#i want to think that sniper's stupid piece of hair on the back is a mullet

[homkamiro]

More sniper I beg of you

I picked up a pencil and drew something today!! Finally!!!

[ghostedgrim]

She's All That .pt.2

MDNI!!

Pt.1. Pt.2.sfw version. Request page. Masterlist

Warnings⚠️:Jealousy, (i recently finished a 700 page dark fantasy book, so that kinda effected my writing) fighting, a graphic fighting scene, injuries, death, fluff, smut written by a virgin 🧚‍♀️ ✨️

The sounds of grunts, and fists connecting with leather echoes through the room as I hit the punching bag over, and over. It's been a month, I haven't talked to James once, nor have I talked to y/n either. No matter how hard I try, I can spot her from across the room, yet she ignores me so easily. Now that I've dated her, every guy around seems to finally notice she exists and they all want a damn piece of her.

"Eric!" I turn around to see Max approaching, my shirt and jacket in his hand. I back away from the bag, and wipe some of my sweat off my face with my hand towel. "Why weren't you at the meeting this afternoon?"

I hold back a groan and turn to Max, "I highly doubt I would've had any important input on how to handle rowdy Factionless when I only handle the affairs inside Dauntless, and our alliance with Erudite."

"Eric, I don't know what has gotten into you, but if you miss another damn meeting, or get to work late again you'll be kissing your position as a Dauntless leader goodbye and living with the Factionless." Max's tone is firm leaving no room for argument or question of a bluff. Fuck.

"My apologies sir, I'll get my act together. I will see you at Erudite tonight." Max fists my shirt and jacket tighter in his hand and punches them into my chest.

"Good, cause you're on very thin ice and summer is fast approaching." I grab my clothes before he can drop them, and watched with a cold glare as he left. I drop my clothes back onto the chair I initially set them on and resumed punching the bag. The bruises decorating my body, curtesy of Four, hurt like Hell, and I revel in it.

Kai, green hair, snakebite peircings, no tattoos, and ironically he's a tattoo artist. I swear he took the job simply because he's a damn coward. I don't understand what y/n sees in him, and yet somehow she chooses to date him of all people. Kai is docile, timid, and to be honest if it weren't for the fact he killed three people during initiation this year you'd think he'd belong in Amity.

Jealousy is a poison that I fall victim to every time, and watching her fawn over him makes my blood fucking boil. Kai killed three initiates so he wouldn't get kicked out of initiation. He was a weak coward, but something about him screams danger. Throughout the time I had taught him he was a predator, doing what's needed to survive while dressed in sheep's clothing. Ironically enough he also takes up the job of defending snipers. I have no doubt he took the job because he's almost never called out onto the field, and people in that position could go their whole lives without once getting in a fight with enemies.

It's stupid because here I am, in the middle of an important meeting and all I can focus on was the image of her grinding against Kai on the dance floor. It should've been me, not that creep. Just from imagining it I have to subtly adjust my pants. God I would love to just toss Kai over the chasm and-"

"Eric." Max's tense tone finally breaks me free of my thoughts. "How do you think we should handle the situation."

I pause. What situation? This meeting... it was about Factionless starting to get too rowdy or whatever. "Which part of the situation? The Factionless are acting out, what are the believed causes, how much risk are the Abnegation who help them are in? The Factionless are bigger than all of our factions combined." Good enough save... I hope.

Max rolls his eyes. Shit.

"So far it's only a small group," I look up at Maverick as he speaks, "and we're yet to see them attack the Abnegation. All the Factionless have done so far is raid five Amity trucks, with only two Amity injured so far. There does appear to be someone organizing their attacks. Kevin Atos, Divergent, and has been evading our capture for the past few months since the Choosing Ceremony." Maverick runs a tattooed hand through his firey hair, then looks back through the documents.

"How do we know it's Kevin? Is he taking part in the raids, do we see him at any points in the raid?"

Jade then scowls at me accusingly, her blue eyes like bullets. She flips her black hair off her shoulder, "Are you implying Kevin is innocent?"

I grimace, "Hardly, I'm simply asking for how we know he takes part in these raids. More specificly, will we need to draw him out. We have seven extremely skilled snipers, meaning we finally have an opportunity to take him out. Without a leader the raiders will temporarily be distraut. That's when a special ops team swoops in and captures everyone who took part in the raids. From there we interrogate, and capture all the Factionless who aided the raiders. Then-"

"Whose to say the entirety of the Factionless don't join up in arms and rebel as a whole. Those raiders could become martyrs," Jade interrupts.

I roll my shoulders and crack my knuckles. "Well maybe if you didn't interrupt I could get to that. Yes we will execute all the Factionless we deemed guilty. However, those raiders had weapons, and sure they could've scavanged them, but it's extremely possible a Dauntless member could be helping them."

Jeanine finally speaks up, "If you find someone guilty we could then hack the records, make everyone who researches the situation think the traitor is divergent."

Max nods in agreement with the Erudite leader, "It's very likely the traitor is Divergent anyway. And if we don't find anyone guilty, we'll just find someone suspected of being Divergent, Erudite will alter the evidence."

While useful to our cause, framing someone of Divergentence, especially if they're 100% innocent, put a foul taste in my mouth. "What if someone from Erudite also helped coordinate the attacks, or help the raiders get weapons. Kevin came from Amity. He may be smart, but not that smart. Either way, we hunt down everyone who was involved, we'll check each faction if we have to, there must be at least one faction traitor, wether we make up one or not. The Factionless will learn their place, and they won't question our authority or justice." The other Dauntless leaders, Maverick, Jade, Max, Mira all pitch in bouncing ideas around. In the end they settle on my plan.

"Y/n, we need to talk." She turns to me with a hard glare, the squad she's training look absolutely exhausted. Ever since we broke up she been training her squads thrice as hard, especially James.

"If you've come to apologize again I'm not listening."

"It has nothing to do with that."

She turns to the five squads infront of her and orders them to hold a plank position until she returns. Absolutely evil, hot though.

We walk out into a more secluded area. "Talk." She commands.

"Factionless have been raiding Amity trucks, we need a skilled sniper to kill their leader."

"At ease!" She shouts towards the gym and I cam hear groans of relief from within. "It'll be nice to get out of the facility. When?"

"Four days from now. I'll be leading the attack, you'll be positioned in a skyscraper overlooking the Amity route where the attacks happen, we'll have a second sniper positioned further down the street near the corner just in case. The second you shoot Kevin Atos me and my men will dive in to apprehend the raiders, disable anyone who tried to run and any vehicles they try to use."

She crosses her arms, she's tense and i can tell by the steel gaze in her beautiful eyes I'm the reason. "Whose assigned as my guardian?"

The name tastes like bile and sulfur in my mouth, "Kai. That's all you need to know for now. Training will be in the southern gym, floor 02, at 0400. You're dismissed."

She turns, sharp and quick, her braid almost smacks my face. I try to turn away, to walk back to my office but I can't. I watch with absolute admiration as this powerful, amazingly smart woman walks away from me. For some reason it hurts, and a part of me that I have long tried and failed wants to pull her into my arms, to finally kiss her, and hold onto her and never let go.

I'm the first person in the gym the next morning. I wear only black sweatpants, no shirt or tank top. I take my time preparing the map, equipment, and warming myself up. Y/n is the first to arrive, soon followed by the three squads I had chosen for this mission. Her eyes drop to the fresh ink peeking over my waistband on my hip and I smirk. As much as I'd love to tease my ex, I have more pressing matters to focus on.

"Everyone at attention please! I will go over this plan only three times followed by four hours of training! Afterwards I'll quiz each of you on the plan and anyone who gets it wrong will stay an extra hour to clean this gym!" I point at the map set up on the board beside me. "Mrs. Dove our first sniper will be located of the 13th floor of this building here. Mr. Rivers," I point at Kai, "you are assigned as her guardian. She dies, you better be dead too. Mr. Bown you will be located on the 15th floor of this building here," I point at the building on the corner of the street. My lecture continues for another fifteen minutes before I finally assign everyone to their respective workouts.

Kai pales as I step onto his mat. "If you're gonna be a guardian you have to be prepared for hand-to-hand combat. Sure, you were decent during initiation but I haven't seen you fight since. Knock me down and I'll let you leave."

The only image better than my fist kissing Kai's jaw was the image of my beloved dagger asleep in my arms while wrapped in my hoodie. I must give the boy credit, he can take a punch, however he isn't very good at giving them. I'm grounded where I stand while Kai is light and moves around, he favors deceit in his attacks then hitting anywhere that's soft and sensitive. But that means nothing when you're hitting stone. Kai may land a few hits but I've barely moved. Jaw, gut, waist, back of the knees, this idiot barely knows how to fucking block!

I sweep Kai onto his ass yet again. "You're going to get her killed! Do you realize just how fucking pathetic you are! If trouble comes your way and you fail to protect her I will take sweet joy in killing you slowly," I seethe.

It was like something flipped in Kai, one moment he's a doe and the next a rabid dog. Kai movies faster than earlier but his movements are feral. A punch to my throat and I choke. His hands wrap around the crown of his skull and my face kisses his knee. I'm shoved to the floor. Punch after punch this kid doesn't stop.

I barely process someone pulling him off me.

"Eric!" It's muffled like I'm underwater.

I wrapped in someone's arms- no, not just a someone. My dagger, she looks like an angel. I don't dare speak because I'll say something stupid so I force my gaze away from her. Kai lays sprawled out, face first, on the mat.

"Eric!"

"M' fine... I'm fine. Just give me a damn second." I hate to see her look so worried, but the twisted part of me is happy to see her worried, to see that she cares. "Everyone out!"

Two burly men drag Kai out by his arms.

"What the hell do you see in that boy," I spit.

"Boy? He's only a year younger than us. And what I see in him is someone who won't treat my emotions like a damn joke."

"I already told you, it was never a joke to me, not after our first date. I fell for you, hard, and my love for you was genuine."

"You say that over and over, but it doesn't change the fact you initially asked me out as a joke. I don't care how many times you ask for forgiveness I won't-"

"I never asked for your forgiveness! Yes I apologized but I never asked for your forgiveness because I am unworthy of it. I hurt you and I own that, what I did to you was wrong and I own that, but not with pride, never with pride. You were innocent and undeserving of that cruelty, that is why I don't deserve your forgiveness." I look up at her, still slumped in her arms and oh how desperately I want to curl her hair behind her ear and kiss away the bruise on her cheek.

"You need to leave Kai."

"Eric." She purses her lips.

"No, listen. That boy is trouble. He is not the sweet boyfriend you think he is. Kai is like a wild dog, give him a treat and he'll roll over, put him in danger he'll leave you to die, threaten him and he-"

She drops me, the back of my head smacks the floor and my ears ring. "Jealous dickbag." One swift kick to my groin and I gag.

"That's fair I guess."

To my suprise y/n actually helps me to the medical wing, only to leave right as a nurse walked out to greet us.

For the remaining days of training I assigned Damien, a very buff and intimidating man to handle Kai's training while I walked the squads through our routines over and over till it was muscle memory.

Finally the day came. Breakfast before missions like this are always strangely quiet, and when looking out my windows the world looks unsettlingly calm. I grab my jacket, it still smells of her perfume. I've refused to wear it since we broke up in fear the scent would go away, but today I will wear it.

It's days like these that you need to take a moment to remember your mortality. So I take my time lacing my boots, and I give Muffin, my cat, a good scratch behind her ear before making my way to the ramp.

Everyone is already armed and in gear as I approached. The two snipers and their guardians aren't here for they left late in the night to sneak into their respective positions.

After a quick review of the plan we march out. We move on foot, silent and hidden by the long shadows cast by the rising sun.

I'm coiled tight, counting every second that ticks by.

It's a haunting sight, watching the Amity transport roll down the street. They don't sing like they always do, they know they're about to be attacked. I frown as inevitably the Factionless run out, they shoot the driver in his arm and the two Amity accompanying her drag her out and dash into a nearby building.

BANG!!!

My men and I rush out, the Factionless scream out orders, both trying to help Kevin, and escape. It's utter chaos, bullets fly past, innocent bystanders are running away and towards us in search of safety.

The medical team are split in three, two men aid the Amity, three men haul Kevin, whose screaming and cluching his wounded thigh, over to the group of bound Factionless, and the rest are spread out to help fallen soldiers.

I grunt as a bullet grazes my right bicep. I dive behind a pillar within a building and peeked to find my attacker. Instead I see a group of Factionless running up the stairs of the building y/n is in. "Shit."

"Carlos, how's the situation out there!"

Static buzzes in my ear right before he replies. "We've captured fifteen Factionless raiders, eight more are on the run with two of our squads hot on their tails. Daton and y/n have already adjusted their positions to help shoot them down!"

"Good, take command of the situation out here, I just saw a group run into y/n's building and I'm going in to intercept!"

I don't wait for a response as I charge in. I bound each step two at a time, multiple times I've already tried reaching y/n and Kai through their comms but all I get is static. Someone between y/n's message to Conor, and me running into the building someone scrambled the comms.

He doesn't see me, but I see him, that tuff of green hair making him stand out like a highlighter as he crawls to hide behind an old desk, the crazy bitch stabs his own leg too. If I had the time I would shoot Kai for running away and abandoning y/n, especially because he's faking injuries so everyone thinks him innocent.

Please don't be dead, please don't be dead. For every bruise and scratch I find on her will equal at least one broken bone.

Three more floors.

Please be alive.

Please.

Oh God please.

I almost cry in relief when I hear the sounds of fighting, she isn't dead. I rush into the room, and met with a fist in my face. I pay it back with a knife to my attackers throat, and just as the second guy comes at me I duck below his arm and stuff my knife through his throat into his mouth.

I turn to where y/n is, and I see red as I watch three men slam her to the ground.

Just as I grab my gun a bullet tears through my forearm. The pain is agonizing, but adrenaline is stronger. I drive straight through the Factionless man holding the gun. Arms wrap around my waist and haul me to the floor and straddles me. I barely process their faces or their ragged appearance. The third attacker kicks my head, but I keep my focus on stealing the second man's knife. The third attacker tries and fails to grab my wrist as I steal the knife. I dig the blade into the second attacker's bicep, and I rip it down tearing down to the elbow. As the second attacker falls off me I stab the third guy in his leg several times and he falls.

I get up in time to see the first guy aim his gun at y/n.

"No!"

I don't think, I just run. I slam straight into him and we tumble through the window. Sharp, breaking pain snaps through my right leg as I snags in metal scaffolding, but fortunately it saves me from plummeting like the first guy. I simply hang by my leg, my vision already turning splotchy.

"Eric!"

I cry out as I'm hauled back into the building, but before I can complain lips crash onto mine. I'd always imagined they'd taste like, but all I tasted was the blood from her split lip.

Just as quickly as her lips touched mine her hand cracked across my cheek.

"You fucking idiot Eric! What the hell were you thinking you could've died!"

"That I was saving an angel," I groan.

"Stop being romantic you almost died!"

"Says the girl that kissed me," I smile through the pain. My eyes roll back for a moment and my whole world spins as I'm hauled over her shoulder. "Ow."

"Shut up."

"Just stay awake Eric, please. Otherwise I'll haul your ass out of the afterlife and kill you all over again."

"Yes," I let out a pained grunt as she starts running down the stairs, "ma'am."

It's been three days and this room still smells of bleach and cleaning alcohol. I can't complain, I'm lucky to have gotten a private room here in the Dauntless medical wing, especially one with a view outside.

"You look like shit."

"I feel like shit. Thank you very much."

Despite my pain I can't help but to smile as I watch y/n enter the room. A bandage wraps around her bicep, and another peeks out over the waistband of her skirt right on her hip.

"How bad are your injuries." Her voice is soft like a lullaby. I could listen to it forever and never get bored. She sits down on the bed and places a hand on my chest and I hiss in mock pain. "Oh my gosh sorry."

I snatch her wrist as she pulls it away and laughed.

"Asshole, your lucky I can't slap you."

"Even if you did I wouldn't regret it. How are you?"

"You first Eric."

"Fine. I got grazed by a bullet on my bicep, got shot in the forearm. I got stabbed several times too," I gesture to my bandaged torso. "My leg got broken in three places, and I'm covered in bruises. Now tell me about you, I know it must be hard after Kai..." I may be cruel but I'm not heartless enough to dig at how he hurt her, the last thing she needs is me to mock her or sound like a jealous ass.

She sighs deeply and looks out the window, "Kai is going to be executed tomorrow. Not only did he abandon his station of protecting me, turns out he helped arm the Factionless, oh and there's rumors that he was Divergent! Why is it I trust the wrong men?"

I sigh, "It's not that you trust the wrong men, it's just that bad men are good manipulators."

"So? I'm from Erudite, I'm supposed to be smart-"

"You are smart, so fucking smart. Trust me, you have no idea how easy it is to manipulate the Erudite. Don't ever claim you're not smart because you're the smartest woman I know." I grip her hand.

"I'm suprised Four hasn't scolded me yet."

"Well if he does tell me so I can punch him."

We sit in silence, soaking up everything that has happened. I almost lost her, we kissed but I don't know if she truly wants me back, I almost died too, which is honestly terrifying.

"What are we?" I break the silence.

She shifts, her gaze moving from the window down to me. "I don't know, I mean we kissed so I guess lovers once more."

"Do you want to be? Lovers I mean. I know we kissed, but we were high on adrenaline, so that doesn't mean you should force yourself to be with me. So is that something you want?"

"I believe I do. Sometimes I really hate you, but you literally jumped out of a building to save me."

"And got stabbed."

"Yeah that too." She chuckles and I soak in every bit of her brief mirth. "I missed being with you, I was so happy back then. So honestly, I want to give us a second chance."

"Good because I really miss how cute you looked running around my apartment in the t-shirts and jackets you stole from me." We smile and she lays down beside me.

"Can I kiss you. When you almost die you really value those little things. Also when you kissed me it was way too brief for my opinion and romantic as it was."

"Only because I like you."

I cup both her cheeks, my arm hurts but I hardly care right now. I pull her down to me, my heart soars as our lips meet. Her lips taste like chocolate and I have no doubt she was eating some before coming here, I can taste a hint of the strawberries she loves to eat too. I sigh and tilt my head to deepen our kiss. I feel like I'm on cloud nine.

Eventually we pull away to catch our breaths and I look at her, my dagger in absolute awe before pulling her down into a second kiss. I tangle a hand in her hair unwilling to let her go. I want to drown in her, to stay in her arms and to never leave.

"Y/n, my dagger, my love, my stars in the sky," I whisper against her lips, "you are my everything."

She straddles my lap and we kiss again, but this time it's hungry. She parts her lips and I happily accept the invite. I slip my tongue in, tasting, exploring. We devour each other in a clash of hungry kisses.

A gutteral groan falls from my lips when she rolls her hips. It's slow, experimental, but it certainly does the job.

"You're going to be the death of me."

She kisses down the column of my throat. "Do you want me to stop?" She asks it so fucking innocently, as if she doesn't have me rock hard and wrapped around her finger.

"Absolutely not," I growl and pull her into another kiss. She rocks her hips once more, but more confident.

I'm hungry.

No, I'm famished and I need her now.

"Fuck..." My hands grip her thighs tight, they're warm, plush, and I wish I could take a bite. My fingers caress the bottom of her skirt. "May I?"

"Yes." Her voice is breathy and I grin as my hands push up her skirt and push the bottom of her underwear to the side.

"Fuck you're wet," I chuckle. "You still virgin?"

She looks shy for a moment, "not anymore."

"Well I may not be at my prime, I'll still certainly give you a way better time than Kai ever could."

"Actually I lost it to Four," she smiles, clearly knowing just how much that riles me up.

"Four, really?" I pinch her clit and watch in glee as she gasps out a moan. "Let me guess, he talked you through it," her eyes flutter closed as I slowly circle her clit with my thumb, "Guided your hands, told you how to use that mouth huh?"

My mouth curves into a fown as she only nods, so I pull my finger away making her whine. I tut, "Look at me, and use your words, my dagger."

"Yes," she gasps, "he did."

"Good girl," I purr, with a small groan I push myself into a sitting position. Call me a masochist but I like the pain. My arms wrap around her waist, I grind her down against my cock and devour her whimpers in a kiss.

"Fuck you taste so good. Now go make sure the door is locked." She gasps as I nip her throat. Y/n practically runs to lock the door. To my supries she then rips off her boots and underwear before climbing back on me.

"Well aren't you cute." I reward her by pushing a finger through her entrance, thrusting slowly.

"Eric," she whines and squirms in my lap. I thrust in a second finger.

I bring my lips to her ear and in a quiet whisper, "baby I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be able to control myself. You look so pretty moaning and reacting so well to my touch," I curl my fingers, hitting that sweet spot that no doubt has her rolling her eyes, " but if you keep squirming I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to control myself much longer." I kiss down her throat before pulling away.

I push her skirt up, revealing her to me. "Such a pretty pussy, next time we do this I think I'll just tie you up and eat you out all night." My lips latch onto the sensitive area of her neck, just below and almost behind her ear, and I suck a hickey.

"Eric, please," her hips start to roll, riding my fingers and I press my thumb to her clit. "Yes, just like that please."

"Gonna come?"

I tisk when she whimpers out a yes without looking me in the eyes. She cries softly when I pull my hand away.

"What did I tell you about eye contact?" I give her ass a form smack making her jolt. "Use your words and look me in the eyes when I talk to you."

She mutters a sorry, but I hardly listen as I lick my fingers clean, "fuck you taste like heaven. I think it's ought time I finally got some well deserved attention."

I lean back, giving her space to pull open my buckle. She pushes her down to sit on my thighs and leans down close, her breath ghosting over my lower stomach, making me shiver. I pull his hair back as it falls over her face.

Her fingers work deftly and soon my cock finally springs free from my boxers. "M- fuck y/n." Moans escape from my throat as she licks a stripe up the underside of my cock before bringing it into her mouth. "Shit, don't- don't stop." I think I might just thank Four for teaching her because I can barely breathe this feels so good.

Far sooner than I want I have to pull her mouth from my cock. Any longer I would've cum. For a moment, all we can do is stare at each other, panting, hungry, swollen lips.

Soft hands trace my tattoos, trail up my arms then finally settling on either side of my throat. My eyes fell shut, letting her pull me into another delicious kiss. I soak in every second, reveling in the feeling of her touching every inch of my upper body. There's a string of saliva between our lips as we pull away panting and I watch in absolute awe as she hovers above my lap and strips the remainder of her clothes.

My lips part, my tounge darting out to wet them as my eyes trace every detail. Those lovely curves, the dip in her hips, the curve of her breasts. Once more my hands grip her hips and I pull her to me. I trail kisses down the column of her throat, sucking hickeys, nipping at her skin then licking it as if it'll soothe the bites. I damn near growl as I kiss, bite, and lick down her sternum. "Ride me," I command, my voice dark and desperate.

I bring a hand down to guide my weeping cock to her entrance, and I have to bite her shoulder to muffle my moans and groans as she sinks down.

"Eric."

"Shh, I got you." I kiss up her throat, and kissed her lips softly, one arm lays flat across her back, the other on her hip with my thumb rubbing circles on her hip as I guide her all the way down. "Just a little more, you're doing so good baby." I murmer words of praise when I'm finally to the hilt within her. I wait for her to start moving, letting us start at her pace.

She rocks her hips and my eyes flutter closed, my head burying in the juncture of her neck, mouth dropped open in endless low groans. I feel like a virgin all over again, she feels so good that I'm momentarily dizzy. But then I notice, her muffled moans and I pull away to see her biting her lip to keep herself quiet.

"Y/n, my love, let me hear those beautiful moans, these walls are soundproof. And who cares who hears, let them, let them know you're mine now. Let them know how good I make you feel." I stare deep inter her stunning eyes, watching them flicker to the door and back to me as she thinks. And then finally, she releases her bottom lip and let's out a moan.

"Good girl," It takes every bit of restraint to not take over and slaim her down on my cock over and over. "Such a good girl, don't stop, you're riding me so well."

My head dips down, her hips stutter then sped up as I sucked one of her pert nipples into my mouth. I moan, swirling my tounge around and on the pert tit, sucking, swirling again, over and over. My other hand gropes her other breast, and I love just how soft and warm it is.

"Eric!" She arches her back and she fists her hand in my hair while the other grips my shoulder for support. My other arm wraps around her waist tightly, and I finally let go of my restraints. Using my tight grip I guide her up, bit the underside of her breast, sucked a hickey and soothed it over with a lick, then slammed her down on my cock. I roll my hips to ensure I hit that sweet spot to make her see stars.

"Tell me my love, which do you prefer?" I guide her up again, and slam her back down loving the way her tits bounce, "the stars in the sky or the ones I'm making you see?"

She locks eyes with me, doing her best to keep eye contact, but I slam her back down making her eyes roll back. "Y- yours Eric! I pref- fuck, prefer the stars you make me see!"

I speed up, and her nails rake down my back deliciously. "Close?"

"Yes," she tugs my head back with my hair, looking me into my eyes now, "yes. Please Eric I'm so close. Please make me come."

I kiss her, hard, swallowing every moan, whimper and mewl. The hand that was on her breast moves down, tracing across her side and down to her hip. I splay my hand across her hip, gripping hard. I angle the arm around her waist so my hand can rest between her shoulder blades. I hold her tight against me.

"Hold on tight." M y thumb circles her clit, and using my grip on her hip and around her waist to bounce her on my cock hard and fast. Her cries of bliss fill the room. I watch her, her eyes rolling back, back arching, mouth stuck open in endless moans. She chants my name like a prayer.

A shudder seems to roll through her whole body, and her nails rake down my back as she comes. I bury my face in her neck, and cum hard. I grip her tight, grinding our hips together as her pussy milks me dry.

Every she slumps against me, her legs shaking and breathing hard. I pepper kisses across her face, murmuring praise after praise.

I pull out and allowed myself to fall back on the bed, pulling her with me so she lays atop me.

"We need to clean up."

"Soon, but I'd rather soak in the afterglow first." She kissed my jaw before laying her head on my chest, her fingers trace patterns across my chest, carefully avoiding my badly injured areas. The pain is slowly returning but I pay it no mind. One hand plays with her hair, occasionally rubbing her scalp or tracing the contours of her face. My other arm is wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close in a warm embrace.

"I love you my dagger, and I'm do grateful you entered my life."

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! I hope the smut turned out well, if not please send me tips and way I can improve/fix it. I hope you all enjoyed it.

Too Blunt? A Four x ex Candor reader coming next

[10piecechickennuggy]

Magic and Secrets, Chapter 1 - Sanji x Witch!OC

WARNING: Sexual content and swearing ahead!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece or the art featured above. This is a fan-created work featuring an original character.

Violent waves battered the shoreline, sending salt spray high into the air. The sea had taken a volatile turn - a sure sign of storms to come. But for the time being, the dark clouds promising torrents of rain stayed back towards the horizon line, temporarily sparing the tiny island. 

Weary eyes watched the scene while weathered hands lazily scrubbed at a porcelain dish. Thankful for the windowpane before her, Vera allowed her mind to wander. The girl wished to be free - of her current life of servitude and of her past. She’d come a long way towards the latter, but still encountered shadows of her origins. 

Shaking the thought away, Vera turned her attention to the dish in her hand, admiring the delicate print on the fragile piece. The set had been an heirloom, passed down to her current masters over generations. Usually something so important would have been locked away, shielded from the dangers of the world. But there had been guests over this morning - the island’s mayor had paid a visit, eliciting use of the finest tableware for his tea and scones. Vera had no idea the nature of his visit, only that she now had to take great care whilst cleaning the treasured porcelain in her hands.  

“Careful there.” The deep voice of the house’s head startled the girl. He’d always made her uneasy, but she was acutely aware of being alone in the kitchen with him. A gnarled left hand rested on her shoulder whilst its matching right stretched forward into the girl’s view, grabbing the blinds and moving them to cover the window before them. 

As the fabric came to rest in its new position, Vera turned to face her master. “How may I serve you, sir?” It was the well-rehearsed way she’s been instructed to address him. The words never ceased to rise bile into the back of her throat as she spoke them, even after months of service. 

“I think you know.” The elder man smiled, a sinister air to his gaze, as the hand on her shoulder moved to the girl’s hip. The other hand came to spin her around, forcing her body to face him. She could feel his breath fan across her face, the scent of morning coffee invading her senses. “You’ve been avoiding me lately. Can’t imagine why.” The hand that had spun her then lowered, brushing her side before coming to rest on her ass.

Vera attempted to move away from him, only to shudder as his grip on her tightened. “Sir, please. I just want to do my work.” She pleaded with him, her gaze wide and fearful.

He sneered and pulled her body flush to his, causing the priceless dish to fall from her grasp. A shatter could be heard, the delicate porcelain spraying across the tiled floor. 

“Oh no.” 

The words barely escaped the man’s lips before the shrill shouts of his wife could be heard approaching the kitchen. “Stupid girl! That better not be my fine china breaking!” 

Taking advantage of the panic setting into the girl, her master leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a sloppy kiss. Vera pushed at his chest, trying to escape his grip before things went any farther.

“What are you doing?!” The mistress of the house shrieked upon entering the kitchen. She stomped forward and tore the younger girl away from her husband. “Filthy whore! Out with you!” She gripped the girl by her hair and began stomping through the house, dragging her towards the front door.

***

Laughter echoed across the lawn deck of the Thousand Sunny. Currently, the crew’s doctor - Tony Tony Chopper - its sniper - God Usopp - and its captain - Monkey D. Luffy - were engaged in a game of tag.

“Hey, Nami!” A gruff voice broke through the cheerful chatter from above. A head of green hair could be seen peeking out one of the many windows which adorned the crow’s nest. “Looks like a storm’s coming!” 

The orange-haired navigator looked up from the map she’d been studying, squinting her eyes toward the horizon. “Thanks, Zoro!!” She exclaimed, rising from her chair to take the helm, steering the ship towards a small island she knew laid not far to the north.

It didn’t take long before Sunny and her crew found themselves docked on a rocky shore. The island appeared home to a modest town. People bustled about, hurrying to finish their daily errands before the looming storm arrived. Some shops had already closed their doors, despite it only being roughly midday.

“We should find a place to stay for the night.” Nami stated, stretching her arms into the air. “Looks like that storm is going to be pretty rough.” 

“Okay!” The rambunctious captain shouted his agreement, eager to explore the island and town before him. 

Before long, the group had dispersed, excited to see what this new land had to offer. Nami sighed, exasperated at the behavior of her captain. He’d been the first to bound away, laughing as he disappeared among the villagers. 

“Well, he’s certainly eager.” A calm female voice sounded to her side. “Shall we search for lodging?” Robin, the crew’s archeologist, looked at her friend with a close-eyed smile. Nami only nodded as she began walking forward.

The last pair of feet to leave the Sunny were clad in shiny dress shoes. A puff of smoke trailed after the blonde man as he looked around, grimacing as he realized that he’d be unlikely to have enough time to shop for ingredients before the storm came. Sanji always made it a point to explore an island’s unique cuisine immediately upon visiting. As a pirate, he knew his time on each new land was limited - be it by the nature of their nomadic lifestyle or by the marines that pursued them constantly - and so he wasted little time when it came to stocking the ship with new and exciting foods. 

Sanji sighed, placing his hands in the pockets of his neatly pressed slacks, resigning to simply take a walk for the time being. With any luck, he’d have time to shop once the storm had passed. 

***

“Filthy whore! Out with you!” An angry woman’s voice broke the cook from his thoughts as he passed a house on the outskirts of the village. His head lifted just in time to see a young woman shoved out the home’s weathered wooden door, her hair a mess. An older woman, likely in her retirement years, exited shortly after the first, shoving the younger off the small porch. “I take you in and this is how I’m repaid?! With you seducing my husband?!”

The younger girl frowned, turning to face her mistress. “I did not seduce him! He ca-” The desperate defiance in her tone was silenced with a firm slap to the girl’s face.

“As if I’d believe the word of a witch like you!” The enraged woman countered, her hand raising for another hit when a firm grip halted her wrist. Her eyes came to meet with a single crystal blue orb, its twin obscured by a curtain of yellow.

“Easy there.”  As the man spoke, the scent of tobacco invaded the older woman’s senses. “What could ever provoke a beautiful woman to violence?”

Wrenching her hand away and cradling it to her chest, the woman turned up her nose to the intruder. “If you must know, I caught this witch seducing my husband. And after I had the kindness to take her off the streets!”

Saji’s cool gaze moved from the older woman to the girl she’d been speaking of. She couldn’t be much older than he was, early 20s at most. An expression of fear crossed her features as she met his eyes, holding a hand to her red cheek. If her assailant was beautiful, then the girl he looked at now was downright gorgeous. She wore a tight fitting maid’s outfit, her curves accentuated by the fabric, a small bit of cleavage visible. He sniffed, urging the blood to stay within his nose. 

Sanji knew now wasn’t the time to be admiring the girl’s appearance. He’d have plenty of time to do that once things were settled here, a plan already forming in his mind. “Is this true, miss?” He addressed the young woman with a nod, removing the cigarette from his lips and stamping it out on the ground.

“N-No!” Her voice wavered as she blurted out her answer. “I was only doing my chores when he came onto me!” 

“I don’t want to hear it, you liar!” The older woman had already turned and began ascending the steps to her home. “Now I see why no house can keep you more than a couple months! Homewrecking witch!” The door slammed, punctuating the accusatory statement. 

When the cook finally turned his gaze away from the door, he saw that the girl was already stomping her way towards town. He sprinted to catch up to her. “For the record, I believe you.” He smiled from her left, “I’m Sanji. What’s your name?”

The girl scowled at Sanji, stopping her movements and crossing her arms. “Vera.” She stated simply, gauging the stranger before her.

Sanji only smiled wider, “And you’re a maid, I take it?” Vera only nodded. “I don’t suppose you have any place to go now. Want to come with me?” He asked, offering his elbow to her.

“Why?” Vera didn’t move as her eyes lowered to the man’s elbow. 

“Well, I know it may not be your first choice, but a pirate ship is a better home than an alleyway.” 

The girl’s eyes widened, but not in panic. Her features brightened as she looped her arm with Sanji’s. “If you can get me off this island, sure.”

***

“So what was the witch thing about?” Sanji asked, taking a sip of black tea, continuing to eye the menu before him. Not long after Vera had agreed to accompany him, the transponder snail in his pocket began to ring. Nami’s voice came through the snail, informing him that she’d secured a hotel for the crew to rest in for the night. Currently, the pair sat in the hotel’s restaurant, deciding to eat before introducing Vera to the other Straw Hats.

“Because I am a witch.” Vera’s eyes didn’t leave the paper menu as she spoke matter of factly. In truth, she was terrified of what the man might think or say of her admission. More often than not, her identity was met with distrust. Couple that with her wrongful reputation for seducing men with her magic, and you had the perfect recipe for a social outcast.

What came from Sanji next came as a surprise. “What kind of magic can you do?” His expression was enthusiastic, the menu now forgotten on the table as his full attention was now directed toward his companion. 

Vera only shrugged. “Not a ton. I don’t get much time to practice since I’m usually forbidden from using it in the houses I work for.” Her face fell in a frown for a brief moment before rising again in a smile. “I can show you something if you’d like.”

Sanj only nodded enthusiastically, waiting with bated breath to see what spell the girl would perform.

Vera fidgeted slightly in her seat, suddenly nervous. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had been excited to see her magic. She was out of practice, and knew anything she could do would only serve to disappoint.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she lifted her right hand so her palm faced upright, her elbow bent. With closed eyes, she muttered something too soft for Sanji to hear. Suddenly, a book appeared in her open hand. The tome was thick, its pages yellowed with time and its purple cover faded. Despite its apparent age and wear, the book seemed to glow softly, air swirling around it.

Sanji’s mouth fell open in amazement. In truth, he hadn’t fully believed that Vera could be a witch. He didn’t think witches were real - just something made up for parents to scare their children into behaving. He knew about devil fruit and Haki, but not outright magic. “Wow.”

Vera blushed, about to say something to the effect of the spell being nothing impressive, when a deep cough interrupted her thoughts. A waiter stood before the pair, scowling in disapproval at the display of power before him. “Your order?” He asked, tone dismissive.

“The house special, please.” She spoke weakly, fear lacing into her words. Sanji’s order followed her but she didn’t catch what it was, only vaguely aware that he was speaking. How could she have let herself fall into such an obvious trap? She knew her magic was bad. That witches weren’t to be trusted. And yet she’d let a complete stranger talk her into using her powers openly. And in a public space, no less!

“Hey.” A soft hand came to rest on her left as the book she’d summoned disappeared, vanishing as if it had never been there to begin with. “You’re okay.” Sanji’s soothing voice cut through her darkening thoughts as if he could read her mind.

She looked up and saw that he was still smiling at her. “Most people don’t like witches.” She spoke weakly, afraid that her very breath would cause the man to blow away.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not most people.”

Read Chapter 2 Here

[witchfall]

a long way out to reach the sea [1]

History does not happen in the pretty lines that writers eventually wrangle into finer narratives; one very rarely can stand in a moment and know exactly how it will be remembered.

So he writes it for her in his head, so that someone gets it right.

[or: how a prodigy from Sharlayan and a nobody girl abandoned in the desert find common ground — and something more.]

1. under their eyes

He gasps out a breath. Maybe a warning to Izzie. Assurance to Noel and Tataru, who scream for the Heavens’ Ward to stop. He wants to think it’s that. He knows, ultimately, it is merely a shaking breath of fear that says nothing at all.

read the chapter on ao3

———

Darkness is heavy as a weight in the concessory, the room lit only by pallid yellow globs of light from small oil lanterns. Cold faces sculpted in harsh shadow sneer down at him and Tataru from on high, assuredly as the Church intended, to frighten any lowborn into sniveling and cow any highborn into begging.

Well, Alphinaud is certainly going to do neither.

He breathes in the sticky, still-cold air of this room full of doomsayers and speaks how he was taught. With full enunciation, supported by the diaphragm, loud.

“I, Alphinaud Leveilleur, am innocent of this charge and claim my right to a trial by combat.”

He keeps his fists low to his hips. Izzie mentioned that once. Not that he will be fighting with his fists, not unless this goes terribly sideways in a way he can’t consider. It helps keep the shaking at bay.

He has no choice but to have faith. Of all the ridiculous ironies.

The lalafell girl next to him speaks up in a tremulous voice, but exactly as Haurchefaunt told her to. “I, Tataru Taru, am innocent of this charge...but I am no fighter…so I claim the right to a champion to fight in my stead!”

That’s when the doors slam open.

A furious stripe of red hair half-tumbles into the room, skewing all light in her direction. Like the moon for which the world has named her, Izzie reflects the weak light back upon the faces in the dark, casting everything in a softer glow — even as her mouth twists into a snarl so fearsome it makes Alphinaud’s heart sink down into his gut.

Noel runs in not long after, emerald eyes haunted. Her aether billows out in a fog of possessive fury. 

Even Noel seems unwilling to get in the way of whatever has possessed Izzie with such fervor. So for once, the sun hangs back. 

The adjudicator attempts to regain control of the warbling voices in the chamber. “Who will—”

“I will!” Izzie declares. The way her mouth curls, Alphinaud can almost taste the cuss she wants to hurl at this man. “Or did my entrance not do it for you?”

She’s a sniper. Would they even allow a bow to be used here? The quarters are far too close.

“Very well,” the adjudicator says, eyebrow twitching.

Alphinaud opens his mouth to protest. And then Izzie pulls knives out of her boots.

Something in him twists sharply to the left. The light glints off the silver of her steel; firelight sings across her teeth. She senses underestimation like a scent on the wind and it makes her reckless and wild.

“And just as I was beginning to doubt in the efficacy of the Ishgardian justice system,” he mutters as she approaches, unable to keep his mouth shut as her copper brightness bears down upon him.

“Are you stupid?” she hisses. He jumps when her arm brushes his shoulder as she slides to his side. She’s taller than him, but not by enough to loom. They are both small in their own ways. “What are you going to fight with, your fucking book?”

“I have very little choice in the matter should I want to prove my innocence, thank you.”

Despite the exchange, familiar as parchment, his eyes track the knights of the Heavens’ Ward. He wants to block their levin-lit gazes. They watch Izzie with nigh lascivious scorn.

They want to tear her apart and see what can be done with the pieces. Alphinaud is just collateral, as he so often is anymore.

His hand clenches. When is survival enough? When can the world stop mocking them for it?

“Just stay behind me,” Izzie says, the hissing suddenly gone from her voice.

He only then realizes her words are streaked through with cracks of panic. She breathes heavily, like she’d run the whole way through the city to get here. He opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out.

Because then the inquisitors summon the battlefield up from the bowels of this ancient temple. Injustice snarls through Alphinaud at the too-freshly clean lacquer of its marble floor, at the frighteningly sharp metal bars that line its edges, at how this city could engineer so much and how it dedicates its all to something as barbaric as this.

What would Grandfather think?

His thoughts whirl with such tunneled intensity that the adjudicator’s voice becomes little more than a hallowed droning in the back of his head as he and Izzie descend to the battlefield. The inquisitor lifts his hand in some holy invocation that has Izzie’s shoulders tensing.

“Let’s end this farce,” Alphinaud whispers, unhooking his tome from his belt with more bravado than he deserved.

Izzie’s gaze slides toward him with such intensity it burns his peripheral vision. He glances back.

“No heroics, Leveilleur.” A warning, low and rumbling. “I mean it.”

He has no time to reply — no time to dissect the prickling heat that sweeps through his gut from hearing his name out of her mouth — before she leaps, knives aloft, toward knights in shining armor.

...

History does not happen in the pretty lines that writers eventually wrangle into finer narratives; one very rarely can stand in a moment and know exactly how it will be remembered.

So he writes it for her in his head, so that someone gets it right.

When she leaps, the whole world stops to look. She becomes a cream and copper ribbon of motion, thrown forward by two points of steel. The Heavens’ Ward stand slack jawed in the span of time they could have reacted, suffering all at once the crashing of their hubris.

No one in Ishgard believed a wit about the stories of the Warriors of Light, heralding from greater Eorzea.

Two Viera women had saved the land entire, to hear it told — one as beautiful and glorious as the sun, dancing like the chiaroscuro of shadows beneath magnificent boughs as she cast spells made of miracles. The other is as winking and joyous as the full moon, coquettishly hiding behind gales of bright laughter and a voice that would woo Menphina herself.

How could anyone believe it, looking upon them now?

The Dancing Sun, Noel Kisne, stands watching like a boat’s mast shorn in half, broken and splintered, body motionless. She is an eclipse, cursing them all.

And the Laughing Moon, Izzie Nenelori, is no guileless maiden made of frivolity. Her teeth gnash like a cornered animal, the ferocity of her attack unearthing some deeper darkness for the Ishgardians to examine in horror.

Her strength is preternatural and strange. Her battlecries are more akin to a harpie’s screaming than mellifluous sparrow calls. It is all Alphinaud can do to summon Moonstone to cast a shield over her skin as the knights’ weapons come perilously close to slicing her open.

They don’t.

Her foot whirls around to smash into Ser Grinnaux’s jaw, sending him stumbling to the floor. In the same motion, her knife sings across Ser Paulecrain’s cheek, sending a spit of blood flying. Any advantage they may have had with reach weapons evaporates beneath her fearless charge. Death doesn’t threaten her. The notion of it seems to excite her — like she relishes laughing in death’s face.

She dives beneath the pole of Paulecrain’s halberd and skitters aside when Grinnaux’s axe slams into the marble. She grins, all teeth.

Sweat gathers on Alphinaud’s forehead, watching her. For so long, Izzie and Noel had capitulated to his many demands on their time; he’d never stood close enough to actually watch their battles unfold. Such was not his duty.

Something bizarre unfurls inside his chest where his heart should be, the very organ blooming like an orchid as Izzie pummels the hilt of her knife straight into Paulecrain’s nose. Something itchy and petrifying and warm crawls through Alphinaud’s skin, like he is a monster cracking out of an egg, roaring to consume.

Her hair follows her in a silky curtain of fire even now, crowned by two tall, velvety ears. Her freckles stand out from her pale skin like tiny, dark stars. She shouts in fury, lips red and wide open, skin mottled with orange flushing.

She’s beautiful. She could kill him. The two thoughts are one thought, entwined like vines, and his mouth falls open, helpless.

“Alphinaud, pay attention!” Noel snaps from the stands.

He jumps, hearing her voice — cracked through with disuse.

But he is! He is paying attention, thank you very much! Izzie is doing a fine job entertaining their enmity — but then…

The battle shifts.

They seem to notice Alphinaud is…standing there. Book open, carbuncle hissing furiously. Grinnaux turns on a dime, sollerets screeching, to charge him with his axe held aloft. Alphinaud grits his jaw and squares his feet, hand extended as he performs the arcane geometries to ruin him—

Izzie’s leg swings out in the same moment, tripping the knight to the floor. He clatters to the ground in a kerrang of armor, and in the next moment, she leaps on him, knife’s point going for one of the weaknesses in the far too ceremonial plate.

“Don’t run!” she snarls. “That’s no fun!”

Ser Grinnaux screams in pain.

But Izzie is distracted, giving Paulecrain — face caked with dark blood from his nose — ample time to rise up, halberd intent upon her neck.

No, some part of Alphinaud whispers. You don’t get to do this to her. Not for me. Not again.

Alphinaud half-shouts as a crackling, deep-dark Ruin spell flies toward Paulcrain’s chest from his grimoire. The knight stumbles backward, breathless, only to be further accosted by Moonstone’s chittering fury, leaping to his chest, scratching at his jaw.

Izzie’s fist flies across Grinnaux’s face. His head smacks the stone ground with a sickening thunk, but it only seems to make him angrier.

To be bested so easily by a 19-year-old girl?

Inhuman strength possesses him and he throws her from his body. Her back hits the far wall in a thick crunch. Noel screams. Haurchefaunt calls out the inhumanity of it. Alphinaud’s stomach falls to his feet.

Grinnaux pulls out her knife from his chest with a far too thick squelching sound, blood dripping from the steel before he tosses it to the ground. Then his haunting, bright eyes fixate on Alphinaud.

“Halone smite you!” he bellows.

What happens next is a blur.

Aetheric chains suddenly squeeze Alphinaud about the ribs, crushing him so fully that he forgets how to breathe. His grimoire falls to the ground in his shock; he’s never been accosted like this, never been attacked with the full intent to kill before, not in a way that actually landed, not in a way that will leave bruises if he even survives.

He gasps out a breath. Maybe a warning to Izzie. Assurance to Noel and Tataru, who scream for the Heavens’ Ward to stop. He wants to think it’s that. He knows, ultimately, it is merely a shaking breath of fear that says nothing at all.

Grinnaux stalks toward him, mouth curving in a bloody crescent.

And then a horrifying, guttural scream shakes the very foundations of the church.

In the next moment, a flash of copper is in front of Alphinaud, and the chains break as easily as if Izzie had cut her steel through a fraying rope. Alphinaud collapses to the floor, head spinning, body aching so furiously his eyes prick with tears. Izzie throws that same knife right at Grinnaux’s face—

—only for it to cut a sharp line across the side of his neck. He shouts, gauntleted hands going automatically to the blood flowing from the crack in his skin. Paulecrain bellows in fury, charging her, and Alphinaud cries out, voice choked, scrambling for his tome somewhere upon the floor, because she is utterly weaponless—

But with inhuman strength, she grabs the long shaft of the halberd and uses his own momentum to swing him aside into the same wall that Grinnaux had just thrown her into, like he is a bug at the end of a swatter.

Perhaps Halone is here after all. Perhaps the Heavens’ Ward knows that.

Izzie stalks forward, grabbing her bloodied knife off the ground. She marches soullessly toward Paulecrain, who throws his hands up.

Pleading.

“No!” Paulecrain cries, scrambling back. “We yield! We yield!”

“And so it is decided!” The high adjudicator declares, voice hurried and breathless to stop Izzie before she kills both of the knights. “The accused are deemed innocent beneath the eyes of the Fury! May She keep you in Her hallowed halls!”

The rest of the adjudicator’s cronies wave and shout for healers while Izzie stands there, breathing hard, eyes blown open, hands and knuckles dripping with blood.

“We won!” Tataru shouts, disbelieving.

Alphinaud slowly rises on his shaking legs, wiping tears from his eyes before Izzie can see. It doesn’t feel like a win, watching Izzie return to herself through the mist of his pain. It doesn’t feel like anything good at all.

He is drawn to her side like the very chain she’d broken in her fury. He reaches out a trembling hand to touch her shoulder. Decides not to at the last second.

Her head twists around to stare at him, half-lifeless, half-scalding. His hand lingers in the air between them like a hummingbird.

Her gaze rakes through his face, his body, and then her whole body turns toward him and her palms press into his shoulders.

He is breathless. He has no words, which never happens to him. The spots where her palms touch him tingle as if she held levin crystals to his body.

“Are you okay?” Her words are choked through with sensation. Scratchy from screaming, shaking from adrenaline, sharp with unbalanced determination he can’t quite pin down.

“Yes,” he says, somehow. “Yes.” He remembers himself, bit by bit. “My thanks. Are you?”

She blinks, as if shocked by the question, and then nods slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”

They stare at each other.

For so long, most of their interactions have been defined by acidity. The moment they’d met, she’d called him a prissy nonce who should go home to his mother. And maybe she had been right, he thinks, miserable. Maybe he should have listened to her. Look at this mess they’re in, all because of him.

The Scions are gone because of him.

But he had gotten comfortable in their spiky back and forth. She kept coming back even after she told him off any number of times. She'd even return without Noel sometimes for her next assignment, as if perhaps she could tolerate him if it meant helping other people. He’d decided, long ago, she simply believed in the cause.

Now, he wonders if she had gotten comfortable, too.

This seems too much to hope for, that she cared about him beyond being the boy who pretended to be her commander. This seems like something a different, less cocksure fool would deserve.

“Be more careful, you idiot,” she snaps, furious. “Noel would never forgive herself if anything happened to you. Do you want to make her even more sad?”

He opens his mouth to retort — because he can read between the lines far better than she can and he knows, he knows in a flash of intuition that burns, that she isn’t talking about Noel.

Why doesn’t she just say that? What about it makes it so she can’t? He saw everything. He saw the ferocity of her defense. It was personal.

Is it always like that for her? Does it scare her?

But then they are swept aside in the current of their friends and allies pulling them out from the tribunal to the stained-glass shadows in the vestibule and he decides, wisely, to drop it.

Thinking about it makes his hands shake — and he can’t afford any more weakness.

[olivereactsaboutgarbage]

One Piece - Volume 41

So I've been thinking about how every single crew member would react if they got genderswapped.

Lufpy wouldn't care even a little bit and would refuse to acknowledge the standpoints of anyone else who did. If anything, she might use the fact that she now had boobs as inspiration for fucked-up new combat techniques. But if he got swapped back to male he would keep on using those techniques without acknowledging any divergence in their effectiveness. At the end of the day Lufpy is undilutable including by gender.

Zoro upon finding himself in a female body would smirk smugly and say "Excellent," and then 0.2 seconds later he would be hit by a crushing wave of nonstop gender dysphoria, but since he would have already said "Excellent" at that point, doing anything about it would be Backing Down, so he would simply dedicate himself to his training even more, in the hopes that getting strong enough would make his gender-related despair going away (not that he would even admit, even to himself, that that's what it was). This wouldn't work but he would point-blank refuse to seek out alternative solutions, and would someday die miserable at the ripe age of 158.

Nami would immediately get depressed and instantly know why and feel no shame in seeking a way to swap back to normal because she's not stupid like Zoro.

Usopp, if suddenly in a woman's body, would get really irritatingly and loudly insecure, his paranoia immediately getting the better of him and leading him to believe that "everyone always saw him as the weakest man on the crew and probably thinks being a woman suits him". Multiple times for day, he would yell about how He Sure Is The WRONG GENDER At The Moment while fishing for someone to agree with him. The only people who would ever do so would be Nami and Salanji, and they would mainly do so by snapping at him. Everyone else would stay out of it.

Salanji in a girl's body would immediately go catatonic.

Tony Tony Chopper would get really confused, but would think his situation was somehow normal, and it would take other people's reactions for him to realize it wasn't. Then he'd deal with it in whatever way they told him to. Except literally everyone would give bad advice.

Nico Robin would feel dysphoric and want to swap back, but with a level of bullheadedness similar to Zoro's behavior I described earlier, would firmly decide that there were more important things on her list of priorities and not bother.

Sniper King would be happier as a girl and would change her name to Sniper Queen.

Blueno in a woman's body would be pretty chill about the whole situation, but would occasionally "crossdress" by dressing in absurdly masculine ways complete with faux facial hair.

Speaking of Blueno...

Chapter 389 - Response

Blueno is dead.

Spamton NEO is sad about that, so he intends to have Lufpy killed.

Kyngpin takes this opportunity to have a heart-to-heart with Nico Robin. I love Kyngpin so much. I missed him.

Kyngpin wants Lufpy and Nico Robin to be closer to each other. Spamton NEO wants Lufpy and Nico Robin to be farther away from each other. What a conundrum!

What the fuck?! Kyngpin is stealing Lufpy's gimmick of using fetishes!! I guess this makes it a good thing Blueno is going to be the new crew member instead of Kyngpin or anyone else, but even if you're not a crew member, stealing Lufpy's gimmick is still a bit rude as long as you're a One Piece character.

Kyngpin's other fetish turns out to be using suicide threats to manipulate beautiful women into using him as a trebuchet.

Lufpy wants Lufpy and Nico Robin to be closer to each other. Nico Robin wants Lufpy and Nico Robin to be farther away from each other. It's 2 vs. 2. They, Kyngpin, and Spamton NEO are at an impasse!

Nico Robin turns out to have the same suicide fetish as Kyngpin. I wonder where the beautiful woman is who Nico Robin will manipulate into using her as a trebuchet.

Chapter 390 - Accepting the Challenge

Oh, the famous frog from this arc is killing people. It's been so long since I read this arc, I can't really remember if this is a new development or not.

Meanwhile, Cerberus is yelling about how the justice system is very fair if you ignore the fact that it's unfair 100% of the time. Okay.

Tony Tony Chopper hates the floor, like that little boy in that meme. Well, I guess Tony Tony Chopper is kind of a little boy. And kind of a meme.

The frog is dying, but the giants Sniper King is friends with aren't. Is that news? Is anything news??? I may have picked an unfortunate stopping point.

Actually, I think this post may be the first one where I mentioned Sniper King by name. Maybe??? By the way, for people who've never read One Piece before and aren't reading along but are reading these posts anyway for some reason, there's a character named Sniper King.

God, it just keeps proving itself to be true again and again: Anything Saitama can do, Lufpy can do better.

Saitama would still be capable of killing Lufpy effortlessly though, despite being a worse version of Lufpy in every way that matters. There's a fucked up moral to that story, but I don't know what it is.

Salanji you absolute oaf. I won't be deducting any Sal Points for this, but I will be deducting the "la" from your name. You're way worse than Los Angeles.

Chapter 391 - The Girl They Called a Demon

The giants are still doing giant stuff. The non-pedophilic carpentry jabronies are still, um, doing whatever it is they do.

Hmm, Spamton NEO is really pathetic and embarrassing. I'd almost say that makes him less of a candidacy for Ultimate Big Bad of the Arc than Matt Engarde, but I think Spamtons are just like that, so it's still inconclusive.

Spamton NEO says he's going to make sure all Nico Robin's friends get killed. Nico Robin gets sad and says she'd rather he didn't.

I don't think you know how cocks work, Spamton NEO.

Nico Robin's awesome backstory is that she was bullied in grade school. Also she was Cinderella but in real life.

Nico Robin's version of Cinderella is all wrong. It replaces getting married with getting an education. This isn't nearly misogynistic enough!!

Chapter 392 - Dereshi

Nico Robin's academic peers all hate her because she wants to be a heretic like them. What an interesting twist on Cinderella! Also there's a beached giant. What an interesting twist on Gulliver's Travels!

Awesome

The giant's name is Atari Jaguar the Spul. Oh, that seems incredibly important. He has the same middle name as Dunkey the Lufpy, Fortnite the Ape, and Goal the Roper.

okay this visual is sick

Nico Robin is a great character because she makes the panels in the manga cool to look at. Everyone love her because of it.

Okay, Spul is based. ...Zoro, Kyngpin, Spul... it's always the most masculine One Piece characters who are the most based. Thank God, maybe this version of Cinderella isn't as non-misogynistic as I thought.

Chapter 393 - Olvia

Um, Eiichiro Oda spelled my name wrong. -_-

Oh, the government made a Dark Ages on purpose? Did I know that already? It's been so long, I've forgotten the entire plot of One Piece.

Spul warns Nico Robin that she's being targeted for an awesome genocide. I think this might be based on the part of Gulliver's Travels where Gulliver meets horses?? I dunno, it's been ages since I read Gulliver's Travels, so I forget which chapter had the awesome genocide.

Oh, Nico Robin idolizes her deadbeat mom. That's so Usoppcore.

And the horny-for-Jessica rival bicycle used to have a terrible fashion sense.

Chapter 394 - The Demons of Ohara

Spamton Sr. gets killed and says that he should get replaced by his son Spamton, but he doesn't get killed, but he's gonna get killed.

The Chad Spamton Sr. (pictured above) vs. The Virgin Spamton NEO (not pictured)

Anyway, the Chad Spamton Sr. puts his awesome genocide into motion.

Chapter 395 - Ohara vs. the World Government

Nico Robin's academic peer posits that since history was written by the victors, the reason the government made a dark age is because they were the victors, and what they wanted to write was "..."

He also says that there were also losers in history, and their name was *shot*. I know about that!! I was there for that.

The Chad Spamton Sr. supplements his awesome genocide with some even awesomer book burning.

Hey, I know that book! It's not Cinderella or Gulliver's Travels, so I'm not sure why it's getting referenced here.

Anyway, Nico Robin's mom decides to lie, in another Usopp parallel, so Nico Robin gets disastrously sad. Which also might be an Usopp parallel. Or Cinderella. Or even Gulliver's Travels.

Chapter 396 - Saul

Like the guy from the Bible??? What does that have to do with One Piece???

Awesome panel

Fire Punch moment

Fire Punch "mom"ent

Fire Punch "mom""ent" (Get it? Because there's a really big tree?)

Oh, Spul's secret backbackstory within Nico Robin's secret backstory is that Spul was a cop. I get it, this chapter is named "Saul" as a metaphor. Saul was a guy who persecuted Christians until he didn't, just like Spul was a guy who persecuted archaeologists until he didn't. Spul is a metaphor for Saul!

Also, Spul's head explodes. But it's fine, he's still alive enough to throw boats around.

397 - In Hopes of Reaching the Future

The Chad Spamton Sr. has no intention of allowing Nico Robin to survive. Also, the horny-for-Jessica rival bicycle has very few intentions of allowing Spul to survive. Although... the horny-for-Jessica rival bicycle DOES think this awesome genocide is getting a bit too awesome. If it were him, he would make it slightly less awesome.

Is this My Hero Academia?

Never mind, I guess it's just Deltarune. Well, I already knew that, because Spamton is here.

The horny-for-Jessica rival bicycle betrays his nation for the sake of letting Nico Robin escape down a river. This is also a biblical metaphor I think, although not for Saul, which is why this chapter isn't called Saul. I can't think of any other reasons why this chapter wouldn't be called Saul.

Fuck, dude :'(

Chapter 398 - Declaration of War

Wait, this chapter isn't called Saul either? What the fuck is with every chapter starting with Chapter 397 not being called Saul? If Chapter 399 also isn't called Saul, I'm going to blow a gasket.

HOLY SHIT!!! HER ENEMY IS SNIPER KING?! Who will replace Sniper King as the second new crew member this arc besides Blueno?!

Well, I guess Usopp could do it. Wait, but if Sniper King is Nico Robin's enemy and Usopp is going to replace Sniper King, Usopp is going to become Nico Robin's enemy! I thought better of you, Usopp.

Woah! They put ME in One Piece!

Neat.

Anyway, Spamton NEO gets really mad about his flag burning. It's like he's an American or something.

Bro, One Piece is good.

I mean, just look at the above image. Especially the bottom-left corner of the above image. See that? It's Nami. I hope that sufficiently explains why I think One Piece is good.

Aww Kyngpin :')

Maybe we should get Kyngpin to replace Sniper King instead of getting Usopp to replace Sniper King. After all, Usopp is Nico Robin's enemy, and having Nico Robin's enemy on the crew would really put a damper on this moment.

Plus, "Kyng" and "King" are very close. "King" and "Sopp" aren't close at all!

Chapter 399 - Jump Toward the Waterfall!!

I'M BLOWING A GASKET!!!

Also, I just remembered there are like 7 people who all need to get beaten up. That's quite a lot of housekeeping to do even though the arc already reached its emotional climax just now.

Nice Slay the Princess reference.

Kyngpin does an awesome book burning.

Okay, for this one, Sanji IS going to lose Salanji points. I know it's Sanji's fault Tony Tony Chopper said that.

I know it's Sanji's fault Tony Tony Chopper said he was going to kick everyone's butts if they didn't hurry up.

Shame on you, Sanji. You're a bad influence on the puppy.

Ah, the crew is so far away, Kyngpin hasn't noticed Usopp isn't there.

Spamton NEO shoves Kyngpin off a cliff, then the Scary Heart Woman calls Nami and says "If your friend jumped off a cliff, you should jump off a cliff too." Lufpy thinks that's a good idea, and he also forces everyone else to also do it.

A train jumps off a cliff too.

[redriotinggg]

OKAY BUT I THINK ABOUT THIS ALL THE TIME ‘CAUSE LIKE-

Back on Punk Hazard, Sanji watched Usopp capture the attention of a kindergarten’s class worth of kids with his stories and antics. Usopp will never forget how kindly Sanji had treated Toko in Wano.

Their years spent at sea, before and after finding the One Piece, Elbaf, and the All Blue are chock-full of moments where they’ve protected and uplifted children they’ve come across during their adventures. They’ve each watched the other treat kids they’ll never see again with respect and kindness, providing them with memories of laughter and good food.

“What if!” Usopp exclaims in bed one night, using the tone that suggests he’s been preparing to say something scary. “We had kids!”

Sanji stares at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape as Usopp rambles.

“I just… I really do like kids, but I wasn’t ever sure if I’d have them. And I always told myself that if I did have kids it’d be with someone who I loved and trusted more than anything. Someone who I know would do a good job of loving them and caring for them if I was gone. That’s you, Sanji. You’re the kindest, most caring person I’ve ever met. I know that with or without me, you’d raise our kids to be the same way. You’d protect them and teach them to be good people because you’re a good person Sanji, down to your core.”

Usopp is startled at the sight of tears in Sanji’s eyes.

“All these years and you’re still so much braver than me,” Sanji says as she rests a hand on Usopp’s cheek. “I would be honoured to have a child with you, Usopp. Isn’t that obvious? Having children and raising them with care is the purest form of love there is. I’ve dreamed of doing that with you since I first realized my love for you.”

“Really?” Usopp asks, feeling himself also become overcome with emotion.

“Yes. I’ve imagined it all. Long nights spent awake with our newborn. Watching you read to our child, showing them how to fire a slingshot or build something out of nothing. I’ve imagined cooking up a storm every night while you all laugh around the dinner table. I’ve imagined it all, Usopp, but I’ve been too afraid to bring it up with you outright. Though I have been dropping hints.”

“I know! I’ve noticed every time. I drove myself crazy wondering if you really meant it and thinking about what I wanted. And well, you know I need time to think myself in circles before coming to the obvious answer.”

“I think we’d be good parents,” the sniper muses as he wraps Sanji up in his arms. “We’d teach our kids to be kind and brave. We’d love them and keep them happy and safe. Entertained and well-fed.”

“We’d learn from the mistakes of our parents,” Sanji adds quietly. “So our kids would be happy and healthy. And never have to question their worth or our love for them.”

Usopp inhales sharply, holding Sanji tighter and pressing a cluster of kisses to her head. “Yeah. We’d be better than them. We’ll be the best parents in the entire world and people will be begging us to release the secrets of our supreme parenting power. Of course, the secret won’t be a secret at all. Our unending love for them and each other will be what makes us the best parents in history.”

“Usopp… do you really want to do this? You really want to have and raise a family with me?”

“Sanji, I can’t think of anything I want more than to raise our super smart, super cool, swirly-browed, curly-haired kids together.”

“God, I hope they don’t have my stupid eyebrows.”

“Don’t say that! I love your eyebrows! With your brows and my nose, we’re going to have the cutest kids the world has ever seen.”

Sanji laughs, pulling Usopp in close so she can shower her in affection. Her heart is so full she thinks it might burst.

“I love you, Usopp,” she whispers with his face held delicately in her hands. “So, so much. If this happens, I’ll be the best mother I can. I swear it. I’ll love and protect you all until my last breath.”

“I know. And I’ll be the best dad I can be. I won’t ever leave you, not on my own accord. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

The duo share excited grins and a plethora of kisses as they discuss their future and all of its wondrous possibilities.

———

WTF!!!! I LOVE THEM!!!!

I can never decide how many kids I want them to have but it’s at least two. I need them to have at least one set of multiples and lots of daughters at also at least one son for Usopp’s sake.

Counting this as an entry for the parenting prompt of day 6 of @sanusoweek!

Transmasc Usopp x Transfem Sanji having bio children save me. T4T Sanuso save me.

[eirist]

Points of No Return

SCRIBBLE #14 : PILLOW TALK

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: Instead of packing my bags for my upcoming trip, I decided to spend my time writing a quick drabble for my favorite OTP. Because I terribly missed them. And because this was supposed to be written last week when this scene and conversation randomly played in my brain but my laptop decided to die on me.

Summary: “We tell them tomorrow.”

“Thought you wouldn’t come.”

Her words came out in a whisper, the tone undeniably tired. But there was no denying that it was laced with that certain teasing quality that was so her.

The sudden jolt she felt coming from Zoro told her that he was not expecting her to be awake.

He recovered his composure much too soon for her taste.

“How are you feeling?” He immediately inquired.

Straightforward, as always.

“Hmmm… a bit better,” Nami managed to quirk a smile at him. “Just some aches here and there.”

“You rolled down a steep slope. We found you unconscious at the bottom.”

“An accident really,” Nami said almost dismissively that it had the green-haired man frowning at her. “I think Usopp managed to soften the land. Or I might’ve have cracked my skull.”

“You have a wound head still.”

Nami reached out to touch the bandage around her head.

“Don’t worry I’m tough. I just try not to look like one.”

Zoro made a tsk-ing sound. A sure sign he was not happy with what she was going on about.

Nami cocked her head to the side slightly so she can gaze up at him. A sharp yet tolerable pain came from the wound in her head. Zoro was now looking at her weird.

“Did something happen?”

She refrained from sitting up on the bed so she can be at eye level with him. She knew she’d probably get a dizzy spell and her head would start to throb if it left the comfort of the pillow beneath her.

The swordsman was silent for a few seconds. Then…

“We tell them tomorrow.”

“Huh?” Nami blinked at him, surprised. “What brought this on?” She finally managed to ask after a minute passed.

He was quiet again.

A smile appeared quickly on her lips.

“Did he beat you to me while hollering?”

The scowl that appeared on Zoro’s face was the only confirmation she needs.

Ah. Her swordsman and his enormous ego got stepped on by none other than their blond chef.

“You know how he is,” Nami tried to appease him. “He always does that.”

“Tch,” Zoro replied grumpily. “Doesn’t matter. We are still telling them tomorrow.”

If she had enough strength, Nami would’ve let out a laugh.

She only managed a chuckle. “Fine.”

“Get some rest.” Zoro ordered, settling back on his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

Nami made a come hither signal with her hand.

Zoro cocked an eyebrow at her. “You know we can’t—”

“We’ll just sleep,” the navigator cut him off.  “I’d rest better if you’re here.” She tapped the empty space of the bed beside her.

And he relented.

Truthfully he wanted to have her in his arms more than anything right now.

He kicked of his boots and placed his katanas on the chair he just vacated. He discarded his robe before climbing on the bed without another word, without any retort.

When they found Nami earlier—lying unconscious and unmoving at the bottom rocky slope—he felt his heart dropped down the farthest pit of hell.

The stupid love cook beat him to her alright… the irritating blond always ready to spring into action when it comes to her. He stood aside, watching as Chopper immediately went into action with his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

When the reindeer doctor declared that she was ok, he was able to finally breathe.

They rescued Usopp as well—who was lying just a few feet away from Nami and in the same state. They made their way back to the ship, with her in the cook’s stupid arms while he took the responsibility of carrying the sniper.

He wanted more than nothing to be the one to be there for her. But he had to restrain himself until night fell and the crew retired for the day to rest. Then he quietly went to where she was resting to watch her until the wee hours of dawn when one of the crew wakes up and he is forced to leave her alone lest they wonder what the hell he is doing.

The hell with all that. They are telling everyone about them tomorrow.

His attention went to her when he felt her lips grazed his chin.

“Hmm… I lied Zoro,” Nami murmured. “I can’t sleep with you here.”

“You just got roughened up earlier. You need to rest.”

“Maybe if you’ll be a bit gentle…”

“Nami!” He groaned at her suggestiveness.

He received that pout of hers that never fails to make him do her bidding.

“We’re already telling them tomorrow Zoro. It wouldn’t matter anymore if they find you here with me in the morning.”  

She has a point though, like always.

[keisins]

—✥ SEVEN HEADED SNAKE, WHAT YOU CALL THAT? BLEEDING LIKE AN OPEN SCAR.

pairing. assassin!nanami kento x assassin!f!reader warnings. smut(18+), slight angst overview. *this plot was actually inspired from the amazing @sukirichi , ty for letting me use the idea from your drabble!* your divorce with nanami gets finalized, but why does it feel like your relationship is just beginning?

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ]

It’s an end.

“Alright, all done. You’re free to go. Thank you.”

You try not to look at the man that’s sitting across from you in this sweltering, closed up space of an attorney office. The papers you both inked your signatures on are slid into a safe kept portfolio that you will get a copy of soon enough, for confirmation.

Confirmation of a love that never really existed in the first place.

The white haired lawyer of your now ex-husband huffs a grin as he extends a hand to you. “I think a congratulations is in order.”

His wolf-like smile is a harsh reminder of how this was all your idea. A humiliating blush threatens to creep up your face before Nanami makes his first comment in the past five loudly silent minutes.

“You’re so unnecessary.” He murmurs as Gojou Satoru shakes your hand enthusiastically. It seems that a lot of things amuse the man. Especially, the person next to you.

Getou stares at the hand placed in front him and the same obnoxious grin you had just endured.

“Till next time, Suguru?”

The informality catches you a little off guard, but your “attorney” only gives a serene smile back and takes the hand. “Yes. See you, Satoru.”

Nanami gives you one last look and you a thin smile before nodding and making his way out. Gojou follows suit.

Getou sighs and drops the portfolio onto the hardwood table. “Well, now that’s done. We can finally start our mission, huh?”

You hum, slumping back into the wooden chair.

It’s a beginning.

“Got eyes on the target yet?”

Ah, those words never get old, do they? Nanami stares into the optic as he shifts his hold on the air soft rifle to search. He wants to get this over with— it’s been a long fucking week— and it never helps to have Gojo in his ear every minute gone by. Before Gojo can speak again, Nanami finally settles in a perfect spot.

The man fits every detail description. But, like clockwork, he needs to verify. “Seated at the bar, right?”

He hears the confirmation and his finger goes to the trigger until a figure comes up. It blocks the shot, but it’s quite the view anyway. It’s you. Wait— why were you here? His ex-wife; an acquaintance that agreed to marry him to both of your guy’s parents off your back, the one who always waited for him coming home from work (which ever one that may be; the office job or a sniper) and never complained until, well, this week.

He couldn’t deny you the request. He kind of owed it to you, to be honest. You were a kind woman with a job in retail, right? You were a good wife— loyal and patient, right? You were perfect on paper. Almost too perfect.

“Woah,” he hears Gojo chuckle in amusement and astonishment. “What is your ex-wife doing here, Nanami!”

“I-“ Nanami continues to observe the situation unfolding. You look good. Beautiful. Stunning. Like you belong in the elite society. He hasn’t seen you like this ever. Even when you two got married in that dull city courthouse. He clears his throat. “I don’t know.”

Then, he sees you turn, and you look straight at him through the glass circle. The corners of your lips turn up into the tiniest, sly smile before the back of your head is seen again.

What the fuck just happened? What is going on? It’s all that can go through Nanami’s head at the moment.

This kind of sucks, is all you’re thinking as the target of yours blabbers on about whatever. You could have seen yourself falling in love with Nanami Kento. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn about going to work and saying how dangerous it is there. What was so dangerous about transferring numbers in for some company, you used to think. But, now that he’s after your same target, you understood.

“Gotta give it to you, he’s even scarier now that I know he’s a sniper.” Mahito chuckles through your ear piece. “You know we have to kill him now right?”

You surprise yourself when you shudder at the thought. You hear Geto chastise him in response for you. “She’s kind of busy to be worrying about that right now.” Geto reminds you for what seems like the millionth time that night. “Focus on the target,” he tells you.

Right. Lure him in. Get the portfolio. Kill him. It’s been done before. An easy procedure. If only your ex-husband wasn’t a building away with a sniper in hand. You’re about to secure part of the mission— seduce the man back to his hotel room where the portfolio lies in a safe—when your phone rings.

You don’t know why you agree, but you end up in a luxurious hotel room drinking red wine with your ex-husband as you tell him the whole truth. And he tells you his. It’s too much to take in. It feels unreal.

“So, what now?”

He shrugs and takes another sip of his drink. And he looks so hot, with his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. And those hands—

Without any thought, you pull on his tie and your lips land on his. Nanami realized he hasn’t touched you intimately in almost a year. He forgot how good it felt. Right now, you taste like wine. He gets a drip of it off your tongue when it brushes against his. And he decides he’ll let you do whatever you want to him. He’s tired. Tired of having to chase you when you were already his all this time.

He doesn’t know you feel the same way. That you’d kill yourself before killing him. So, you counter your rough kisses with your gentle touches along his rugged arms. You make your way to his buttons. You manage to pop two undone when you pull apart from him. Both your lips wet and swollen.

“You aren’t stopping me?”

With the way you’re looking at him and the way he’s looking at you, there’s no way either of you could really pull out of the lustful ambience. And Nanami’s thinking to himself— this was your wife and you haven’t thought of fucking her until now? Where the hell was your head this past year? Why hadn’t you ever come home on time?

The answer all laid upon this stupid job, but this stupid job got him in the position he was in now. And he’s always been logical— backing out on missions that involved higher tiered competition, making sure a bullet would bounce off a target a certain way to trick investigators— but if he needs to let loose and give up all inhibitions to spend this whole night with you, he will.

Who cares if your teams were probably biting each other’s head off at the moment?

You’re searching for an answer in his natural stony gaze before he abruptly moves to stand, causing you to fall backwards towards the hotel bed with an oomf. He’s towering over you with the slightest smug smile when he sees your flustered appearance taking in the muscular body that unfolds as he unbuttons the shirt.

“No. Should I?”

You shake your head no, enveloping your arms around his now bare neck. Please don’t ever, you want to say. Your lips crash again and there’s more of a soft passion to these kisses. He tries not to awe at the falling thin straps on your shoulders giving up so much skin, a lot more skin than he has ever got to see. And he merely thanks God that you’ve begun to unbuckle his pants because he could probably spend a little bit too long admiring your body.

You use this as a chance to turn him over so that you’re on top. Your lips meet his again as you grab his unsurprising large length and rush to put it inside you. You whine at the stretch and Nanami can’t help but feel a little bit pleased at the fact that you, whom is usually so calm and cold, unraveling before him.

“Kento.” You unintentionally whimper. You’re too occupied to be embarrassed as you grind and ride him. He’s taken aback by how hot and silky and wet you are. All for him?

“Fuck.” He’s not exactly holding back either. He’s groaning and grunting against the skin of your neck. Feeling you convulsing around him, he takes back his control as he fucks you through your first high that night.

You wake up to overlapping, obnoxious ringing sounds. You don’t have to look to know who’s calling you at this hour. It’s not like you want to answer anyway. There’s a ridiculously hot man in bed naked next to you.

“Are you going to answer?” His voice is gruff, raspy and you think you want to wake up to it every single fucking day. You throw your phone carelessly to the other end of the room, ignoring the sound it makes when it cracks and you lean over on top of him. The sunlight that’s breaking through the window hits your face so delicately, so gently. You’re beautiful, he wants to say. But he doesn’t, so you settle with the small smirk he has on.

“No. It’s nothing important,” you tell him before you indulge in more and more of whatever he can give you. And if that ends, you don’t really care— at least it started with Nanami Kento.

[thunderheadfred]

❄️Todoroki HC's🔥

Aged-up pro hero Shouto. NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - -

General

Might as well be tied with Bakugou for the #1 pro hero spot; they seem to pass the crown back and forth every other year. Everyone knows about their intense frenemies uber-rivalry. Well. Everyone but Shouto.

He's asked to speak at a lot of charity events. If he has time to prepare (and hire a speech writer) he is capable of stirring crowds to standing ovations. But if caught unawares... he gets cornered into hilarious on-the-spot interviews. He's been memed. Mercilessly.

He's an OP character, but unfortunately he rolled -500 in fashion sense. Eventually he wises up and hires a stylist. When he finally cuts his hair a slightly different and even more flattering way, it's a national event. People faint in the street.

Does god-awful sleight-of-hand magic tricks when he meets young fans, even though nobody asked him to. The second-hand embarrassment is palpable. But he keeps doing it. God, why does he keep doing it?

Has hovering arm syndrome in every fan photo.

Super into pop music. Not a fan of any particular group or artist, couldn't tell you the name of a single song. But every time he turns up the volume on the radio it's like... really? THIS? Probably pumps that shit through his hero agency to keep up morale. Has no idea what you mean when you tell him his music taste doesn't match his personality.

Similarly, he enjoys brainless romantic comedies and old silent movies. Doesn't laugh at jokes but loses it over physical comedy. Thinks Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd are the funniest people who ever walked the earth.

He's long and limber. Runs practically a hundred miles every day just to "relax." Doesn't even get sweaty doing it. A filthy yoga addict. He'll probably live to be 200 years old.

He can regulate his body temperature for quirk use but in everyday life he's always half a degree outside the Goldilocks zone. It drives him quietly insane; he has an epic love-hate relationship with his thermostat.

Has a therapy animal pet. Doesn't matter if it's a dog or a cat or a bird or an iguana or a teeny tiny rodent. It's the best-behaved animal in the country and speaks more languages than you. It has its own room and an instagram account with millions of followers.

Lives in a traditional Japanese estate that doubles as a national treasure. Probably has government-appointed snipers at the gate, and he's just like, "don't worry about it." You are afraid to touch anything. Fuck, don't even look at anything, just to be safe.

Has an outstanding personal chef who only gets to cook five things unless (thank fuck!!) company comes over. Impossibly picky eater. He rotates between a few "safe" foods and suspiciously side-eyes everything else. If you cook something unfamiliar for him it will be the most awkward meal of your life, because he'd never tell you he doesn't like it. But oh lord, just look at his face.

This clashes directly with his love of traveling. Frequently uses his hero earnings to visit exotic foreign locales over long weekends... but rarely tries the food.

- - -

Dating

A grey-ace demisexual disaster. You could count the number of people he's been attracted to on one hand. He falls madly in love every time and always gets his heart smashed to pieces when his crush can't magically intuit the meaning of his frigid longing glances and generically courteous romantic gestures.

Which is stupid, because he gets propositioned constantly. He can't walk out the door without being flirted with. People keep slipping him their phone numbers and he always directs them to his agency like a moron. It's a good thing he will never understand how attractive he is because that's the only thing keeping him from total world domination.

Conventional attractiveness does not compute. Shouto doesn't have a type, doesn't care that he's an eleven whilst you are merely mortal. He will fall for your personality above all else.

Probably falls head over heels because your schedules overlap in a completely ordinary way and he witnesses you doing something endearing or brave or most likely: utterly mundane.

Pick a favorite, because you're his favorite coworker, or his favorite barista, or his favorite random bystander in line at the grocery store. You made him smile once; then he spent the next three months daydreaming about your future together before you accidentally stomped on his foot, initiating your first real conversation.

He's big on healthy communication. HUGE. He goes to therapy and it shows. Will talk through literally everything to the point of delirium. Sometimes his dedication to resolving every issue right away can get overwhelming; sometimes you just need some frickin time alone. But it pays off, because the two of you have practically never have a "real fight." There's just no way for bad vibes to fester.

STILL, his family wasn't exactly... erm... verbally or emotionally supportive, shall we say. For that reason, he might not give you all the compliments you deserve, because it simply doesn't occur to him to do so. He assumes you know how he feels. If you're self-conscious or insecure in the relationship, it might take him a while to notice. But when he figures it out (or even better, when you tell him directly) he will make it up to you with enthusiasm.

Will take you on lavish dates. Spoils you rotten without actually intending to. He's clueless about money. If you wanted a sugar daddy, you just hit the fucking jackpot. But if the word valet makes you uncomfortable, perhaps suggest some romantic picnics instead. He can still go all out with the food and five-star location without making you see cartoon dollar signs.

Chronic Insomniac. Stays up too late watching YouTube every night. His viewing history is an incomprehensible blur of k-pop music videos, serial killer icebergs, and super girly crafty ASMR channels. When he's watching a video, he is unreachable. Please call back later and try again.

He's disgustingly cute when he sleeps. Doesn't snore, but drools. Sometimes the drool freezes and leaves frost trails on his face in the morning. Still sleeps with the giant stuffed cat pillow that his mother gave him when he was like, zero. He'll inadvertently suffocate you with it, and you will welcome death with open arms because awwwwww!!!!!

The first time he tells you he loves you will be after your traditional Japanese shinto wedding. You won't hear it again until you start a family. Honestly, it's a good thing he doesn't say it often and is always holding you when it happens. It's a knee-buckler.

- - -

Icy-Hot

I don't even need to say it. Shouto is as old-fashioned as they come. You will never open another door or pull out another chair for yourself as long as you live. He will ask before he holds your hand. He will ask before he kisses you. He will stop and check in if you so much as breathe funny during sex.

If you don't orgasm at exactly the same time while staring into one another's eyes, he'll consider himself a failed lover. God forbid you want him to pound you into the futon... cause you are going to have to present that scenario to him in writing first.

Physical intimacy rarely leads to sex. He loves cuddling, craves physical affection. He'll sprawl all over you and turn into goo while you hold him close. He's an amazing, astounding, phenomenally good kisser. And that's... nice and all... but sometimes you have to grab his face and say, "Shouto, I'm horny," before he's like so that's why you're currently dry-humping me?

Even if he isn't technically a virgin the first time (or the millionth time) you sleep together, you won't know the difference. He's a blushing violet. Every. Fucking. Time. This doesn't mean he's a bad lay, oh no. But there's always ten minutes of confused bumbling before he hits his stride and remembers oh yeah, I DO know how to fuck good.

Absolutely silent during sex. Focused. Intense. Sometimes you have to push him a little to make any kind of noise at all, just so you know you're pleasing him (oh don't worry, you are).

His cock is Just Right. Not to big or too small. Perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Somehow pretty. Like a fucking factory prototype. It truly is not fair.

Gets handsy and restless at night, even if you both have work the next day. Seems to crave sex at three in the morning. You've given him more than one exhausted handjob.

Gets offended if you don't cum. Will go down on you for hours. Of course he uses his quirk to tease you. He doesn't typically use it during actual intercourse, but he's all about foreplay, and he'll use every tool in his arsenal.

His sex drive is completely fucking unpredictable. Sometimes he's all over you, other times he's an icy slab. His line of work leaves him busy and stressed on a near-constant basis, so you can't entirely blame his personality for this one. Just give him some time and help him take care of his basic needs. He'll come back around soon enough.

[elysiadjarin]

Sword and Shield

Tags: Bad Batch x reader (you), fem!coded, poly!relationship, multi-part series, nonhuman!reader, Echo later on

Summary: Well guys, I’m being stupid again and starting another writing project so here you go. It’s gonna get pretty smutty later, so have at it you heathens 😂

Warnings: There will be throughout this fic mentions of war, abuse, gore, and smut. Minors DNI. 18+ only.

1: A New Beginning

“Yo, Shivvie!” a familiar voice hollered, making you look up from your work.

With a blink, you caught sight of Fives trotting across the room. You waved back in acknowledgement, setting down the pieces you’d been tinkering with and wondering what the effusive trooper wanted from you this time. He normally interrupted your sessions of tinkering, but you were fond enough of him that it normally didn’t bother you.

He jogged up, grinning cheerfully. “Whatcha doing? You working on a project again?”

You just nodded and smiled, patting the bench next to you invitingly.

He plopped himself down, glancing briefly at the pieces you’d set down. “So, the Commander sent me over to getcha,” he started, and your eyes widened.

You leaped to your feet, scrabbling to grab your things. “Fives,” you protested, “shouldn’t you have started with that? I gotta get there-“

“Whoa there, Shivvie,” Fives laughed, grabbing at your sleeve. “Calm down, you’re not supposed to show up for another hour. I got sent to tell you so you’d be ready in time.”

“Oh.” You sheepishly sank back down. “Thanks, Fives. Sorry.”

He chuckled. “No problem. Glad I found you on time. I looked in the mess hall and the docks but couldn’t find ya, so I figured I’d come here. Figured you might be working on something,” he said, gesturing widely at the room. “So whatcha workin’ on this time?”

You tilted your head, glancing down at the datapad and the metal scrap bits scattered around you. “Well... I...” you chewed your lip, picking up the datapad. “I dunno, sorta just experimenting,” you tried to explain your own spur-of-the-moment idea. “I was thinking about drills last time, and I realized a couple of things felt... off. I figured I’d try to figure out the details and try to... y’know, make them better,” you offered, handing him the datapad.

He glanced over the blaster schematics you’d pulled up, and tilted his head curiously. “I mean, I don’t really understand all the details, but it looks like you’re trying to fix the stability?” he guessed, handing it back.

“Sorta,” you said with a nod. “I just feel like there’s too much recoil. I mean, imagine if you could fire it with barely any? It’d waste so much less energy.”

“True.” He nodded. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He grinned. “So, you coming to the 79s with us tonight?”

You gave him a slight smile, setting the datapad aside. “Well, I don’t know, Fives. Depends on what the Commander says.” Nervously, you pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Did he say what it was about?”

Fives shrugged. “Dunno.” Then he leaped up. “Well, lemme know if you wanna go, you have my commlink number.”

You nodded. “Thanks, Fives. I will.” You realized a split second later what you’d forgotten to ask. “Oh, wait! Where am I supposed to see the Commander?” you called after him.

He turned back. “Hangar Bay Six!” he hollered back, waving as he bounced away.

You shook your head at his boundless energy, turning back to your work. Really, would Fives ever calm down? It was a wonder you ever hit it off.

Then again, opposites did tend to attract.

~

Taking a breath, you shook your head and straightened, picking up your small bag and heading out the door. Considering your role in the 501st, you wouldn’t be surprised if Commander Rex had called you in for some mission or something. There had been the possibility of your getting reassigned, after all.

Heading over to Hangar Bay Six like Fives had said, you let your mind wander a bit, wondering what you’d been called in for. You didn’t think you were in trouble, or else the Commander probably would have come to you personally or called you in straightaway. So it had to be something else, right?

By the time you caught sight of him on the opposite side of the Hangar, your mind had unsurprisingly started to spiral into a pit of anxiety. You were always nervous about getting into trouble, even if you knew you rarely did anything to merit an open rebuke. Still, you’d come to respect the Commander, and you wanted to keep a good standing with him and General Skywalker.

Commander Rex stood by a small group of what seemed to be other troopers, all by a smaller ship. The name Havoc Marauder was painted proudly across the side, and you had to admire the bold name. Rex turned to see you approach as you neared, catching the attention of the others he’d been speaking to.

“Ah, there you are.” He nodded at you. “Thank you for being on time.”

You came to a halt and dipped your head politely, bag still slung over your shoulder. “Yessir. Fives told me you wanted me,” you said, a bit lamely. Still, you gave him a small smile.

“I’m surprised he even managed to find you,” Rex said dryly, earning a small laugh from you. “I’d like you to meet Clone Force 99, a unit that I’ve helped put together,” he said, moving on. He motioned to the others. “They’re an unusual special forces unit, meant to work special ops missions different from the normal cut and dry type. I know that you’ve expressed your hopes to find a group that you’d work best with, and while you’ve been invaluable to the 501st, I’d like you to consider giving Force 99 a try. I think based on your skills that you might suit each other well.”

Curiously, you tilted your head and observed the group of four. At first glance, you immediately noticed that all of them had notable differences from a normal Clone. You wouldn’t necessarily call them disabilities, though according to the Kaminoans they most likely would be. The group seemed to survey you back, and you decided to give them a hesitant smile.

“Pleased to meet you,” you offered with a polite nod. “My name is (Name), though most call me Shiv.” You smiled at the nickname the Clones had given you that you’d readily adopted. “If you’d have me, I’d love to give it a go.”

“You a Nat-born?” The one that seemed to be the leader of the group asked the question, his head tilting toward you in a way that let you easily see the skull tattoo that covered half of his face.

You nodded. “Yes, but I’m far from... I guess what you’d call a Reg,” you said, a little uncomfortably. “I know I’m not a Clone, but I’ve sort of been... viewed like one for most of my life. I... guess you could say I was born for war.” A bitter smile twisted your lips as you glanced down at the floor.

“So what’s your specialty, then?” The one with glasses surveyed you interestedly.

You blinked with a bit of surprise, glancing at Rex. Hadn’t he told them, if he recommended you to the group-?

He shook his head back. “You’re best at describing your own skills. I thought it might be best for you to explain it yourself.”

“Oh.” You supposed it made sense. Hesitating, you glanced at them. “Uh- well, I’m...” You pursed your lips. “Do any of you use any weapon other than a standard blaster?” You decided to preface.

The one with greyed hair and a surly look on his face hefted his weapon in his hands, a sniper rifle. You observed it with a tilted head, mind starting to run its caliber.

“773 Firepuncher sniper rifle,” you automatically murmured, eyes trailing over it. “Oh, has it been modified?” you asked interestedly. “It seems to be a bit different from the standard scope?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, I modified it.”

You nodded, then turned to the others questioningly.

The largest one of the group, the one with scars over his whitened eye, grinned at you. “This is my favorite!” he boomed unapologetically, hefting a giant weapon.

You had to smile a little, noting the weapon fit the user. “DC-17m Interchangeable Weapon System,” you said with a nod. “That’s one I’m pretty familiar with.”

The lean trooper with the glasses pointed to his holsters.

You barely had to glance before nodding. “DC-17 hand blasters.”

The leader with the tattoo displayed his own hand blaster, IWS, and a vibro-knife.

You had to smile a little, eyes lingering on the knife. “Commander Rex and the others named me after the VibroShiv,” you had to admit. Then you shook yourself. “Um, right. Well, I guess you could in a way call me a weapons expert and analyst. I’ve been responsible for modifying weapons according to someone’s specific skills or fighting patterns. Most of the reason that I have a good grasp of weapons is because I... I um- I am one.”

For a moment, the group just stared at you, as though waiting for you to either yell “Sike!” or explain further.

When you waited for their response, glancing at Rex nervously, they glanced at each other.

“Come again?” the tattooed one said, a little incredulously.

You had the feeling that this would be just as interesting a discussion as the one you’d had with the 501st the first time you’d been introduced.

Part 2: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/653202473626025984/sword-and-shield

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 11

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Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Plot? What's that? I only know domestic fluff

She really didn’t know what to think when Tim asked to move in for a second time the next morning.

On the one hand, it felt like she was taking advantage of him. He’d seen her get shot and she doubted he’d really thought rationally since.

On the other hand… he essentially lived there already and it would do a lot to alleviate the anxiety the both of them had...

She rubbed her eyes -- ha, as if she hadn’t been awake the whole night to make sure he hadn’t had nightmares -- for an excuse to look away while she thought. What should she do? She would be lying if she said she didn’t want him to move in, she knew that was clouding her judgement, but even if she recognized her bias it wasn’t easy to just put it aside.

She sighed lightly and lowered a hand from her eyes. Tim looked really cute after having just woken up with his hair all messy and his eyes half lidded and one of his cheeks slightly flatter where he’d been resting his head against her and who can really say no to that face?

… well, Marinette supposed that would allow both of them to relax a little...

She let her hands drop to rest on top of his.

“Sure, darling. If you want you can move in… but, if you ever want to move out, I won’t stop you. Just ask.”

He cracked a tiny smile. “The only time I’d ever move out of this place is if you were changing apartments.”

She snickered. “Where I go, you go?”

“You have no idea,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “You bats and your dumb cryptic sentences. Would it kill you guys to ever say a single thing directly?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that I would drop dead on the spot.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh yeah? Heart attack or sniper?”

“Can’t tell you. I would drop dead on the spot.”

“Damn. Foiled again by the… mystery cause of death!”

The smile on Tim’s face brightened and he looped his arms around her. “You’d save me.”

“Oh? And miss out on my chance to get that rich boy money you probably gave me in your will?”

He schooled his face back into a serious look. “I see. I’ll have to write you out of my will, then. Make sure you bring me back.”

“Nooooooooo! My scheme! Ruined! Now how will I become a millionaire without trying?!”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, his face purposefully smug and hers pinched into a frown…

And then they broke character, giggles falling from their lips and smiles lighting up their faces. She tipped her head forward until it rested against his chest. He squeezed her tighter.

Then, to her surprise, he flopped back on the couch, pulling her with him. “Alright, sleepy time,” he said cheerfully.

“Darling --.”

“You didn’t sleep last night. Sleep.”

She pressed against his chest until she could sit up just enough to glare at him. “I have super strength. May not be as strong as Connor or anything but I can definitely get away from you if I wanted.”

“Of course.” A smug look made its way across his face. “But you wouldn’t hurt your darling, would you?”

She glared harder despite the slight reddening of her cheeks. His smirk didn’t waver.

Marinette huffed and dropped back down. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

She didn’t respond to that, instead just grumbling ‘pillows don’t talk’ and letting herself finally nod off.

~

Having two perfectionists trying to figure out the layout of a limited living space might not have been their brightest idea. They should have, at least, gotten someone to help.

Instead they had brought out Marinette’s tape measure and mapped out the entire apartment on a sheet of paper and then made tiny shapes for the furniture. Now, they sat at the table, obsessively moving pieces around.

It could have been worse, of course. Neither of them were the type to hoard things. He wasn’t all that concerned with anything other than his clothes and his laptop. Marinette only cared about her clothes, video games, and baking tools -- all of which could be tucked away in the provided closets and cabinets with ease. If needed they could probably get by with nothing but a dresser and a pull out bed each.

So, yeah, their own personal living styles weren’t the problem…

It was their work. Who knew their workaholic tendencies would be their downfall (besides everyone, of course)? She needed a lot of space for her fabrics and mannequins to make sure nothing got damaged. Tim would need a lot of space for his supercomputer if he didn’t want to make the long trip to Bristol every night.

Speaking of the trip to Bristol! He needed a place to put his motorbike and his suit. Shit. He could find a place to park his bike if he tried, but… he started cutting out a piece for the suit.

Marinette saw him adding more stuff and her head hit the table.

He snickered a little and poked her hair until she, however reluctantly, picked her head back up to send him a halfhearted glare. He smiled, reaching over and plucking the tiny square of paper from where it had stuck itself to her forehead. A blush spread across her cheeks.

Then she happened to glance down and her annoyance was back in full force.

“We didn’t think this through,” she said.

His smile became more strained as he looked down at their map. “Moving sounds so easy on paper.”

“Maybe it’s easier for people who don’t have such complicated lives.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m quitting.”

“Aw, but then I’ll lose my patrol buddy! I’ll have to do everything with your siblings instead.”

His nose scrunched up. “God, no. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, you love your siblings.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know they’re the worst.”

She looked like she was going to argue, but then she tipped her head and nodded. “True.”

He snickered.

Their smiles disappeared quickly as they looked back at the layout of the apartment. Could they even fit all their stuff?

… wait, actually, could they?

He started shuffling things in and he realized that, if they wanted to have space to walk, there wasn’t enough room. No wonder they’d had so much trouble finding a layout that would work. It was literally impossible. They needed more space.

She hesitated slightly. “... what if we bought out the apartment next to this one for work? It could even double as a backup in case you ever decide you want to have a place of your own again.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Can we do that?”

“You’re rich, you could probably figure it out.”

He rolled his eyes. “I mean, yes, we can technically kick out the people next door but I’d kind of prefer if we didn’t displace random families.”

“I mean… we could always…” She made a stabbing motion.

He couldn’t laugh at that. Laughing at that would be bad. So he wouldn’t do that.

“Bean -- Mari -- no.”

“I’m just saying! We’d even get the apartment at a discount!”

Okay, he might have laughed a little.

… they didn’t end up stabbing anyone but, hey, if the family next door happened to get some huge scholarship courtesy of The Wayne Foundation that they didn’t remember applying for with the stipulation that they would have to move districts... then they just so happened to have a lucky break. Good for them.

Which meant that they only really needed to buy a desk, a dresser, and a bed.

So they went to Ikea! A boring place where no shenanigans ever happen!

… well, no shenanigans ever happen if you’re not a pair of vigilantes that bounce bad ideas off of each other like they were playing a particularly intense game of Don’t Let The Balloon Touch The Ground and the entire world would blow up if they dared to lose.

Speaking of things that touch the ground, the resident dumbasses should probably have kept their feet firmly planted on it.

Marinette squinted down the escalator. “Oh, they’re definitely going to kick us out.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

“Maybe arrested.”

“Maybe that, too,” he said brightly, checking the pot over his head to make sure it wouldn’t come off.

“... the PR team is going to hate us,” she warned him.

“Absolutely.” He could feel the gaze on the back of his head, telling him that the employees had noticed them and, quite likely, knew what they were planning. “Ready?”

A grin spread across her face. “Of course.”

He smirked. “Good, because they’re coming.”

She glanced back at the employees making their way over to interfere.

“Threetwoonego!”

He pushed off with his foot, relishing in her indignant yelp, and grinned widely as he started the very bumpy ride that was snowboarding down an escalator. He’d thought he’d be more or less okay because he had been a skateboarder but it turns out that boarding down moving stairs is very different from boarding down flat planes. He let loose a string of curses as he struggled to hold the plank of wood to his feet and not die a very painful, very stupid death.

Marinette came whizzing past him, eyes wide and the tray she’d been using as a board somehow missing.

She met his eyes briefly and flashed a grin.

And then they crashed.

It was about as painful as one would expect. Tim was glad that he’d thought to give himself a pot-helmet-thing because it had cracked down the middle and he didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t done that.

And he was the lucky one. He got out with a few bruises and a better appreciation for his own life. Marinette was nursing an arm that looked like it was trying to imitate the escalator they had just slid down, lips pressed together tightly as tears threatened to escape.

He carefully crawled over to check for any other injuries that might have been less noticeable.

She grinned up at him, either because he was currently checking to see if her teeth were all in place or to be smug. What she could currently be smug about, though, he had no clue…

“You’re so stupid,” he told her, just in case she wasn’t already aware.

Her smug grin remained even after he had removed the finger from her mouth. “You’re just mad that I won.”

“... sorry?” He hadn’t even been thinking about their impromptu race, too concentrated on the whole ‘making sure they hadn’t just died’ thing, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. Then he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, won a pretty new cast, maybe.”

She snickered. “You had to cheat and you still didn’t even win. How does it feel to suck?”

“Probably still better than it feels to have a broken arm.”

She sat up. “It’s fine, I’ll live.”

He snorted. “You bet you will. I’m going to bubble wrap the whole apartment.”

“You can’t babyproof the place! We don’t even have kids yet!”

Before he could question her use of the word ‘yet’, the employees managed to get their attention. They were trying to get down the currently very broken escalator and the one that was currently going the wrong way for them. Despite this, the two of them had only a minute max before they reached them.

Marinette and Tim locked eyes.

“Run?” She suggested.

He was already getting to his feet. He dropped a business card for the employees and turned to her.

He grabbed her good hand and they sprinted out of the store, smiles lighting up their faces and laughter spilling from their lips. The poor employees hadn’t stood a chance of catching the two vigilantes, even injured as they were. They knew the city like the back of their hands and were able to weave in and out of side streets and alleyways without much thought.

Once they were sure that no one was following them -- leaving a store unattended in Gotham was a terrible idea and Tim had left a card for them to call -- she tugged him to hide between two buildings.

They squeezed into the tiny space and leaned into each other for support while they struggled to catch their breath. Her good hand came up to grip his shirt. He rested his forehead against the wall above her.

She lifted her gaze to his and he wished she hadn’t because he’d already been out of breath enough before she’d done that but now here was staring into her blue eyes, the corners crinkled in a way that had become so familiar to him over the past few months, and god… all he could think about was all the stories that described how time stopped when you fell in love… and how those stories couldn’t be more wrong. He would have hated for that to happen because if time stopped then he would have to see that perfect smile of hers in anything but real time and he doubted that it would have looked nearly as beautiful without the way her shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter or the slight fluttering of her lashes or the steady pinkening of her cheeks.

She finally gave a little puff of laughter. “What?”

He blinked once, trying to bring himself back to what was going on. “Oh, I was just thinking…”

“Oh? Don’t strain yourself.”

He smiled. “I was just going to say something nice but instead I’ll insult you on your stealth. You’d be a terrible criminal, laughing during your getaway.”

She rolled her eyes. “You laughed, too.”

“Yeah, but when I did it it was super cool and professional.”

“Ah, I see. How could I not have noticed it before?”

He snickered. “Well, if today has proved anything, it’s that you are not, in fact, the world’s greatest detective.”

She grinned. “You were the one that put the pot on my head originally.”

“You came up with the idea to go down the escalators like that.”

“You agreed.”

“You -- I -- shut up,” he complained, sending her a glare.

She smiled at him until he pretty much had no choice but to smile back, letting his head fall the last few inches to press his forehead against hers.

Her hand gripped his shirt a little tighter.

He moved his hands from the wall to her waist.

They stood there, letting time pass them by, searching each other's eyes for some sort of answer to the question neither of them could bring themselves to ask aloud. He bit his lip, trying to swallow down his anxiety.

Her eyes flicked to his lips, her own parted as if to say something, before she seemed to think better of it.

She closed the gap. His heart skipped a beat at the feather-soft feeling of her lips against his and he let his eyes flutter shut. She teased his lip out from between his teeth with her own.

And then she pulled back just slightly.

He opened his eyes just enough to see her shy smile and the blush lighting up her face.

“You… you really have to stop doing that. They’ll get chapped --.”

He pressed forward again, capturing her lips in a kiss that was far more desperate than the last. She gasped quietly and he took the chance to slip his tongue into her mouth. The hand fisted in his shirt slid up to wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him even closer. He pressed her back against the wall, a hand trailing up to tangle itself in her hair, trying to reach more --.

She brought her bad arm up to cradle his face and then yelped in pain.

He jumped back. Right. Broken arm. Looks like a staircase. Not good.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh… let’s get you treated.”

~

Marinette ended up with a pink cast and an order to stay home for at least a week.

She pouted, resting her head back against the couch as she watched him shuffle around in search of his second shoe (it was tucked behind her back, but he didn’t need to know that). “I’m not a child, you guys can’t just ground me,” she complained for what felt like the millionth time.

Tim rolled his eyes. “We all have to do it when we break bones unless it’s an all hands on deck situation. Been like that since even before I was Robin.”

“But B goes out with broken bones all the time!”

“That’s different.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It is. If there is a situation where B can be a hypocrite he will do it”

Marinette scoffed. “And you’re allowed out because…?”

He started counting off on his fingers. “None of my bones are broken, my job requires me to leave, I don’t get in trouble 9/10 times I leave the house… should I go on?”

“Last one is a lie,” she mumbled.

“No, I only get in trouble, like, 8/10 times I leave.”

It was hard to maintain her glare. She settled for sticking her tongue out at him like the mature adult she was. He returned it, despite the fact that he was also an adult according to the law.

He grinned and came to sit next to her on the couch. She shifted around until she was leaning against him instead of the couch, legs tangling with his.

He didn’t say anything about the blatant attempt at trapping him there with her. Instead, he leaned closer to her face and said: “Speaking of leaving, do you happen to know where my other shoe is?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why do I get the feeling that you already know where it is?”

He snickered. “I know you, Bean. So, can I have it back?”

“Hm… I don’t know…” she said, twirling his tie around her hand.

He let her pull him down for a kiss. She giggled against his lips as his hands ghosted over her in search of the missing shoe. She kept her good hand at his collar as a kind of silent promise that she wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- move the shoe, even throwing her bad arm around his neck just in case.

He pulled away a few moments later, squinting at her suspiciously. “I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been tricked.”

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “Me? Trick you? I could never.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, where is it?”

She glanced at the time and smirked. “I guess you’ve earned it…” She pulled her foot out from between the couch cushions to show him the shoe she had hastily slipped on when he’d gotten close.

He scoffed lightly and slipped it off. “Y’know, if I had literally one of the most common fetishes in the world that wouldn’t have worked.”

“But you don’t, so it did,” she chirped with a cheeky grin.

“Guess that’s true…” He pecked her lips one last time before pulling his shoe on and she grinned as she watched him head to the door.

Only to stop a little short because of a knock.

He raised his eyebrows and glanced back. “Are one of my siblings coming over?”

She pressed her lips together thinly to keep herself from laughing. “It’s not any of their normal times. I just figured that, if I had to be home alone all day and couldn’t really do any work because my stupid cast, I should at least keep busy while you were gone.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He stepped forward and opened the door to reveal a delivery guy with three giant boxes. The furniture they had ordered from Ikea had arrived.

He signed for them and then turned to glare at her. “You planned all this so I couldn’t go.”

“I mean… you could always leave me here to do them myself.” She batted her eyelashes at him innocently. “Of course, my broken arm will make it a little difficult but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She had been stared down by Batman in full kevlar, she could handle the glare Tim gave her in his slightly messy work suit.

Then, he sighed. “Do you have a backup plan?”

“Obviously. Don’t think you’ll like that one as much.”

He scowled. “You’re really this determined to not be home alone?”

“Oh, no, this is about getting B to allow me out. Trapping you and your siblings here is just a means to that end.”

“You’re going to be trapping my siblings here, too?”

She grinned. “Yep. They show up all the time, might as well use that.”

His shoulders slumped a little.

She giggled. “If I have to stay inside all the time then so do you guys. It’s the rules.”

And, so, she reached for him until he pressed a short kiss to her lips.

Then, they got to work. Or, rather, he did. She had been relegated to just sitting nearby and helping him figure out how to build it.

She took a few pictures for their public accounts as necessary: a picture of him with three screws poking out of his mouth while he tried to figure out the weird L-shaped tool he’d been given, a picture of the two of them staring at the instruction sheet with confused frowns on their faces (taken by Tikki), Vanelope enjoying the boxes the stuff had come in, what was definitely not a thirst pic of Tim, and then the finished furniture in the apartment.

It was there, right before she was about to post it, that she realized that she hadn’t actually publicly followed any of the Waynes. She squinted at her bio, which proclaimed that she would only follow people she genuinely liked, and then at the ten people she had followed. The internet would notice if she suddenly followed eight more people.

“Darling?”

He peeked an eye open from where he was relaxing on the couch and then raised an arm for her. She took his hand and smiled a little when he pulled her into his lap so he could hug her like a pillow.

Then she pulled a more serious look to her face. “Do you want to go public or not?”

He buried his face in her neck. “Sure.”

“... not even gonna think about it?”

He shrugged. “They’re going to suspect it no matter what. Especially since we were goofing around in an Ikea of all places and you’re uploading pictures of me helping you with furniture.”

She nodded slightly. “I know, but I don’t have to upload them.”

There was a long silence as they considered their options.

Eventually he just sighed and tightened his grip on her. “I’ll go with anything you want to do, Bean.”

She relaxed slowly and, hesitantly, she sent him the photos. “Here, you can upload them, too. Might as well make it public on both of our accounts.”

He picked his head up slightly to check out the pictures. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her shoulder at the picture of Vanelope. “This one is nice.”

She snickered. “All cats are cute, obviously it would make a nice picture.”

He hummed his agreement. “No offense to you, you’re cute and all, but the cat definitely wins the cutest here.”

“I’m not offended at all. We could never beat that.”

Then, she got an idea.

“Except… maybe… want a picture of us kissing for the reveal?”

“I’ll take any excuse,” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes even as she felt her face warm. “You don’t need an excuse to kiss me, dumbass.”

Now it was his turn to blush. Yay, revenge.

… also, it would be cute for the picture if they were both a little red for it.

She twisted in his lap to press a kiss to his lips. His hands came up to cradle her face. She threw her bad arm around his neck, fingers threaded in his hair.

Her camera clicked. They ignored it.

[ghostedgrim]

She's All That. 2

Pt.1. pt.2.nsfw version. Request page. Masterlist.

Warnings⚠️: Jealousy,(I very recently finished a 700 dark fantasy so it kinda effected my writing) fighting, a graphic fighting scene, injuries, death, alot of fluff at the end tho 👍

The sounds of grunts and fists connecting with leather echoes through the room as I hit the punching bag over and over. It's been a month, I haven't talked to James once, nor have I talked to y/n either. No matter how hard I try, I can spot her from across the room, yet she ignores me so easily. Now that I've dated her, every guy around seems to finally notice she exists and they all want a damn piece of her.

"Eric!" I turn around to see Max approaching, my shirt and jacket in his hand. I back away from the bag, and wipe some of my sweat off my face with my hand towel. "Why weren't you at the meeting this afternoon?"

I hold back a groan and turn to Max, "I highly doubt I would've had any important input on how to handle rowdy Factionless when I only handle the affairs inside Dauntless, and our alliance with Erudite."

"Eric, I don't know what has gotten into you, but if you miss another damn meeting, or get to work late again you'll be kissing your position as a Dauntless leader goodbye and living with the Factionless." Max's tone is firm leaving no room for argument or question of a bluff. Fuck.

"My apologies sir, I'll get my act together. I will see you at Erudite tonight." Max fists my shirt and jacket tighter in his hand and punches them into my chest.

"Good, cause you're on very thin ice and summer is fast approaching." I grab my clothes before he can drop them, and watched with a cold glare as he left. I drop my clothes back onto the chair I initially set them on and resumed punching the bag. The bruises decorating my body, curtesy of Four, hurt like Hell, and I revel in it.

Kai, green hair, snakebite peircings, no tattoos, and ironically he's a tattoo artist. I swear he took the job simply because he's a damn coward. I don't understand what y/n sees in him, and yet somehow she chooses to date him of all people. Kai is docile, timid, and to be honest if it weren't for the fact he killed three people during initiation this year you'd think he'd belong in Amity.

Jealousy is a poison that I fall victim to every time, and watching her fawn over him makes my blood fucking boil. Kai killed three initiates so he wouldn't get kicked out of initiation. He was a weak coward, but something about him screams danger. Throughout the time I had taught him he was a predator, doing what's needed to survive while dressed in sheep's clothing. Ironically enough he also takes up the job of defending snipers. I have no doubt he took the job because he's almost never called out onto the field, and people in that position could go their whole lives without once getting in a fight with enemies.

It's stupid because here I am, in the middle of an important meeting and all I can focus on was the image of her grinding against Kai on the dance floor. It should've been me, not that creep. Just from imagining it I have to subtly adjust my pants. God I would love to just toss Kai over the chasm and-"

"Eric." Max's tense tone finally breaks me free of my thoughts. "How do you think we should handle the situation."

I pause. What situation? This meeting... it was about Factionless starting to get too rowdy or whatever. "Which part of the situation? The Factionless are acting out, what are the believed causes, how much risk are the Abnegation who help them are in? The Factionless are bigger than all of our factions combined." Good enough save... I hope.

Max rolls his eyes. Shit.

"So far it's only a small group," I look up at Maverick as he speaks, "and we're yet to see them attack the Abnegation. All the Factionless have done so far is raid five Amity trucks, with only two Amity injured so far. There does appear to be someone organizing their attacks. Kevin Atos, Divergent, and has been evading our capture for the past few months since the Choosing Ceremony." Maverick runs a tattooed hand through his firey hair, then looks back through the documents.

"How do we know it's Kevin? Is he taking part in the raids, do we see him at any points in the raid?"

Jade then scowls at me accusingly, her blue eyes like bullets. She flips her black hair off her shoulder, "Are you implying Kevin is innocent?"

I grimace, "Hardly, I'm simply asking for how we know he takes part in these raids. More specificly, will we need to draw him out. We have seven extremely skilled snipers, meaning we finally have an opportunity to take him out. Without a leader the raiders will temporarily be distraut. That's when a special ops team swoops in and captures everyone who took part in the raids. From there we interrogate, and capture all the Factionless who aided the raiders. Then-"

"Whose to say the entirety of the Factionless don't join up in arms and rebel as a whole. Those raiders could become martyrs," Jade interrupts.

I roll my shoulders and crack my knuckles. "Well maybe if you didn't interrupt I could get to that. Yes we will execute all the Factionless we deemed guilty. However, those raiders had weapons, and sure they could've scavanged them, but it's extremely possible a Dauntless member could be helping them."

Jeanine finally speaks up, "If you find someone guilty we could then hack the records, make everyone who researches the situation think the traitor is divergent."

Max nods in agreement with the Erudite leader, "It's very likely the traitor is Divergent anyway. And if we don't find anyone guilty, we'll just find someone suspected of being Divergent, Erudite will alter the evidence."

While useful to our cause, framing someone of Divergentence, especially if they're 100% innocent, put a foul taste in my mouth. "What if someone from Erudite also helped coordinate the attacks, or help the raiders get weapons. Kevin came from Amity. He may be smart, but not that smart. Either way, we hunt down everyone who was involved, we'll check each faction if we have to, there must be at least one faction traitor, wether we make up one or not. The Factionless will learn their place, and they won't question our authority or justice." The other Dauntless leaders, Maverick, Jade, Max, Mira all pitch in bouncing ideas around. In the end they settle on my plan.

"Y/n, we need to talk." She turns to me with a hard glare, the squad she's training look absolutely exhausted. Ever since we broke up she been training her squads thrice as hard, especially James.

"If you've come to apologize again I'm not listening."

"It has nothing to do with that."

She turns to the five squads infront of her and orders them to hold a plank position until she returns. Absolutely evil, hot though.

We walk out into a more secluded area. "Talk." She commands.

"Factionless have been raiding Amity trucks, we need a skilled sniper to kill their leader."

"At ease!" She shouts towards the gym and I cam hear groans of relief from within. "It'll be nice to get out of the facility. When?"

"Four days from now. I'll be leading the attack, you'll be positioned in a skyscraper overlooking the Amity route where the attacks happen, we'll have a second sniper positioned further down the street near the corner just in case. The second you shoot Kevin Atos me and my men will dive in to apprehend the raiders, disable anyone who tried to run and any vehicles they try to use."

She crosses her arms, she's tense and i can tell by the steel gaze in her beautiful eyes I'm the reason. "Whose assigned as my guardian?"

The name tastes like bile and sulfur in my mouth, "Kai. That's all you need to know for now. Training will be in the southern gym, floor 02, at 0400. You're dismissed."

She turns, sharp and quick, her braid almost smacks my face. I try to turn away, to walk back to my office but I can't. I watch with absolute admiration as this powerful, amazingly smart woman walks away from me. For some reason it hurts, and a part of me that I have long tried and failed wants to pull her into my arms, to finally kiss her, and hold onto her and never let go.

I'm the first person in the gym the next morning. I wear only black sweatpants, no shirt or tank top. I take my time preparing the map, equipment, and warming myself up. Y/n is the first to arrive, soon followed by the three squads I had chosen for this mission. Her eyes drop to the fresh ink peeking over my waistband on my hip and I smirk. As much as I'd love to tease my ex, I have more pressing matters to focus on.

"Everyone at attention please! I will go over this plan only three times followed by four hours of training! Afterwards I'll quiz each of you on the plan and anyone who gets it wrong will stay an extra hour to clean this gym!" I point at the map set up on the board beside me. "Mrs. Dove our first sniper will be located of the 13th floor of this building here. Mr. Rivers," I point at Kai, "you are assigned as her guardian. She dies, you better be dead too. Mr. Bown you will be located on the 15th floor of this building here," I point at the building on the corner of the street. My lecture continues for another fifteen minutes before I finally assign everyone to their respective workouts.

Kai pales as I step onto his mat. "If you're gonna be a guardian you have to be prepared for hand-to-hand combat. Sure, you were decent during initiation but I haven't seen you fight since. Knock me down and I'll let you leave."

The only image better than my fist kissing Kai's jaw was the image of my beloved dagger asleep in my arms while wrapped in my hoodie. I must give the boy credit, he can take a punch, however he isn't very good at giving them. I'm grounded where I stand while Kai is light and moves around, he favors deceit in his attacks then hitting anywhere that's soft and sensitive. But that means nothing when you're hitting stone. Kai may land a few hits but I've barely moved. Jaw, gut, waist, back of the knees, this idiot barely knows how to fucking block!

I sweep Kai onto his ass yet again. "You're going to get her killed! Do you realize just how fucking pathetic you are! If trouble comes your way and you fail to protect her I will take sweet joy in killing you slowly," I seethe.

It was like something flipped in Kai, one moment he's a doe and the next a rabid dog. Kai movies faster than earlier but his movements are feral. A punch to my throat and I choke. His hands wrap around the crown of his skull and my face kisses his knee. I'm shoved to the floor. Punch after punch this kid doesn't stop.

I barely process someone pulling him off me.

"Eric!" It's muffled like I'm underwater.

I wrapped in someone's arms- no, not just a someone. My dagger, she looks like an angel. I don't dare speak because I'll say something stupid so I force my gaze away from her. Kai lays sprawled out, face first, on the mat.

"Eric!"

"M' fine... I'm fine. Just give me a damn second." I hate to see her look so worried, but the twisted part of me is happy to see her worried, to see that she cares. "Everyone out!"

Two burly men drag Kai out by his arms.

"What the hell do you see in that boy," I spit.

"Boy? He's only a year younger than us. And what I see in him is someone who won't treat my emotions like a damn joke."

"I already told you, it was never a joke to me, not after our first date. I fell for you, hard, and my love for you was genuine."

"You say that over and over, but it doesn't change the fact you initially asked me out as a joke. I don't care how many times you ask for forgiveness I won't-"

"I never asked for your forgiveness! Yes I apologized but I never asked for your forgiveness because I am unworthy of it. I hurt you and I own that, what I did to you was wrong and I own that, but not with pride, never with pride. You were innocent and undeserving of that cruelty, that is why I don't deserve your forgiveness." I look up at her, still slumped in her arms and oh how desperately I want to curl her hair behind her ear and kiss away the bruise on her cheek.

"You need to leave Kai."

"Eric." She purses her lips.

"No, listen. That boy is trouble. He is not the sweet boyfriend you think he is. Kai is like a wild dog, give him a treat and he'll roll over, put him in danger he'll leave you to die, threaten him and he-"

She drops me, the back of my head smacks the floor and my ears ring. "Jealous dickbag." One swift kick to my groin and I gag.

"That's fair I guess."

To my suprise y/n actually helps me to the medical wing, only to leave right as a nurse walked out to greet us.

For the remaining days of training I assigned Damien, a very buff and intimidating man to handle Kai's training while I walked the squads through our routines over and over till it was muscle memory.

Finally the day came. Breakfast before missions like this are always strangely quiet, and when looking out my windows the world looks unsettlingly calm. I grab my jacket, it still smells of her perfume. I've refused to wear it since we broke up in fear the scent would go away, but today I will wear it.

It's days like these that you need to take a moment to remember your mortality. So I take my time lacing my boots, and I give Muffin, my cat, a good scratch behind her ear before making my way to the ramp.

Everyone is already armed and in gear as I approached. The two snipers and their guardians aren't here for they left late in the night to sneak into their respective positions.

After a quick review of the plan we march out. We move on foot, silent and hidden by the long shadows cast by the rising sun.

I'm coiled tight, counting every second that ticks by.

It's a haunting sight, watching the Amity transport roll down the street. They don't sing like they always do, they know they're about to be attacked. I frown as inevitably the Factionless run out, they shoot the driver in his arm and the two Amity accompanying her drag her out and dash into a nearby building.

BANG!!!

My men and I rush out, the Factionless scream out orders, both trying to help Kevin, and escape. It's utter chaos, bullets fly past, innocent bystanders are running away and towards us in search of safety.

The medical team are split in three, two men aid the Amity, three men haul Kevin, whose screaming and cluching his wounded thigh, over to the group of bound Factionless, and the rest are spread out to help fallen soldiers.

I grunt as a bullet grazes my right bicep. I dive behind a pillar within a building and peeked to find my attacker. Instead I see a group of Factionless running up the stairs of the building y/n is in. "Shit."

"Carlos, how's the situation out there!"

Static buzzes in my ear right before he replies. "We've captured fifteen Factionless raiders, eight more are on the run with two of our squads hot on their tails. Daton and y/n have already adjusted their positions to help shoot them down!"

"Good, take command of the situation out here, I just saw a group run into y/n's building and I'm going in to intercept!"

I don't wait for a response as I charge in. I bound each step two at a time, multiple times I've already tried reaching y/n and Kai through their comms but all I get is static. Someone between y/n's message to Conor, and me running into the building someone scrambled the comms.

He doesn't see me, but I see him, that tuff of green hair making him stand out like a highlighter as he crawls to hide behind an old desk, the crazy bitch stabs his own leg too. If I had the time I would shoot Kai for running away and abandoning y/n, especially because he's faking injuries so everyone thinks him innocent.

Please don't be dead, please don't be dead. For every bruise and scratch I find on her will equal at least one broken bone.

Three more floors.

Please be alive.

Please.

Oh God please.

I almost cry in relief when I hear the sounds of fighting, she isn't dead. I rush into the room, and met with a fist in my face. I pay it back with a knife to my attackers throat, and just as the second guy comes at me I duck below his arm and stuff my knife through his throat into his mouth.

I turn to where y/n is, and I see red as I watch three men slam her to the ground.

Just as I grab my gun a bullet tears through my forearm. The pain is agonizing, but adrenaline is stronger. I drive straight through the Factionless man holding the gun. Arms wrap around my waist and haul me to the floor and straddles me. I barely process their faces or their ragged appearance. The third attacker kicks my head, but I keep my focus on stealing the second man's knife. The third attacker tries and fails to grab my wrist as I steal the knife. I dig the blade into the second attacker's bicep, and I rip it down tearing down to the elbow. As the second attacker falls off me I stab the third guy in his leg several times and he falls.

I get up in time to see the first guy aim his gun at y/n.

"No!"

I don't think, I just run. I slam straight into him and we tumble through the window. Sharp, breaking pain snaps through my right leg as I snags in metal scaffolding, but fortunately it saves me from plummeting like the first guy. I simply hang by my leg, my vision already turning splotchy.

"Eric!"

I cry out as I'm hauled back into the building, but before I can complain lips crash onto mine. I'd always imagined they'd taste like, but all I tasted was the blood from her split lip.

Just as quickly as her lips touched mine her hand cracked across my cheek.

"You fucking idiot Eric! What the hell were you thinking you could've died!"

"That I was saving an angel," I groan.

"Stop being romantic you almost died!"

"Says the girl that kissed me," I smile through the pain. My eyes roll back for a moment and my whole world spins as I'm hauled over her shoulder. "Ow."

"Shut up."

"Just stay awake Eric, please. Otherwise I'll haul your ass out of the afterlife and kill you all over again."

"Yes," I let out a pained grunt as she starts running down the stairs, "ma'am."

It's been three days and this room still smells of bleach and cleaning alcohol. I can't complain, I'm lucky to have gotten a private room here in the Dauntless medical wing, especially one with a view outside.

"You look like shit."

"I feel like shit. Thank you very much."

Despite my pain I can't help but to smile as I watch y/n enter the room. A bandage wraps around her bicep, and another peeks out over the waistband of her skirt right on her hip.

"How bad are your injuries." Her voice is soft like a lullaby. I could listen to it forever and never get bored. She sits down on the bed and places a hand on my chest and I hiss in mock pain. "Oh my gosh sorry."

I snatch her wrist as she pulls it away and laughed.

"Asshole, your lucky I can't slap you."

"Even if you did I wouldn't regret it. How are you?"

"You first Eric."

"Fine. I got grazed by a bullet on my bicep, got shot in the forearm. I got stabbed several times too," I gesture to my bandaged torso. "My leg got broken in three places, and I'm covered in bruises. Now tell me about you, I know it must be hard after Kai..." I may be cruel but I'm not heartless enough to dig at how he hurt her, the last thing she needs is me to mock her or sound like a jealous ass.

She sighs deeply and looks out the window, "Kai is going to be executed tomorrow. Not only did he abandon his station of protecting me, turns out he helped arm the Factionless, oh and there's rumors that he was Divergent! Why is it I trust the wrong men?"

I sigh, "It's not that you trust the wrong men, it's just that bad men are good manipulators."

"So? I'm from Erudite, I'm supposed to be smart-"

"You are smart, so fucking smart. Trust me, you have no idea how easy it is to manipulate the Erudite. Don't ever claim you're not smart because you're the smartest woman I know." I grip her hand.

"I'm suprised Four hasn't scolded me yet."

"Well if he does tell me so I can punch him."

We sit in silence, soaking up everything that has happened. I almost lost her, we kissed but I don't know if she truly wants me back, I almost died too, which is honestly terrifying.

"What are we?" I break the silence.

She shifts, her gaze moving from the window down to me. "I don't know, I mean we kissed so I guess lovers once more."

"Do you want to be? Lovers I mean. I know we kissed, but we were high on adrenaline, so that doesn't mean you should force yourself to be with me. So is that something you want?"

"I believe I do. Sometimes I really hate you, but you literally jumped out of a building to save me."

"And got stabbed."

"Yeah that too." She chuckles and I soak in every bit of her brief mirth. "I missed being with you, I was so happy back then. So honestly, I want to give us a second chance."

"Good because I really miss how cute you looked running around my apartment in the t-shirts and jackets you stole from me." We smile and she lays down beside me.

"Can I kiss you. When you almost die you really value those little things. Also when you kissed me it was way too brief for my opinion and romantic as it was."

"Only because I like you."

I cup both her cheeks, my arm hurts but I hardly care right now. I pull her down to me, my heart soars as our lips meet. Her lips taste like chocolate and I have no doubt she was eating some before coming here, I can taste a hint of the strawberries she loves to eat too. I sigh and tilt my head to deepen our kiss. I feel like I'm on cloud nine.

Eventually we pull away to catch our breaths and I look at her, my dagger in absolute awe before pulling her down into a second kiss. I tangle a hand in her hair unwilling to let her go. I want to drown in her, to stay in her arms and to never leave.

"Y/n, my dagger, my love, my stars in the sky," I whisper against her lips, "you are my everything."

We lay together, intertwined, safe in each other arms. I savor every second.

~~~

@inlovewith3

I hope you all enjoyed it. Too Blunt? Four x ex Candor reader coming soon!

[yeojaa]

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween.  What he loves more than that?  You.

pairing.  gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating.   idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded.  it’s just that fluffy.  (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings.  established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower. 

wc.  9.7k

beta reader(s).  the lovely @kerikaaria​​​ read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy.  tysm!  💛  i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif​ gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly.  oops... 

author note.  this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo​‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves.  while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside.  i hope you enjoy it!   

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened.  You remember, faintly, the mention of a party.  Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc.  He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought.  If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway.  Win-win or whatever.  

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge.  Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean. 

“Zarya’s one!  Zarya’s one—“  You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen.  You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too.  There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch.  “Zarya’s actually one!” 

No one cares.  She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map. 

“Jesus—“  Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue.  You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.  

I need healing!  I need healing! 

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way.  Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though.  There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point.  Stupid.  You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support. 

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked.  So infuriating and yet— nope.  Just infuriating. 

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise.  Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise.  He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face.  You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru.  He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team.  A silver lining, you suppose.  

Your second round starts well enough.  Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta.  Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana.  You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn.  Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost.  (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado.  The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong.  Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter. 

“You winning?” 

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction.  You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.  

(It’s not your own fault.  He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!”  You want to be more mad.  Really, you do.  You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long.  Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn. 

“What?”  Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime. 

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves.  All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.  

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder.  You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days.  You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery. 

It’s a little distracting;  he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual.  You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck.  Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see;  it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over.  You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication.  (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.) 

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so.  You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words). 

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet. 

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya?  She has grav.”  Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon.  Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock.  If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game. 

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void.  Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces.  Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next.  Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,”  says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head.  He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match.  It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.  

“Rip is right,”  you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map.  If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms.  Jungkook chuckles at that.  

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well.  There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested.  Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”  

You don’t turn your head.  Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you.  Sometimes, you love it;  other times, you hate it.  Most times, though, he’s right.  He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame). 

“Can we go top left?”  You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main.  Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team.  Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited.  “You should be back right by the stairs.  You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point.  Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav.  She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you.  As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen. 

“Told you,”  he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore. 

“I was going to say thank you.”  Just not right now.  You can’t multitask quite like he can. 

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display.  “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock.  Thank freaking god.  You can win this, you think.  Easy.  No problem. 

“Go Ana on defense.”  At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth.  You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin. 

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time.  He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Do you just want to play?”  You don’t mean it seriously.  You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you.  It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship. 

“Nah, I’m snacking.”  He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon. 

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions.  He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do.  He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do.  He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t. 

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.  

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair.  You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears. 

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game.  There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back. 

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie.  “We won,”  you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug. 

“Of course you did.”  He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you.  He’d been a great coach. 

“What’re you doing here?”  It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest.  He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair.  (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines.  You don’t care.) 

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.  

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.”  You remember, because you’d been disappointed.  Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,”  he states, like he’s talking to a moron.  You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.  

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen.  Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena.  It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it. 

“Yeah, we,”  Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker.  “Halloween party, baby.  Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises:  (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party?  You didn’t think idols had those.  Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no.  Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.”  It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach.  It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day. 

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face.  It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way.  Why’s he looking at you like that?  Why’s your memory so bad?  Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions? 

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance.  It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage.  A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns. 

“I— don’t remember that.”  You’re lying through your damn teeth.  Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass. 

“But you did!”  He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal.  It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me!  You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate. 

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here.  It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia.  “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular.  You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish. 

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs.  (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs.  You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.)  It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing.  The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames.  Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them;  Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.  

“I don’t think I can pull this off,”  you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious.  (You were, once.  Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.) 

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places.  Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest.  You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it.  (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention.  Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you.  You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp.  A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue.  “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance.  It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway.  “You have to say that.  You’re my boyfriend.” 

“I don’t have to say anything,”  he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten.  It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot.  It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart.  “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then.  He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened.  He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom.  How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure.  All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up;  yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug.  You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.  

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson.  They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay—  that was scary.  I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.”  A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees.  It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?”  You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there.  He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms;  he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh.  His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised;  Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer.  (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.”  Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end.  It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature.  You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee.  Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact.  A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious.  You look—”  You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose.  A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon.  “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it.  Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders.  You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!”  You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself.  All part of his plan, you suppose.  “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.  

“Okay!  Sorry!”  Except he doesn’t look very sorry.  More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you.  You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”  

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie.  You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment.  (Not that you really mind.)  

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip.  It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting.  Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks.  It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love. 

Today, it comes after the fourth count. 

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.”  Well, of course you will.  As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas.  It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams. 

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times.  “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins.  It’s unfairly adorable.  Still, you push.  Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you.  From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted. 

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot.  You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum.  A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to.  You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you;  rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.”  By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful.  The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday. 

It turns out to be the opposite:  one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend.  He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger.  You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another.  For tonight, they’re one and the same. 

“Joker?  Seriously?”  You can’t hide the delight.  It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction.  Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask.  “Don’t sound so excited.”  It’s an actual concern of his.  He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.  

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more.  He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting. 

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky.  You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises.  It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently.  You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared;  you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.”  You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes.  It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes.  It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling.  Bastard.  “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker.  You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter.  He’s dressed this way because you like the character.  

“Oh,”  you say, because there’s not much more to say.  Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it. 

“Yeah,”  he parrots back, a little smug.  

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life.  He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set.  You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better.  (You suppose he is.)  

“Angel, come here!”  He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side.  Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love.  There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).   

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.  

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball.  You don’t mind.  You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.  

“I’m winning,”  he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.  

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh.  Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst.  Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.  

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.”  You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element.  He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some.  It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is).  “How many games have you won?”  Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.”  God, his ego.  You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best.  Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck.  He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you.  To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.  

“Can we play?”  Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks.  You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.  

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs.  Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend.  (How fitting.)  “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch.  “No, you’re just bad at games!”  He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes.  Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink.  In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus.  (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?)  You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily.  Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.”  And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.  

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond.  He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life. 

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”  

“Ahhhhhh, stop!”  It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own.  Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads.  “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!”  You know it isn’t true.  Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines).  But together?  It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.  

You absolutely loved it. 

“Sure, sure,”  the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot.  One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins.  A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour.  You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one.  Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour.  “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.  

“Drink this!”  

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?”  You’re incredulous.  Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless.  Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!”  The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too.  “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy?  It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?). 

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it.  Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body.  “Don’t die!”  He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”  

“No, you’re fine.”  He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up.  You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement.  “Your face, oh—  Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane.  You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together.  It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor.  Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms.  You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?”  It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies.  He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile.  “What’re you doing down there?”  

“Just hanging out,”  you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft.  A modern day olive branch.  “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close.  Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like.  It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like.  Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away.  You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness.  “You sound drunk, angel,”  he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek.  It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin.  It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves.  “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,”  comes Jimin from beside you.  There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.  

“That’s the plan,”  Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment.  It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him.  He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation.  When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case.  “Want to head home?”

You do.  You really, really do.   

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are.  Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—”  There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet.  “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway.  “Sorry,”  you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused.  It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.”  He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh.  Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away.  “Here, let me.”  

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time.  (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,”  you tease, clinging to him like a koala.  You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven.  “Or are you the court jester?  That’s what Joker is, right?”  It’s a joke and a bad one at that.  Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.  

“You’re drunk.”  He says it more kindly than you expect.  Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve.  You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded.  There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare.  It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought.  You have to tell him.  Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it.  “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down.  As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands.  (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.)  “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?”  You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon.  You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.”  It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that.  You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style.  You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression.  “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does.  You pout, as you so often do. 

“Okay,”  you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder.  You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings.  “Will you wash my hair?”  You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.”  Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).  

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck.  When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips.  You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat.  Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.”  As if that’s meant to stop you.  He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention.  He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,”  you mumble into the expanse of his chest.  He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable.  You think you could live in the feeling of his arms.  (You’re lucky you get to.)  You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most.  “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation.  You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless.  It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.  

He’d explained it to you once.  Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first.  Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t.  JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm.  Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that.  You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.”  You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon.  You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure.  “Gotta get undressed to shower,”  he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises?  It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”  

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.  

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care.  Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow.  You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep.  He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle.  His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck.  You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight.  You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits.  There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest.  He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.”  The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. 

“We are, angel,”  Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back.  It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame.  “Just need to get you warmed up first.”    

“The shower’ll be warm,”  you say - or think you say, anyway.  It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).  

“Do you want me to stop?”  It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off.  Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat.  “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”  Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern.  You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.  

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise.  “I never want you to stop.”  

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair.  He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted.  “I love you,”  he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.  

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment.  He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off.  You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders.  You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.  

“Start the shower.”  

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that.  You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away.  The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,”  he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream.  He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip.  You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does.  You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside.  It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you.  You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.  

“Hair?”  You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder.  It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.  

“Patience, baby.”  It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess.  He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue.  (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—”  The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand.  Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it.  It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips.  A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit.  The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump.  Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.  

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair.  “Patience,”  he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist.  He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue. 

“Kook,”  you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess.  There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest.  A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.  

“Relax for me.”  You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.  

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more.  You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish.  (You wish you could see him.) 

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him.  (It was.)  He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense.  Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.  

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures.  With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,”  comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care.  Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls.  He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.  

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard.  Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot;  it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.  

“K-Kook.”  It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.  

“I’ve got you.”  And he does - hook, line, and sinker.  He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave.  It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go.  He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn.  See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service.  Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him.  You should recognise the look on his face.  “Kook?”

“My turn.”  It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward.  There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you.  It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in.  “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.  (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed.  In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine.  It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat.  His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear.  It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure.  “Oh fuck,”  he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.  

“Always so good for me.”  Another thing he says, often and without prompting.  It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet.  “Always so perfect for me.”  

“Because I love you,”  you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.  

“Love you too, angel.”  He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway.  He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted.  He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart.  Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust.  An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision;  it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard.  He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high.  You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings. 

“Kook,”  you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower.  The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm.  You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing.  It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.  

“P-please, Kook.  Please.”  You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his.  He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation.  “Come for me, Kook.  Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars.  Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you.  It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs.  You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.  

“I love you,”  he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.  

“I love you,”  you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours.  “But I still need you to wash my hair.”  It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days.  “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.”  Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements.  He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery.  Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.  

“I thought I was an angel.”  You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks.  Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline.  Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice.  “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”  

You can’t argue with that. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​

[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge pt. 6 (Feysand)

Part of the Damnation series. 

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

This is the last part of this fic! Gonna work on some asks next, then start the Nessian story (see the link above for details) 

~Feyre~

Men, in general, are beyond stupid.

I honestly don’t even know how the male population is still around.

I mean sure, they have their moments. Fire? Pretty cool. 

Maybe I should amend my statement: Men are stupid when it comes to women.

Because if Tamlin had any common sense, he would wonder why I drag myself into his office downtown, the day after I found out who he really is.

He’d wonder how I even found his posh little office, since he sure as hell never told me about it. (Answer: Rhysand). 

He’d wonder why I’m crying and having an emotional breakdown, but am still dressed in a lowcut dress with my hair done. (Answer: men are even stupider when it comes to a woman with exposed breasts). 

But he doesn’t.

He sees me stumbling toward him, a mess of tears and fluffy hair, and jumps to his feet, coming to my rescue.

His arms wrap around me miraculously at the same time my legs give out, and I fall into him dramatically. 

That was a little much, but what can I say? I was a theatre kid.

“Feyre,” he says calmly, stroking my hair like he didn’t insult me twenty-four hours ago. In fact, he’s acting like we didn’t even break up. “What’s wrong?”

I press my face in his shoulder, trying not to think about how wrong this feels, how wrong he smells. 

Rhysand smells like citrus and the sea and something so manly it makes my knees go weak for real. Tamlin smells like dirt and bad decisions. 

“You were right.” It’s something all men love to hear a woman say, even though it’s hardly ever true. “You were so right, Tamlin.”

He pulls back and runs a thumb over my cheek, swiping a tear away. 

His green eyes question mine, so calm and understanding compared to yesterday’s rage. His hands are gentle as they cradle my face, and I want them off off off.

“He’s a monster,” I wail, dredging up some more tears. Knowing there needs to be more of a concrete reason for my breakdown, I make some pretty seedy shit up. “He... killed his driver! Because he took a wrong turn!”

Gods, Feyre. Really?

I can practically see Rhysand rolling his eyes. He’d see through my lies in a second. 

Tamlin, however, bites the bait... more like he swallows the whole damn line.

He hugs me again, so tight my feet leave the floor, and I go limp against him, pressing all the soft parts of me against the hardness of his chest.

Don’t get me wrong, Tamlin’s attractive. Wide shoulders, surfer boy hair, tan skin, and green eyes that look like the deepest of emerald. 

But he also is a fucking asshole, and everything about him irritates me.

It’s crazy, I think as his hands slip lower on my back, that yesterday he called me a whore, and now he wants to sleep with me.

Prick.

“Tamlin,” I sigh against his neck.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

I almost throw up at the little pet name, but I nod and act like he’s the greatest thing on this planet, the gods’ personal gift to all things women.

But then he kisses me, and I get tired of this little charade. 

I keep my eyes open as his warm lips meet mine, wanting to see his face as the needle sinks into his skin.

His eyes fly open, and he drops me to my feet roughly, a hand pressed against his neck. It’s too late, of course.

Whatever black market shit this is, it works fast. 

His legs give out, and I shove his shoulder so he lands in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. 

“Feyre,” he growls, no longer happy to see me, “What the fuck are you doing?”

I roll my eyes, because even the dumbest of men should be able to figure that out my now. 

You’d think he’d pass out or be too paralyzed to talk, but just like Rhysand promised me, the drugs have paralyzed him from the neck down but left him perfectly conscious. 

I want him to see exactly what I’m doing.

Straightening my dress, I saunter over to his desk, eyes scanning the messy papers and folders for what I want.

Three rings, the exact copy of Rhysand’s, sit in a glass box, the shining titanium making them look like treasure. And they are.

But they’ve been here fucking long enough. 

I try to open the box, but it’s locked, so I sigh and grab a paperweight, then smash it to bits.

“You do this, Feyre, and I’ll come after you.”

“Ooooh, scary,” I deadpan, completely writing him off in a way I know drives him crazy.

Glass flies everywhere, but I just grab the rings and put them on whatever fingers they’ll fit on. 

Yet another piece of evidence men are idiots: I was wearing Rhysand’s ring when I walked in here.

A small detail, sure, but when I took that ring from him yesterday in his car, I made a vow to never take it off.

It’s a little big, resting on my thumb, but it’s perfect. 

It means I’m his, and he’s mine.

“He might have Chicago, but I’ll make you’re life miserable!”

“You did that for two years,” I remind him with a smile.

Then I set the radio exactly like I’d been told to, turn back to Tamlin, punch him square in the jaw, and smile when I hear a crunch.

That wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but I was tired of his threats. 

He howls in pain, and I know it makes me meaner than an adder, but I blow him a kiss and laugh as I walk out of his office. 

A sleek black sedan, driven by the very much alive Rolando (I’ve officially stopped thinking of him as Beefcakes), waits for me at the curb. I swing the door open and climb in, turning to Rhysand with a grin.

I hold up my hands victory. 

Rhysand smiles and laughs, relief and love and awe written across his beautiful features. 

He’s so fucking handsome, I can’t hold out anymore.

Muttering an apology to Rolando for what he’s about to witness, I sling myself across the leather seat and pretty much attack Rhysand. 

It might be the fact that I just drugged someone with illegal substances--my very first crime!--or maybe just how he looks when he’s happy. I don’t really care.

My hands are on his jaw, running down his chest, tangling in his hair. 

He lets out a surprised laugh as I paw at him, and I use the opportunity to sweep my tongue into his mouth, holding back a moan at the taste of him.

The car stops, but I sure as hell don’t.

Until Rhysand takes me shoulders in his hands, and gently pulls away. “Adrenaline junkie,” he accuses with a smile, pressing one last kiss to my cheek. 

I nod, because it’s probably true.

He gives me an amused look. “Then I can’t wait for what happens in twenty minutes.”

I stick my tongue out at him, ever the mature adult, and he smiles. Then he takes my hands, examines the rings, and takes the two that fit the worst.

He slips them on, and even though it’s a casual gesture, I almost break out into tears.

Too manly to cry like a baby, Rhysand just opens the door and walks out, taking my hand and pulling me with him.

Even though he looks calm and cool as a cucumber, I know he’s not exactly thrilled I’m here. We had our first real argument about me coming along for this part of the plan I’ve secretly begun to call Toppling Tamlin the Tool. 

I won, obviously.

He warned me time and time again about what I was going to witness today, but I don’t care. His revenge is his to take, but I want to be here for him. 

He’s been fighting for so long, completely alone. 

And no matter how it started, I fell for him. He isn’t alone anymore, and won’t be ever again, no matter how dangerous the situation is.

Hand in hand, we stroll into Leperchaun’s Luck, the last remaining Irish stronghold in Chicago.

When I asked why he’d let it remain all this time, Rhysand smiled that cruel smile and said, “Revenge is only worth it if it’s slow and painful.”

I’d shuddered, half in horror and half in excitement.

I know it’s horrible and beyond absurd, but what he does for a living doesn’t scare me. He explained the gory details last night, and I listened. And even though I was scared, it wasn’t of him.

It was for him.

He has enemies with rap sheets longer than my arm. 

The guy Rhysand blocks from buying Degas? Russian arms dealer!

But Chicago, he’d told me with a smile, is his. Someone would have to be suicidal to come after him here. So I guess I’ll just blow up his plane and never let him leave.

Sounds realistic.

I’d like to think it was my smile and charm that made him give in and let me tag along, but it was likely the fact that we aren’t in any super big dangerous. 

We walk through the empty bar and to the courtyard in the back, and it’s a little amusing how quickly the six men sitting around a poker table jump to their feet and start shouting questions. 

“What the fuck?” is the most popular. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” Rhysand greets smoothly, ever the gentleman. 

Someone behind us loads a gun, the sound making my eyes go wide. 

But it’s never fired.

Because all of a sudden, red dots are on every single chest besides mine and Rhysand’s. 

“Pull that trigger, McCallen, and all your friends die.”

They all look down and around at each other with huge, saucer-sized eyes. 

Not one to dally, Rhysand smiles and tells the group, “I just bought this establishment. Needless to say, you’re no longer welcome. In here, or Chicago. You have six hours to leave my city.”

‘Bought’ is a bit of a strong word. He hacked into Tamlin’s bank account and bankrupted him, forcing him to sell to the highest bidder. Guess who that was.

“Or what?” one asks, feeling brave.

Another dot makes its way to his chest.

Gods, how many snipers does Rhysand have?

“Or you’ll die, and your precious little daughter Lena will be an orphan.”

The man’s jaw sets, even as his face pales. 

Checking his watch with a casual gesture, Rhysand reminds, “Six hours and counting.”

Then he says, directly at the small box in the middle of the poker table, “That goes for you too, Tamlin.” 

Since he didn’t want to risk coming back to Chicago, much less his last property here, Tamlin had been keeping control of his men by listening to everything that happened in this place on a private radio frequency.

Which, somehow, Rhysand knew.

He’d told me the number, and I’d turned the radio in Tamlin’s office to it before leaving. The drugs haven’t left his system and won’t until later today, meaning he’s still lying limp in that chair, listening to every word.

“Leave before I lose my patience,” Rhysand growls, and the men take the warning and haul ass out of the building.

Turning to me, he smiles and asks, “Ready, Feyre darling?”

“Ready.”

We walk out of the restaurant again, pep definitely in our steps, then get back in the car. Rolando starts driving immediately, leaving the restaurant behind us.

“Do you want to-”

“Yes,” I answer immediately, grabbing the phone from him and hitting call.

"So violent,” he murmurs with a smirk, turning in his seat to watch as the explosives he’d placed there years ago during a mandatory “city inspection” finally came into use. 

The explanation I got on that one: “In case I got bored.”

Gods, he’s sexy.

The car rocks slightly as orange and blue and yellow flames race out of the building, leaving absolutely nothing behind. 

Even though the violent woman in me wants to keep watching, I look at Rhysand instead.

His eyes find mine, and he smiles softly. “It’s done. It’s over.”

I nod and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, linking our hands together. We both stare down at the rings. “It’s over.”

Tamlin will run back to wherever he’s been the past seven months, and since there’s absolutely nothing for him here, he won’t come back. 

Rhysand has complete control of the city again, his empire built brick by brick through hard work and rage. He’s gotten his revenge, taken everything from the man who left him with nothing. 

And he got me.

“Was that enough adrenaline for you, Feyre?” he asks, hitting a button to roll up the barrier between us and Rolando. 

Someone else, it seems, is an adrenaline junkie. 

Smiling, I slide down on the soft leather and lift an eyebrow. “Come find out.”

~Feyre, three months later~

Somehow, I feel nauseous, excited, and doomed all at once.

I don’t even know how that’s possible, but it’s true.

I’m so nervous, I might be sick. I’m so excited, I can hardly walk. I’m so unsure of myself, I might fail. 

Focusing on the one in the middle, I walk down the aisle between chairs, ignoring the people watching me and focusing on the destination.

I can feel his eyes on me, and just like the first day we met, I can hardly breathe. But I ignore the tingly feeling in my spine and focus on what I’m doing.

I walk up to the slightly lifted stage in the large auditorium and turn to my peers, smiling and feigning confidence. 

I’m presenting my senior project today. And even though I’m excited and nervous and doomed, I’m proud of it.

It turned out better than I expected, honestly. 

It took me forever to finish the painting aspect because I wasn’t quite satisfied until late last night. 

The paint’s interrupted and surrounded by photos I’ve collected this year.

Rhysand, covered in paint. Art from both Chicago’s museum and the private collection I visit almost every day. Random bits of architecture and the night sky and shots that just work. 

Up close, it’s a bit of a mess, but from a distance--particularly, the distance between me and Rhysand’s chair--it looks like three dancers, twirling and leaping under the night sky. 

My professor hugged me when she saw it. So did Rhysand.

No offense to Prof. Jones, but I enjoyed his a little more.

“This is called Starlight Dancers,” I tell the room, my voice surprisingly level. I’m glad for the bright lights, because I can’t see anyone’s actual face as I continue. “It’s a rendition of Degas’s work, Dancers in Blue, which is my favorite piece. I’ve also incorporated photographs of art and people who mean a lot to me. Like a lot of pieces from the Renaissance, it’s meant to be viewed at a distance.”

I keep talking, going through the difference elements and explaining how, essentially, it’s a celebration of painting and love.

More than once, my eyes are drawn to the photographs of Rhysand, and I find myself searching for him in the crowd. 

I also get a little distracted by the mass of sparkles adorning my ring finger.

We’ve been engaged for three days, eight hours, and a handful of minutes.

He proposed in the museum, right where we met. When I almost feinted at the site of the biggest diamond I’d ever seen and told him it was too much, he’d just laughed and said, “It was this or the painting behind you.”

Ridiculous, wonderful man. 

I know it’s fast to get married after less than five months together, but the scary truth is that I can’t imagine life without him.

I scan the crowd again, and it might be my imagination, but I think I see a pair of violet eyes watching me. 

And I could swear one winks at me.

~Rhysand~

I’m not supposed to be in here.

I’m not a professor, and I’m sure as shit not a student. 

But I snuck in anyway, ignoring the millions of things I actually need to be doing, because I want to support her. 

I don’t even know what she’s talking about--impressionism and romantic elements and different types of photography--but she’s so passionate and beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off her.

She has me completely wrapped around her finger, and it should probably scare me that I don’t even care.

Years and years of planning, and everything that’s happened in the past month still surprised me.

Not the part about running every last Irish bastard out of my city; that’d been set in stone. 

The part about me getting engaged.

Ironically, that’s the only part that makes me smile.

Sure, I sent Tamlin running for the hills with his ragged band of leprechauns, set his stronghold on fire, and finally have peace over what happened all those years ago. 

But even that pales in comparison to waking up next to the woman up on the stage.

She’s a bed hog and always puts her freezing feet on me as soon as I crawl next to her, but the way she smiles at me when she wakes up makes up for it.

Everything about her makes up for it, actually. 

She’s still absolutely crazy and wonderful and I now have paint splatters on more than a few of my suits, but being loved by her is like... standing in the sun after being locked in a cave. Or some other shitty metaphor.

The fucking point is, even though getting down on one knee in a museum and asking her to share her life with me is the last thing I expected to happen, I’m glad it did.

Because being with her gives me something I’d thought I’d lost ten years ago: happiness.

________________________________________

Thank you for reading! 

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[the-silentium]

A story of shirts

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -  The survivor - Part 4 - Epilogue

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader, Hunter x Reader, Crosshair x Reader

Words: 2774 words

Warnings: TESTOSTERONE.

A/N: Reader’s native language is *roll drum* French! Really original, I know! Translations will be at the end of the chapter ~

Taglist: @haloangel391​

"You gonna eat that?" Wrecker asked from your right, his chubby pointer finger signaling to your half-eaten piece of bread. 

"Yeah." You confirmed, taking more of the ration pack, reaching for the bread to illustrate. 

"Too bad." He stole the piece before you got a hold of it, hurrying to stuff it in his mouth as soon as you reached forward to take it back. 

"Wreck! It was mine!" You whined, hitting his shoulder multiple times in retaliation. 

"Cut it out." Hunter called from his spot on the other side of the fire, shooting the both of you an unimpressed glance over his water canteen. 

"But he-!" You cut yourself, not wanting to pout like a baby, instead taking a deep breath in and planning your revenge like a petulant child. 

You've been with the Batchers for a good year, flying them around different systems, perfecting your flying skills as well as developing some basic medical ones to help them when needed. 

So far, no one from the GAR noticed that you were a fraud among the army, letting you enough time to read about the GAR and become more familiar with the whole system and chain of command. You had now all the knowledge necessary to keep the lie going without a hitch. Hell, even Cody never connected the dots. 

Over time the relationships between you and each of the boys improved to the point where Wrecker would call you his vod'ika and you'd call him your frangin. 

Tech exploited his extended knowledge to gain a serious advantage over his brothers once a month. He would generously share his secret stash of candies with you whenever the first day of your period started (you were sure he did that to stay in your good favors and keep your irritation away from himself - which was working, fortunately for him). 

Crosshair would share some of his precious secrets blackmails so you could use them when the others were being annoying shits and kindly taught you how to properly shoot with blasters so you could defend yourself better.

Hunter used you as his personal enhanced senses painkiller, meaning that he'd requisition you for an hour when his head felt like it was on the verge of exploding from overstimulation, sit on the floor facing you, lean his head on your chest and listen to you singing a soft lullaby in your native tongue. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed Wrecker getting up from his seat on the ground beside you to get to the ship, passing right behind you to get to his destination. Swiftly, you straightened your hand, turned around and pushed the back of his knee forward to bend it with ease. 

Smirking, you admired your handy work when Wrecker yelped in surprise that his knee just gave up underneath him and crashed to the ground. 

You laughed wholeheartedly, covering Crosshair's snickers who watched you the whole time because he knew you'd serve his brother a good payback for taking your precious food. 

"You want to fight vod'ika?" Wrecker asked jokingly from his kneeled position a few feet away. 

"Bring it on frangin!" You replied, pushing your dry rations down your throat with a big gulp of water. That was something else that took some time to get used to. Tasteless water meant good water. Don't spit the good water. 

"Here we go again." Sighed Tech, rolling his eyes at banter. 

"Don't be a grinch, Tech. That's Crosshair's role." You flicked his shoulder and ignored Cross glare to get up and meet the big man who instantly went to poke your side. 

He'd learned his lesson a while ago when he punched your shoulder playfully and let you a gigantic bruise on your skin that lasted for weeks. Hunter genuinely thought that he'd hit you hard (he did, but Wrecker was excited, so you weren't mad) leading to the 'no hitting your teammates' rule. Wrecker felt bad for a while but soon you got him to cheer up and instead of fake fights, you'd do poking fights. 

Jumping to the side, you moved your foot behind his knee to repeat your previous trick, effectively making him fall on one knee and pushed him on his back with all your strength. 

As soon as he was on his back you poked his stomach, not too hard to make him sick, he just ate after all, but enough to mark your point. 

"That's for my bread!" You laughed, dodging his hands trying to grasp yours to stop you from assaulting his abdomen. 

He finally got a grab of your wrists, joined them in one of his hands and attacked your sides with his free hand, poking to the right places to have you yelp and trash around. 

"Stop! Stop!" You shrieked, pulling on your arms to free them. 

"As you wish." He grinned, opening his hand when you pulled with all your might, your elbows hitting your own abdomen and emptying your lungs from their precious air. 

You groaned for a few seconds, recovering from the blow sprawled over Wrecker's chest unceremoniously. His laugh resonated through your body, the vibrations shaking your bones and making your teeth clash together. 

"Still wanna fight?" He teased, head lifted from the ground to meet your unimpressed gaze. 

"Enough for tonight." Hunter cut you off as you opened your mouth to sass him back. 

Closing your mouth without another word, you rolled your eyes and got to your feet, following Wrecker inside the ship to retrieve an extra layer to keep you comfortable under the stars. 

You walked past Wrecker who stopped at the fresher, to enter the barracks to rummage under your pillow for Hunter's top blacks he threw at you the night prior. 

He noticed that you often stole his blacks whenever you felt cold at night in the ship, sliding under the fabric only when you thought they were asleep. You always made sure to replace it before he woke up, always neatly folded like it never left. But he knew. Your scent lingered on the fabric, a fact you forgot to think about, not that he minded. After a couple of times, he started to simply throw the blacks at your face before laying down on his bed. He knew you never got used to the cold of space, your skin remembering the constant warmth of the jungle, letting you vulnerable to any change of temperature. 

You slipped the blacks over your head, the fabric covering your three-quarter sleeve shirt without a hitch and offering you the extra warmth needed for you to be able to find sleep instead of chattering teeth for the whole night. 

Now ready to go out and bury yourself under your blanket near the fire, you walked out with a pep in your step, eager to lay down and relax for the remaining hours before a new assignment arrived and forced you all away on some dangerous mission. 

"Acceptin' the markin'?" Wrecker appeared from the fresher, wiping his hands on his pants. 

"What?" You stopped, confused at his question. Did you have ink on your face or something? 

"He means this." Crosshair answered for his brother, walking further into the ship to pinch the shoulder of the blacks on his way to his bunk where he retrieved an extra blanket for himself. 

"What about it?" 

"You're only wearin' Hunter's." He remarked, toothpick dancing between his lips. 

"Wrecker's are way too big and you'd strangle me with the sleeves if I took yours." You pointed out, a hand moving to your hip. What was his point?

"Why not Tech's?" He approached closer, clearly trying to intimidate you. It may have worked in the beginning but this era was long gone. 

"Last time I did he started hiding them so I wouldn't do it again. What is this about?" The two of them shared a look and you knew they had information you didn't, and the mere idea of it made your heart speed up a bit. 

"It wasn't Tech who hid them." Crosshair faced you again, his arms crossing at his chest, the blanket folded over one of his arms. "It was Hunter." 

It took you seconds to connect the dot and make sense of everything. Hunter started throwing you his blacks the night after you borrowed Tech's and after that, you couldn't find his anywhere again. You'd accepted the gesture and never questioned it afterward, simply thinking that he cared about your sleeping habits or something. 

He did care. But for a totally different reason. 

"He's jealous." You whispered, eyes widening to Crosshair's delight. 

At the back of your mind, a part of you was melting, the sergeant's possessiveness flattering you to no end, although another part of you found it was stupid to be jealous of his brother. You noted to talk to him about that later, but you were sure that the subject would arise rather sooner than later if the mischievous glint in the sniper's eyes was anything to go by. 

"He is. So you'll wear this instead." He took a top of his blacks from within the blanket and shoved it onto your chest until you picked it up. 

"Your blacks? Wait. Are you angry at him or somethin'?" You eyed the fabric in your hands, rolling the hem between your fingers. This wasn't a good idea. There were ulterior motives to his actions. Always. 

"Just wanna see him boilin'." He replied, rolling his head on the side a bit. 

"You wanna call him on his bullshit." You pointed out, one eyebrow slowly lifting in the air, unimpressed.

He didn't respond but his smirk told you enough, and the longer he held your gaze, the wider the grin creeping its way onto your lips became. Yes, you had feelings for the dark-haired clone, but you were fundamentally a prankster. Always in for a good laugh. Plus, what problems can a shirt do? It's a shirt!

You removed Hunter's blacks, keeping a hold of your undershirt so you wouldn't show too much to your brothers and quickly slipped into the new shirt. Sadly, the sleeves were a bit tight so you had to adjust your undershirt sleeves but you manage to replace them easily. 

You rolled Hunter's black into a ball and throw it onto your bed. 

"Don't be mean." You threatened Crosshair with a finger under his chin.

"And you don't drool all over it." He took his toothpick from his lips to poke your fingers with it. You hissed and he threw it away. 

You walked out with Cross at your side, Wrecker choosing to walk before you so you would all be close enough to see the shift in Hunter's expression. If the boys were right, that is. 

Unfortunately, Hunter seemed too engrossed in his conversation with Tech to notice your shirt so as soon as you all sat onto your respective blankets, yours placed between Wrecker's and Tech's, you leaned slightly forward toward Crosshair. 

"Thanks for the shirt Cross!" You smiled at him. 

In the corner of your eyes, you noticed Hunter straighten, head moving to you despite Tech still addressing him. Cross grunted in acknowledgment, already watching Hunter and was clearly enjoying what he saw. 

Your eyes moved to the sergeant's, who was now deeply frowning, too concentrated on analyzing your shirt that he didn't notice the four pairs of eyes scrutinizing his face, three playful, one confused. 

"What's wrong?" Tech asked, head-turning to you to see what disturbed him that much. As soon as his eyes fell on you he knew. And you felt stupid for being the last one to notice that this was happening. "Ah." That you've been stupid enough to let yourself fall into a territorial fight. 

"Not to your liking, Sarge?" Crosshair sassed, enjoying the tightness in his brother's jaw.

You started to feal really bad. And confused. Was Crosshair really interested in you too? You knew Hunter cared about you, the kisses, the hugs, the moments of vulnerability shared with one another, they all told you that you meant something more. But Crosshair’s behavior really started to contradict everything you thought you knew about him.

"What's that?" He turned to confront his brother, catching on to the fact that he'd been played as soon as he registered the smugness coating Crosshair's face. 

"Cut the crap. 's just a shirt." He rolled his eyes at Hunter's barely concealed annoyance. But it wasn't just a shirt. Not to them. 

It started to dawn on you that this was a terrible idea and that you've been played and that- oh shit Hunter's fingers closed to form a fist entangled in his blanket.

"Stop right there." You hurried to cut Hunter's words that you just knew would start a bickering war. You had to stop it before it could deteriorate to something bad because you didn't trust Crosshair to not put oil on the fire and hit every single one of his brother's nerves. To top it all, he was the one right next to Hunter. This was getting dangerous.

" 'm not wearin' anyone's shirt." 

You removed the blacks, ignoring the concert of grumbles telling you not to, rolled it in a ball, switched the ball with Tech's and used it as your personal pillow. You laid down on your back and pulled the blanket tightly around yourself, eying the stars above like you used to on Fors. 

You seemed to have done the right thing, because the rest followed your example, Tech's head burying itself in his new pillow inches from yours. A yelp from Crosshair soon followed by a smack in retaliation made you sigh, effectively cutting short their childish behaviors. 

It took a couple of minutes until the sergeant heard what he was waiting for, a soft clattering muffled by the blanket covering your mouth, the sound of your hands moving up and down your arms in hope of creating warmth and your irregular breathing that you controlled enough to keep it down but not enough to keep it steady. 

The boys had fallen asleep, Wrecker's snores echoing between the trees around, Crosshair's and Tech's soft regular breathings were easy to distinguish. 

"Y/N." He called softly to not wake his brothers, his eyes already on your subtly shaking form. "I know you're cold." 

You turned your head in his direction, frowning. 

"So? I won't get the shirt back on." You whispered, gaze moving to Tech to make sure he was still sleeping. 

"Good. C'mere." He lifted the corner of his blanket, to which you raised an eyebrow. 

"Sharing your blanket to prove yourself better, now?" 

"Just…" He pointed to the spot next to him with his head. "C'mere." 

You huffed while sitting up to look around, the three remaining clones were still out, their peaceful face illuminated by the dying fire in the center of your circle. Carefully, you got up with the fabric tightly wrapped around your shoulders, stepping over Tech's hand and reached the offered spot. 

Immediately you felt the warmth radiating off him and like a moth to a flame, you wrapped yourself around him without shame because you needed this. And because it was so unfair that he could regulate his temperature while you couldn't, so you decided that he had to share. 

Clearly, he didn't mind, his arms sneaking around your waist to keep you close and offer you more of his body heat, his head leaning down a bit to breathe in your bewitching smell and place a kiss onto your hair just as you snuggled closer and leaned your head onto his chest, one of your legs sneaking between his to get more comfortable. 

"Better?" His chest rose and downed slowly, unlike the beating of his heart beneath your fingertips. This was the first time you had this much contact with each other, the feeling not lost on either of you. 

"Yeah." You moved your head to place a kiss under his jaw and reposition yourself. "Didn't know he even liked me." You whispered, finger moving in circles over his heart, asking yourself how did this happen?

"He liked you after our first time on Fors. He was a goner after the second time." He explained truthfully, the memory of the second trip onto this godforsaken planet made him shiver in dread. How people could live in this hell was beyond his comprehension. 

You noticed his reaction and automatically reached up to dissipate the trauma with a slow movement of your fingers over his cheeks. 

"But I was there first." He smirked, arms tightening around you somewhat.  

"Don't start." You smacked his chest softly to which he quietly laughed.

--

Frangin = Brother

Next part here: A story of having each other’s back

[onepiece-writting-forest]

“Apology.”

Setting:  One Piece Universe; Zoro x Reader

Word Count: 1765

Summary: You damaged his sword a few times now and Zoro was clearly sick of it. He was frustrated which lead into anger. Anger he targeted at you. You knew he was right, and decided to apologize to him properly. This couldn’t end like this. 

!Credit to the Artist!

“That's the third time now, enough!”

He barked at you like a wild dog, and snatched the sword out of your hands. You wanted to use them a bit, just to see how it would be with a sword. He gave you permission a few times now and watched over you. He taught you some easy techniques and was quite excited to give you all of his knowledge. However, you always used his swords and in your inexperienced hands it happened that you harmed the blade. He told you to get yourself your own weapon, but since it was rather just to try out and not actually your weapon of choice for combat, you didn’t.

This was the third time. The third time you tried something with it, and accidentally cracked the tip of the sword. Zoro was patient in the beginning, he knew that it took time to learn it. But his weapons were not your toys when you were bored. He made this very clear. You watched him push it back into it’s scabbard before he stepped closer to you. The way he stood in front of you was threatening. Like a wild animal ready to lash out. He didn’t care that you were a crew member nor his friend. He had told you to be careful several times and this was enough.

“Get your own god damn sword. I’m sick of having to repair them all the time only you can play. This isn’t a game, Y/N. Swordsmanship is not a fucking game.”

You wanted to yell back and protest, however your words were stuck in your throat. You knew he was right, but you were too stubborn to admit it. Your pride was stopping you from actually listening to him and your impulsiveness had made you do it three times now. You’ve never seen him this angry and it scared you. Your body instinctively stepped back and you flinched at his words. Zoro was still standing in front of you, eyebrows deeply narrowed. His body language spoke aggression, which he tried to hold back. You made the string of patience rip.

Quickly you left the crows nest and disappeared into your shared room with the other two ladies. Nami and Robin had heard your argument and looked at each other, before following you into the bedroom. With your friends by your side, you quietly cried over your mistake.

“It’s better you apologize to him. As mad as he is, he will calm down after you do.”

“Are you sure? I doubt he wants to see my face again.” You sniffed and clinged onto your pillow. Robin nodded reassuringly and gently stroke your back. She didn’t want to remind you that what you did was indeed somewhat stupid, and Zoro was right. Nami was in the same boat. It was better to look ahead and look for a solution to get along with your crewmate again.

“Of course. I remember when Usopp wanted to leave the crew and basically dragged Luffy through the mud, Zoro gladly accepted him back when he apologized. He’s a simple man Y/N, and in no way someone who holds grudges for a long time.” Nami smiled at you and gave you a tissue to wipe those tears away. Hearing that, made you think for a moment. They’ve told you that story before, they probably knew the swordsman better than you did, considering you were rather new in comparison to Nami and Robin. You nuzzled your face into the pillow a bit and nodded.

“I will. Thank you.”

The next day when Zoro woke up, his hand automatically grabbed to his swords. With a yawn he put them besides his hip where they belonged to. Wado Ichimonji, Kitetsu...Shusui…wait.

“Shusui?” Confused he looked around in the room. His third sword was missing. He swore he left it next to him. He looked in his bed, in his closet, in the other beds and closets. It couldn’t be...did he leave it in the crows nest? He remembered he put all three swords aside before he went to sleep. “Fuck where did I leave it…” He mumbled to himself and looked through everything again. No matter how many times he looked in the room, he couldn’t find it.

Frustrated he walked on deck and searched there for his weapon. Usopp was sitting in the gras of the Sunny and noticed his crewmate walking around in distress. Before the sniper could question his mood, Zoro spoke up already. “Usopp, did you see Shusui?” He pointed at his hip where only two of his signature swords were. The other man shrugged and shook his head. “Nah, didn’t see it.”

“I saw Y/N leaving with it into town.”

A high voice pitched from the other side. It was Chooper, who was holding some drink in both of his hoofs. He sipped it slowly and looked at Zoro with his big deer eyes, like the innocent little thing he was. The swordsman tensed up noticeably and sighed. He clenched his hands into fists. It made Chopper back off a little. He was clearly mad at you taking his sword again. Zoro thought you haven’t learned your lesson and assumed you were messing around with it. How many times did he have to tell you to stop it. He already snapped at you yesterday. He wondered how stubborn you actually were. Maybe you did it on purpose he wasn't sure. But enough was enough.

“Z-Zoro...w-wait what's the matter?” Usop watched him stomping off the sunny with confusion. He wasn’t on the ship yesterday, therefore didn’t hear the argument you had. The anger his friend was radiating was irritatingly strong. He’d never seen him this angry at you. “What was that…”, the sniper mumbled to himself, before he shrugged and continued to work.

You had some business in town which you just finished. The way back to the harbour was quite calming, it was a small little road through a little forest area. The atmosphere surely helped your nervosity. Robin had helped you get Zoros sword while he slept. The weapon was wrapped in fabric and strapped on your back. It should be a little surprise along with the little bag you had in your hand. You dearly hope he would forgive you. You felt sorry for what you did and didn’t want to risk your friendship to continue like this.

Sadly, the surprise wasn’t one for long. In the distance you could see the owner of the said sword. His posture was giving you clear signs. Zoro was mad, yet again because of you. He must have noticed his sword was missing. Obviously. You had hoped to get back to the ship before he woke up, which clearly failed. You swallowed hard when he stomped to you and grabbed your collar.

“Z-Zoro, please let me explain!”

You rose your hands in defense when he handled you this roughly. His fingers were dug deep into the fabric of your shirt, an iron grip which you couldn’t escape. His eyes shot from you, to his sword on your back. Seeing the fabric around it, he narrowed his eyes. “Did you break it now?! I swear to god if you-”

“Let me explain Zoro, I beg you.” Your voice was filled with fear that he’d be mad for you forever. The expression you gave him through your eyes made him hold still for a second. He frightened you. You looked like a scared animal ready to run away and hide. With a sigh he let go, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. Speak.”

“I...I wanted to apologize…” Zoro raised one eyebrow when you grabbed behind your back to his sword. You placed the bag in your hand on the ground to remove the fabric from the weapon. The scabbard was shining in the sun. Someone polished it, even the little scratched in the wood were gone and a fresh layer of polishing wax was on it. You pulled the black blade out, the one you broke the tip off. The metal was shining as well, sharp like new. Zoro eyes widened when he saw his sword. He was speechless. It seemed like you brought his sword to a blacksmith to- not only repair the blade -but also give it a clean up. It looked fantastic, he didn’t know what to say. “Y-You…”

“And this.” You put the sword back into it’s scabbard and handed it over to him. Zoro gladly took it, still speechless. The bag on the ground was also for him. You gave it to the swordsman as well. A delicious smell hit his nostrils. He didn’t have to look inside to know that it was the smell of smoked eel. It was still warm even. With his sword in one and, and the food in the other, he stood there completely baffled. He didn’t expect this and didn’t know how to react. His eyes wandered from the food to his sword. However, when you spoke up, Zoro faced you again.

“I’m sorry for acting like that. I know swordsmanship is not a game, I apologize for disrespecting. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Zoro stood there in silence for a second, before he sighed deeply. He put his sword back and stroke through his hair. He felt like he had to apologize as well. He was way too rude to you. The way he had grabbed you earlier obviously had scared you. It wasn’t his intention. Zoro didn’t want to scare you off like that. “It’s alright. I guess I should apologize for being that rough.”

With a relieved smile you shook your head. You were more than happy that Zoro accepted your apology. That was more important. “Already forgotten...I hope you like smoked eel by the way.” Zoro nodded with a small smile on his features, and sat down on the side of the road. He motioned next to him. “Hope you do as well.”

Together you sat next to each other and emptied the little box full of delicious rice and eel. Zoro asked you how you managed to get his sword and how you found that blacksmith. You quickly explained which made him grin a little. You were a bit clumsy with swords but you surely were witty. Soon you two drifted into some conversation about god and the world, as if nothing happened. Nami was right, Zoro wasn’t someone who held grudges long. Especially not with this kind of apology.