts were too sharp, so you just stared, frowning at that cheap cocktail. Nausea roiled around your gut too much for you to open your mouth, let alone take a sip.

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

Buggy threatened them all a few more times, still afraid to reveal his star’s secrets, but he knew he couldn’t do a thing without all of their help.

“She lied to us, but I’ll shove a Buggy Ball up your–”

“I forgive her,” Crocodile sighed, almost laughing at his little clown. “I don’t care how many lies she told, I love her, and we’re getting her–”

“She didn’t trust us,” Buggy started again, his voice breaking slightly at the thought that she hadn’t trusted him. He pushed through, pushing out the next words as fast as he could. “She gets all that fucking tree money when she gets married, and whoever she marries instantly gets their own piece of that stupid company.”

“What?”

“I know you heard me, Hawk Eyes,” Buggy groaned, his hands floating away from their little huddle to shake and flap through the air.

“That can’t be right. What idiot would write that in a will,” Crocodile scoffed, watching those floating hands. “If that got out, she’d have a fucking target on her back her whole life. They wouldn’t even need a ransom, they could just kidnap her, and force her to…”

Eyes met, but all looked away while shame flooded the room.

“No wonder she’d never tell,” Shanks breathed, remembering the face she’d made when he pushed and prodded for her secret to come out.

“You said she’s getting married,” Mihawk shook himself. That urgent question had stayed unanswered while they comforted each other, while she was adrift out there with no one but enemies beside her. “Who the fuck do we need to kill?”

Buggy laughed, sick laughter, as though his star needed him to let it out since she couldn’t.

“My flashy girl's got a whole month to go on all sorts of shitty dates,” Buggy ranted, remembering what he’d be listening to for the next few weeks. “She gets to pick her favorite, slimy, fucking ASSHOLE, and then…”

“What, Bugs? We’ll know when the wedding is,” Shanks urged, rubbing his hand down Buggy’s back. “You just tell us when and where, and we’ll go get her.”

Silence went on, except for the scotch scented breaths that surrounded Buggy while he ran through everything he’d heard. They watched him for a few minutes after he brought his hands back, writing every detail he could remember.

“It’s not enough…”

They didn’t prod this time, but three hands touched Buggy again, until he sagged against Shanks’ chest.

“She wouldn’t leave me for this,” he tried to declare, but had to swallow the pressure in his throat to force it out. “She doesn’t wanna be there, you should hear her…”

Y/N had gone quiet, though he could tell she wasn’t sleeping. It sounded like she was just sitting in silence, not even the rustle of a book to fill the air.

Like she’d shut herself down.

“She’s smart, and she’s strong. She wouldn’t let him do this to her without a reason.”

“I trust you, Buggy,” Mihawk rasped, giving his clown the hint of a smile. “You’ll figure out the excuse we need to crash that wedding, and I’m certain you’ll put on quite the show.”

“I, yeah,” Buggy frowned as the swordsman's hands trailed down his chest, making him pause. Shanks gave a little huff of protest when Mihawk sank to the pile of rugs, pulling Buggy to the side.

“She trusts you. She wants you, Buggy,” Mihawk purred, feeling lost in a way that felt right as he followed along with his body’s plans. “You woke her up last night. You should have heard her little noises, should have smelled her after the finale…”

Shanks watched his lovers falling into each other, and there was a fearful urge to attach himself there, to cling, and to claim.

Yet something in the way their eyes were caught together made the red haired pirate take a breath, pulling himself up to sit on that green couch. The scarred man topped off their glasses of scotch, and they watched the show.

Crocodile hummed when they tapped their glasses, wondering if it was the scotch, the loss, or the fact that maybe things really were loosening up, that made this moment of sharing so relaxed, so easy.

“Smelled,” Buggy asked once he could remember how to talk, wetting his lips while he stared at Mihawk’s taunting mouth. Only it wasn’t taunting.

“Our little rabbit wanted you so badly, I thought she might leap over the crowd just to touch you.”

Buggy sighed, remembering her perfect smile. Then he gasped as Mihawk reached for him, kissing up his throat while those dangerous fingers traveled over his body, pulling at his clothes.

“What are–”

“I wanted you too, Buggy,” Mihawk confessed, eyes fluttering as he let himself give in, let himself say the things he wanted to say. “I’m so sorry. I treated you… I didn’t see you.”

“I’m kinda hard to miss,” Buggy deadpanned, feeling dizzy when the swordsman laughed.

Mihawk crawled over the clown, tossing his coat to the floor with barely a thought while he straddled him. He’d pulled at Buggy’s clothes enough that both of their upper bodies were bare, and the clown gave him a puzzled look.

“Why–”

“I didn’t see how strong you are,” Mihawk purred, moving his body along Buggy’s until the clown made pretty faces for him, soft fabric and leather rubbing together. He heard what sounded like two, pleased hums behind him, but Mihawk was too focused to look back. “Buggy the Clown is smart, and wicked, and powerful. I called you a fool, but… I was the fool. I didn’t see–”

“Shut up,” Buggy grumbled, wiggling away until Mihawk had to lay beside him, propped up on an elbow. The clown’s head was still quiet, but all of those words…

“Buggy, I–”

“Stop,” he snarled, cringing at the look in those golden eyes when Mihawk pulled his hand away.

“I’m sorry, of course,” Mihawk swallowed, not sure what to do with his hand now that it shouldn’t be touching the man he’d hurt.

“Bugs?”

That deep voice was ignored while Buggy sat up, brows furrowed when he got in the swordsman’s face.

“You love her too,” he announced, clapping a gloved hand along Mihawk’s arm. “I’m glad you love her, but you don’t need to pretend you like me.”

“Little clown…”

That even deeper voice was ignored while Mihawk sat up, kissing the clown until they both made hungry noises, but Buggy pushed him away.

“Toy, right? I can play. But we need to get–”

“You’re not a toy,” Mihawk vowed, hoping this would be the last time he’d have to say those words. “I want you, Buggy. I want to be with you, truly.”

The men on the couch had expected less talk during the show, and the urge to assist, and to comfort their boys was ramping up. Shanks watched, wide eyed, unsure if jealousy or gratitude would be a better fit. He took a swig, deciding that he liked gratitude better.

“There’s nothing I can say that will take away what I’ve done,” Mihawk breathed, feeling shameful grief at the fear that this man would never look at him without those monstrous memories behind his eyes.

“I’m not mad anymore,” Buggy soothed, not sure what was happening. “We’re good, okay? We–”

“Not mad anymore?”

Danger.

Something fucking deadly just filled the air. The men on the couch tensed, but neither tried to stop it.

“You must have been sooo angry with me…”

Shanks held in a laugh, smirking at Crocodile whose brows had lifted high, that frightening face looking shocked, but amused.

“Well, obviously, but it’s…” Buggy trailed off again, Mihawk’s wicked grin looming closer.

“I bet you imagined all sorts of ways to make me pay, didn’t you,” the swordsman wondered, biting his lip while his eyes poured over Buggy’s skin. His breath hitched when he noticed that lovely blush moving up the clown’s neck to his pretty face. “Did you imagine how you’d like to punish me?”

Buggy couldn’t help it. He was trying not to get sucked into whatever game this was. He needed to follow his old rules. Don’t get attached. Don’t like them too much. Don’t fall for the con.

But that perfect fucking face was unreal, the tiny movements around the eyes, the smirking corner of his lips, just fucking daring him to take a bite.

“I took an anger management class once,” Buggy coughed, shaking his head slowly as if to ward off this manic birdman. “So I’m totally fine!”

“Fine, really? Even after all of those awful things I did. All of those rotten things I said?”

The little flicker in Buggy’s eyes made Mihawk want to beg. He still might, but first, he pushed.

“What did I call you,” Mihawk hummed, leaning back on a hand while he remembered what a monster he was, trying to make it better. “That’s right. I just couldn’t believe how Y/N had ended up with such a pathetic clown.”

The clown couldn’t hide the slight jerk to his head, the hint of a snarl that anyone but Dracule Mihawk might have missed.

“I said so many terrible things. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to tear me to pieces,” the swordsman begged, and dared, and apologized. The room felt charged, static before a storm.

Buggy couldn’t look away from that perfect face.

“Mm, what did I say that first night? We made her promise something, didn’t we? Made her repeat my vicious words…”

The clown would have told him to stop if he could unclench his jaw.

“Do you remember, Buggy,” he whispered, his body loose, welcoming. “Do you remember how much you wanted to hurt me?”

A soft whine left the clown’s throat when Mihawk teased fingers over his chest, playing in that dark, blue hair.

“Don’t disappoint us by lowering yourself for that clown? What a cruel thing to say,” Mihawk rasped, almost losing his teasing tone as he drowned in his own guilt. “Are you sure you’re not still angry, Buggy? Even after we made her say–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Buggy growled, more frightening than any yell the other men had heard from him. He let out a frustrated groan at how fucking happy the swordsman seemed to be while he choked him, both hands disconnected to shove the man onto the floor by the throat.

“You fucking psycho,” the clown scoffed as he straddled him, snarling down at those fluttering eyes. “Treat me worse than trash, then you get off when you try to say you’re sorry? You’re a fucking monster!”

“I am, please. I am a monster,” Mihawk fell apart, spluttering when Buggy released his neck, nothing hurting him enough to take it all away. “I’m so sorry, Buggy, please…”

Mihawk’s face crumpled, writhing beneath him with pathetic apologies spilling from his quivering lips.

Dracule fucking Mihawk was crying. Begging for forgiveness.

He’s really committed to the bit.

Buggy laughed again, and the look of shame on Mihawk’s face at the sound finally made it sink in.

He fucking believes it. He believes he deserves it…

“You’d better not think one shitty little tantrum’s gonna be enough for me to forgive you,” Buggy taunted, squeezing the man’s cheeks until his lips pushed out, already wet with drool and tears.

Mihawk shook his head as much as that grip would allow, panicked whimpers like some chaotic song filling the air while he tried to meet Buggy’s eyes.

“You gonna let me–”

“Anything,” Mihawk moaned, breaking free enough to breathe his consent against Buggy’s lips. “I deserve anything you want to give me, Buggy. Fucking hurt me–”

The clown’s eyes went wide, shocked by his own fist that had sent Mihawk’s head to the side. He glanced back, but couldn’t decipher the looks the men on the couch gave him, and the look on Mihawk’s face made his mouth dry.

“Let it out, Buggy,” Mihawk purred, feeling high, feeling right. “Show me how fucking wrong I was about you, darling. Show me–”

“You talk too much, idiot,” Buggy panted, hitting this beautiful, insane man again.

“I do,” he moaned, overwhelmed, and needing it all. “I said so many–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Buggy tore his gloves off, stuffing them into that mean mouth before stripping them both. He laughed, wicked and hungry, at the pathetic moans forced through that dirty fabric.

“Here.”

Crocodile pulled the lube from the side table, grinning at Buggy’s shocked face when he handed it off to Shanks. The red haired pirate winked at the clown before tossing him the bottle, then stuck his tongue out at the world’s greatest swordsman.

Mihawk drooled into the gloves, tearing up when Buggy gifted him with vicious nails, scraped down his sides.

“Don’t stop crying,” Buggy growled in the swordsman’s face while he shoved lubed fingers inside of him, loving the chaos in those watery eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you just like this, so I can watch Dracule Mihawk cry on my cock. Can’t believe I was ever scared of you… You’re just a desperate whore, huh? Just wanna get fucking wrecked by a clown?”

Little noises, frantic nods, tears, and pretty tears, while Buggy forced himself into Mihawk’s tight ass, satisfaction in every rough, punishing thrust.

“Alright, crybaby, tell me how fucking sorry you are now,” Buggy taunted, ripping the gloves from Mihawk’s lips before fisting into that soft, black hair. The clown was taking him up on his offer, fucking the swordsman harder and faster than he knew he could, fucking every ounce of anger and helplessness that he’d ever felt into the blubbering man beneath him.

“F-fuck, Buggy,” he choked, melting at the powerful look in the clown’s eyes, the evil smile of control on those lips. Melting under that thick, merciless cock that was giving him exactly what he deserved, exactly what he fucking needed. “I’m s-sorry, I–”

“Are you done apologizing?”

Mihawk’s eyes fought to refocus on that smirk, and he shook his head.

“No, Buggy. Not even close.”

“Good.”

So many things at once.

Buggy pulled away just enough to give Mihawk a brutal, backhanded slap. The swordsman was rocked by the force, the power, the pleasure, and the moment was so blissfully intense that he came, forgetting everything but the man that took him there.

Buggy laughed at the lovely ropes of come spilling between them, covering the other man’s chest and stomach, but the desperate look on that face dragged him down too. Buggy groaned, filling Mihawk with so much heat that it spilled down the sides of his cock while he kept fucking until they both whined, too much. All too much.

He finally pulled out, but Mihawk tugged at him, forcing the clown to meet those golden eyes again.

“I’m sorry, Buggy. I hope you believe me,” he breathed, all that pleasure still not enough to take away his need to make things right.

“You made a pretty convincing argument,” Buggy smiled, eyes sparking when Mihawk gave a surprised laugh.

“Look at our pretty, little boys,” Shanks purred, drawing their eyes.

“Maybe we can get along after all,” Crocodile threatened, his deep voice making every other man fight to resist a shiver.

“Maybe we–”

Buggy’s stomach was comically loud when it cut Shanks off, and it reminded all of these big, scary men that even they couldn’t survive on scotch and sex indefinitely.

Even they had to come back down to earth, and remember that their girl was all alone, that they still didn’t know how to get her back.

They were forced to remember that she had never trusted them in the first place.

“Buggy,” Crocodile soothed, tugging on the clown’s braid, still damp from the shower, while they all spaced out over brunch. “Is she…”

“She’s quiet,” Buggy reported, wishing he could hear her thoughts instead of just her disconcerting heart. “One of the servants said they’re landing in the morning. Something about her mom’s ‘preparations.”

“Preparations,” Shanks asked, watching his clown for every sign of strain while he listened to his star.

“Our girl’s about to go on a dating spree,” Buggy reminded, failing to keep his tone light.

“Are you–”

“I’ll be fine,” Buggy lied, cutting the swordsman off. “You remember what she said. Those assholes are BORING. It’ll probably be a big snooze fest.”

“Just tell us what you need, little clown,” Crocodile hummed.

His three lovers watched him while the clown closed his eyes, covering his ear to hear that lonely heartbeat.

“I just need her back,” Buggy whispered, tapping her rhythm onto his own chest. “I need my shining star.”

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

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

Author's Note: Special thanks to the lovely Ao3 readers that leave the most gigantic, juiciest comments that occasionally fit what our boys need way too fucking well 😏🙏🏼 btw, I highly recommend checking out the comments over there! We go wild with that ridiculous character limit 😅 (they started getting longer around chapters 14-16, but hot damn, it's like a little book club lately! 🥰)

Chapter 29

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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abyssal-jinks · 1 month ago

Text

Some invisible woman fanart

I want to make a line of rivals keychains and hangers to potentially try out my first ever artist alley but I'm scared any tips?

Or comment if you wanna see other rivals characters by me

#digital art #drawing #art #digital drawing #fanart #adding tags makes me feel like a clown #digital artist #artists on tumblr #artwork #marvel rivals fanart #marvel rivals #invisible woman #fantastic 4 #fantastic four

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arts-bloody-rose · 8 months ago

Text

Blood of A Rose - One of A Kind (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - After having been together in their unspoken relationship for some time, (Y/n) suggests that they have their own first date.

Notes - Y’all I’m alive 🤚🏻 This is for a request from @odditycircus-2002 asking for a date night between this beautifully twisted couple 💕

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or have a request!

Word Count - 2,739

Warning(s) - Art honestly, violence, minor gore

Song Inspiration -

Matt Maltese - As the World Caves In

(Y/n) stood next to her bed at her house, folding her laundry while Art was curled up on top of the sheets across from her. Only the lamp on one of her nightstands was lit, casting a warm and dim glow over the room. Soft music filled the room, creating a calmer atmosphere as they soaked in each other’s presence.

Art’s eyes traced her every movement, fascinated by how meticulous she was with such a simple task.

As she grabbed her clothes that were put on hangers and opened the larger wardrobe to put them away, she eyed the clothes inside. There wasn’t an overwhelming amount, but there was enough for every occasion. Though she never participated in such occasions. As she hung up the last article of clothing, she was struck with an idea.

“Hey, Art?” The clown perked up at her delicate voice. “I was wondering about something.” (Y/n) continued as she finished putting away the rest of her clothes in her dresser.

Art sat up enthusiastically, hands folded in his lap with his legs outstretched in front of him as he grinned in anticipation.

She smiled in adoration at his behavior. “What if we had a special night together?” (Y/n) asked timidly, moving to straddle his lap and began to fiddle with his ruffle collar.

Art’s expression was thoughtful. Curious, yet it held a sense of confusion.

“I don’t mean what we usually do. I mean just us… going out and enjoying each other’s company.”

Art gave her an almost offended expression, motioning between the two of them and then holding his hands up in question with a level of sass.

“Listen!” (Y/n) giggled and placed her hands against his chest.

Art crossed his arms, leaning in with his ear impatiently.

“I mean like a date.”

His expression turned into surprise, hands coming up to his cheeks.

“We can go out and grab some good food, watch a movie together.” (Y/n) continued persuasively, reaching to take his hands and held them together in front of her. “I can dress nice and pretty for you.”

Art looked her up and down seductively, wiggling his eyebrows as his tongue peeked out between his teeth.

“We’ll see.” (Y/n) chuckled. “Does that sound good to you though?” She asked seriously, thumbs brushing the back of his gloved hands. He nodded eagerly and she leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Good. Tomorrow then.”

In her small, dimly lit room, (Y/n) stood in front of her dresser, carefully applying her makeup in front of the mirror hung above it. Music hummed in the background, giving her a boost of confidence as she stood back and admired her more gussied-up appearance. Her reflection was striking yet soft, a haunting beauty.

The personification of her work.

The air smelled faintly of old paint, charcoal, and the earthy scent of the countless roses and odd trinkets Art had collected for her over time. But there was also a new scent that clung to the air; the smell of her perfume that she kept for special occasions such as this.

A small smile played at her lips as she thought of him. How he’d watched her work in silence, eyes gleaming with admiration, his chilling presence somehow making her feel seen and safe. She felt his encouragement in ways no one else could understand.

(Y/n) pulled herself from her thoughts and took a deep breath. It was their first official date, and she wanted to look perfect for him in her own way. Wanted the experience to be perfect in their own way.

She reached for a necklace Art had gifted her; a small, golden locket with a delicate engraving of a thorny rose. Inside was a piece of paper, a drop of both his and her own blood dried into it - a blend that was terrifying and alluring, representing their unspoken vows to each other.

She fastened it around her neck, letting it rest close to her heart.

A knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts, sending a flutter through her chest, settling into her stomach as nerves began to set in.

The knocking turned into impatient pounding and (Y/n) took one last look in the mirror, feeling a surge of butterflies that she only ever felt when she was with him.

She opened the door to find Art standing there in his signature outfit, his face painted with that wild, almost taunting grin. There was one subtle change to his attire, however.

At the base of his neck sat a simple black bow-tie. And it oddly fit into his usual monochromatic look.

When she met his eyes, his expression softened - just slightly - when he saw her, as if she were his masterpiece.

He didn’t need words to express himself, his eyes saying all that she needed to know.

Perfection.

There was no need for small talk or pleasantries; they shared a quiet understanding, a mutual appreciation for the darkness they both embraced.

“Hey.” (Y/n) nearly whispered abashedly, hands fidgeting in front of her as she burned under his gaze.

Art’s head suddenly shook, knocking him out of his frozen state and snapping to attention with a wide grin. He playfully adjusted his bow-tie, then bowed low, holding his hand out to her dramatically as he held eye contact.

(Y/n) giggled and delicately placed her own into his palm, watching as he began to kiss it, slowly working his way up her arm before finally landing on her cheek.

Her cheeks reddened as his hand still held onto hers, then linked their arms together and led them out of their hideout.

The streets of the city lay quiet beneath the shroud of night. Beneath the glow of scattered streetlights, accompanied by the eerie stillness of their surroundings, it felt like a hidden stage set just for them. The night’s chill bit at her skin, though she didn’t mind. It was refreshing, almost calming, matching the small flickers of excitement she felt in Art’s strange company.

Even then, she simply stepped closer to him, practically molded into each other as they strolled towards the town.

It felt odd seeing Art out and about without his bag, and even weirder for himself as it felt like a piece of himself was missing. But as strange as it seemed, he agreed not to bring it for the sake of their experience.

Beside him, (Y/n)’s heart fluttered as she snuck glances at the man she called her own. She could burst with tears, break down in front of him and fall to her knees with praise and pronounce her undying love in cliche romance.

But she could only stare.

And for the first time, Art nearly felt an unfamiliar flutter in his own stomach as he, too, snuck glances at the woman beside him. His grin was plastered, unwavering and unreadable to anyone who saw it. But inside, behind his stone-cold eyes, he was more confused than ever before as his chest threatened to twist itself at the sight of her.

As they approached a rather new take-out restaurant on the edge of the city, (Y/n) wondered if he’d even be interested in a simple meal. Art’s appetite, she suspected, leaned more towards the bizarre, but he seemed to humor her. He cocked his head, miming curiosity in her culinary interests, his odd, silent laughter filling the spaces between her nervous suggestions.

Art nodded in agreement and patted her hand, remaining outside while she went in to order.

Following a few moments deliberation over the menu, she chose a few dishes she thought might suit both of their tastes. Anything with rich flavors, meats, and smoky spices, all packed neatly in small cardboard boxes.

After what felt like an eternity, Art jumped when he heard yelling from inside the building and busted through the door, figure tense and expression twisted into violent determination.

Behind the counter, (Y/n) pulled out a pen from a man’s jugular, a bag of food sat on the counter beside them. Blood spewed out of his neck as he held his hand over the wound, gargling for help and collapsing onto the floor.

Art immediately relaxed, watching as she tossed the pen onto the counter and finally looked over at him with an indifferent expression. She huffed and rounded to the other side, grabbing the bag of food with her clean hand and making her way over to him.

Art crossed his arms and tapped his foot, looking at her impatiently. When she reached him she casually wiped off the blood on her hand onto his suit as he rubbed at his stomach with a frown.

“Trust me, I’m hungry too.” Art pointed at the counter in question. “He called me a slut.” (Y/n) pouted.

Art took her wrist and lowered it, eyes set on where the still-gargling man was before making his way over to him.

“Art, I thought we were hungry.” She practically whined as she watched him disappear behind the counter as he crouched down to the man.

(Y/n) sighed and took a seat in one of the booths, picking at her fingers as she waited for him to finish.

Eventually, they left the faint glow of the restaurant with food in hand and strolled towards a cemetery just down the road that they had passed.

The night felt alive in that stillness, and (Y/n) found herself unwinding in ways she never did around others, and the same seemed to occur with the notorious clown.

The iron gates creaked as Art swung them open with a flourish, bowing theatrically as (Y/n) stepped through. Her cheeks warmed, and she smiled shyly, clutching the take-out bag. They found a secluded spot under an ancient oak tree, far enough from the main path to avoid anyone who might’ve been around.

Taking their seats, they ate in companionable silence, Art gleefully tearing into his food with exaggerated enthusiasm, each bite accompanied by silent laughs and approving nods. (Y/n) found herself chuckling, feeling at ease as she nibbled at her food.

There was something strangely poetic about it, about their peaceful picnic among the tombstones, two souls savoring the comfort of isolation in a world that rarely understood them.

At some point, (Y/n) set down her food, watching Art as he looked down at his food while he ate, behavior deceptively innocent when he looked up and around every now and then with wide and curious eyes.

Her own turned to look at the tombstones with a kind of reverent curiosity. Her mind began turning, imagining stories for each name etched in stone. She leaned back against the oak before speaking.

“Do you ever wonder what they’d think of us?” she asked, motioning to the graves. “Sitting here, sharing a meal. As if… we’re normal people.”

Art cocked his head, his silent laugh haunting but surprisingly warm. He raised his hand, pointing a gloved finger at her before tapping his own chest and waved his hand. He found amusement in the thought of two misfits being perceived as ‘normal’, finding solace where others might see only fear or strangeness.

(Y/n)’s smile softened. She felt understood, and that feeling lingered in her chest like a fragile ember, warming her.

She looked back out at the tombs, scanning over them before she found one she thought was particularly amusing. She nudged Art with her shoulder as she chuckled.

“Look at that one.” She pointed and Art squinted to read it.

Guess I have tomorrow off. The epitaph read.

Art nodded and held his stomach in laughter, (Y/n) joining him as she held onto him with her head on his shoulder as she cackled and wheezed.

Art popped up at the new sound, pointing at her and impossibly laughing even harder as he watched her cover her mouth in embarrassment.

Her hand lazily slapped at his arm. “Asshole!” She choked out as she struggled to catch her breath. Art wiggled his eyebrows and used his fingers to tell her for shame.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes as their laughter died, moving to stand as Art stood quickly beside her. He pushed her back down and she collapsed back into her spot, looking up at Art with an offended expression.

Her expression flattened when he brushed himself off and held out his hand in a gentlemanly manner.

(Y/n) clicked her tongue and reluctantly took it, then shrieked when she was suddenly yanked up and collapsed into his chest.

She looked up at him and he gazed at her promiscuously, looking her up and down. (Y/n) swatted at his chest, then pulled away to pick up their mess and tossed it into a trash bin as they left hand-in-hand.

When they entered her house, (Y/n) pulled off her shoes and made her way to the couch, Art trailing closely behind her. She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, clicking through until she found a slasher film that she thought he would enjoy.

“Have you had ice cream before?” She asked him curiously as she walked to the kitchen. She looked back to see him shaking his head. “You want to try some?”

Art grinned excitedly and rubbed his hands together, shoulders hunched as he creeped over to where she stood at the fridge.

He watched as she pulled out a tub of neapolitan ice cream, followed by two bowls, spoons and an ice cream scooper. When she opened the tub, he eyed it for a moment before he dug his finger into the chocolate portion and brought it to his nose to smell it.

(Y/n) watched him with a small frown, raising an eyebrow at him. He finally ate it off of his finger, and with it still in his mouth, his eyes widened.

Art suddenly snatched the tub, knocking over a bowl in the process, and practically trotted over to the couch to plop down onto it.

“Hey!” (Y/n) tried, but he ignored her and simply dug into the ice cream with his fingers.

She sighed and crossed her arms, contemplating before she grabbed one of the spoons and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past her lips, giving up on the irritation and instead finding his behavior adorable.

She met him at the couch and curled up next to him, starting the movie before she became too comfortable. She was careful as she scooped her own ice cream, mindful of where his fingers touched to not get any of the grime that inevitably contaminated it.

As the movie played, (Y/n) would be lying if she said she was paying attention to it. Truthfully, she was more so focusing on his reactions, however minuscule they were.

Despite his sadistic behavior, he seemed so innocent in this state. Almost childlike with the tub of ice cream in his lap, coating his fingers and lining his mouth as his wide eyes took in what played before them. He laughed whenever someone was murdered, but that was only to be expected from him.

She chuckled softly to herself, grabbing a napkin from the coffee table in front of them once he set the now nearly empty tub aside. (Y/n) waited patiently as he licked at his fingers until they were nearly pristine before she wiped at his mouth. He flinched at first with a frown, throwing her a side-eye, but eventually gave in.

When finished, she fully snuggled into him, Art reaching an arm around her to pull her closer and resting his head on top of her own.

As he watched the movie, she closed her eyes, closely listening to the rhythm of his heart. She noticed how it picked up with his laughter, with his anticipation before the next kill. How it slowed during the more calm scenes of the film.

Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep. And when the movie ended, Art went to slap her thighs in his enjoyment for what he watched, but stopped himself when he noticed her peaceful form wrapped around him.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ and he looked around, wondering what to do. Art then relaxed his face with content, shimmying to get himself comfortable before he closed his eyes alongside her.

Tag List: @callsignwidow @hoe-for-daddywise

#art #art the clown #art the clown x reader #damien leone #david howard thornton #terrifier #terrifier 2 #x reader #blood of a rose #fanfiction #david howard thornton x reader #terrifier 1 #terrifier x reader #terrifier 3 #franchise #slashers #slasher movies #art x reader #fanfic

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t-the-ring-master · 9 months ago

Text

This will be made as a male reader mostly because I feel like there isn’t enough with female characters and I just want dad character to Brightbill. However, feel free to imagine it as however you like, they are robots so not much happening in that area, so do what you like. And please make sure to salt your purple next time, gives it flavor.

If anyone wishes to be tagged in any future The wild robot posts or anything else, please comment, ask through ask box or just message me!

Imma try and ask C if she can draw T as a Rozzum one of these days. I also wrote this over like an hour. My face hurts so not as long as I wanted it to be but oh well. Hope you enjoy!

I also just added the last part for fun. Also if someone wants to request a continuation of this.

TW: none? No use of Y/N, I use (Name). Mentions of mates and partners I guess? Everyone ships you with Roz I guess.

Request: circus anon

Requests: open

Taglist: @cs-cabin-and-crew @the-lavender-clown

❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦

Roz x Robot!reader

You had crash landed in the woods. Your metal package and your transmitter to contact your built site had been damaged as well.

So you decided to try and find the person whom had ordered you.

Yeah that didn’t go well.

You had been kicked, attacked, chased and more within just the span of 6 hours before giving up and sitting in learning mode to fix the language barrier you’ve found yourself trapped in.

Due to being in learning mode, you hadn’t been paying enough attention to your surroundings, causing you not to notice the Rozzum unit analyzing you.

Fink: what is it Roz?

Roz: it seems to be a Rozzum unit, but I cannot tell the number nor model.

Yeah you scared them when you came out of your learning mode.

(Name): hello! I am the new and improved (Name) Unit: 0001. I am a one of a kind prototype! Here for any needs or demands!

Fink: I’m getting flashbacks.

Roz lead you to her, Bightbill and Finks home. She hadn’t ever seen your model before, so she excitedly asked you questions.

Roz: I’ve never seen your make or model. What are you designed for?

(Name): I am designed for many things. Cooking, shopping, manual labor, heavy lifting, childcare-

Roz: child care?

(Name): indeed, is this something that interests-

Roz: I have a kid.

(Name):…. Alright.

She proceeded to bombard you with questions on what your childcare program provided, which as per your programming, complied.

When you arrived to the home of the Rozzum, she led you inside and began showing you baby pictures of her “kid”

(Name): this is your child?

Roz: yes, he is called Brightbill.

(Name):…. He has your eyes.

You ended up staying with Roz, Fink, and eventually Brightbill when we returned for the spring.

It took a lot of getting used to the fact that you could no longer follow protocol here. But at least some of your programming helped you and the others a bit.

Such as you being more stronger than the Rozzum, as well as having better and hardier equipment than the other models. Fink definitely appreciated your heating mode (which is often used in your caregiver function to help a baby fall asleep) during the harsh winter…. And so did many of the other animals.

Pink tail likes you, since you watch her kids when she needs a break.

Pink tail: you found a good mate Roz. Possums aren’t so lucky when it comes to that.

Roz: what do you mean?

Pink tail: some of us don’t have life mates. (Name) seems to be a pretty good parent though.

Roz: Mate?

Que Roz studying “mate’ and “partner” which rabbit holed her down into “Spouse” and so on.

Fink ships it.

Brightbill ships it.

Pink tail…. You guessed it. Ships it.

Que all the animals trying to keep you two together.

Pink tail: Hey, Roz. (Name) is looking for you!

Fink: hey (Name) I think Roz wants to ask you more questions about your programs. I think she’s at the beach.

Brightbill: hey mom, (Name) wanted me to tell you he’s at the beach.

And so on.

Yeah you both confused by it all.

Eventually you two do end up spending some time together. Actually it was where Roz first met Pink Tail. You were busy analyzing some of the plants around you (as per your programming to search plants in case they have useful properties or are dangerous) while Roz sat there observing.

You two had a good time…. Ignoring the fact that a certain Fox and goose were stalking the two of you.

A couple weeks later, Brightbill let it slip and called you dad. You didn’t mind.

At this point you’ve become just as much as a wild robot as Roz has. And we’re very useful to your new family as you were able to repair minor things for yourself and Roz, which made it easier during winter.

You now also have your own picture with the rest of the family.

The other animals like you, you just kinda have a reputation of being more aloof and less soft compared to Roz.

Unless it’s the young… you are shockingly good with young. (As if you weren’t programmed to take care of them-)

The next winter, you had found an egg and brought it home.

Roz: here we go again.

Brightbill:…. Well I was upset at not having siblings-

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strangerthingsfanworkrecs · 2 months ago

Note

I would like to nominate the wonderful @bettyfrommars

Betty is an amazing story-teller and world-builder who creates unique and immersive universes to get lost in.

Please ask her about her influences and inspirations and how she creates her reader characters and OC's.

Introducing @bettyfrommars

We're highlighting Betty for her written fics! All recs tagged #bettyfrommars will be for her works. Betty answered a few questions about her process below.

What's a fandom interaction that made you really happy?

There have been so many. I feel lucky with all of the wonderful interactions and readers I have met through this fandom. The first one that comes to mind is meeting @somnabulic_thing who became one of my closest friends. They created art for a couple of my fics, including a clown!Eddie for my Nightmare Factory series that I cherish. I can't tell you how much meeting a fandom veteran like Somna meant to a newbie like me. They inspire me and are also the only reason I stayed active in the fandom after last spring when I started to feel like I didn't belong. Also, the amazing @dandelionfluff was a loyal reader of my biker!Eddie x reader series I'm on Fire (I kept screenshots of their comments that I look at to cheer myself up), and she handmade an incredible bind of the fic. The work they put into it blows my mind, and I'm just grateful for their continued friendship in general.

What's your favorite character or aspect of Stranger Things to create for?

Eddie Munson is my reason for joining the fandom, but I've also come to love my various versions of Steve that I like to plop into random au's. Lately I've been enjoying adding others into the mix like Wayne and Joyce and Robin. I also love throwing OC's into the ST world. Since I was a child, that's all I've known, so learning to create reader inserts was an interesting process.

What's your artistic process like? Any tools you favor?

My artistic process is a mess. I don't ever use outlines or have much of a plan at all when I sit down to write or paint, and I've learned that is the only way the muses will come and hang out. There is a wall of fear that blocks me occasionally, but as soon as I push through and start creating instead of just staring at the screen and feeling sorry for myself, it's fairly easy to get things flowing. There is a lot of trust in the unknown involved. It eventually feels like I am merely along for the ride while being used as a vessel for whatever tale I am telling. I'm one of those funny people who can't have any music or sound in the background when I write. It has to be dead silent. Sometimes I even wear earplugs. But the playlists I make for my fics are a very crucial part of daydreaming up scenarios for the story when I am cleaning and driving around. Oh, and reading. Reading the work of others is an important part of my creative process and growth.

What was it like to work on Death Becomes Us?

This was one I did not think I would finish, but I'm glad I drop kicked the doubt because that final chapter is one of my favorites ever. I rewatched a LOT of the series True Blood during. I never cared for Vampire Bill in the show and wanted to replace him with a version of Eddie everyone could sink their teeth into. I wrote most of it in the summer, so I'd retreat to a cool, dark space and disappear to visit Bob Newby in his vampire/human crossover bar. Also, I wanted a reader who was very distinct and really not a reader insert at all. Dove becomes more and more OC as the story progresses, and if I did it all over, I'd make her deeply OC from the beginning.

What was it like to work on I'm on Fire?

What a ride this series was! When it started out, I was stumbling with reader inserts for the first time (fandom writing in general) and had a very simple idea in mind for a tow truck driver who falls in love, but it became so much more than that. I rewatched Sons of Anarchy and really just let the characters do what they wanted to do, sometimes to the detriment of canon characterization. Many OC's were born from this fic, including Steve's son Oliver, who Robin helps raise, Robin's partner Katie, the evil villain Charlene, and the beloved Astrid Bautista that @texasblues helped me develop. She's been writing the Steve x Astrid backstory and it's perfect. I was pumping out a chapter a week back then, which is crazy now to think about it. I was absolutely living and breathing that story. A lot of my steam came from the fandom interaction; I made so many special connections with readers back in those days. Also, it was just a great world to disappear into. I make some reference in the fic to biker Eddie having dreams of being attacked by demobats, to link it to ST in a parallel world way. I'm in the process of a total OC rewrite of the story and plan to play more with those type of connections that each character would have to the original world.

See the art @texasblues commissioned for this fic from dr-aculaa here

#artist intro #bettyfrommars

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vidrkness · 1 month ago

Text

If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too.

Summary: A competitive spirit haunts station 19 for the Captain position , Rio and Agatha fight every day against the flames and their feelings for each other. Will it burn it down everything around them?

Word count: 5,133

Tags: just pure angst for now

1 |

Westview fire department 21:18 pm

The station smelled like sweat, smoke, and a whole lot of damn ego. The quiet didn’t last long, Agatha Harkness came storming in, pissed as hell. There was soot in her pale cheeks, and her braid was falling apart, wild and messy.

The emergency they had earlier that night was chaotic, stressful and the team was so damn tired.

“Are you fucking serious, Vidal?” she snapped.

Rio was pulling off her gloves, getting ready to finish her night “You wanna try that again, Captain-wannabe?”

“Oh, fuck off ” Agatha growled “You ignored my order at the scene. You went left when I told you to cover the east exit”

“Because I’m not a goddamn robot ” Rio shot back “The roof was caving in! If I followed your call, Calderu would be dead under six tons of flaming drywall!”

“You don’t override a commanding officer-”

Rio cut in, stepping forward until they were chest to chest

“You’re not a commanding officer, so you better leave that crap out”

Agatha’s jaw clenched, she was so damn angry because she was right. And she hated when Rio was right

“I’ve got ten years on you, don’t forget that”

“Yeah? I’ve got instincts you can’t learn reading your old-ass training manuals, so that just proves you are just..old”

The team never knew what to do when they had their ‘we act like married people but we aren’t ‘ typa fights. Vision was across the bay with a clipboard, clearly pretending to be deaf. Wanda was busy with paperwork and Natasha? She just raised her brows and whispered something to Jen.

“You’re reckless” Agatha hissed.

“You’re uptight” Rio spat “And if the chief had half a brain, she’d see you don’t lead. You lecture”

Agatha’s lips curled into a smile that was anything but pleasant “And you? You lead with what, your goddamn ego?”

Rio laughed sarcastically “You’re just pissed I make the team laugh more than you do”

Agatha scoffed “This is not a who’s the best clown competition and I’m pissed because I’m cleaning up your fucking me-”

“Ladies!” Wanda finally called out, standing from her desk “Pick a locker room or shut the hell up”

They didn’t break eye contact, not until Chief Calderu, alive and in one piece, clapped Rio on the shoulder and muttered “Thanks for having my back, you did really good there”

Agatha looked away first and it fucking burned. but this time she knew Rio had won.

"Thanks, Chief. I was just doing my job" grinning as if she were part of an ad campaign for an expensive toothpaste.

Calderu greeted the rest of the team and after making sure everyone was alright she said her goodbyes and headed to the exit.

Alice came in and took off her gloves and plopped down in one of the armchairs, her cheeks still flushed from the heat and her hair completely a mess.

“Are you alive?” she asked, tossing a half-empty water bottle to Rio,

“Barely” Rio muttered, tilting her head back to drink. “I smell like I just got out of hell”

Alice smiled, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve “Hot”

Rio snorted “Weirdo”

“Shut up” Alice stood up “But guess what?”

“What”

“We still have time to go on our date”

Rio blinked “Shit. Is it tonight?”

“Yeah, dumbass” Alice said "Double date with Taylor and Kate? You promised”

“I know! I’m not bailing” Rio said quickly, holding up her hands in surrender “Just forgot. Adrenaline and smoke inhalation, you know?”

“Whatever, go shower. I’ll see if I can steal Nat’s hairbrush”

Across the bay, Agatha was wiping down one of the helmets, her back rigid and pretending she wasn’t listening. She didn’t say anything, didn’t look directly at them either, just turned and walked over to the lockers.

Rio noticed.

“You okay, Harkness?” she asked casually

Agatha didn’t look at her “Fine. Just cleaning up since no one else bothers.”

Rio raised a brow “Right”

Alice didn’t notice the tension or if she did, she ignored it “You better wear something nice. I’m not dragging your soot covered ass to dinner”

“I’ll be a goddamn supermodel” Rio said, rolling her eyes but smiling.

Agatha slammed her locker shut “Have fun on your date”

She walked out of the room without looking back.

Rio watched her go and felt how her stomach was twisting in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline or exhaustion.

Alice poked at her ribs “Come on, Vidal. Pretty up!”

“Yeah, yeah” Rio mumbled “I got this”

Moments later, Rio stood in front of the mirror, the green silk dress hugging her body like it had been sewn on by horny angels, she only wore it on emergencies and this was definitely one.

“Baby, you are fire!” She said with a sultry voice, winking and pointing to the mirror

She continued “But lucky for you, I’m the best firefighter in all damn westview”

“Flirting again with yourself, Vidal?”

Rio jumped so hard she nearly clocked her own reflection

“Jesus fucking christ, Agatha. Do you ever knock?”

Agatha leaned on the doorframe like she paid rent there, grinning like the chaos gremlin she absolutely was.

“You are so pathetic, practicing your sad little pick-up lines in the mirror?

Rio let out a loud groan and muttered something about exorcisms then slammed the door in her face.

Agatha just laughed on the other side.

And yeah, maybe Rio was still blushing a full ten minutes later.

Around twenty minutes later (record time for an exhausted firefighter in Rio’s words) the girls came down to the break room, fresh and ready to go. Wanda and Vision whistle and compliment them. Agatha from a corner couldn’t stop looking at Rio, she didn't know what it was that feeling.

A mix of desire and jealousy hit her like a punch to the gut. She wasn't gonna be the one walking in with her arm around Rio’s waist, laughing and looking like they owned the place.

Someone else got that.

—

The contest for the captain position was slow. One incident report, one team vote, one flawless call at a time. Every shift was a battle.

Agatha ran drills like a machine, always precise and making sure to not make a single mistake. Her orders snapped clean and fast. The rookies feared her. The veterans respected her. She never asked twice, never smiled on duty, and never took shortcuts.

Rio led with gut and fire. She didn’t need paperwork to earn trust because she had saved every damn person on her crew at least once. People followed her because they wanted to. Her crews laughed more, moved faster, and felt like family.

They kept scoring points in silence.

Agatha would reroute an engine faster than GPS in a thunderstorm.

Rio would run into a burning attic for a child’s drawing, just because she saw the mom crying.

When a camera crew visited the station, Rio was the one they mic’d up. Agatha was the one editing the damn protocol speech afterward.

It was exhausting. And hot. And fucked.

And they were starting to dream about each other. In ways that had nothing to do with fire codes. Because even if they hated each other, they could not ignore that this affected them in another way as well.

But as the days went by, the tension seemed to ease a bit, giving them moments of peace. Until one of them decided to give the other a hard fucking time.

“You were watching me at the gym” Rio said one night, cornering Agatha near the break room.

Agatha didn’t even blink “I was watching your technique. It was off”

Rio stepped closer “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Agatha bit the inside of her cheek “You’re delusional”

“You’re uptight”

“You've said that before and you’re a hothead.”

Rio scoffed “You want me”

Agatha’s jaw locked again. Her breathing betrayed her. Herer eyes went from Rio’s mouth back to her eyes constantly.

The air between them? so damn gay so damn chaotic.

But nothing happened.

Yet.

Because if one of them slipped, if they kissed, if they dared to feel something,it could all go to hell and the captain position was still on the line.

So instead, Agatha shoved past her, ignoring everything she wanted to do in that damn right moment

“Watch your ego. It's going to burn the whole damn place down”

“So will yours, Harkness” Rio replied instantly

Rio stood there for another minute, thinking about how this situation would end.

Either fucking or dismissed from beating the crap out of each other right there. And honestly? Rio wasn’t afraid of admitting she wanted the first option.

So she just went home and thought about every single decision she has made until now.

The next week, another emergency tested their relationship. It happened during a warehouse fire out near the industrial park, an old building, bad wiring, too many flammable materials and a night sky that glowed orange like the end of the world.

Agatha was on engine coordination, barking into her radio as she tracked hose lines and pump pressure. Rio was already inside, hauling a victim on her shoulder, smoke curling off her turnout coat like a goddamn movie poster.

“Vidal, report!” Agatha snapped into comms, trying to drown out the sirens and chaos.

“I’m fine” Rio coughed “Two more in the northwest corner. Going back.”

Agatha’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Negative. Exit now”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do”

“Rio!” she shouted, voice cracking.

But she was already gone.

When they finally dragged the last two workers outRio singed, lungs giving her a hard time, eyes red and watering. Agatha stormed up to her before the medics could even clip the oxygen mask on.

“You goddamn reckless shit”

“Saved three lives” Rio snapped “What’d you do? Yell at a clipboard?”

“You disobeyed protocol, those thighs exist for a reason”

“I did my job”

“You risked your life!”

“And you risked mine by freezing up like a cold blooded control freak!”

Agatha shoved her. Hard.

Rio shoved her back. Harder.

They were inches apart, again.

Jen had to physically get between them “Hey! Not in front of the reporters! What the fuck is your problem?”

“Fuck the reporters” Agatha spat.

Rio just stared at her, eyes charged with fury “You don’t get it. I’d rather die saving someone than stand outside second guessing every instinct.”

“And I’d rather keep you alive than put a damn flag over your coffin!” Agatha snapped. Then froze.

Rio blinked.

Neither said anything for too long.

“Get in the rig” Agatha muttered finally, turning on her heel “Before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you myself”

Rio wanted to disobey, as always. But for some reason she couldn't, she saw how agatha’s eyes clouded when she was yelling at her and this didn't let her.

Every week, every month , every day was the same. But neither of them seemed to give up. How could they? This wasn’t a competition for prom queen, this was something real, something to fight and die for.

Later, the firehouse whiteboard became a battleground.

Every commendation. Every note. Every “team vote” from the chief. It was all tracked, unofficially, in sloppy handwriting and inside jokes. And every time Rio pulled ahead? Agatha added a line under “Discipline Reports” just to make herself feel better.

Then Rio started stealing Agatha’s red marker. Just to piss her off. Because she loved chaos and taking this woman’s goddamn patience.

“Where the hell’s my pen?” Agatha muttered one morning, already irritated.

Rio strolled past, biting an apple “Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with your precious tally sheet..”

“Maybe if you didn’t write ‘Captain Hotpants’ under your own name”

“Hey, can’t help what people call me”

Agatha turned to face her, jaw tight and voice low. “You want it so bad? The title?”

Rio leaned in, unbothered “You want me to beg for it?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Agatha hissed.

“Only if you’re watching”

Their eyes met. Again with that unbearable electric pull.

Jen walked out the room with coffee yelling at them before leaving “Just kiss already or kill each other. I’m begging”

They didn’t. Not yet.

But they were dangerously close to doing both.

Later that night, the firehouse was quiet. Too quiet.

Agatha stayed behind after most of the crew clocked out. Paperwork. Or maybe just avoiding the silence of her own house again. Weekends without Nicky were the worst, even if she appreciated a little silence and peace.

Something that a sixteen year old teenager did not fully understand as trying to learn to play a new instrument at 2 am in the fucking morning seemed like a very good idea.

Sometimes she regrets having bought her that bass for her birthday. But Nicky was her whole life, she loved her daughter more than herself.

So the idea to spend even one night without her was her personal hell, it has been like that since 6 years ago since the divorce. And she hated it.

Moments later and interrupting Agatha’s internal breakdown, Rio walked in like she owned the place, towel around her neck, damp hair curling at the ends from her shower.

“Are you serious?” Agatha asked flatly.

Rio just shrugged “You don’t even eat these. They’ve been sitting here for a week.”

“They’re mine”

“You write your name on them?”

Rio teased, smirking as she peeled back the foil lid and licking the remaining of the yogurt so unnecessarily slow. Making eye contact with those piercing blue eyes.

Who knows? Maybe it wasn't going to work out and she wouldn’t give up her quest for the captain's position but at least she would enjoy watching her go crazy.

Agatha stood up so fast her chair screeched.

“You think this is all a game, don’t you? The fires, the job, this promotion. You think if you laugh and flirt your way through it, you’ll win?”

Rio froze for a second obviously playing fucking dumb “Excuse me?”

“You’re reckless. You show off. You take risks because you want to be the hero. But this isn’t a movie, Vidal”

“And what are you?” Rio shot back “The stoic martyr? You want to be captain so bad you’re turning into a damn robot”

“At least I follow the rules”

“At least I give a shit about people!”

“Don’t you dare-” Agatha snapped, her voice shaking now “You don’t know anything about me”

Rio stepped closer “I know you stay late every night because you’re too scared to go home alone”

Even when Agatha knew that was true it punched her in the guts.

Agatha’s breath hitched “Fuck you.”

“I know your kid’s your entire world but you keep pretending you’re not scared shitless every time she steps outside”

Agatha’s hands clenched into fists. “Get. Out.

“You hate me because I remind you that you used to feel something. That this job used to mean more than rules and promotions and-”

“Shut up!” Agatha yelled, voice raw “Just shut the hell up!”

And then suddenly, they were chest to chest. Breathing hard. Not yelling anymore.

Agatha’s eyes flicked to Rio’s lips. Just for a second. But it was enough.

“Don’t” Agatha warned, voice low, almost begging.

Rio let out a mocking laugh “At least try not to be a fucking coward on this”

Agatha pushed her back. It was too fucking much and she knew if she kept it up it wouldn't end well. But she wanted to kiss her, so badly. To prove if that would suddenly make her braver, more carefree, more like her.

A beat.

Then another one but stronger.

Then realization came and Rio could see in her eyes, they were no longer full, dark. The thought was gone and she didn't push.

“Whatever”

She just turned and walked away.

And Agatha stayed, because she always does.

The next day, Agatha showed up stupid early. Barely slept a wink. The whole firehouse felt off, like the walls were holding their breath. Like something was about to go boom and she was the only one who could feel it.

Then Rio fucking sauntered in an hour later, all well rested like she hadn’t torn the whole place in half the night before. Hair perfect, zero remorse in sight.

Agatha didn’t say a word. Just watched her laughing it up with Wanda by the lockers, fist-bumping Vision like they were in a goddamn buddy cop movie, sipping coffee like she hadn’t left a trail of emotional carnage in her wake.

Rio spotted her watching, and of course smirked.

“Morning, captain almost” she purred as she passed.

Agatha’s jaw nearly cracked from how hard she clenched it. “Childish” she hissed.

Behind a newspaper, Jen let out the world’s most obnoxious cough. “You two done measuring dicks, or should I clear the gym and let you wrestle it out?”

Agatha flipped her off mentally and stormed to her office. Slammed the door. Left it juuust open enough to hear Rio’s laugh echo down the hallway like nails on a chalkboard.

Later, both of them got dragged into the chief’s office for command sims. Big-deal drills. Pressure-cooker shit. One of them was gonna come out on top, and they both knew it.

Agatha sat up straight, notepad pristine, eyes laser-focused. Perfect soldier vibes.

Rio looked like she was waiting for a bar fight to start. Leg bouncing, pen spinning between her fingers like a knife. Ready to fuck shit up.

The scenario kicked off. Fake house fire. Kids trapped upstairs. Wind shift.

Agatha handled it by the book-calm, calculated, calling shots like a boss.

Rio? She went into full chaos mode. Improvised. Dove into the deep end. Pulled a last second shit that somehow worked. Chief even raised an eyebrow. Which for her was practically a standing ovation.

They both passed.

But Agatha got “Consistent and Reliable.”

Rio got “Outstanding Initiative.”

Agatha caught her in the hallway after. Didn’t even pretend to play nice.

“You knew they’d eat that shit up”

Rio cocked her head. “Sorry, should I have let the virtual kids die for your ego?”

“You’re not a hero” Agatha bit out. “You just know how to perform like one”

Rio stepped in. Close. Real close. Fire in her eyes. “And you’re not fearless. You’re just terrified of anyone seeing you’re not made of stone”

Agatha didn’t blink “Better than being a reckless asshole”

Rio let out a low, cold laugh “Keep saying that, sweetheart. Say it real slow when you’re saluting my badge”

Agatha’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

They were too close. Again.

Neither moved.

The air between them? About two seconds away from combustion.

The tension in the firehouse was so thick you could spread it on toast. Even Ralph noticed and he barely has clue of what's happening in this damn circus. But he’s just... old.

He leaned over to Wanda in the kitchen like he was narrating a goddamn soap opera.

“So.. you think they’re gonna murder each other or make out on the pool table?”

Wanda didn’t even flinch, calmly pouring her tea like this was just another Tuesday “Honestly? Could go either way”

Across the room, Agatha and Rio were doing their usual ‘I’m ignoring you but also burning a hole through your soul with my eyeballs’ routine from opposite sides of the rec area.

No words. Just murdery glances and sexual tension thick enough to cause spontaneous combustion.

At the long table, Billy and Nicky were supposed to be doing homework, but they were 100% watching the Agatha & Rio Show like it was premium cable.

“Do you think they’ve always been like this?” Billy whispered, scribbling nonsense on his math sheet.

Nicky snorted “No idea, but it’s exhausting. My mom’s been blasting angry Mozart at night like she’s plotting world domination”

Billy leaned in “I caught Rio deadlifting in the garage at midnight. In the dark. No music. Just.. vibes”

Natasha entered the room feeling the sudden change in the vibe. Still sweaty from her morning jog, and already sick of the tension in the air.

She looked between the two fire queens, fully aware that what she was about to say could make things worse but the team was desperate to get it over with.

“Jesus Christ, will one of you just punch the other already?”

“Tempting” Rio muttered, yanking a protein bar out of the cabinet like it personally offended her.

Agatha didn’t even flinch. “Do it. I dare you. Finally give me a reason to file that misconduct report”

“Ooooh” Nicky hummed from the table “It’s getting spicy again”

Billy raised his phone “Should I livestream this?”

“NO” Wanda and Vision all said at once-deadpan, exhausted, and very much over it.

Billy pouted but didn’t put the phone down.

Somewhere behind her tea, Wanda sighed “They’re gonna kiss eventually, right?”

Jen shrugged “Or set the station on fire whatever happens first”

“Which is basically the same thing” Alice added.

Later that week, the universe or the chief decided to play God and slap Agatha and Rio on the same damn call. Just the two of them. Tiny gas leak in a shoebox apartment. Nothing dramatic.

But nope. It had to be them.

Claderu gave them a ten minute lecture about how they have to cut the crap and do their damn work, or something about that, neither of them paid attention. Then she shoved the call slip into Agatha’s hand like she was sending two toddlers to timeout.

So here she was. Trapped in the passenger seat. Rio behind the wheel, sunglasses on, gum snapping like she was starring in her own music video and really thriving.

Five minutes in and the silence was present already. It was uncomfortable and mean.

Finally, Rio spoke.

“You always this tense?” she asked like she wasn’t trying to pick a fight just for sport.

Agatha didn’t even look at her “You always this annoying?”

Rio grinned “Bet I’m a blast at parties, though”

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard they nearly fell out “Let me guess, your whole plan is to flirt your way into the promotion?”

“Nope. That’s just my side hustle”

By the time they got to the scene, they were two seconds away from fighting like two cats on a roof. But the second they stepped out of the truck, it was like flipping a switch. No bickering. No bullshit. Just business.

Agatha found the leak in under two minutes. Rio had the tenant out the door and calling his grandma before Agatha even finished sealing the valve.

Flawless execution. Goddammit.

The man was watching them like they were some kind of emergency response power couple.

“You two make a great team” he said, smiling so big and bright.

Agatha gave a tight, polite smile like she was trying not to scream. Rio? She took the opportunity and grinned mockingly wide

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll combust. It’s a whole thing”

She winked at Agatha and walked back at the truck, Rio leaned her hip against the door, all casual like she wasn’t setting off alarms in Agatha’s brain.

“You know ” Rio said “sometimes I think you only hate me because it’s easier than.. whatever this is”

Agatha crossed her arms. Steel gaze “And what is that supposed to be?”

Rio bit her lip "You'll figure it out, one day. I hope"

And boom. There it was again.

That look.

Too long. Too loaded. Like a match dangling over gasoline.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked but then Rio broke it. Looked away first and put an end to her torture.

“Whatever. Let’s go”

Agatha didn’t answer. She just climbed into the truck like it wasn’t already on fire.

——

It all went to hell on a Tuesday. Because of fucking Peter Parker.

The rookie, some fresh-outta-academy golden retriever in boots, accidentally tripped the garage alarm during cleanup. Sirens. Flashing lights. Full-body heart attack for half the station.

Rio was on him in seconds. Loud. Sharp, no warm-up.

“What the fuck were you thinking? It’s not a toy, it’s the goddamn emergency system!”

Peter blinked like a deer in a house fire “I’m sorry ma’am, I’ll be careful next time”

And right then, Agatha walked in. Arms crossed. Voice like ice.

“Maybe if someone actually trained him instead of flexing in the gym all day, this wouldn’t have happened”

Dead. Fucking. Silence.

Peter started backing away like he was about to reverse through a wall. Honestly? Smart.

Rio turned, slow and lethal. Eyes like a storm front “Excuse me?”

“You heard me” Agatha snapped “You bark orders and throw around weight like it’s leadership, but God forbid you do the actual job”

“Oh my God” Wanda whispered from behind the coffee machine.

Vision didn’t even look up “Not again”

Rio’s lip curled “I’m sorry , didn’t realize standing around writing reports made you the patron saint of firefighting.”

“Being in the field doesn’t mean shit if you’re steamrolling everyone to get there”

“Are you seriously-”

Jen tried, God knows she did “Hey, maybe we just-”

“I give a damn about this station” Agatha snapped, stepping in like she was ready to throw down. “I care about keeping it together. About doing the work. Not putting on a goddamn show”

Rio didn’t back off “And I care about this place not turning into a graveyard for innovation. You’re so obsessed with the rules, you’d rather burn slow and quiet than adapt”

That one landed.

Agatha’s jaw clenched so hard you could hear her molars grinding.

Then she said it.

“You’re not captain material. You’re a fucking wildcard”

And tick tick, boom!

Rio didn’t flinch but something shifted. Her eyes went flat, dangerous. For one hot second, it looked like she might throw a chair. Or a punch. Or both.

Instead, she stepped back.

“Good to know what you really think”

Then she walked out.

No one breathed.

Sixty seconds of stunned, silent ‘what-the-fuck-just-happened’ energy.

Natasha finally exhaled “Welp. That was a fucking thing”

Billy peeked out from behind a filing cabinet. “Should we.. check on her?”

Nicky looked at her mom, something close to disappointment painting her face “What the hell was that?”

Agatha didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

She just stood there, hands shaking, knuckles white, heart probably in her throat. Staring at the spot where Rio had been. Like the whole damn station had just cracked down the middle.

“Okay, that-” Wanda said, clapping her hands “That was not necessary for your training, Peter. But I’m sure you learned something”

Poor guy was just staring at everyone, probably thinking he caused this divorce. Later that day, he filed a request to be relocated to another station.

Rio stormed out of the firehouse like the goddamn building had insulted her mother.

If it was an action movie, the explosion behind her wouldn’t be fire-it’d be her patience, detonating into ash and fuck-you smoke.

She slammed into the locker room, ripped the door open and hurled her helmet at the bench. It bounced once, then thudded to the floor like even it was too scared to argue.

Then she sat on the floor, elbows on knees, hands gripping her face like she was trying to hold her entire head together. Every muscle was vibrating like she’d just sprinted through hell barefoot and fueled on adrenaline and pure rage.

“What the fuck was that?” she breathed, voice cracking under it.

Her phone buzzed.

Wanda : u good? also Agatha is just standing like a Victorian ghost. Let me know if you need anything xx

Rio didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Her fingers were noodles, and her heart was throwing punches in every direction. Her whole body was a riot.

It wasn’t just what Agatha said.

It was that it was Agatha who said it.

Agatha, who she worked with like they shared a goddamn brain cell.

Agatha, who stared at her like she wanted to kiss her or kill her or maybe both, in no particular order.

Captain material, huh?

Wildcard.

That one burned. Deep and quiet.

Rio let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh and wasn’t quite a sob.

“Fucking bitch” she muttered but it came out soft.

Like it hurt.

Meanwhile, Agatha was in the report room, staring down a blank piece of paper like it had personal beef with her.

She was not okay.

Her jaw ached, her chest felt like someone had bricked it up with emotional concrete. Every breath was a goddamn chore.

She kept replaying the fight. Over and over like a shitty mixtape on loop. Every word she said felt like it had boomeranged straight back and slapped her in the face.

She hadn’t meant to say it like that.

Okay, maybe she did.

But she hadn’t meant for it to sound so fucking final. Like a door slamming shut. Like “fuck you” with a period, not a comma.

“Wildcard” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face “What a stupid fucking thing to say”

She groaned into her hands like maybe she could disappear between her palms. Vision peeked into the room.

“Do you require.. tea? A hug? Possibly licensed therapy?”

“Vodka” Agatha muttered without even looking up.

“Alright, take your time” Vision ghosted out of the room like a man who had seen too much.

In the locker room, Rio had changed and was pacing like a caged lion, if the cage was made of feelings and repressed sexual tension and the faint smell of burnt coffee.

Her fists clenched. Her heartbeat was doing drum solos in her ears, she couldn’t stop thinking about everything, Agatha’s bitter words, her lips, her hair, her eyes.

Those fucking eyes.

Frosty, soul-stabbing, mind-reading eyes that made Rio want to scream, flip a table, and maybe slam her into a wall. But like.. in a hot way.

She grabbed her bag and stomped toward the exit.

Then stopped.

Froze, right there in the hallway. Half-out, half-in. Caught.

Because what if that was it?

What if this years of long war between lavagirl and ice queen had just snapped? What if the smirks,the fights that turned into sparks had just died?

No bang. Just... silence.

She felt weird. Like someone had unplugged her. Like all the fire had been drained out and now all that was left was the fucking ache.

No badge. No argument. No Agatha.

Just the echo of something that almost was.

#agatha harkness #agatha all along #agathario #rio vidal #agatha x rio #agathario au #agathario fic #agathario firefighters #idiots in love

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