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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 days

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The Man 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You think you remember. Or at least you’ve convinced yourself that you do.

You go through the painstaking steps as the dark presence looms across the counter. The man walks along, just on the other side of the machines as you steam the milk. Toffee nut, yes, you’re pretty sure that was it.

You put it all together, step by step, hands shaking. Your lips move as you talk yourself through your work silently. You can do this. You still feel how the man scratched you through your shirt when he grabbed you, your skin fiery.

You give one last look to the foam and send a prayer up to whatever deity will hear it. You slowly move to the till and place the cup down. You wet your lips and clear your throat.

“Almond, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” you declare, voice quavering as you stare at the bristle across the man’s upper lip. “Mr. Hansen.”

He clucks and leans on the counter, hooking one foot behind the other. He wraps his hand around the cup and slides it closer to himself. He stares down into as you fidget. You glance around at the baked goods.

“And a cinnamon bun?” You suggest but before you can carry through on the offer, a splash of liquid washes over you, hot despite the layer of steamed milk.

“Oat milk,” he crushes the empty cup in his large hand and throws it at your face. You sputter and blink as the foam drips down your cheeks.

“Sorry, sir, I’ll make it again.”

“Fucking right, you will, sweet lips,” he growls and stands straight, crossing his arms.

You pull the bottom of your apron up and wipe your face. You bend to pick up the empty cup and turn away. Your eyes sting and you wiggle your tingling nose. It’s fine. You can do this.

Oat, half blond, half regular, toffee nut, cinnamon on top. The smell of espresso and syrup clings to you as you make the death march back to the till. You set the cup down without a word.

Mr. Hansen, Lloyd, the boss, whatever he is, considers you as he lifts the drink and examines the careful leafy art in the foam. He turns it and inhales the scent, some of the foam catching in his mustache. He takes a breath as if about to dive into water and has a taste. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he pulls the cup away from his mouth. He hums. Does he like it?

Splash.

Another searing dousing and you stand there with a gasp, shaking off the dredge of his displeasure.

“Mr. Hansen, I--”

“First thing’s first. Shut the fuck up. You talk too much,” he tosses the cup. Bonk, right off your forehead. “Second, I changed my mind. Get me a mocha. Extra whip.”

You nod and keep your head down. You pick up the cup and stand, nearly slipping in the puddle around your feet. You dispose of the empty cup and go to the coffee machine. You begin your new task, hands clumsy and trembling. You add the whipped cream and return to the till. You put the cup down and grab onto the counter to keep from sliding through the liquid at your soles.

He lifts it and you wince, bracing for another deluge. He repeats the same deliberate examination. You swallow tightly as he samples your work. This time he doesn’t make a noise. As he lowers the cup, you flinch and take a step back.

He cackles, “relax, cupcake.”

You stare at him grimly. You flick your lashes and blow out your nerves. You hide your shaking hands behind you.

“Now you know who the fuck I am,” he says, “clean yourself up and get back to work.”

He grabs a package of the cookies along the small shelf beside the till then turns on his heel and struts to the door. You watch after him, damp and dripping. As the door opens and closes, you turn to face the mess. You sigh and go to grab the mop; you can clean the floor but you can’t do much for yourself.

You work at soaking up the excess then spray cleaner on the floor and wipe with paper towel to prevent it from getting sticky. As you work at sopping up the errant droplets from the counter, the door behind you swings open. You glance over your shoulder as Bre sweeps through.

“Alright, your turn--” She stops short as you face her. “What happened?” Her face slackens with dread and shock, “what did you do?”

“It was Mr. Jansen—Hansen,” you correct yourself, “he came by and--”

“I told you not to talk to him,” she hisses.

“I... I didn’t have a choice. He wanted a drink and--”

“Fuck. Fuck! What did he say? What did he do?” She snaps.

You recoil at her accusatory tone, “he... he threw coffee in my face? He took some cookies? I don’t know? He just... said now I know who he is. I didn’t really understand--”

“You don’t. You don’t understand. You don’t get it.”

You frown and cross your arms, “I’m sorry, Bre, I did my best--”

“Not good enough. You think it’s all fun and games. It’s not. That man is dangerous. Not just here, everywhere,” she shakes her head, “you’ll see. Out there, on your own. Give me your apron.”

“What?” You murmur.

“Get out. I’ll call Maurice and let him know it didn’t work out.”

“What? No, you can’t--”

“I am. Give me your apron. Now.”

You pout and sniffle. You reach back behind you and unlace the apron and lift it over your head. You hold it out to her, “it’s wet--”

“Just go.”

You hang your head and turn away. Your eyes begin to stream before you even get through the door. You grab your stuff from the backroom and give one last look around. You got fired. What are you going to do?

You fold your jacket over your arm and sling your bag from your shoulder. You let yourself out into the alley and head down to the street. You stop at the end and cover your face, sniveling behind your hands as you lean on the brick. You don’t want to go back home. You only just got there.

“Whatsa matter, sweet lips?” The low drawl is followed by a loud slurp, “bad day?”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #the man #au #drabble #mob au #series

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ofsappho · 1 year

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Heartless

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, smut in the next chapter (and the chapters after).

Reader is disabled/chronically ill (and so is the author)

You need health insurance. Ghost is sick of sharing living quarters with the rest of the 141. Soap, your childhood friend, thinks the two of you can fix each other’s problems.

Or, Ghost and you have to convince his command that you didn’t just meet each other and your marriage is totally, completely, 100% legit. Not for any, more practical reasons. And, of course, your married-couple accommodations only have one bed.

Chapter 1:

This will either be the stupidest decision you’ve ever made or the greatest stroke of brilliance you’ve ever had. And there is no in-between.

When Soap ducks his head into the coffee shop, you’re more than a little relieved to see him in one piece, plus or minus a few silvery scars scattered across his face and peeking out of his sleeves, the collar of his jacket.

And the dumbass aviators you bought him as a high school graduation present hang from the dip of his shirt. You know Soap thinks he looks badass, but the placement reminds you more of ‘Patagonia dad who likes hiking’ than it does ‘mysterious hardened special forces dude.’

He’s so built that he has to carefully pick his way between crowded tables, just so he doesn’t knock over someone’s drink or trip into a random stranger’s elbow.

You more or less tackle him into the biggest hug you can. “Soap! You’re not dead!” Ever since he joined his super-duper-top-secret whatever the fuck, you’ve gotten used to the communication dead zones in your years-long friendship. The silence never stops worrying you, though.

Johnny chuckles and practically lifts you off your feet. “Neither are you! Congratulations!” You know he’s relieved to see you as well by the way he ruffles your hair.

You fucking hate it when he does that, which is, of course, why it’s become a tradition every time you see him.

He pisses you off, you piss him off. “Twinning!”

The glare he tosses your way has all the menace of a kitten attacking a curtain. “Fuck does that mean? You know I can’t keep up with your American slang.” You’re a good friend who pre-ordered his ridiculous caramel latte with extra caramel, and Soap sits happily in front of it.

He learned that he enjoyed heart-stoppingly sweet drinks on accident - a case of mistaken identity where you unintentionally grabbed Soap’s macho Americano, and he drank half of your caramel latte in revenge. And here you are, years later, watching him slurp down a milk foam heart.

“Awww, too much for the brain cells you have left?” Teasing him as easy as breathing and a welcome distraction for the anxiety attack-inducing question you must ask.

The general coffee shop ambient noise swells in your ears. An espresso machine malfunctions, almost loud enough to make you jump, and you try to disguise it by sipping your iced tea. No caffeine; you’re nervous enough without it.

“I could have you arrested for that,” Soap quips. Please. As if you’d let him try. One call to his commanding officer about his pre-service shenanigans, and you’d have his ass court-martialed.

“Abuse of the power of the Armed Forces? Very ethical.” You raise an eyebrow and lace your voice with haughtiness, even flicking some hair over your shoulder.

Then you need to pass Johnny a few napkins to mop up the latte dripping from his nose out of laughter. “I’m glad to see you,” He tells you, and the sober, knowing look in his eyes makes your stomach drop out. He doesn’t miss a thing. He’d probably be dead or fired from his job if he did. “Though I know this isn’t a social call.”

Well. You’re in for it now. “Yeah, unfortunately, it isn’t.” The words taste like dust in your mouth, and the lemony-black tea barely washes it out. Just to give yourself something to do, you pop the plastic lid off and tip a couple of ice cubes into your mouth before chomping down.

“What’s going on?”

How do you summarize the horrifically, brutally stressful whirlwind of the last few weeks without inspiring the annoying, patronizing pity you’ve gotten from literally everyone else you’ve vented to? You’re not a victim to be coddled or a child to be given advice you’ve already thought of, tried, and failed at.

“I’m losing my health insurance at the end of the month” is what you decide on in the end.

He knows exactly what that means for you. For your future. Soap shakes his head ruefully. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You’ve been sick for a while, diagnosed the year after the two of you graduated high school. The kind of sick that is simply a freak accident of nature, causing your body to attack itself over and over until the day you’ll drop dead from complications. It wouldn’t take much; maybe a regular infection burning you alive with a fever your crippled immune system can’t stop, or a benign cut from a kitchen knife that will bleed and bleed until you’re halfway to the coroner’s office.

And then there’s your shitty, damaged, degenerated spine that keeps you in bed for weeks at a time with crippling, numbing pain.

Without health insurance, things won’t look good for your quality of life. And you like your quality of life to be decent. You’d settle for passable.

Really, it sounds worse than it is, and you try to console him. “It’s okay. It was eventually going to happen. I had hoped to have a little more time, though.” You remember the call from the insurance company like it just happened yesterday. You were loading dishes into the dishwasher and listening to Fleetwood Mac on the radio. And some poor customer service representative told you they were increasing your monthly payments beyond what they knew you could afford, so they’d have to drop you.

You watch him open his mouth as if to tell you that you should’ve said something sooner. But he’s been deployed for the past four months. He pauses and resets to something a little more helpful. “How can I help?” That’s something you have liked about Johnny a lot since you were kids. He cares more about what he can do.

Your anxiety permits your lungs to take one big, fortifying inhale. “Well…” Dragging it out will only make this worse, you know, but you really, really, really hate that it’s come to this. “This is fucking embarrassing.” You tried to find a way to pay the premiums; you really did. But you work forty hours a week already and trying to get more shifts, maybe find a new job, do this, do that, appeal, all of that has been futile and draining. “Will you marry me?”

He drops his half-empty cup on the table, forceful enough that some of the coffee spills out. “What?”

Soap’s partially-scandalized shock is not what you hoped for as a reaction. But you suppose you shouldn’t have expected anything better.

The worst part of this conversation is over. It can’t get more nerve-wracking. “Marry me. Like. Get legally married. I could get on military benefits, and my meds would be covered.” He doesn’t swing your way, but surely signing some paper and standing before a judge is, like, not the most terrifying thing Soap has ever done. “And- and I know there’s stuff in it for you, too, like a better apartment or whatever. I can cook. Better than you, that’s for sure.” One of your friends had to teach him how not to burn water.

He just sits there in silence. “Please,” You add on softly. Desperately. This is your last-ditch attempt, your Hail Mary.

At last, Soap’s shoulders slump, and you know, from that alone, that he’s gonna say no. Miracles are rarely performed for ordinary people. “I would if I could, but… I’m sort of already married,” He sighs, then winces, waiting for your inevitable unhappy outburst.

…

You blink a few times, brain furiously recalibrating everything you know. John got married, and he didn’t even invite you? Or tell you? You’re supposed to be his friend. That’s so rude, ouch. You would have even gotten him some expensive shit off his gift registry.

A fucking Keurig, for God’s sake. “What? Who?” You demand, more outraged that he would leave you out of his life than you are over him declining your proposal

Underneath that deep, sunburnt tan, you see Soap blush. “Jeremy from final year.”

You’d throw your empty cup at him, but he’d just duck. “I knew you were fucking him! I knew it! You tried to gaslight me and say you weren’t, but I saw the hickies on his neck!” There were only so many times Johnny ducked out of a math classroom covered in sweat, followed shortly by your classmate, before you put the pieces together.

Oh, but the rest of your friends called you a conspiracy theorist and told you to mind your business. Now, who’s laughing?

Soap holds his hands up in the universal ‘don’t shoot’ sign. “He needed health insurance. We’re married on paper. Haven’t seen him in a few years, but I know he’s doing alright.” Naturally, he’s already selflessly committed marriage fraud. You honestly should’ve seen that coming; that’s why you wanted to propose in the first place and figured you’d have a slim chance of success.

“Shit.” Now you’re back to square one. And it’s a shitty square, with walls that close in around you with every passing second.

The regret in his eyes overflows when he sees your slumped shoulders, how you’re picking at your cuticles hard enough to bleed. “‘M sorry. If I wasn’t locked down, you know that I’d do it for you in a heartbeat.” The worst part is that you know he’s being sincere, not just parroting empty platitudes.

Right. Well. That’s it, then.

You rub at your closed eyes, then at the stress wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Fuck. It’s fine, I know. I will… I’ll figure it out,” You sigh. Less than convincing, but it doesn’t need to be.

There are probably options you just haven’t thought of yet. Or maybe you can work something out with your doctor, where you only get your meds every other month. “I got it covered. Don’t worry about me.” You instantly see Soap rush to shake his head, to tell you that he’s always worried about you. You want to chastise him, tell him that he has plenty of things to be worried about in his own life. “Shush. It’s fine.” But you don’t have the heart to rake him over the coals for it now, so you settle for that.

You should go. You have things to do, things that include crying in your bed with the curtains drawn and urgently refreshing your email to see if anyone's gotten back to you. New jobs, aid organizations for low-income people, any further bad news.

Soap catches your wrist before you can say the appropriate goodbyes and rush out of the cafe. “Look- hold on- let me… let me ask my… friends.” He wrinkles his nose as he says it with an odd, stilted tone. Like ‘friends’ is a replacement for something he can’t say out loud in a civilian setting.

You can put the pieces together. “Is that what you’re calling your coworkers?”

“That’s classified, shut up.” His Scottish accent pops out there stronger than good malt whiskey. Hope is an easily-caught flame and far more difficult to extinguish. When you smile at him, you find it’s not entirely false. “Let me ask around, okay? They’re good guys. You might need to do the heavy lifting with your sparkling personality, but I can try.”

‘Sparkling personality’ is sort of ominous. ‘Don’t give them shit,’ is what he means to say. That’s fine, you’ve worked in customer service before. You can be on your best behavior.

You’re not exactly sure what kind of dude would be willing to marry a stranger, even if that is the kind of dude you want to marry.

But desperate times, desperate measures. “Thank you. Really. It would mean the world and… would probably save my life.” You didn’t mean to get as choked up at the end as you do. No one else has been willing to help you, though, and Soap’s answering hug feels like desperately needed hope reviving itself in your chest.

“I’ve got you. And I hope I can help in the end, even if it’s not what you originally had in mind.”

Soap runs through his team members in his mind as he waits for the gate guard to scan his ID, trying to recall who’s tied down and who isn’t.

Captain’s got a wife, he thinks, and he’s a wee bit too old for you anyway.

It takes a second for the starry-eyed guard to hand him back the card and lift the gate.

You picked a good time to call him up; not only is he in town, menacing the local army base, but so is the rest of the 141—a rarity.

Vargas would certainly charm you, but Soap trusts Alejandro with you about as far as he could throw him.

Out of all the idiots he went to school with, you’re the only idiot who stuck around through the early years of his service, and you pursued your friendship like a hound after a fox even when he couldn’t properly reciprocate.

So John feels some responsibility for looking out for you, as you’ve always looked out for him.

Garrick wouldn’t be a half-bad choice. Dependable, responsible. Friendly, so your sham marriage would at least be enjoyable.

His mind drifts to his own errant mostly-platonic husband as he parks the borrowed car in his numbered space. Jeremy. The last time they spoke was over three years ago? Maybe four. Jeremy had found himself a new boyfriend and called to let him know, asking if Soap wanted a legal divorce. He was moving to some godforsaken corner of America. Florida? Maybe. That place has got too many fuckin’ states for him to remember them all.

They worked it out - they’d stay married, and Jeremy would keep out of his way. No love lost.

Roach could do it for you in a pinch as well. A little quiet, but maybe you’d work out something like him and Jeremy. Staying out of each other’s way.

Soap dismisses Lieutenant Riley without a second thought. On his best day, Ghost is about as inviting and amenable as a particularly hungry great white shark. And even if God himself came down from Heaven and changed Ghost’s heart to be interested, Soap would worry about you.

A lot. Even more than he already does, since the day you sobbed in his arms after school when you were first diagnosed. Since that day he had to help you out of bed because you could neither walk nor miss any more class.

Does he trust Ghost enough to fight alongside him? To have his back when there’s a gun against his head? Absolutely. Does he think Ghost would treat one of his oldest friends properly, befitting of the funny, kind, vibrant person you are? Abso-fuckin’-lutely not.

So that puts Gaz and Roach in his top choices for you and Vargas as a last-tier resort.

Armed forces worldwide, in Scotland and America, are all about efficiency. Eliminating redundancy.

And if that’s the excuse Johnny uses to justify blindsiding his whole team at once, so he doesn’t need to have this conversation three damn times and hear three separate rejections? That’s between him and God.

He herds them like sheep, plucking the Captain from his office, Garrick and Alejandro from conditioning in the gym, disturbing Roach’s book. Ghost appears out of nowhere as if summoned by the disturbance and falls in behind Soap. Not a single damn sound, of course. While that’s useful on deployment, he still has to tamp down on the instinct to jump every time he sees a skull mask hovering out of the corner of his eye in everyday life.

No matter. The lieutenant will likely wander out when the subject matter is revealed. It would raise more red flags if he told Ghost off.

He barely gets Lt. Riley through the pool room door before Captain jumps him. “Sergeant. What’s the trouble?”

That’s fuckin’ rude. “Why’d you assume I’m in trouble?” He indignantly replies. Except… yeah, there was that time he borrowed a humvee he had no permission to touch, and Captain covered for him to Laswell. Shit. “Well, I’m not.” At least, not this time.

Soap opens his mouth to argue this because it’s hardly fair for Cpt. Price to point fingers only to be cut off. “What is it?” At least Price has the decency to file the sharp edges off of his voice this time.

Right. He almost feels guilty getting sidetracked over something so stupid when he’s gathered everyone here for an infinitely more important reason.

Where does he start? How the fuck does he proposition them without sounding absolutely mental? “I… Hear me out.” Instantly, Garrick shakes his head ‘no,’ and Cpt.’s face remains as unmoved as a brick wall. Definitely not how he should have opened. “Wouldn’t be asking if the situation wasn’t desperate.” Soap opens his hands in the vain hope that the gesture will make them listen, at minimum.

You loathed hospitals and doctor’s offices when you first got sick. Now, you see the inside of them so often that it hardly fazes you. Still, Johnny always went along when you asked. So you wouldn’t have to be alone.

The countless memories of holding your hand as some faceless nurse sticks an IV in your elbow is the motivation that steps on the gas. “I have this friend,’ He tells them.

“You have friends?” If Vargas weren’t separated from him by the pool table, he’d reach over and stick an elbow in his side. What is it, official ‘piss off Sgt. MacTavish’ day?

They get in a laugh at his expense. “Shut up, you reprobate.” He puts enough bite in his tone to cut through the ruckus with the keenness of a knife. “I have this friend. Since I was a lad. She’s a good girl, good person. She needs our help.”

Everyone knows what he means by ‘good person,’ and the mere mention of a civilian girl in distress softens Gaz’s scowl and Alejandro’s scorn.

Their Captain nods, now significantly more amenable to this conversation than he was at the beginning. “Help?” Progress is progress, and for the first time, Soap allows himself to think he might be able to persuade someone.

“Yeah, well… you know these fuckin’ Americans. They don’t give a damn if people die like dogs in the streets. She lost her health insurance, and she’s… She’s ill. She’ll be ill for the rest of her life.” That’s something Johnny will never understand about this side of the pond. The NHS was never good, but at least it exists. All that freedom and shit, for what?

“Sorry to hear that. Fucking shame,” Price murmurs.

“I was wondering if any of you might be interested in marrying her. For the fuckin’... benefits. I dunno know what exactly they are, but she mentioned new living quarters for her soldier.” He really ought to have looked this up beforehand and found some other things to sweeten the pot. “I’m already married. Had to turn the poor lass down, and I told her I’d at least ask you lot.”

Their captain gets up and off his ass like the stool’s on fire. “Alright. MacTavish, I’m leaving the room now. I’m going back to my office, and do not disturb me until you’re done,” He orders, mustache practically fuckin’ bristling with urgency. “I didn’t hear or see a thing.” With his parting words finished, Johnny watches the man book it out of the pool room in double time.

While he understands and appreciates the discretion, was that truly necessary? They’ve all done exponentially worse things than this.

His first choice makes a break for it, too. “Sorry, Soap,” Garrick declines. “I’m out. I’m sure she’s a delightful person, though being friends with you doesn’t speak highly of her life choices. But that’s a big ask, and I just don’t know her.” The sergeant taps him on the shoulder as he walks out in a silent show of support.

“‘Course.” With each man who leaves, his worry increases.

What voicemails will await him after he returns from the next mission? That things went horribly wrong, and you’ll be hospitalized for the rest of your life, or maybe even dead?

Whatever it is, there won’t be anything he can do by then. That’s the worst part.

“Yeah, can’t do it either, Sarge. I got a girl already.” Right. There goes Sanderson.

At least Alejandro has the decency to look genuinely sympathetic. “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”

Soap watches him leave and wonders if you’re still awake. It’s not late for him, but who knows? Maybe you keep normal hours now. “Yeah, I will.” You’d prefer to hear the bad news as soon as possible, but he would hate to wake you for it.

But he can’t ignore the ghoul haunting the corner any longer. “What are you still doing here, Lt.? I’ve gotta tell her I can’t help, and I don’t think you’d care to overhear that conversation.” His voice is a little sharper than is nice and proper, overflowing with prickly irritation like too much tea in a cracked cup. Of all the times for Ghost to not mind his fucking business…

“…what she look like?”

“What?”

And Riley’s got the audacity to repeat himself, slower, as if he’s stupid. “What does she look like? Got a picture?”

“Is this a joke?” Simon should stick to shitty quips about goldfish. At least those are tasteful.

The man doesn’t laugh, shake his head, or leave now that he’s successfully rattled Soap. He just stands there, as grave as always. Motherfucker. He means it. “Fuckin’… yeah, hold on,” Soap sighs as he fumbles for his phone.

He’s desperate because you’re desperate. He tells himself that, over and over, as he looks for a half-decent selfie. You’re a big girl, you knew what you were risking when you asked him for help.

Ghost takes his phone in his gloved hand. “Not bad,” He murmurs after a while. “I’ll do it. Marry her.”

A beat passes. Soap lets another one go.

Alright. The grace period is over and done with. “This is a really shitty, serious thing to mess around about. Genuinely. Don’t do that to her or me. This is about her health. Her life.” Johnny likes Lt. Riley. Really, he does. Even under all the freaky mask shit.

But this is mean-spirited. It would almost be out of character. It’s one thing to be careless if his sparring partner walks away with permanent nerve damage. This is fucking cruel if he doesn’t mean it.

Ghost can read minds now. “I mean it.” His chuckle makes Johnny fix his surprised expression into something more stern and imperceptible. “She’s desperate, isn’t she? I’ll do it.” When he walks closer, the changing light makes that skull on his face flash in and out of existence.

“Why?” If he can’t come up with a somewhat satisfactory answer… Soap’s fist can probably reach him fine from here.

And in a rather remarkable show of humanity, he watches Ghost pinch the bridge of his nose through his mask. “Think I like listening to you snore? Or fuckin’ Roach chattering on Discord at four in the morning?” Johnny never knew Ghost was such a little princess about that. Who would’ve thought?

The other man huffs a laugh. “Need my beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, you do, the mask’s not doin’ you any favors,” Soap retorts as if on autopilot. That’s only their longest-running tiff. You’ve got your work cut out for you to deal with that ugly mug, he thinks.

“You want me to help her or what?”

Right. Right. “Sorry.” He examines Ghost’s body language, searching for any hint of dishonesty. “If you so badly want out of the shared bunks, how come you haven’t found someone else yet? Or some other way?”

“You think girls are lining up outside my door proposing marriage? You can’t even find me off duty. Now I ain’t gotta find… some other way,” He says before leaning back against the wall, at ease now that his argument’s been made.

“Fair point.” Fair, but fucking dumb. “I’ll tell her. She’ll say yes, I know she will.” Jesus, does he wish he’d been able to persuade Garrick.

Soap considers exactly how much you should know about your intended before this shit goes down. On the one hand, it might be better for you not to know much, other than that he’s found someone relatively trustworthy and willing. On the other hand… interacting with Lt. Riley is something that should only be done after signing a covenant not to sue.

“Whatever you do, don’t hurt her. She’s been through enough already. And I meant it when I said she’s a good person. Too good for either of us.”

Nobody gets through secondary school untouched. Especially not at that prissy international school you met him at, filled with over-privileged rich kids and army brats scraping the bottom of the barrel. Like the two of you.

When you were fourteen, you picked him up by the scruff of his Scottish neck with a smile on your face, then hit the bastard who hit him first. Thick as thieves ever since.

“And if you can’t find it in you to be nice, just… promise you’ll leave her alone.” At least you’re more than capable of making Ghost’s life a living Hell if he fucks with you. He takes comfort in that and a healthy amount of glee at the possibility of watching that play out. He’s got a front-row seat, after all.

Riley shakes his head. “As long as she ain’t a burden, MacTavish, no need to fuss and cluck.”

For a moment, Soap almost pities him.

“Don’t hurt her. Promise me that, right now,” He stresses. Just in case. At least eliciting this agreement might remind Ghost in the future to stay his hand.

The other man sighs. “I won’t,” He says at last. And Soap can tell he means it.

“Get out. I’ll let her know.”

1K notes · View notes

indouloureux · 2 years

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𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

joseph quinn x reader (blurb)

summary: early (quiet) domestic moments with your love, joseph; sipping sweet coffee and honey tea, share kisses with minted mouths,indulging in your honey baby's smile

a/n: minimal dialogue bc idk what to put. written on my phone. lost it three times. i promise i'd write mcu peter next istg shoot me in the head if i dont. meanwhile, enjoy this <3

MASTERLIST

the coffee is sweeter than usual.

mostly because his sleepy daze has him scooping more sugar than he's supposed to, but you don't care. you're eating scrambled eggs with a half-lidded gaze and a tired mouth, and the moment the caffeine evades your mouth does it rid the sleep of your eyes.

"you like it?" he nervously asks, like he doesn't make you coffee more than you buy expensive, mediocre ones on cafes nearby. you hum in clarification, fingers holding the warm mug. "heh."

"i always like it," you tell him. you smile at the redness on the tip of his ears, maybe even at the messy mop of curls on his bedhead. joseph takes a sip of his tea — more honey than milk, and you eye the drink. "y'know i've never tried your tea."

joseph's eyes widen. doe, innocent and pretty, admiring and shocked as they look at you. "really?" his accent twangs in just the right way, laced in a soft croak from the drowsiness that's still there. "several months of dating and you've never tried?"

"well, you always make me coffee. and i'd be too full to have a taste," you spin the spoon around, seeing the brown drink swirl until it descends into a calm wave.

"well, go and try it then," he lifts it up off his saucer and gently takes your coffee in front of you to replace it with his tea. you gladly take it with an excited gasp, joseph laughing at your anticipation.

he watches, quite anxiously, as you taste his tea. you take a small sip, careful not to burn your tongue before you're giving it back to him. " 's good."

"yeah?" his fork jabs on the scrambled egg and shoves it in his mouth.

"yeah."

"that's great, love."

and you eat in silence, with cars ever-so-often passing by your shared abode; the soft clinks of utensils meeting the plates, quiet slurping of your own drinks, and shared glances of appreciation and thankful smiles. joseph tries your sweet coffee while you gather your plates and place it in the sink.

he's offered to wash the dishes, but you prefer to do it yourself. you open the faucet and douse the sponge in dishwashing soap much to his dismay, letting the foam cover your hand and the held plate. you hear his soft humming and funnily enough — up and down by venga boys

"oi, i told you i'd wash 'em," he tuts. but joseph wraps his arms around you, your back to his chest. his chin rests on your hairline and his hands roam around your waist and stomach as you finish the minimal dishes.

"you were taking too long," you lean aside to look at him. the crinkles on his face as he smiles is cute, and you can't stop yourself from giving it a chaste kiss as you place the plates aside and leave them to dry.

joseph takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, instructs you to sit on the sink as he takes the two toothbrushes off the cup holder and takes the liberty to put the toothpaste on before he hands you yours.

then he slots himself between your legs, left hand on your thigh as the other moves the brush inside his mouth until foam covers his pink lips. you mimic him, left hand crossed over to hold his, the other cleaning your teeth.

he bends behind you to the sink and spits the bubbly foam out, though some remains in his mouth. "gimme a kiss," he says, or demands, though the demand comes out as muffled.

"you've got toothpaste," you tell him. "take it out first."

"no," he pulls your hand to remove the brush away, and petulantly kisses your foam-covered mouth. you squeal, and he doesn't stop until you wrap your hands around his neck to pull him closer.

you break away, watching him lean down to wash his mouth but keeps one hand on you still. and he helps you go down to do the same, holding your hair back for you.

but you don't leave the bathroom yet. joseph's got his hands on your back, exploring it like a map, eyes on yours like he's searching for the 'x' to his prized treasure. and the treasure's here, in front of him, pretty and beaming.

"you're so pretty," he murmurs, nose grazing yours in a small kiss. joseph's soft hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing the hair away from your face.

you hum. "m, if this is some trick to get inside my pants, it 8 in the morning. i'd like to watch something first." but he laughs and shakes his head, and kisses you again.

it's short but sweet as he pulls away only to give you small pecks of neediness. "jus' the facts, darling, is that so bad?" he teases. "i'll get in your pants later, honey baby. let me kiss you first."

reblog if you like lol!

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #joseph quinn fic #eddie munson blurb

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noproofread · 5 months

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Playing Favorites

a cute lil sanji one shot to cleanse the mind.

just fluffy sanji x fem!reader with a tiny bit of angst at the end.

it's pre timeskip sanji but could work with opla!sanji as well for all my taz skylar girlies.

word count: 1,098

You were sitting out on the deck of the Merry, enjoying the breeze on an otherwise hot day. “I have a small question for you, my beloved.” A voice crept behind you, you looked over to see Sanji holding a small notepad. You didn't react to the nickname he gave you, he's always flirting with women so it was just part of his personality. Sometimes you flirted back just to see his reaction, it was always funny to see him flustered. “What's your question, sweet prince?” You smiled, watching his face turn a bright shade of red. “Uh.. I um.. Wha- What are your favorite foods?” He stuttered, looking up to avoid eye contact with you. “Favorite foods? Like meals?” “Yeah, and desserts… and drinks. Anything.” He clicked the pen and looked at the notepad, ready to write down whatever you said. You figured this is something he did with all of the crew members. You thought about it for a second before answering his question. “Well I really like salmon. And lemon bars… I can't really think of any drinks outside of coffee” You laughed, looking at him with a smile on your face. You watched the young chef write down your answer, still blushing from your prince comment. Sanji looked down at you, meeting your eyes for just a moment before turning around and rushing to the kitchen.

Throughout the week you noticed Sanji bringing you different coffee drinks. He learned how to do latte art, often opting to draw a heart with the milk foam. You’d wake up to find different citrus flavored desserts by your bed with little notes that said “something sweet for someone sweet” and things of that nature. You noticed at dinner time, you had a different dish from the rest of the crew. It seems Sanji took your favorite foods and studied your palette to curate meals for you. Although he always catered to Nami’s preferences and often paid more attention to women, it seemed like he was specially interested in your enjoyment of his food. You tried not to think too much of it, maybe he was just being nice. You had mentioned it to Nami and Usopp and they just told you that Sanji was always like this around women. It’s not that you weren’t disappointed when they told you that, you were part of the crew and you were friends with him. You just slightly hoped that he had different intentions.

You decided to just ask Sanji. After all, nobody else would be able to tell you exactly what he was up to. You appreciated all the extra attention, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you fall for him just a little bit. It was easier when it was just playful banter, a couple of flirty comments here and there. But that was all fun. Now you feel your heart flutter whenever you take a sip of whatever coffee drink he made you. Reading those notes next to your bed as you bit into a sweet treat makes you feel those butterflies in your stomach. Making eye contact with him to thank him for the specially prepared meal making you blush. Asking him felt like the right move. You could always play it off if he was just being himself.

You waited patiently outside of the kitchen. You knew Sanji was going to stay behind and wash the dishes after dinner. You waved away any questions the crew asked you as they walked by, telling them you were just enjoying the night air. You contemplated waiting for Sanji to finish up before talking to him but ultimately decided to go inside to help him. You walked up to him, his back facing you as he washed a plate. “Need any help?” Sanji jumped, your voice startling him. “Oh! No no, I could never have a beautiful lady doing dishes!” Sanji looks at you, wide eyed. You chuckle, opting to just sit at the kitchen table. The silence grew thick, only hearing the sound of the water as Sanji rinsed off the dishes. “So what did you think about dinner? Was it good?” Sanji broke the silence. A sigh of relief leaves your body before you answer his question. “It was delicious. Everything you make is delicious.”

Sanji stopped and looked behind his shoulder, making eye contact with you. He was visibly flustered. You giggled, he looked cute when he was flustered. “Sanji.” You spoke. The blond chef dried his hands, having finished cleaning up, and straightened his suit. He turned to look at you, walking towards a chair next to you. “Yes?” He sat down, lighting a cigarette to ease his nerves. “I wanted to ask, while I do appreciate all the effort you’ve been putting into making my favorite meals. I-” “You want me to stop? Is it too much? Have I annoyed you? Oh god, I’ve annoyed you haven’t I?” Sanji rambled. You placed a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to stop and look at you. “I wanted to ask why you were doing all this for me. Is- Is there a reason why you're paying this much attention to me?” Your face grew hot, you assumed your blushing face was noticeable from Sanji’s soft expression.

"Is it okay that I do? I just…” Sanji trails off, looking into your eyes. “I just like you.” The words fall out of his lips, a deep red color washes over his face as he waits for your response. You leave the words hanging in the air, feeling your heart flutter as you see him blush at his confession. Having your feelings reciprocated, you smile at him and gently take the cigarette out of his mouth. You place it on the ashtray on the table and turn to look at him. He meets your gaze, slightly confused as you pull him into a gentle kiss. Sanji is startled but quickly places his hands on your face and kisses you back. You pull away and look at him. “It is more than okay that you want to do these things for me.” You whisper. He presses his forehead against yours, not letting your face go. “I will do this and more. Anything you want, whenever you want.” Sanji chuckles lightly before retracting his hands. “You did scare me a little with your question. I thought I was going to get my heart broken again.” “I would never do that to you.” You place your hand on his and give it a small squeeze.

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece fluff #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji fluff #x reader

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turtletaubwrites · 4 months

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Touching What's Yours ~ Part 2

This story started with a request from @punkclowngutz found HERE. Thank you again for the request! 🙏🏼 This follows the poly fic 'We've All Got Needs' series linked below through Part 6.5, then diverges from there into an alternate story. It may continue after this part if people enjoy it, so let me know what you think!

Pairings: Zoro x Sanji, Sanji x Fem!Reader, Zoro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2344

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have a casual arrangement with Zoro and Sanji, but Zoro is not happy about sharing. He confronted Sanji last night, but their encounter was more intense than expected. Sanji wants to tell, but Zoro wants him to keep his mouth shut.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader Insert, Polyamory, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Drama, Swearing, Angst, Mild Violence, Alcohol, Shame, Smut (no smut occurs in this part, but there are memories and brief descriptions of smut), Possessive Behavior, Cigarettes, They're Gross, Don't Smoke, Anger, Zoro's Bad At Feelings, Sanji's Better But He's Still A Little Shit

A/N: I hope you enjoy it!

“And I thought you didn’t want me touching what’s yours.”

Zoro fucking ran from the cook’s smile, those taunting words searing through him.

What the fuck?

Sleep evaded him, most of the night was spent pacing in his small quarters, smacking fists against his head to try to shake this night from reality.

But it was real, and Zoro was wrecked. He managed to sleep fitfully for a bit, but nightmares and memories had mixed, hunting him into the morning.

The moans you made while you let him fuck you in the kitchen.

The cook’s red, swollen lips after Zoro pulled away from him.

Why the fuck did I do that?

Zoro cringed every time his mind brought up images, and fucking feelings, of the dumbass waiter’s mouth.

How he’d forced him to his knees, and Sanji had just taken it.

“Fuck off,” he snarled at himself, hating the way his body was reacting.

I was just pissed, he put me over the edge when he-

His mental excuses were pushed aside at the thought of you.

Needy.

Sick panic poured through him. It filled his body like molasses, sticky, heavy, and overwhelming.

He’s just trying to take her from me. He’s been fucking with me and my shit since he got here.

I’ll show her. Needy’s mine. She won’t want that fucking pervert after tonight.

But first, Zoro rushed to the showers to wash the shame off his skin.

Sanji was already in the galley, humming to himself as he prepped vegetables for omelettes.

The memory of the beautiful faces you made while moaning his name, coming on his tongue, milking his cock with your perfect pussy… He had to set his knife down and breathe, shoving a few large utensils and a pepper grinder in his apron pocket to hide the evidence of his thoughts.

Then his mind turned to the other events of the evening, and his grin shifted, a wicked smirk taking over as he bit his lower lip.

That fucking idiot, Marimo.

How easy it had been to rile him up, how recklessly the swordsman had shoved his cock down his throat. It was too fucking good.

Sanji didn’t usually pursue men, especially shitheads like that swordsman, but now that he’d tasted how desperate Zoro was, he couldn’t resist the thought of pushing him again.

I wonder how well he slept last night.

When Zoro finally arrived, he stood by the door, avoiding eye contact with everyone as he waited for you.

You were the last to the galley, with darkened eyes, yawning as you moved toward the crew.

Zoro followed, taking your usual spot at the end of the table so that Sanji couldn’t lean into you like he had the day before.

Zoro regretted that choice almost instantly.

He gripped onto your thigh under the table, wishing he could just pick you up and carry you out of here. Out of the room he heard you moaning in last night.

Sanji brought a caramel latte made just for you, with a flower design in the foam.

He wanted to pamper you, but couldn’t resist the urge to fuck with Zoro at the same time.

All he did was brush his hand along Zoro’s arm as he stepped away, but the look on his face was worth it.

Zoro’s skin was burning from the brush of that pervert’s fingers. He caught his own fingers digging into your thigh, and he had to let out a breath as he loosened his grip.

He’s trying to fuck with me. He’s trying to take my place. I’m not gonna let him. I’m gonna fuck the memory of him out of you tonight.

Sanji watched you enjoy the meal he’d made for you, loving the way your eyes fluttered closed when you’d take a bite.

Your eyes that looked exhausted, heavy.

Did I keep her up too late last night? Or has that brute been wearing her out too much?

As the table cleared, you practically ran out of the room while Sanji tried to pull Zoro aside.

Zoro shouldered past him, following you out on deck. Catching you in an adorable stretch, he breathed along your neck.

“You’re coming to my room tonight.”

Sanji kept his distance as he pulled out a cigarette, enjoying how cute you looked as you yawned in Zoro’s face.

“I can’t tonight, Zoro. I need to get some rest.”

“What, now that cook treats you like a little princess, and you don’t want to fuck me?”

Sanji watched you take a small step back at those words, and his body was filled with fire. He lit his cigarette, done playing with this asshole.

“I believe the lady told you she wanted a break, Marimo.”

Zoro’s hand was on his sword as he turned, while Sanji found his stance.

Your voice was probably the only thing that could have stopped them at that moment. Unfortunately, neither of them could hear you now over the sounds of swords, kicks, and rage filled words.

“You don’t know what she needs, waiter.”

“I think she might disagree with you, moss head.”

Zoro growled as he slashed two swords out, grunting in frustration as Sanji blocked with his fancy fucking shoes.

You stopped yelling at them as the rest of the crew came to watch. Nami held your hand, rolling her eyes since she was in on the secret.

“You’ve been after my spot since you got here, you piece of shit cook.”

“You really don’t have anything in that thick skull of yours, do you?”

The dance between them got faster, while the crew sat back and watched. The boys fought often enough that it didn’t seem serious, but you still wanted to throw both of them overboard before the secret came out.

“You just had to touch her when you found out she was mine. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“You’re one to talk, Marimo. I’ve still got bruises on my knees from last night.”

Zoro’s vision went red at the sight of Sanji’s taunting smirk, and his reckless attack landed him with a brutal kick to the face.

Before he could fly forward with Sanji’s death in his eyes, an arm stretched out, wrapping around his stomach three times. He was pulled backwards as he seethed, practically foaming at the mouth.

“Zoro, Zoro!”

His captain’s voice broke through his mind enough, but Zoro was still itching to hurt the cook, especially as Sanji inched toward you.

“This looks like a real fight. I’ll let you go if you need to, but if it’s important, I need to know what my crew is fighting about first.”

“Yeah, what the hell were you guys talking about,” Usopp asked from a safe distance.

“Marimo’s just been having trouble keeping his swords to himself lately.”

You hissed at Sanji to stop while Luffy grunted, holding Zoro back.

Zoro’s eyes finally left the cook, and fell onto your face. He didn’t hear a word anyone said while he stared into your eyes. Your tired eyes, with your brows tensed, shoulders slumping as you looked at him.

She doesn’t want me. I fucked it all up. Everything.

Zoro sheathed his swords, avoiding eyes while Luffy released him. No words broke through his fog as he stormed away.

Hiding in my room like a fucking coward.

Sanji frowned as he watched that green head walk away, leaving the crew to turn on him for answers.

He caught your glare before explaining.

“We, uh... We had a disagreement.”

“No shit,” Nami snorted, rolling her eyes.

You couldn’t take it, not caring about being discreet after all of that, so you grabbed Sanji’s hand and dragged him, pushing him to climb to the crows nest.

“What the fuck, Sanji?”

“I’m so sorry, ma belle, are you alright?”

Sanji’s eyes poured over your features. You looked wrecked, the past week all piling onto you now. He grabbed your fingers, trying to bring them to his lips, but you pulled them away.

Your beautiful face that had looked at him with such softness and need last night, was angry now, and pinched from exhaustion.

I’m going to kill that fucking idiot swordsman.

“This is supposed to be casual. I can’t do this if it’s going to hurt the crew.”

“I know, sweetheart. I just don’t believe Zoro understands.”

“You were egging him on, Sanji,” you said, furrowing your brows.

Sanji couldn’t help but think of how adorable you looked scolding him. He shook his head slightly as you continued.

“What did you say that made him fly off the handle? Something about bruises?”

Sanji’s eyes went wide, mind flying through every possible outcome of telling you the truth or not.

He took too long.

“Sanji, this is already not fucking worth it. I need to know what’s going on, or I’m out.”

“W-Wait, please, darling,” he whispered, reaching for your hand again. He let out a relieved breath as you let him hold it, stroking his thumbs along the back of your hand.

You stared at him, waiting.

Fuck, I really am going to kill that green headed asshole if he fucks this up for me.

“I don’t believe Zoro understands, or, um… accepts that you aren’t exclusive.”

You fell back, leaning against the railing with a sigh.

“I really wish he’d use his words.”

“Ha, I don’t think that’s one of his strong suits.”

He resisted as you took your hand back, sudden fear coursing through him.

What if she decides to be with him, only him?

Zoro didn’t know what time it was. He knew he was hungry. Just not hungry enough to go to the galley yet.

You eventually knocked on his door, muttering his name softly through the wood. He stared at the door as if he could see you through it. But he couldn’t open it.

The image of you taking a step back from him at his harsh words played on a loop.

I don’t deserve to be with her.

I don’t need her anyway.

It finally felt like late enough that he would be free to roam. Zoro crept out of his quarters, on alert, as if he was trapped in enemy territory.

He rested his head against the wall by the galley door, battling his memories of the night before as he listened.

Just need some food and some booze. Mostly booze.

Hearing nothing inside, he pushed softly through the door.

He was greeted with the orange spark of Sanji’s cigarette being lit, and the weight of that blue eye that wasn’t hidden under all that stupid blonde hair.

“There you are. We should really talk before we speak with Y/N tomorrow.”

Sanji leaned back as he exhaled, blowing smoke across the table as he gestured to a seat. As well as a bottle of sake he’d left out.

Zoro’s stomach tied up in knots, but he knew this needed to happen. They needed to talk, to put things right with you.

He moved toward the table, hesitating before sitting down.

Sanji rolled his eyes, pouring two glasses of sake while he waited.

Zoro slid in, fighting his desire to pummel the blonde.

The burn of alcohol on both of their tongues wasn’t nearly enough. Sanji poured two more before Zoro took the bottle, taking a few swigs while the cook shook his head.

Silence hung around them, Zoro staring at the table, still fighting his memories. Sanji finally broke it, putting out his cigarette as he leaned forward.

“Marimo, I’m not trying to fuck with you. Right now anyway,” he said, with just a hint of a tease in his voice. “I won’t tell the crew, but I hope you know that it’s not a big deal if you like men.”

Zoro ground his teeth together, fists clenching on the table as he continued trying to listen.

“But I don't feel comfortable entering into this relationship with Y/N, however casual, with any lies. And sucking her other lover’s cock feels like quite the secret to me.”

“Don’t you fucking tell her,” Zoro growled, finally meeting his gaze with rage bubbling behind his eyes.

Sanji tilted his head, exhaling a long breath as he tapped his fingers on the wooden table.

“See, you’ve put me in an uncomfortable position. Two nights in a row now,” he couldn’t help but tease, the corner of his mouth raising just a bit.

“I would normally honor your request, but I can’t keep a secret like this from her. We’re all agreeing to be open and honest with each other. Is that something you can do?”

Sanji tried, really tried not to smirk as he watched Zoro falling apart.

“Fuck,” Zoro breathed, taking a long drink off the bottle, rocking forward a bit as he fought his urge for violence. Your face filled his mind, your smile, your tired eyes, your step back…

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

But I don’t want it to stop.

Sanji interrupted his thoughts, sucking his teeth before speaking.

“You know, Marimo… With this arrangement, if we’re honest, you and I could-”

Sanji had raised his brows, a wicked smile touching those soft lips, before Zoro’s rage flew back.

“Shut your mouth.”

The cook sat back in his seat, still smiling as he ran his hand through his hair. He watched the veins popping out on the swordsman’s arms as he clenched his fists, remembering the veins he’d felt slamming along his tongue.

“Hm, I think you helped me with that last night.”

With a growl, Zoro stood from the table, pacing as he took the bottle with him.

“Would you fucking stop, you dumbass waiter? I don’t fucking want you. I just want Needy…”

The cook watched him as he stopped moving, closing his eyes as he confessed. A half true confession, Sanji thought, while Zoro took another long swig.

“You really want to be with her, don’t you?”

“Shut up, cook.”

“Maybe you're not such an idiot after all.”

Thank You for Reading! 💜

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We've All Got Needs Masterlist

A/N: I got a lot of requests for a second part. Let me know if you'd like a third!

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#zosan smut #sanji smut #zoro smut #Reader Insert #Fem!Reader #Smut #mine #One Piece smut #sanji fanfic #zoro fanfic #zoro x sanji #my fanfic #zosan fanfic #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #x reader #turtletaub fics

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