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girlygirl14534 · 4 months

Text

Body Heat - Bucky x Reader

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Cock Warming, Snowed In, Only One Bed

Length: 3.7k

Summary: A blizzard knocks out the power in the safehouse where you and Bucky are sharing a bed. Can Bucky keep you warm through the cold night?

Author’s Note: It has been so cold where I live lately and there’s nobody better than Bucky to warm me up. I’m entering this work into @targaryenvampireslayer Blind Date Writing Challenge. I don’t participate in a lot of fandom events, so this was really fun! I used the Only One Bed trope and the Dialogue Prompts “Take your clothes off. Right now,” and “Are you holding back? Don’t.” Happy reading and stay warm! Divider via @firefly-graphics

Read this work on AO3

“You didn’t even want to get egg rolls,” Bucky whined as you grabbed one off of his plate.

You grinned as you bit into it. He smiled back at you, but his shoulders shifted ever so slightly, tipping you off to his next move. His chopsticks swooped onto your plate in retaliation, but you were ready for him, blocking his attempt on your orange chicken.

He glared at you and you relented. He popped the chicken into his mouth with a satisfied smirk. You rolled your eyes at him and took a sip of your beer. It was a local brew. A little hoppy but not too bitter, with a surprisingly crisp taste. You loved trying beers at every new little town you ended up at. Nothing beat a cold beer after a long mission, even if it was 20 degrees and dropping outside.

It was warm and cozy inside the little cabin. This safe house was cuter than most. It had a little wood stove and lace tablecloth—definitely grandmother-approved. The place was small, but you’d stayed at smaller ones. Although most had at least a few twin size cots. The bed here looked comfortable, but there was only one.

“It’s picking up out there,” Bucky nodded at the window. Outside you could see the snow swirling in the wind.

“The Winter Soldier scared of a little snow?” you teased.

“Oh, shut up. You wouldn’t last ten seconds out there. Remember Helsinki?”

“That is so unfair! I fell into a frozen pond!”

“I told you not to walk on that patch of ice!”

“You were being a know-it-all.”

“That’s because I actually know it all.”

You threw your half-eaten egg roll at him.

“You didn’t even eat it?!”

You shrugged and he glared at you as he finished it. After dinner, you got ready for bed. It had been a long day. When Bucky came out of the shower, you were already under the paisley-printed covers.

He grinned at you. “That’s my favorite bonnet,” he said, nodding at the silky cap on your head.

“You have favorite bonnets of mine?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you in enough of them. I love the one with rhinestones on the headband. You look like a queen. The Kirby one is really cute, too.”

“Nice try, Bucky.” You threw a pillow at him. “You’re still sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You knew he was going to jump on the bed a second before he did it, but you didn’t stop him. He looked so satisfied with himself.

“Time for bed,” you said as you started stacking pillows on the bed between you.

“Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off of me?” he teased.

“Don’t think I forgot how you hogged the couch in Bangladesh.”

“I maintain that you rolled off of the couch by yourself.”

“Well then consider it protection from me rolling you off the bed.”

He laughed as you finished the wall of pillows, marking your territory. You were just grateful that the bed was big enough to have your own space and that there were enough blankets that you wouldn’t have to share. You loved Bucky, but in your friendship you were more likely to trade insults than share the covers. Was there something more behind the words you traded? Maybe. Sometimes it felt obvious that he felt the same and other times you were certain that he just saw you as a friend.

If you were just friends, you were friends that lived and worked in very close quarters. You’d had a lot of hands-on moments working the mission with him today. If you had a little more privacy, you’d probably be touching yourself right now thinking about the weight of him on top of you as he tackled you to the ground to protect you, his hair tickling your face as he whispered a new tactical plan into your ear. Instead you were stuck here, close but not close enough. You sighed in frustration.

“Need a bedtime story?” Bucky asked.

“Once upon a time, a former assassin wouldn’t shut up while his teammate tried to sleep.”

“Teammate? That’s all I am to you?” he asked. The hurt and offense in his voice almost sounded real.

“What do you want to be described as?” you asked.

“Just get some sleep, princess.”

You chuckled and rolled over, soon falling asleep. You dreamt of him, of course. Of his hands on you. One warm, one cold. And then it was just his left hand. It was so cold. You let him keep touching you, of course. You didn’t care if you got frostbite. You just wanted him to keep touching you.

You were pissed when you woke up before you could climax. But you quickly realized it wasn’t just cold in your dream. Your teeth were chattering in real life.

“Fuck. It’s freezing,” you said.

“Power’s out,” Bucky said. “Must be the storm.”

“Can we make a fire?”

“I checked. The stove is electric.”

“Are you sure? That thing looks older than you.”

Bucky laughed. “I think I saw a few candles in the cupboard.” He got up and rummaged around in the kitchen. He lit them and placed them around the room.

“Bring one here. Maybe I can warm my hands.”

He laughed as he flopped back onto his side of the bed. “I know it’s cold in here. With the blizzard, there’s no way we’ll make it down the mountain. In the morning, we can—”

“I’m not gonna make it to morning! Feel my fingers!”

Bucky outstretched his right hand toward you, smiling in amusement at what he assumed was exaggeration. When you touched him, his expression changed to one of concern. Maybe things were worse than you thought. Maybe it really was frostbite. Bucky started taking down the pillow barrier.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You’re right,” he said as he threw pillows over his shoulder and onto the floor.

“Oooh, say that again.”

He laughed. “It’s too cold in here. You need body heat.”

You rolled your eyes but he kept moving pillows. “You’re serious?”

He nodded as he got rid of the last pillow. He awkwardly opened his arms. You scooted closer to him. This wasn’t how you wanted his arms around you, but you were too cold to deny him. He wrapped his big, strong arms around you. You relaxed into his embrace, and not just because of the warmth. He held you tight to him and you would’ve stayed just like forever, but you were still shivering. It felt like the chill had settled into your bones. The extra warmth from Bucky was only making it more obvious just how cold it was in the tiny cabin.

“We need skin to skin,” Bucky said.

You laughed but he didn’t.

“Take your clothes off. Right now,” he said.

Maybe the frigid air was impacting your decision-making, because instead of denying him, you complied. Tried to, anyway. Your fingers were so numb from the cold that you fumbled with the hem of your shirt. He gently nudged your fingers aside and helped you out of your shirt. You’d imagined the first time he took your clothes off a little differently, but you couldn’t care about that now. Once your shirt was off, he took his off too.

He hugged you again then. Your bare skin felt electrified where it touched his. He held your hands to his chest to warm them. With his hardened pecs beneath your fingers, it took all of your willpower not to squeeze.

“Is that better?” he asked.

You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You stayed like that for a few minutes, afraid to move. Afraid that at some point he’d decide that you were warm enough. You weren’t warm enough. In any sense. You needed him closer for survival, but it became increasingly difficult to tell if you needed him because you were cold or because you were horny.

“You’re not warm enough,” he said finally. You didn’t argue.

When he pulled away, the sudden loss of warmth made your body tense up. He immediately placed his arms around you again.

“I won’t let go of you anymore, okay?”

You hated how pathetic your voice sounded when you responded, “Okay.”

His arm reached between your bodies to pull his pants down. You told yourself that you weren’t going to look, but your eyes had a mind of their own. You watched his fingers grip his waistband and tug down his boxers and his pants. Suddenly he was naked. Even in the dim lighting, you could see how big he was. His eyes went straight to yours to check in, but he found no objection. You looked away to be polite, but felt too awkward to look into his eyes. You turned around so that your back was to his chest. You were grateful that he couldn’t see your face when he started to pull your pants down. If he was hesitant about this plan, his movements didn’t show it. He was smooth and deliberate, quickly ridding you of your pajamas and underwear. When you were both undressed, he pulled you close. When you felt his cock against your ass, you shivered, and it wasn’t because of the freezing temperatures.

“That’s it,” he said. “Turn over.”

He didn’t wait for you to move, effortlessly pulling you onto your back and laying on top of you. Bucky was naked. You were naked. And he was on top of you. You were short of breath just thinking about it.

“Don’t tell me I’m taking your breath away,” he teased.

“You’re heavy,” you retorted. “I think you may need to start laying off the eggrolls.”

As you laughed together, you became hyper aware of how close your bodies were, of just how much physical contact you had. The laughing stopped abruptly.

“Why didn’t you take off my bra?” you whispered. “Afraid that once you see these you’ll be ruined for all other boobs?”

“Yes,” he nodded as he reached under you, large hands rubbing your back and unhooking the clasp. He slowly slid your straps down your arms. He looked into your eyes as he pulled your bra from between your bodies and threw it onto the floor.

Here you were, caged in his warmth, looking deep into his eyes like in one of your fantasies. And yet your instinct was to make a stupid joke, find some way to make this feel less serious. But you couldn’t think straight with his dick resting on your stomach and his warm breath on your face.

“Better?” he asked.

“Eh. Still a little chilly,” you joked breathlessly.

“I can get you warmer,” he said seriously.

You laughed. “I don’t think we could physically be any closer than we are right now.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Well, technically we could be a little closer.”

“Barnes, if I go outside in the morning and find out that you cut the powerlines…”

“I can’t have you dying of hypothermia on my watch. I don’t have to move or anything. Just to keep you warm.”

You wanted to roll your eyes and hit him on the arm, but his sincerity caught you off guard.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m not a fan of the cold either. I’ve spent too much of my life frozen already. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought…”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “And don’t worry, when I tell Nat this story, I won’t even mention the shrinkage.”

He laughed with you and then shook his head at you.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he asked.

“Stick your dick in me, apparently.”

He swallowed nervously. “Are you…? Are you ready?” he asked.

You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t question how wet you were already. You certainly weren’t going to bring up the fact that you had felt his length slowly hardening against you for the last few minutes.

“I, uh, just gotta…” He reached down to pump himself a few times, looking anywhere but you. You wanted to change that.

“You can look at me, Bucky.”

His eyes found yours. You’d never seen this expression on his face before. He was never this easy to read. Even though he’d beaten the Winter Soldier programming, he usually always kept a part of himself closed off. Those defenses were gone now. In their place was yearning. A desire so deep it was overwhelming. The way he looked at you was the same way you felt about him.

You arched your back, drawing attention to your chest. “You can also look here, if it helps.”

He looked at your breasts for the first time. His mouth fell open in awe. You hoped you really were ruining him for other women. You hoped he would never look at anyone else like this for as long as he lived. His eyes went from your chest back to your face as he shifted between your legs. You bit your lip when you felt the head of his cock prod your entrance. It would take everything in your power not to moan. This was probably a very bad idea. But still you let your legs fall open wider to give him easier access.

When he first pushed in, you drew a shaky breath. He stopped moving, eyes anxiously searching yours. He was terrified you’d ask him to stop. Quite the contrary.

“That all you got?” you asked.

He smirked at you before resuming his progress. Despite your earlier joke, you felt your walls stretch around him as he pushed further into you. You felt every single inch, but it was torture not being able to wrap your legs around his hips or claw at his back like you wanted to.

When he was fully seated, he stilled. You took a few deep breaths. It was dizzying, being this close to him, this full of him. It was his turn to tell you, “You can look at me, ya know.”

You looked at him in the flickering candlelight. His hair obscured your view of his face. You reached up and tucked it behind his ear. He nuzzled his face against your hand. Your heart skipped a beat. You could feel his warm cock throbbing inside of you. He was looking at you so romantically that you forgot where you were for a moment. Your body did, too. Your pussy clenched around him. You didn’t get a chance to wonder if he’d felt it. You heard him groan. Right before you felt him thrust.

His eyes darted to you, panicked. You’d seen him panic once before, as he pulled you out of the ice in Finland. That day he’d warmed you up by the fire with plenty of hot drinks and some light teasing. You preferred the current method of warming you up. Which is why you let him hear you. You moaned for him. If you’d been less desperate for him to fuck you, you would’ve been embarassed by how needy you sounded. It was nothing compared to the strangled cry Bucky let out with his second thrust. You expected him to keep moving, but he stopped again. He leaned in, eyes urgent.

“The first time I saw you,” he panted, “I knew you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever—”

Your heart fluttered, but you couldn’t have him saying things he didn’t mean. “You don’t have to flatter me, Buck—”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true. And you are so beautiful.”

You placed your hands behind his head and pulled him in for a kiss. You weren’t sure what it was going to be like, your first kiss with Bucky. Especially since that first kiss was occurring after he was already inside of you. When your lips touched, you both sighed with relief. His lips were soft. You weren’t expecting that. His tongue probed your lips gently, and you gladly gave it access. He kissed you slowly, like he was savoring every second. He cupped your breast with his right hand, softly stroking it. His touches were almost reverent. It would’ve been romantic if you weren’t so needy. There’d be time for slow and steady. You hoped so, anyway. Right now you needed fire. You needed his touch to chase away the cold.

“Are you holding back on me, Barnes? Don’t.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He bent his head and attached his lips to your neck. He pulled the delicate flesh between his teeth as the hand on your breast eagerly squeezed. His metal hand tightened its grip on your hip. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d have a bruise in the shape of his handprint tomorrow. Proof that this had actually happened. Proof it wasn’t just the best dream of your life.

Maybe you wanted to mark him, too. Maybe that’s why you tangled your fingers in his hair while you raked the nails of the other hand down his back. He grunted as he drove into you with renewed force, the headboard rattling against the wall.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so wet. So tight. So perfect. Even better than I—” he stopped himself.

“Better than you imagined?” you suggested.

He nodded.

“You imagine me?” you asked, breathless.

“Every day,” he confessed.

You moved your hips in time with his next stroke, taking him deeper than ever. You both cursed. With each thrust, you knew things would never be the same. With each thrust, you got more and more desperate for him to ruin you. You writhed desperately under him and he only gripped you tighter, forcing you to stay still and accept your pleasure like a good girl. He angled his hips so that he was massaging your g-spot with every thrust. The head of his cock dragged against your center of pleasure over and over again in a relentless pursuit for your climax. You wanted to beg him to fuck you harder and faster but you didn’t want this to end yet. Not until he was as ruined as you were.

You took your hands away from him and brought them to your chest. You gripped your breasts tightly and moaned. He was mesmerized. You pinched your nipples and rolled your hips, putting on a show for him. You needed to know that he would never forget this. That he would never forget you. You tugged on your nipples and cried his name.

“That’s my job,” he said. You smirked at him.

You put your fingers in his open mouth and brought them to your clit and started rubbing slow circles. You watched his eyes darken. He grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth again, closing his eyes in pleasure as he licked your fingers clean. Instead of putting your hand back where he found it, he brought his metal fingers to your clit instead, taking over your ministrations there. The cold, hard metal rhythmically massaged the sensitive bundle of nerves until his name was the only word in your vocabulary.

You wouldn’t last much longer. You’d see to it that neither would he. You attached your lips to his neck and sucked a bruise into the skin. His fingers on your clit went from slow circles to frantic figure 8s. Your back arched in pleasure as you felt your walls tighten around Bucky’s cock. His hips stuttered as he flooded you with warmth. Your legs shook when you felt him fill you. You whimpered his name. He whispered yours. Before you could even catch your breath, it happened.

You both knew the second the power turned back on. The hum of the fridge, the rattle of the old radiator, the red “Off” light on the coffee pot. It was like a bomb going off in the bubble you’d built. You looked at each other, startled, as if you were just realizing the extent of what you had done. For a split second, you considered pulling away from him and getting dressed, pretending none of this had ever happened. But you didn’t want that, not while his cum was still warm inside you and aftershocks of your orgasm were still rocking your core. You two spoke at the same time.

“It’ll probably take a while before you’re warm eno—”

“The power could go off again at any mo—”

“Sorry—”

“What were you saying—”

You both chuckled self-consciously.

“You love being inside me, don’t you, Barnes?” you teased with no taunting in your voice. You felt his dick twitch. You rolled your hips. “Is that a yes?”

He bit his lip and looked at you with more than lust. It was devotion.

“Yes,” he said finally.

“Good. Because you’re the only one that can keep me warm.”

“What about me?” he asked.

You looked at him, perplexed.

“I get cold, too.”

“What can I warm up for you, Bucky?”

“My ears are kinda cold,” he said.

Oh. Not exactly what you were thinking about warming up, but ok. You reached out to stroke the side of his face. He smiled and blushed, but nuzzled into your hand.

“Your thighs should be pretty warm now…”

Oh. Your thighs could keep his ears warm. You would happily straddle his face in the name of reciprocity. It was the least you could do, right?

…

The next morning, you woke up wrapped in Bucky’s arms. The heat hadn’t gone out again during the night, but you still felt like you needed Bucky’s warmth.

“I didn’t tamper with the generator,” Bucky said. “But I should have. I should’ve warmed you up like that when you fell into the lake.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Would you have let me?”

You nodded.

“You would have?!”

“I bought the Kirby bonnet for you,” you confessed.

“What?”

“I know how much you like playing Mario Kart with Sam. I thought you’d like it. I thought maybe it’d make you like me.”

He scoffed. “Are you kidding? By that point, I was already in lo—I mean, I, uh. I really do love Mario Kart, you’re right.”

“Nice save.”

“Let me take you out on a proper date.”

“One condition.”

“Anything.”

“Has to be somewhere warm.”

You shared a laugh.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked.

Want to read more of my writing? Check out my ongoing Stucky x Reader series.

#bucky x reader #avenger!reader #black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #suzsblinddatewritingchallenge #suzsblinddatechallenge

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writeforfandoms · 1 year

Text

White Flag

Find my CoD Masterlist

This was supposed to be a good day. You were on a date, it was a beautiful day outside, everything was fine.

And then you got grabbed as a hostage. The upside? You get rescued by a very handsome sergeant.

Warnings: Violence, canon-typical violence, hostage situation, non-graphic injuries, dead bodies.

Word count: 5k

You were pretty sure this ranked as the worst date you’d ever been on.

The guy (Kevin, his name was Kevin) had been nice enough. Coffee had been fine. The walk in the park had been pleasant, although that had as much to do with the nice weather as anything else.

The crazy people who brandished guns at everyone in the park and killed half a dozen people before rounding up the rest of you to shove into vans… Well. That kind of ruined the rest of the date.

Kevin had been taken too, although he wasn’t with you. The hostages (because that’s what you were now, hostages) had been split into two groups, and Kevin had been with the other group.

You had no idea if you’d ever see him again. If he was okay.

But honestly, you didn’t have much brain power to spend on him. Because your group had been rounded up into a warehouse, tied to chairs, and left there. The inside of the warehouse was hot and sticky, and the addition of fifteen bodies (ten hostages and five men with guns) quickly made the space nearly unbearably hot and smelly. A few of the hostages were weeping quietly, one not so quietly.

At least until he got pistol whipped. Then he shut up, staring vacantly into space.

Your captors honestly didn’t seem very interested in talking to you. Which was probably a good thing. You were feeling a little… floaty. Disconnected. Not all there. Your captors spoke quietly to each other in some language you couldn’t identify.

There really wasn’t anything for you to do. Which didn’t actually help with the terror or the tingling in your fingers or the panic. But it did help with the floaty feeling. As in, you stayed in the floaty feeling for a while.

Until you heard the first gunshots.

“Silence!” one of the captors hissed at the group when someone started screaming. Motioning with his gun, he seemed to send two of the other guards outside. Leaving three of them standing, two between the hostages and the front door, one in back.

And then nothing. Quiet. For long enough that two of the captors started to get antsy, shifting their weight and looking around.

You honestly couldn’t say how long the tense silence lasted, how long you sat with your heart in your throat, how long you waited.

But there were no gunshots when the two guards dropped, just blood and bodies. The last captor barely had a chance to swing his weapon around in a wild arc before he, too, dropped dead to the ground.

And then two new men walked in, wearing vests and carrying weaponry. You noticed the British flag on both of them and blinked, just once.

“Clear,” the one with the mutton chops said, lowering his weapon.

“Clear,” the other agreed. “Everyone remain calm, we’ll have you out of here soon,” he said, looking briefly at each of you. You blinked slowly when brown eyes met your own.

They each started on a hostage, getting people free in no time. “Emergency services are right outside,” brown eyes said, helping one woman to her feet.

You blinked again. Huh. Somehow the fact that you were safe hadn’t really hit yet. Was this what shock felt like? Or were you just… slow?

Half-way through the group, both men paused and exchanged looks.

“Go, Cap,” brown eyes said. “I’ve got them.”

“Stay sharp,” mutton chops murmured, clapping his friend briefly on the shoulder before he turned and left, sneaking out a side door you hadn’t even noticed before.

Brown eyes worked a little slower on his own, but not much. He still helped each person to their feet. Seven down. The eighth hostage needed no help, rushing out of the warehouse as fast as he could go.

And then you saw his gaze dart between you and the woman next to you.

“Get her,” you said softly. Your fingers were numb and your tongue felt thick, but you knew he understood you. He nodded once and stepped up to her, cutting her bonds. This close, you could hear him murmuring to her.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, voice soothing. “Just follow the others out, yeah? And then straight on to the medics.”

The woman nodded, lips trembling, blonde hair in total disarray. She did need a hand up, and she whispered her gratitude almost too softly for you to hear before she, too, left.

Leaving just you and him.

“Alright?” he asked you, still in that low, soothing murmur.

“Just peachy,” you croaked. Feeling was returning to your fingers with a vengeance now that your hands were free, and you half-way wished it wouldn’t. The pins and needles were very unpleasant. But you staggered to your feet unassisted.

"I'll walk you out," he offered, one hand tucking under your elbow.

"Thanks." You licked your lips, glancing down at the nearest body. Blood had pooled around him, a dark stain on the concrete floor.

"Don't look." Your savior tugged your arm a little, frowning when you looked at him.

"I'm not about to freak out on you," you assured him, voice still a little scratchy. "Don't worry about me."

He eyed you curiously, but never had a chance to ask the question you could see lurking in his eyes. His eyes went wide and he pulled you in close, throwing his arm up over both of your heads just as something hit the outside of the building. There was a loud noise, then cracking and shrieking of metal as part of the roof collapsed. Chunks of concrete hit the floor around you two, and you both lurched to one side.

A second explosion rocked the floor, and you tried to scramble for the door. But a third explosion caused a cave-in: the doorway crumbled and fell, and part of the floor gave way.

"Shit," he hissed, grabbing desperately for you. "Fuck!"

You grabbed him with one hand, your other scrambling for something to hold on to.

But the floor beyond you gave way, and you had a moment of horror before the floor fell away beneath the two of you.

Then there was only darkness.

You came to with a low groan, head throbbing. Your whole body ached, warning you against moving. And you wouldn't have.

Except you realized you couldn't hear anything from your new friend.

Blinking rapidly to clear your vision, you sat up slowly. Yup. Everything still hurt. But you could move! At least this much.

And you could see your friend, laying on his back just a foot away from you.

"Hey." Your voice was paper thin and raspy. You cleared your throat and tried again. "Hey!"

But he didn't move. You could see him breathing, which blocked some of the panic, but otherwise… nothing.

Okay. Okay. You needed to check on him, see if there was anything you could do to help. You were not first aid trained, but you remembered some rule about not moving people with head injuries in case of spinal trauma, or something like that. So. No dragging him to you. You had to go to him.

The space you were in now was only barely lit - it looked like light was filtering down from where the floor used to be. Which was now a pile of rubble. Honestly, it looked like you two had gotten lucky to not get squished, having landed in a mostly clear spot.

So you took a deep breath and tried to drag yourself closer on your hands.

Your howl of agony probably should have woken him, but he remained stubbornly unconscious.

Panting, blinking away tears of pain and shock, you looked down at yourself. And then slammed your eyes shut.

No. No no no. This couldn't be happening. No.

Gasping, a little dizzy, you hung your head and clenched your teeth. No. It wasn't that bad. It was fine. You'd be fine. But you still needed to check on him. You needed to remain calm until rescue arrived. That's all. You'd be fine.

You opened your eyes again but refused to look down at yourself. Instead you twisted your upper body as carefully as you could, checking the distance between you and your friend. Okay. You could just… swivel a bit and reach him. Okay. No big deal.

But you still had to move very carefully, being extra careful not to move your leg at all. You gave yourself a minute to rest once you'd done that, just breathing and staring at the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Okay. Checking him over. You could do this.

A visual inspection showed nothing. No injuries. No blood.

You were hesitant to check his head, but you did at least look. There was some blood under his head, but not a ton. And he was still breathing, so…

That was about the extent of what you could do.

You balanced your weight on one hand, reaching over to tap his cheek with one finger. "Hey. Wake up. Please wake up."

But nothing. He remained unconscious.

You hung your head again, pressing your hand over your mouth. Okay. It was fine. The lady who'd gone out ahead of you knew you were still in here. Someone would come to check the building. It would be fine. Someone would come rescue the two of you.

Okay. You could do this. You could be patient. You could keep an eye on him.

A burst of noise and static caught your attention, and you frowned. Where had that come from? You didn't see anything around you, nothing electronic… The noise came again and you swung your gaze back to your friend.

There was a radio on his vest.

You scrambled for the radio and traced the wire up to his ear, very carefully removing it and cleaning it off before sticking it in your own ear.

"Gaz, how copy?" The man on the other end sounded stiff, almost angry.

Gaz must be your new friend. You swallowed, studying the radio for a moment before you found the button that would let you talk to them. "He's unconscious," you said, voice a little shakier than you liked.

For a moment, there was absolute silence. You almost feared the radio hadn't worked.

"Who is this?" Now he sounded pissed, voice a low growl.

You swallowed again but gave him your first name. "He was with me when the floor gave out. He was trying to get me out."

Silence again, long enough this time that your hands started shaking. You didn't take your gaze off of Gaz, watching him breathe.

"Okay," the man said, speaking a little more gently now. "Where are you?"

"Under the warehouse." You didn't look up again. You couldn't.

"What's your situation?" His calm was helping you, slowing your breathing.

"Um. He's not waking up, I haven't moved him. He's not bleeding anywhere except his head, and that's already stopped. I haven't moved him."

"Good," he rumbled. "And you?"

You stalled for a moment mentally. "I'm… holding together." You clenched your jaw to keep back the probably hysterical giggle that wanted to burst out.

"I need you to inform me if you start to feel dizzy, light headed, anything like that. Can you do that?" He kept his voice steady and calm.

You breathed deeply and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

"Good. Stay where you are, do not attempt to climb out yourself."

"Not a chance," you agreed, maybe only a little hysterical. You swallowed hard. Twice. "Staying put right here."

"Good. I'll update you when I can. Stay calm. We will get you out. Copy?"

"Copy." You let the radio fall to your lap. Your fingers were numb, but you couldn't tell if that was cold, blood loss, or shock.

Whatever it was, you didn't have the mental capacity to deal with it. You just focused on breathing for a little bit.

And then you tried tapping Gaz's cheek again. "Hey," you murmured, leaning very carefully down closer to him. "I'd really like it if you woke up, buddy."

He still didn't wake. Your next exhale came out shaky and wet.

"You should have just left," you whispered to him. "You didn't need to walk me out, you know." You huffed something close to a laugh. "I'd say I'd have been fine, but I probably wouldn't have been." You touched his cheek again gently, frowning just a little.

You had nothing but time at the moment so you distracted yourself by studying him. He was handsome, very much so. You thought you remembered that he had kind eyes, too.

But you really just wanted him to wake up. Any time now.

The radio crackled and you flinched at the sudden noise. "We're working on digging you out," came the man's voice, steady and calm. "I need you to watch for any shifting in the debris above you."

"Okay," you agreed, licking your lips. "Got it." You tipped your head back, watching above you. You could hear the scrape and shift of concrete and metal now, sending your heart pounding faster. But nothing moved above you, only bits of dust falling through the cracks.

Gaz groaned softly and you immediately dropped your gaze to him, one hand fluttering over his chest.

"Easy does it," you murmured, watching him anxiously. "Don't try to get up yet."

His eyes fluttered a few times before he finally opened them fully, looking up at you. "What…?" He blinked slowly.

"We fell," you told him, hand pressing lightly on his chest. "Your friends are working on getting us out, but I need you to stay still."

He was quiet for a few moments, looking at you. "Okay," he agreed, a little hoarse.

Dust filtered down to the two of you, and you wrenched your gaze up, a little panicked. But everything looked okay, nothing looked in danger of moving.

Honestly, you weren't sure how comforting that actually was, considering at least some of that stuff would have to move in order for you and Gaz to get out.

"Watch that block," Gaz piped up, nearly giving you a heart attack. But you spotted the one he was concerned about and frowned, eyeing the pieces around it.

His worry proved to be completely founded when that chunk started sliding as something else was moved.

"Wait," you yipped, briefly scrambling for the radio. "Hang on, there's a piece shifting down here."

"Where?"

"Uh." You eyed the distance, frowning. "Maybe four feet to my left? It's a big piece, maybe two feet by six feet, rebar sticking out of it."

There was a soft grunt. "I see it," he agreed. "Keep an eye on it."

You swallowed but watched. That piece shifted a bit, and then slowly lifted up and out of place. You breathed out slowly, the new gap allowing more light into the space. You refused to look down at yourself, instead taking the chance to look at Gaz again.

"Is that Price?" He asked softly when you looked at him.

"I dunno," you answered honestly. "He didn't give me a name."

"Give me the radio." He held out one hand with a little smile. "Won't move yet, I promise."

You hesitated for a moment but handed over the radio, cleaning off the earpiece for him. His eyes crinkled with his smile, and you couldn't help but smile in return, though you were sure yours was small and shaky in comparison.

"Cap," Gaz said. Then he huffed a little laugh. "Not broken yet, sir."

You looked away, slumping forward to give yourself a little break. Twisting that way had done nothing for your ribs, and you still ached everywhere. But at least breathing was no problem.

"Think I'm alright," Gaz said from behind you. Then he huffed. "Alright, yeah, apart from the concussion."

Right. Concussion. You wouldn't be surprised if you had one of those too. The whole falling through the floor thing tended to not be kind to bodies.

"Right. We'll sit tight here then." Gaz sounded amused so things couldn't be that awful.

"Just have to wait for rescue?" You asked, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

"Pretty much." His eyes closed again and he breathed slowly. "You doing alright?"

"As well as can be expected." You breathed in slowly, lifting your gaze to the rubble above the two of you again. "Not exactly how I expected today to go."

He chuckled quietly. "I bet." One of his hands touched your arm, and you looked back at him to find compassionate eyes already fixed on you. "You're doing really well. Being very brave."

You smiled, lifting your hand to take his. "Oh, I'm definitely still freaking out, but I couldn't freak out and keep an eye on you."

He laughed quietly. "Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared, just means you're not letting that stop you."

"Well, you'd know better than I would." You squeezed his hand gently. "How are you feeling? Really."

"Head is killing me," he admitted easily, eyes closing again. "Don't think there's anything else wrong, though. Everything hurts, which means I can feel everything."

"Well that's one way to find a silver lining." You licked your lips. "You're gonna take time to recover after this, right? Concussions are no joke, and you were unconscious for a while."

His hand squeezed yours, thumb rubbing across your skin. It was… incredibly soothing, actually. "I promise," he agreed. "Captain will make sure of it."

"Good. I'm glad." You winced when another piece of rubble shifted and then lifted away.

"You have anyone to help you? After this?"

"Physically or mentally?" You asked, aiming for glib but hitting melancholy.

"Both." His tone shifted to something a little more soothing.

You swallowed and shrugged. "Not really. I mean, I live alone. But it's fine, work will let me take a little time off for this."

His hand tightened around yours. "You should give me your number."

"What?" You blinked, looking back at him, eyes wide.

"So we can keep each other company while we're recovering." He smiled up at you, eyes crinkling, warm and almost fond.

"That sounds like the concussion talking." You leaned back to get closer to him, concerned.

"It's not." He lifted his free hand, hesitating before he touched your cheek, feather light. "It's okay if you don't want to. But I'd love to talk to you more." He grinned suddenly. "Especially when we're not both stuck somewhere."

You huffed a little laugh, leaning your cheek very carefully into his hand. "If you still want my number when we're out of here, I'll give it to you," you agreed.

"I'll hold you to that." He rubbed his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. This was probably a terrible idea, but it had been a terrible day and you wanted something comforting. Right at that moment, Gaz was your only option. Then his hand left your cheek and you blinked your eyes open to see him press on his radio. "Copy. How long do you think?"

You sat up again, clearing your throat. The hole up above you was bigger now, but still not big enough to get out of. They were definitely making progress though, and you'd take it.

"Rog. We're alright here." His hand squeezed yours, a comforting reminder that you weren't alone. And a less than comforting reminder that nobody else was aware of your full situation just yet.

"Good news?" You asked, forcing yourself to keep watching the hole in the ceiling.

"They're pausing to assess the rubble," Gaz admitted. "But Price doesn't think it will be a long delay."

"Okay." You breathed in deep and then carefully laid back, keeping hold of Gaz's hand.

"Tired?"

"A bit." You shrugged, grimacing at the feel of grit under your shoulders. "What's your favorite color?"

"What?" He sounded startled.

"I need something to distract me, and at the moment you're it. Plus you're not supposed to sleep after a concussion like that, right? So really I'm doing us both a favor." You tipped your head to shoot him a cheeky grin.

He chuckled. "And that's the best you could come up with?"

"You got a better suggestion?"

"Yeah." He shifted carefully so he could meet your gaze more easily. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"I'm not that interesting," you demurred, warming and looking away.

"I don't care." He squeezed your hand, tugging gently until you looked at him again. "Tell me whatever you're comfortable with."

You blinked but started speaking, quietly, slowly at first. But the lack of judgment from him made you more comfortable. And he asked good questions, keeping you talking.

At least until someone called down to the two of you.

"Doin' alright down there?" This voice was new, with a Scottish accent.

"We're good," Gaz called back. "Thirsty, though."

"We're almost ready to come get you," the Scot said, sounding amused. "Won't be long."

You breathed out slowly. You should say something. You should tell them. They were going to find out sooner or later, as soon as they sent someone down for the two of you. You needed to tell them.

"Hey, hey," Gaz murmured, alarmed. "Sweetheart. Look at me."

Your eyes opened - when had you even closed them? Your breath hitched when you looked at Gaz, concern writ large on his face.

"It's okay. It'll be okay. They're almost to us, yeah? We won't be here much longer." He tugged your hand, linking his fingers with yours. "C'mere, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched again, and you realized with dim surprise that you were crying. And had been for at least a minute, based on the dampness of your cheeks. "I… can't."

"What?" He sat up a little and then froze. Completely froze. Then he swallowed, hard enough you could see his Adam's apple bob. "Oh, sweetheart."

You closed your eyes again, holding tight to his hand as the panic resurfaced. This was so bad, you knew it was so bad, but you'd been doing so well at not thinking about it.

"Captain, we have a problem." Gaz had steadied his voice, at least.

But his captain didn't respond on the radio as you'd expected. "What kind of problem?" He sounded closer than you expected, and a quick peek up showed that he was crouching near the edge of the hole.

"She's got a piece of rebar through her calf," Gaz replied. "Mid-way down. Goes all the way through."

"Fucking hell." Price shifted his weight, coming a little nearer to the edge. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

You swallowed hard. "Couldn't," you muttered, hoping Gaz would pass along the message for you. But you couldn't make your voice any louder. "There was nothing I could do and I couldn't think about it without freaking out."

Gaz did indeed relay your words, his thumb stroking soothingly over the back of your hand.

Price exhaled hard. "We'll figure it out when we get down there," he decided. "Twenty minutes."

"Copy that." Gaz didn't release you, instead scooting over closer to you. "Hear that? They're almost ready. We'll make sure you get out of here. Okay?"

"Okay," you agreed, voice small. A deep breath and you were able to nod. "But you better not be doing anything to aggravate your head."

"I'm not," he soothed. "Can you sit up for me?"

You sniffled once but sat up, refusing to let go of his hand. He didn't even try, just smiling at you.

"There we go." His free hand lifted to your face, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "How do you feel?"

You gave the question a moment of thought. "Tired. Sore." You glanced down at your leg and immediately away again. "Scared."

He wordlessly tucked your head down against his shoulder. "We'll be okay," he whispered, like if he believed it hard enough he could bend the universe to his will. "We both will."

You sat there quietly, soaking up the comfort he freely offered, starting to shiver a little. You had no idea what time it was, and big lights had been set up above, so you had no natural light to work off of. But the temperature was dropping.

Either that or you were still losing blood, which was a very scary possibility.

"Coming down," Price called. You opened your eyes to watch him come down a rope, landing in a clear spot near your feet. Oh. He was muttonchops from earlier in the day. He looked between the two of you before he moved next to Gaz, kneeling. "Sitrep?"

"I'm alright," Gaz murmured. "Head hasn't fallen off yet."

"Cheeky." But Price's lips twitched in a smile. "We'll get you up first."

"No."

Price paused, raising one eyebrow at Gaz's blunt refusal. Some form of communication passed between the two, although you couldn't follow it. But it ended with Price blowing out a breath through his nose and nodding once. Then he stood and moved down by your feet, examining your leg and the piece of rebar. "Have you tried moving?"

It took you a moment to realize he was talking to you. "Only once." You shrugged.

He nodded, brow pulled into a tight furrow as he leaned further down. "Right." He sat back on his heels. "Soap, bring down the bolt cutters."

Another man joined you three in the hole, mohawk a bit disheveled and dusty. "Alright?" He asked, smiling easily at you.

"Oh, you know," you managed, flapping one hand.

He just nodded and crouched down next to Price, handing over the bolt cutters.

"Hey," Gaz whispered, tugging your hand gently. "Don't look at them. Focus on me, yeah?"

"Okay." You swallowed but obediently kept your gaze on him, trying not to listen to the quiet discussion taking place by your feet. "What are you going to do with your unplanned vacation?"

He smiled a little. "I've got a few ideas," he murmured. "There's this girl, yeah? Don't know her well yet but I'd love to spend time getting to know her." He winked at you.

You laughed a little, feeling heat rush to your face. "I dunno, she could be some crazy person."

"I don't think so." His gaze was warm as he smiled at you, leaning in a little closer. "She might be lacking a sense of self-preservation, though."

"You… might be right." You dropped your gaze, feeling shaky again. Your sharp inhale had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with your leg moving as the rebar was cut loose from the cement below.

"That part's done," Price said, probably a little louder than he needed to. "Next step is getting you up there."

You eyed the rope warily. "I hope you've got a plan."

"You won't have to do anything," Price assured you. "We'll get a harness on you and hoist you up."

"Joy." But your voice wavered, and you held Gaz's hand too tightly. He smoothed his thumb over your knuckles.

"They've got you, sweetheart," he murmured. "Promise."

"Okay." You took a deep breath and nodded once.

Truthfully, you had to do very little. They worked together to get the harness on you, and Soap steadied you as you were hoisted up. More hands grabbed you at the top, and you barely had time to wince in pain before you were on a stretcher.

"Wait," you begged the paramedic before he could start to move the stretcher. "I want to make sure my friend gets up okay."

His gaze softened and he nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "But I'm gonna move you back here out of the way, don't need anyone bumping into you."

You nodded, watching eagerly until Gaz appeared. He was a little pale but otherwise okay, and he even managed to get to the stretcher partially under his own power.

Relieved, you relaxed back against your stretcher and nodded. Okay. You were satisfied.

It wasn't until sometime the next day as you were waking up properly for the first time since you'd gone into surgery that you remembered you were supposed to give him your phone number.

Not that you actually had time to mourn the loss of… whatever that may have been. The nurse had just left after checking on you when there was a knock on the door, and then it swung open slowly.

Gaz absolutely beamed at you from his spot in a wheelchair, Soap behind him pushing him further in.

"You're here," you whispered, eyes wide, one hand reaching for him without permission.

"Price insisted on overnight observation," Gaz said, taking your hand as soon as he was close enough. "Since I was unconscious for a while."

"And you're okay?" You looked him over quickly, biting your lip.

"I will be." He leaned closer, his other hand covering yours.

"Good." You relaxed a little, smiling finally. "That's good."

"Shout when you need a lift," Soap said, tapping Gaz's shoulder before backing towards the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." And he was gone, cackling, before Gaz could properly turn around to glare at him.

You huffed a laugh, leaning closer to him. "I'm glad you're okay," you whispered, a bit abashed.

"I'm glad you'll be okay." He closed the distance, leaning in until he could press his forehead to yours.

"Yeah." You smiled. "I will be." It was the first time you'd really believed that since you'd been grabbed in the park.

You knew exactly how you wanted to thank the reason for your confidence, too.

#gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #f!reader

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darlingmbappe · 1 year

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The Loneliest [3] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: While Kylian lets jealousy get the best of him on the pitch, you find that a tequila-filled night might be the answer to healing your broken heart... even if it's just for one night.

Warnings: Still just absolute angst. Missing your ex, Kylian being overprotective and jealous, Erling Haaland being a dick (i'm sorry it's purely for plot purposes), heavy drinking, self destructive behavior, cussing, bad cheese puns, let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

The breakup was bound to go public sooner or later. It was surprising you made it almost seven weeks before the media got the hold of the story. You both were spotted alone on separate sides of town too many times, you’d missed all of his matches, and E!News got a source that told them you live alone now. You have a strong hunch it’s your next door neighbor that’s always lingering by the stairs. She asks entirely too many questions.

While you were still with Kylian, your relationship was kept mostly private and you rarely found yourself in any headlines. But, lord knows, if there’s anything the press loves more than a celebrity engagement is a celebrity breakup. When you saw a graphic of your face and Kylians face photoshopped onto a broken heart on Snapchat, a clickbait title asking, “did our fav football couple call it quits?”, you knew you’d be getting some unwanted attention. Fuck you, Daily Mail. Mind your business.

You clearly remember agreeing with him to wait for you to text first, but he’s a damn liar. He didn’t let a day go by before sending you a sweet good morning text. For the past three weeks, he’s been sending little messages here and there. Nothing too risqué or anything that made you feel pressure… they were actually nice. You’d been pretty good at not responding, being occupied doing absolutely anything else to stop yourself from thinking about him.

Kylian knew this. Being with you for such a long time, he understood how you got when you didn’t want to think about something. When your family dog passed, you claimed you were fine over and over again, and he just had to let you hyper fixate on new random hobbies until your feelings eventually exploded out. You taught yourself claymation, knitting, refurbishing old creepy dolls… that was definitely his least favorite. He needed to make sure you didn’t force yourself to forget about him, he wanted to be there for you when you were ready. He’s patience is usually very thin, but he’s impressed with himself for staying (mostly) zen about you not responding. He had to. He couldn’t fuck this up again and come swinging with the ‘I love you’s that he types out and erases promptly.

It’s finally Friday and you just finished a late lunch at your favorite café near your office, just listening to music on your headphones and reading through a document you were about to send to your colleagues. Your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian and, of course, you clicked the notification. You always did.

He’d sent you a picture of a decorative board at some market with a cheese-remix of the song Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. You immediately laughed out loud, having seen this exact sign before with Kylian years ago. For weeks after, you two sang the lyrics randomly around the house, in the car, pretty much anywhere until all of your friends were begging for you two to just shut the fuck up.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dissa-brie, I’ve travelled the world and the feta cheese, everybody’s lookin’ for stilton.

Your fingers began to respond before you even had a chance to really think about it.

(Y/N): Not this shit again

Kylian smiled widely upon seeing that you sent something back, typing back in record speeds.

Kylian: I think it’s…….. grate

You actually smiled at his horrible pun, twirling your hair against your own will.

(Y/N): very cheesy

Kylian was so quick to look up more cheese puns, not wanting to let his roll come to an end. Any communication, even about cheese, worked for him.

Kylian: it’s very gouda to hear from you again :)

“Oh, man.” You mumbled to yourself, noticing how your heart rate increased with just a couple of his really really bad jokes.

God, you missed him so much.

You stood up, leaving the conversation there, gathering your things and turning up the music. Yet, the whole walk back it was impossible to focus on whatever was playing in your ears because of the louder song playing inside your head. Sweet dreams are made of cheese…

Kylians thumb was lodged between his teeth in anticipation, but soon realized you weren’t going to respond again. Lowly cursing to himself, he threw his phone back in his locker. Everyone was prepared for todays game against Manchester City, especially Kylian. He wanted to win so bad, it almost felt like the World Cup.

He knew who he was going to play against — Erling Haaland. If he wasn’t too fond of him before, finding out he hit on you on you brewed a different kind of determination to win inside of him. You said nothing happened that night and he believed you — but he knew that Haaland had more in mind than just a nice conversation. He noticed last week that he followed you on instagram and liked all of your recent pictures, not including the ones with him. As of last night, you still didn't follow him back. Those late night stalking sessions have to stop soon. His nutritionists is really getting on his ass for finishing entire jars of peanut butter every other day.

He wondered if you were going to watch the game or if you had been since you left. He really hoped you hadn’t been. He’s been playing horribly these past weeks. Once the news of your breakup went public, every commentator made a point of mentioning it and saying stupid shit like, “life goes on, and that’s something Kylian Mbappé is going to have to figure out sooner or later.”

He let his angry thoughts fuel him as he walked into the tunnel. He tried to get his head in the game, but couldn’t help looking back every so often to the opposing team next to them, eyes always landing on the tall blonde man.

He stood in his place, but his neck twisted back against his will, not really caring if he was being too obvious. Right before the teams were meant to walk out together, Haaland caught his death glares. Kylian doubled down, making sure he wouldn’t be the one to lose this immature staring contest. Holland cracked a shit-eating grin and winked at Mbappé.

Oh, the rage… keep it in, Kylian.

He looked away with an unbothered “pft.” It wasn’t very convincing, not even to himself.

After the usual opening ceremony, the whistle blew indicating that the match had begun, sending Kylian sprinting in every direction as the game progressed. ManCity was good, but he knew PSG was better. He kept telling himself this, but his teammates continued to mess up, even allowing the light-blue motherfuckers to score the opening goal not even twenty minutes into the first half. And, of course, it was Haaland that buried the ball deep in the back of the net. He watched him celebrate on his pitch, listening to the crowd cheer their chant, feeling tortured and helpless.

His eye was fixed on the Norwegian as he moved back into the starting position, hating that he was laughing, still on a high from scoring. Hakimi walked next to Kylian, feeling that his friend is on the brink of doing something very dumb. His hand patted his shoulder, but Kylian didn’t even notice it, his entire body twitching with jealously.

When Kylian was in earshot, Haaland nodded up at him. “Kylian.” The young player called, but Kylian just side eyed him. Hakimi grabbed his shoulders tighter just in case he tried anything. “(Y/N) is up for grabs now, no?”

Kylians ears rung as he felt himself launch at Erling who just laughed. Hakimi had gotten in front of him without missing a beat, roughly shoving him in the opposite direction to keep him from beating up the 22 year old. Other PSG players joined, guiding Kylian to his position.

He didn’t even know words were coming out of his mouth at this point, pointing his finger threateningly at Erling. “Don’t fucking talk about her. I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me?” He was well aware that this was all to get in his head but, shit. It’s working. Kylian didn’t even notice that the referee was being talked down by Neymar and Messi, eventually the confrontation getting waved off with a warning at the start of a new play.

Halftime rolled around and no one scored again. In the locker room, Glatier yelled and waved his arms, demanding that the defense get their shit together. He zoned out, too deep in thought about what an asshole that guy is and how he wants to score and rub it in his face. He was brought back when he heard his name grumbling out of his coaches mouth, having no idea what the topic even was.

“Sorry?” He embarrassingly piped up, seeing all of his teammates had their eyes on him.

Glatier grunted, stomping closer to him. “I said, get your shit together!”

“Yes, coach.”

“Don’t worry about what they say. Just go out there and play like I know you can. You want to win, don’t you?”

“I do, coach.”

“Then let’s fucking win.”

Glatier was right and he knew it. Whatever that stupid hulk-boy had to say about you was only getting under his skin. He couldn’t play at his best like that.

So, when the second half started and he heard him say some bullshit again, he did his best to let it roll off his back. “You think she’ll respond if I DM her?” Erling asked nonchalantly to Álvarez, but Kylian was determined to let it slide. Let it fucking slide.

But, he didn’t stop there. When walking by him, Haaland asked him, “What’s a good spot to take her? Nothing too far, my hotel room is around here.” Kylians fists were balled in rage, biting his cheek and blowing air out of his flared nostrils.

“You better shut your goddamn mouth.” He snapped back, but continued walking away, knowing he can’t let him win. Hearing Haalands taunting chuckles behind him almost made him whip back around, but Neymar wrapped his arm securely around his shoulder, forcing him to look forward.

“It’s just talk, Kylian. Come on.” He rubbed his head roughly as if to beg him to not let it get to him before running back into position.

The game progressed, only ten minutes left of the second half before overtime. Neymar was at the left side of the field, preparing himself for a corner kick. Kylian searched for an opening that could potentially bring a scoring opportunity, but a brooding shadow seemed to follow him everywhere. Haaland was aggressively playing defense against him, his height advantage making it impossible for Kylian to move somewhere better.

“I hope she wears something nice and tight.” Erling chortled through his tired breathing. “I’ve been waiting for you to mess things up with her. I’ve had my eye on her for months… She’s so hot.”

His mind went blank, completely blank. It must have, because he didn’t remember shoving Haaland down onto the pitch, fists pulling back. He was seeing red, but his teammates dragged him off before his punch could land right on his cheek. Before he knew it, the ManCity players were charging at PSG. The whistle blew about a dozen times as the crowd got louder.

Kylian couldn’t stop trying to shake off his friends, screaming past the wall of light blue toward the blonde man on the ground pretending to be seriously injured, clutching his arm.

“Say that again! I fucking dare you!” Kylian threatened, Ramos clinging onto his shoulders, walking backwards.

He was pushed away far from the scene as his whole team began to fight with the other players in solidarity, the referee preoccupied with calming down the situation.

He was for sure already getting a red card, so his mindset was fuck it. He sprinted around the fighting crowd who immediately recognized his intentions, getting back in front of him before he could reach Haaland to really do some damage.

“Stay the hell away from her. I’ll end you, you son of a bitch. Off this pitch, I swear to god you’re dead.” Kylian talked out of his ass, already walking himself off the pitch when the referee held up a red card. He waved him off, spiting on the grass as he made his way back through the tunnel, ignoring the coaching team screaming at him altogether.

ManCity ended up winning 2-0 and Kylians suspension was decided to extend for two matches. He didn’t watch the remainder of it, but when he found out Erling Fucking Haaland scored the other goal, it felt like the knife was twisted. Fuck that guy. The press conference after was hell, having to claim that he deeply regretted his actions and that this doesn’t reflect his character or whatever his PR team wrote up for him.

He truly did feel like a dumbass. He absolutely hated how much he let those comments affect him. He knew he should’ve just blocked it out but how was he going to let him say that stuff about you? The way he talked about you like you weren’t even a person, like you weren’t the love of his life. Sure, he felt like a dumbass, but he would defend you to the ends of the earth.

He got home to his empty house, throwing himself on his sofa, flipping on ESPN to watch basketball highlights. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Usually, he’s opposed to naps as they throw off his sleeping schedule, but recently he’d found them comforting; an easy escape from everything going on. Besides, his sleep schedule was already bonkers from the breakup.

He swears his eyes were only shut for five minutes, but he woke up to complete darkness. His TV even timed out, neck sore from the stiff throw pillows supporting his head, groaning so loudly that it echoed inside the vacant home. It was only when he picked up his phone to check the time that he realized you were even calling. The faint buzzing was probably what woke him up.

“Shit.” He shot up, wiping the sleep from his face as he answered quickly.

He cleared his groggy throat. “Hello?”

He faintly heard you saying his name, but the music in the back was pounding. “Kyyyyks!”

He laughed to himself, loving the sound of his nickname for the first time since your breakup. “Hello? (Y/N)? Are you drunk?”

“Hold on.” He heard you yell from the other line as the music got softer in the background. “Hellooo.” You giggled.

“Hi.” He giggled back.

“I woke you up.” He could hear the pout in your voice, having to bite his lip to keep his smile from getting ridiculous.

“No, no I don’t mind. Call me anytime.” Kylian began twirling his hoodie string on his forefinger. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but he can’t hear you. Your drunk brain didn’t catch up. “I think so.”

“You think so? Where are you?” Concerned, he looked at the time. A little past 3:30 am. Damn, long ass nap.

“Umm…” You paused to look around you, seeing no signs anywhere and finding it kind of funny. “I dunno. I lost them ages ago.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, my friends.”

He stood up. “Wait, wait. Are you by yourself?”

“Mhm!” You chirped, now walking away from the club, alone. Your skin-tight tights gave you no warmth at all, but the tequila that flushed your system had you covered. “Kyks…”

“Yeah?” He waited for you to say something, his concern for you growing, wishing he still had your location so he could go look for you.

You paused, looking around the dark streets. “I mi…” your sentence drifted off and you laughed off what you were about to say. “… I’m so drunk.” You stumbled further down the street, a loud club with red lights oozing from the entrance peaking your interest.

He knew what you were about to say, but wasn’t going to push it. “I can hear that. Do you need a ride? I can come get you right now, just send me your current location.”

“No, I’m fine! Look, I found somewhere safe!” You point, even though he couldn’t see. “Oh, my god. You’ll never believe who’s here. Oh, shit.”

“Who?” Kylian asked over the phone.

You giggled. “I don’t wanna tell you, Kyks. You’ll be mad. I saw what happened today during the match.”

He was tempted to quirk a smile hearing that you have been watching, but then it dawned on him. It couldn’t be… “Haaland?”

What are the odds? Erling Haaland stood outside the packed nightclub with a few of his teammates, surrounded by women and men, all trying to get his attention. He hadn’t seen you yet.

“Oh my god, you’re such a good guesser.” You clapped. “God, I forgot how tall he was.”

He grabbed his keys, putting his shoes on, holding the phone up to his ear by his shoulder as he rushed around his home. “Please just let me come pick you up. I’m worried about you, where are you? I’ll take you home.”

You got closer to the LED sign. “It’s called… uh… la petite robe noire… oh my god! That’s what I’m wearing!” You cheered.

He put you on speaker and looked it up. Jesus, you were so far, he wondered if you’d started out around there or if you’d ventured out alone. He revved up his engine, backing out of his driveway. “Stay there, I’m coming. Okay?”

You didn’t respond, your phone now by your side as Erling spotted you, jogging over to where you were standing.

“Hey!” You waved, letting him come to you because your heels hurt too badly. You couldn’t hear Kylian on the other line trying to get your attention.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leaned in and hugged you. You kind of hugged back, too drunk to balance yourself upwards that way without falling into him.

As soon as he heard that fucking accent over the phone, he pressed his foot down on the pedal, hoping he hits every green light in Paris. You, on the other hand, forgot you were still on the line with your ex fiancé, but hung up when you realized it with a giggly “oops!”.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you, how are you, (Y/N)?” Haaland asks, placing a steady hand on your waist to keep your wobbling frame from tipping over.

“So good!” That was a lie. You were out tonight drinking away the pit in your stomach since the match. You’d watched sneakily from your desk, fingers tugging at your roots when you saw the little incident during the first half. During those last ten minutes, you felt like you were going to throw up.

Why did you have to tell Kylian about Erling? What happened today definitely opened him up to a lot of criticism from his coaches, the team, the media… You couldn’t help but feel a little responsible because you knew he could behave himself if he never knew about that night on the balcony. On the other hand, it was kind of… very hot. Jealous Kylian was never your favorite, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling something spark in you. Or maybe you were just horny. Who’s to say? It's been so long...

“You’re good?” Erling accent repeats, grinning down at you. “Sorry to hear about your breakup."

"Pffft." You laugh. "Yeah right, you two were never exactly friends."

He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You're right. I'm not sorry." He smirks, looking you up and down. If your head wasn’t filled with liquor you’d feel kind of gross, but his flirty stares didn’t mean anything to the drunken body you found yourself in tonight. It all went right over your head. He nods his head toward the club. "Come on, let's get you a drink, yeah?"

You followed him in, the lights were blurry and the ground wasn't very stable. The vibrations came up from the ground, making you feel like someone was shaking your brain around. You were absolutely not thinking straight, and it only got worse when a bottle girl came over to the section with Don Julio. It was all so fast, like the lights flashed and you were suddenly with someone else, or in a different part of the club, or dancing, drinking, stumbling.

Fuck, you had to get out of there.

Kylian arrived at the club and he definitely did not fit the dress code. But, despite his grey joggers and Nike hoodie, he was still Kylian Mbappé, so he got in without any issue. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted at a nightclub that Erling Haaland was at, but he did it for you. He politely smiled at his fans but weaved past people begging for a selfie. He called you plenty of times from the car, but you never picked up.

Once inside the club, he lifted his hood and put on some sunglasses, hoping this wouldn't cause a riot without his security to lead him through the crowds. People were too focused on grinding and not spilling their drinks to notice the international superstar frantically searching for one single woman in a sea of them.

He looked up at the sections on the second floor, finally spotting that tall blonde bastard, wasting not a single second before making his way up, security letting him through once he flashed them his famous smile.

"Haaland!" He cups his hands around his mouth, hoping that he knows where you are. "Haaland!"

He finally turns around, knitting his eyebrows at the sight. "Kylian." He steps around the models to stand close to him, the loud music making it impossible to communicate from even a few feet away. "What? You didn't get enough of me on the pitch today?"

Kylian rolls his eyes. "No, man. I'm just looking for (Y/N). I know she was here."

"Yeah, she was." Erling laughed. "She's wild, for sure. Don't know where she went, though."

"What? She's not here?"

Haaland shrugged. "She went to the bathroom and never came back. Why do you even care? Like I said, she's up for grabs. She's not yours anymore."

If he wasn't so worried about your current wellbeing, he would have grabbed his stupid little ponytail and gone full Fight Club on him. But he didn't, instead he shook his head at him and made his way down from the section before he regretted not throwing a punch or two.

His concern grew. He never thought he would wish you were with Erling Haaland at a nightclub, but at least he could find you then.

Kylian stood on a ledge hoping to see your hair or face anywhere from a birds-eye view, but had to leave promptly when the partygoers caught onto his less than great disguise. A security guard from the club lead him to the back exit, warding off flashing cameras in every direction.

Thanking the man when he was safely outside with a fist bump, he walked himself down the dirty metal steps, sighing. "Putain." He walked to is parked car, leaning on it to try and think a little, wondering how he’s going to find you. He really isn’t familiar with this part of town, but he'll stay out all night if he has to.

He wished you’d just pick up the phone, ease his jittery nerves. Just as he was about to click on your contact, he heard some slurred singing further down the alleyway he was in. The faint tune sounded familiar, but the voice definitely was. It was you.

He followed like a siren sound, turning the corner to see you sitting on a small cement step, head resting on your curled up knees, giggling to yourself as you continued the song.

"Sweet cheese are made of cheese, who am I to *hiccup* disa-cheese..."

"I think you've messed up the lyrics there, love." He smiled, letting out a breath he’d been holding now knowing you're okay.

You gaze up, smiling widely, gasping and jolting up, wrapping your loose arms around his neck and letting your legs go limp.

"Woah, hey..." He exclaimed with a laugh, grabbing your torso tightly to keep you upright.

"You're here!" You gaze up, grin wide as he peered down at you, smiling as well. "Whadda coincidence!"

It was like he didn't just spend hours worried sick, now feeling somewhat at ease. Your presence is all he needed for every weight to be lifted off his shoulders. He only cares about making sure you get back home with a glass of water on your nightstand and a trashcan at your side.

"You okay? Why are you out here by yourself?" He guides you to stand properly on your own, but you didn't let your grip go, so he didn't either. He let his hand stay on the small of your back, his other gripping your hip.

You shrug, scratching your fingernails against the nape of his neck. He shivered, goosebumps running down his body, letting a flustered giggle escape his lips. You stared deep into his eyes. Your funny demeanor simmered down, finding the familiar warmth of the man in front of you to be more intoxicating than anything you've drank tonight. "You always loved when I did that..."

Kylian's heart got caught in his throat, gulping it down along with the urge to hold you so tightly. He'd been craving your touch, spending many sleepless nights wondering if he'd ever get to feel you again.

"Let's get you home, okay?" He mumbled, running his hands down your arms to unwrap them from his neck. He held one of your arms as he bent down to grab your phone and purse from the dirty floor.

He started guiding you to his passengers seat, but getting you there wasn’t an easy task. Your heels kept getting caught in the cobblestones so he had to keep a steady hand around you in case you fell. He buckled you up like a toddler, doing his best to ignore the googly eyes that you made at him.

When he got in drivers seat, he looked over at you, a rush of memories making his heart flutter.

All of the times he would turn his gaze away from the road for just a second to see you. The way you smiled when you rode with the windows down, sticking your arm out to feel the rushing wind outside the car. The way he used to be able to put a comforting hand on your thigh while he drove and you'd draw circles on his knuckles mindlessly, rambling about anything that came to your mind. The way you would always unwrap a piece of gum for him because you didn't want him distracted, even though he would never not get distracted by you.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, clearing his throat. "So, what's your address?"

You laughed, taking your heels off. "I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Geez, Ky. I've only lived there for like..." you counted in your head, but numbers barely made sense sober, "...not that long."

"Do you have it on your phone?" He pried, handing you your cell.

"Yes!" You cheered, snatching it only to see that it was out of battery when the screen reflected back at you. "Ah, man. It's dead!" You pouted, throwing it in the backseat, crossing your arms.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, turning on the heat higher when he noticed the chills running down your arms. "I can take you back to... uh..." he stuttered, having to stop himself from saying our place, still getting used to living there alone, "—back to my place."

You gave him a look, raising your eyebrow dramatically. "Nice try, Casanova." You chuckled.

He laughed too, rubbing his eyes. "No, come on, (Y/N). There's like five beds. I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

You bite your lip and stare at him through your lashes. "I'd let you."

God, that stare. That tone. He's internally cussing himself out for all those times he told you he wasn't in the mood or too tired. He wished he could go back in time and slap himself.

He quickly shook it off, laughing dryly and having to look away from you. “You are so drunk.”

With that, he put the car in reverse, beginning the half hour journey back to the home that still has pictures of you on the walls. The home that still feels like it’s yours, the one that Kylian prays he’ll see you wake up in again… at a time when you’re not absolutely plastered, of course. For now, he’s content looking over to your sleeping figure in his car, slowly breathing and shifting every so often.

Once he pulled into the garage, he got out and made his way to open the passenger door. “Hey,” he gently put a hand on your cold shoulder, “we’re here, bébé.”

He didn’t mean for the nickname to slip out of his mouth, but it did. It actually woke you up, your heart thumping at the four letters that used to be so familiar to you, so intimate.

“I’m tired.” You grumble, putting your hands out toward him, slightly less drunk, yet nowhere near sober. “I forgot how comfy your car is.”

“Wait ‘till we get you into a real bed. You’re gonna sleep like a rock.” You grabbed his forearms and stumbled out of the car, Kylian quickly grabbing your heels, phone, and purse.

For a drunk, you moved surprisingly fast, beelining to the kitchen. He followed you in, attentive to your wonky steps. He set your belongings down on one of the barstools, turning to see you leaned inside of his fridge, grasping the handles for balance.

“You hungry?” He grins, walking around the kitchen island and leans against it.

“Mm… you got rid of all my snacks…”

“Uh, not true.” He quipped, opening the cupboard and pulling back a red box, the sight bringing a big smile to your face.

“Pancakes?!”

He opens the cabinet bellow him and pulls out a sleek black press, confident smirk spreading to his cheeks. “Waffles.”

You cover your mouth in excitement, stumbling backward a bit but catch yourself on the island. “No way.”

He nods, eyes twinkling at your enthusiasm. You look so pretty in this kitchen. It’s nostalgic. It feels warmer now that you’re back here, even if he’s just pretending to forget that you’ll have to leave in the morning.

“Go sit. They won’t take long.” You do as he says, hopping into a stool as you watch him begin to mix the ingredients in a bowl.

Your mind drifted to the last time you saw him. The way his chin quivered when he cried over you, how much it hurt to tell him you weren't ready and that you may never be. It was still true. In a more clearheaded scenario, you probably wouldn't be here with him right now. If alcohol didn't seem like such an inviting bandaid to your aching mind and heart, the feelings you'd been suppressing would likely have stayed suppressed... where you honestly wanted them to stay. Opening yourself back up to be loved by the same man that made you question yourself was still incredibly scary.

"Bon appétit." He placed the plate in front of you.

The waffle was dusted in powdered sugar, a small butter square in the middle was surrounded by sliced strawberries. "Oh... my... god..." You salivated, picking up the fork and knife he handed you and devoured the first bite, moaning in gratitude. "Oh my god." You had no other words.

Kylian laughed, picking up his own fork to dig into his less pretty waffle, standing across from you. "Yeah?"

He didn't get a verbal response back, but knew you meant it upon seeing the manner in which you inhaled every crumb on your plate. Your late night snack was gone too soon and you wanted more, but your drooping eyes and full bladder convinced you that sleep was better.

Kylian took his last bite, grabbing your plates and setting them in the sink. "I think it's bedtime."

You agreed without saying so, hopping off the stool and took the route to the master bedroom. You could walk there with your eyes closed and you might as well have. The sleep deprivation mixed with your drunkenness lead you straight to the dresser, opening up the top chest on your side to grab a t-shirt.

When your crossed eyes looked down at the empty drawer, it was sobering. You let out a shakey breath, clasping your hands in front of you. "Right..."

Kylain stood by the door, frowning at your stillness. The small window of bliss he had with you just seconds earlier shattered upon seeing your sorrowful face looking down at the drawer that used to contain your things, now containing nothing but memories of what used to be.

Silently, he walked over to you, gently shutting it for you. He opened up his side, handing you one of the shirts you left folded for him. One of your favorites. "Here."

You give him an attempt of a smile but don't actually look at him. "Thanks."

He goes to leave the room but you stop him. "Wait. Where are you going? I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms. I'm not taking your bed."

"No, please. You just get some rest, okay?" He almost whispers, taking in the sight of you standing in this room again before he went to close the door.

"Ky?" You breathe, locking your eyes on his. There was something you wanted to say, some words your throat closed up on, leaving you with nothing else but silence. He stayed still, his adoration for you threatening to spill out of him the longer he stared at you. You draw a subtle breath upon feeling your emotions pooling in your eyes. "Thank you."

Kylian felt the weight of your otherwise simple words, taking context from the way you were looking at him. "I'll always be here for you."

With that, he reluctantly closed the door behind him, trudging to the bedroom closest to you.

The room spun as you laid down on your favorite pillow, beyond comfortable under the duvet you picked out yourself. You wished you never went drinking tonight. If you'd just stayed home and pigged out on ice cream you wouldn't have to face the truth that's been slowly crawling to the surface.

Your eyes shut much too quickly to really explore the sentiments you've uncovered tonight, but that's probably for the best.

Kylian's mind was racing and he only hoped you couldn't hear how loud his brain was from the next room. Under the guilt and self-pity he's been swimming in for weeks, he finally felt a sliver of optimism beginning to grow inside of him. It was such a tender feeling, a feeling he let lull him to sleep, content knowing you were just on the other side of that wall.

A/N: The amount of times this deleted..... I was going crazy. Thank god that I started saving every draft on Google Drive or else I probably would have stopped writing out of frustration. Big things coming for (Y/N) and Kylain! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry about having to make Haaland an asshole bc I really do love him. It was just to move the plot along <3. Also I didn't know all of the soccer terms in english so forgive me if I messed any of that up. Love all of you and thanks for reading!

#kylian mbappe angst #kylian x reader #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappé x reader #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe fluff #neymar jr imagine #neymbappe #neymar angst #achraf hakimi x reader #achraf hakimi #futbol imagines #kylian mbappe fic #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe one shot

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navybrat817 · 11 months

Text

As Red as a Ruby

Pairing: Soft Dark!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You're still finding your footing as a stay-at-home spouse. Word Count: Over 1.4k Warnings: Gaslighting, coercion, creepy vibes, Andy Barber (yep, he's a warning) A/N: Andy and Ruby's Intro for my Disturbia AU! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You suppressed a sigh as you checked your perfectly manicured nails and waited for the casserole to finish. The last time you attempted this meal, you burned the food and the dish. You weren't going to win any cooking awards anytime soon, but you were trying your best for Andy. He deserved to come home to a nice meal.

Even if you needed to get help from one of the other wives.

A well-fed husband is a happy husband.

Rose reminded you earlier on the phone to check whether the top was browned and crisped, and to make sure the liquid had significantly decreased. She also noted to use a food thermometer once finished to ensure you cooked the dish thoroughly at 165 degrees. Admittedly, it already looked and smelled better than the last attempt as you checked it through the glass. That had to be a good sign.

Andy will appreciate a home cooked meal.

You blinked when the timer went off, praying you didn't drop the dish as you grabbed the oven mitt and carefully removed it. "Shit. Come on," you muttered to yourself as you tried to shut the door with your foot, getting it on the second attempt before you set the food down. After a moment, you laughed at yourself and grabbed the thermometer. Looking the part of a housewife was easy, but actually living it?

It's what I signed up for though. I'm a housewife in progress and my husband is proud of me.

"What's that?" you heard from the doorway.

"Fuck!" you yelled, the thermometer falling to the floor with a clatter as you clutched your chest. "Jesus, Andy. You scared the shit out of me," you said, your heart pounding still as you took a calming breath.

A good wife should speak like a lady.

Your husband casually leaned against the frame with a chuckle. He already had his jacket off and loosened his tie. You hadn't even heard him come in. You must've been too invested in making sure dinner turned out right. It didn't surprise you in the least that he stood quietly for God knows how long.

He liked to watch you.

"Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to scare you," he said all too innocently as you frowned at him. "You're lucky Steve isn't here. He'd scold you for that language."

"Steve isn't my husband," you pointed out.

Thank God for that. I wouldn't last one week as his wife.

Most of the men expected a certain level of decorum out of their partners, but Andy was lenient as long as you didn't embarrass him.

"No, he isn't. I might take issue if you suddenly wanted him," Andy agreed, crossing the room to press a kiss to your warm cheek. "You made a casserole."

You straightened up a little. He kept his tone light, but you wondered if he was judging it. And you. "I tried. Rose gave me some tips."

"That was kind of her. And probably the best one to give you advice since she's one of the best cooks on the block."

A twisted sort of smile formed on your face. Though you agreed that Rose was a wonderful cook, you couldn't help the surge of envy that worked its way into your chest as you thought of her and the other wives. Cherry baked the best treats. Rumor had it that Ginger wanted to start teaching exercise classes for the other wives.

What the hell do I bring to the table?

"Yeah, she is," you said, bitterness creeping in as you bent down to snatch up the thermometer.

Andy stepped back to let you go to the sink. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Nope," you said, glancing over your shoulder when you felt his deep blue eyes on you.

"I don't like it when you lie to me," he said in a low voice.

You almost dropped the thermometer again. Andy grew up in a world of secrets and lies. Though it shaped him into the man you loved, he didn't want you to keep anything from him, especially after his first marriage fell apart. No matter how big or small the issue or what your feelings were, he wanted the truth.

A good wife is truthful with her husband.

"It's just," you started as you tore your gaze away, not wanting him to see the vulnerability in your eyes. "I suck at this homemaker thing, Andy. I'll never be able to make masterpieces like Rose or anyone else. I'm lucky I don't iron a hole in your shirts."

"You know I couldn't care less about your cooking skills or any of that," he said, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. You went limp in his hold, happy that he wasn't upset. "That's not why I'm with you."

Why are you?

"Don't you mean my lack of skills?" you mumbled.

"Well, I didn't want to say anything, but…" he teased, brushing his beard along the column of your neck. "You're special to me, okay? Isn't that enough?"

Warmth replaced the envy that previously bloomed in your chest. While Andy wasn't a hero in the traditional sense like Steve or Bucky, he helped many as a lawyer. With his confidence, charm, and good looks, he could have anyone he wanted. Choosing you to be his side was much more than a dream come true.

It was a chance at a better life.

"It's more than enough," you promised.

"Before we sit down to eat, there is something we need to talk about," he said, turning you around to face him. "Something I need you to do for me."

"What is it?"

"I'm sure you already heard through the grapevine that Bucky has a wife," he said.

You nodded. Like the other wives, you were sure she had some kind of skill or hobby that would make Bucky a proud husband. You wondered how the two of you would get along. The last thing you needed to do was piss off the wife of the former Winter Soldier.

Her opinion doesn't matter. Only Andy's.

"Steve and Cherry plan to have a small get together after they get settled to welcome her to the neighborhood."

"And you want me to make her feel welcome?" you guessed.

"Cherry is the welcome wagon. You are going to keep an eye out for her," he corrected you. "The Haven is amazing, but it can be a bit of an adjustment. We need to make sure she fits in and falls in line. Be her friend. Be her confidant if you need to."

A good wife does what her husband says.

"I'll be her friend," you assured him, especially if it meant Andy would be happy. "Have you met her?"

"Not yet. They're still in their honeymoon phase," Andy replied.

So she's getting her back blown out.

"But you come right to me if anything feels wrong," he said, grasping your chin so you knew how serious he was. "Understood?

"I'll make sure she knows her place if she forgets it," you promised.

The Haven is euphoric and every wife is lucky to be here.

"Thank you," he smiled before he softly kissed your lips. You melted into it, the casserole long forgotten as you opened your mouth to him. He ended the kiss just as abruptly as it started, leaving you wanting more. "I'm sure we have nothing to worry about, but we can't be too careful."

"Of course," you smiled.

However Andy needs me to help, I'll do it.

"Now why don't you set the table while I pour us some wine?" he suggested, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip. "That red one you love."

You nibbled on his thumb with a smirk. For everything you lacked in the traditional sense, you kept him happy sexually. A faithful, giving wife through and through. "Good because the white one gives me a headache."

"We can't have that now, can we?"

"No, we can't," you said, sneaking another kiss in before you slipped out of his hold to get the plates.

"Oh, Ruby?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you for cooking," he said sincerely, your cheeks hot from the praise. "And I know you'll keep making me proud, won't you?" he said, turning the stove off for you.

"I will," you smiled.

"That's my girl."

I'll be the best wife for you and more.

Everything is FINE. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x female!reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #andy barber #soft!dark andy barber x reader #andy and ruby #disturbia au #andy barber imagine #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber au #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x female!reader #chris evans x you #chris evans

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empressofmankind · 6 months

Text

On My Silent Days

I Miss You A Little Louder

[Crocodile x female!OC]

Explicit with a capital E

Word count: 7k / 15 pages

A/N: Writing this has been my whole life the past 5 days, as anyone who has frequented my Dash recently can attest. I am obsessed with their chemistry.

Technically, this is part of 'The Show Must Go On'. You don't have to read it, but I recommend it. You'll get to know Shivs and her helter-skelter relationship with Buggy which sits as the background to this whole ordeal.

You see, this is like, Arabaste arch at the earliest - Cross Guild era more likely. By then, Shivs and Bugs have rollercoastered through so much bullshit and they've come out rock solid on the other side somehow. Clown keeps failing up, even with this relationship. Sir Crocodile finds the whole thing insulting, to say the least. And seems to think it is one well-placed remark away from utterly crumbling. Jealous ex, whomst? My dude, you fucked that up yourself. Repeatedly. You had more chances than you have fingers. Chemistry aside, this is absolutely a desert of his own making.

What else do you need to know? Shivs is only 2 or 3 years younger than Buggy (i.e. my age, come sue me), but Crocodile is 5 years older than the clown. So, she's in her mid 30s, he's in his mid 40s. She originally met him when he was maybe 28? Do the math. Oh yes, and for those less familiar with the Cross Guild era: our favourite clown has managed to accidentally become the lauded public face of what is actually Mihawk and Crocodile's venture. Understandably, the ex-warlords are a little miffed by this and spend decent amounts of time physically abusing poor Buggy.

Shivs' absolutely flawless plan is basically swapping sexual favours with her ex for get-out-of-jail-free cards for the clown.

My girl literally barging in here telling Croc: "I'll take ur cock if u leave my clown alone."

Yes. That's it. That's the plot.

She almost had him, too. Arguably, she had him the entire time. And then he gdamn snapped her from the pond edge like an unwitting gazelle in the last minute. Cuz we all - her included - forgot who we're dealing with for 14.5 pages straight. APPARENTLY.

screams into a pillow

Tag(s): Oh? Ok. Sexual favours! Is she fucking her boss? No, but he always makes it feel that way. Is she fucking her ex? Yes. Are they technically still married? Maybe. Blow jobs? Deep throat. Size kink? 100%. Filthy language. Graphic sex. Soft dom? Power bottom? I am on the fence. Little girl vibes on the margins, like, he tries. She too sassy and sooner a brat. Oh, orgasm denial! Big time. Humiliation? A little bit. Stretching? Yes. Moar size kink. Choking? Big yes. Spoiling? Also yes. She deserves nice things. Power imbalance? Yes. In whose direction? It kind of flip-flops. Did I need to spend so many words on their smoking and his cigars? Probably not, but it scratched an itch. With them, it counts as foreplay; I am sure. You know you're doing well when he takes the damn thing outta his mouth. World class banter, too. If I may say so myself. But really, the bottom line is that it's just oral and PIV dressed up real fancy.

ON MY SILENT DAYS

I MISS YOU A LITTLE LOUDER

The double doors were as tall and foreboding as Shivs remembered. All bevelled hardwood and delicate gilding. She stood before them, gazing up. In the dead centre sat a brass knocker shaped like a bananawani's head, polished to a sheen.

Knocking was for people with appointments, and waiting wasn't something she planned on doing here ever again. She put her palms against the cold, expensive wood and pushed the massive doors open as if breaking a siege. They swung on smooth hinges despite their weight and struck the marbled walls with resounding booms.

The opulent office beyond was exactly as she remembered. Marquina walls, fishbone parquet floors, blackwood furniture. The taxidermied juvenile bananawani set in the wall vitrine behind his desk was new. What had been there before? A map? A ship? No, a stone. An artefact of some kind riddled in curious glyphs.

Crocodile glanced up from his papers and the irritation flitting across his scarred face in the split second before he realised who'd dared barge in, set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. How often had she seen someone shrivel into a desiccated husk straight after that look?

Shivs held his pale gaze, set her jaw and strode into his office as if down the plank.

The creak of leather as he leaned back in his seat. “You know I've killed people for less.”

She paused in front of his outrageous statement piece of a desk. She put her hands in the pockets of her baggy pants and forced her shoulders to unclench, her stance to relax. If Buggy’s dumb luck had managed to rub off on her in these past months, then now would be the time for it to start working for her.

“Lucky I am not ‘people’,” she said as she crossed her fingers in her pocket.

Amusement squinted his eyes as the corner of his mouth twitched up behind his cigar. “No, you're not,” he said as he rose.

Shivs was not short. Not by any regular definition of the word. Buggy was only a head taller than her. She hadn't forgotten how tall Crocodile was, not really. And yet, as he came around his desk and towards her, there appeared to be no end to him as he approached. If she reached up, stretched her arm, she could nick his cigar. But only just.

"Do you still smoke?" he said as he stopped well within her personal space, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze. He took a flat, brass case from the inside pocket of his coat and held it out to her. She remembered it. Remembered the exquisite taste of the narrow cigarillos in it.

"No."

"Liar." His gaze flicked down along his cigar at her. "You smell of cigarettes, doll."

"I have changed my ways."

Humour flitted under his gravelly voice. "For the worse."

Shivs pursed her lips. "It's an expensive lifestyle when they don't come free with a goodnight kiss."

"Hah."

The bark of laughter actually reached his eyes, crinkling their crow's feet for a moment. He held out the case to her again. "You poor thing. I do support charities, you know."

She took it this time and flipped it open. The rich waft of tobacco and sweet Goji berries greeted her as if no time had passed at all. Might as well enjoy her sojourn back to hell while she could.

She put one of the thin cigarillos between her lips and let him light it. Watched the firelight catch and reflect in his rings. Took a moment to savour the blend, rich and sweet as polished Beli.

They were very good.

Always had been.

Shivs took the cigarillo from between her lips and blew the smoke up in rings through a slow smile. They almost reached him.

Crocodile leaned down through the cloudy hoops to pluck the shoulder of her red-and-white striped sweater between thumb and index finger, a judgemental 'hmph' escaping around his cigar.

She enjoyed the expensive smoke and his fascination while it lasted. Maybe, just maybe, this would be enough? Letting him treat her like a doll badly in need of a better dress up? He liked to spoil, always had. Now, more than ever, he had the means to take it to completely nonsensical levels. Her ego could take it, if that was the price of leaving Bugs alone.

Shivs indicated his everything with an up and down wave of her free hand. "No way to afford the good stuff on a waiter's salary."

He let go of the fabric to brush his thumb across the smear of grease paint near the collar, staining his skin and the gold of his ring red.

"Or a dud's haul."

He hooked the silk kerchief from his vest's breast pocket and wiped his hand. She followed the length of his arm up to his face.

"The entertainment isn't half bad."

“Yes.” He chewed the butt of his cigar, derision twitching his thin lips as he tucked the kerchief into an inside pocket of his coat. “His pathetic antics can be mildly amusing.”

Shivs’ grip on the cigarillo tightened, but she smiled pleasantly. “I like it when a man can make me laugh,” she said, pointing at him with the thin smoke between her fingers. “Even if at his own expense.”

She frowned at his broad back when he turned away from her without a witty reply, retreating to the button tufted camelback near them.

“You're not here for a social call,” Crocodile stated as he sat down, putting his arms along the sofa's curved back. Something flitted past his pale eyes, but it was gone so fast Shivs couldn't nail it. “What do you want, doll?”

Shivs rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet, pursing her lips as if preparing to drive a hard bargain. She intended to seem casual, unconcerned. But her palms were slick with sweat and her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She filled her mouth with smoke, tasting the rich flavours. Savouring them before blowing it out in small puffs through her pursed lips.

"I want you to leave him be," she said, extinguishing the cigarillo in his ashtray.

Crocodile shifted and put his shin across his knee. Her gaze flicked down and she saw him take note.

"And if I do?"

She held his gaze. One breath, two breaths, moved her jaw but didn't form the words. She wanted him to leave Buggy alone. Even if that meant taking his… beating, instead.

He blew out smoke through his nose, waiting patiently for her answer. The hint of a smile lingered as his pale eyes held hers from above the waterline of his scar. And in that moment, he reminded her so strongly of a lurking crocodile. Watching. Waiting. Biding its time to strike. It sent a shiver down her spine, and not entirely out of fear.

Shivs pursed her lips, steeled her emotions, checked her resolve. I'll do it for you, Bugs. It's a deal I know he won't refuse.

She met his intense gaze head on, then dropped hers slowly to his crotch once more. Allowed it to linger there, before looking back up.

He chewed the butt of his cigar and beckoned her. "You never could fit all of me down that skilled throat of yours."

Shivs watched him uncross his legs as she approached. She trailed her fingertips along his clothed thighs before leaning on them. It brought her face level with his and she deliberately took a moment to breathe in his secondhand smoke.

“Want to judge if that hasn't changed for the worse?” she whispered against his lips as she savoured the distinct flavours that made up his private blend.

Strong muscles flexed and relaxed under her palms, and she presumed that to mean ‘yes’.

She ran her hands down his muscular thighs, taking in their shape until her palms rested on his knees. His breathing changed, she could tell from the way he exhaled smoke. Denser palls, deeper breaths. No resistance as she pushed his knees apart far enough to kneel between them.

Brushing her fingertips across his overstated belt buckle, she smiled to herself. Some things never changed. She slipped the tooled tip through the frame, her movements slow and deliberate as she listened for the subtle shifts in his breathing. She loosened the prong with a sharp tug on the strap, using more force than was strictly necessary. An undercurrent of need laced the grunt that escaped him in response.

Shivs reached into his pants with both hands, catching his gaze as she drew his penis out, feeling it swell against her palms. She made a noise of appreciation as she let her hands slide down his shaft. His pale eyes hunting after hers when she broke their gaze to look at her fingers fitting around the base. She had not forgotten how tall this part of him was.

Leaning forward, she trailed teasing kisses from halfway down his shaft towards the tip. I’ve swallowed swords longer than this, and dicks aren’t even sharp, she thought as she flicked her tongue past the rim, playful-like. Length was only half the problem though, she knew that perfectly well.

She put a hand on his thigh and leaned on it as she ran the flat of her tongue across the head and took him into her mouth, suckling the tip. Inched his cock further with deliberately slow, short bobs, tilting her head to ensure he’d catch every movement of her lips as they worked around him. Need strained his stoic expression when she stole a glance up. A twitch of his eyebrows when the tip bumped against the back of her mouth. She sucked down and drew his cock back out, watched it twitch and his grip tighten on the backrest as she felt his thigh flex under her palm.

She took him into her mouth again and ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cock. Relaxed her neck and let it slip further than before, teasing at the entrance to her throat. Nudging it, stretching it just a bit before sucking down and drawing him back out, tasting precum for her efforts.

The frustrated groan that rumbled up from somewhere deep within his broad chest sent sparks flying down her spine. This is gonna work, she thought as he reached for her head, petted her hair while she teased the precum from him with fleet, wet kisses.

“Stop messing around and swallow my cock, sweetheart,” Crocodile grunted, pale eyes alight with hunger. The petting stopped, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of her neck instead. It was like the twitch on the line that told a fisherman to react.

Shivs glanced up along his hard shaft, and reeled him in:

“Yes, Sir.”

The horny groan that drew from him, before she’d even begun to take him again, settled comfortably in her bones. Gotcha, she thought.

Shivs breathed slow, deep, steady breaths as she slid his cock along her tongue, lining him up. The head pushed past the entrance of her throat and she switched to shallow breaths through her nose. The grunts and huffs that escaped him every time she swallowed were inhuman and she needed more of it.

She slid his cock further down, felt his thighs tremble as she did. The closer she got, the more his musk pervaded every stifled breath she managed around his thick cock. It was a heavy, heady scent and she shifted her position to press her thighs together. He didn’t notice.

She stroked his legs, ran her hands up to his hips as she leaned closer, and took him deeper still. His fingers were fisted painfully tight into her hair, but his large hand followed her without force or resistance, resting heavily against the back of her neck.

Almost.

Almost there.

And then the tip of her nose bumped against his flat stomach. She could hardly smirk with his dick this far down her throat but counted on the crinkle of her eyes to work for her as she caught his gaze and slowly raised her hands, palms up. She didn’t care that they trembled.

Look. No hands, motherfucker.

Crocodile grinned down at her through a huff of smoke, cigar dangling between his teeth. She thought it looked a little worse for wear.

“The pathetic clown doesn’t know what a dirty little slut you are, does he?” Crocodile said, his gravelly voice thick with lust as he petted the back of her neck. “Giving such sweet head to save his sorry hide.” He ran his fingers along her throat as if trying to feel how far down his cock had gone. “I always knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“Now,” he added as he huffed out a pall of smoke and she felt cool metal sliding around the back of her neck, barring a retreat. “I need my cock-hungry doll to make me feel good.”

Shivs dropped her hands to his hips, gripping the folds of hard muscle there for support. She slid her tongue between her bottom lip and the underside of his cock, making sloppy little noises with the slightest bob of her head. Even those small movements pressed the round curve of his hook into the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine that made her squeeze her thighs together. She didn’t bother to try and hide it.

His large hand joined his hook, strong fingers digging into the back of her head, twisting into the hair there and holding her put as his thick cock twitched so far down her throat she didn’t even know anymore where precisely she felt it. She worked her throat around him, drawing rumbling moans from him that pitched.

“Ah -nngh- you feel so good, doll. So. Damn perfect.” His thighs tensed under her arms, flexing his hips with short jerks. She closed her eyes as she swallowed around him, frowning with effort. His breathy grunts as he lightly fucked her throat made her pussy throb.

Suddenly, his grip tightened like a vice and he shoved her nose-first against his hard, trembling stomach muscles, stealing her breath. Her eyes flew open as her throat strained and cramped, swallowing around him in reflex.

“Fuck, honey. Ah---! Yes, yes.” The satisfied, drawn-out moan as Crocodile spilled his hot cum down her throat reverberated through the quiet office.

Her fingers dug around his hips, tears jumping into her eyes as she gagged, feeling cum come up around his cock as stars danced into her vision. His grip weakened as he rode out his orgasm and she pulled back before he was quite done pumping cum. Shivs swallowed it mindlessly while coming up for air. His dick slid wetly out of her throat and mouth, streaks of cum connecting them before they broke.

She glanced up from his softening cock, glistening with her saliva all the way to the hilt. He’d tilted his head back, held his cigar nowhere near his mouth as he came down from his orgasm with deep, steadying breaths that expanded his wide chest and flared his nostrils.

He straightened with a lazy groan and a roll of his broad shoulders.

Shivs met his gaze, panting.

“You’re still my pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Crocodile said, his gravelly voice breathy as he reached for her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. The gold of his ring was smooth where his fingertip felt rough, the warm touch grounding her fried senses. It lingered at her eyepatch, lightly brushing the faded leather. “The things we let people do to our faces…”

He hooked the kerchief from his pocket and dabbed her mouth. She reached for his hand with both of hers, touching the back of it, taking the cloth. She watched him watch her as she cleaned her face.

“Don’t you have a new pretty thing? Miss Face-of-the-Casino in her cute kimono?” Shivs forced her tone to be casual, edged with light mockery, maybe. It was stupid that it’d stung when she’d seen the younger woman. An irrational, petty feeling. An old pain. And, none of her business, at any rate.

The dismissive look that flitted past his pale eyes was rather unexpected. “An investment, nothing more.”

“She’s pretty,” Shivs said. Perhaps, part of the sting had been the fact that Miss Pretty had not responded to her the way women did when they were into other women.

Crocodile looked at his cigar before putting it back in his mouth. “That she is.”

Their gazes crossed and she pursed her lips. He reached for her jaw, fingertips grazing its curve. Then leaned down and pressed a peck against her frown. She sat up and chased after him as he took another draw from his cigar, stole the aromatic smoke from him as she teased her tongue into his mouth. He blew it out through his nose, taking the cigar from his mouth as he caught the back of her neck with his hook and took control of the kiss.

“You can have one if you like, sweetheart,” he said when they broke apart, indicating his cigar.

And lord, if she wasn't tempted.

“You share ‘em these days?”

His derisive ‘hmph’ made her smirk as she rose to her feet.

“What about Miss Pretty? She enjoy your… cigars?” Shivs said, and noticed she’d gotten his cum all over Buggy’s sweater. Shit.

Crocodile glanced at her, pale eyes searching. “I prefer making deals with those who have something of value to offer, doll.”

Shivs put her hands in her pockets and rocked up on the balls of her feet with a mildly overacted grin. “Oh, it’s a deal then? You’ll play nice?”

“My compliance doesn’t come that cheap,” he said through a huff of smoke.

She crooked an eyebrow, risking a hint of ridicule in her tone. “Cheap? And here I was, thinking I have a unique skill up for offer.”

He actually cracked a smile as he flicked the butt of his cigar into the general direction of his desk and ashtray. Then beckoned her with hook and hand.

“Come here, doll.”

It would have been too easy.

She sauntered back to him and linked her fingers with his, curling the others around his hook, letting him draw her into his lap, straddling his thighs. He shifted so his cock was between them, pressing against her clothed cunt.

“What else will it cost me?” she said as she rested her hands on his shoulders, lightly riding against him. Every rub along his dick pulsed pleasure up her spine, and she hadn’t failed to notice it was already stiffening again.

He stoked the tip of his hook along her cheek as his large hand took in the shape of her firm butt, guiding her movement. “I want to know if your tight pussy can take all of me now, too.”

“Here, on a couch?” she said as she slipped her fingertips under his coat and pushed it off his shoulders. She trailed her hands down the revers of his vest, grabbed hold of them as she dry humped against him. “I thought you said you weren’t cheap?”

The bark of laughter that drew from him shouldn’t make her smile the way it did.

He pressed a kiss against it.

“I wouldn’t dare, honey,” Crocodile said as he gathered her up in his arms and rose smoothly from the couch, leaving his coat behind. He strode across his study and through the adjacent library to the expansive bedroom beyond. She remembered the sweeping view from its curving window wall and the sea of nightlights twinkling far below.

Instead of depositing her on his spacious bed, he set her down on the plush rug beside it. And motioned up and down her clothes with a dismissive gesture. “Take those rags off.”

Not my rags, Shivs thought as she kicked her boots aside, removed her baggy pants and grabbed the edge of the sweater. She didn’t wear a bra. She didn’t like them, and she hadn’t bothered wearing one this evening either.

Fingertips traced the lacy sides of her underwear while she had the sweater pulled over her head.

“You still have those.”

He sounded…not surprised. Curious, maybe?

“No reason to get rid of perfectly fine underwear,” she said as she freed herself from the sweater, finding he’d already undressed.

“They can stay on,” he said as she folded the sweater, her hand lingering on it before she turned to him.

“For now?”

A smile twitched the corner of his lips.

“Here, doll.” He held something out to her, cream-coloured and neatly folded. It seemed small and delicate in his large hand.

When she took it, the fabric cascaded into a surprisingly classy, mid-thigh negligee of shimmering silk. The top was constructed from intricately detailed lace with tiny bananawani worked into the pattern.

“Pretty,” she said as she brushed a finger across the delicate lace. She put it on and it fit her so neatly it felt like a second skin. An outrageously luxurious second skin for the silk felt soft as sin and the lace light as air. She turned a full circle on her tiptoe, overacting it just a little. She knew he liked that.

“Looks good on you.” He reached for her head, combing his fingers through her tangled red hair, tucking stray bangs behind the strip of her eyepatch. “I’d never let you get so grimy.”

“Can’t be a dirty little slut if you wash me.”

“Hah.” Crocodile leaned down and scooped her up into his arms, just like that. “Come here before I shove my cock down your throat again to shut you up.”

“Don’t tempt me- ah!”

Her reply cut off when he suddenly let go, dropping her into his bed. And that was quite the distance, even if the landing was soft. He immediately climbed on top of her, caging her with his much larger body. She spread her legs, accommodating his wider hips as he reached for her breast. His thumb traced circles around her nipple through the fine lace, stiffening at his touch.

“Like what you see?”

“Always have, doll,” he rumbled against her collarbone. Though no longer smoking, she could still smell it on him. Would be able to pick it out of a crowd. Subtle tones that reminded her of burnt coffee, dry glass and cinnamon, mingling with the faint wax smell of his hair gel and heavier citric notes of his cologne.

A small gasp escaped her when he brushed the lace down and kissed her hard nipple, taking it into his mouth and licking the sensitive tip. She felt the curve of his hook press against her hip, hitching up the silk as his hand slipped between her thighs. Strong, confident fingers pressed against the fabric of her panties and outer labia underneath. It ignited old desires, flickering life into fires she’d thought snuffed out.

His rough fingers traced the delicate lace, undulating with its curling, stylised waves. Her breath caught when they found the edge along the crease of her thigh. A mewl on her lips as he dipped them under the smooth fabric, fingertips grazing the warm, sensitive skin of her outer labia and sending sparkles of anticipation up her spine. The delicate fabric stretched with an alarming whimper from the seams as strong digits brushed between her folds, not quite able to reach. He grunted against her breast at the soaked pussy he found there.

She felt him slip the hook under the edge, warm from resting against her hip. The thought of him pulling her panties down with it lit up every nerve in the vague vicinity of her hips. Her eyes snapped open at the sharp jerk, the sudden cry of fabric tearing at the seam between silk and lace.

Shivs made a noise, nose wrinkling. Those were the nicest-.

“I’ll get you new ones,” Crocodile promised against the curve of her breast, his gaze down as he hooked the fabric from her hips. The hunger in his pale eyes as he looked at her pussy made her spread her legs further. He leaned down to caress her labia and press a light kiss against them that made her throb, thinking about his tongue.

A breathy huff escaped Shivs when he slid his middle finger between her folds instead, running slow circles around her inner labia. Gathering the moisture there before teasing them apart and brushing across her clenching entrance. Pleasure sizzled up her spine when he pressed it inside, mapping her inner walls and finding all the right places far too easily. If he kept this up, she was going to come very soon.

He switched to her other breast, teasing the sensitive skin as he inserted a second finger. “I seem to remember you liked getting your little hole stretched,” he rumbled against her nipple, and spread his large fingers apart. She moaned at the strength in them, the ease with which they pried her open. It sent twinges of sweet, sweet pressure blazing through the haze of need fogging her thoughts.

She reached down to his hand, stroke the back of it. Found his thumb and guided it against her clit with a needy moan. Her thighs trembled as he massaged it firmly, pushed his fingers all the way in, then spread them as he pulled out. She felt his knuckles and the hard edges of his rings press into her labia when he pushed them back in but she didn’t mind, kind of liked it. She reached a hand for his shoulder, neck, grabbing hold of the tout muscle there as she arched her back towards him. His pace was torturously slow and she was loving it.

Shivs let out a drawn out whine when he stopped, pulled at his neck, wrist, knowing perfectly well neither will give an inch but trying, anyway. She tried to clench her thighs, rub them together, nurse the need smouldering in her veins, but his knees were between hers and she writhed in vain.

Crocodile shifted unto his elbow, bunching the silk further up her hips while taking his hard dick in hand. A hoarse whisper close to her ear as he guided the head against her slick pussy: “Won’t you beg for my cock, sweetheart?”

“I need to feel your cock in me,” Shivs said as she caught his hungry gaze. “Feel it fill me, stretch me.”

He grunted with barely contained need, she could see it in the straining of his back as she reached for his thick neck, folding her hands behind it. Felt it in the way his hips twitched as he pressed his shaft through her wet folds, coating it with her juices.

“Am I not a good girl, sir?”

“Yes, you are.”

Shivs moaned loudly when he entered her. Whined at the delicious pressure as he pushed deeper into her soaking wet pussy, stretching her around him. She clung to his neck, mewling with incoherent need. Her hand went to his hair, messing it up but not caring. Neither did he.

“Ah -ngh- fuck,” Crocodile grunted, his breath hot against her neck.

Shivs held onto him for dear life as she arched against his hard body, savoured the sharp pleasure of him stretching her cramping, soaking cunt wide enough to plough through. He’d not bottomed out yet. If she could take him, she’d have him wrapped around her finger.

“You’re. Fuck. As tight. As I remember. Sweetheart,” Crocodile groaned into her neck, his gravelly voice strained to the point of being near unintelligible. It was getting tougher and tougher to push further through her tight, contracting walls.

“Almost there,” Shivs whispered as she brushed a stray bang of dark hair from his eyes.

The noise he made in response was inhuman and she drank it in as she closed her eyes, spread her legs further to accommodate his hips and relaxed every muscle she could still feel. A whimper bubbled from her lips when he pushed up against something deep within her that twitched a pleasure so sharp up her spine it sat right next to pain.

“Fuck, yes,” he ground out as his hips pressed flush against hers, his breath hot, heavy pants buffeting against the crook of her neck. “Feels. So good.”

He managed to push himself up onto his elbow, satisfaction animating his whole face as he looked at their joined hips, her soft labia squashed against his pubes. Shivs whimpered, his movement nudging tight bursts of pleasure deep within her.

“I knew you could do it, doll.” His tone was thick with lust, laboured from his heavy breathing. He gently brushed a strand of sweat-slick red hair from her forehead with his hook, looking so proud. “You like getting your little cunt stuffed, don’t you?"

Shivs gave a sharp nod, struggling to form words.

“I know you do, honey,” he whispered as he rolled his hips against hers, not truly thrusting. She reached for his face with trembling hands, stroking his hard jaw. He grunted under his breath with each push and she pressed pecks against the puffs of hot breath until he responded. Until he chased her tongue back into her own mouth and pressed her head back into the pillow with the desperate force of his kiss, demanding entrance with his tongue that she was more than willing to give.

“That's all you g-got?” she whispered through a moan and a bated breath when they broke their kiss for want of air. “I b-barely feel it.”

“Ah? You want more, doll?” Crocodile pulled out with a grunt, just a fraction, before shoving himself back inside her to the hilt, making her mewl with pleasure through clenched teeth as his cock bottomed out and up against her cervix. “Shall I take you back to my study? Pound you bend over my desk, like I used to?”

Shivs whined into his mouth as she latched onto him again, arms tightening around his thick neck as her cunt squeezed around his cock from the pleasure coiling around her spine. If he took her from behind, he could probably push deeper still. Oh, she’d be in trouble.

“Who’s cheap now, hrm?” A breathy hum into her ear as the obscene slap of his hips against hers filled his bedroom. She whined in need, the heady mix of mind numbing pleasure laced with an edge of pain making her tremble against him. “Do you want to be my little whore again? My pretty fuck slut to sit on my cock whenever and wherever I want?”

All she could do was whine and roll her hips to meet his steady thrusts. Fingers digging into the taut muscles across his shoulders, keeping him close as he fucked her deeper than she’d ever felt a man, even him. She whimpered, the heady mix of mind numbing pleasure laced with an edge of pain all but overwhelming her. Especially when he thrust just right, shoving his cock against a sensitive spot so deep inside her she didn’t even know she had it.

“I missed my. Pretty cocksleeve,” Crocodile grunted into her ear. “The. Only. Little slut that can take me -hng- properly.”

“Fuck me harder,” Shivs whispered, hands massaging his broad shoulders. He groaned with effort, she could feel the bridled strength in the muscles working under her palms. His pace picked up, and so did the strain in his body. Every thrust stretched her so deliciously, stimulating every needy nerve inside of her.

“Do it,” she moaned wantonly as his thrusts started to push her up on the bed, her weight no match against his strength. “I c-can take it.”

“Ah - hng- you’re. Going to. Make me cum, doll,” he growled through clenched teeth. He grabbed her shoulder, holding her in place as he jerked his thrusts up against her. Her mind was unravelling. The only thing she could think about was his cock filling her, burning up every single nerve she had as needy pleasure coiled in her belly. She wanted him to cum. She really did.

When he paused, she struggled to comprehend why. Her gaze found his. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his mouth slack to accommodate the deep breaths heaving his chest. He was barely holding still, strain thrumming through every inch of his large frame above her.

“Does. My pretty little thing want. Cum as deep in her tight pussy. As her pretty throat?”

She whined, pulled at his neck with both hands. “Y-yes.”

“Beg. For it.”

“P-please,” she whimpered as she tried to make him move, weakly rolled her hips towards him.

“Please what?”

“Please, s-sir.”

The noise he uttered in response to that settled somewhere at the primal base of her brain. She wanted, no, needed, to hear it again.

“Please, sir. Pound my needy hole like I deserve,” she mewled into his ear, savouring the way his breath hitched, that noise came again.

“Damnit, doll,” Crocodile grunted through clenched teeth as he picked up a pace that became quickly rougher, slightly erratic. He locked his hold on her shoulder, broad fingers digging around her thin muscles and narrow bones, keeping her put as he pounded into her soaking, cramping cunt. “Gonna fuck you so full, you'll be leaking my cum well into tomorrow.”

“Please, please, pleaaasse,” she whined and clenched around him as he fucked her into the sinfully soft matrass with long, deep strokes that shoved his cock shamelessly up against her cervix to fit it all in. She wanted, needed, to cum around it, desperate for release. “Fuck me full of cum, sir. Stuff my tight cunny like you did my slutty mouth.”

“I -ngh- will, honey. I am,” he ground out, barely intelligible as his pace lost all semblance of rhythm and he bucked against her in the grip of his orgasm’s first throes.

“Oh! Yes, yes,” she moaned as he shoved his throbbing cock as far as she could take it, cumming against the deepest corner of her cunt as she shuddered around his cock with unfulfilled need. He stayed buried inside her as he came down, breath erratic before steadying, slowing. She whimpered in need, clenching around his softening cock. She hadn’t been able to cum around it like she wanted. It was too thick to cramp enough for a proper orgasm. She knew that, but had thought maybe this time…

He knew it, too. Remembered it.

“You’re still my pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he said as he caressed her cheek, ran his thumb across her parted lips. “Unable to cum around a cock like a big girl.”

She made a small noise that he swallowed in a kiss.

They stayed that way until her breathing steadied as well. Then he sat up and gathered her into his lap. She held onto him, her cheek against his collarbone. Not quite ready yet to let go.

“You look parched, doll,” Crocodile said as he brushed a bang from her eyes.

Shivs peered up at him. “I would not say ‘no’ to a sweet white.”

A noise escaped him that could have been a fond one as he lifted her off his lap and rose. The sound of his retreating footsteps filled the quiet. He’d gone to his study, judging by the distance. Shivs got up as well and shimmied the negligee down. Despite everything, she did not feel like taking it off. It felt nice against her flushed skin.

She sauntered to the curved window wall and found the view precisely as she remembered it. A sea of nightlights twinkled across the city below, mirroring the deep blue, star-speckled sky above. The moon hung low, waning from view. It wasn’t long before he returned. She heard him uncork a bottle behind her and fill two glasses. The snap and swoosh of his lighter. The familiar scent of his cigar preceding him as he came to stand beside her, still naked.

He held a glass out to her, a cigarillo clamped against its curve. The wine was a deep bronze instead of the pale yellow usual to white wines. She accepted the glass and smoke, gaze lingering on the narrow slot through its delicate stem. It allowed him to hold them with his hook without slipping. She glanced sideways and up at him. A fond smile twitched her lips when she noticed his hair was neater than before. He’d evidently taken a comb to it for a hot second.

Shivs put the cigarillo in her mouth and turned to find his lighter lying on the nightstand beside the wine bottle, and a corkscrew with its split cork still attached. She glanced at the label as she lit the cigarillo. It read ‘1811’ in large, proud capitals, and a name in a curving script she couldn’t be bothered to try and decipher. She would not be able to afford it, anyway.

Taking a sip, she returned to his side. The wine was sweet, indeed. With hints of lime, honey, saffron. She made herself comfortable against him, her bum resting on his thigh. “It’s a nice view,” she said as she blew out a thin pall of smoke.

He glanced down at her and their gazes crossed as he idly stroked her hip. “It is.”

Shivs leaned into his touch, sipping the wine. It really was, very good.

“Clever scheme you’ve gotten up to, in order to save the loser’s sorry hide,” Crocodile remarked as he blew a smoke ring against the narrow cloud she’d just produced. “But it has a flaw.”

Shivs let her weight shift from his thigh to his loin, only the soft silk between them. “You sure?”

A self-satisfied smile twitched behind his cigar as he gave her hip a squeeze. “None of this will work on Dracule.”

Only because I don’t have a penis, she thought, but no matter. They may have both grown older, but Croki was still fundamentally the same man she’d left years ago. And that would work for her, she was sure of it. Inevitably, Mihawk would pick on Bugs. She would take it upon herself to get irritatingly upset about it. Mihawk would no doubt insult her next, and Sir Self-Satisified here would take it personally by-proxy and shut him up. It’d be a win.

“I’ll think of something,” Shivs said as she blew a thin pall through his smoke ring, dispersing it.

He glanced at her, amused. “He’s partial to good wine, at least.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

She nipped her own wine, idly rubbing her thighs together. Pleasure skulked around the base of her spine, denied but not forgotten. She made a little noise against her glass when she felt his hand move up her thigh, his thumb brush under the edge of the negligee.

“Still needy?” he said as he bunched up the fine silk, rubbing his middle and ring finger against her clit in slow circles. It sent lazy sparks of pleasure straight to her brain. Drawing a shuddering whimper from her as he dipped his middle finger between her folds.

“Cum for me, honey,” Crocodile rumbled as he lightly ran the tip of his finger along the inner rim of her vagina, then teased the sensitive spot further down. Shivs gasped through her moan as the briefest shudder of an orgasm stole over her like a thief in the night. It was not enough, not nearly enough.

“N-need more,” she said as she put the glass down with a wobble. Reached for his large hand when he stopped, withdrew, tugging it back. Bunching two of his fingers together, of a mind to stick them into herself if he didn't.

“Come to our board meeting tomorrow. You’ll come sit with me and I’ll take good care of your needy little hole.” He shook her fussy touch and caught her pubes, massaging his palm firmly against her soft cunt, pressing her bum against his cock. “You can ride my palm like you used to, and I’ll make you cum on my fingers till your tight pussy is sore from cramping around them.”

Shivs wasn’t particularly keen on doing any of this semi-publically, least of all anywhere Bugs would be. Though she feared she wouldn’t be able to talk herself out of this, as easily as she’d talked herself into it.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll leave the pathetic clown alone,” Crocodile promised as he stroked her flat belly with the rounding of his hook. “Can’t beat the loser if my hand is occupied with something sweeter, hm?”

Shit. She had to tell Bugs. Forewarned, forearmed, and all that. She turned in his hold, his hand moving to her butt instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said, but he caught her wrist when she took a step back.

“Ah, ah,” he admonished as he stopped her, pulled her with him, back into bed. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

“I, what? Why?”

Suddenly, she wanted to leave as he gathered her against him, nestling her into his lap and chest, spooning his large body around her like a cage. She wanted to leave, wanted to go to Buggy and cry when he guided his cock back inside her still moist pussy with an incriminating noise and a satisfied rumble. She’d meant to turn this trick and tell Buggy about it. Tell him her plan to manipulate the ex-warlord to leave him alone, to leave them alone. Tell him it had worked.

Shivs pushed herself on her elbow but Crocodile pulled her back down to him.

“Stay,” he said as he hooked the fluffy underblanket and silk cover sheets about them, his arm around her waist, hand on her hip.

“Why.” She had to tell Buggy, but now she couldn’t. She’d left after they’d gone to bed. She hadn’t told him yet. He didn’t know. He’d wake up alone.

Crocodile stroked the midline of her belly with the tip of his hook, rippling the cream-coloured silk as it moved up her chest, counting to the fifth rib. The one behind which her heart sat.

“Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

A quiet sob escaped her.

"Ssh, sleep, honey," Crocodile whispered into her hair, fingertips stroking her hip. “I’ll take good care of you tomorrow.”

Honourary mention tags: @smut-goblin , @ruledbyproblematique , @gingernut1314 , @swirlsofblackandwhite

(N/A): To anyone reading & making it to the end. Writing this has consumed me the past days. I want to know what you think! What did you like? What made you laugh? Was there something specific you noticed? Something you now wonder about? I am 100% open to lengthy comments and blow by blows, ngl. I am obsessed with this.

If you want for more, I jotted down some of my own thoughts regarding this debacle. I may also be plotting another stint. Because Impel Down, do you understand me??

127 notes · View notes

bigtreefest · 13 days

Text

Chapter 3: Pick Up the Pace

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: You and Steve have been running into each other for weeks, just, now you’re starting to plan it.

Word count: 4,948

Content/warnings: Law enforcement and forensics themes, swears, eating dinner, clothes sharing, my low knowledge of suit brands, mentions of misogyny and misogynistic themes, snacking, being dressed down in a room full of fancy clothes, sneaking into someone’s trunk?, the lightest mob themes, DA (yes, he got promoted) Barber

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are chomping at the bit to see Steve x Decks as much as I am. Actually, I know you are, the polls support it and I love it.

I really liked this chapter, it just flowed. You can see that Decks is really back and forth on what’s going on… This takes place at roughly the same time as chapter 9 of YCMBWH in the Outta Nowhere AU

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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To call you overworked would be an understatement. You were exhausted from the long week, your early Saturday shift hitting you like a train. The great thing was, you didn’t have to work tomorrow and were only on-call Monday, in case something especially heinous happened and they couldn’t handle it. Might as well be a golden weekend! But you couldn’t celebrate too soon, you still had half the day in front of you.

You had come into the lab even earlier than your schedule demanded today to get a few more results compiled for an important case that was set to go on trial soon. It seemed like almost everything was on the rise lately, causing you to have to take on more cases at once, and the same thing went for the DA’s office. That’s what brought you here, transporting important files a few blocks down, far outside your usual basement-to-crime scene-and-back domain.

Usually, detective Lang would take the evidence up to the DA’s office for whatever case was going on, but he wasn’t in today and this was top-priority. You knew how to do it, just never had to, so you were slightly tentative on where exactly you were going. But, either way, there was no way in hell you were going let Detective Walker even think about touching your files. You didn’t trust that rat of a man, which is how you found yourself walking up the steps to the DA’s office on your own.

It was a nice change of pace, at least. The air was slightly less stale above ground, although way more humid. The sun even peeked at you from beyond the dense cloud coverage. As you made your way through the DA’s office, you weren’t quite sure how they could all stand the amount of searing natural light that must pour through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Sure, your office could stand to have a little more non-fluorescent light, but this was too much. Plus, it probably cost a fortune, this new office having been built just a few years ago as one of the few actions of the office that you didn’t quite agree with.

One thing you did agree with, though, or at least hoped you did, was Andy Barber. He was seemingly a nice guy, but you had never met him. You voted for him for DA, so you were hoping he wasn’t that bad, but all you had to go off of was his case prosecution method and whatever the local paper had to say. According to them, at least you knew he’d be in his office over his lunch break, lining up with yours. DA Barber was notorious for working hard. It was something you and many citizens respected him for, although you were sure his wife and son thought differently.

You walked through the hallway towards his office, transporting the file that was clenched tightly in your hand, hoping you’d be received well. Distracted by checking the room numbers instead of peeking inside the offices, you removed a set of stiff knuckles from the Manila folder in preparation to rap on the door when the image on the other side sharpened into focus. You froze with your fist in the air as your jaw slightly dropped and your eyes shifted back and forth a the sight before you.

Two sets of blue eyes, attached to bodies dressed in suits, stared back at you through the glass, the one in the large desk chair holding mild confusion, yet intrigue, the other holding….maybe amusement and….was that…fondness? But definitively it was slight trepidation.

The man at the desk, DA Barber from the looks of it, gestured for you to come in. You did your best to will your body to move from your rigid position, swallowing thickly and lowering your arm to the door handle. Your feet felt nailed to the ground, weighed down by cement in the shuffling steps you took to get into the office. Your eyes kept wanting to shift to the man who sat opposite of the desk, the one you’ve seen around a lot lately, at work and in your mind, as his own gaze was glued to you.

Remembering where your were, you made a beeline for the DA, sticking out your hand. “DA Barber, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. I come bearing that evidence you asked for.” You introduced yourself as he shook your hand, nodding and smiling in acknowledgement.

He gestured for you to sit down in the other leather chair positioned in front of his desk before waving a hand toward the man who had been silent thus far, despite the way his clear blue eyes had practically been screaming at you since before you entered the room.

“Please, Andy is fine. I hear a lot about you, especially from this guy right here. You know Steve Rogers, right?”

You nodded, looking over at Steve, just to catch the way his gaze averted yours just for a second, before locking in again in the formal, respectful manner he always tried to hold.

“Yes, Steve and I have met. And you can call me Decks, if it’s all the same. I hope I’m not interrupting anything, I can come back later if you want to discuss the file once your lunch date is over.”

Andy laughed and nodded to Steve once again. “I see what you were saying.” He looked back to you, slight creases in the corners of his eyes from his smile as he raised his eyebrows at you. “You’re funny. But no need, Steve is involved somewhat with this case and can stay for the discussion.”

You simply gave a curt nod, all business, opening up the folder and turning the documents toward him before going through your results.

You had spent way longer in Andy’s office than you had anticipated, half talking through the case and half just getting along with the gentlemen in front of you. Honestly, it was nice to finally have a conversation with people who understood your line of work, not only the mechanics of it, but where that work led, even if you still weren’t exactly sure what Steve did or what this all had to do with him.

Before you knew it, it was time to head back to the lab so you could grab your stuff to go home. As you started running down the steps and out the front door to try and beat the rain that threatened to fall soon, you heard tapping steps behind you.

“Hey, Decks, wait up.” You stopped and looked over your shoulder to see Steve gliding down the staircase, long legs making the strides look effortless.

He caught up and you continued walking back to your lab as he joined you, easily matching your brisk pace. As you were about to open your mouth to ask him why he was walking with you, your stomach growled over the sounds of even cars passing on the street and interrupted your train of thought. You simply looked at him, the two of you sharing an owlish gaze before busting out into a small bout of laughter.

“So you’re speeding off to dinner, then, I assume?” You shrugged, swerving around a parking meter before looking back at him.

“I wish. I’ve gotta hit the lab to get my stuff and then head home, but I’m way too tired to make anything, so we’re looking at either takeout or leftovers…”

Steve contemplated for a second as the two of you reached the precinct, and opened the door for you. “So, that’s what, with Saturday night traffic and cleaning up your space, an an hour? Maybe two before you actually get food in you?”

You descended the steps towards the basement, pulling out your keys to unlock the lab space and letting Steve in in front of you. “Yeah, I guess so, and I can already feel the hangry coming on, but I mean, at least there’s no one around who’s going to have to deal with it. It’s just me.”

Steve stopped in the middle of the room and turned around to face you. “No, Decks. I do. I have to deal with it, especially now that we’re friends.”

You looked at him with a raised brow. “Steve, we hardly know each other.”

He shrugged. “Then get to know me. How about I propose you a solution? What if I told you I could cut that time in half? From right now to you having an actual meal. I’ll help you clean up the lab here and then you and I can go to one of my restaurants. I’ve got a couple that aren’t far at all. On me, and I’ll guarantee food will be in your mouth within ten minutes of sitting down.”

You grabbed a pair of gloves, tossing the box to Steve for him to put on his own. “While I appreciate the offer, and I will put you to work in here, I can’t ask that of you, Steve. Plus, look at me, I’m a mess right now. And I’m sure all your restaurants are fancy. Could I even wear this to one of them?” You gestured up and down to your body, clad in jeans, one of the few perks that came with working Saturdays instead of a weekday, a casual shirt, windbreaker overtop and hair slightly ragged from a mix of the wind and a long day.

“I think you look fine, but, Decks, please, let me do this for you. You deserve to eat a good meal after how hard you’ve been working. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll change out of this suit so we match. Sound good?”

You sighed, starting to clear the clutter all around and signaling for Steve to do the same. He wasn’t going to move, though. Not until you gave him an answer. His eyes were boring into your soul despite how soft they looked, the hopeful smile on his face adding a sparkle you couldn’t resist. You looked at him and cocked your head to the side in exasperation, the back of one gloved hand perching on a popped hip, the other pointing towards Steve’s nose. “Ugh, fine. But none of that fancy bullshit. I want actual food, like you said. I don’t have the brain power for high-brow culinary transformation right now. Understood?”

Steve beamed at you, elated with your confirmatory response and ever amused, happy to comply by your demands. “Understood. So how do you feel about pasta?”

Steve pulled your car up to the entrance of his restaurant and tossed the keys at one of the young valet attendants, the other opening your door. You stepped out and looked at the elegant, yet humble storefront, surprised that you had never been here before. Sure, you worked close and you loved pasta, but you never even dared to try getting a reservation and were often too tired to even think of going anywhere but home for dinner, especially here.

Out of the corner of your eye, you witnessed Steve’s Range Rover pull up to where your car was moments ago, an arm reaching out and handing him a duffel bag. Steve slung it over his shoulder and nodded at you, opening the door for you to go inside.

“Mr. Rogers and Ms. Decks. Right this way, please.” The hostess immediately greeted the two of you, leading you back to a booth in the corner of the room, able to see the entire space. On your way there, though, you could see the nice clothes everyone was in. Yours were nothing akin to theirs, but no one spared even you a glance, which was oddly comforting, but a little unsettling.

Steve whispered down to you that he was going to change and you nodded, picking up and perusing the leather-bound menu in front of you. You hadn’t even finished reading, let alone made a decision, before Steve was already sauntering back to the table, now wearing a pair of jeans, white t-shirt, and navy blue bomber jacket. Oh man, did that make his eyes pop. His outfit was quite similar to yours, but just fit him perfectly in every way.

He gave you a shy smile as he slid into the booth, nodding towards the menu. “Find anything good yet?”

Your eyes went wide as you blew out a breath. “Steve, it all looks good. I can’t even decide what I want.”

“Well, what’s your favorite?” You snorted at that.

“My favorite? I’m not quite sure…. I mean, I cook spaghetti for myself the most, but that’s because it’s easy, not necessarily because it’s my favorite. What do you recommend?”

Steve clicked his tongue before responding to you. “I think I know just the thing.” He hardly raised two fingers off the table before a waiter was at his side, listening to Steve’s instructions on a ‘tour of the menu.’

“And any wine pairings this evening?” Steve looked to you in deference of the question, before you simply shook your head.

“No, thank you. Just water for tonight should be alright.” The waiter curtly nodded and walked away.

Steve was right, you timed it on your watch. He guaranteed ten minutes for food to be in your mouth, it hardly took eight. Steve watched tentatively as the plates were set before the two of you on the table, letting you portion out what you wanted first. The second the first bite hit your lips, you swore it was heavenly. Your store boxed spaghetti and jarred sauce held nothing to this rigatoni alla vodka, or the simple scents you had gotten off anything else so far.

As soon as you swallowed, you looked across the table at a very knowing glance. “Holy fuck, Steve. This is delicious.”

He nodded, finally serving himself and sipping his water before digging in. “The greatest, right?”

You hummed, taking in the amazing food, paired with the atmosphere. The rain beat against the window, adding to the coziness of the restaurant and the comfort and satisfaction provided by the food in front of you. Damn, this was good pasta. If Steve was going to insist on being around you so often, you were going to make sure he brought this along with him every time. Now that you tried it, you were never going back.

The two of you opted for silence as you continued to eat, at least for the first few bites. When you thought about it, Steve probably hadn’t had anything for as long as you, although he was taking it much better.

As the meal went on, though, the two of you fell into an easy conversation. It almost infuriated you how well the two of you got along. It was like talking to an old friend, except one that never got too explicit about their job description. Steve knew all about yours, and you knew all about his life growing up with Bucky plus a few interests, but that’s pretty much where it stopped. It wouldn’t have been a concern if he worked an everyday 9-5 job, but he didn’t. Something just didn’t quite add up, but that honestly wasn’t your concern. If he wanted to own a bunch of businesses, at least they made quality goods like this linguini. You were still astounded by how much he was able to control the room, though.

“So, like…what’s the deal?” You interjected just as he was about to take another bite.

“I’m sorry?” Steve was caught off guard, even though he could see the flashes of gears turning in your mind sporadically throughout this whole dinner ordeal.

“Sorry, I actually didn’t mean to make that as harsh as it came out, but like…you can’t tell me there hasn’t been a pattern of behavior with you all day today. I just wanted to point it out.”

Steve set down his silverware to put his full focus on you. Everything he had told you up until this point had been honest, and he wondered if he was about to be persecuted. The conversation had been fine, and the two of you were having a good time, but he couldn’t blame you for being a little bugged by his vague answers and workarounds.

“I just feel like everywhere you go, you command people around. If it were anyone else, I feel like they’d be all cocky about it, making false promises, but so many people are out here lending you their attention like you run things. Sometimes even in my workplace.”

“Decks, I, uh…. I don’t know how I’m supposed to take that.” His eyes slightly narrowed at you, unsure of where this was going next.

“I guess, it’s, uh…. It’s a compliment? But really more of an observation. And I’m saying I feel like I’m the only one who sees it. Feeling like a regular old Lizzie Curry.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “Um, am I supposed to know that name? Is it someone you went to school with? Is it one of your coworkers?”

You let out a chuckle. “God, no. You’ve never seen that movie? It’s an old western. You know what, come over and we’ll watch it, plus you can listen to the song it inspired, too. Steven, you uncultured dog”

He laughed and rubbed his neck. “Okay, okay, I get it. But you don’t mean like… right now, do you?”

You pushed your plate of food away from you, more than satisfied with the best meal you’ve had in months. “I mean, I guess? If you wanted to. I’m not working tomorrow. I’m not even on call, so sure, I could technically stay up. It’d be worth it to see someone else’s reaction to old film.”

Steve sheepishly smiled before sinking a little into the seat, signaling the waiter to come back and package the leftovers, sure to send you home with extra bread, too. “I would love to, but I actually have an important business meeting.” He checked his watch. “That I’m about six minutes away from being late for already. Tomorrow?”

You nodded, pulling your jacket on and accepting a bag from the waiter. “Yeah, tomorrow works.”

Steve slid out of the booth, sending a message on his phone before sliding it into his back pocket to put as much attention towards you as he could. “Okay, perfect, I’ll come by at seven.”

You vigorously shook your head. “No, way too late. Make it five.”

He looked at you incredulously. “Five!? Okay, fine. Let me make some phone calls. I’ll see what I can do. I can probably rearrange some things.” He sighed and pulled out his phone again, holding it up to his ear and sending you a wink and a wave before getting into the Black SUV that sped to the curb, meeting him as soon as he touched the sidewalk.

You spent the day Sunday cleaning your entire apartment. Sure, it was your normal cleaning day when it could be, but something made you feel like it needed to be extra spotless. You were in a zen, music blasting, dancing around with your mop, which was luckily the last thing you had to do.

You at least didn’t have to worry about preparing snacks or anything for Steve’s visit, texting him the command to get them on his way over, since you were already doing him the ‘gracious service of hosting,’ as you had said. He got a kick out of that one and obliged you, even texting Bee to get your preferences and personally picking them up instead of sending out a lackey.

He was surprised by how short Bee’s texts to him were, though, considering they usually had chipper conversations. Maybe he would call her later, or at least tell Bucky to since they had both been in a good mood the last time they’d spoken.

Steve pulled into your parking garage and went to the trunk of his car to grab his duffel so he could change into comfy clothes once he got up to your place. As the lift gate opened, though, Steve was terrified for the first thing he saw to be a shoe, attached to a leg clothed in Ralph Lauren pants. Steve took inventory of what was going on in his trunk as Bucky, the man attached to said shoe and pants turned over and groaned. Luckily, it didn’t appear that he was injured, but his eyes were quite puffy and his hair was in a mess, and not how it was back at the farm.

Bucky was wearing one of his junk suits: one that he didn’t care what happened to it. One that was marked as comfy, that he could throw it away in a second.

This was less than an everyday suit. Usually, Bucky wouldn’t be caught in anything less than Armani, even known for wearing Brioni almost every day. He must’ve really been going through it, especially since his hair has never been seen professionally without at least half an ounce of gel in it.

This was bad, and it was the last thing Steve needed right now, as the time was crunching and he didn’t want to delay your snacks or this date….wait. Was this a date? Was last night a date? Whatever, he didn’t have the time to think it over, though, instead looking down at the mob boss sprawled in the trunk and trying to gather information as quickly as possible.

“Bucky, what the actual hell is going on right now. Why are you in my trunk? Were you crying?” Tears were something Steve had only seen from his best friend a handful of times over their lives side-by-side, so for them to be so suddenly present was a concern.

Bucky sniffled before putting his best attempt of an angry face on, although it looked more like a pout. “I miss her, Steve. It’s only been a week, but I just can’t stand to be away. She’s stuck in my head and we were never even anything official. I’ve been trying to drown myself in work, but all I’m really drowning in is…sadness.”

He swung his legs to finally sit up under the tailgate. Steve knew Bucky had thrown himself into work, the man had been back for six days and had hardly been seen outside his office while Steve was sent out for all the in-person necessities. Steve slapped his hands on the shoulders of his best friend before meeting his gaze, then eventually pulling him in for a hug. “Okay, I get it. But she’s not gone. She’s only a few hours away and you can call her whenever.”

Bucky shook his head and sniffled. “No, I can’t call her. It’ll just make it worse. I just need a friend right now. Can I hang out with you?”

Steve sighed and placed his hands on his hips, questioning the plausibility of the situation. He had been getting along with you so well this weekend that the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it. And it would be indecent of him to cancel when he was already here, bearing snacks.

You were perched on the couch in your nice, comfy clothes scrolling through the TV to find the movie you had told Steve about. It had been awhile since you had seen it, but from what you could remember, it was hilariously ridiculous and you’d be happy if you could just get one person to share in the spectacle with you.

Of course, you didn’t mind that it was Steve, either. You rather enjoyed his company. It wasn’t overbearing or obnoxious, at least when it was just the two off you, and when he wasn’t trying to flex his knowledge. This weekend so far with him had just been… easy, though. And most of all, he listened. It was so hard to find someone who was like that, especially in your line of work. You were one of the best forensic scientists in the area, but many wouldn’t give you the time of day, mostly the shitty cops you worked with besides Lang. With Steve, outside of what had happened the first time he came into your lab, you felt as though your expertise was respected.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a firm knock on the door, followed by murmuring on the other side. You opened the door to see Steve holding a bunch of grocery bags, along with his duffel. Behind him was another man in a suit, kicking his feet.

“Bucket? What are you doing here?”

Steve sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and walked through the door you were now holding open, towards your kitchen to set down the snacks. “He’s not doing super well right now. I hope you don’t mind that I brought him.”

Steve looked at you with anxious anticipation as he walked towards the bathroom door as Bucky spoke up.

“Yeah, Decks. I’m really sorry to just show up unannounced, but going back to work after a month in the middle of nowhere was a hard transition.” That among other things were racing through his mind, but honestly, you got it. Hell, even coming back after a single weekend was hard, so you couldn’t blame the guy. He looked about as bad as Bee sounded in your phone call with her the other day. You just nodded.

“You won’t even know I’m here.” He looked at you with pleading eyes, rivaling the most helpless puppy you could possibly dream up.

“Okay. That’s fine, just get changed and you get to arrange the snacks. Does Steve have a change of clothes for you? I’m instating this apartment as a business attire-free zone.”

You looked over to where Steve was still leaning against the door frame where he shook his head. “I mean, I’ve got extra pants for him, but do you have another shirt or sweatshirt I can borrow?”

Movie time found you and Steve on opposite ends of your small couch with Bucky in the middle, the three of you holding bowls stacked high with all of your favorites, and seemingly Bucky’s too.

Bucky wore Steve’s clothes while Steve wore one of your old, oversized college hoodies from the collection. He had picked it out when you took him back to your room to try to find something that would fit one of the buffest men you knew. During this time, Steve told you all about what was going on with Bucky, and you understood. Being away from a loved one is never easy, you missed Bee everyday, too.

To your surprise, and honestly a little annoyingly, the sweatshirt Steve grabbed fit him better than it fit you. You missed the smug grin he wore as he slipped it on, happy to be hugged by your scent.

You hardly got to enjoy the sight, though, as a brick wall of a man sat between the two of you, jaw constantly clenching with the way he had steeled his feelings and demeanor. Bucky would never let anyone but Steve see him cry, but you had no idea how much it meant that he had even let you have a glimpse at him feeling sad.

Watching a movie that was almost purely taking place on a farm probably wasn’t the best decision. That wasn’t technically your fault, though. You had already chosen it and Bucky’s surprise visit wasn’t going to make you change your plans more than you already had by him just being there.

About half way through, he paused it, getting up to make the three of you drinks from whatever was in your cabinets, giving you and Steve the opportunity to talk about what had happened so far.

“So how old is she supposed to be?” Steve pointed at the screen.

“My best assumption is late twenties, early thirties if they were trying so desperately to marry her off at this point and still expecting kids. But she looks a little older than that, right? She was like, fifty when this was filmed.” You popped another gummy bear in your mouth.

“Ah, makes sense. Yeah, I’ve been so thrown off this whole time. Old-time expectations and behaviors are…interesting? I guess I’m not surprised, but it’s also quite alarming to see it portrayed so casually on the screen.” You nodded in agreement.

“Oh definitely. But you have to agree it makes it a little funny. I don’t think I could make it through the whole thing if it wasn’t laughable.”

Steve gave you a tight-lipped smile before Bucky covered your view, handing the two of you drinks. Steve was grateful for the break in eye contact. He wasn’t sure how he could tell you that misogynistic behaviors like that were so prevalent in his and Bucky’s line of work, and they jarred him in real life just as much as on the screen. Neither of them wanted a life like that, though, even if they had been a little misguided by the models in their youth.

The three of you settled in again, you and Steve throwing your feet on Bucky’s lap after he had almost sat on top of them.

You finished your drink and the movie, falling asleep there on the couch soon after. You woke up hours later with a blanket over you, borrowed sweatshirt folded at your feet and house as pristine as could be, two men nowhere to be seen and your door locked.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Brownie points if you can tell me what movie they watched.

Series Taglist:

@evie-119

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catgirlforeskin · 3 months

Note

Actually, I want to talk about this more.

I think that people really overpay how bad politically "online" and 4chan and such are. Not because 4chan is good (it is very bigoted), but in my experience while imageboards are very loosely moderated*, and it allows them to spread some graphic shit, they are not interdimensional aliens. Sure, I didn't see photos of bestiality anywhere else, but I saw and see all the same prejudices in "normie" groups, in comments under movie torrents, in news media, I hear them on the streets and from my relatives. And it doesn't just happen, it's like the norm (not so much in official news, thank fuck, but mainstream TV is still guilty).

After Trump all imageboards into more or less interconnected system of fascist propaganda, sure, but the foundation wasn't that different, in my opinion. Society just sucks because of capitalism and due to the fact that most of pre-capitalist heritage is even worse.

Something similar is true for Reddit. It does suck, but also everyone uses it, even worldwide. The fact that it is like that is not because of redditors, but because this is the face of (mostly white American) middle class society.

This may sound too anti-communist of me, but I feel so angry when people say "actually bigotry is just a thing that online loners do, most people are actually nice". No! People are not nice, people are the ones who do all of this bigotry! It is not 4chan that makes people use racial slurs, it is not twitter that brainwashes women into being housewives, it is not Reddit that covers up rapists, it is not TikTok that makes people crave fascist dict6. It is your neighbors, your friends, you! And me, and all of us here. It's not "human nature", but it's our reality. Society is very flawed, and since society is not a deity but only a network of people, all of us are flawed, all of us are monsters even. Attributing every societal ill to "terminally online neckbeards" is just placing all of your crimes on convenient scapegoats.

This is not defense of 4channers or redditors, they suck, but it's so stupid to pretend that they are just not children of your society, not even that different from you

100% agree, yeah, I hate the tendency for people to project societal ills onto an Other so they don’t have to think about their own complicity in it. We see it in Stranger Danger and the creation of The Predator as opposed to the reality of most abuse coming from people you know and have structural power over you (parents, bosses, etc).

We see it all the time in the transmisogynist harassment campaigns on here, where we’ll see trans women get called “literal rapists” for doing cnc play with their girlfriends when we (at least used to) understand that Rape Culture is a thing and it’s omnipresent in society, or trans women promote “literal incest” for calling their girlfriends big sis or whatever when the most popular porn category everywhere for the last decade has been incest crap.

There’s easily a hundred other things I could list but the point is obvious, I mean shit it applies with the law too, there’s so many things that are part of the dominant culture and everyone has a hand in, but punishment is only inflicted on the subaltern

#asks

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fangirlingfromdownunder · 1 year

Text

Post-Hunt Comfort

Summary - Part 5 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic)

Warnings - mentions of periods, nausea, smut (nothing too graphic, just mentioned), mild swearing

Word Count: 1883

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N - G’day guys, I just wanna start by thanking you for all the likes, reblogs and follows since my last post, I really appreciate it. I hope you like this one too. This one gets a little emotional, I literally cried while writing it. And remember my inbox is always open for requests or even if you just wanna chat. Until next week, enjoy!

You wake up feeling groggy, yet better. You take in your surroundings slowly, noting the cold empty bed, your laptop beside you playing soothing music, and the lack of other movement or sounds. As you sit up you notice the weapons bag is also gone, having left just your silver knife that Dean had gifted you with both of your initials engraved on the blade, and your gun on the nightstand for emergencies. Your stomach sinks realising they must’ve gone hunting the nest on their own while you were sleeping. You knew Dean would be itching to get it over and done with so you could go back to the bunker and rest off your “worst-ever period” in comfort. But still, you wish he would’ve waited or at least let you know. That’s when your eyes land on a folded note on your nightstand beside your gun.

Good evening my love,

I hope you slept well and are feeling better. I left a bowl of soup in the fridge for you, just heat it up and eat what you can. Also, help yourself to the chocolate that’s in there too, and make sure to stay hydrated. Maybe even take a nice warm bath. Then cuddle with your new bunny. I made sure it’s nice and soft and cuddly, just how you like.

Sam and I will be back as soon as we can. I love you.

Dean xx

Dean had never been the type to leave you letters, he was more the quick, shorthand text type. But you loved the letter and you planned to treasure it. You shut your laptop and then got up to follow his careful instructions.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You start to stress when the sun goes down and you’re still alone. You’d taken the time to do everything outlined in Dean’s note, including having a nice long soak in the tub with the lavender bath bomb that you found sitting on the bathroom sink. Another thoughtful gift left by your fiancé no doubt. And you’d quite enjoyed yourself, you felt so relaxed and much better all around. But when you notice how dark it is outside all that relaxation drains away, replaced by the stress of wondering where the boys are and if they are even alive.

You clutch your new stuffed bunny to your chest as you sit on your bed waiting. You pick up your phone multiple times willing for them to call or text saying they are on their way. When you’re not checking your phone, you’re staring at the door, listening for the purr of that much comforting engine.

An hour passes and still nothing. You start to feel sick again; your stomach’s in knots. Tears creep down your cheeks.

I can’t do this alone. I can’t do this alone.

Out of desperation and utter fear that the love of your life and his brother may actually be dead, you decide to pray to the one good angel you know.

Castiel, if you can hear me please bring my boys home safe. Please, I just need to know they’re safe. Please protect them. I can’t lose them. Please, Cass, bring my boys back to me.

You lose track of time as you continue to pray and cry for your boys. You don’t know what time it is when Dean, Sam and Cass walk in. Dean’s arms are around you within seconds, his lips leaving kisses all over your face and neck as he promises he’s safe and apologises for scaring you.

“There were more than we anticipated, but it’s okay. We’re both okay. I’m okay. I’m right here, sweetheart. I promise we’re gonna go home first thing in the morning. Back to the comfort and safety of the bunker, okay? Thanks for calling Cass, by the way. He’s no substitute for your badass but he did save our asses, so thank you. You’re always saving me.”

You hug him even tighter, sobbing into his chest as he holds you just as tight. Dean takes a deep breath as he leans down to kiss along the exposed skin of your neck.

“You smell amazing, sweetheart. Did you enjoy that bath bomb? I’ll have to buy another one so I can enjoy it with you next time.”

A small smile graces your face at his words; he always knows exactly how to make you feel better. You move your head slightly, and Dean takes full advantage of the extra available skin.

“I can’t wait to get you back to the bunker. It’s been way too long, baby girl,” he groans lowly into your neck.

Suddenly, you feel super aware of your surroundings and how on show you are, with Sam and Cass sitting at the table across the room talking. You can feel Dean’s growing excitement against your thigh through his jeans. “Dean, baby.”

Dean pulls away reluctantly and looks up at you, he groans. “I know, I know. I’m gonna go have a cold shower, then we can cuddle and get some sleep.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake up to the feeling of Dean’s lips on your neck and his hands tickling the bare skin of your stomach where your tank top had ridden up overnight.

“Hmmm, I could get used to waking up like this.”

“Good morning, beautiful, sleep well? How’re you feeling? You feel a little bloated still, how’re your cramps?”

“I feel better, for now at least.”

“I’m glad to hear that. What do you want for breakfast, let me take you out … uh, if you’re up for it. We haven’t even properly celebrated our engagement yet.”

“Dean…”

Dean helps you turn around in your arms before sitting up. He takes your left hand in his running his fingers over the ring. “You did mean it when you said yes, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, you’ve been a little distant ever since. You’re not talking to me like you usually do. Are we okay? Did I move too fast? If you’re not ready…”

“Dean, baby, of course, I meant it,” you say as you take a quick glance around the room, finding the other bed, table and couch empty. You figure Sam must be out on his morning run so you climb onto Dean’s lap. You wrap your arms around his neck as he just watches you. You bring your lips to him, pecking him lightly before deepening the kiss, Dean instantly kisses back. One hand holding the back of your head, pulling you closer while the other grips your waist, urging you to grind against his slight morning wood. Your lips are swollen and his hands are at the hem of your shirt pulling it up when you hear the doorknob turn. You pull away quickly and race into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. You hear Dean groan in frustration before you turn the water on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s 6 pm when you pull into another dingy motel room in Dallas, Texas. Thankfully, you weren’t here for a hunt, you just couldn’t stand another 8 hours in the car yet, you needed a break. You were feeling uncharacteristically car sick, which luckily Dean was still attributing to your so-called terrible period.

Once you’re all settled in the room Sam offers to go for a supply and dinner run, and you opt to go with him much to your fiancé’s dismay. You knew that despite your best efforts this morning he was still feeling a little dejected. Every time your eyes met in the rearview mirror during the day all you could see was concern. Those looks used to be filled with love and cheekiness. You were starting to worry that you would lose him. But you just didn’t have the strength or energy to do anything about it. Between the waves of nausea, heartburn and your all-over-the-place emotions, you didn’t have the capacity for anything that Dean wanted or needed from you, not to mention the lack of privacy.

As you walk through the gas mart with Sam you can’t help but stop in front of the pregnancy tests, debating whether to take one. You know once you do there will be no hiding it from Dean, while you’re not certain you can keep playing it off as a period with no bloody pads or tampons to dispose of. But you know if you bring the test back he will surely see it. You’re just not sure you’re ready for that conversation yet.

Just as you almost convince yourself to grab one, Sam comes up behind you. “You talk to Dean yet?”

You shake your head and cross your arms over your chest, walking out of the aisle.

“What are you so afraid of? That he’ll leave? Have you seen how he is with you? There’s zero chance he does that! He’s loyal to a fault and he loves you. Yeah, he might be a little shocked or concerned. But he’ll also be so excited to take that jump with you. I know my brother, Y/N.”

You know in your heart Sam is right, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You walk outside empty-handed and lean on Baby’s hood while you wait for Sam to pay. Suddenly a wave of nausea hits you and you keel over emptying your lunch and stomach bile on the road. As you stand up, you look around taking in all the concerned and disgusted faces watching you from around the parking lot. You feel so sore and embarrassed and you can’t stop the tears from falling. Within minutes Sam’s arms are around you as he helps you into the car before moving around to the driver’s seat.

You bring your knees up to your chest on the seat and bury your head into them during the silent drive back to the motel. When you get back you rush in, walking straight past Dean and into the bathroom locking the door. You brush your teeth and then strip before sitting on the floor in the shower and bawling your eyes out for what feels like hours.

You’re not sure what Sam told Dean to stop him from barging in and holding you, but part of you is grateful. Part of you knows you’re deliberately pushing him away out of guilt. But part of you wants nothing more than to confide in him and have him hold you tight while you cry and hold your hair back while you’re sick.

After a while, you pick yourself up, wash your face and drag yourself out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. When you come out, Dean’s sitting on one bed reading something on your laptop and Sam’s on the other mirroring his actions. You cautiously make your way over to the bed where Dean’s sitting slipping under the covers, not even bothering to remove the damp towel or get dressed. You sense Dean stiffen beside you, no doubt heavily debating the right move; whether to join you under the covers and hold you or give you space. In the end, giving you space wins out and you bury your head in the blanket as you silently cry yourself to sleep, still feeling sick to your stomach.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder

#dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff

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carlos-tk · 7 months

Text

Ok here goes!! I’m new to the 911 LS fandom and thus this is my first addition to Seven Sentence Sunday (let us all ignore that it’s already Monday in my timezone) I’ll be asleep when this posts due to that! Please enjoy this graphic I cooked up on a whim because I totally forgot that was a thing until 5 minutes ago!

Extremely nervous to post this as it’s really the first foray back into writing in years. This is part of a as yet unnamed colleagues AU that I’ve been working on

Thanking some pre-tags from earlier this week @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @celeritas2997 @inkweedandlizards 💗

This is also definitely more than seven sentences but I digress

“You know you should totally fuck me against that nice big window,” TK announces as he roams around Carlos’ new office, fingers dancing along the windowsill, sparing a glance outside, raindrops pelting heavily against the glass, the storm clouds shielding most of the cityscape below.

Carlos fixes him with an unimpressed glare. “TK we’re at work,” he groans, “could you at least try not to be crude.” TK turns from the window, circling back to strand in front of Carlos, before leaning against the desk behind him, shrugging plainly, “I’m just saying,” he whines, reaching out a hand to poke his pointer finger into Carlos’ abdomen.

“Is it the promotion making you so uptight?,” he asks, absentmindedly tugging on the lower buttons of Carlos’ shirt.

“I am not uptight,” Carlos refutes, shoving TKs hand away.

“Are you sure? Because I seem to recall a time when we did very naughty things, very often, in this very building,” he smirks, his hand once again ghosting across Carlos’ abdomen, his pinky finger dipping beneath the waistband of his slacks.

Carlos bites back a moan at TKs tone and innuendo, the touch of his hand against his body, “and now I can’t even make a suggestion without you scolding me, that doesn’t seem fair baby.”

Carlos bring a hand up to rest between the gap where TKs neck meets his clavicle. “I’m just saying don’t get your hopes up for any repeat performances, I’d actually like to keep my job.” TK huffs a breath, retracting his own hand from Carlos’ body.

“Killjoy,” he mutters under his breath, a pout forming on his lips. “Also you just proved my point,” he exclaims. “By saying I wouldn’t sleep with you on the premises,” Carlos asks, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Yes,” TK replies in an instant.

“You’re seriously telling me you have your own private office now, that also has a lock might I add, and you’re not going to fuck me in it.” His pout deepening. “Last month you had me on my knees in one of the unlocked restroom stalls, and now you-,” he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Carlos tugs him forward, grasping his wrists, twisting both behind his back. He presses himself as close as he can with the intrusion of their joined hands between them, biting down on TKs earlobe, breath hot against his ear. “You’re being a terror.” TK inhales sharply, still trying to keep his cool, “Am I?,” he asks, sounding only mildly pathetic.

“You need to behave baby, or you won’t be getting fucked anywhere,” Carlos warns, voice rough, his grip on TKs wrists tightening.

“What,” TK cries out in disbelief. “Do I need to repeat myself,” Carlos asks, though he knows the answer already. “No,” TK lets out quietly. “Good boy,” Carlos praises, and it takes all of TKs willpower not to grind back against Carlos at the endearment.

I have no idea who to tag but I’m just going to add some people whose work I admire @strandnreyes @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @reyesstrand @carlos-in-glasses @birdclowns and anyone else who’d like to join 💗

#911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tarlos #911 lone star #seven sentence sunday #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos fanfic #not sure on what tags to use yet lol #d writes #please be nice lol :)#if you don’t like it please do not tell me #not beta read btw i’ll be looking for one soon but not yet #drafted via my phone so if it’s formatted weird my apologies #i hope we’re still friends after i taser queue

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onceuponastory · 2 years

Text

speak now - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: Bucky (and Sam) go back to the same bar he met Y/N in. Hopefully, this time Bucky can actually work up the courage to speak to her. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (again, very slight) Warnings: A few mentions of Bucky’s past as the Winter Soldier (but nothing too graphic), alcohol, and the anxiety and negative feelings/self doubt about himself he has afterwards. As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: This is a part two to my Bucky fic The Story of You, which you can read here. This is more of a small filler kind of part, but I hope you like it all the same. Thank you to @thesundrop / @astartothemoon for my divider! Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

“Fancy getting a drink somewhere?” Sam asks, and Bucky nods. Sam’s visiting from Louisiana for a few days, and despite their teasing of one other, Bucky’s glad to have a familiar face around to talk to. Especially now, when he’s still so lonely. “Okay, but I get to pick the bar.”

“Sure, whatever.” Bucky shrugs. As he and Sam walk through the streets of New York, Bucky sighs, wrapping his jacket around him and hoping the leather protects him from the cold. Of course, it does little to help, but it was worth a try, anyway. If Bucky was different, wasn’t so fucked up, he could almost find it funny. A Winter Soldier who hates the cold. But then again, after the hell he’s been through…maybe he should try to find the happiness in the little things. And besides, it wouldn’t hurt anymore than what he’s used to, right?

“Oh! This place looks good.” Sam announces, cutting through Bucky’s thoughts. Bucky murmurs something in agreement, until he realises where he’s currently standing. His eyes widen, and he mutters an:

“Oh, fuck.”

He’s standing outside Y/N’s bar.

The bar he practically ran out of almost a week ago, and hasn’t been back since, finding it too awkward to even think about going back after what happened. “You know, there’s other-”

“Ah, ah!” Sam shakes his head. “Guest’s choice. And I choose here. Come on.” He beckons for Bucky to follow, opening the door and stepping inside. Before following him, Bucky groans, hoping the ground will open up and swallow him whole. Of course, seeing Y/N again wouldn’t be a bad thing. Quite the opposite, actually. The issue is that Bucky has no idea what the hell he’s going to say to her when he sees her again. What if she asks why he ran? What if she’s pissed at him? He would be in her case, but still. Y/N’s a sweet girl. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt anymore by him. Hopefully she’s off tonight or something. Or at least, hopefully he can be subtle about it.

But then, he notices Y/N standing by the bar, laughing at something a customer is saying. And something in Bucky’s stomach flutters. At the sound of the door, she turns around, spotting Bucky almost immediately. As soon as she does, her eyes light up, and the thing in Bucky’s chest flutters once more. God, he’s got it bad.

“Bucky! Nice to see you’re back. And you brought a friend!” Y/N calls. Bucky blushes. Well, so much for being subtle.

“Hey Y/N. This is Sam.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam!” Y/N smiles, holding her hand out for Sam to shake. “Any friend of Bucky’s is a friend of mine.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Sam nods, eyeing Bucky out of the corner of his eye, giving him a look that tells Bucky he wants to know every detail immediately. Bucky gulps. He’s in for a long night.

“Anyway, what can I get you two?”

“Bucky, you’re staring at her again.”

“No, I’m not.” Sam raises a brow, murmurs something like “Yeah, right.” And goes back to his drink. Bucky takes another drink of his beer, letting the bitter tasting liquid flow throughout his body as he braces himself for the question he knows Sam is just dying to ask.

“So. You two have met before, huh? What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” Honestly, Bucky does mind a little. Especially since it means he’ll have to explain himself and his anxieties again, something he hates doing. After being alone for so long and unable to trust anyone, not even his own mind, Bucky has learned he’s better off not opening up to anyone. Like he said, he’s better off alone. Deep down, though, he knows that Sam’s just trying to help. Not just as a therapist, but as a friend. And maybe that’s what he needs right now.

“We met a week ago, when I came in for a drink. We got on pretty well, actually.” Sam smiles, and Bucky sighs, knowing that what he’s about to say will only cause Sam’s smile to drop. “But um…I left, and kind of ran away.”

“You RAN?” Sam gasps, his eyes widening in disbelief. His expression does little to improve Bucky’s mood, or ease his guilt.

“Yes. I did.” Bucky sighs, his gaze flickering down to his hands. Even though he’s around Sam, his only close friend since Steve left…Bucky’s hands are still gloved. Even surrounded by friends and after being deprogrammed, Bucky still doesn’t trust himself or his arm. And besides, that’s why he left. Because he doesn’t want to hurt Y/N the same way he hurts everyone else.

“Why?”

“Well, we started talking about ourselves and our lives, and I think I went too far, so….” Bucky doesn’t even need to finish his sentence before Sam nods.

“I see.” He sighs. But it’s not a disappointed sigh. In fact, it’s one that tells Bucky that Sam understands how he feels, and how much he wants to help. “Bucky, how does Y/N make you feel?”

“Well, obviously, she’s really pretty. But it’s not just that. She makes me feel so great, Sam. When we hung out, we laughed a lot, and it was really nice, despite my mind constantly telling me how I didn’t deserve it. Having someone treat me with kindness after everything that happened…” He trails off, a huge smile on his face. Sam grins.

“There it is. Bucky, you don’t have to keep torturing yourself anymore. It’s okay to want to make friends and even find love again.” Bucky raises a brow, and Sam chuckles. “Dude, don’t look at me like that. You’re so obviously head over heels for her.” Blushing, Bucky glances over to the bar again, watching as Y/N busies herself preparing drinks. “That smile tells me everything I need to know. Hold on to that feeling. Go talk to her.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt her, or for her to be freaked out by my…my everything.”

“You don’t have to ask her out on a date or anything, maybe just apologise for what happened and ask if she wants to grab a drink sometime. Make amends with her just like with everyone else. Start small. You can do that.” Gulping, Bucky stands up, taking a breath as he tries to hype himself up to be able to speak to Y/N. “Good luck!” Sam calls. When Bucky reaches the bar, his mind feels like it’s going haywire. Perhaps he should just run now, while he still can. Y/N turns around, smiling the second she sees him. There’s the fluttering again.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I…” Bucky begins, unsure of what to even say. How the hell is he going to explain this? Why he ran? His past? “Come on. Just say it. Ask her out for a casual drink. That’s small, that’s easy.”

“Cat got your tongue?” Y/N giggles, and Bucky lets out an awkward chuckle.

“I…I would like two more beers, please.”

For the rest of the night, Bucky still tries to speak to Y/N without stammering like an idiot. And every time, he can’t do it, retreating to the table for another pep talk from Sam, only for the cycle to repeat.

“Okay, it’s getting late, so we better get back. And that means it’s your last chance, Buck.” Sam points out as they gather the empty bottles and glasses to take back to the bar.

“I know.”

“Look, I don’t mean to push you if you’re not ready, it’s just the way you look at her all the time, and the way you smile…there’s something special there Bucky, and after everything you’ve been through, it’s nice to see you so happy.”

“Aw, so you do care.” Bucky teases.

“Don’t push it.” Yet, Sam’s words make him smile. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he does deserve some happiness after everything. If only he could find the confidence to actually say more than a few sentences to her.

“Leaving so soon, you two?” Y/N asks. For a moment, Bucky swears there’s a twinge of disappointment in her voice. However, it’s gone as soon as he notices it.

“Yeah, early start for us two tomorrow.” Sam answers.

“Well, it was great to meet you, Sam, and to see you again, Bucky. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

“I’m sorry.” The words leave Bucky’s mouth before he even thinks about it. His sudden admission even surprises him a little. Maybe after so long being too scared to actually speak to Y/N again, his mind and heart are taking the first step for him. Y/N and Sam frown, and Bucky continues. “For running away last time I was here, and for prodding too far.”

“Bucky, it’s alright.”

“No, no, it wasn’t. I was going through a lot, and if I made you feel like you had done something wrong, then I’m sorry for that too.”

“Bucky, honestly, it’s okay. I’m not mad or anything.”

“I’d like to start again, if that’s okay. Maybe we could go for a drink sometime?” And then, Y/N’s frown turns into a smile.

“Yeah…yeah, that’ll be great. I’d love to.” Bucky breathes a sigh of relief, grinning. That wasn’t so hard. Maybe things between them both will be okay after all.

“About damn time!”

Please follow @onceuponastory-library and turn on notifications to be notified when I next post!

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x Female Reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel oneshot

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moonah-rose · 5 months

Text

Always get a bit frustrated whenever I see a comment on a kitty-edit that's like "Oh Kitty had such a sad childhood, but at least she has the Captain now."

Don't get me wrong, I love their relationship, it's adorable, he is definitely her dad as evident by how she views him as such in flashbacks the same way Alison is her sister.

But I feel like people forget that their relationship is actually fairly new? She outright says in the first series that she does not like him and that he's only got worse since Alison arrived. It's not until S3 they start to warm to each other and what makes it work so beautifully is how it coincides with Cap becoming more true to his (fabulous) self, rather than trying to be the bossy soldier. Basically he fits the mould of her real father, both good and bad, but the more he subconsciously reminds her of how cold and strict her father could be, rather than his sweeter moments, the less she wants to be around him. When he starts to let his real self show and become more the man she wishes her dad had been is when that bond starts to form. That's what I find interesting about them.

However the suggestion that Cap is the only one to care for her or even the one who cares the most I feel does a real disservice to the other ghosts. They all absolutely adore her in their own way.

Her friendship with Mary was adorable and I love how protective Mary was of her even before Kitty died, insulting her father for ruining her fun, then standing up for her when she stood up for Cap, them gushing over things together like the rice krispies and the snow globe, making up their inventory song, Mary comforting Kitty at the party and putting her to bed. How heartbroken Kitty was at losing her and desperate to believe she would come back.

Every scene she and Pat have together, him being her dance partner but also him being the one to take on trying to explain death to her and doing as a parent would, how he probably did the first time Daley had to deal with death, it's just so relatable how he didn't want to be harsh but needing to be honest.

Julian calling her a "dear, sweet thing", him being the only one to attempt to explain to her how baby's are made (graphic and disturbing as it was), how he's ready to tell her the truth about Santa but as soon as he's sees the look on her face it's enough to melt his Tory heart is the peak Christmassy scene of that episode for me.

Thomas hugging her at the panto (one of only two hugs we get in this show!) and being so grateful for having her as his manager, how gentle he is when he asks to inspect her hands for the spider bite.

Robin knowing her pregnancy shtick is nonsense but going along with it like a brother being roped into his kid sister's make believe, rubbing her feet for her and sitting with her most of the day, him leaving a party that he loves to take moment to encourage her to cry her feelings out and then helping Mary put her to bed, how she only has to call his name and he's jumping in to scare off the plaguers.

Everything with her and Humphey! How she's the one who is the most concerned about where he is and making sure he's in one piece so he's not left behind, these two have the most adorable Uncle and Niece vibes.

Fanny is the only one I feel the show let slide on having her bond with, I think the most progression they have is Fanny praising Kitty's speaking in S4. Kinda miffed about this one because without Mary and with Alison gone, they're the only girls left and it would have been nice if they'd developed a mother-daughter bond.

Last but not least her and Alison! Their relationship is so important to S3 and how it contrasts to Alison's storyline with Lucy. Even though Lucy turns out to be a fake, it's still a good show of the importance of found family as much as blood family, how Kitty is jealous at first but then becomes the catalyst for figuring out who Lucy really is and protecting Alison from being scammed. It's such an important arc for her character that gets sadly forgotten, how she's not smug with joy that Lucy is gone at the end but just expresses sympathy for Alison losing the sister she never had. "You're the sister I never had" was the line that I first choked up at in this show. Also props to Kitty for literally annoying someone into being a true. best friend, she gives the rest of us losers hope!

Overall just how lucky Kitty is at the end of the day, that yes she had this privileged but ultimately toxic upbringing and died very young - but now she's surrounded by these people who absolutely adore her and might not always cope with it the right way but they just want to protect her because she is so sweet and endearing. If I could add any scene to the finale I feel like Alison should have got to have one talk with Kitty where she assures her that yeah they'll be apart but she's always at the end of the phone and will visit often, but also assuring her that she still has SEVEN people who love her to bits which is more than a lot of us get.

#bbc ghosts #ghosts meta #kitty higham #found family

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p3ski · 6 months

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 3.9K

Gavin woke up to the sound of his neighbour screaming outside. Judging by the shrill tones, it was a woman desperately trying to herd her children off to a dance class. They were late, as she laboured repeatedly, much to the vocal chagrin of her spawn. He groaned, grabbing his pillow and clutching it over his head.

A chorus of low hums came from the side of his bed, and Gavin craned himself over to find the source. It was his phone, half concealed under a pile of clothes. Making a concerted effort not to tip over, he deftly retrieved the device. The exertion caused his jeans to tense, which made him painfully aware that he was still dressed from the night before.

After wiping a film of sweat from his brow, he fumbled dozily with the screen, struggling with the passcode. The fact it had gone off at all meant it was charged - which was fortunate. Less fortunate was the news that illuminated his screen.

It was 11:43am.

Gavin shot up but immediately regretted it - as a sudden wave of nausea hit him. With his head flopped on the pillow, he attempted to steel himself with a long, laboured breath. The man recalled very little of the night before, but if his queasy delirium was anything to go by, he'd certainly had a good time. As such, he tried not to dwell on the guilt of missing yet another morning run. Or failing to feed his cat at a reasonable hour.

With the screaming match outside complete, Gavin allowed his wrist to go limp, and his phone dropped to his chest with a dull thud. He entertained the idea of trying to sleep just a bit longer. At least until the worst of his dizziness had subsided.

A new notification sent unpleasant vibrations shooting through his sternum. He tried to ignore the wayward shake, but the sensations kept coming. Glowering at the offending device, he frustratedly turned it over and found a new series of messages that had joined the procession of unread notifications:

Actually Decent (9)

[11:45 am] Gav

[11:45 am] hellooooo

[11:45 am] u alive?

[11:46 am] text me back

After another shaky attempt, the man succeeded in unlocking his phone. While he'd intended on responding to Tina, if only to appease her demand, he was promptly derailed. He stared frozen at the screen as his heart pumped ferociously.

Robo Prick

[2:55am] u have a nice smile. and a nice ass.

He didn't read anything else, with his eyes focused despairingly on that one damning passage. Mortified beyond belief, he began to rack his brain on how to salvage the situation. Perhaps he could convince the android that it had been a joke. Or claim that the message had been intended for someone else -

Like Hell. Who else could it have been for?

Holding his breath, he prepared himself for some requisite damage control. That was when he noticed the word at the beginning of the message. One that single-handedly preserved his dignity:

(Draft)

"Thank fuck”, Gavin whispered, releasing the breath that he had been holding. He feverishly deleted the message before it could yield any consequence.

With the desire to release his mounting tension (and to expunge the sweat soaking his clothes), Gavin concluded it was time for a shower. Phone in hand, he hoisted himself from his bed and plodded his way out of the bedroom. Tiffany, who had been resting on the sofa, glared at his intrusion. She sprung herself from the cushions and haughtily marched to the kitchen. A series of long, demanding yowls followed.

"Cool your tits…" He pleaded, holding his head "I'll feed ya soon. Promise."

Securing himself in his bathroom, the man stripped himself of his clothes, to which a pungent odour abruptly followed. It was the penultimate blend of poor life choices. A mixture of booze, sweat and cigarettes. Leaning over his bath to adjust the faucet, a lukewarm flow trickled pitifully from the fixture above. Slipping from his boxers, he was about to climb in when a vibration rattled the sink.

He groaned. It was probably Tina again.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Gavin scrolled through his notifications. He did owe his friend some form of response. After all, if it wasn't for her, he probably would have spent the night in a bush.

Actually Decent

You:

still alive

didnt choke on my puke

thanks

It wasn't until Gavin replied that he realised the most recent notification had not, in fact, been from Tina. There was a newcomer to his inbox, and given the near miss earlier, it was probably the last person he wanted to hear from:

Robo-Prick

[11:57 am] Detective Reed. I have made a breakthrough in the case. Please let me know when you have received this message so we can discuss things further - Model RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 – 87.

Gavin grimaced at the needless formality, setting the phone back on the sink without any intention of replying. That was until another, more pressing, message popped up on the thread.

Robo-Prick (2)

[11:58 am] I would like to meet in person to discuss this, should you be available. Please let me know - Model RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 – 87.

"Son of a bitch”, He cursed under his breath, realising that Nines was not about to let this go.

You:

its my day off nines. cant it wait until monday?

also you don't need to sign your messages. i know who you are, jackass.

Robo-Prick:

You will want to hear this. I assure you, I won't take up much of your time.

I am messaging you from my internal hub. I will try deactivating the signature, but I cannot guarantee success.

You:

those last two messages didnt have signatures.

you know what you're doing. stop fucking with me.

Robo-Prick: It would appear I have succeeded. How fortunate.

Gavin slammed the phone down, in no mood to indulge his partner further. He had gotten his message across, and that was more than enough.

Retrieving a nearby bottle of shower gel, he finally moved into the shower. Lathering himself from head to toe, he allowed the water to do the rest. As bubbles and suds trickled from his skin, he was lulled by the soft dripping of water - to which he closed his eyes. Not ready to face the burden of his neglected responsibilities, Gavin stood there, enjoying the peace, until the water turned cold.

Turning off the faucet and leaving the bath, he grabbed a towel from a nearby rack and patted himself dry. Towel slung loosely around his waist, He moved to the next pitstop in his hungover journey.

In the kitchen, Tiffany was sat by her food bowl, glaring into it apprehensively. Gavin opened the cat food cupboard and was struck by another unpleasant violent headrush. The pain and dizziness overwhelmed him as he struggled to maintain stability.

"Goddammit."

Gavin closed his eyes, desperate to quell the unpleasant rocking. The cat food was forgotten, his mind preoccupied with a new, more pressing objective. Finding some painkillers. Shambling his way through his cabinets, he grappled with a myriad of cans and noodle packets - but failed to find his desired relief. Grunting frustratedly, he leant his head against the cabinet door, hoping the action may alleviate some pressure from his aching skull.

Not helping matters was the sound of light but incessant tapping on his kitchen window.

He reasoned it must be pigeons. They could often be found skulking around on the building's fire escape. Just as he was about to shoo them away, his eyes caught a glimpse of something else. A tall, looming figure on his balcony. Staring in with piercing grey eyes.

"What the fuck -" the detective yelped, reaching instinctively for a gun that wasn't holstered. With footing lost, he tumbled backwards and was stopped by the fold-out table propped against the wall. As he came down from the sudden shock of adrenaline, his eyes started to focus on his would-be intruder. As the features came together, he felt relief - as well as a strong sense of resentment.

Nines tapped the glass once again before gesturing to the balcony door. Its lips were moving, but no words could be heard through the thick glazing of the windows. With flustered exacerbation, Gavin pushed himself away from his plastic support. Unlocking the balcony door, he violently swung it open.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Good afternoon, Detective", Nines responded with flawless composure. It maintained an invasive level of eye contact - much to Gavin's visible displeasure - when its gaze began to trail downwards. Its lip twitched, and its expression shifted between intrigue and amusement. "You are looking well."

"No, seriously, what are you doing?" Gavin repeated. The cold breeze outside assaulted his skin, and he tried to ward off his shivers with a gentle shuffle of his feet. "If this is about work, I swear to god, I'm pushing you off this building. Because I already said no. I don't want to hear it."

"I never received a 'no'", Nines corrected. "You asked if it could wait until Monday. I concluded that it could not - and informed you as such. Did you not receive my message?"

"I stopped reading your messages, dipshit. They were pissing me off -

Why didn't you knock on my door? Instead of scaling the fire escape like a goddamn lunatic?"

"I tried the door, but you were not answering."

"I was in the fucking shower." The detective leant against the doorframe, exhaling heavily. "You could have waited a minute."

"I waited several minutes", Nines retorted, calmly straightening its back. "Nonetheless, now that I am here, you may as well let me inside."

"Are you -" Gavin cut himself off, sighing frustratedly. "Another Human Tip: You can't just show up at somebody's house without their permission. For all you know, I might have been busy. Like, I dunno, cranking one out. You really want to walk in on that?"

Nines looked on with a blank expression, to which Gavin immediately regretted his words. Of course, it would be incapable of grappling with such a fundamentally 'human' concept. He was doubtful the machine had ever experienced anything akin to lust or desire, let alone the need for release -

"I am perfectly aware of human fondness for self-stimulation" The android looked him up and down again before subtly tilting its head. "Truthfully, there are less appealing things I can think of seeing."

It was Gavin's turn to stall.

Of Nines' various tricks and skills, catching him by surprise was undoubtedly one of them . If it wasn't for the quintessentially 'robotic' way with which it had phrased the statement, he might have mistaken the words for some surreal attempt at flirting.

While it sought to portray an air of disinterest, there was something akin to a self-aware glimmer in Nines' eyes. Like it knew precisely what it was doing. As the detective had effectively admitted to his own pent-up sexual frustrations, he could only assume that his partner was now seeking to exploit this. Yet another excuse to exert 'superiority'.

"I'll let you in -" Gavin began, readjusting his towel in hidden embarrassment "- but only because I don't want my neighbours to think I'm being robbed."

With a palpable lack of enthusiasm, he led Nines into his home. It settled itself on a nearby chair, waiting patiently. Tiffany grew increasingly vocal in her demands to be fed, and Gavin was ready to comply. He returned to the counter, tearing the corner of the abandoned food pouch and immediately heaved at the putrid smell.

"Are you alright, Detective?" Nines asked, observing from the sidelines.

"Fuck off."

"I would be happy to offer my assistance."

"I said fuck off ", He set Tiffany's food bowl on the side, grimacing as he attempted to squeeze the contents from the pouch. The texture stopped him as he heaved again, more violently, and dropped the packaging onto the counter.

At this point, Tiffany had lost patience, deciding to stroll around the kitchen. Gavin knew that one of her favourite spots was under the folded table. Where Nines was currently sitting. The flick of a tail caught his attention, and he turned around to see his partner staring intently. Its hands remained balled into fists until a couple of fingers started to release. Extending down, the android attempted to brush the top of her fur.

"Don't", Gavin warned. "I've already told you. If you touch her, she'll -"

A hand ran across Tiffany's back, and she let out a rumbling purr. No bites or scratches were exchanged, nor was Thirium shed on the kitchen floor. Both feline and machine looked equally pleased, while Gavin was caught between utter bewilderment and betrayal.

You fluffy traitor.

Nines looked up, smiling gently. "It would appear your cat likes me, Detective Reed."

We'll see about that.

After successfully depositing the food, Gavin set the bowl on the floor, and Tiffany quickly noticed. With perked eyes, she deserted her new friend without hesitation. He couldn't help but chuckle at how the Nines' expression immediately withered.

"That's cats for you," He said, offering a shrug of commiseration. "Fickle bastards."

With his task complete, the man was keen to take a rest. Even if 'rest' meant sitting with Nines and listening to its stilted ramblings. He was about to do so when his headache halted him once again. His vision lost focus and filled with spots as he clung to the counter's edge. The pain had grown impossible to ignore, and his nausea had only worsened. Feeling sorry for himself, he leant over his sink and groaned.

"You appear to be in physical distress", Nines said. "Are you in pain?"

"I'm hungover, dipshit."

Nines nodded its head, showing that it understood, before gesturing to the cabinet above the bedraggled man. "Painkillers are on the top shelf. Behind the mugs."

Gavin shot it a disparaging look. Having found nothing on the shelf above, he could only assume that the android enjoyed watching him struggle. "You got x-ray vision?"

"Not as such. It is a simple observation."

Despite reservations, Gavin was reaching a physical breaking point. He would do just about anything to quell the pressure in his head. Even if it meant complying with his know-it-all work partner.

As he moved the mugs aside, he was greeted with one of his all-time favourites. It was adorned in smileys, with 'No. 1 Cat Mom' written in bold, blocky letters. It had been a gift from Tina, made during a pottery class. While the handle was lopsided and the paint was splotched, Gavin appreciated it greatly. Although he would deny this if questioned.

The painkillers were tucked away in the left-hand corner of the shelf, just as Nines promised. Convinced that the bottle had not been visible from its current position, he shot it an accusing look. "How did you know this was here?"

"I noticed it earlier when you were searching your cabinets. I'm surprised you didn't as well."

"Oh, what, when you were creeping through my window?" Gavin removed the cap from the painkillers and poured himself a glass of water. "Didn't think 'Peeping Tom' was one of your features."

Nines did not appreciate the suggestion. Its eyes darted away defensively, and its complexion darkened, tinged with blue. "Please do not flatter yourself. I would have liked to have made my presence known sooner, but I was determining the most opportune time. I did not wish to scare you."

"Well, that was a bust - because you scared the shit out of me."

Its LED started to blink, flickering red before returning to normal. "I apologise."

At that moment, Gavin saw something deeply resemblant to the android's predecessor. Unlike Connor, however, the sharpness of Nines' features did not lend themselves well to sympathetic softness. Its eyes were too intense to be large or pleading, and its jaw remained tensed in hidden defiance.

"Sorry, Nines, but the 'kicked puppy' look really doesn't work for you", He quipped, rolling his eyes. "Give it a rest. You look constipated."

Nines' expression returned to normal, betraying no hint of the vulnerability it had shown just seconds prior.

"Look, as disappointing as this might be, towel time is over. I'm freezing my balls off" Gavin rubbed his hands, struggling with the chill that had lingered from the opened balcony. "While I'm gone, don't touch anything. Including my cat. Got it?"

Ultimately, Gavin was forced to leave Nines unattended longer than desired. It was a challenge to find anything resembling clean clothes in the steaming trash heap he called his bedroom. In the end, a 'sniff test' guided him through, and he dressed himself in lounge shorts and a faded t-shirt. The sooner he got Nines out of his apartment, the sooner he could do something productive - like laundry.

As he returned to the kitchen, there was a strong, earthy aroma wafting from the doorway. Clearly, Nines had decided to ignore his simple request. Gavin stomped into the room with a deep scowl marring his features. "What part of 'don't touch anything' did you not understand?"

Nines looked up from his coffee machine with a steaming mug in hand. "I realise that my intrusion today was somewhat callous. Given your fondness for caffeinated drinks, I thought making one would show appreciation for how you didn't turn me away."

Gavin groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was really starting to struggle with his partner's constant mood swings. "Last week, you would have fed me to lions if it got you a lead, and now you're making me coffee. Has Connor been giving you more of your kiss-ass lessons?"

"...While I was bestowed with improved skills in deduction and combat, RK800 possesses a more advanced social protocol. I have made it clear that I have no interest in adjusting my behaviour. Nonetheless, he has provided some…guidance on how I may improve my working relationships."

While keeping his guard up, Gavin accepted the android's peace offering. Receiving the mug, he secretly indulged in its inviting heat and smell. "Provided this coffee doesn't taste like shit, you can tell him they're working."

They sat together at the table, and Gavin propped his elbow up, resting his head on his palm. "You've kept me in suspense long enough. So, what was this massive breakthrough that couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?"

Nines perked up, seeming pleased that its partner was no longer stalling things. Reaching into its CyberLife jacket, it pulled out a folded piece of paper and set it on the table. It had started to speak before the detective could ask what it was. "Do you recall when I scanned Mr Scott's phone? Back at the electronics store?"

Gavin snorted, fondly recalling the mortified look on Mikey's large, pug-like face. "I remember that you caught him watching porn."

"I wouldn't have said that the material had constituted pornography. It appeared to be a compilation video of women in bikinis - this was not the only thing I discovered." Nines tapped the paper's surface, inviting his partner to take a look. "My scan revealed that Mr Scott had been engaging in several concerning online activities. I have since done some further research and printed a screenshot for reference."

Unfurling the paper, Gavin wasn't entirely sure what to expect. However, he was almost disappointed when he was finally about to take a look. It seemed pretty tame. A text-based message board spouting aggressive anti-android sentiments. While littered with slurs and grammatical errors, the vast sum of the posts could be surmised as rehashes of the same tired arguments. How androids were the downfall of society and needed to be destroyed.

"Look, I'm not saying this stuff is nice, Nines - but it really isn't that bad." Gavin looked up from the paper, raising his eyebrows. "Besides, what's it got to do with the case?"

Nines met his doubt with stern insistence, motioning its hand, "Turn the page."

Gavin did as instructed - and then, he saw it. A profoundly disturbing and sinister twist to an otherwise innocuous forum thread. There were dozens of photos of dismantled - or otherwise mutilated - androids. He recognised many images from their own criminal database. Some were photos that had been released to the press, while others were not.

Unsurprisingly, the responses to these images were gleefully morbid. Celebrating the senseless brutality of the acts that had been committed.

** [NSFW] Robot slut gets skull bashed in with a brick**

> lol. serves it right. plastic whore.

>> This one is pretty good, but it would be better if you could see its face. I love it when they cry.

>>> Very nice. Saving this for later.

The comments only got worse, devolving into increasingly violent and sexual depravity. It left a bitter taste in Gavin's mouth, and he had to stop reading.

"This one is ours. The MJ100."

"They're all ours, Detective", Nines said gravely. "The HR400 is featured too, as well as all other crimes that could be linked with our investigation -

This is more than just an innocuous hate forum. It is an organised group operating outside of Detroit. Most, if not all, of these pictures depict locally-based crimes. There are also discussions alluding to local meet-ups and events."

Gavin looked down at the page, squinting in confusion. "...I don't see anything like that."

"Such posts appear to be procedurally deleted. No doubt for security reasons" Nines also glanced down at the paper before pointing its finger to a specific exchange. "Some evidence remains, however. Look here":

> bacon at cedars + me. organic and synth

Gavin took a moment to process the words when his eyes blew wide in realisation. Cedars Motel and Mikey's Electronics. From this, there were no points for guessing who 'bacon' might be.

>> What did they want?

>>> Tlla ha JSOX. ZS J

"Meet at CLHQ. SL C" Nines translated, barely sparing a glance from the paper. "It is a code within a code. Arrangements to meet in person."

"Son of a bitch”, The detective hissed, half-standing up from his chair. "Were you able to find any private chat logs? Or trace where these messages came from?"

"Unfortunately not", It lamented. "The forum appears to operate on a largely anonymous basis. Private chats are unavailable, and while usernames can be edited, most appear procedurally generated. Whoever this individual is, they have been careful to cover their tracks. I was unable to pinpoint their location."

"That fucker Mikey has a lot to answer for" Gavin was growing increasingly heated, clutching the end of the table. "I say we go back down there and beat it out of him."

"Tempting as that may be, I suggest we discuss matters with Captain Fowler first. Mr Scott is hiding something, and I believe a private interrogation may prove invaluable."

"Gotta admit Nines. You didn't disappoint. This is a solid fucking lead. Nice, uh - ", Gavin stalled, his words cut off by an unpleasant heat rising in his throat. He held his breath, willing away the inevitable, but with little success. "I'm gonna be sick."

Nines stood up. Judging by its face, it was less than enamoured by the prospect of vomit. Smoothing out the wrinkles in its dress pants, it gave him a curt nod. "I'll see myself out. Thank you for your time, Detective. I trust you will be well enough to join me tomorrow."

Gavin was unable to respond, making a dash for the bathroom, hand clutched to his mouth.

#dbh #dbh gavin #dbh nines #reed900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #g9 #dbh gavin reed #gavin x rk900

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minuy600 · 26 days

Text

The Ported Arcade Games of 1981 #0: 1980 Games I Missed

Back to the grind it is. Firstly, let's go over some stuff that has happened in these 4 months of complacency.

First things first; I've changed the format for these reviews again. There'll still be a 40 point scale of rating things, because I enjoy being consistent, however everything around it will be changed to something more... manageable for me. You'll see, I don't think there's a point in a lengthy explanation.

Secondly, I feel baaaad for the games I have to skip because it's multiplayer-only, or didn't get an accurate port in a game I have the means of owning. So i'll give 'em a mention, even if I won't go into detail about them, let alone grade them. Cool? Cool. Let's get this started then. Here's a game that actually got added to Arcade Archives during my LEGO-riddled hiatus...

Tank Battalion

Other name(s): タンクバタリアン (JP name) Developer: Namco Publisher: Namco (JP), GamePlan (US) Release date: October 1980 (JP) What did I play it on?: Arcade Archives on Switch What's the game about?: You're a tank fighting off other tanks by shooting bullets at each other. There's 20 of those per stage, and they alternate between hunting you down or your base (oddly shaped like an eagle). If you get hit too many times or your base gets destroyed, that's game over. What's the game look like?:

What's the sound like?: Rumblings of your tank, booming noises when you shoot and explode tanks. The occasional beep happens when you put in credit or gain an extra life. What's new about this one?: Most notably, any shot that hits a brick wall will break it bit by bit. Allows for a bit more strategy as you could carve out a shortcut. These walls are absent in every 3rd stage, though, so strategy flies out the window there for the most part. How much singleplayer content is there?: There's no real limit to how long you could keep playing, but aside from, oddly, the 22nd stage, there are no new layouts after the 8th. How far did I get?: I got to the 6th stage and felt verrrry satisfied to leave it there. I kinda feel that with enough luck, I could improve to the 8th eventually. That's my definitive goal, reaching stage 22 is nigh on impossible. Any multiplayer?: Errr, does alternating turns count? Quick thoughts: This feels almost laughably out of place when put alongside Namco's other 1980 contributions from the latter half of 1980. Still uses the Warp & Warp engine and it shows. Minor stage altering aside, which IS neat, this is another game where you feel like it left zero footprint. Graphics: Yyyyyeah. Even with the flat colors and basic as hell title screen, the game still appears to struggle to run with the admittedly fair amount of tanks on screen. I would've forgiven it a year ago, but now? Not when Pac-Man and Rally-X are around, sorry. (4/10) Sound: Another sign that this is a polished up geriatric, these noises are very close to the ones i've heard in Navarone and Cutie Q. I will admit though! I actually think the explosions are nice and impactful. Then again, most games of this era had that down pat. Could do without the beeps, but overall it's still decent. (6/10) Fun Factor: Unfortunately, the whole 'game struggling to run' thing makes this a hard game to salvage. It makes the controls way too... chunky, with the tanks moving in blocks rather than being smooth. The whole luck factor is also quite stupid, the tanks seem to do whatever they want in this one, even if WHERE they show up is consistent. It's a shame cuz I do feel there was potential to make it more manageable and consistently enjoyable... At least Battle City exists. (4/10) Longevity: It says a lot I managed 12th plays on the Hi Score ranking by only reaching stage 6. If your idea of fun is playing through 12 identical levels to get a single new layout, do I have the game for you. Still, getting to stage number 8 in itself is a big feat and despite how unfair it can be, it's still reasonably addicting. (6/10)

Conclusion: It's a cute attempt to innovate with outdated hardware. I don't think they succeeded due to how it plays like a creaky war veteran. Namco's talent made it not awful, but they've done a lot better before.

Onto a game that pretty much made me debate if it was even worth playing stuff outside of Arcade Archives...

Defender

Other name(s): ディフェンダー (JP name) Developer: Williams Electronics Publisher: Williams Electronics (EU/US), Taito (JP) Release date: December 1980 (EU, presumably) What did I play it on?: Midway Arcade Origins on Xbox 360 (played on Series S)

What's the game about?: You're a spaceship trying to avoid aliens from taking over the planet. They come in all shapes and sizes, first there's just some green alien dudes (called 'Landers') trying to snatch the 10 humans away by turning them into far more agressive mutants. Following that, you also get electric... squares that leave behind hurtful static and electric... pulses that turn into multiple small red particles. Gotta shoot those as well. Failing to protect the humans causes the planet to be destroyed and you're left fighting mutants in space. Yikes. At least you got an Asteroids-esque hyperspace button and screen-clearing smart bombs to delay the inevitable. What's the game look like?:

What's the sound like?: All kinds of weird alien bleep bloops dominate as you shoot your Atari 2600 laser. The humans that cry for help sound like squealing rubber. What's new about this one?: This game more or less created the horizontally scrolling shooter genre. The whole mutant thing is also brand new, and I don't think i've seen screen-clearing weapons used to this degree before. Same with the degree of variety in enemy patterns and how cleverly they've been interwoven as they've been given different 'tasks' of sorts. The lander chases the humans, the rest chase YOU. Also, uhhh... this is the first video game by Williams Electronics? Damn, that's one way to start. How much singleplayer content is there?: This took me ages to figure out cuz Midway Arcade Origins put me on the wrong foot, but it APPEARS that the difficulty peaks at stage 5. You don't get increased score multipliers after that, so... How far did I get?: I did get to that point when I gave myself 9 lives and 9 smart bombs, though that's hardly an achievement in my eyes. On the default setting (3 lives & smart bombs), I got to the third stage, which is a decent feat in itself as it propelled me up the online rankings. This game is brutal. Any multiplayer?: Alternating turns, again. Gonna be a bit before co-op becomes much more mainstream. Quick thoughts: Say hello to the game that brutalised my motivation to keep going. A very vague release date (i'm still not sure if I did it right), it's extreme difficulty and my own doubts on whether to cover games rereleased on Xbox made it the ideal cocktail for my ADHD brain to pretty much give up for a while. Upon revisiting though... Eh, although I don't think it'll ever be my favorite, I can appreciate it's huge influence on the shooter genre. Plus, if reaching the 3rd flipping stage is a serious achievement from what I can tell, I don't feel nearly as bad about my supposedly low skill level. This is another game i'll give a hat tilt. Graphics: Probably, PROBABLY the best looking space shooter thus far. I don't know for sure. But I mean, horizontal scrolling as smooth as this along with all the massive explosions that happen when things die, that's extremely impressive. Definitely makes it feel fairly modern, futuristic even. I'm surprised it is as much as a leap upwards as it is. Only Rally-X really comes close with being as advanced as this sucker. (9/10) Sound: Can get a bit overwhelming at times, all the shooting combined with the weird otherworldly noises, it's a bit much. Though nobody can deny that they sound COOL as hell on first impression. Very sci-fi. I'll let the incorporation of some 2600 noises pass. (7/10) Fun Factor: Depends on what you wanna get out of it. If you like games that will absolutely kick your ass with the smallest error and makes you feel extra guilty with every astronaut lost, this is a gaming HEAVEN for late 1980. I can't say i'm part of that crowd, but the more time I put into it, the less gruelling it becomes. There's only 2 things reeeally bothering me. You frequently have to be too precise with your movement to stick a shot or just straight up not die for one. The amount of buttons and therefore tactics on display, that's also a bit too much. Found myself frequently overwhelmed by this one, i'm sorry. If you're a gaming nut who doesn't mind an overload of spectacle and can deal with extra precise movements, then you can add two points to the score next to this sentence. (6/10) Longevity: Someone played one round of this game for 21 and a half hours straight. Huh. Reaching stage 6 will take you a WHILE, but at least it's a bit more based around skill rather than luck this time. There's people that only leave one astronaut alive or straight up lets them all die and focus on the shooting action, and manage to survive for a long while despite that. Seems like I may have to try that too... Also glitches. Lotsa glitches to extend playtime. Those are always a hoot. (8/10)

Conclusion in 3 sentences: My love-hate senses are tingling with this one. It's not a game for the faint of heart, but if you put your mind to it and grind it out, it can be a magical experience. Especially for the time.

The games that couldn't:

All of these are included on one of the Taito Legends games on PS2. The first game is outta reach entirely, while the second one is doable, just a bit too expensive to be worthwhile right now. I MIGHT come back to the balloon duology later. Don't count on it though.

Phoenix (Taito): Shame I couldn't give this one a go. This was THE game to bring boss battles into the mainstream. Was curious to see how well it'd fare compared to the seemingly very intricate way Sasuke vs. Commander did it. From first impression, it seems a bit less deep, though on it's own, it's still a fun spin on the ol' Space Invader formula.

Balloon Bomber (Taito): A hilariously out-of-tune jingle plays as you shoot single-colored balloons with bombs attached to them. ...Wait, did Pyoro on WarioWare copy the concept of destructible land from this game? Whaaaa?

Crazy Balloon (Taito): The balloon of Balloon Bomber fame must now traverse dangerous obstacle courses by floating around. Crrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaazy.

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If there's any feedback you wanna give on this new format, be sure to let me know! We'll be heading into 1981 next time. For realsies.

#minuy600 #review #sona #arcade #taito #williams electronics #namco #tank battalion #defender #retro gaming #1980 #phoenix #crazy balloon #balloon bomber

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