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duuhrayliegh · 1 month

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equal and opposite (consequences, pt. 2)

a/n: first of all, yall really showed out with the comments and reblogs on the first part of this so THANK YOU SO MUCH like i haven't written anything that i felt was good in months so to have such an overwhelmingly positive response to that post felt amazing!!!!

if you haven’t read part one, i highly recommend checking that out first!!!!

anyway, i hadn't originally intended for this to go anywhere else, but as i've said before bartender!bucky & peanut just wouldn't go away so here we are!!! i hope this lives up to the expectations and if we want more PLEASE LET ME KNOW I LIVE TO PLEASE

“Can you please just sit down? I don’t understand what’s happening to us!”

“That’s the problem!”

He throws his hands above his head out of exasperation. They land on his hips as their new resting place and he levels you with a frustrated glare. A glare. Apparently, you’re not worth the energy it takes to filter the emotions from his tone or expressions. That luxury must be saved for his plethora of mistresses.

“You don’t understand me anymore!”

“Understand you?”

Going home has become harder and harder. Despite desperately wanting to fix your marriage, it seems your efforts might have been in vain. No matter how hard you try, your husband has made every effort to avoid having a real conversation with you. To say you’re at your wit's end would be generous.

“Yes! Coming home to you is too stressful for me. I’m in the office all week and then I come home to a wife who doesn’t put in any effort to make herself desirable for me.”

Your jaw dropped, as did the wooden spoon in your hand. His words float through your head on repeat. That voice you used to love, the same voice that vowed to always love and cherish you in his wedding vows. Now, you’re cooking for a man you don’t know.

“Then why stay with me? If I’m so clearly not what you want, why stay?”

There’s a drawn out silence that is accompanied by softly heaving breaths and the simmering pot of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“You’re what I want in a wife. You just don’t understand my needs in the way that Shelia does.”

Your blood boils. Shelia—the latest girlfriend in a string of girlfriends. How dare he? You turn to the stove and begin clicking everything off. You fume while gathering your purse and keys to a home that you no longer feel welcome in.

“This is why I didn’t want to get into this. You’re too emotional and I knew you’d play the victim whenever I’m suffering too!”

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage because you’ll only hurt yourself more. Instead, you pry the door open and slam it shut before trekking off down the hallway.

You don’t have a plan, all you know is that you need to get out. You’re lucky that you were wearing a hoodie and jeans whenever you started getting into it with John. It’s not the first time that you had to get out, so you’ve learned over the past few months.

Wind whips against your cheeks when you exit your apartment building. You pull your hood over your head and start walking aimlessly. You reach for your phone and dial the first number you think of.

You never stop walking, street lamps lighting the sidewalk with a pale yellow light. There’s an irritating sting starting behind your eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t have to listen to the trilling of the phone line for long before it’s interrupted.

“Commando’s. How can I help you?”

The music in the bar is loud enough that you can clearly make out Steve’s divorced dad rock playlist. A rush of relief shoots down your spine and you breathe a sigh while enjoying the subtle ambiance through your phone speaker.

“Hello?”

It’s only then that you realize you’ve been on the phone for the past thirty seconds without saying anything.

“Bucky?”

“Peanut?”

“Hi, uh--I didn't have your number and I didn't know who else to call."

"Hang on, Peanut. I'm here, hang on." Suddenly the music is reduced to a bouncing bass line. "Are you okay?"

You continue walking, breathing in the stale air of the city as you debate your answer. For the most part, sure, you're okay. You’re not physically harmed in any way, just a deep emotional hurt that persists through the stark cold of the air around you. But if someone looked twice, or you spend more than half a second around someone you're comfortable with, that answer wouldn’t hold water.

"The wheels, Peanut, I can hear them. I need you to answer me. Are you okay?"

Bucky's voice is soft and grounding. Your heartbeat starts to match the steady baseline of the bar's music.

"I'm okay?"

Bucky's soft laugh echoes through the phone speaker, "That sounded like a question more than an answer, Peanut." He then pauses and sighs, "What did he do now?"

You suck in a sharp breath, debating on how to answer his question. The lead weight that had previously settled in your stomach begins to lessen as you hear Bucky’s voice.

On the one hand, Bucky has become the person you feel the most comfortable with. You don't have anyone close to you in the city because you moved out here to support John's career. Your family is on the other side of the country, and it's not like you've had a whole lot of time to build a support system here.

On the other, Bucky didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for a broken wife that isn't even his! You have no connection to him outside of becoming a regular at his bar and forming a possibly misguided attraction.

“Peanut? Come on back to me."

“Sorry, Buck. I just—“ you trail off, not entirely sure how to handle yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, Peanut Butter.” You laugh softly at the lengthier version of your nickname while he continues talking. “Look, how about we meet somewhere so we can talk?”

“Aren’t you working tonight though? I can just come to the bar.”

No matter how appealing Bucky’s offer is, you don’t want him to risk his livelihood for you. You aren’t worth that, not really.

“Not anymore, Pea. You’re more important to me. The guys here can handle the bar while I leave to take care of my Ps and Qs.”

You giggle again, unsure of where he comes up with these iterations.

“There she is.”

The words are murmured low, as if he was just speaking to himself. As if it’s a remark not meant for public consumption, just a murmur of his adoration.

“There’s a little hole in the wall on 115th and North. It’s called Winnie’s. Meet me there and you can talk for however long they’re serving coffee.”

"Don't diners always serve coffee?"

"They sure do. And Winnie's is a 24-hour diner. Which means," There's a loud shuffle on his end of the phone and then his voice cuts through. "you can talk to me for as long as you want, Peanut."

"Thank you, Bucky." You aren't as loud as you meant to be, but you know he hears you when he hums before you end the call.

Shoving the phone in the pocket of your jacket, you search for street signs.

And now you stand in front of Winnie's, a sixties diner straight off a movie set. Bright neon illuminates the street below, bathing you in a turquoise light that you're sure is not at all flattering. The front door is encased in chrome and vinyl covers the seating throughout the restaurant.

You push through the front doors and spy a large jukebox on the left side of the building. There's no host stand, so you peer around the seats in search of your bartender.

"Welcome to Winnie's. hun! Just take a seat, we'll be right with ya!"

An older woman yells from behind the bar top. Her graying hair is pulled into a neat bun at the base of her neck and you're just about to read her nametag when you hear a familiar voice.

"Peanut! This-a-way!" Bucky stands from a booth in the corner, grabbing your attention and everyone else in the restaurant.

A bright blush colors your cheeks as you make your way to his booth in the corner. The linoleum floor of the diner becomes increasingly interesting the closer you find yourself to Bucky. To be completely truthful, you've never seen Bucky outside of the bar, so this is a jarring, but welcome experience.

He's still wearing those annoyingly large boots and tight white shirt that never fails to distract you when you're sitting on the twirly bar stools. His metal arm is on full display, the gold in-lay catching the light as he twists a straw wrapper into a tight spiral.

Bucky stands to greet you once you reach the booth, leaning toward you and wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your breath catches at his sudden body heat, but you waste no time in curling your arms around his torso.

"This might be the dumbest and most obvious question, but," he pulls back from the hug and gestures toward the seat across from him, "how’re you doing?"

A stifled laugh escapes as you settle into the worn vinyl seat. Instead of answering, you pull a less-than-convincing smile that you know Bucky can see right through. Evidenced by the fact that he laughs sarcastically at the look of it.

"Yeah, thought as much."

"It's just all becoming too much, I think."

An older woman brings two coffee mugs to the table, gripping a half-full coffee pot in her other hand. You stop yourself before you divulge anything in the presence of strangers. You don't need to burden another random stranger with your problems, Bucky is more than enough.

“Who's your friend, Jamie?"

Bucky smiles while introducing you to the woman. He extends the same courtesy to you, placing the name of the woman in front of you.

"Peanut, this is Winnie. She's the owner and operator of Winnie's diner."

Bucky pours a healthy dose of sugar into your coffee mug and then drops a spoon into it before pushing it across to you. You're in the middle of taking a large sip of the hot drink when Bucky continues talking.

"She's also my mother."

“Oh!"

He laughs as you sputter, completely phased by his nonchalance about introducing you to his mother. To be fair, you don’t really know Bucky outside of him being a great listener and mixologist. Winnie laughs and talks with the both of you before politely excusing herself to take care of her other customers.

“Your mother?”

Bucky leans forward and locks eyes with you.

“I’m so sorry. She wasn’t meant to be working today, but you would have met her one way or another.”

There he goes again, that dizzying nonchalance that bleeds into every word he speaks. Your mouth opens to speak, but you're still in a state of stunned that has you stumbling on your words.

"I'm just kidding, Nutter Butter." Bucky laughs and you hum while picking at your cuticles.

"Sorry, just took me by surprise."

"Clearly."

Bucky glances at your hands that are resting on the table and shifts around his side of the booth. There's a brief moment of silence as you mull over what Winnie has said.

"Did she call you 'Jamie'?"

Bucky lets out a loud laugh. One of those laughs that sounds like the feeling snuck up on everyone, including the person laughing.

"That's what you focused on, Peanut?"

You're smiling more in the past five minutes with Bucky than you have in the past five months with John. Bucky stops shuffling and then removes his coffee cup from the saucer it sits on. He slides the tiny plate toward you as you talk.

"Thank you for meeting me, Buck. Like I said, I think I'm just getting too tired of his bullshit. He really came at me today with the attitude that this is all my fault." Bucky nods as you continue speaking, "As if I'm the one who asked for an open marriage."

Bucky reveals a Ziplock bag and dumps the contents of it into the saucer in front of you. You're just about to start a rant when he nudges a salty shell into your hands. You glance down for half a second before getting the ball rolling.

"John asked for this! He's the one that's causing all this... this turmoil in our relationship. I haven't gone on a single date! I haven't caused a single issue. All I've been trying to do is understand things from his point of view, but he won't even give me the time of day to do that. I can't even suggest something like marriage counseling because he runs out the door the second he sees me enter a goddamn room."

You stop to take another long sip of your coffee while Bucky sits back and lets you rant at him across from yet another counter. You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, clearly holding back from saying something.

"I don't even know what to do anymore!" You huff and shove your hair over your shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to just be here for you?"

"I want you to be you."

"Okay." Bucky nods, you crack open yet another peanut and place the shell on a napkin next to the plate. "I think you should start considering divorcing ol' Johnny boy."

"I can't do that."

Your response is immediate. Too quick to be healthy really. The shell of the peanut cracks between your fingers, revealing the salty perfection inside.

"Alright, divorce is off the table. How do you feel about separation?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It goes against everything I was raised to believe. I was brought up under the idea that the person you marry is the person you stick next to no matter what."

"Even when that person isn't extending the same courtesy?"

"I just--" You sniffle, peeling open yet another peanut. "I just want to be loved, Bucky. I don't understand what I did to make him look for love and affection from someone other than me."

Bucky reaches across the table and covers your hand with his, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles soothingly. You found yourself in this same position three months ago. It was when Bucky first told you of his interest in dating you.

To be perfectly honest, you were about two slow blinks away from folding into his arms then. Nothing's changed. You're still half a second from completely melting for the man before you, but you can't get over the fact that you're married.

"Peanut, you may never understand his reasoning. Especially when he won't sit down and explain anything to you. I think you should do what's in your best interest. If you don't want to divorce or separate, then you need to surround yourself with people who will give you that love and affection that you need."

A soft lull coats the pair of you and you allow your eyes to lock with Bucky's. What you find there shocks you.

Pity is something that you never, ever want to experience, but with a shitty situation like your marriage, you've come to expect it. Every time you glance in a mirror or catch your reflection in a store window, or even a puddle of water, you find your own eyes layered with that sickening sadness that accompanies self-pity.

However, in Bucky's clear blue eyes, you find nothing but determination. Determination for what is the question you're now faced with. In all reality, Bucky has no dog in this fight. He has no reason to be helping you the way that he has. Bucky's expressed interest in you, sure, but that doesn't constitute going to the lengths that he does.

"I just want you to be happy."

"Do you think you could make me happy?"

"Absolutely."

You nod while popping the last peanut into your mouth and wiping your hands off on your jeans. You stand unceremoniously and then hold your hand out to Bucky. He stares at your outstretched hand in half-baked shock and then jumps at the opportunity.

"See ya later, Ma! Love ya."

"Will you be home for family dinner?"

"Nope, gotta take my Peanut to the ballgame!"

Bucky rushes you out of the diner and pulls you to a heavy-looking motorcycle. You laugh as he pries open one of the saddlebags on the bike. He reveals two helmets, one white and one black. Both have sleek features with a face cover that reflects Bucky's sharp features.

"What?" His laugh that follows is full of nervous energy as you continue to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"It just--" You snort quietly, "You would drive a motorcycle."

"Oh yeah? And why's that, Peanut Brittle?"

You wave your hand as if you're circling his whole body and shrug while smiling your ass off.

"You just gestured to all of me."

You both break into a fit of laughter, only for Bucky to break it off and unclip the chin strap of the white helmet.

"Well, does safety also fit with..." he does the same gesture as you, "all this?"

Bucky gently rests the helmet on the leather seat of the motorcycle and then leans over to you.

"You might want to pull your hair back. Trust me I love your hair down, but whenever you're riding it's easier in the long run."

"Oh, okay." You begin to pull your hair back when you remember that your hair tie is on the counter at your apartment. "Actually, I think I'll suffer the consequences."

Bucky glances at you and then asks, "You need a tie?"

He prompts you to turn around and he quickly coaxes your hair into a neat ponytail at the base of your neck. You turn back to him with wide eyes, your hand reaching back to check the hairstyle.

"Come on. I've got plans, Payday! I've got ideas to romance ya!"

You laugh while Bucky beams and puts the white helmet over your head. Once it's secured, he swipes the visor up and boops your nose. You scrunch it in retaliation and he shakes his head at you. He grips the sides of your helmet and tilts your head to the side. A loud Bluetooth signal sounds and a robotic female voice informs you that the device has been connected.

"So, basic rules of the bike. I lean, you lean." He taps on the side of the helmet he just fiddled with. "This is a microphone, so we'll be able to communicate without the visors being up. Don't be afraid to squeeze if you feel a little wobbly. I promise I can handle whatever you give me, Peanut."

You flush at his words, thankful that you're already wearing the helmet so he isn't privy to the bright red coloring overtaking your cheeks. Bucky slips on his own helmet and mounts the bike in one smooth motion. His hands glide to the handlebars and then he turns to face you and jerk his head in the opposite direction.

You release a deep breath and give yourself a mini pep talk before placing your hands on Bucky's shoulders. The difference between them keeps you grounded as you swing your leg over the back of the motorcycle. His voice shoots into your ears, a breathy fuck me that wasn't meant for your ears.

"You ready?"

This question is at a normal level, and you respond in kind. The bike roars to life beneath you and you jolt toward him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist tightly.

"Hold on tight, spider monkey."

You giggle and interlock your fingers above the waistline of his jeans. Now, you can feel every breath he takes, every minuscule contraction of his muscles from every movement he makes to control the beast between his legs. You try to take steady breaths in order to control your heartbeat and match Bucky's, but the faster he goes, the faster your heart beats against his back.

City lights blur past as you find your rhythm behind Bucky. The more comfortable you get, the looser your grip becomes around him. He takes you through downtown with all the newer, hipster restaurants inhabiting the busy streets. Bucky begins to slow and you look up to see his profile illuminated under the bright red of the traffic stop.

His feet rest on the ground beside the bike, holding it upright while it rumbles idly. Bucky leans back into you, his hands moving from the handlebars to your thighs. He traces the skin that's exposed by the rips of your jeans. The loose material allows just enough space for his fingers to burrow beneath and trace meaningless patterns into your skin.

Butterflies make themselves known in the pit of your stomach, along with another slightly less prominent heat building at his touch on your skin.

"We're almost there, Peanut Brittle." Bucky's voice is melodic through the microphone. You could fall asleep listening to him read a phone book.

The bike thunders to life again as Bucky releases the clutch. More buildings fade as he continues to steer the two of you down the less traveled streets.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere fun!"

He laughs at your little groan. Surprises aren't necessarily your favorite thing, but if it's Bucky, maybe it'll be tolerable.

Suddenly, Bucky drops his right hand from the bars and indicates his next turn. The pair of you lean in that direction slightly as he slows into a parking lot of a roller rink. The sign for the Rockin' Roller Rink has a bright yellow arrow blinking toward the building at the base of its billboard.

He rolls into a parking spot near the entrance and pops the kickstand out to steady the bike. You peel yourself off of his back and rest your hands on your thighs while taking in your surroundings. Bucky slips his helmet off and then turns his torso to face you.

"As much as I love you on my ride, Peanut, you have to get off first."

You flush red beneath the visor and quickly dismount. However, in your rush to get off, you don't realize how unstable your legs are as they bear your full weight after the ride. Bucky's hands shoot out to your waist as he remains on the bike, a wry grin on his lips.

"Sorry, should've warned you about that." He stands in front of you and dusts off your shoulders before deciding that you're okay. "It's because of the riding position when you're on the bike. If you aren't used to that, it can be a little jarring the first few times."

He takes your helmet and then removes the keys from the ignition. Bucky bends at the waist and hooks his key carabiner to your belt loops.

As he straightens to his full height, he remarks with a wink, "Plus, the vibrations don't help much either."

You squawk unattractively and smack his chest with the back of your hand while he belly laughs. His metal hand hovers over your lower back as he guides you into the double doors of the roller rink. While he pulls open the door for you, you think about all the times that your husband has failed to do even that act of basic decency.

You shake your head as you walk in, determined to put him out of your mind. That is until you remember the one stipulation of your open marriage--you both have to disclose when you go on dates. Your mind drifts to all the unanswered texts he's sent you about his various dates. Little quips that accomplish nothing but remind you that your husband sees you as less than. A relationship that he no longer has to put effort into and hasn't for some time now. You take your phone from your back pocket to shoot John a quick text, a sour look overtaking your face as you do.

On a date, be home later. You’re quick to swipe your phone onto do not disturb and shove it back into your pocket. You aren’t ready to face the hypocrisy that John will manage to cook up.

"You okay, Peanut?" Bucky's voice clears everything. All the swirling doubt, the immense turmoil that you feel when you think of John, everything negative is wiped when you focus on Bucky.

Perhaps that's also an issue. Maybe you need to be single instead of dating. Maybe you need to love yourself before anyone else can effectively love you. What if that's the real issue? The real reason why John had to seek affection outside of your marital bonds. Maybe it was because you were so unloveable to the point that it was more effort to work through your issues than find an effortless partner somewhere else.

A cold finger taps your temple causing you to blink harshly and refocus on the man before you. This man who's become your safe haven, your harbor in this horrific storm that is your marriage. The man who brings peanuts to his mother's diner because you called him to meet up. The man who knows you better than your husband who you've known for half your life.

"The wheels," your bartender reminds you as he pulls you to the side of the room. His arms envelop you until all you can process is biceps, one cold and one warm. Bucky's cheek rests against your head and you can't find it in yourself to stop from melting into his touch. "How about this," he shifts away from you just enough to meet your eyes, "you just take it one hour at a time?"

"One hour?" You ask, brows furrowing skeptically at the concept. You've never been someone who just focuses on the thing in front of you. Your whole life you had a plan--get married, have kids, and secure a stable home life. Although, now that you think about it, your way isn't really that effective. What has your way got you? A decaying marriage, no kids, and a job that you tolerate at most.

"Just one at a time. Nothing can be that daunting if it's one at a time." He smiles big and leans forward, "And let's face it, your first hour is going to be spent watching me almost bust my ass on rollerblades."

You giggle and look at the ground, only for Bucky to lift your face up with a finger on your chin. He stares deep into your eyes, making you think if you stare long enough, you'll meld into one. His grip changes so that most of his fingers cup your jaw, allowing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. His metal finger tugs downward on your lip, releasing it from the hold between your teeth.

"That's definitely one of my current favorite noises you make." He struts off to the front counter, you trailing behind with a confused look on your face at his dopey smile. The implications of his comment seeping into your bones causing a deep heat to light in the pit of your stomach.

As you approach the teller, Bucky's already disclosed his shoe size for the rental pair of skates. The teenager behind the counter makes a bored grunt at the instruction and turns to you, waiting for your size before they trot off to fill the order. Once again, you're left alone with your bartender.

You lean against the raised platform, shoulder digging into the overhanging lip of the counter. During this brief moment of solitude, you take your time taking in Bucky. He really is a mountain of a man, coming in at six-foot-five inches of corded muscle and steel, he's really nothing less than impressive.

His hair just brushes the top of his broad shoulders, though you hardly ever see it down. He always manages to have it tied securely at the base of his neck. However one time, you remember walking into the bar only to see Bucky behind the bar, as usual. Except his hair was bundled on the top of his head. Little wisps of hair fell from the looser hold, framing his forehead and neck. On top of that, he was wearing a red henley that was at least two sizes too small with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his differing forearms in the dim light of Commandos.

It's safe to say that during those few hours you spent with Bucky looking like that, you were a little slower to respond. What's interesting though is that Bucky looks nothing like John. You always thought that John was your ideal man. Based on who you married, you would have assumed you'd be more attracted to Steve than Bucky. Instead, you find yourself lacing up a pair of rental roller skates, that might give you athlete's foot if you're not careful, with the imposing dark-haired man next to you.

"Why bartending?"

The question floats between you as you take the floor. Glistening hardwood reflects the bright neon of the strobe lights and your image beside Bucky. You watch as he glances down at you before refocusing his attention on the path in front of him.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I kind of stumbled into it." He wobbles dangerously as he speaks, hand jutting out to grasp yours in an act of safety. "Shit, sorry." He apologizes sheepishly but makes no move to drop your hand.

You giggle beside him, butterflies awakening from his act of self-comfort, a feeling you haven't felt since your relationship with John began. Bucky squeezes your hand, straightens his back, and pulls you around the rink.

"When I was discharged, it wasn't so much as bartending as it was the ownership of the bar. It gave me a chance to gain some semblance of control back." He stares off into the distance as he speaks as if he's reciting words he said time and time before. You peer up at him, waiting for the rest of his explanation.

Even though you've known Bucky for as long as you have, neither of you has really delved too deep into your pasts. To say you know next to nothing about Bucky's time in the military would be generous. You hum while you ponder his answer.

"Does that need carry into other aspects of your life?"

It's a genuine question, something to move the conversation along because you honestly want to know more about the man beside you. The double entendre of the question doesn't process until you see Bucky blushing beside you with a wry grin. Your eyes bulge, words stammering out of your mouth without finding their full forms.

"Oh-- uh, n— that's not wh--" Your eyes drop to the ground beneath you, the sleek wood reflecting the neon disco of the roller rink lights.

Bucky chuckles beside you, slowly rubbing his thumb against the knuckles of the hand he still holds. He steers the pair of you to the side of the rink, locking you against the slightly sticky bannister with his strong forearms. You quickly level him with a questioning stare as he leans forward and takes a deep breath, undoubtedly getting a strong whiff of your soft vanilla and cherry perfume.

“I’m trying to be very good for you, Peanut. So I’m going to say this once and then we’re going to continue with our date and it isn’t going to come up again until you bring it up yourself.” Your nod is almost imperceptible, but considering how Bucky continues without consequence, you figure he was just mentally preparing himself for his next comment.

“I am enamored with you. I want to have sex with you. I have fantasies that revolved exclusively around you. However, I’m not putting any pressure on this relationship or you. I understand that you need time to process your grief and your marriage, but just know that I’m more than happy to help you through the process and I certainly hope that I’m the first one you go to once you get to a place when you feel confident enough to explore your sexuality.”

You flush at his words, a hot streak racing up your spine before settling in your cheeks, blossoming them into a heavy shade of crimson. Bucky’s left hand comes up to your forehead, brushing away a strand of hair out of your face.

“But not only that, I want to have a relationship with you. I want the late night cuddles. I want the early morning breakfasts. I want to come home from the bar and take a shower with you. I want to wash your hair. I want you to massage my shoulders after a long day. I want to host Saturday barbecues with you for my family and our friends. I want to drive you to the bookstore and regret driving the motorcycle after you get so many because I just can’t say no to you.”

Bucky’s hand drifts down your arm, tracing the soft skin, taking his time to lace his fingers with yours. He pulls you away from the ledge, leading you two into the hustle and bustle of the roller rink. A smile stretches across his features as he tugs you along, a slow steady silence backed by the bumping base of the house music. You fumble with who to respond to him, but you eventually decide that no words are necessary. You know that yiu’ll be able to discuss things further later, you allow yourself to fall into the comfortable company that is your favorite bartender.

Time passes by at a rate you aren’t able to fathom. One moment you’re skating circles around Bucky, laughing as his arms jut out to his sides, steadying himself as he sways and wobbles. You flit out of his reach for a beat only for his arms to wrap around your waist, bringing you to his warm front. You squeal as you clutch his arms, the difference in temperature providing a level of comfort that you’ve been craving for months now.

You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, his long hair tickling the apples of your cheek. Soft puffs of air hit your face as he peers down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. He remains stoic, only his eyes giving you any indication that he wants more out of your current embrace.

“Attention all Rockin’ Roller Rink patrons, the rink will be closing in ten minutes! Please return all skates and other rentals to the front desk before leaving.”

The voice over the loudspeaker startles you causing you to jump in Bucky’s embrace. He tightens his hold on you, ensuring that you don’t topple over on your wheels. You breathe out a heavy sigh creating a slight distance between you.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Bucky is quick to follow you to the benches on the side to you could change your shoes so you can return the skates. You’re sure to take out your phone from your back pocket before sitting down. Against your better judgement, you swipe across the screen to turn off the silencing option. The screen illuminates and dozens of notifications flood the screen and you cringe. You shouldn’t feel bad, yore only doing what constitutes an open marriage. You sent the text, that was all that was required of you, and let’s be honest even that was more than what John deserves. Bucky leans back, shooting a glance at your now busy phone.

“Wow, he sure doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”

“Yeah, I’m sure everything he’s texted me the past two hours has been entirely supportive and not at all condescending or hostile.” Sarcasm bleeds into your words, making Bucky chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, ol’ Johnny boy? Nah, he’s nothing but a big old softy who knows that he’s only getting it as good as he’s giving it.” You huff at the comment just as your phone begins to buzz on the tabletop.

A groan leaves your mouth, slipping out before you can filter it. Bucky eyes you as your finger swipes the call button to accept. You haven’t even gotten the phone to your ear before John’s voice carries through the speaker, shouting expletives and derogatory remarks about you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re on a fucking date right now? I can’t believe you!”

Your whole body cringes, and you rush to shove your shoes on to take the call outside. You leave without saying a word to Bucky, unable to look him in the eye while the supposed love of your life berates you over the phone.

“John, I don’t know what you’re upset about.” You tried to remain calm while he carried on. “I followed the single rule that you set in place.”

Bucky takes your free hand and leads you to his bike, leaning against the seat while he watches you pace in front of him. Your once smooth features are now ridged and tense, worry lines aging you ten years the second you get on the phone with John. Your forefinger and thumb find home on the bridge of your nose, pinching the bone there to prevent the sudden headache. You finally stop in your tracks, stomping your foot out of exasperation and then steel your voice.

“I refuse to allow you to speak to me this way, John. You’re the one that opened our marriage, I’m simply following the precedent that you set. I honestly have no idea what your issue with this is.” Your eyes dart to Bucky, “Now, I don’t feel comfortable coming home when you’re speaking to me like this over the phone, so don’t wait up. I’ll come home when you cool off.”

Tears begin to rim your lash line as John continues to shout his lungs bloody. You refuse to meet Bucky’s eyes as you lower the phone, thumb hovering over the end call button. A dark metal palm extends your way, a silent ask for the phone that you don’t have the strength to deny. Bucky watches you as he brings the phone to his ear, listening to your husband’s rant.

“This is completely fucking ridiculous! You’re my wife and I demand you come home and we talk this out like adults. You’re being so unreasonable, right now. And the fact that you think it’s acceptable to text me you’re on a date instead of asking if you could go on one? Who the fuck do you think you are? It’s best you remember who you belong to. You’re so in for it whe—“

Bucky laughs, your head shoots up, eyes locking with his for the first time since you’ve evacuated the roller rink. The laugh is a short, sardonic laugh. One you’ve never heard him make before, almost as if he’s using it as a throat clear. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing how John reacts to being challenged in any capacity.

“Now, I don’t know who you think you are, talking to my Peanut the way that you are. But I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure, you aren’t going to be speaking to her that way ever again.”

It’s another thing about Bucky you’ve never experienced. His tone. It’s dull, lifeless, but full threats that made your skin grow cold and your spine stiffen. You knew Bucky would never cause you harm, but those who hurt the people he loved? The same respect isn’t extended.

“And who the fuck is this?”

“I’m the guy.”

He’s eerily calm, the type of calm you’ve never seen him. You’ve been a distant onlooker while he deals with rowdy bar guests, having to throw out drunk customers who reached their limit and then some. But this… this was something else. John is still yelling, sure to be disturbing your neighbors earning you yet another noise complaint, possibly the one that gets you evicted from your apartment.

“What guy?”

“The guy that’s going to rip your spine out through your throat if you threaten my girl again.”

The world stills. The noisy streets of Brooklyn fade as you search Bucky’s eyes for any semblance of a joke. His eyes have darkened, latching onto yours with a depth that you’ve never seen in them. He reaches for you, pulling you in between his legs by your belt loop. You can hear the stammering on the other end clearly, John’s never had anyone stand up to him with such sincerity.

“If you’re done being a pussy, I’m a little preoccupied. If you’d like to continue this conversation, you may do so anytime at my bar. Howling Commandos. You can Google it and me in your free time. Right now, I’m on a date and you’re interrupting it and disturbing my girl.” Bucky’s hand snakes around your waist, pressing his chin to your chest while maintaining eye contact with you. “Now, apologize to her.”

He switches the phone to speaker mode, allowing you to hear the weakness invading John’s voice. All the while, Bucky’s eyes never leave yours. Your body melts into him, his warmth something that you didn’t realize you were craving. John stammers on his end of the phone, eking out excuses as to not apologize. Bucky clears his throat once more, the action causing his Adam’s apple to bob against your breasts.

“Apologize, Johnny boy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Three monotonous beeps echo out into the silent parking lot. Wind whips against your cheeks, igniting a shiver through your body. He shoves your phone into his front pocket before wrapping his other hand around your waist. Bucky shifts again, pressing his forehead into your stomach instead of staring up at you. Your arms come up around his shoulders, burying your face into his soft hair.

“Thank you.”

Bucky says nothing in return, squeezing your middle before pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Let’s go, you can stay at mine.”

He pushes against your hips so he can reposition himself over the bike. You’re quick to stop him, remarking something about him just taking you to a hotel for the night. He cuts you off before you can fully finish your sentence.

“I’m sorry Peanut, but you surely don’t think I’m about to let you spend the night at some sketch hotel by yourself. And I’m certainly not going to let you go back to that apartment with that temperamental skeeze of a husband you have.”

“Let me?” You back up, resting your hand on your now cocked hip.

“Peanut.” Bucky stares up at you, “I didn’t mean it in that way. I’m sorry. I’m only saying that I want you to be safe and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in either of those environments. I would be much for comfortable if you came home with me so that I could protect you.”

You shoulders relax, in the back of your mind, you know that he didn’t mean anything by it. John always sets you on edge, and it’s unfair of you to put those emotions onto Bucky.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just… John.” Your sentence trails off, no ending really needed because you know that Bucky understands.

“Come on. Get on, Peanut Butter. We aren’t far from my place.”

You mount Bucky’s bike, his left hand immediately going to your thigh, his fingers threading themselves between the rips of your jeans to feel the soft skin of your knee. The ride to Bucky’s apartment is quiet, the rumbling of the motorcycle beneath you is powerful and steady. Every chance he got, Bucky would slip his fingers into the rips of your jeans, aching to be close to you in every way possible. You lean forward, resting your helmeted head against his back while he drives.

If there was one thing that you never would have guessed, it’s that Bucky Barnes would have pale green wallpaper in his apartment. Not just a pale green, he proudly declares that it’s agate green, the color he spent weeks painstakingly debating between that and nurture green. You giggle as you toe your shoes off at the front door, quietly taking in his personal space.

The exposed brick melds with the dark countertops in a way that’s almost soothing. The pendant lights above the island cast a soft glow over the open floor plan. Bucky turns to face you, peeling off his leather jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the door. You catch his eyes, only to be distracted by the wall of bookshelves on the far end of his apartment.

“Oh my god, Bucky I had no idea you were so interested in reading.”

He laughs, shoving his hands in his front pockets while walking behind you as you approach the stacks of books he has scattered throughout his home.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. When I was deployed there wasn’t much to do other than read. I had my Ma send me all different kinds of books, from new releases to her favorite classics to stuff my little sister was reading in school.” He stands beside you, shoulder to shoulder as you glance up at him. “Guess I never kicked the habit, though there are worse vices that a person could have.”

You hum, refocusing your attention on the books, but only for a second as Bucky reaches his hand out and leads you up the stairs to the lofted bedroom. Bucky’s comforter matches the green walls that sits behind his TV. Not only that, but his pillow cases vary from overly fluffy to soft silks. The mixture of textures and fabrics is almost too much for your brain to comprehend. You’re about to question it when Bucky returns to your line of sight, a dark Henley in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other.

“I don’t have any pajamas for you, but you can wear these.”

He’s almost sheepish as he presents you with the clothes, a light blush casting over his cheeks. It’s so interesting to interact with him. At times, he’s the most suave man you’ve ever met, and at others, it’s like he’s a lovestruck teenager who’s just got their first girlfriend.

You thank him and follow behind him as he leads you to the en-suite bathroom. Just as Bucky begins to explain where everything is, he bends down to the bottom cabinets and retrieves a spare toothbrush.

“Planning for extra company, huh?” You joke while poking him in the side as he stands next to you in the doorway.

Bucky’s tongue peaks out of his mouth, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he stares down at you. His eyes do that thing again, the same thing he did just before he laid out his feelings for you earlier. Your breath catches in your throat, is he leaning closer? Are you inching toward him? What are you doing?

“Bucky,” the tension breaks, a dam of emotions behind held back by your dedication to your marriage. “I feel like I should explain.”

His hands rest on your shoulders, quick to silence your worries. He leans forward, dotting a quick kiss to your forehead. Bucky lingers, the soft press of his lips shoots warm and fuzzy feelings through your bones.

“Tomorrow. You’ve had a long night. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

A weight of anxiety lifts from your shoulders as you watch Bucky begins descend the stairs, lush blankets and pillows in hand. You turn back to his room, allowing yourself to sink into his private space.

You peel back the duvet and sit on the edge of his mattress, unsure if you should fully dive into his being. If you’re quiet enough you can hear Bucky downstairs, shuffling on the couch in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

Your eyeline floats over his bedside table, the lamp atop it casting a pale yellow glow over the entire room. The surface next to you is covered in items that are unequivocally Bucky—a worn copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a leather bound journal, the few gold rings that he something adorns his digits with while bartending. His rings clink against each other as your fingers drift over the cold metal.

Among his assorted objects is your phone on his charger. The light pink case is slightly out of place, but not enough to be obnoxious. You smile to yourself while lying back in his sheets.

You really do owe him an explanation. Bucky deserves more than some broken woman who’s in a shitty marriage. He deserves the world and then some. All you can offer is a somewhat clear thought process.

You think on John’s actions today. He really showed you his true colors. You start to wonder if he really cares about you or if just cares about having a wife. If it’s the second one, why does it have to be you?

You flip to the other side, now facing the back wall of windows. Your mind is about as calm as the city right now. New York is never quiet, even this far out in Brooklyn. You’re never safe from the light pollution that constantly blocks out the beauty that is the natural night sky.

It makes you long for your hometown, the wide open spaces with vast fields of nothingness that stretch for miles on end. Maybe it’s time you pay it a visit. It would be nice to escape the hodge podge of a life you’re currently living.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force yourself to slow your breathing. Distantly you can hear Bucky begin to snore, a low monotonous sound that you cling to. For the first time in months you feel secure. Your muscles decompress, your brow unfurls and you allow yourself to truly relax.

With everything that’s going on, Bucky deserves more. You deserve more, but that can all wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. That’s a good thought.

#bartender!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bartender!bucky x peanut!reader #bucky x peanut #consequences #ray's writing #bartender!bucky barnes x peanut!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bartender!bucky #bartender!bucky barnes x you #bartender!bucky barnes x y/n #bartender!bucky x you

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drabblesandimagines · 5 months

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could i request something with leon and a reader with lots and lots of energy? like i imagine reader jumping around the house for some reason and leon trying to keep up with that energy. that would be so cute idk 😩

Okay, I must apologise because I fear this went waaaay off topic, but I immediately thought of nervous energy and this fluffy bit came out. I hope you still enjoy it - please let me know!

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship

Leon smiles as you finally perch down on the edge of the sofa besides him, moving to slip his arm around your shoulders and pull you in for a cuddle – loves it when you nuzzle into his chest - only for you to get to your feet once more, walking over to the opposite sofa to straighten up the cushions.

You’ve had non-stop energy all day and, thinking back on it, he swears you’d even ate breakfast and lunch without sitting down once. It started with you being out of bed before him, usually an impossible task with his internal 6am alarm clock. He’d often left you tucked up in bed after a kiss on the forehead before he went for his morning run, knowing full well you still wouldn’t be awake on his return.

He’d be a liar though if he didn’t admit that he was still recovering from the Alcatraz incident – some of those bruises were still healing, making him groan like an old man sometimes if he’d sat in one position too long. More recently, and aided by a period of leave from the DSO, he’d been enjoying the lazier starts you were now getting to share, waking up only enough to nuzzle his face into your neck, a few soft kisses here and there, and spooning you into the mid-morning.

No such treat that morning, though. By the time he’d lugged himself down the stairs, you’d mopped the kitchen floor and been to the grocery store whilst it dried.

“What can I do, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, thanks. All under control.” You beam, multitasking up a storm in front of him. You poured him a cup of coffee from the machine and turned back to the stove where you were somehow already cooking him breakfast, a cake was baking away in the oven, all whilst mentioning something about how you were holding off on vacuuming until he was awake. He's a bit in awe at your energy levels today – though it was true he had a few years older than you, he didn’t think it was to this much of an extent. Next, you’d vacuumed all of the rooms, shaking your head at his offer to do them, thinking you were just being a little too particular on the way you liked them done, and when you washed the windows, dusted the surfaces, cleaned the bathroom… But as 5pm rolled closer, he finally realizes what it is, cursing himself internally.

“Sweetheart…” he trails off as you decide the cushion needs a little more fluffing up, now bashing it against your thighs into submission.

“Uh-huh?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just, you know, finessing.” You place the cushion down, eyes scanning the rest of the living room. Did you miss that dust on the entertainment console? You were sure you’d ran that fluffy duster everywhere. It’s fine, there’s cloth dusters under the sink – maybe that would be better – and whilst you’re in the kitchen, you should definitely double-check the ice drawer again, just to make sure you definitely have enough ice…

As you head towards the kitchen, you stop a moment and adjust the bowl of tortilla chips by a fraction of an inch. It’s Leon’s birthday celebration, so you’ve laid out your best snack spread, including two huge bowls of homemade guacamole – a family recipe that has never not once been a hit when you’ve rolled it out – but now you’re not sure it’s enough. It’s not Leon’s actual birthday either as he never wants a fuss, no balloons and definitely no banners – reminds him too much of his evening at the RPD HQ - but after Alcatraz, Chris, Jill, Claire, Rebecca and he had stayed in regular contact and somehow what was going to be beers at a bar had escalated into a little gathering at his to celebrate his birthday… and for them to meet you.

Leon has other ideas as you head towards the kitchen and your mind’s too focused to see him poised as you go to walk past. He grabs hold of your wrist and suddenly you find yourself on his lap after a firm and gentle tug, his other arm now wrapped tightly around your waist and keeping you in place.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not.” So what if your leg is bouncing up and down on the spot? He lets go of your wrist then, places his palm flat on your thigh and stills it.

“Liar. You’ve been on the go since dawn – I’m tired just watching you.”

“Fine, maybe I’m a little nervous.” You relent – could never resist those blue eyes of his. “You’ve never invited friends round here before, let alone had a birthday party and I want everything to be perfect.”

He smiles – the one you know that precedes a corny line. “It is already perfect because you’re here.”

You roll your eyes.

“Seriously – they’ll like you, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” You’ve heard of them from his stories – little snippets he’ll share from his work. They’re all so strong, and brave, and clever…

“Because I love you.”

You still go weak at that knees when he tells you those words – he sounds as sincere as the first time he said it. You lean forward then, kissing him deeply. His hand rubs up and down your back as you do, making all the anxious thoughts stop for a moment as you focus on him and his touch alone.

You pull back after a moment and take in his soft, lovestruck expression, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I still think I should make another bowl of guacamole, though. Just in case.”

“You’ve already made two huge servings, sweetheart - we’re good.”

And, when Chris takes another heaving scoop of it atop his tortilla chip later that evening, it’s Leon’s turn to relent.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

#ghostdogwrites #ghostdogasks #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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choke-me-joey · 1 year

Text

Eddie Munson x fem metalhead cheerleader

Summary: Based on this - how Eddie met his not so typical cheerleader girlfriend and a little exploration of their relationship.

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smoking, underage drinking, drug use, swearing, flirting, smut.

AN: there is a scene in this based on a ✨️video✨️ i had sent to me by a beautiful anon and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. If you want the link you can find it on my page or message me and I'll try to send it!

📢 TAG LIST IS NOW FULL 📢

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

The following Tuesday, after practice and your homework, you'd driven over to The Hideout to see the famous Corroded Coffin play to their crowd of regular drunks. You parked your car in the lot, getting out and straightening out your cropped Iron Maiden shirt. You'd paired it with some shorts and fishnets, as well as your Docs and your jacket which, courtesy of Eddie, now had a WASP pin resting proudly on the lapel.

You made your way into the, quite honestly, dump of a bar, impressed that you didn't even need a fake ID to get in. You grinned when you saw Corroded Coffin setting up on the small stage and made a beeline for your friends and your....Eddie.

"What's up, rockstars?" You smile, giving Eddie a cheeky pinch to the butt as he was bent over with his back to you sorting out his peddle. He angled his head to look at you, and nearly keeled over at the sight of your outfit. He recovered, standing up to hug you.

"Now this just isn't fair, sweetheart, gonna be playing our set with a fucking boner," he groans into you ear, making you giggle. He subtly kissed your head.

"Holy shit you actually came!" Gareth said, grinning at you from behind his drum kit. "Eddie said you might not make it because of practice."

"Like I'd miss the infamous Corroded Coffin live in concert," you gesture to the homemade banner behind them. "I'm excited!"

"You're probably the only one in the audience who is," Jeff laughs, glancing over the few people who had come to the bar to watch them play.

"Well, just remember who your biggest fan was in the early days, yeah?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Eddie winks at you and you have to wrestle down the urge to kiss him, not knowing how he felt about your...whatever this was between you being made super public yet. You instead settle on shooting him a wink and going to get yourself a drink whilst they finished setting up, patiently waiting for their set to start.

You were surprised when the bartender handed you a beer, apparently Eddie had sorted you with a drink before you'd gotten there, and again that meant nobody was checking your ID. You said nothing, taking your beer and sitting at a table close to the stage where you had a good view and Eddie could definitely see you.

The band start their set and you're completely blown away. Not only are they actually pretty damn good, the way Eddie carries himself on stage is incredible. He's confident, charismatic, nothing new there, but he eludes this sexy rockstar attitude that makes your pussy clench as you watch him. He plays with an energy that should be for 80,000 people not just 0.01% of that.

You watch his skilled fingers running up and down the frets, effortlessly playing chords without even glancing down. And when he sang, god your heart skipped a beat. His voice was the perfect mix of soft melodic singing and raw yells and shouts. They played a mix of covers and their own songs, their musical influences clear in those original pieces. Your favourite so far had been their rendition of Paranoid by Black Sabbath, and a song called Shallow Grave of their own. You had screamed and shouted and applauded, probably too enthusiastically really, but you didn't care. They were good, and Eddie was hot.

As the notes of another original song, Strangers in the Dark, came to an end, Eddie spoke into the microphone.

"We're going to change things up a little bit now folks, with a new cover dedicated to a very special person who happens to be our number one fan. This one's for you, airhead." He shot you a smirk and you grinned back at him, your cheeks flushing. "Sing along if you know it, maybe even dance a little if you're drunk enough."

The opening notes of Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks, but with a Corroded Coffin touch, began to play and your jaw dropped. You fucking loved this song, and your mind and heart race when you remember you had told Eddie that, probably about 3 weeks ago when you'd first started speaking properly, only mentioned it briefly when he'd seen the tape of Bella Donna sticking out of your bag.

He'd...learnt this, for you? Made his band learn this for you without even knowing if you'd ever come to one of his shows?

It's a good thing you were sat down because your knees felt stupidly weak.

"Just like the white wing dove, sings a song sounds like she's singing, ooh, ooh, ooh," Eddie croons; his voice could have brought tears to your eyes. He wasn't playing guitar for this, cupping the mic in his hands in a way that should have been illegal.

You sit in your seat, singing along, watching as a few drunks get up to dance, mostly middle aged women who look as if Stevie Nicks is their lord and saviour.

"Come on honey, your boyfriend is singing this for you! You gotta dance!" One of the Stevie-ites grabs your hand and tries to pull you up to dance.

"Oh, I cant-" you start, feeling a little embarassed. Ridiculous really, seeing as you were in front of two entire high schools nearly every week dancing and cartwheeling and splitting. Why the fuck was dancing in front of Eddie making you shy?!

You catch Eddie's eye as you're dragged onto the small dance area in front of the stage, the woman lets go of your hand to do her own Stevie style twirl, and you laugh, doing the same when she encourages you to do so. You glance up at Eddie and he grins back at you, still singing away as he pulls you up onto the small stage, twirling you around. You stay next to him, wrapped in his arms as the band finishes the song. When the last note plays, Eddie grabs you and you kisses you hard on the lips and you wrap your arms around his neck, the small crowd whooping and cat calling as you break apart, both of you panting and grinning like fools.

"You're amazing," Eddie says breathlessly, looking into your eyes.

"Me?! I'm not the one who just turned Stevie Nicks into a bad ass metal anthem! You gotta record that, you...you're incredible!" You pant, your face starting to hurt with how much you're smiling. You run one finger down his chest whilst looking up at him through your lashes. "How much longer is the set, rock star?"

Eddie swallows hard.

"Uh, th-three songs."

"Perfect, I'll be waiting by your van when you've packed up." You shoot him a sexy smirk, pecking his lips once more and hopping off the stage to watch the rest of the set.

True to your words you were waiting, leant up against the side of Eddie's van as he finished loading up his equipment.

"So, I've been thinking, that bed you've got in there?" You gesture to the back of the van. "Super fucking comfortable, perfect for laying down after a successful show, don't you think?"

"While every fibre of my being is going to hate me for saying this, Y/N-"

"Who said anything about sex?" You cut him off and he looks at you, confusion etched on his face. "Just wanna show you how appreciative I am that you learned a song for me, very cute by the way."

"Well, I have been known to be pretty cute," Eddie grins, letting you pull him into the back of the van, kicking the door shut. He grunts, letting out a breathless laugh as you push him onto his back and straddle him, pushing his shirt up his stomach. "Hey, you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to, right?"

"What about if I want to?" You smile, rocking your hips experimentally against him. Eddie groans, fingers biting into your hips. You lean down and kiss him, tongue immediately finding his. Eddie's hands travel from your hips to your ass, squeezing it softly at first, then harder as your kisses grows deeper and more desperate. You pull away from the kiss, sitting back on your heels and your hands hover over his belt buckle. "Can I?"

"Yeah, yes, shit, you can do anything you want to me right now, sweetheart." Eddie groans as you undo his belt, your hand ghosting over the bulge in his jeans. Once his jeans are also undone, he helps you by lifting his hips so you can pull his jeans and boxers down to his mid thigh. You can't help the gasp that leaves your mouth as his cock springs free, slapping his lower stomach.

"Holy...what the fuck, Eddie?!" You laugh, unable to process what you're seeing. He's big. And not just big, but thick too. Uncut, with a delicious thick vein running along the underside of his cock. His balls are - is it weird to say perfect?- big and round and your mouth salivates at the sight. Would you even be able to wrap your hand around him? Swallow him down? Would your cunt stretch enough to accommodate him? Your brain buzzed with arousal.

"Not really something I go around showing off," Eddie chuckles, hissing as you attempt to wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking him. You pull back his foreskin to expose the head of his cock, the same beautiful shade of reddy purple as his lips, and you watch in fascination as a small bead of precum blurts out and over your fingers. "Shit, Y/N, your hand feels so fucking good."

"I haven't even done anything yet," you giggle, moving a tiny bit faster, your other hand gently cupping his balls. You make sure he's looking at you before you let a glob of spit fall from your mouth onto the head of his cock, using it to lube his shaft for your hand to glide easier along it. Eddie fucking whimpers, whimpers, at that, his head dropping back onto the pillow beneath him.

"Fuck, babe, you're fucking...you're a dream."

"A wet one, I hope?"

"You're...everything. God the amount of times I've thought about this, about you...Jesus, how are you fucking real?" Eddie sighs as you work your hand over his cock faster, the mix of your spit and his precum making it easier. "Can I...fuck, can you take your shirt off? And...and put my jacket on?"

He prayed silently that you'd agree, it was all he'd been able to think about for about 3 weeks. You smile, nodding, taking off your shirt. Eddie almost blows his load there and then. Not only were you braless, but you also had your fucking nipples pierced, the two silver bars winking at him in the dim lights streaming in from the car park. You send him a knowing smirk briefly letting go of his cock to grab his previously discarded jacket and slip your arms into it, the leather cool and somewhat a little sticky against your damp skin.

"How do I look?" Your voice is low and sultry, laced with arousal. The throb between your legs is almost unbearable now, and you grind your crotch against his leg for some relief.

"Like every wet dream I've had since I was 13," Eddie groans as you spit on his cock again. "Shit, never thought you'd be so..."

"So what?" You challenge with a smirk, one eyebrow cocked as you continue to jerk him off.

"Jesus, so fucking...filthy." Eddie gasps as you run your other thumb over the slit of his cock, gathering some precum on the digit and sucking it into your mouth. You exaggerate a moan, this was purely for him right now but he did taste really fucking good. "Shit, gonna cum soon, don't stop baby."

"Not going to Eds, want you to make a mess all over me." You push the jacket off of your tits so he can clearly see them. Your free hand pinches one of your nipples, making you moan and grind down onto him again, a whimper leaving your mouth.

"Jesus fuck!" Eddie grunts, his cock twitching in your hand as he cums, streaking your tits, stomach and a little bit of his own jacket with thick white ropes. You stroke him through it, letting go of his thick cock when he starts to hiss in discomfort. "Fuck, princess, easy, easy," he lets a breathless laugh as you scoop up some of his cum off your tits with your finger, popping it into your mouth and sucking it off. "Jesus H Christ."

"I prefer Y/N." You grin, letting out a squeal as Eddie pins you down onto the floor of the van, kissing you hard. His hand wanders to the button of your shorts. "Hey, don't worry about me, handsome. This was all for you."

"You sure? I want to." Eddie's eyes flick to yours and you smile.

"I know, and believe me I really want you to but I have to get home, school night and all that." You sigh and Eddie groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. "My fingers will just have to do tonight."

Eddie groans even louder.

"Shit, Y/N, that isn't fair."

"Relax, Eds, my parents are away this weekend, so I'll have that big, empty house all to myself. You wanna come over and protect poor little old me?" You put on a fake pout. Eddie smirks.

"And by protect you mean-"

"Fuck my brains out until I can't fucking walk and make me scream so loud the neighbours will know your name? Yeah, that's what I meant." You giggle, pecking his lips softly.

"Oh, I'll be there baby, I'll protect you so hard, don't you worry."

Taglist:

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#iswaw #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie smut #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson x you #stranger things smut

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mvltisstuff · 1 year

Text

boyfriends - e.b

summary: after dealing with her boyfriend for years, she finally decides to end things with help from buck.

evan buckley x reader

based on the song boyfriends by harry styles :))

a/n: guys i’m on s5 and what the duck is happening. also pretend ravi has been there for longer bc i literally love him

the table was set with thin candles and ceramic plates under a maroon tablecloth. there were light rain noises coming from outside, calming the room with the dim lights. the aroma of homemade pasta and white wine was filling the room. dressed in her neat jean skirt and black top, y/n sat in one of the chairs at the table.

the door unlocked and swung open with an aggressive stomping coming in with a swaying man. “hey, princess! sorry i’m late i was just busy.” slurring his words together, he walks over as she stands up.

“i thought you were at work.” she states, quietly. she’s confused as he should smell like an office, but instead radiates a busy bar and whisky.

“oh, the guys wanted to go out, sorry about dinner,” he says, slumping on the couch.

“i planned this whole thing, cam. you really couldn’t blow them off for one night?”

“it was just dinner! it’s not like we didn’t have food here.”

“yeah, food for us, that i made for you!” she starts getting annoyed but it’s impossible to argue with a drunk person. “it’s fine, i’ll just take it to work.” clearly annoyed, she pulls the plates out and clears them off into tupperware.

“well don’t be pissed at me because i wanted to hang out with the boys,” he says, his words barely making sense. she doesn’t fight back, knowing he won’t even remember this in the morning.

“go to bed, cameron.” y/n says, before entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

————————————————————————

dressing for work, y/n wakes up to throw on her uniform. she gathers her things to prepare for another long shift at the 118, and she notices his keys gone, along with his work belongings.

she walks out the door after grabbing the leftovers she had spent hours preparing for someone who spent hours not caring. she walks into the station to be greeted by her real family.

“hey, y/n!” eddie says, organizing one of the trucks with buck.

buck gives her a sweet smile, noticing the abnormal lack of excitement on her face. she walks over and talks to them a bit, drained of energy but still ready to force herself through the day.

as much as she didn’t want to leave her apartment, being at the station felt more of a warm welcome. stepping in through the garage doors, the cold air from her apartment and life outside had evaporated.

the team goes upstairs to the kitchen, as bobby is making coffee for everyone. y/n leaves her extra food on the counter to show people.

“what’s all this from, y/n?” bobby asks. “you didn’t have to bring this.”

“oh, it’s just my l-“ she cuts herself off. “i made this to bring to you guys. i made the pasta myself.”

“it’s delicious!” buck says, a mouthful of pasta and covering his mouth. he tries to lighten her mood after seeing directly through her lies.

he had met cameron before, never really being a fan of him. she’d brought him to one of the gatherings, and he spent the whole time ignoring her existence, and then getting mad at her for being upset. he knew she deserved better, and honestly, he thought, she deserves him. he wanted to help her, but didn’t want to cross the line and help where he wasn’t needed.

“really, buck? couldn’t even heat it up?” hen asks, slightly disappointed but expecting nothing else from him.

they all walk away back to their own chores around the station, as bobby stays in the kitchen. “hey, y/n!” buck runs up behind her.

“yeah? you ok?”

“that’s… kinda my question to you.” he stutters a bit. “it’s just- just wanna make sure everything’s okay, you don’t seem as… bright and bubbly as normal.”

buck and y/n had been friends for a long time, knowing how each other felt all the time. they were able to connect with one another so easily, and buck knew that something was wrong with her. he missed her happy mood, that seemed to have faded away more with every shift.

“oh, i’m fine, buck.” she smiles. “it’s just been a lot of work and sleeping, and repeat.”

she lies to him again about cameron, even though he knows the truth. “y/n/n, come on. don’t lie to me.”

“what?” she peeps out.

“talk to me, please.” he begs her to open up because he just wants to make her feel better. “is it cam?”

“n-no, buck. stop, it’s fine.”

that answer alone told him everything he needed to know. he doesn’t know all the details of their relationship, but it’s almost like cam pretends they aren’t even in one.

y/n doesn’t know why she defends him so much, or why she sticks up with it. she’s hoped things will change for a while, but usually nothing looks up. she loves him, she does. at least she thinks so. she provides so much for both of them, and has put in so much energy to their relationship, only for broken promises in return. she has hope that the time she’s put in was worth it, but every day when she goes home to him it becomes weaker. being a first responder, she wants to help everyone she can. she wants to be able to fix their relationship and she wants to feel valued, for once. people tell her all the time how she saved them, and she so badly wants him to realize that everyone needs to be saved. she’s given him the world, and it’s not long before she takes it all back.

“i know it’s not. i’m here for you, and if he’s not good to you i’m gonna be-“

“buck, just drop it! i’m doing the best i can!” her voice raises in defense, and he pulls her into the locker rooms. “im drained from this relationship, right now and i cannot get into this with you right now. this is my only escape, evan.” her light tears form in her eyes before her breathing becomes sharper. the other workers look at them, but with death stares from hen, chimney, and eddie they look away. they’re listening too, they never really liked him either but figured it was none of their business. it hurts to see their friend in this situation.

“i know, it’s gonna be ok.” he pulls her into a hug in hopes to calm her down. “you didn’t make that for us, didn’t you?”

“no, i made it for him. then he came home completely wasted and told me not to make a big deal out of it. i spent my one day off making this big ass dinner for him, and he couldn’t even take a minute to say thank you.”

“look at me, y/n.” buck pulls away and places his hands on your shoulders. “it is not your fault he’s not good enough for you. he is not. good. enough.”

“no,” she whispers.

“yes,” he says. “you deserve better than what he’s giving you.”

she shakes her head and his heart breaks more. there is no way that he has given her so much shit that she doesn’t believe it’s his own fault. the tears come stronger and run down her damp cheeks. “i can’t just leave him, buck. i cant hurt him like that because some part of me still loves him.”

“i know, but it is for the better.”

“i don’t think i have the power to end things. he wouldn’t listen to me and i can’t bring myself to break his heart.” she cries.

“you need to leave him before he breaks yours any more than it already is.” y/n calls back into his chest, and he sits her down on the benches. his own eyes are becoming glossy at the pain of watching his best friend have to deal with this. he’s had his own fair share of bad relationships, but they never meant anything because he is scared of this happening. it hurts his heart to know that she’s been carrying herself through this relationship as he’s just been more weight on her shoulders.

————————————————————————

the door of the apartment swings open again, as usually. surprisingly, the smell of liquor doesn’t hit y/n’s nose. cameron walks in, placing his bags on the floor by the door. “y/n?”

“y/n? where are you?” he calls out again and she makes her way out of the bedroom. “hey, you. did you make dinner?”

“no.” she says, maintaining eye contact.

“o-oh? we don’t have leftovers?”

“no, cameron. i took them to the station.” she says. “you would remember i told you that, but you were too drunk to remember.”

“what are you talking about, y/n? i went out for drinks, i don’t know why you have to be so bitchy about it.” she’s made her decision to leave, but the names still sting inside.

“well, you don’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean? youre not actually leaving me.” he let’s out a patronizing chuckle at her words, but she stands her ground.

“i am leaving you, cameron. my stuff is in my car, and we are over.” she doesn’t move from her spot on the ground, scared to move her glued feet like she’d fall over.

he laughs again with a critical grin on his face, again. “and where do you think you’ll go? i pay for this apartment, i pay the bills. you have nothing without me. y/n.”

“i work at the best fire station with the highest ranking paramedics and firefighters out there.” she retorts back. “i’ll be just fine without you, hell, i practically have been for the past two years.”

“you’re embarrassing yourself, baby girl.” y/n’s expression scrunches up from the cringe of the pet name that she’s always hated.

“don’t ever call me that again.”

“you have no where to go, you can’t stay at your stupid job forever.” he takes a step closer, and she takes another one back.

“actually, she’s going to stay with me until she can find an apartment.” buck says, coming around the corner, sensing her fear.

cam rubs his face. “y/n, please. we can do this together. you know i love you.” his immediate switches in mood is what she can’t control anymore, and she can no longer deal with it.

“some version of me out there still loves you back, and i feel insane amounts of nothing but pity for her.” y/n spits out at him.

“you’re a fucking psycho,” he says, and buck runs over to create more distance, standing between the two. y/n turns around, running her hands through her hair, trying to disappear.

“we’re leaving, y/n/n.” buck says, gripping your waist. “let’s go.”

“fuck, whatever. get the hell out.” cameron finally moves to the side and y/n and buck walk out of y/n’s old ‘home’ for the last time.

they stand outside in the parking lot, standing side by side as a speechless y/n stares in the distance. “i won’t stay for too long, i’ve found a few nice apartments to look at.”

“don’t worry about anything, y/n. you can stay there forever if it means you’re not there anymore.”

being faced with this much kindness and loving actions overwhelms her, making even more tears that she didn’t know she had pool in her eyes. “don’t cry, please. it’s ok, i’m here.” he pulls her back in and pats the back of her hair. “why don’t you drive over to my place, i’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

they go their separate ways and start driving to his nice apartment and already, it feels more like home than hers ever did.

buck pulls out his phone in the parking lot, in his car. he dials a few numbers and pulls the phone to his ear.

“hey, maddie. you busy tonight?”

————————————————————————

going up the stairs, y/n only had the energy to bring in a single bag to his apartment tonight. they walk side by side to his door together, his arm around her shoulders. buck fumbles with his keys and looks at her red, worn out eyes.

when he unlocks the door, y/n immediately notices all her family around bucks kitchen. she places her eyes on everyone, bobby and athena, hen, ravi, chimney and maddie, even christopher and eddie are there. “hey, y/l/n, welcome home.” athena is the first to say. and for the first time of the night, a fixed smile shines through her.

“hi guys, you all crowded in here?”

“thanks to this one, we wanted to be here for you, y/n.” hen says, pointing to buck.

“you did this?” she asks, sweetly, as if they all had just wrapped her hurt heart with the bandages of their love.

“i guess you could say that.” buck smiles, not wanting to take credit, but happy that he’s finally put some light in her mind.

“y/n, come over here and show us how you made that pasta.” bobby says, calling her over to start making dinner. “maddies going to start a salad.”

“ooh! i can make margaritas!” buck exclaims, excitedly.

“um, i can get behind that!” chim says.

everyone gathered around the kitchen, y/n notices her family all around, taking in the love they’ve given her. they would never have to take the time out of their day to come hang out in bucks tiny apartment if they didn’t truly care about her.

after a while, only buck and her remain in the kitchen. as everyone else squeezes into his living room, some people literally sitting on top of each other.

“hey, i don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

“you don’t have to thank me for anything. this,” buck says, looking around the room. “is what you’ve deserved. and i will do anything to make sure you know that.”

they keep their eyes together, feeling everything from the day come down on them. both of them have their fears, but they seem to fade away and they forget about everyone else. realizing how much he really cares about her has changed everything for her. she loves buck more than she would ever have been able to love cameron. she reaches up impulsively, grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him in. she gives him a deep kiss and buck swears he’s levitating off the ground. his heart is on fire, waiting for this moment since they met. he didn’t expect anything in return, but he will say that this is a pretty nice reward.

buck leans back and shines a toothy grin at her, and she giggles. “you are very welcome.” he says, barely being able to get words out from his happiness.

they look over after hearing tiny giggles in the room. they both look over simultaneously, seeing christopher with an adorable, shining smile at them. he’s covering his mouth, but failing to conceal himself. “hi, christopher.” buck says.

“hi, buck! hi y/n!” he says, still not being able to wipe the smile away.

back in the living room, with maddies legs draped over him, chimney says to hen with a smirk, “and just like that, i am 20 dollars richer.”

“oh come on, chim, we all knew it was bound to happen.” hen laughs and they welcome y/n and buck back over.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley x reader #athena grant #henrietta wilson #maddie buckley #howie han #ravi panikkar

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thedivineflowers · 10 months

Text

Pt2. Of after the overblot. 😈😈😈😈 MWUAHAHAHBHABAHAGAHHAAGHAAHAHABSUSJSNJDHRGDJJX

You woke up in the infirmary as usual. But you oddly felt calm, too calm. You felt a warmth forming at your stomach and you looked to see Malleus standing beside you with his hands above your tummy. "You're awake, child. How are you feeling?" He asked as he gently lifted your body up and had you sit up straight on the infirmary bed. "I feel fine. And my stomach feels weird." You said as he chuckled. "That's just the spell that I placed. Don't worry. You're supposed to feel that way." He said as he helped you out of the bed. "How did I get here?" You asked him "You collapsed in Crowleys office. You're body was feeling exhaustion even though you've slept for two weeks. If you had slept longer and not force yourself to wake up you probably wouldn't have fallen." He said as he helped you put on your slippers. "What time is it? Where are the others?" You asked him as he guided you to the door. "They're waiting for you. Would you like to see them?" He asked as he guided you out of the infirmary. "yeah..."

Heartslaybul:

Dawg everything is happening at once. One is crying and is hugging you to their head. The other is posting photos of you looking better and well. one is just standing idly next to you and the other is fussing over you while another one of them is trying to feed you cookies.

Guess the order 😈😈

Savannaclaw:

Jack is giving you like protein bars and stuff (maybe a small cactus plushie idk 🤫🤫) and Ruggie is giving you one of his grandmas homemade donuts! Meanwhile Leonas keeping his tail around you arm so he can keep an eye on you and so you don't get hurt again. (He might bring Cheka over for a visit. And maybe he bought some things that you mentioned that you wanted, maybe.)

Octavinelle:

Before you came to see them Azul was whipping up a storm of potions for you. One to help you with your magic, one to help you with any side effects from your magic, one to boost your energy, and another to call for him for anything! When Azul gave it to you you fell to the ground with the potions. He used a spell to make the bag lightweight and he gave you some food to eat while Jade and Floyd guarded you and gave you some expensive gifts from who knows where.

Scarabia:

You and Kalim are running at each other full force. But not without Jamil 😡😡. As Kalim and you squeezed each other tightly Jamil as stuck trying to breath and asking you if you were okay. Once that was finished Kalim dragged you to your room that you had in the dorm along with Jamil. Kalim had given you multiple boxes full of things that you were to scared to open. While Jamil just gave you a nice meal and your favorite drink. ( He cares about you just as much as Kalim but he knows he doesn't have the money or energy like Kalim to show it. So he cooked for you and stayed close to you both. ( Y'all ended the night by you and Kalim sleeping on the floor with multiple pillows. Jamil stayed up a bit to watch over the both of you.)

Pomefiore:

Vil is fussing over you while also doing your makeup. Epel is waiting next to you so you both can goof around in the mud and Rook is doing your hair. Once your deemed decent enough your dragged off to go eat while Epel salutes to you. You both ended up eating unknown greens and kid safe vitamin gummies. But Vil then took you to go practice your magic while Epel and Room spectate. You almost cut Rooks perfect bob cut if it weren't for his hat. You and Epel then eventually get to go and goof off but you both came back with very noticeable nose bleeds and Vil scolded you both.

Ignihyde:

Idia has you take a small visit to STYX (? Is that how you spell it) and he tries to figure out the reason of your sudden overblot and magic formation while Ortho distracts you with games that match your interests. Then once the testing for the day has ended you three go into Idias room and play games while you and Idia make battery acid drinks.

Diasomnia:

Lilia is a bit weary of allowing you near the three of them because of the overblot but you were a kid! And you of course couldn't harm Malleus because you barely had control over your magic so he pushed it aside and greeted you with warm arms as he tried feeding you his ravioli with some weird sauce. Silver stepped in and gave you some sweets to snack on while Sebek stood guard to protect you and Malleus. Who simply sat next to you and watched over you just in case your magic acts up.

Grim:

He had slept next to your bed while you were resting. He tried using some magic to help you recover faster but he just sighed and slept next to you as well after your body rejected his magic. He was so happy to see you well after your overblot and collapsing that he dropped all of your gifts he had for you and hugged you. He always followed you everywhere and even helped you adjust to your magic.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHAJWJNEBENSJSNEN

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farming-for-affection · 2 months

Text

Cooking Headcanons: Alex

Single: He has been preparing his own meals since high school, as Granny Evelyn doesn't really understand what "macros" are. He cooks for his grandparents as well, usually a hearty protein with vegetables for sides. As he monitors his protein intake carefully, his meals are typically very healthy, if rather straight-forward, but that suits his grandparents just fine.

After marriage: He builds on the knowledge he already has, tracking your macros along with his own, but now has a wider variety of fresh fruits and vegetables to work with. He feels more pressure to make food that tastes good, and always looks for your input. He enjoys planning meals, and perfects quick breakfasts so you can get to your fields faster. After having Alex prepare your meals for a few seasons, you feel full of energy and much stronger; Alex notices and is quite proud of himself.

Breakfast: A quick protein smoothie, or eggs with toast and peanut butter.

Lunch: A hearty sandwich with lots of lettuce, sides of fresh vegetables

Snacks: Dried meats and fruits, sometimes homemade protein bars

Dinner: A pork roast or steak, with two sides of roasted vegetables. (He’ll add baked potatoes or rice to load up on carbs if you’ll need energy the next day)

Desert: Evelyn’s cookies, she makes a fresh batch every time he comes to visit.

Specialty: On Sundays, Alex will make a large breakfast of eggs, hash browns and pancakes.

#stardew valley #sdv alex #stardew valley alex #tw: food #Slight editing and rereleasing #Since the original is five years old now

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 10 months

Text

Sorry, just this little ficlet, and then I'll continue taking my break. I actually got some progress made on my WIP . . . Whoops, I accidentally wrote a little bit of smut. It was supposed to be just an accidental kiss.

18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie and Steve were friends. To them, they were like Steve and Robin, bound by trauma whilst being completely platonic. Oh, how very wrong they were. The realization came to them by complete accident. Eddie and his band finally had a gig that had a crowd a lot bigger than the crowd back in Hawkins. Corroded Coffin was playing at a decently sized bar just outside of Indianapolis. Steve and Robin were the only ones who could get away. Well, Robin had happily invited Vickie along with them, too. The three of them cheered when Eddie walked up to the mic and threw up devil horns in their direction. The horns slowly dropped, however, when he saw what they were wearing. All three of them were wearing homemade Corroded Coffin t-shirts, and they were all bright pink. He scowled at them and began to play.

Steve was thrilled to watch him play. He couldn't be more delighted at the sight of his friend ruling the stage. . .fucking owning the stage is what he was doing. Steve’s heart rate skyrocketed as he watched Eddie's long hair flow backward, exposing his throat as he tilted his head back. Eddie's crop top was drenched with sweat, and droplets ran down his stomach. God, Steve wanted to lick it. Wait. . .what? Before he could question that thought, the show ended, and Eddie was leaving the stage. Steve had to go see him.

"You go, we have to pee," Vickie said, her eyes shining.

Steve scoffed and waved them off. He knew exactly what they were going to do. Steve went into the back, only to find that Eddie wasn't with the rest of the band.

"Yeah, Eddie's in the back office there. He's getting out his excess energy. He was scaring Frankie again," Gareth said.

"I am NOT scared of Eddie, asshole," Frankie muttered.

They hadn't been kidding about Eddie's energy levels. He was practically bouncing off the walls when Steve walked into the room. He threw himself into Steve’s arms and hugged him tightly before pulling back. He was beaming like the sun.

"So, what'd you think?" Eddie asked.

"You were awesome, man! If this is what metal sounds like when you play it, then I could listen to it all of the time," Steve said.

Eddie grabbed his face and pressed a hard, grateful kiss to Steve’s lips. When he felt Steve tense up in surprise, he pulled back, his face red.

"Sorry, I don't know where that came from," Eddie said, and Steve gazed at him for a moment, his mouth open.

"Don't be," Steve quickly. "It was a, uh, nice kiss. Very nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck, I liked it too."

And that's how Steve found himself pressed up against the wall of the office, Eddie's mouth against his in a hungry kiss. God, it felt like Eddie was trying to devour him. Maybe he was, and maybe he wanted to be devoured by him. Was that what that feeling was? Yeah, he knew it. It wasn't any different than when he had strong feelings for a girl, but it was different in a way that felt more final, like he didn't want to kiss anyone else ever again. Maybe that's why he chose to ignore it all these many months that they had spent hanging out together.

Steve moaned as Eddie's hands wandered up his shirt. Eddie cupped his pecs, his thumbs brushing over his nipples and working them as he moved his lips to Steve’s neck. Steve cursed. Suddenly, Eddie's hands were back over his shirt again. They gripped the collar of the shirt tightly as Eddie moved back. He tore the shirt cleanly down the middle.

"Pink, really?" Eddie asked, and Steve grinned wickedly. "I knew you did that shirt on purpose. Bad Boy. Don't worry, I have a couple shirts I brought with me. You can wear one of mine."

Eddie's eyes darkened at the thought of Steve wearing his clothes. He slipped the rest of the shirt off of him before tearing off his own shirt. Steve gripped his hips, pushing him backward until Eddie's legs hit the back of the small couch. Eddie sat down, and Steve straddled him. Steve’s hand dove in between Eddie's legs and cupped Eddie's clothed hard on. Eddie moaned and cursed Steve’s name as he pressed his hand further against him.

"Goddamn it! Fuck you, Steve," Eddie cursed again.

"So, you don't want my hand inside of your pants. . .hand pressed against your hard cock. . .hard just for me, huh?" Steve whispered in his ear.

The image of Eddie with his head tossed back, just like he was now, on stage fueled the fire that was burning inside of Steve. His tight pants were constricting him. They almost hurt.

"Yes! Fuck! I want you to touch me!" Eddie exclaimed and whispered.

Steve unbuttoned his own pants before doing the same with Eddie's. He wanted to stroke their dicks at the same time. Once this fire was lit, it seemed difficult to put out. Steve had slipped his hand into Eddie's pants when the door burst open. Robin came in with Vickie. Everyone froze. Robin stared at Steve and Eddie. They stared back at her while Vickie backed away slowly out of the room.

"This is exactly what it looks like," Eddie said, Steve’s hand still down his pants.

"What the hell?! I thought the three of us were all platonic with a capital p!" Robin exclaimed.

"Sorry," Steve said, not looking sorry at all.

"It's alright," Robin said softly. "I'll forgive you since you're being queer and all. Eddie finish getting fucked by my best friend and buys us some drinks. You owe us for scarring my girlfriend."

"I'm not scarred! I think it's great! I just didn't want to see it!" Vickie hollered.

"Bless her, she's delusional," Robin said and backed out of the room.

"Tell Gareth to bring us some shirts!" Eddie hollered.

Steve climbed off Eddie, laughing with them as he collapsed next to him.

"Ugh, she ruined the mood," Steve complained.

"Yeah. . .so, queer, huh?" Eddie asked.

"Well, what we did definitely wasn't straight," Steve said and they laughed.

The door opened and Gareth came in with his eyes shut.

"Robin said that I should close my eyes because there's something scary going on in here. Eddie. . .did you really try and fight Steve? We told you before you can't take him," Gareth said. "Even in a hypothetical fight."

Eddie scowled and crossed his arms while Steve struggled to contain his laughter. He watched with a fond smile as Eddie pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. He had really been buried deep in his denial because how could he have possibly thought that he and Eddie were just friends?

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie smut #they both wake the fuck up at eddie's concert

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foli-vora · 1 year

Text

run to you: chapter five

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: life is hectic atm but i'm so glad to finally get this out! i swear i'm gonna get around to replying to all of your lovely comments on chapter four. i really appreciate your love and support for this story and i'm forever thanking you, even if i don't get around to replying as quick as i want! so not a lot of marcus and reader in this chapter, like... at all lmao, but the storyline is now picking up and we can fasten our seatbelts for the turbulent ride ahead. enjoy, angels! x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: just over 4.5k

Warnings: angst, swearing, the bestest golden retriever himbo bff, talk of crime and undercover operations, mentions of heartache, mentions of jail/being incarcerated, talk of murder/bodies, smutty flashback (18+ only), Patrick Jane, super brief blink-and-you-miss-it Lisbon appearance (poor marcus bb is not doing good rn lmao SUFFER BITCH), and the usual warning: bitter saltiness that only one man brings to life in us

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

He’s hovering.

At first, it’s almost easy to ignore—you think he’s just watching you paint with a small sense of curiosity and would move away once boredom finds him, but you’ve never been one for people looming over your shoulder for an extended period of time, and so the irritation quickly starts to seep in.

The hand holding the paintbrush drops, and you look expectantly at him while knocking your headphones off of one ear, “Can I help you, agent?”

Jacob leans on the table next to you and tears into the homemade sub in his hands, chewing loudly as a small smearing of mayonnaise gathers at the corner of his lips.

He gives a nod, mumbling around the mouthful of food, “Just makin’ sure you eat.”

You blink in surprise, glancing at the window, “It’s lunchtime already?”

“A bit past,” Jacob replies, moving away now that he has your attention and sits himself on a chair at the table, “but I didn’t want to let you go late without eating. Gotta keep up your energy, Monet—don’t want you running yourself into the ground.”

“Thanks,” you murmur softly, organising your little workstation and rolling your aching shoulders.

The break is surprisingly welcome. You didn’t even realise how long you’d been lost in your work until you stopped, and now the throb in your fingers is all you can focus on. You clench and unclench your hand as you walk to your bag and ready some lunch, careful of the hot food you retrieve from the microwave.

Jacob doesn’t look at you as you seat yourself opposite him, too engrossed in studying the painting hanging on the easel.

“You’re good at this,” Jacob notes, eyeing the almost completed piece waiting to be taken wherever by Marcus’ team, “how’d you get into this stuff? Art school?”

Appetite now gone, you shift in your seat, suddenly far too interested in pushing the rice into small mountains in your glass dish.

Breathe.

He doesn’t know.

“I uh… I actually did it for a living.”

“Oh? Nice.”

There’s no malice in his tone, no mistrust, just pure interest.

He doesn’t glare at you, or pull a face of suspicion. It doesn’t even occur to him that it may have all been under the table and illegal. You feel a little guilty, almost as if you’d been leading him to believe you weren’t a previously convicted criminal. It makes you want to own it, to just speak your truth and let him make his own judgement of your actions.

Maybe it would be best to do so, so he would know where he stands and how he should view you. You’re not a good person, and maybe he deserves to know that. He does deserve to know that.

“It was… it wasn’t legal. That’s how I got caught up in Marcus’ radar,” you admit quietly, briefly letting your eyes meet his and watching the flicker of surprise flash across his features before dropping your gaze again, afraid to watch his warmth and friendliness disappear.

“Oh.”

Nothing is said for a few minutes.

You swear you can feel the seconds trickling by, your nerves picking up and heightening with every silent tick. The small bit of the lunch you’d packed last night and eaten starts to churn uncomfortably in your stomach, swirling with your growing anxiety and threatening to bubble up your throat.

You can’t look at him.

“How’d you get caught?”

“It was a whole thing. Apparently the FBI had been after them—us—for a while… I knew it was big, I wasn’t stupid, but I guess I just tried to ignore the other side of it all. The money was good, and it felt nice. Marcus went undercover—guess they wanted someone on the inside, and I just happened to fall in the trap.”

And fall into the trap you did. You fell good. One look into those warm brown eyes and your walls had crumbled. You still don’t understand how it all happened. If only you could go back and scream at your more naive self, tell her to just walk away and never look back.

God, had you truly been that lonely? To open up so quickly, so easily, with a complete stranger? Would things have played out differently if you had just been stronger and ignored the obvious attraction and turned a cheek to his advances? Would he have just moved on to somebody else for the sake of the case?

It makes you angry, and you don’t have a clue as to why. Maybe it’s because somewhere deep within you, beneath the bitterness and the hurt, you wanted to believe he actually did want you, and not just use you as a means to finish the investigation. You wanted to believe that a part of it, even just a slither of it, was real.

Stupid.

Of course it wasn’t real. None of it was.

Jacob nods in understanding, “So that’s why you hate Pike?”

Hate?

Is that what you feel for him?

The angry side of you says yes. Yes, you hate him and everything he fucking stands for, and that you’d feel this way forever… but it doesn’t sit right, feel right. Maybe you don’t. Maybe hate isn’t what it is. Resentment? Disappointment, perhaps?

“I don’t hate him,” you sigh quietly, giving up on lunch and pushing it away from you, “not… not really. I mean, I did. For months I wished all sorts of horrible shit to happen to him, but I… I don’t know. I guess I just accepted it for what it was after a while. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like him—at all—but I just want to forget it all happened and move on. I want my fresh start, you know? It’s hard seeing him, being around him again, after all the heartbreak.”

“Wait,” Jacob frowns, holding a hand out to stop you from speaking any more, “when you say you ‘fell into the trap’, does that… were you guys a thing? While he was undercover? Was it serious?��

“It was to me,” you admit with a murmur, “even had me picking out a damn wedding dress.”

The laugh that you force from your lips is strained and void of any true humour.

If anything, it’s an attempt to steer the direction of the conversation from diving any deeper into the overwhelming feelings you had for a man that had never existed. It’s humiliating to even think about. Maybe if you laugh about it, the sting of it all won’t hurt as much.

“Oh well,” you breathe, straightening in your seat and twisting your lips to resemble a faint smile, “it’s all in the past. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Jacob watches you play with your food with a look you can’t quite identify. You don’t want to risk looking at him too much, afraid that he’ll see the clear pain swirling in your eyes. The damage has probably already been done. He’s seen it all, and probably more. He’s a Federal Agent—their job relies on reading people on a daily basis.

“Hey,” he mutters, giving you a small comforting smile when you eventually pull your gaze away from the table to look at him, “for what it's worth, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt. It must’ve been really tough, and I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

Your features twist into a frown, “Who said I was alone through it?”

He watches you knowingly for a moment, his brows raising ever so slightly as his small smile turns a little sadder, sympathetic. He’s right, and he knows it. You had been alone. It’d been the most alone you’d ever felt, and you’ll spend the rest of your life hoping to never feel that way again.

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you give a small shrug and drop your fork with a quiet clatter, “I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. Yeah, you’ve made some pretty shit decisions in the past—I’m not debating that, but I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. You’re not a bad person, not like the ones we’re used to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone. You watch him for a few minutes, eyes darting between his bright green ones and searching for anything that gives you a small feeling of doubt that his words are nothing but a lie.

You find nothing.

A true smile starts to grow along your lips and you dip your head, unable to keep meeting his genuine gaze without feeling the sting of tears in your eyes.

“Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome, Kahlo.”

It’s quiet, and you feel like you can bear the sight of food again.

Your shoulders feel lighter, the ache in your chest has dissipated. It’s freeing. You hadn’t yet been able to speak on what had happened without someone focusing on the crime part.

The inmates you had bunked with, the counsellors in jail, the people hiring you once you got out… they all had that pre-judgement of you. The title of criminal followed you throughout every interaction, but not here, not with him.

You pick up your fork and start picking at your food, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. The slice of Jacob’s sudden huff cuts through the air, and he throws his almost eaten sub onto the table before crossing his arms in obvious irritation.

“God, what a fuckin’ dick.”

—

Heat—it’s everywhere.

It sticks to your skin, it swells in the pit of your stomach, it builds and builds over your flesh with every deep roll of his body over yours. It should be too much, too overwhelming, but your nails still dig into the soft skin of his back in a silent cry for more.

Just when you think he can’t possibly get any closer, he does. He pushes—crushes—you into the mattress, hands cradling the back of your head in an effort to keep you as close as possible. So close, so fucking close, you’re practically breathing in the other, with no room left for oxygen between you and it’s absolute bliss.

He’s breathless against the skin of your throat, nothing but soft whimpers and the hush of sharp exhales filling your ears. Lips press wherever they can reach, trailing paths of fire along your cheeks and the length of your neck until you squirm from the sensation, fighting both the urge to hide from his tender touch and stretch out for more.

“A-Alex,” you breathe, face turning enough to trace the tip of your nose along the shell of his ear.

He exhales sharply, hips faltering ever so slightly. His face briefly falls away from breathing in your skin, dipping his head and hiding his features. Despite the unexpected jolt in his rhythm, he still moves, still rolls his hips in that way he’s fucking mastered, ensuring every upwards roll of his hips has that delicious bit of friction along your clit.

It’s maddening.

It’s perfection.

The ecstasy rolling through your body hits an all time high, and your thighs tighten around his hips, coaxing him to brush harder, push deeper into the wet heat of your pussy until you start to feel that sweet, sweet edge start to creep along the edge of your nerves.

More, more, more—

“Ale–”

He suddenly rears forward, moulding his lips to yours and stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s always the same. The kiss is urgent, all teeth and tongue and it’s impossible to speak another word. You struggle to keep up with his intensity, too busy focusing on that overwhelming high and the tightening that threatens to give at any second now.

It’s good—it’s so fucking good, you swear you’re going crazy. He does that to you. Though you can’t say it, breathe it, his name is all you hear in your mind, its own soft echo a consistent companion to the sheer pleasure he drowns you in.

Alex, Alex, Alex.

—

It’s been a month.

A month in your new little workspace, a month of painting, a month of successfully avoiding him. Despite it being his investigation, he now keeps his distance from the makeshift art space he had given you. Maybe he finally got the message that you didn’t want to be around him, that the mere thought of even uttering a single word to him made you feel almost nauseous.

You haven’t seen him in weeks.

When you finish a piece, he sends his agents. You know a few by name now, but don’t bother with small talk. They come, give you a friendly hello, take the finished, wrapped painting and leave—that’s it.

That’s all it is.

You don’t have to do anything else, and it’s wonderful. You spend your days painting, relishing in the familiar feel of a brush between your fingers and enjoying the legal money deposited into your account every week.

You get ahead with bills. You buy some new clothes. You feel refreshed, finding a certain needed peace from the sudden financial stability. You know it’s not going to last—Jacob doesn’t talk about the case a whole lot, but you know that the team has made some progress with it, so you put a little money aside for the day the FBI no longer needs you.

He becomes a fast friend, and if you were ever to find it within you to thank Marcus for anything in this world, it would be him. You surely would’ve gone batshit insane if you’d been holed up in that room by yourself day in and day out, probably worse if you had been locked up with Marcus every day.

But not Jacob.

Jacob keeps the air light.

He’s kind, funny, and a bit of an idiot, and you find yourself fondly laughing nearly every day at the little things he would do or say. You thoroughly enjoy his company, and love hearing about his time in school, training to be an agent and the few cases he’s worked on so far.

He asks you questions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know you and of you past, never once making you feel lesser than or lowly for your less than ideal life before this.

“You made a decision, Matisse. Good or bad—own it.”

He keeps to himself whenever you find yourself focused on your work, and only steps in to remind you to take care of yourself. On the odd occasion, he’d join you, content to watch you work with a shine of interest.

You don’t like it, so you shove canvas paper and oil pastels at him to keep him from hovering any longer and it works. It becomes a little activity of sorts, a release for him whenever paperwork starts to push at his patience a little too much.

“They should’ve hired you for this case,” you mumble teasingly around your lunch, grinning at the pride filling his features as he finishes his latest project—his own creation inspired by the Van Gogh you’re currently working on.

It’s pretty, full of bright colours and soft swirling patterns. The Future, he had called it, and apparently—it was all for you.

You need something colourful, Da Vinci, something happy. You’re too sad.

The FBI doesn’t deserve him.

“Hey, I’m proud of this,” he retorts sharply, pointing a finger smudged with colour at you but his tone doesn’t match the bright amusement in his eyes, “belongs in a damn museum. It’s an original Wilson—people will flock to see it. You just wait, Michaelangelo, this will bring a lot of money down the track, mark my words.”

Your chuckle is cut off by the insistent buzz in his pocket, and he stands immediately, answering the call with a swift Wilson and stepping away from the table with his phone pressed to his ear.

It’s Marcus... you know just by the way he positions himself, ensuring to keep a bit of distance and turning away so you don't have to potentially hear his voice from the other end. You quickly lose interest in the conversation, focusing back on the open book you’ve been trying—and failing—to get into the last few days.

The interest in the conversation was lost, until you hear it.

“Understood, sir. We’ll leave now.”

Immediately looking up in question, your brows start to furrow as Jacob wraps up the phone call and strides back to the table quietly. Anxiety begins to build in the pit of your stomach at the sudden serious set of his features, unused to seeing the usually bright and bubbly face now so stoic. It’s Agent Wilson, not Jacob.

“We’re leaving?” you ask in confusion, “but I haven’t even done—”

The frown between his thick brows deepens, and he barely looks at you while he shrugs his navy blue suit jacket on, leaving faint smudges of orange and pink on the lapels.

“Leave it, we need to get to the office.”

The anxiety immediately gives way to dread.

The office? Where Marcus and his team are? Why?

You want to ask if you can stay behind—straight up refuse to go anywhere near that damn building—but the firm set of Jacob’s lips lets you know it’s non-negotiable.

He helps you with your bag, a certain urgency to his movements, and then you’re descending the stairs with him hot on your tail. He ushers you into the car, throwing a wary glance each way down the street before moving around the vehicle and sliding into his seat.

You swear you can feel your heart beating in your throat. He’s clearly in a rush, but you’re at a loss as to why. Has something happened? Is there danger? Are you in danger?

With your mind beginning to hurl possibilities at you, you start to feel more and more nauseous with every swift swerve through traffic Jacob makes.

“Is everything okay?” You ask carefully, fingers fiddling with the straps of your bag as you try to calm the rage of your heart.

He briefly looks away from the traffic and gives you a small reassuring smile, “Of course. There’s just been a big development and I’m needed back at the office for a debriefing, sorry for the rushing.”

“Oh,” you breathe in relief, “okay, I understand. Well, you can drop me home if that’s easier for you.”

“It’s an urgent thing and uh… Pike would like you at the office.”

Your lips press shut and an immediate frown overcomes your expression.

Of course.

If there had been developments in the case, why did you need to be there? It’s not like you're an agent with unlimited access to the available information. Your own folder Marcus had given you was severely lacking any true details of the case beyond what you needed to know, and it’s not like you were involved in anything anymore, so you had very little to contribute further than your creative talents.

You keep quiet for the rest of the quick trip, taking the hint that now is not the time for small talk. The need to chat is nonexistent to you right now anyway, even if Jacob happened to be in a perkier mood. The mere thought of seeing, and talking to, Marcus again does nothing to ease the dread churning in the pit of your gut.

The building is not a welcome sight, yet you hurry to follow Jacob from the brightly lit parking lot and into the home of the FBI. He stays beside you the whole way, through the wide crowded corridors and during the silence of the elevator, giving you one final reassuring smile before he pushes open the door to the Art Crime Department.

It’s busy.

Marcus doesn’t suddenly appear from nowhere and bombard you both at the entrance. You can take a deep breath. The shrill ringing of phones fill the space, and the shuffle of agents near running about with various files and pieces of paper takes you a little off guard.

There’s an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. You can’t quite put your finger on why it unsettles you so.

You follow Jacob further into the chaos, ensuring to keep out of the way and keeping an eye out for the one man you seem to now be bracing for, steeling your nerves into something harder, something unbreakable. You don’t need to wait long—there he is.

He looks tired.

Marcus appears from a room, presumably his own personal office, raking a hand through his mussed hair and saying a few brief words to a coworker before his eyes zero in on Jacob. He points to the conference room where you’d once sat at the beginning of this, already heading that way with another agent, and Jacob gives a short nod in response.

You try to blend into the background behind Jacob so Marcus doesn’t take much notice of you, but it’s not even a moment later and his eyes are suddenly meeting yours. The feeling of his attention is instant, and the increase of your heart is familiar by now.

Despite the distance between you, you feel how they roam over your face, seemingly searching your expression, but it’s not long until they fall away and you’re left to exhale quietly, now free from his gaze.

He disappears into the conference room, and you swallow down the thick feeling of anxiety building in the back of your throat. He doesn’t seem eager, or interested, in talking to you straight away, and you’re relieved by that—you could mentally and emotionally prepare yourself a little more.

“My desk is over there if you want to sit down,” Jacob offers, turning and walking backwards in order to point you in the right direction, “and I’ve got snacks in the bottom drawer.”

Rolling your eyes, you give a strained huff of amusement and start walking towards it, “Of course you do.”

Your shoulder catches the frame of someone else and you quickly take a step back, wide eyes locking with a pair of vaguely amused blue ones.

He’s dressed sharply, much different to the basic suits the agents around him wear, in a well kept grey toned three piece suit with the simple white collar of his shirt popped open at the base of his throat. His soft blond curls are styled neatly back, and the gentle scent of tea wafts from the cup in his hold.

He’s pretty, by society’s standards, but his eyes are sharp, as if they can see right into the very centre of you.

You don’t like it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mumble, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You don’t linger to hear what the agent has to say. You hurry into Jacob’s desk space and throw your bag under it before taking a seat in the simple desk chair, the backrest squeaking as you rest into it.

His desk is as you expected it to look—messy, but organised in his own little chaotic way. The edges of his computer screen are littered with sticky notes of reminders, his ballpoint pens are all missing their lids, he has a bobble head character of a sports player next to his keyboard and a crumpled paper plane lies hidden beneath a thick notebook.

It’s undoubtedly Jacob, end to end.

The wide variety of sweets and chips resting on old files doesn’t surprise you at all when you tug at the stiff drawer, and you immediately zero in on the ones he’s been sharing with you over the past few weeks.

“Jane, stay out of trouble,” a brunette orders sharply as she passes, briefly catching your attention and the man you had previously bumped into comes to a stop just beside you.

“Aye aye, Captain,” he replies dryly with the growings of a smirk, sipping quietly at the tea in his hands and watching the last few agents file into the conference room before the door closes.

Do people still use saucers? He does. He half turns towards you and eyes you curiously as you sway absent-mindedly in Jacob’s desk chair, breaking into the packet of sour candies.

“You’re not an agent.”

You blink up at him and give a small, polite smile, “No, I’m not.”

He makes a low noise of thought to himself and sits on the edge of the desk opposite to Jacob’s, watching you over the rim of the plain white cup he lifts to his lips.

You shift a little under his study, busying yourself with picking a lemon flavoured candy out from the packet and looking over the various little notes decorating the dated computer screen.

Meeting @ 10 Tues. Picasso retrieval daily @ 8. Get bread. Call ma before she has a damn heart attack—

“How long have you been an artist?”

Eyes rolling back to the stranger, you give a slightly confused, “What? How do you know I’m an artist?”

“You have paint on your fingers,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the room.

Rubbing your fingers together, you feel the tell tale crack of dried paint over your skin and glance down at it in vague interest. He’s got a really good set of eyes. You shift a little in the seat and pinch the ends of your sleeves before pulling them down further over your hands to hide them from him.

“A few years,” you reply vaguely, “you’re rather observant, Agent Jane.”

It comes across more as an accusation rather than a general statement, and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He grins, flashing a nice set of pearly white teeth.

“Patrick,” he supplies, “and I’m a consultant.”

“Didn’t even know that was a thing,” you mutter plainly, not liking the way you feel like a fucking open book with this stranger, “well, shouldn’t you be in there, then?”

You nod towards the closed door of the conference room and Patrick makes a low noise of dismissal, a slight scrunch curling his nose.

“I already know everything about the murders—Lisbon can handle it.”

The word cuts through the air and chills you right to the bone.

“Murders? What murders?”

Patrick looks at you, shrugging lightly.

“That’s why we’re here. The fancy little tracker led this bunch down to the meeting point in California, but we found the bodies first. Deal gone wrong, I’m guessing. The buyer probably found the painting to be a fake, and got rid of the delivery men because of it. Very messy.”

Your stomach turns.

The painting? Your painting?

“What was wrong with the piece?” You ask quietly, voice suddenly strained.

“Not sure,” Patrick murmurs, taking an apparent interest in the way you’re reacting to his information and studying you from over his tea, “guess we’ll know soon enough.”

You swallow, a sting of sweat building along the back of your neck. They knew it was a replica? How? You must’ve done something different, there must’ve been something wrong with it. Otherwise how else would they know? They wouldn’t.

Have you made a mistake?

Is that why Marcus wanted you here? Are you in trouble? What would be the ramifications of your mistake? After all, it’s your fault. People had died because you didn’t focus hard enough on your work. The FBI have probably realised how useless you are if you can’t even convince some shady black market dealers that your pieces are real.

You must’ve been distracted. You never made mistakes, and now you’ve made one that cost lives. How many? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it happened, and now you have to live with that knowledge.

People have died. People have died because of you.

You fucked up.

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#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist fic #run to you

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