#assassin!reader

[diejager]

Yall cool with your girl making more money than yall? Ladies yall cool with making more money than your man?

JOYCE, DROP ANOTHER 141 × READER FIC WITH POWER IMBALANCE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

🐝

For The Right Price

Pairing: Poly Tf141 x assassin!reader

Cw: power imbalance, darkish!reader, assassin, hitmen, blood, violence, mafia stuff, french grammatical mistakes, tell me if I missed any. Note: this might not have been what you were expecting, but uh… I am back on my John Wick obsession😅 Note x2: I don’t really know how people in France speak, so I stuck to my Quebec dialect 😭

Gaz, like much of the others, was unsure —hesitant about this plan. He was initially - and still was - against the idea of hiring an outside hand after what they’d gone through with Graves, and he wasn’t exactly excited to relive that a second time this soon. He didn’t know the exact identity of this so-called assassin Laswell had called. Scratch that, he knew nothing of them: neither name or face, only the alias they went by. The dark and ominous reputation they’d garnered themself through the years of hard working kills and stealthy hits, appearing and disappear within seconds: The Chimera. 

A man eating, woman devouring and stealthy killer that anyone could hire for the right price. Anything went in the darker world under their feet, from the lower bowels of the underground, to the deepest parts of a family built into a towering pyramid. They had the police in their pockets, senators and politicians in their blood and even the government had a used for them. Assassins sent to do their dirty work and keep their hands clean. 

That’s something Gaz hated the most, people in high seats playing the martyr when they’d done nothing to help. He could at least respect The Chimera for being honest of their employment, self-aware of the dried blood caking their hands after every kill. 

“The Chimera as a reputation for being… honest,” Laswell had muttered with reluctance, as if she couldn’t find the right word to describe the killer they were hiring.

All they were given was a few papers with their skills and accomplishments —at least the few that were publicly recorded and known by anyone outside the world-wide organisation. Price had given them the night to memorise it and prepare for the meet-up somewhere in Paris. 

He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t a bit nervous, meeting someone as dangerous as an omen of death, lingering at the top of the food chain with this Baba Yaga who’d retired and another dubbed Zero. They all sat around ridiculously small table and in even smaller chairs at a café, the morning sun in Paris giving the place an air of elegance and artistry, a strange but subtle difference to the reason the five of them sat here, leaving a seat vacant for their mysterious hire. 

Gaz stared down at the french espresso, something he was somewhat excited to try, the small, round cup accompanied by a croissant, was much smaller than the cup he’d usually pay for in UK, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was a rich and creamy, slightly bitter on his tongue, but sweet at the end. Lifting the cup for a second sip, he caught a figure strutting through the patio of the café, slimmed down by a dark blazer, slacks and dress shoes. She looked like she just left a business meeting, a decked in fancy and expensive clothing that made almost made him shy away from his lack of style. 

He brought his sight away from her, blinking once before he nearly jumped at her sudden appearance beside him, hand placed over the back of the seat. 

“Bonjour, messieurs,” she smiled at them and turned to greet Laswell, “et madam. J’espère que vous aimiez ce café, j’aime bien ce petit coin de Paris.”

Then she turned her gaze to him, her eyes brushing over his face and landing on the cup in his hand:

“Oh, merveilleux choix! That’s my favourite as well.”

He cursed in his mind, now feeling even more reluctant to work with The Chimera someone who was both a ruthless killer and a dangerous beauty, threatening to warm the tips of his ears with a small amount of bashfulness. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” she shook Laswell and Price’s hand, muttering out her name, “This should be interesting, I haven’t worked for the British yet. Americans though, that’s another thing.”

Gaz was almost fearful of you, if not amazed by your efficiency. You moved like a shadow, sliding from wall to wall while they worked to catch up to you. Perhaps it was your smaller and slimmer build that made you so agile, where you lacked in strength, you made up in agility.

He felt this imbalance, where he would admire and fear you. You had shown you hand many times when you sneaked up to them, suddenly appearing beside or behind them, surprising even Ghost whose first instinct was to attack, and much to his dismay, found himself locked under you.

There were many occasions where, if you weren’t on their side, you could have disposed of them, shot, stabbed and killed either one or all of them. It felt like helll, living on the edge of life and death on both sides, the exhaustion it led with you hovering over and around them like an omen of death. 

But for all the hardship and frustration they all shared, you had made this mission easier to finish: with less set backs and surprises. You worked behind the enemy line, letting them know where each person was and the weaker points in their surveillance. Your size had come in handy a second time, squeezing through the smallest gap you could find, and he’d watched and listened you work in near awe. 

It didn’t help either, that you had a pretty face, appealing to stare at but not overly beautiful. You were a subtle and quiet beauty, waiting and observing, stalking and learning, you were like a panther, a majestic animal waiting for the right time to strike. If you weren’t so pretty and amazing, he wouldn’t have the issue of being left in amazement while his fingers twitched for his gun, an instinctual act for survival against a bigger predator.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Pairing: Cloud Strife x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: frenemies to lovers, Cloud's memory problems, reader is an assassin, smut, porn WITH plot

Final Word Count: 9k

Plot summary: A mercenary and an assassin walk into a bar. They bicker, have sex, then go home and freak out about it. The whole thing feels like it should be a joke, but it isn't— and no matter how bad it hurts, they keep coming back for more.

ao3 link

“Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table…”

The entrance to Hell's Maw yawned lazily open, with the wooden door leaning crookedly off of its hinges. The door— made of sturdy oak— had held up well against bar fights between mercenaries, master thieves, and assassins for over a decade; it was riddled with holes from unsuccessful knifings and stray bullets, and sported faint airbrushings of blood from more successful endeavors of the same sort. Really, the agency ought to have replaced it by now as a favor to the bar for letting its employees regularly trash the place— but those stingy bastards couldn't be bothered with anything outside of making money off the hard labor of people bigger, meaner, and certainly more deadly than themselves, and so the door remained as it was.

Fondly, you patted the door as you passed it; the little creak it gave felt like a 'thank you,' and you smiled as you slipped inside the building, largely unnoticed by the Friday night crowd.  

Despite its name, Hell's Maw was a cozy, comfortable establishment. There were large, comfortable booths lining the walls, the fabric of their green seats cracked and slightly worn in the middle; a few pool tables with green felt were nestled comfortably in the middle of the room. There was always something soft and smooth playing from the jukebox in the corner, and the lighting was dim enough to feel gentle and ambient, but bright enough that a girl didn't feel the need to squint at her plate for deformed food. 

Tonight, a few familiar faces were gathered around the pool tables, holding cues that had been haphazardly duct taped back together a few times. The quiet buzz of conversation was a comforting lull, and there was a pleasant smell drifting out from the kitchen that had you sighing at the thought of a warm meal. 

Home sweet home, you thought, smiling as you took in the scene. 

"Evening, Kitty," you greeted one of the servers as she passed by. "What's the special tonight?"

Kitty was a short, pleasantly plump woman with a freckled face and flaming hair. To look at her, you'd never know that she spent her evenings catering to smugglers, tramps, thieves, and worse— but she was as strong as she was beautiful, so generally speaking, she got whatever she wanted out of Hell's Maw's regular patrons.

"Shepherd's pie," said the waitress, grinning back as she bussed a table, "but your friend over there is putting everyone off their dinner with that sour look on his face. It's a wonder anyone can keep their drinks down, what with his mean-mugging."

You followed Kitty's gaze to the bar, where a familiar shock of blond hair glowed honey-golden in the incandescent lighting. 

To your credit, you tried hard to stifle your laugh. 

Sitting on what you had come to think of as your barstool, Cloud Strife looked even more brooding and mysterious than usual. A glass of his choice poison— lemon water with a pinch of mint— was sitting untouched on the mahogany wood in front of him. As he sat there, glaring at his glass, he seemed so miserable that you couldn't even be mad at him for stealing her seat. 

Alas, despite your efforts, the sight earned a giggle.

"He looks to be in a fine temper," you noted slyly, wagging your eyes at Kitty.

Kitty huffed.

"He looks like he's swallowed a hornet's nest."

You laughed again. 

"I'd best go see what he wants, then," you said. "If it's any comfort to you, I can't imagine he'll stay very long."

"Oh, he's no trouble," said Kitty mischievously. "As for myself, don't care what face he makes when he's got a face like that."

You giggled. He really was handsome, that bastard. 

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that. Later, Kitty."

"Later," said Kitty with her signature wink. 

As you approached the bar, you wondered at Cloud's presence there. It was a rare day that he arrived at the bar before you, and even rarer that he should be waiting for you and not sitting in a booth with a friend— an actual friend— or chatting up some girl at the pool tables. You couldn't recall a time when he'd been this forward with his presence at your little meeting place, and you'd be lying if you said the newness of it all didn't set you on edge. 

Cloud Strife in general set you on edge. 

"Hello, first class," you greeted him, smiling.

As he turned to acknowledge you, you slid gracefully into the seat next to him, signaling to the bartender for a little something sweet and strong. 

"Cutthroat," he returned without malice. 

You turned your best pout on him. 

"Now, now, you're being uncharitable. You're in my seat, and I haven't even considered cutting your throat." You thought for a moment. "Well, until now at least " 

He raised a brow, in a moment both teasing and deadly.

"If it's any consolation, though, it's more of a scientific interest than anything," you added as an afterthought. "It's not often that I get contracts for anyone like a SOLDIER, you know."

Blue-ringed green peered at you with familiar, friendly distaste. 

"I'm not stupid enough to be one of your marks," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "I think with my upstairs head, which is more than I can say for the guys you get paid to kill."

It was a bit naive of him to assume such a thing. No man was above being one of your marks.

"Then praise be that the world isn't full of good, right-honorable ex-SOLDIERs like you," you shot sweetly back at him. "Poor little me would be out of a job."

Cloud let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, then sobered and stared moodily into his glass of water.  He looked like a petulant child who'd been sent to his room as punishment. 

"Come on, why so sour?" you prodded, trying to keep your tone teasing. "Did you get turned down this evening before I got here? If so, I'm sure the pretty brunette in the corner would go home with you— she's been staring at you since I walked in."

He scowled.

"Why does it always have to be about sex with you?" he snapped as the bartender handed you your glass of fruity bliss. "Are the men you seduce to kill not doing it for you anymore?"

You took the insult in stride.

"Why?" you challenged, leaning forward, eyes flicking up to meet his. "Curious?"

Cloud was the first to look away.

Somehow, it was always this. He would come to you in moments of woundedness or weakness and pick a fight that he couldn’t finish. Fights about work, fights about drinks, fights about the sex that neither of you were having, and fights about fighting just for fighting's sake— too often, you found yourselves here, in this endless cycle of strange and hateful amicability. Why, you didn't know— but it wasn't like that was going to stop you from playing your little game.

"Why are you in my seat?" You began again, changing tactics. "You know that's my seat. I'm fairly certain the groove of my ass cheeks are worn into the shape of it by now."

"Wanted to be," he replied with a little shrug of powerful shoulders. "It's a nice seat. Got a problem with it?"

You hummed, sipping from your drink.

"Not at all. Just curious as to what's wrong with you today."

Cloud cut his eyes at you. 

"Who says there's something wrong with me?"

"Oh, there's something wrong with everyone here. The fact that you're picking a fight with me today is especially telling, though."

"Not picking a fight," he grumbled.

"Of course not," you replied, placating. "Now— would you like to tell me what's on your mind, or should I try and guess?"

Cloud stayed silent, but took another drink from his minty lemon water. 

Guessing it was, then. 

"Don't know which girl to pick again?" you scanned the bar. There were plenty of Cloud's type there— sweet innocents that looked like they needed protecting. "I can help like last time. Blondie by the pool table has got great tits and a sweet smile, but she'll want to do it missionary the whole time. The brunette I was talking about earlier is probably a bit kinkier, if that's what you're i—"

Cloud moved to get up, disgusted. 

Wrong guess, then. 

"I'm teasing," you told him, tugging his arm. "Sit down, drama queen."

Cloud eyed you warily, but reluctantly sat back down. 

"You know," you said gently, "this would be easier if you could just tell me what's going on."

Cloud's expression shuttered closed. It was as if a mask had dropped into place over his features, locking them into a single blank expression. 

"Nothing's going on. I told you, I'm fine."

You were beginning to feel frustrated. Hell's Maw was a haven for damaged colleagues of a hellacious profession. Most of them came for one of two reasons: to have sex, or to play house in a place where the job didn't matter. Cloud was the former, you were the latter. You fulfilled his need to banter and blow off steam, and he fulfilled your need to care and watch out for someone. It wasn't like you were friends. Currently, he wasn’t fulfilling your needs, and you weren't fulfilling his— so why were either of you even there?

"You're a shit liar, Cloud Strife," you huffed. "If all you're going to do is act like an ass, then you can get out of my seat and find someone else to abuse with your presence."

He shook his head.

"I doubt someone like you could understand."

You leaned back in your seat. An odd hurt pierced your chest. 

You knew your lives were different. You knew he disapproved of yours. That was an old fight that had already scabbed over into little more than scars on your psyche; but if he wanted to pick it until it bled once more, you would indulge him with scratches of your own.

"Someone like me," you repeated, the words bitter as lye soap in your mouth. “Tell me, Cloud— what, exactly, do you think I am?”

You stared deeply into his eyes, challenging him. As you did so, you noted the mako-greenish tinge in the center of his iris, and not for the first time, the weight of your secret pulsed within you, threatening to fizzle out from you in white-hot sparks.

“I think you’re a murderer,” he told you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re a contract killer, and what’s worse, you use your body to lure men to their deaths like some kind of demented, two-bit—”

You had heard these words before. Refusing to hear them again, you drew back your hand and made to strike him; you didn’t get far, though, before Cloud’s SOLDIER reflexes proved their worth and caught your hand before the slap could land. Even through his glove, you could feel the mako beneath his skin, and you shivered.

“I told you before,” you said, speaking carefully, willing control to return to you. “Don’t call me a whore ever again. If you do, it will be the last word you say.”

Gently, you nudged the blade in your other hand against his ribs, and he flinched backwards, apparently not having seen or anticipated the movement despite the obvious distraction of the slap.

“I don’t have to say it,” he replied calmly, tightening his grip on your wrist. “You put the words in my mouth, so if the shoe fits, then fucking wear it.”

The flow of mako within him was strong, pulling at you physically like the opposite side of a magnet. A breath, then two, and it was under control— but those words cut deep. Hearing them from someone like Cloud cut even deeper. 

"You know what, I don't have to take this from you," you said, trying to take your arm back. He didn’t let you, instead holding you fast against your will. Feeling vengeful, you added, "Especially not when you're such a hypocrite."

Cloud's expression was impassive, marble-esque, but the hardening of his eyes told you that you'd hit the mark.

"Excuse me?"

You smirked. 

"What, you think I don't know what you get up to around here? How you fuck around with these girls and that pretty barmaid at Seventh Heaven? And yet you think I’m the whore? Get a grip, man." 

"What?"

There it was— hurt and indignation that mirrored your own flashed in his eyes, and you knew you had him.

"Oh, you heard me," you said, tilting your head like another girl might for a kiss. "I'd bet top dollar that your big-titty Tifa would give her right arm to play housewife for you, and you play right along with her, the poor thing. Does she know you come here every week for an easy lay?"

Cloud snarled, enraged, and roughly threw your wrist away from himself as though disgusted.  

"I've never touched Tifa!"

You grinned wryly, massaging your wrist, and said,

"And don't you know it kills her?"

It occurred to you then that you might have gone a bit too far. Cloud's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, and he looked as if he might hit you. A moment of tense silence swept over the both of you, a tug of war of will-he-won't-he between you— and then as he always did when it came to matters of the heart, Cloud Strife took the easy way out. 

He turned away. 

"Coming here was a fucking mistake," he growled, fitting that giant, way-too-Freudian sword to his lean, muscled back. "I don't know why I fucking bothered— of course you wouldn’t take this conversation seriously."

"What conversation?" you shot back. "If you think shit-talking me to my face is a conversation, you've got bigger problems than leading some girl on."

He rounded on you.

"I'm not leading anyone on. I don't feel for Tifa like that and she knows it."

You arched a brow. "Oh, so you've told her?"

Cloud faltered.

"Well— no."

"Then is she just supposed to guess?"

Cloud scowled, no doubt ready to double down on his point— but you, suddenly conscious of the setting and the kind of hurt it would cause if talk like that got back to Seventh Heaven, moved closer and said seriously,

"That girl loves you. Everyone from here to topside knows except you. You break her heart, and I feel for her. Every woman has cried the tears she cries for you— most are just smart enough to cut thoughtless, careless bastards like you off."

Cloud shook his head, expression closed. 

"No way. Tifa's smarter than that."

You smiled, though it ached.

"No woman is," you told him gently. "Love is our gift, and our curse."

"You're full of shit."

Ah, that was it, then. Once he began to resort to blind insults, you knew you'd won.

"No, I'm right, and it bothers you— and you know what else I think?"

Cloud folded his arms.

"Can I pay you not to tell me?"

You ignored him. 

"I think that you think I should be as tortured and as guilty as you feel, and it bothers you even more that I'm not. I understand this world, live in it, accept it, and so you believe that I am just as bad as everyone else in this stupid bar. And that, Cloud, is why you’re here right now, so let me give you this piece of wisdom."

You caught his arm again as he tried to turn away, feeling the warmth of him beneath your hand. 

"I have no guilt, and I have no shame. It is the world who should be ashamed for having need of me. Of having need of us."

In that moment, you found yourself nose-to-nose with Cloud, sharing his breath. His eyes— his beautiful eyes— were trained on yours, calculating, analytical. His breath smelled of lemon. You wanted to taste the sourness of it from his lips, feel the burn of its acid in your split lip.

"Don't be ashamed," you murmured, forcing your eyes to return to meet his gaze. "You are what they made you, but you survived. Never, ever be ashamed."

The place where the skin of your palm met the skin of his forearm burned with electric warmth. You found that touching this prickly, untouchable man felt like holding a live wire. From the very beginning, you had known that Cloud Strife was a powerhouse, a living weapon; somehow, though, you had neglected to realize what kind of power he had over you before this skin-to-skin contact. 

After a moment, something dawned on you, and you were horrified. Just like Tifa, just like every woman watching them and seething with jealousy, you wanted him. 

"I hate you," he said, but moved closer. "I hate how easily you justify this life."

"I accept your hate," you said, "but you can't deny what I've said is true."

"I hate that too." He moved his arm away from your hand, bringing his hand up to touch your neck, his thumb resting in the hollow of your throat. He could easily kill you, even with your knife still at his ribs. You fought against the urge to close your eyes and let the sensation of it consume you. 

"I do wonder why you came here then," you mused softly, "why you're bothering with talking to me when you could take one of these little fawns home with you."

"I don't want them," he said almost distractedly, his eyes dark and intense on yours. "At best, they're a means to an end."

This was news to you. You'd watched him take them home night after night like clockwork. 

"Then what do you want?"

He never once broke his gaze with you. You never even saw him blink.

"Would that I knew."

Cloud tilted his head. You thought you had imagined it, until his nose bumped yours. 

Was this what he had come here for?

You weren't sure. Either way, he lingered back, unwilling to close the distance. If you wanted to kiss him, you would have to choose it for yourself; if you wanted him, you had to make the active, conscious choice to cut yourself on his edge, and take the pain that would come with it. 

You weighed the costs, found them worthy. You leaned forward, closing the gap, and let him kiss you.

Oh, what a kiss. 

The act itself was simple. It was only the touching of flesh, soft and surprisingly gentle. The mako-power under his skin pulsed against the places where you touched— your lips, his hand at your throat, your palm against his bicep— and a powerful twinge of want jerked the nerves between your legs, wanting, needing more. 

Distantly, it occurred to you that if any of the kisses you'd shared with your marks had been like this, you would have been the one lying dead at the end of it all. 

"Do you want to leave?" you asked once your lips had parted from his.  

"Depends on where you want to go," he said, nose still brushing yours. "I'm not interested in going back to mine."

Of course not, you thought bitterly. Tifa might see. 

Ego bruised, you decided to play the game. 

"Who said we were going to anyone's place?" You hummed, your lashes lowered. "An alleyway might work just as well for what you have in mind."

Cloud's eyes darkened further at that. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Filthy sex in a back alley where anyone could see." He scoffed, pupils dilated. "Disgusting."

He went in for another kiss, and you stepped back. 

"Who said anything about sex, either?" you teased, eyeing him up and down. "Just 'cause your usual crowd lets you take what you want doesn't mean I will. Not everyone wants Shinra’s sloppy seconds."

Cloud frowned.

"Don't fuck with me," he said, deadly serious. "I don't take that shit well."

At that, you softened. Perhaps that had been a bit too far. There was clearly some amount of bad blood between this particular SOLDIER and Shinra, and you had poked that bruise knowingly.

"I'm sorry," you said, sincere. "It was wrong of me to tease you."

You extended your hand.

"Come on. We'll go to my place."

For a moment, you didn't think he'd take it— but eventually, he placed his hand in your own and let you lead him away from Hell's Maw. 

On your way out, you passed a few booths of familiar faces that turned their heads at the sight of the two of you leaving together— but just as you were starting to wonder if you'd made the right decision, Kitty caught your eye. The waitress gave you an all-knowing smile and winked. 

It was the closest thing to a blessing that you were going to get.  

Outside of a job or a hookup, Cloud was not often outside at night under the plate. 

Now, in the awkward silence between himself and (Y/N), he had time to look and reflect. The combination of maintenance lights and the soft glow of energy throughout the plate itself was a poor imitation of a sky full of stars, but it was good enough in the absence of another alternative. It dimly lit the dusty, barren streets, casting everything in the greenish-gray of mako energy-fuelled lights; when he wasn't peering into suspicious shadows, Cloud caught glimpses of (Y/N) out of the corner of his eye, noting the way the unnatural light made her skin appear strange and foreign beneath it. Before now, he had not thought her skin to be so familiar that he would notice a difference. 

Tonight was a remarkably bad idea. 

"We're almost there," (Y/N) said to him, slowing her walk until she stopped to face him. She peered up at him with piercing eyes, and Cloud suddenly got the feeling that he was being tested. 

"Something bothering you?" he ventured, resisting the urge to check over his shoulder for some unseen enemy. 

"You could say that."

(Y/N) did not drop her gaze; Cloud refused to give her any ground by being the first to look away for the second time in the evening. 

"Why are we here?" she asked him, her eyes throwing the light of the plate back to him in little glowing pinprick reflections. "I wasn't thinking earlier, not really— I let my baser instincts lead me this far. Before we go any further, I have to know what you're in this for."

An excellent question, that— it was one Cloud had asked himself a thousand times before he made the decision to show up at Hell's Maw.

I'm here ecause you drive me to distraction, he wanted to say. Because you're so beautiful, and so deadly, and I have wanted a taste of you since I first laid eyes on you. Because after meeting with you every week for months, moments with you feel like the only thing that's really mine in all the world. 

Instead, he did not speak, not for a long time. Patiently, she watched him, staunch in her decision to remain where she was until he gave her an answer. 

Because I want you is the answer he should have given, mostly because it was the truest one. The answer he gave was stupid and cowardly, and only true in the vaguest sense. 

"To scratch an itch," he said. When she raised a brow, he added, "A deeper one than usual."

He hoped distantly that she could understand his reticence. He could not tell her what he felt without feeling foolish; he could not even acknowledge it to himself without feeling a traitor to the feelings he was expected to bear for others. Tonight, he could have chosen from dozens of women, and at least two of them were as dear to his heart as his very own flesh— but none of them were her. (Y/N) was beauty and grace and nightshade; she was the honey in every trap, the woman he wasn't supposed to want, but wanted carnally. She had no history with him, only the present, and yet he felt that she understood him like no one else ever had. 

Don't be ashamed, she'd told him earlier, her gaze steady and strong like steel, her voice soft and gentle as silk. You are what they made you, but you survived. Never, ever be ashamed.

Cloud had spent so much of his time ashamed of everything. Ashamed of his roots, of his failures, of all the things he remembered, of all the things he didn't— and it was as if she had felt the badness in him, sensed it without him saying, and accepted it as a part of him. In her, there was no blind hero-worship, no transference of feelings from a risky rescue. No, she was simply the other side of his coin. She knew him because she was him. 

"An itch," she repeated, and he felt as though she were flaying him open with her eyes. 

"An itch," he replied, unable to say anything else.

She took a moment, considering. She must have found something within him worthy, because she gave a nod and walked on as though the conversation had never happened. 

If someone had asked Cloud that night what her house had looked like, he could not have said. He would not have known the color if it had been neon orange with fireworks shooting out of the front of it; by the time he should have taken notice of it, he'd been thoroughly distracted with (Y/N)'s mouth on his own. 

How that happened was a mystery also. One moment, he was walking along with her, slightly behind— the next, he was grabbing her arm, overcome with the desire to see her face once more, his heart somehow damaged by her uncharacteristic silence, and then he was kissing her because he could, because she let him, and because he was swiftly becoming utterly obsessed with the taste of her. It was filthy, deviant stuff, sucking on the length of her tongue, holding her to him by the very hair of her head; eventually, he decided that he wanted her closer still and simply lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

From there, he'd been operating mostly blind. She gave him directions, intimately familiar with her route home, and guided him even to the very last detail of how high he should lift his foot to make it up the front porch steps. If either of them had not been who they were, such a thing would likely have been impossible— but with an assassin's precision and a SOLDIER's grace and ability, they'd navigated the journey just fine. 

At first, it seemed a shame and a nuisance that, even after they'd done so well getting there, (Y/N) insisted on opening the lock to her front door— but then Cloud got a magnificent view of her backside, and remembered that, as an ass man, it was practically his duty to come behind her and press himself against her with hungry neck-kisses as she fiddled with the lock. His cock, already half-hard, was infinitely pleased with the rocking motion he'd taken up, grinding against her ass; she, apparently, was also pleased as she pressed back against him, encouraging the friction with her own body as his teeth scraped over the lobe of her ear. 

“Fuck,” she swore, her hands shaking as she finally managed to slide the key home, using it to turn the lock. “That feels good.”

Never one to let a compliment lead to complacently, Cloud licked a line up her neck, tasting her sweat and the bitter tang of her perfume; his tongue found the lobe of her ear once more, then delved into the cavity of it. (Y/N) shivered at the motion as the door fell away, and Cloud guided the both of them inside, kicking the door shut with a heavy boot. 

Her home was smaller than he had expected. For some reason, Cloud had imagined her to live in a palace, or something close to it— certainly, the amount of money her jobs paid could keep her more than comfortably in one, if there was one to be found below the plate— but instead of great columns and outrageous interior decorating, Cloud found soft carpet, flourishing plants, and rows of bookshelves filled with knick-knacks and photographs. All in all, (Y/N)'s place just seemed sort of… normal. 

"Bedroom's this way," she called out over her shoulder, smirking— but Cloud caught her arm, stopping her. 

The idea of knowing the way she kept her room— the intimacy and implications of that knowledge—was too much to bear. 

"Here's fine," he said, touching his nose to hers, then tilting his head. "Kiss me."

And boy, did she ever. Her hands threaded through his hair, pulled him to her; her tongue slid past his lips and he groaned into her mouth, cock jumping at her passion. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her pelvis to meet his own, grinding against her; to his surprise, he found his hands knocked away, replaced by her own on him, which began the process of unbuttoning and unzipping. Soon, his cock was free in her soft, graceful hands, and he couldn't even bring himself to be ashamed of the moan he gave as she spat into her hand and stroked him. 

"I wanna suck you," she said breathlessly against his lips. "S'that okay with you?"

There was really only one answer to that. 

"Fuck yeah," he replied. 

He'd meant the words to be confident, even commanding— instead, they came out like a plea. Not that (Y/N) seemed to notice as she dropped to her knees before him, now eye-level with his gently-curving sex. No, he thought as she placed her hands on the crease of his thighs, playing teasingly in the fine dusting of hair there. She didn't seem to be bothered at all.

"You're a big boy," she said with a mischievous grin, her lips only a breath away from his cockhead. "I thought the sword might be over-compensation, but now I'm starting to rethink things a bit."

Cloud would be lying if he said that didn't stroke his ego just a little. 

"Just shut up and get on with it," he said, heat rushing to his face. "You can't talk and suck dick too."

She began slowly, so slowly Cloud thought he might die. She kissed his thighs, his belly, leaving his cock untouched; then came teasing kitten licks to his tip, teasing him, delving into his slit to lap at precome. He bucked his hips at her, impatient, and (Y/N) looked up at him with a smirk and said,

"If you don't like how I do it, do it yourself."

So saying, she grabbed a large, gloved hand and placed it on the back of her head, giving him his cue as her mouth returned to his cock. Cloud, shocked, didn't know what to do with himself for a moment— but it didn't take long for him to figure it out. He held her head— so small in comparison to his hands— and fucked her face, shoving his cock into her mouth over and over again as she tried to keep up with her hands and her tongue. She was hot and wet around him, her throat smoothly textured as he fucked deeper and deeper. It felt good to take that kind of control, he noticed, to take his pleasure from her by force. 

(Y/N) gagged a little as he thrust roughly, and he thought he might come on the spot.

Perhaps it felt a little too good. 

Rougher than he meant to be, he pulled her back by the hair at the base of her skull, gripping the strands close to the scalp. She looked up at him then, teary, breathless, and smiling, and Cloud was struck at once by how ravaged she looked. Gone was the kitten that had teased him at the bar; gone was the confidante who had confronted him about his intentions. In her place was a woman of pleasures, a woman of fleshly desires. This (Y/N), he hardly knew. 

"Open your mouth," he said, wiping saliva from the corner of her lips. She did so, sticking out her tongue— and without quite knowing why, he spat into her mouth. A thick glob of spit dropped from his mouth to hers, landing on her outstretched pink tongue; Cloud, feeling dizzy with want at the sight, leaned to seal it with a kiss. As he did so, she moaned against him, lacing her fingers in her hair, and he found himself pulled to the floor with her, his cock in her hand and her tongue in his mouth. 

Piece by piece, he undressed her. First to go was her shirt, followed by her bra; ever greedy, Cloud moved to take off his gloves so that he could feel the soft skin of her breasts in his hands, but she stopped him, her eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Leave them on," she told him, placing his gloved hands on her body, just over her pretty, perfect, and probably sensitive nipples. "I like the texture."

And fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing Cloud had ever heard. 

Next to go was her shorts. Made of tough black denim, they were hard to slide over the swell of her hips; thankfully, though, her painties came off with them in the struggle, leaving her sex bare and wet in the chilled air of her apartment. With that, she was finally, gloriously naked.

Except, of course, the gun that was strapped to her torso.

It was a mid-size blaster, whose thin holster and belt were nestled snugly against her skin. The gun and all that held it were a sexy matte black, and Cloud quirked a brow at (Y/N) in question. 

"What, don't you know I'm always packing?" she teased him, leaning backward to unbuckle the belt that held the holster to her belly. To do so, she stretched her arms behind her back, arching so her tits were in his face, and Cloud was suddenly distracted.

With SOLDIER strength, he pulled (Y/N) to him by the hips. Sneaking one hand up her back, he leaned down to kiss between her breasts, then more to the right, until his mouth enclosed her nipple. Her moan was heady; without thinking about it, he moved the hand at her back to play with the other nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers, and she threw her head back, pressing into him. 

"Yes," she pleaded, her hands tight in his hair, "Fuck, that feels good."

For good measure, he licked and sucked at her skin, leaving love-bites in his wake. Even though he knew he'd not see them, there would be some pride in knowing that they were there, a pleasant, aching reminder of this moment.

Cloud could have spent forever in the pillow of her breasts— but his cock was so hard that it was getting difficult to ignore the throbbing between his legs. 

"Turn around," he said, unbuckling his shoulder guard. "I want to fuck you on your hands and knees."

It was a partial truth at best. While fucking (Y/N) from begind was a regular fantasy of his, there was an ulterior motive behind it. He wanted both of them to be naked, but he didn't want her to have to see his scars. They were many and jagged all across his body, from training, from fighting, from losing; up close, he sort of looked like a patchwork quilt. Not exactly pleasant to look at, in his opinion.

"Bossy," she fussed, but did as she was told. Soon, her knees were spread, her back arched to expose the wetness between her legs, and Cloud had never felt the need to undress so quickly before in all his life. It was fast, messy, and careless, but he was naked enough in under ten seconds to call it a win as he lined himself up with her entrance.

"Ready?" he asked her, pushing his self control to the limit. 

Irritated, she slung her head over her shoulder and said, "Cloud Strife, it you don't put your dick inside me right now I swear to—"

She didn't get to finish her threat. She was choked off the moment his cock slid home, her entire body moving with the force of it. Enveloped in warm, wet heat, Cloud pulled fully out before pressing back in again, biting back a moan as he watched himself disappear inside her folds. 

After another slow, lazy thrust, he leaned over so that his chest was touching her back and began fucking her in earnest; he never pulled out very far before he was pounding in and in and in—

"Cat got your tongue?" he murmured into her ear, wrapping one arm around her to gently lock her head next to his as he fucked her. "Usually you have so much to say."

All she said in response was a single, strangled moan. 

After that, Cloud lost himself. For him, nothing existed except the act itself; the world extended only to the places their bodies touched, slick and sweaty and obscene. His lips and tongue were busy, kissing and sucking at her neck and licking the salt from her flesh. It took a while for him to realize that the low, growling sound he was hearing came from deep within his own chest, and even then he couldn't manage to muster any shame. 

"M'close," he murmured in her ear, tasting the shell of it once more. 

"Inside," was all she said, and that in itself was enough to send Cloud hurling over the edge. 

He fucked her through his orgasm, only pulling away once he could bear the sensitivity no longer. Still half-mad with wanting, he moved (Y/N) bodily, intending to finish what he'd started with his mouth and fingers— but when he did, he found her shaking, with tears welling in her eyes. 

Horrified, Cloud drew away. He hadn't realized he'd been so rough. He hadn't realized that she'd been reacting this way. He hadn't—

"Hey, don't get squeamish now," (Y/N) told him with a weak little smile that made him feel sick. "Calm down, drama queen— I just have a m-mako sensitivity."

"Mako sensitivity?" he parroted, his own voice sounding strangled even to himself. 

She nodded and sat up, though it seemed an effort.

"You— You're a walking b-ball of mako energy," she explained. "With you inside me, and with— well, with—" 

She faltered, but Cloud nodded. He could imagine perfectly well what she meant. 

"You should have told me," he accused her, suddenly angry and very, very hurt. "I wouldn't have— you shouldn't have—"

All he could think of was mako poisoning, somehow his, somehow another's, how sick he'd been, how very close to death he'd come. He'd put her at risk of such a thing. He was a freak, and worse, a fool, for ever thinking he could have—

With slow, pained movements, she placed a hand on his arm. 

"It's not like that," she said. "I— I didn't know. I could feel it, but I didn't think—"

She pitched forward suddenly, and Cloud moved to catch her.

"Easy," he told her, and she looked up at him with a small, weak smile. 

"Gimme a second," she said as he steadied her. "I'll be right as rain after this."

She withdrew her hand and held it out for him to inspect. Sparks crackled between her fingers, and Cloud flinched backwards, instinctively defensive.

"You're not holding materia," he realized, dumbfounded. "What the hell is this?"

"Dunno," she replied, shrugging as though she'd just shown him a neat party trick and not a literal physical impossibility. "I've always been able to feel mako, and when I get overexposed, this happens."

"That's— that's impossible," he said, because it was. 

(Y/N) merely shrugged looking at him with soft eyes. 

"I didn't think it would happen with you. It's just sort of my secret. I get close to mako, get a little sick, and then I have to expel it like this or else it just doesn't get any better. It's… a gift and a curse."

Cloud just stared at her, amazed. 

"With your permission, though," she continued, mischief glinting in her eyes, "I'd like to try something. Y'know, since we have this issue and all anyway."

Without really thinking, Cloud nodded, and then her hands were on him. The hair on his neck and arms raised as she dragged the pads of her fingers from the base of his neck to the end of his torso, the sensation of her touch unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The air tasted metallic, like ozone; when she stuck her fingers in his mouth, it was like licking a battery. Already, his cock was jumping, excited by her touch, and then she was kissing him, threading her electric hands through his hair. Overcome, Cloud wrapped his arms around her, feeling stupid and lust-drunk and so, so good. 

"Touch me more," she told him, electricity popping in the spaces between her fingers. As he did, the popping increased, and he could feel the discharge of her power in the increasingly coppery taste of the air. Each breath was like a mouthful of blood; Cloud was willing to drown in it if it meant her hands would never leave his body.

"Lemme eat you out," he said, kissing the curve of her breast. "I owe you an orgasm."

She pulled back and raised a brow.

"After you made a mess down there?" 

"S'the best part," he grumbled, a bit wounded— but before he could complain too much, he found himself pulled forward as (Y/N) leaned back. She hit the floor with a gentle thud, and Cloud seized the opportunity for what it was.

With careful and precise tongue, he tasted her. First, he lapped at her clit, relishing in the sounds she made, then made it a point to gather the semen that had mixed with her wetness, slurping obscenely as he cleaned her folds. Above him, (Y/N) groaned.

"Why is that so hot?" he heard her gasp as she leaned onto her elbows to watch him. "It should not be that— oh, fuck."

Cloud smirked against her sex and licked a long stripe upwards. With his mouth on her clit, he took a freshly un-gloved hand and began to finger her, curling the digits to reach the place that would make her arch her back and cry—

"Fuck!"

Hearing her swear had never been so erotic before now— but Cloud would be damned if that wasn't a sound he'd love to hear on loop forever. 

Before long, she was close. He could feel it in the quivering of her thighs, the pulsing of her sex. He kept a steady rhythm, and then she was at her climax, falling hard with the rush of sensation and friendly, feel-good chemicals that left her limp and boneless beneath him. 

Perfect for him to continue fucking, now that his cock was hard and leaking again.

"Round two?" he asked, scarcely daring to hope she'd be ready— but then she sat up with a smile and said,

"Hell yeah."

And so it was, over and over, until they were both spent, and Cloud passed the fuck out on her living room floor, satisfied. 

When you woke, it was to an empty floor and no note. You were alone in the place where you'd had the most fantastic fuck of your life. 

Some part of you had known it would be this way. You had only known him for a handful of months, but in that time, you'd learned that Cloud was an avoidant man by nature— and you were doubtless not the first of his hookups to end this way. Still, the idea that he could just leave after such intimacy was… distressing, for some reason. 

Surprisingly, though, that feeling was easy to shake off once you left the dubious comfort of your floor and started planning your work for the week. Blond assholes who happen to give fantastic head amount to very little to a woman on a mission; you thought of him often, but the thoughts were small and benign, always curious and never of hurt or longing, as you had thought they might be. What had happened had simply happened, no more. 

Then Mako Reactor 5 fell to terrorist attacks, and the week went to shit so fast that you got whiplash. 

Before the reactor fell, you had considered not going to the bar that weekend. You didn't need an end-of-the week drink that badly; Cloud could take the hint and take a week off from the bar the next week and you'd never have to see each other again. After the reactor and your subsequent compromised mission, though? The devil himself could be in attendance that day and you'd sit in his lap and sell your soul for a drink. 

So, on Friday, you headed to Hell's Maw as usual. There was a possibility, you knew, of some awkwardness if Cloud was there, but frankly, it wouldn't be the first time you'd avoided an ill-advised hookup in a bar before— surely you could survive this as well. It would just be some weird eye contact and then a little ignoring, and everything would be as good as new.

What you weren't expecting was for Cloud to be perched on your fucking seat again, early and apparently waiting for you. 

"Oh boy," you said to no one in particular— and, as if SOLDIER had given him superior hearing as well as inhuman strength and durability, the bastard immediately looked over his shoulder and met your eyes over the Friday night crowd. On the other side of him, you noticed at least five empty glasses and a half-drunk sixth. They weren't water glasses, either. No, they were short, fat whiskey glasses, and, leaning halfway off of his stool, Cloud looked properly sloshed. 

Really, there was only one respectable thing to do in a situation like this. 

You turned on your heel and left, walking as fast as you could in the opposite direction. 

Would that you could have been faster. You had barely gotten two sidewalk cracks away from the bar when a large, warm hand curled around your arm, stopping you. 

"Cloud, get off me," you huffed, pulling your arm against his unbreakable grip. 

"No," he said simply, and bodily turned you to face him. When he did, he used a bit too much of his strength, and you ended up nose-to-nose, sharing breath.

"If this is about the other night—"

Cloud didn't let you finish. He surged forward, sealing those words with a drunken, sloppy kiss that was somehow still as electric as your first. One of his gloved hands rested at the base of your skull, cradling your head, and the other wandered to your hip, pulling you close enough to feel the growing tent in his pants. 

Heaven help you, but you weren't sure if you wanted to stop him. 

"M'sorry," he said against your lips, pulling away only far enough to speak. "Didn't really mean to do that."

Then what did you mean? you wondered, but before you could ask, Cloud peeled himself away from you until the only thing connecting you was his hand resting on the junction of your neck and shoulder. The new distance, though slight, was jarring. 

"M'sorry," he repeated. "I— we made a mistake."

Oh boy. 

"Spare me the dramatics," you said, tired already. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Cloud. I wasn't expecting anything from you other than what I got."

"S'not that." Cloud averted his eyes, shameful, swaying. "I, uh. Shouldn't have put you in that position."

What, does he think I have carpet burn? You wondered, but then Cloud was looking at you with such raw vulnerability that you couldn't even crack a joke at his expense. 

"I don't regret what we did last week," you told him gently. "I'm sorry if you do, but if this is out of some kind of misplaced honor—"

"I'm involved in things," he told you in a tight voice that felt as if he'd said them before. "Dangerous things."

If there was any relevance of that claim to their current situation, you certainly couldn't find it. 

"You're a dangerous man," you shrugged. "It's one of your better qualities. I'm a dangerous woman myself, so I think that tracks, don't you?"

Cloud shook his head.

“It’s—” he sighed. “It’s complicated.”

If you had learned anything about Cloud, it was that ‘complicated’ was generally code for ‘Shinra’. From there, it didn’t take much to imagine exactly what he meant.

“The reactor,” you hazarded, heart filling with dread. “That was the job Tifa lined up for you. Holy shit, your girlfriend is a fucking eco-terrorist, what the hell—”

“— she is not my girlfriend—”

“Look, pal, that’s definitely not the part of that sentence we need to be focusing on right now.”

You reached out a hand, meaning to reach out and draw Cloud closer. Instead, as you moved forward, you were met with cold steel raised against your neck. Cloud’s eyes were wild with distress and distrust, but the set of his mouth was frozen with coldness that meant he would do what he felt necessary if you pushed him.

“Hey,” you said to him softly. “I’m not your enemy here.”

Slowly, you lifted her hands in surrender. Still uneasy, Cloud lowered his sword. As soon as it was clear of you, you stepped forward into his space, close enough that he could not bring the length of the sword between you. Cloud shifted, trying to move back to where he could use his sword if he needed to, but you stopped him with a hand to his forearm.

“Come home with me,” you said, brushing your thumb over the flesh of his arm. “You’re too drunk to be swinging that thing around, and if you want to talk, it’s best we do that in private. Okay?”

“M’not drunk,” he complained, but the look behind he gave you behind lowered lashes said he didn’t mind going home with you anyway. With swaying movement, he hefted the sword onto his back; once it was secure, he gestured for you to lead the way.

The trip to yours was short and uneventful. Once the door to your home was shut safely behind you, Cloud grabbed you once more, his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. His touch was warm and so, so tempting— but you gently pried yourself away. He was a wreck, and you weren't about to take advantage of that even if it was what you both wanted. 

"Sit on the couch with me," you requested, grabbing his hand. "Let's talk."

As always, Cloud was resistant to the whole talking thing. Instead of poking and prodding, though, you took a different approach this time; you allowed the silence to creep and crawl between the two of you, swishing its tail like some irritated feline, letting it fester until Cloud was ready to bat it away and say what he had come to say. In the meantime, your hands stayed busy, touching, feeling, grounding the man before you. He relaxed into you, muscles loosening; he leaned until his head rested comfortably on your chest. The steady hum of mako buzzed in your head, lulling you almost to sleep— but then, just when you weren't expecting it, Cloud began to speak. 

"I made an oath to someone, a long time ago. "

You pulled away enough to see his face, your mouth agape.

"You're married?"

"What? No!" Cloud made a face of horror and distress. "I— There's a lot of things I don't remember, okay?"

Your brows knit. 

"So… you could be married."

"Oh, leave off of that, will you? I'm not married! I'd remember that if I was."

There was a note of hesitation in his voice that you didn't like. 

"So, this oath," you said, touching the skin of his cheek. "What was it for?"

Cloud shrugged. 

"I only have the vaguest notion. I don't remember the words. It's like— it's like the only way to keep it is to continue fighting, to be in this constant state of war— and yet, that feels wrong, too. It consumes me." He looked down at his hands. "It's like that oath is binding me to something bigger than myself… and as a result, I've gotten mixed up with some pretty dangerous stuff."

"Like?"

Cloud looked at you then, his eyes as heavy as they were beautiful. 

"Like saving the world."

You did your damnedest not to laugh. It was a near thing, but you succeeded— if only by inches. 

"So, let me get this straight… you're now an eco-terrorist because in a time you don't remember, you've taken an oath to save the planet?"

Cloud's jaw locked. 

"It's bigger than that. Much bigger than that. Shinra is corrupt, they kill innocent people— and Shinra's not the only thing." He looked away. "I can't talk about it. It's dangerous. You could get hurt, and the more you know makes you a bigger target."

There it was again, that concern. It had been a long time since someone cared if you were hurt. You tried not to let it take away your objectivity. 

"I assume Tifa knows?"

So maybe your objectivity was a little screwy. Sue about it. 

Cloud grimaced.

"I don't like that any more than you do, but she chose this path a long time ago."

"And Aerith?"

Cloud shook his head.

"She's… insistent."

"So what am I, chopped liver?"

Cloud shook his head.

"This isn't your fight. You aren't involved like they are."

"And I don't have to be for you to tell me—"

"For fuck's sake, just let me keep you safe!" At close range, with his body pressed against yours, you could feel the vibration of his shouting as though it were your own. "Tifa and Aerith, they belong to this world, to this fight— but you belong to me!"

"I don't belong to anyone, hotshot—"

"Exactly!"

You blinked.

"I— I'm not sure I'm following."

A heavy, gloved hand rested on your cheek. You leaned into it, relishing in its warmth. 

"Your soul is your own," Cloud said quietly. "You are the master, the possessor of your own self. You won't die for some cause, won't sacrifice yourself for the greater good. You'll survive. It's all you know how to do."

He tested his forehead against yours.

"I need that. I need you at Hell's Maw every Friday night, sitting in the same seat, drinking the same drink. I need you to talk to me like I'm nothing special, to show me your kindness and your sharpness."

He paused. You waited, teetering on the edge of anticipation, unable to know or even to guess what he would say next.

"And now— now that we've gone this far…" His hand drifted from your cheek to your neck, resting just above the curve of your breast. "I'm afraid of needing that too. I don't want you pulled into my world, and I don't want to need you so badly that—"

I don't want to need you so badly that I'm trapped. 

You understood. It was possible that you understood better than anyone else ever could have. 

"I get it." 

He pulled away, but you didn't allow it. You caught him by the arm, bade him stay with gentle insistence. He allowed it, and you pulled him back to rest beside you, nose-to-nose. 

"I know you, Cloud Strife," you said, summoning the words that had lodged themselves in your chest for so long. "You're like a wild animal. I cannot seek to own you… but if you come and eat from my hand, let me dress your wounds, and rest your head on my lap in times of trouble, I will count myself lucky to have someone so dear to me."

Hot pinpricks burned your eyes. How long have you waited to say something so true, so real? Why did it feel like a confession? 

Cloud didn't seem to notice your distress— or, perhaps it was because he noticed your distress that he leaned forward, slowly, gently, and kissed you chastely on the mouth. You could taste the liquor on his lips; hungering for more, you deepened it, but Cloud kept a steady rhythm, holding you tenderly. 

"Thank you," he said, pulling away. 

"For what?" you laughed. 

"For being here, for taking care of me. For not letting me wander home by myself, drunk and stupid."

"Of course." A smile stretched your face. "Any time."

The two of you stayed there for a long time, sharing breath, exchanging tender touches. Tomorrow, things might change— another reactor might blow, the plate might drop, or Cloud might use up the last of his nine lives— but tonight, nothing existed outside of your too-small couch. Tonight, he was yours, and that was all that mattered. 

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine The Boys using Mesmer to get to know you:

Goes along with this post:

"Do I really have to do this?"

Their looks said everything, though Hughie and Kimiko smiled, as if to say everything was uphill from here. You sat with your head bowed, back arched protectively, watching his hand in front of you. The rest of the team stands around, waiting for you to move. Fuck this, you think, but grabs his hand anyways. You know what Mesmer is seeing, watching, and experiencing. The training, the routines, the drills, the other kids. One by one your class grew smaller, dying from injuries and missions and by your hands, until there were a dozen of you, less than. You grew up. You mastered languages, and fighting skills, and your extensive classes. You were dangerous. You killed without a second thought. You killed because you could, because it was easy and you were meant to do it. Five of you lived to see your twenties. You're not sure how many are left. You might be the only one. You were the best, and though you took pride in it at one point, now all you could see was blood on your hands.

"Happy?" You ask, ripping yourself away from him, from all of them, getting up and storming off. He recited your life, your kills, everything, and they listened, hungry for information. You really weren't lying. All those nights you spent, as a child, no older than ten, bandaging your wounds, stitching yourself up because the adults, your mentors, refused to. Crying for a mother and father who didn't exist anymore. How you learned to stop crying after kills or else you would be punished. Scrubbing the blood from your skin after particularly gory fights. How they tried to kill you back, how close you were to bleeding out all those times. The scars all over your body, across your neck, your arms and legs, stomach and chest. Your face was carved up. Everyone could see. You didn't like seeing them. You couldn't look at yourself in the mirror. He spoke about everything, quickly, emotionless, but you were about to be sick. If this is what it took for them to trust you, they could go fuck themselves.

"Very!" Butcher yells behind your back, and you know he's smiling.

[delicatebarness]

The Mercenary’s Daughter | Prologue

Summary: Lloyd Hansen trained his children to be the perfect weapons. His only girl, the exception, was his favorite and the best.

Warning: Emotional Pressure | Emotional Neglect | Child Training | Physical Intensity | Parental Expectations | Conditional Approval

Word Count: 307

Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: This story came to mind because @lanabuckybarnes and I discussed how Lloyd would react if a baby was left on his doorstep. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

The Mercenary's Daughter: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged | @soelstress

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

“Again,” he commanded, his voice low but unyielding. Filling your lungs, the morning air was sharp and biting– a cold that matched your father's gaze. His hands were clasped behind his back, standing across from you with a steady stance. His eyes scanned your body with critical precision, taking in every detail and making mental notes of every flaw as you gripped the wooden training staff in your small hands. 

You shifted your feet, breathing calmly and bracing for the strike you knew would come. He never held back, not when it came to you– his only daughter, his favorite. He trained you to be better and pushed you the hardest. You had to be faster, and quieter– a weapon sharper than his older children, his sons.

He nodded, signaling for you to begin, and you did. Your small frame moved with precision and instinct, straining every muscle. You kept up with the grueling pace he demanded. Beads of sweat rolled down your forehead, not once did you falter. He expected excellence, so you were nothing less than perfection. 

“You’re not like your brothers,” he said, his tone softer after the hours of drills. Yet, there was still that edge that kept your attention. “You’re sharper. Smarter.” The tiniest glint of pride flashed in his eyes, so brief that for a moment, you doubted if it was real. But, it was still enough. It was everything.

Outside the Hansen family, you were known as “The Child.” A shadow, a whisper. A name spoke in fear. But to your father, Lloyd Hansen, you were his creation– the exception. And, as the early morning sun rose over the estate, a pale light shining over the training yard, the weight of his expectations settled over you. 

You promised yourself one thing at that moment: You would never let him down.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[mariefilms]

╰───► Summer in Europe - e. williams

uno.

HELP PALESTINE JUST BY CLICKING THIS LINK

Pairing- mafia princess and assassin!ellie williams x assassin!black fem reader

Warnings- 18+ MDNI!!!!! angst, smut, references/allusions to murder, dirty talk, pet names ( ma, baby), fingering (r! receiving), squirting, use of strap on, multiple orgasms (2), uhhhh i think that’s it.

Synopsis- you and ellie found love when you were both at your lowest, a summer in rome was one of your best ideas until you got a call telling you to kill the love of your life.

a/n- this is my first time writing smut so don’t be too harsh🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾 (nsfw under the cut) this was originally supposed to be a oneshot but it was getting long so i decided to split it up into to 2-3 parts, i hope you guys like it !!

it was the summer of 2027 when you fell in love with her. you were only supposed to stay in Italy for two weeks before you met her. ellie was captivating, nothing like anybody you’d ever seen before. she was so hooked on you she followed you around like a puppy not knowing what dangers being in your presence would entail. The lavish dates and time you and ellie spent together only progressed your love for each other. unfortunately, you were needed back home. you had to take care of a client even if you wanted to stay in your little fantasy bubble with ellie. the trip wasn't supposed to last this long and sadly, your work was calling you. you’d never abandoned it for this long of a time period. Therefore, it was time to get back to the real world and out of this lovesick haze. ellie decided it was best to treat you to one last dinner before you had to leave even though she never knew if you were coming back. It was one of the best dates you had ever been on since you’d come to rome. ellie made sure your every need was met and she couldn't help but fall into the pit of love deeper and deeper, not knowing how you would crush her heart and she would crush yours.

on your way back home you got a call from your handler, he was seething at your radio silence for the past three months and didn’t want to have to report it to the higher-ups. that would start a worldwide manhunt neither of you wanted to deal with. “seth, it’s fine ok. i just needed a break.and you of all people should know the importance of that.” sighing, you grabbed a glass of champagne that was offered to you by a waiter.

to your luck, he relented on his incessant nagging (it was all in worry for your well-being, he was getting old and he couldn’t keep saving your ass anymore now) and told you about your next job that needed to be done asap. your assignment was to seduce and kill the notorious mob princess and best assassin the world had seen since julio santana, ellie williams. adoptive daughter of joel miller and tess miller.

your heart dropped in familiarity with her name. everything around you became muddled when you realized. you couldn’t believe your luck. it would only be you who’d have to kill the one and the only person who you loved. “ i-i can’t do this one seth.”

“what- why can’t you do it? you’ve never been opposed to taking a job before. what’s wrong about this one!?”

“its a conflict of interest seth! i can’t fulfill an assignment on someone i know very fucking intimately!” you yelled into the phone and throwing your hands up in the air. this was easily becoming one of the worst days of your life, and you’ve had more of those than you could count.

“what a load of bullshit! you know all of your victims intimately that is the whole point of your job y/n!” he yelled back and you tried not to snap at him because he did take very good care of you but you were tired of his shit.” it’s fucking different seth! this isn’t some one night stand type of thing! i fell for her! i cant and wont fucking do it!” you were seething in your seat in the plane trying not to disturb the other passengers.

“i don’t give a shit about that y/n! you will do what needs to be done, you KNOW, the damn rules!” you tuned him out after that. you didn’t want to hear the truth and tried not to think about the inevitable.

seth was rambling in your ear, still going on and on about how you have no choice and the threat of the higher-ups still lingering because of your long absence, and how you fucked up falling in love with someone from the mob. you tried to argue you didn’t know she was from the mob, just rich but he wouldn’t hear it. you could honestly give less of a fuck about the higher ups but you remembered why you were even in this business in the first place, making your decision a pretty easy one. deciding you had enough of his incessant whining you took the job with a broken heart.

it was october when you finally made your way back to italy. you took a month at home of getting your affairs in order to successfully complete this assignment. you cried so much throughout the downtime to the point where you had nothing left in you but deep despair. the urge of going MIA and not completing the mission was strong, but you couldn’t do that, you made a promise and had a job to do. you couldn’t let a measly love affair stop you even if she meant the world to you. you had to keep up your end of the bargain or shit would get messy.

after you landed at the airport you went through baggage claim and made your way to the lobby before you spotted ellie waiting for you. your heart warmed and filled with dread all at once when you saw her. you rolled your suitcase up to her and smiled when she turned to look at you. ellie looked so pretty standing in front of you. she looked at you like you hung the stars. her piercing green eyes were shining with love while she dragged her gaze on you up and down smiling brightly.

“hi baby” she greeted you breathlessly and wrapped her arms around your waist while going in for a deep kiss. you reciprocated instantly, never getting used to the way she made you feel. you broke the kiss and smiled back up at her. “i missed you so much” you whispered into her lips. “me too, ma” she whispered back before kissing you again but this time it was more vigorous. she ran her hands up and down your sides feeling all your curves and committing them to memory. she'd missed this so much, she'd missed you so much. despite the timing of your relationship, she felt a deep connection to you. ellie couldn’t fathom you leaving her anymore after you came back and decided to stay with her. she squeezed you tighter not wanting to let you go (in more ways than one) but knew y’all had to get back so she could help you unpack and finally fuck you like she’d been wanting to.

“let’s get back, wanna show you much i missed you” she whispered in your ear while her hands drifted down to your ass and cupped it through your jeans. you gasped and pushed her off of you while laughing. “have some decency, we're in public ellie!” she rolled her eyes at you before smacking your ass and grabbing your bags. “you wasn’t saying that while i was tonging you down” your face went warm at her words, forgetting how bold she tended to be, not being afraid to speak anything that was on her mind. “ok but that’s completely different than you groping me!” you smacked her arm and she just laughed at your response, pulling you into her while you both walked out the airport and into her car. her driver was waiting outside of it and took your bags from her. he then opened the door so you both could get in.

during the ride back to ellie’s place, your mind couldn’t stop racing. you felt so wrong for lying to ellie like this. acting like you were here in rome to continue your relationship with her but actually on an assignment to kill her. it was weighing so heavy on you that ellie noticed the shift in your demeanor. she didn’t know why you started to feel upset but she had a feeling it was about you being back in rome away from home and familiarity. she had no clue what your real intentions were, she was still under the impression that you were here for her and trying to commit to a serious relationship, not just a fling. ellie didn’t know that you knew what she did for a living and who she was connected to. she prayed you’d never have to see or experience that side of her. when she was handling her business she was a different person. her anger issues peaking and making her seem borderline psychotic. she wasn’t proud of what she did for a living but it’s what she grew up around ever since joel picked her up off the streets, saving her from a piece of shit who didn’t know how to keep his hands off of little girls.

ever since then she vowed to ruthlessly murder anybody who thought it was ok to do anything remotely close to that.

when ellie’s driver finally pulled up to her house your mood had brightened significantly. ellie was trying her hardest to cheer you up during the long drive the best she could and it worked for the most part. you still had a heavy weight on your shoulders from the responsibility of taking ellie’s life but you decided to not let it bother you for the rest of the day. you needed to appreciate all the time you had left with ellie.

ellie’s driver, who you later learned was named jesse, opened the door for you both to get out of the car and go inside.

“hey love, wait inside for me. i need to take an important call real quick.” ellie kissed your cheek before rounding to the other side of the black g-wagon.

you sighed before agreeing to her demand and walked into ellie’s home. it was a black interior and exterior modernesque house that was ducked off from the bustling city of rome. you’d been here many times in the 3 months you first visited but it never failed to take your breath away. jesse brought your bags in while you got settled in. since ellie was outside taking a call you felt this was the perfect time to hide your weapons to lower any levels of suspicion— not that ellie suspected you, you were just paranoid and had a lot of guilt.

luckily you managed to hide them in very obscure places and avoided being seen by jesse and just in time before ellie ended her phone call, dismissed jesse and finally came inside to spend time with you.

she found you in the kitchen and you were praying she didn’t notice how wound up you were. just seconds before she made her way into the kitchen you had hidden a pistol in a compartment behind the oven. you felt like you were sweating bullets and tried to act as normal as possible when she came up behind you wrapping her arms around your waist and giving your neck little pecks. “what are you doing in here baby?” she mumbled into the kisses she was giving your neck, stirring up a sizzling heat in your lower regions.

“nothin’, i just decided that i wanted to cook something today instead of us going out again.” you giggle at her kisses turning ticklish and feeling her smile against your neck while she sways with you in her arms to a random beat in her head.

you turned around in her arms ready to tell her you needed to start gathering the ingredients before she cut you off with a toe-curling kiss.

“i missed you so much baby. that was the worst month of my life” you laughed at her dramaticness. “i know el, it was hard for me too but i’m here now and i won’t be leaving anytime soon.” you were lying to her and it hurt so much but you had to keep up appearances and not alert ellie to anything being wrong with you.

she pulled you into another deep kiss, tongues sliding together and you both moaning into it before you tried to pull back so you could actually start cooking. ellie on the other hand didn’t want to let you go. she could stay kissing you forever but she knew you had to start on the dish you wanted to make and finally broke the kiss not before grabbing your ass and rubbing on it. she had a panty-dropping smirk on her face as she looked at you. she knew the power she had over you and your body and wasn’t afraid to use it.

“ellie, no. move. i’m trying to cook and you tryna fuck me” you were laughing as you kept trying to remove her hands from your ass while she started back kissing on your neck, implementing teeth and sucking your skin, trying to leave her mark on you.

“you can still cook like this” she smirked against your skin at your scandalized gasp.

“ellie you know damn fucking well, move your ass !” you smacked her forearm so she could take you seriously and move.

she gave you one last peck on your lips before letting you get back to cooking, “ok ok fine, but i hope you didn’t forget about what i said at the airport” she whispered breathily in your ear before, once again, smacking your ass and walking out of the kitchen with a proud smile on her face.

“ooh i can’t stand her fine ass !” you bit your lip before whispering to yourself and turning to start cooking one of your favorite dishes from back home that you had a feeling ellie would love.

once you finally got done cooking the jambalaya, you called ellie down while you were making hers and your plate. she kissed your cheek before going to sit at the table, you walking behind her and sitting right across from her at the table. the dinner reminded you of every date ellie took you on at a expensive restaurant, except more intimate and intoxicating.

before digging in you asked ellie to try it and tell you if she liked it. you know she’s never had something like this before so you really hoped she would.

when she took a bite she literally moaned out loud. you busted out laughing at her response, your efforts to conceal it were futile and it came out anyway, “i take it i did good huh?” she nodded her head fervently and started to scarf her plate down.

“wait- el slow down! it’s not going anywhere” you tried to stop her from eating too fast and too much and later having a stomach cramp. “ i can’t stop it’s so good baby. i don’t know how i’ve never gotten to eat this good in my life.” she heaved after a particularly big bite. you covered your mouth trying not to laugh at her appearance after tearing her plate up. the bottom half of her face was covered in the sauce from the jambalaya with little rice pieces, and she was leaning back in her seat trying to catch her breath.

“ellie you have so much shit on your face” you couldn’t hold your laugh in anymore and it finally busted out.

“what? where?” she started wiping everywhere but where she had smudges of sauce on her. “girl- you know what let me get it!” you stood up and walked to ellie’s side of the table before bending down and using your hands to wipe the remnants of sauce and rice crumbs on her face. as you wiped some crumbs off of her lip ellie licks your thumb in while staring deeply into your eyes and giving it a hard suck. “thank you for the meal baby” she smirks against your thumb still resting on your lip.

“fuck it.” you crashed your lips against ellie’s, taking her by surprise. she moaned into your lips before pulling you into her lap so she could kiss you properly. she sucked on your bottom lip and intertwined her tongue with yours, completely tonguefucking your face in an agonizingly rough pace making you grow so wet in her lap. you were a moaning mess and couldn’t control your hips, rutting down against ellie and adding slight stimulation to hers and your clit.

“mm fuck” ellie groaned into your mouth when she felt you start grinding against her. she dragged her hands down your sides, up and down your back, through your braids, and finally landed on your ass. she loves your ass so much it was crazy. she smacked one cheek before making you grind down harder after hearing you whine and whimper into her. you started bucking your hips uncontrollably when she kissed you particularly hard that sent shiver through your body and had you dampening your panties even more.

“fuckkk ellie” you were so needy for her. she’s the only one that’s made you fell this good out of the many nameless and faceless one night stands you’d had in the past. you needed her to do something about the ache in your pussy and you needed it now.

“ellie cmonnnnn, i’m ready” you whined into her mouth trying to move her hand where you wanted her as she started trailing her kisses lower and lower down your neck. suckling on your collarbone and making a dark hickey appear. “i know, baby i know.”

ellie picked you up while you were still situated in her lap. she made her way to her bedroom while she kissed you deeply managing to not hit too many walls on the way. when she entered her room she threw you on the bed before going into one of her drawers and grabbing some lube, her harness and the black long and girthy dildo that was usually attached to it.

you couldn’t believe how fine she was and how lucky you were able to spend time with her, not wanting to sour your mood with the burden you still carried heavily on your shoulders, you pulled ellie by her tattooed arm on top of you so you could kiss her again but she turned down your advances of trying to deepen the kiss, only giving you a couple pecks before she started making her way down your body, the body she was so in love with.

she trailed kisses down your neck and stopped at your boobs, pressing little pecks between them before taking your right nipple into her mouth and trailing her right hand down to the wetness in between your thighs. rubbing your clit through your panties and making you moan lowly out loud. she used her left hand to knead your left nipple before she plopped off your right to give some attention to the left.

you were out of it. face blissed out with no thoughts behind your eyes. all you could think about was ellie and how much you wanted her mouth and fingers all over you. “ellie please. stop teasing and fuck me!” you whined at the stimulation you were receiving. she chuckled at your impatience and ended up giving in to you, she could never say no to your pretty pouty face.

“ok pretty girl, i’ll give you what you want '' ellie gave you one more toe-curling kiss while removing your soaked underwear before dropping down to your gushing pussy and circling her tongue around your clit. you moaned out so loud and it made ellie so wet, grinding down into the mattress while she hooked her hands under your thighs and pushed them into your chest. ellie licked a long stripe up and down your slit before going back to sucking your clit into her mouth.

you were a moaning mess. everything she did to you felt so good to the point of insanity. she was making you feel so fucking good you didn’t know what to do with your hands. deciding on gripping her hair and messing up her sloppily put-up bun, grinding hard into her face. she groaned into your pussy and sunk two fingers into you before curling them and abusing that sweet spot she knew would have you seeing stars. your eyes rolled back as you felt her attack your g-spot. you couldn’t control your sounds at all. she could hear all the little noises your mouth made and loved it. she lifted her head out of your juices to use her other hand to rub on your clit roughly making you jerk in her hold before she held you down. “yeaaaa let me hear you baby. pussys so wet f’ me”

she was easily becoming pussydrunk. the way your cunt gushed out your wetness and started creating a white ring around her fingers that were fucking into you hard and deep. she couldnt get enough.

“fuck- fucking love this pussy baby” she drawled out breathlessly before diving back in and attacking your clit with her tongue.

“tell me whos pussy this is?” she rubbed on your clit hard.

“yours ellie! it’s your pussy, shit!”

you were bucking and spasming as you felt your orgasm crashing down on you. “ellie- mm- fuck fuck, m’ gonna cum, m’ gonna cum ellie!” you screamed out as you felt the knot that had been building in your stomach since she kissed you in that airport lobby burst, your eyes rolled back from the intensity and her refusal to stop rubbing your clit.

“mm- fucking love this pussy. cum on my face baby, fuck- i want it all” she pistoned her fingers into you faster and doubled downed on your clit drawing your orgasm out and making you cry out from overstimulation. “shittttt- that’s it baby” ellie pulled her fingers out of you and sucked on them savoring the taste of you and moaning wantonly around them. she kissed your clit again before sitting up to put her strap on and lube it up.

you were still overstimulated when she slapped it on your clit twice. “mm’ no more el” you tried to run from her but she pulled you back and flipped you on your stomach. “uh uh baby you know i’m not done with you.” she rubbed her fingers in your juices again before lining up and pushing inside of you.

“fuckkkkk—“ she groaned as she sunk her dick into you like she could feel you open up for her and squeeze down when she hit your g-spot again.

you cried out when she was all the way in. you felt so full and good. “fuck ellie!” you whimpered into the pillow as she started thrusting into you.

“mm’ look at you. fuck— pretty pussy wrapping around me so good” she groaned and punctuated her words with a hard thrust spreading your cheeks so she could get a good look at your pussy opening up for her. her thrusts were sending you up the bed and making you almost hit the headboard. she was fucking you sooo good and deep keeping you pinned down to the point where you couldn’t move, all you could do was take her brutal thrusts. “ellieellieellie, i can’t- i cant- fuck!” you felt her brush against your cervix and sobbed into her pillows. you couldn’t think, she was making you feel so good, you pushed your hand back on her stomach to get her to let up but she slapped your hand away and ground deeply into you in response making her feel immense stimulation on her clit from the harness and you felt her deep in your guts your eyes crossed so hard you saw stars.

“nah you can take it shit—baby, stop. fucking. running.” she thrust into you hard following it with a deep grind making you lose your mind. you were a whimpering mess and couldn’t hold your orgasm anymore, only this time it felt more intense and powerful.

“ellie mm’ fuck! m’ gonna cum!” trying to run away from the powerful sensation again. ellie slapped your ass as a reprimand. “stop fucking moving and take it.” she was holding your hips in place and fucking the shit out of you. you couldn’t speak anymore, the only noises coming out of your mouth were little renditions of ellie ellie please! and loud moans and whimpers before your orgasm crashed out of you with a strong liquid. “fuuuckk baby” ellie moaned hard above you, throwing her head back, when she felt your wetness hit her. she ground into you even harder until she was cumming from the friction.

you were spent and didn’t have another orgasm in you. you slumped down into the bed as ellie pulled out of you, discarding the harness and laying down wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close.

she kissed you all over your face and neck whispering sweet nothings. you smiled in her embrace and hugged her tightly. “i missed you so much,” she whispered into your lips before giving you a deep kiss. it was passionate and conveyed her love for you that she was too scared to confess yet. you returned it with the same passion and with a hint of despair. you started to remember the reason you were here in the first place and pulled away from her, not wanting her to take notice in your steadily dropping mood.

unfortunately she did feel your mood change and she looked at you with a question in her eyes, you just shook your head before giving her a peck on the lips and dragging her to the bathroom on your wobbly legs so y’all could clean up. “i fucked the shit outta you huh?” she mocked your words from earlier and grabbed your ass (for the 2726366th time) you swatted her hand out of the way and pulled her into the shower with you.

ellie smiled at you as you began washing eachother. you were in complete bliss and didn’t want this illusion to end but unfortunately time wasn’t on your side and you needed to complete your mission soon or you’d have to deal with so many consequences worse than death.

[j0kers-light]

Hey gorgeous, I was thinking about a storyline where y/n is a trained shooter from England who got the nickname bunny after almost killing all the rabbits in the country for shooting practice, and J recruited her as an assassin. Wouldn't that be so cool I imagine her in the hideout in like PJ's holding a coffee mug in one hand a riffel on her shoulder in the next.

Also I literally worship your work and I hope this finds you in good health 😘😘😘.

Hi hi @i-t--g-i-r-l 🖤✨

Please do not murder me!!! I made you wait since September 😭😭🫣

I wrote this with a severe headache and it turned into a short head canon? Think piece? I dunno!! I couldn’t think of how to extend it further so I kept it as is. Please don’t hate me!

Chaos loves you! If you hate it, I can try again 😞

No one understood why the Boss called in a random mandatory meeting so late in the night. Rules were rules so everyone piled into the commons room to wait for whatever the crazy clown had to say.

The loyal three were already seated in the front in various stages of restlessness. Frost had his arms crossed, already aware of what this meeting was about.

Mac was busy on his phone, reading the latest stock market info while checking his emails. Which left Neo half playing attention as he played a mobile game.

He really wanted to beat this level before Joker came, but that’s wasn’t looking very plausible.

The ‘game over’ screen pulled an annoyed groan from the marksman right as his boss walked into the room. Everyone’s attention turned to J in trepidation.

He could be announcing anything from a random execution to free doughnuts in the kitchen.

“Good evening, uhh gentle..men. I have a big ann-ounce-ment! I’ve ah heard your complaints. We need a new recruit to help lighT-en the load for our dear Neo. Sooooooo, I hired the best assassin I could find!”

Now that got everyone’s attention, including Neo’s.

Another expert assassin? This would be his partner in the field and he wouldn’t accept just anyone. J's choice would be interesting.

It was only natural that Neo became star struck when a beautiful woman shuffled into the meeting room holding a, “I’m not yelling, I’m British” mug with a polished riffle slung over her shoulder.

You ignored the shocked expressions in the room in favor of the kitchenette in the corner.

You took your sweet time looking around but you came up short of what you wanted. They had an impressive coffee machine, but no kettle. It was only then did you glance up and acknowledge your new Boss and all the men staring at you.

Joker knew what was coming when you arched an eyebrow. “Where’s the bloody tea? You wangle me ‘ere an’ skim on my essentials?”

The room was silent. Your thick English accent and appearance had everyone speechless.

You were a sight for sore eyes at 1am. Your fuzzy pjs had cute bunnies on them and you completed the look with matching slippers, all the while going off about tea in a room full of criminals. This was straight out of a fever dream.

Joker didn’t seem bothered. “Hehe, gentleman, I’d like you to meet our newest recruit, Bunny!”

Someone in the back coughed. Mac shook his head and continued scrolling on his phone, whereas Neo was still too awestruck to speak.

How did Joker managed to get you stateside, much less on his payroll? You refused to work for anyone so the rumors went.

You didn’t like being ignored and tipped your riffle to point it at Joker. The entire room gasped at your audacity. “Are you gormless, mate?”

Before Joker could figure out what you were saying, Neo finally came to his senses. He rushed forward, putting himself in between you and an angry Joker.

“Sup, it’s nice to meet you in person, Y/n. I studied all of your kills.”

Now that got Mac’s attention from the stocks. Neo being respectful? Mac and Frost shared a look. You seeing this?

You were rather impressed yourself. “You must be that Neo lad J spat on ‘bout.”

You set your mug down and offered him your hand. “My reputation crossed the pond eh?” You asked. Neo was cheeky and kissed your offered hand instead of shaking it.

“You kiddin'? You're practically famous! You single-handedly almost drove the bunny population to extinction in York. Your range is sick! And your confirmed kill list? D__n, Ma. I’m more than a fan.”

You turned to J smiling, “I like ‘tis one.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Kiss Me or Kill Me

Requested Here!

Pairing: John Casey x fem!assassin!reader

Summary: You fell in love with Casey, but left him to go back to work. Two years later, he gets an assignment to take out an assassin nearing the Intersect. You're close again, and Casey must decide whether to do his job, or give you another chance.

Warnings: mentions of assassinations and injuries, r calls Casey "Case" a few times, angst, fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

A/N: I got the title idea from U2's Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me. Also, there is a criminal lack of Casey gifs.

“The sun’s coming up, Case,” you whisper, trailing your finger over his jawline. “You’re missing it.”

“It’ll still be there later,” he grumbles.

He turns toward you and throws a muscular arm over your waist. You chuckle at his insistence to keep you close, but you love it just as much as he does. Since the moment you ran into one another on the beach two months ago, you were drawn in. He’s impossible to forget, and you fell in love with him in a moment. You’ve been living in paradise since.

But, unfortunately, you have a life and a job back in the real world. You push the unwelcome reminder from your mind and focus on the man beside you. Leaving him will hurt, will tear a piece of your heart out and toss it into the crystal-clear blue sea outside your window. So, focusing on the here and now is the only way you can keep living.

“I’ve moved around a lot, but I’ve never been somewhere as beautiful as this,” you admit. “Do you think I’ll ever get tired of the view?”

Casey shakes his head, and as you look into his eyes, you know he’s right. You won’t forget him or this relationship, just as he won’t forget you. Despite spending every waking moment together for the past weeks, neither of you has mentioned what you do for work. It’s best that way, you think, since you’ll have to return to work soon enough anyway. Sitting beside you, Casey thinks something similar.

“Take me to the beach, Case?” you ask.

You punctuate your request with a slow kiss, and you can practically feel his ‘no’ weakening beneath you. He groans when you pull back but instructs you to get ready regardless.

“I love you,” you say as you stand.

“I love you,” he replies.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk away, and you wonder if they’ll feel different when you walk away forever.

“Ma’am? This was dropped off for you,” the waiter says as he hands you an unmarked envelope.

Three months. Your break between jobs ends abruptly as you sit across from Casey, the man you love. Ignoring your shaking hands, you lay the envelope aside and force a smile onto your face.

“Bad news?” Casey guesses.

“It’s, uh, a work thing,” you explain, unwilling and unable to lie to him.

“Where’s work?”

“Depends. I travel and go to different places based on my assignments. I’ll look at it later.”

“So, you’re leaving.”

You look around, willing yourself not to get emotional in front of so many people. The restaurant is open on the beach, but you feel trapped.

“I am,” you whisper. “Can we talk about it later, though?”

“I don’t see a point,” Casey grumbles as he stands.

He leaves money on the table to cover the bill, and you watch as he leaves. When he reaches the sand, you snatch the envelope up and run after him. You press your hand against his back as you attempt to cut him off and make him stop. It doesn’t work, and you end up pushing against his chest as you walk backward to match his steps.

“Casey, I never wanted it to end like this. I didn’t want it to end at all. That’s why I didn’t bring it up. Part of me hoped this would never come and it could just be me, you, and this island forever,” you explain.

Casey shakes his head, but his hands leap up to catch you before you can stumble over a piece of driftwood. His jaw is tense, and you hate that you’re no longer in a position to hold his cheeks and kiss him until he relaxes.

“Please don’t let it end like this,” you beg softly. “I love you, I meant that, and I still do. So… why don’t we just leave this here? This relationship stays on this island, and if, someday, we can come back, you won’t hold this against me.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Casey replies.

“It can! It can, Case. Just tell me that you don’t hate me… please.”

“We’ll leave it on the island,” he agrees. “But you and I both know it will stay here.”

“Maybe, but it’s better than tossing it into the sea. You’ll always be my favorite boyfriend.”

Your attempt to lighten the mood works, though you only know because Casey’s fingertips pull the fabric of your outfit gently.

“I love you, Casey,” you promise again.

“I love you,” he replies. “But I wish I didn’t.”

Hours after you leave, Casey sits at the shore and stares at the horizon. His phone rings, and when General Beckman mentions a plane ticket to Los Angeles, he says goodbye to everything he has grown to love and leaves your relationship where it will rest for eternity.

2 Years Later

“Bartowski!” Big Mike yells. “Where’s John?”

“Uh, he’s on his break,” Chuck answers. “Why?”

“Nerd Herd call, need you to take him with you.”

“Take John? Why?”

“Because I said so! Find him and go!”

Chuck nods before he walks to the break room. It’s empty, as expected, so Chuck continues toward Castle. He moves down the stairs quickly but comes to a stop when he sees Casey leaning against a desk with his head down.

“Casey? You alright?” Chuck asks nervously.

“Fine,” Casey answers shortly as he stands. “What do you want?”

“Big Mike wants you to go out on a Nerd Herd call with me.”

Casey nods and gestures for Chuck to lead the way. Chuck shakes his head, though, put off by the lack of argument and grunting.

“What’s going on with you?” Chuck inquires.

“Nothing,” Casey snaps. “Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

When Casey returns to his apartment after work, he collapses into his favorite chair and sighs. There’s a picture of a beach hanging on the wall, and he stares at it as he remembers his earlier conversation with Beckman.

“A new assignment?” Casey asks.

“An additional mission, Major Casey. The agency has located an assassin in Los Angeles. As far as our intel shows, there is no immediate threat to the Intersect, but she is closer to your operation than we would prefer,” General Beckman explains.

“Who’s the target?”

General Beckman says a name as a picture appears on the screen.

“Take her out and protect the asset, Major Casey.”

Casey can still see the picture in his mind. You look almost the same as you had on the island, minus the tan and the lovesick smile he remembers. Casey knows he should be angry with you for keeping your job a secret, but he did too. Worse, he already knows that he won’t be able to do his mission, not without a better reason than being in the same city as Chuck Bartowski.

First, though, Casey has to find you, and that’s something he is confident he can do. He tears his eyes from the picture of the beach where he last saw you to look at the files the NSA sent over. They’ve been watching you, or trying to, for weeks. You have one constant, a beach-themed restaurant at the city limits. It’s a dive, and Casey shakes his head because he knows you must love it. You were good at finding hidden gems, and for a brief, brilliant moment, he was one of those gems you held close. And then you left him, to go back to being an assassin, he realizes now. Yet, despite knowing how much blood you must have on your hands, Casey still feels something when he looks at you. Something he thought he lost long ago, even before your whirlwind romance in paradise.

“I have to go,” Casey announces. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

He rushes out of Ellie and Devon’s apartment. Beckman’s message has a location and your name, and he runs to his Crown Vic to get to you.

As he looks through his rifle scope from a building across from you, his finger hovers over the trigger. His mission would be over in a split second, yet he can’t bring himself to touch the trigger. He has options: he could lie and say you were already gone; he could do his job and kill you, or simply arrest you, let you go free… or he could approach you to talk before he makes a decision. You promised to keep loving him, and he shouldn’t remember that. Casey is trained to do his job, take the shot, and move on. But he already knows you are impossible to move on from.

Before Casey can decide what to do, you shoot. He swings his gun to find your target through his scope. He sees a man lying in a parking garage down the street.

“Nice shot,” he mumbles.

The man looks familiar, Casey thinks as he appraises your work. Recognition hits suddenly and powerfully, and Casey rushes to locate you again. Your previous spot is empty, and there’s no sign of you on the roof. You took out a Fulcrum agent and left. Simple, effective, job done. Casey has to find you again, but this time, he knows what to do when he does.

“Just tell me what I need to know,” you demand.

Your voice is muffled through the long-distance listening device. Casey watches you interrogate the Fulcrum agent, impressed by the fighting skills you demonstrated to detain him. Now, you press him for answers. You’re an assassin, and no matter how much he hates Fulcrum, Casey can’t let you kill this man. You lean over the man, laying your hand on the back of the chair he is tied to, and ask him again to answer your question. He shakes his head and the hand closest to you flinches. With a shrug, you step back from the man and slide your hand into your pocket.

Casey aims his rifle and exhales deeply as he depresses the trigger. A small puff of dust and debris explodes from the brick wall when the bullet makes impact. Casey doesn’t see it, however, as he lowers his hands and drops his head away from the scope.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before someone lays a hand on his back. In any other moment, he would turn and begin fighting, but he recognizes the touch, even after years apart.

“We need to go,” you urge.

Casey doesn’t speak, but he gathers his things and follows you. Something he should have done before.

In a safe house deep in the Angeles National Forest, you sit on the foot of a bed and look up at Casey. Neither of you has spoken, but Casey’s pacing leads you to remain silent.

He stops and looks away from you to say, “You’re an assassin.”

“I am,” you admit. “And you’re…”

“NSA,” he grunts. “I’ve been protecting an asset here in LA. You got too close.”

“Fulcrum is targeting your asset,” you say, leaning back against your hands. “I was hired to trace them and take out their leader, but it’s a pyramid scheme of conspiracy theories. Supercomputers, no clear leader… But they’re dangerous, and when I heard chatter about the ‘Intersect’ in Los Angeles, I knew this was where I needed to be.” You pause and evaluate Casey’s rigid body language before you add, “I didn’t expect to run into my favorite boyfriend again.”

“How long have you been an assassin?” he asks, rather than acknowledge your comment.

You know what he’s really asking, Is that why you left me? “A while. I went to Amsterdam for a job after the island. Fulcrum’s kept me busy since then.”

Casey nods and reaches for his phone.

“You’re turning me in?” you ask softly.

“No.”

His one-word answers make you smile. You missed everything about him but the way he communicates is special. Though you doubt you’ll ever hear him say the three words he said last time you were together again, he tells you plenty without monologuing.

“Then… Casey, is there any chance we could, you know, finish what we started on the island?”

“You don’t even know me,” he argues. “I was sent to kill you.”

“So, no. Got it. In which case, maybe you should call your-“

“I didn’t say no,” Casey interrupts.

“You have to do something!” you point out, raising your hands as you sit up.

“The CIA will likely be interested in someone with your skill set. Given that you’re open to doing things for government pay,” he mumbles the last part, but you catch it and smile.

“If I say yes to that, will you say yes to my offer?” you ask as you stand.

Casey huffs quietly. He can’t deny you, even if he wanted to. If he can’t convince you to start working with the law, for the same reasons as before, then he’ll be putting a target on your back. The NSA will send someone who will do the job without a second thought. You slide a paper out of your pocket and into his as he thinks. Intel, he assumes, from the Fulcrum agent you questioned.

“So, was it worth it?”

You lay your hands on his chest as you ask, but his mind races with questions about how it will work. Being with you on this side of paradise will be hard, but not impossible.

“What? Leaving?” Casey questions.

“No,” you tilt your face, prepared to kiss him regardless of his answer. “Taking a shot at me.”

“I wasn’t aiming at you.”

“I am.”

You kiss Casey, and the safehouse around you disappears as you return to paradise. Being in his arms takes you back to the island, and you will never walk away again. Casey won’t let you, he decides as he pulls you closer. The relationship you left on the island waited within both of you, and you kept your promise to keep loving him. Even if that means leaving the private assassin business to work for less pay, because you get to stay close to Casey. If that’s even his real name.

[demigoddessqueens]

VM + Cassandra with a Assassin's Creed!S/o. Where they seem them do the leap of faith for the very first time.

Nothing says “I love you” than showing your s/o your most grandiose rite of passage

Vex’ahlia - half surprised half nervous for you on the final landing

Keyleth - wide eyed wonder as your robes billow against the wind when you soar

Cassandra - audibly gasps in amazement as you jump off a building, not realizing her heart was beating

Grog - loudly exclaiming when he sees you soar off, wants you to teach him as well

Pike - for a second, she swears you look like Sarenrae’s symbol and she’s fascinated by how you maneuver

Scanlan - the robes, the style, the aesthetic and air that surrounds you! Heart eyes galore! Please teach him!

Vax’ildan - you look otherworldly to him, like something mythic, and it feels as if he has a kinship with you (mostly the stealth)

Percy - at first he thinks it’s for show until he sees how flawlessly you carry yourself through it all to stick the landing, then he’s amazed

[ronearoundblindly]

🙃 Lloyd Hansen……

Someone To Share In My Suffering Lloyd Hansen x gn!reader

Warnings for mentions of blood/violence/death (gang, it's f***ing Lloyd, so that seems obvious), bad language, and this is kinda dark but again Lloyd + suffering + duh. WC 476

“Fuck you.”

Lloyd can’t feel his legs. Your knife got his spine—severed likely. The shared target lies dead across the room. He did it. Lloyd Hansen killed that fucker, and you stabbed Lloyd in the fucking back.

So he shot you.

You don’t get the glory or the bounty. Fuck you. You don’t get to step over Lloyd as he bleeds out. You don’t get to walk away with a fourteen-million-dollar corpse.

“You’re—“ you cough, sputtering red, the bullet-punctured lung collapsing “—such a dick.”

He smirks, licking the taste of copper from his lips.

There’s furniture that blocks his view of you crumpled to the floor. He’s not surprised—he was entirely surprised—that his last-second aim successfully took you down, but now his paralyzed form can’t turn to see why your grunting and groaning draws nearer.

It feels like minutes, excruciatingly annoying minutes of you bitching and inching across the floor. He wouldn’t be shocked if you did a drive-by of the hideously antique couch for a pillow to smother him with. Fuck you. He’ll fight back. He still has use of his arms. Right?

Lloyd grips at the gun still clutched to his chest. He checks the magazine. Shit. Use of his arms but no bullets. Shame. He’d like to put one right between your eyes as he sees you haul yourself closer and closer, flopping unceremoniously in the forked rivers of blood between you.

Your breathing comes in hideous, crackling wails. That better not be the last fucking sound he hears. Jesus. He can’t fucking die next to a rival…although anything is better than you winning…still he hates that awful noise.

Luckily, the racket softens.

Good.

Fuck you.

His fingers are going numb now.

Except that’s not numbness; it’s the absence of all other sensation than the gentle cover of your trembling, weak hand settling over his.

“Don’t go soft on me,” he groans, “doesn’t suit you.”

“I…kno—kkhhuk—“ a bubble of strain bursts between your words “—dick move.”

Some focus slips from Lloyd’s eyes, gray wrapping the edge of his vision. He’s surprised by how warm your skin radiates compared to the cool metal of the gun in his other. By reflex, his fist twitches to encase your fingers.

He considers this like the handshakes exchanged at the end of his football games. Good game. Good game. He wins. Even when the team loses, Lloyd Hansen always wins.

Fuck you. He never loses. You…

The quiet shouts at him. No irritating sounds. No racket.

He turns with difficulty, the gray veil draping over the world, but he can see right between your blank eyes a relaxed inanimacy.

It’s sort of beautiful, if he thinks about it, dignified, striking.

He can’t move anymore. He can’t feel your hand or his.

Good game.

“Night night, sunshine.”

from this game of "Comfort My Characters"

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

tagging some self-described Lloyd bitches... @lokislady82 @yiiiikesmish @petalj 

[sunflowersoldat]

Blood In The Water Master List

Main Master List

Series Summary: Spin-off to All is Fair. Mob syndicates are yours and your partner's specialty. They don't call you the Sharks for nothing. There is blood in the water in New York City, not only is know Mob affiliate Steve Rogers missing, but the two other Mob bosses died in a huge shootout last year. It is up to you and your partner to uncover the truth, but not all is as it seems.

Series Warnings: 18+! Mentions of blood and violence, bad language words, smut, manipulation, gaslighting, death, trauma, please follow the warnings for each chapter. There are chapters with brutal and dark themes, please read at your own discretion, warnings will be before each chapter!

Pairing: Mob!Buckyx FBI Agent!reader

Chapters are in chronological order.

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

[lokidokieokie]

The Seduction Game Masterlist

Summary: As two deadly assassins, you and Loki are hired to kill each other. However, when you meet, you can’t resist using your seductive tactics on each other, leading to a dangerous game of desire and deception.

Pairing: Assassin!Loki x Assassin!Reader

Warning(s): mild violence, sexual tension, language

Based on this prompt: Characters A and B are both assassins and are hired to kill each other, they both use seduction as their main tactic

Chapter 1 | A Game of Seduction

Chapter 2 | coming soon

A/N updates for this will be sporadic; chapters will come out whenever they come out ❤️

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine being an assassin and confiding in Butcher:

Requested: anon / Going along with this post and this post:

"Another nightmare?"

"Mhm." You're exhausted. Night after night, you relive those years again. The other kids, the sounds of them crying, dying, the monotone voices of your mentors congratulating you year after year for making it through. The bodies you left behind. Politicians, Supes, royalty. They were the wealthiest, most powerful people in the world, and you had their blood on their hands. It wasn't so bad in the moment. It wasn't bad until you got out. Until you realized just what you'd done. Outside of the bubble, outside of that place, you realized just how awful and disgusting and shameful your actions were. It was unforgivable. You were a monster. They made you into a monster and the worst part of it was you liked it. You were good at it. The best. It's what you were born for.

"It can't be worse than what I've done." He smiles. It's a joke, but you're not laughing. "Come on, kid, talk to me." Billy sits beside you on the couch, the two of you on either end. You and Billy have grown close, and yet you were still so far away. When you had nowhere else to go, he let you stay at his place. He wasn't expecting the floorboards creaking as you paced the place wall to wall. Haunting like a ghost. He wasn't expecting the screaming in the middle of the night from the terrors. He wasn't expecting how closed off you were afterward, spiky and cold. Defensive. He tried to make the situation lighter, but you were so serious. So hurt. It was still too fresh.

"It's bad, Butcher."

[delicatebarness]

The Mercenary’s Daughter | Chapter One

Summary: Nick Fowler is tasked with the elimination of a well-protected weapons broked. He learns that the target may be connected to Lloyd Hansen.

Warning: Implied Violence/Assassination | Underground Dealings | Mention of Weapons | Organized Crime | Corruption

Word Count: 685

Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: The book club read the prologue of Cry Baby back to me today so out of embarrassment, I wrote another chapter of this. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

The Mercenary's Daughter: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged | @soelstress | @that-one-fangirl69

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

Neon and noise filled the city, but Nick Fowler tuned it all out as she stood in the small, dimly lit bar on the edge of town. He hated meeting in a crowded area, but his handler insisted on meeting face-to-face for this mission. Nick wasn’t in the business of asking questions.

The door creaked open, and a man sat on the stool beside him—a middle-aged, cheap-suited, and slight-framed man—Nick’s handler, Elijah. He always had a way of blending into the background. No one would give Elijah a second glance, which was exactly why he was good at what he did. 

“Fowler,” Elijah greeted, placing a thick envelope on the bar with a nod. 

“Clarke,” Nick replied, side-eyeing the envelope. It was always business with the pair, no small talk or pleasantries. 

Sliding the envelope closer, Elijah tapped it once with his finger. “We need someone with your particular skill set. A high-profile target.” 

Nick flipped through the papers inside as he lifted the envelope. His blue gaze scanned the contents. It included a name, blurry surveillance photographs, and a list of recent movements– the standard information. He knew this target was protected, well protected, and heavily involved in the underground dealings overseas. 

“The weapon broker?” Nick asked, his voice flat as he paused on a few details in the file. 

“Among other things,” Elijah replied. “Supplying hardware to the groups we try not to speak of. And, other intel suggests there are plans of a major deal within the next month, and we want to intercept him… discreetly.” 

Already mapping the logistics in his mind, Nick nodded along. “Where is he?”

“France, there’s a private compound in Chantilly. Security is tight– high walls, and heavily armed guards. No one gets in or not without the right level of clearance.”

Nick took a sip of his drink, raising his brow with a smirk. “Sounds like my kind of job.” 

Elijah’s expression remained serious. “Fowler, this isn’t a typical job. A source says the broker is working closely with someone we’ve been watching– Lloyd Hansen.” 

Something shifted in Nick’s expression as he looked up. Lloyd Hansen was a whispered name within their circles and an air of mystery and menace. He was a dangerous man to cross– a former military contractor, rumored to have high-level contacts and a network of operatives. 

“Lloyd’s got a stake in this deal?” Nick asked, intrigued more than ever, now. 

“We aren’t sure for now,” Elijah retorted. “It is reported the broker is close to him. It’s believed that if we can take the broker out, it could disrupt any of Hansen’s plans and force him to make a move.” 

The pieces of the mission slotted into place in his mind as Nick processed the intelligence. He had heard all of the rumors, hundreds of times– the elite soldiers who were trained to move in shadows, their loyalty bound only to him. Most governments could only dream of the kind of network he had created, and Hansen was a master at wielding it like an empire. 

“So I go in, eliminate the broker, and see if Mustache rattles?” Nick questioned, more to himself than Elijah. 

“Exactly,” the man replied, his voice steady. “We hope that if Hansen is invested, he’ll come out of the shadows.” 

Closing the file, and placing it back in the envelope, Nick gave Elijah a brief nod. “Consider it done.” 

“Good.” Elijah narrowed his eyes. “And Fowler– watch your back with this one. Lloyd Hansen is not the kind of man to take such interference lightly.” 

A smile tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “I’m counting on that.” 

Elijah rose, leaving the bar without another word and disappearing into the crowded city. Rubbing his hand down his face, Nick let the weight of the mission settle over him. France, a fortress compound, and a target tired to one of the most dangerous men. The job was risky, there was no denying that. But, that was what made Nick interested.

Pocketing the envelope, the agent finished his drink and slipped out. He had a flight to catch.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[serotonins-stuff]

He isn't the type to let you bend over to pick something up in peace.

As soon as he sees your upper body go down, your ass perched perfectly in the air, he can't help but appear behind you all of a sudden. Hand reeled back, and bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

Just when you notice the devious presence behind you, a loud slap echoes from your right cheek and you fall forward from the impact.

The recoil traveled throughout your entire leg, and he couldn't feel more proud of himself in that moment.

"Ow!" You winced, looking back to see a smug look on his face "Did you have to do it that hard?"

"Listen sweetheart" he chuckled, before bending down to place you over his shoulder "If you're gonna wear that around the house you can't expect me not to touch"

"That was not just a touch" you whined, still feeling the harsh sting your behind has been granted with.

"Awww, then let me rub it better yeah?"

GOJO, TOJI, geto, Sukuna, Bakugo, HAWKS, dabi, KARMA, kurroo, Bokuto, Atsumu, HANMA, BAJI, Mikey, RAN, Tengen

[heartfullofleeches]

[Tw: Suicidal Reader]

Femboy Assassin Yan: This can't be accurate... You ordered a hit on yourself??

Suicidal Darling: I'm too scared to do it myself, but... I'm even more afraid of being alive when I'm all alone and have been that way my whole life..

Femboy Assassin: ...

-

Femboy Housewife Yan: How are you feeling today, Sweetie?

Darling, wrapped in a blanket: Bad, but.. a little better that I was.. Is that okay?

Femboy Housewife Yan, kissing their forehead: It's a start, and that's all that matters.

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.