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#like what was your business there sir why the FUCK you lookin at him like that
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader
Part 3 to Truth or Dare and Truth or Dare Part 2
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap
Summary: After being so rudely interrupted in the middle of you and your lieutenant's tryst, but he made a promise. "This isn't over." You hope that he plans to keep it, but when? Things might have to wait as you are assigned to a mission with him. But when being close proves to much, will both of you be able to hold off on your lust or will you succumb to all that tension?
Word Count: 8.2k
Warnings:
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Lt. Riley storms out of the munitions depot seething with frustration as he searches for the private waiting to relay Price’s message to him. Of all the fucking times to be interrupted, why in the hell did it have to be this one time when he was so close to exploring the depths of what the connection sparked between you could bring. Now he is left with nothing but anger and a sizeable bulge in his pants that he has to discreetly readjust before anyone can catch him hard as a fucking rock.
That piercing brown gaze locates the private standing against the side of the building a few feet from the door, his face red, his jaw tense, brow wrinkled up as if he is deep in thought about his predicament at having seen something he shouldn’t. The poor boy has no time to react as heavy-booted steps quickly approach before the lieutenant grabs him by the shoulders and pins him to the wall, glaring at him intimidatingly down through the holes of his mask. 
“Let’s get one thing fuckin’ straight, yeah? ‘Fore I let ya go ‘bout your business,” he says, his tone firm and menacing. “I’m only gonna say this once, so ya best listen up. Ya didn’t see a damn thing back there, nothin’ at all, got it private? It’s in your best interest to rid your mind of anything ya think ya might have misunderstood or there will be consequences that ya may not like. Is that clear?”
The private is visibly shaken by his threatening warning and struggles to speak. 
Dropping his voice, the lieutenant leans in. “Is. That. Clear?”
Quickly the private collects himself so that he can answer, if only to be released from the lieutenant’s fury. “Y-yes, s-sir,” he confirms. 
His answer seems satisfactory enough; Lt. Riley is sure his intimidation has done the trick to keep the boy quiet and he gives him a nod of approval. “Now,” the lieutenant says as he releases the scared private and sets him up straight before stepping back, “ya said Price is lookin’ for me? Did he mention what for?” 
“Y-yes sir,” he nods, his voice still shaky, but slowly calming down. “It’s about mission a-assignments.”
“Good man, you’re dismissed.”
With that the private scurries away as fast as he can to leave the lieutenant alone, ready to head towards Price’s office to see what this is all about. He gives one last, lingering glance back at the building, wishing he could just run back inside and pick up where he left off, but he steps off back across base back to where he had just been a little while before. 
As he walks he can’t help but wonder how much time is going to pass before he will get the chance to see you again. Who knows what this round of missions will hold; it could be weeks or months of being separated before you both get another opportunity like this.
With a sigh he heads into Captain Price’s office with no expectations other than the same routine that he is accustomed to: get in, get out, job well done. Yet as the lieutenant sits there listening to Price go into detail about the plans for what will be expected on this mission, he catches something that he thinks he’s misheard.
“Sir,” Lt. Riley cuts Price off in the middle of his thought, “can you repeat that last bit.”
Price raises an eyebrow; it isn’t like his lieutenant to interject like this. “Said since I’m wantin’ ya to take a group of the recruits out, I am sendin’ two sergeants with ya: Mactavish and our esteemed female sergeant that you just presumably saw. Help keep ‘em in line to make sure this isn’t a bust.”
The lieutenant’s heart skips a beat as the captain continues on with the brief synopsis of things that will get hashed out over the next days until departure, but Lt. Riley hears very little. Fuck, this is somehow both better and worse than being apart for any length of time. How the hell is he  supposed to stay sane when in such close proximity to you?
It’s a couple of hours before he is able to get away from under the discerning eyes of the captain, tasked with telling you about this new development in the morning. The thought alone of seeing you again keeps him up for most of the night as he runs over scenarios in his mind. You’re both soldiers highly trained in what you do, taught how to put things aside to focus on the task at hand; it should be fine, right? And yet… his skin still burns to feel yours against it.  
That doesn’t sound like he’ll be fine. He wonders if you’ll be just as miserable too?
The lieutenant decides that it is best to talk to you during your time training the recruits, hopeful that with so many people present it will keep you both tame. He makes his way to the range about midday and as he approaches he catches you in the middle of giving orders to a couple of recruits at the end of the range. Instead of announcing his presence immediately, he allows himself a few seconds just to watch you, his eyes following every curve of your body that he can catch even through your clothes. 
There’s no sign anything is amiss until you notice a few recruits are now distracted and no longer participating in the current activity and you follow their eyeline to see the lieutenant standing not far from the group. He nods his head to you in beckoning to come to him and immediately you can feel the heat in your cheeks blossoming until they are glowing warm. 
What could he want? you wonder to yourself.
Turning back to your bunch of recruits, you give your order so that you won’t be disturbed while you go see what’s up. “Continue on for a few rounds, switching partners every empty clip while I speak with Lt. Riley,” you bark and they immediately fall into line. “And I have my eyes on you so don’t fuck anything up. Got it?” 
A round of yes ma’ams trail behind you as you make your anxious way over to the lieutenant, the rapidly thudding beat of your heart making your steps brisk. Even from here you can see his hands gripping onto the straps of his tactical vest, knuckles almost white, as if he is struggling to stay composed. Your eyes meet as you near and all that intensity comes flooding right back into your body to leave you aching with a need to get closer, though you force yourself to stop with a bit of distance still between you. 
“Yes, sir?” you ask, pausing to swallow to keep your voice steady. “How can I help you?”
“Word from Price,” he answers as his eyes inadvertently begin to gravitate to your mouth before he forcefully guides them away. “Mission assignment for next week. You, Soap, and several of the more seasoned recruits will be with me on recon for a few weeks. Nothin’ too intense, should be an easy enough job.”
“Oh?” you say in stunned surprise as your breath hitches. This is the one thing you hadn’t accounted for being a problem so soon, being stuck together on a mission with all this built-up attraction still so hot and heavy between you. 
Things are about to get a lot harder and you hope you can make it through without incident.
You must be blushing something fierce now as you can feel it burning in your face the more you contemplate your predicament. In the middle of your thought you notice the lieutenant quickly glance at the group of recruits to your back to be sure they are occupied completely as he steps in towards you and reaches up to swiftly stroke his gloved fingers against the side of your cheek before anyone sees him do it. It takes everything in you not to turn into a puddle at his feet from the contact.
As he brings his hand away from your face, he steps in even more and leans his head down until his mouth is near your ear. “I swear I’m gonna remedy this fuckin’ thing between us soon as I can,” he says in a guttural, breathy whisper as he places a quick kiss to your face with his mask-covered lips. “Just hang on a bit longer. You can do that for me, yeah? Just a couple weeks and then you’re mine.”
He doesn’t know why he just did that, it’s too risky to pull off such a stunt in the open like this, but it seems to be an automatic reaction the way any part of his body simply wants to get closer to you. Though he enjoys it, it is a bit unnerving that he can’t seem to control himself when you are around. Clearing his throat, he shifts back into that detached facade to hide behind until he can put some distance between you.
“We will be ready to deploy Tuesday, 1300 hours. Price will send for you to brief on all necessaries,” he says as he stands back upright. “We’ll just have ta fuckin’ try and keep this under control, yeah?”
You nod silently.
Having finished relaying the information he hurriedly exits, leaving you alone to collect yourself so that you can get through the rest of your day, but that is a monumental task in itself now. If this is the reaction you both have whenever you’re near, what will the weeks you’ll be stuck together bring? You hope you can deflect your thoughts away from all this by staying even busier than usual.   
The days leading up to departure are a haze as you try to reconcile that you are going to have to share space with Simon. You fill every single second with any task you can pull, just trying to keep your mind away from the inevitable for as long as possible. Maybe if you never stop, you’ll never have the chance to pine for him; it’s not your best plan, but it works for a few days.
Departure day finally arrives and you immediately are put to the test. As the team loads onto the transport plane meant to take you most of the way, you find yourself the last to board and wouldn’t you know that the only seat available to you is right next to the lieutenant himself. Those brown eyes deep set into that skull mask lock on to you the minute you set foot on board and don’t leave until you take the spot next to him. His body stiffens against you as you get situated in the tight space, matching your body’s reaction. 
God, he wants to touch you so bad it physically hurts, but there isn’t a chance that someone wouldn’t see and so he grits his teeth to try and bear it until you land. Next to him, your heart is fluttering a mile a minute, though you aren’t handling it as well as he is. It is the longest flight you both have ever experienced and it cannot end fast enough. By the time you both exit, you feel like you’ve run a marathon just with how much you had been holding your breath through the whole thing.   
It is a short trek to the safehouse designated for your stay and the team reaches it a few hours before nightfall. A small, rundown house waits for you and that means you’ll be on top of each other, though there’s a shack out back that must have been a tool shed at some point now long since abandoned. Good, maybe you can hide away in there at points when things get too much. 
It’s routine at this point how things go in the field: clearing the area, setting up, breaking down rolls for who does what, which is lucky because your mind is not clear enough to focus on more detailed tasks. How can it be when you’ve spent the last several hours sitting beside the one man in the whole fucking taskforce that you want to screw until neither of you can move? 
You need to put some space between you and soon just to get him out of your head for a while to calm down. Even with how tight you’ll be packed together, it will still be farther than you want to be from him. But thoughts like this are dangerous, so when the time comes to discuss watch duty assignments for the night, you spring at the chance to get outside and speak up before anyone else can take that away from you.
“I’ll take the first watch,” you say just as Johnny poses the question. “I’m still wide awake, so I might as well get it out of the way.”
“Damn, ye sure did answer fast; wanna get away from us that bad, lass?” Johnny jokes, elbowing you in the side. 
You scrunch your nose and bob your head at him, the typical interaction helping you to get out of your thoughts. “Well, yeah, there’s enough b.o. to suffocate someone in here already,” you pick back, “gotta get some fresh air when I can. Now, fucking can it. Anyway, is that all good, sir?”
Turning your attention to your superior, you wait for his reply and see a strange spark flash through the pupils of his eyes. It’s almost too subtle to tell properly whether or not it’s something more than just the shadows cast by his mask playing tricks on your vision, but does it really matter? As much as you want something to happen between you, you are here to do a job and that is top priority for everyone, including and most of all Lt. Riley. 
“That’s fine,” he agrees while diverting his gaze even as he speaks to address the group about setting up for the night, though you can’t help feeling like that is not the real reason he can’t look at you. 
Making sure your area is set up how you want it, you double-check your vest and weapon to be sure you will have everything you need for your watch. You set a timer for the clock on your wrist so you’ll know when you should be relieved and then you decide to get a preliminary sweep of the area to be sure of the lay of the land before it gets completely dark. As you head outside, a flash of lightning ripples through the clouds approaching from the distance; it’s going to be an interesting night, that’s a given.
Lt. Riley secretly follows you with his eyes until he can see you move out of earshot and out the front door, only then does he make his way over to the young Scottish sergeant currently setting up his cot in the corner of the room. This is a fucking terrible idea that the lieutenant should immediately reconsider, but he cannot let this go. Bad idea or not, he is in it now no matter what.
Standing at his back until Soap turns around, the lieutenant doesn’t hesitate to speak up the moment the sergeant faces him. “Informin’ ya now, I’ll be the one takin’ second watch,” he says as flatly as he can, even though there is a pronounced pounding in his chest as he says it.
Soap raises an eyebrow before he crosses his arms with a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so? Hmm…right after sergeant sass?” he questions curiously as his gaze drifts to the door.
The lieutenant’s eyes narrow into a glare behind the mask. “Ya got a fuckin’ problem with that, Mactavish?” he challenges. “Do I need ta make it more clear who’s in charge here?”
“No, no,” Soap says as he shakes his head, “but… ye know ye don’t have ta go to all this trouble; if ye want some alone time, all ye got ta do is say so.”
A distant rumble of thunder sounds from outside the house to add atmosphere to the death glare that Soap is currently receiving after just having said what he did. “Careful,” the lieutenant warns. Guess any picking is off the table for right now, at least if the sergeant doesn’t want to end up in his superior’s bad graces. 
“Alright, I hear ye. You’re on second watch, sir,” he agrees with a chuckle as another crack of thunder echoes through the darkening sky that can just barely be spotted through the window from where they are standing. Soap draws attention to it with his head and Lt. Riley’s eyeline follows. “Though ye might wanna bring an umbrella later, ye know on account a things possibly gettin’...wet.”
There is something in that last bit that doesn’t sound like Soap’s usual witty remarks, something about the emphasis he puts on the last word is a bit more on the nose, as if he wants to say something about things he shouldn’t, but the moment is gone as Soap continues with setting up his cot and Lt. Riley dismisses it as coincidence. Nothing has happened this far that would give anything away… right?
A few hours pass and everyone has finally hunkered down for the night… Well, everyone except the lieutenant. Try as he might, he cannot relax. His limbs feel jittery as he lays stirring in his cot, staring into the dark as distracting thoughts race through his mind. The more he focuses on them the warmer he gets until he has to roll up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows just to get some relief from it clinging stiflingly around his body. 
It’s still too early for the next watch change, but he can’t just lay here, not when he knows you are right outside the door all alone as everyone is asleep inside. What his plan is he doesn’t fully understand yet, all he can think about right at this moment is just to be near you again. And these types of moments might be the only small chances he will get to even just spend a minute in your company while you’re here.
He gets up and cautiously makes his way through the scattered sleeping team, quiet and careful with his movements until he can make it out the house and into the cooler weather of a gathering storm about to break. The rolls of quiet, distant thunder are more frequent now as he shuts the door behind him, the first drops of precipitation starting to sprinkle over the skin of his bare forearms as he goes in search of you.
Barely getting far, the crunching sound of boot steps are headed his way and he waits on baited breath as you round the corner from the back of the house to return to the spot that you’ve designated at the front for you to sit until your watch ends. Your sight catches a figure standing there in the darkness as you approach, silhouetted by the dim moonlight; by the size of the shadow you instantly know who it is and your heart leaps into your throat. 
“All clear?” he asks as you come to stop before him.
“Si..sir,” you go to address him, but a momentary lapse makes you stumble over his title as you almost say his name, though you quickly recover. 
Simon chuckles; by your reaction it seems like you’ve been thinking of distracting things as well. Guess that means he isn’t the only one suffering. “We’re alone,” he reassures. “Everyone else’s asleep.”
You nod in acknowledgement. “I was just checking the perimeter and the shed,” you say as you point to the small shack out back behind the house. “Still empty. I have a clear view of it from here so I’d know if anything got in there, but I like to be thorough. Everything else is all clear, though.” 
It feels like you are rambling just to stall asking the question you desperately want to ask: why is he out here right now. It couldn’t be that he wants…? No, it is already understood that anything between you is put on hold until later; this must be something else and you chastise yourself internally for getting so worked up over nothing. 
As nonchalantly as possible, you bring up your curiosity. “So, what’re you doing up right now? It’s not time for anyone to relieve me yet.”
His stance shifts. “I know,” he says plainly.
“I-is something wrong?” you continue your line of questions. “I haven’t heard anything inside or out.”
Simon pauses as another rumble of thunder fills the background through the light percussive sound of raindrops trickling around you. “Ya know why I’m out here,” he says quieter, unsure if he even should admit it. “I had ta see ya.” 
An ache slowly spreads through your chest at his words, your heartbeat pounding, the air not filling up your lungs as you watch him take a few steps so that he can reach out to you and take your hand in his gloved one. He leads you both back around the corner of the house a little further from the entrance to conceal you against the side and out away from any prying eyes. 
The light sprinkling picks up as a ripple of lightning flashes across the sky so that the shadows it causes dance across your features. Water begins to stream down over your bodies, coating you in a layer of dampness that soaks through your clothes, your hair, over your skin until everything is moist. It doesn’t take much for Simon’s balaclava to quickly collect too much water for him to stay comfortably underneath it and so without hesitation he takes it off to tuck it into the back pocket of his pants.
He doesn’t mind keeping it off, not around you.
There it is, that face that you have been longing to get a better look at: those beautifully distinct chiseled features with their slight imperfections caused from injuries past. He truly is a fantastic sight, though you may very well be biased now as it wouldn’t have mattered what he had hidden under there, the way you feel around him is attractive enough; this is only a bonus. 
You want to reach out and run your fingers along his cheek, but you know it’s risky. It’s been hard enough being here with him already without making contact; you know if you’re not careful with yourself you might not be able to stop and that could risk putting him in a position he doesn’t want to be in yet. 
But as you both stand there in the silent company of the other trying to find the words, he moves first.
His gloved fingers travel across the skin of your forearm, stroking it up and down as he holds your gaze captive. “Ya know, every single fuckin’ time someone’s said your name on the way out ‘ere, all I can think ‘bout is how I wanna feel ya against me again,” he confesses in hushed murmurs. “Been strugglin’ like hell to hold it all together for the sake of tha mission, but it’s only gettin’ worse. I can’t do it tonight.”
You swallow to coat your dry throat as his lustful words nearly choke you. “Simon,” you whisper in a dreamlike stupor. “What are you doing?”
The pads of his fingers glide determinedly across your palm and down to the sensitive tips of your own fingers.“I need ya,” he says through a heavy sigh. “I need ya so fuckin’ bad, luv.”
What’s breathing and how do you do it again? How in the hell are you meant to hold it together and do your job with desperate words like those being spoken to you in such an aching way? Is this all some sort of punishment? If Simon meant to come out here to torture you, then he has succeeded perfectly.  
“I need ya however I can get ya; I’ll fuck ya in the goddamn dirt if ya want,” he continues as his touch leaves your hand and moves to tease around the top edge of your belt situated between your vest and your shirt. “Just can’t stay away from ya a fuckin’ second more. Gotta make good on my promise ‘fore it eats me alive.”
Your eyes turn to the front of the safehouse as if expecting someone to come popping out at any moment to interrupt this clandestine meeting. “What about the others?” you question as your attention is turned back to him. “We could get caught. You know our track record.”
“I don’t care,” he says firmly as he leans in until his face is inches from your own. “We’ve fuckin’ waited long enough for this. I need ta be inside ya, sweetheart.” 
Being this close with all this moisture coating you both head to toe, blood pressure rising with the agony of his words, skin aching from the proximity of your bodies, it’s too much. You are burrowed into his mind completely now and try as he might to keep sane, your venom is already flowing through his veins. He cannot stand here and simply take it anymore. Those full lips that are so tempting from afar, are unbearable when within range; if you want this to stop you are going to have to be the one to leave because he won’t.
“But if ya don’t wanna do this, you’re gonna have ta walk right back inside that fuckin’ house this second ‘cause I’m not gonna be able to control myself for much longer,” he says, that gravelly voice overflowing with need. “Not with how your lips are callin’ my name.”
The overwhelming tension radiating between your bodies, that steamy, sticky, air that clings to you even through the rain suffocates your every sense until you can’t see straight. The darkness surrounds you like a curtain, concealing you from the world in its protective barrier that is only cut through by the pale moonlight drifting through the clouds to make the rain shimmer like 
crystals as it falls. 
At the back of the safehouse, there is only you and him. Everything else ceases to exist. 
You stare back up into his face, watching as droplets of rain cascade down one by one off the tips of his long eyelashes and the ends of his short, pale hair to fall onto his cheeks and through the dark stubble covering his jawline. The tension is so stifling that it feels like it will suffocate you under the pressure. You don’t want him to remove his fingertips from your frame; he knows just how to embrace your body in a way you have never felt before and you’ve never been more alive than you are under his touch.
With a little hesitation your subconscious makes the choice for you about what to do next and you lower your gaze as the overwhelming need to reach out to him causes you to extend your arm without thinking. Your fingers make contact with his damp clothes and run the lines along his hip bones as they explore the curvature of his body where the wet fabric clings to his form. 
A sharp, sudden exhale out of his nose is followed by a deep, bassy groan. Even over his clothes the electricity of your touch sends him into a tailspin. Your movements betray your innermost thoughts to him, but still he needs you to use your words and say it aloud. He watches as your eyes follow the path of your fingers over him and uses the opportunity to take off his gloves and stuff them away in his vest so that he can feel you as he goes in.
Your gaze drifts back up his body to look into his eyes as his balmy, moist palm is placed at the base of the back of your head, his thumb resting against your cheek. “Tell me what ya want,” he says.
Melting into his touch, your lips form the words effortlessly before you can even stop yourself. “Kiss me.” 
Oxygen disappears as he leans in so that there is barely any space left between you, his mouth so close you can feel the warmth of his breath make the skin of your lips tingle and suddenly every thought outside of the ecstasy of this moment evaporates. There is no mission, there are no other soldiers here mere feet from you, there are only the two of you in a world of your own. With a few deep, jagged breaths his gaze locks to your lips and you feel him hesitantly go in and pull back before his mouth closes the distance to overtake yours in a fierce kiss.
And your fate is sealed.
The cool precipitation runs down between your faces to make your mouths slick, causing your lips to glide across one another as Simon desperately overpowers your mouth. He is relentless in the way he consumes your kiss; no sooner has he broken the connection to quickly swallow down air then in the next second he is already back in as if he needs to feel you more than he needs to breathe. 
Wet strands of hair around your face stick to your cheeks as he presses his features into yours so hard that you can’t catch your breath and the skin around your jaw stings from the abrasion of his stubble. Yet all that moisture is doing nothing to dampen the way you are burning for him; you need to see what happens if given the chance to go all the way. 
“Say ya need me too,” he groans against your lips and into your open mouth. “I have ta hear it. Say ya need me ta fuck ya good, that you’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout me all this time. Goddammit, say it.”
“I need you so fucking bad, Simon,” you whimper. “So bad it hurts. I can’t take it anymore.”
Your desperate words make him ache with an overwhelming ferocity that causes him to lose control. He shoves your back into the wall behind you and pins you to it as he bombards your mouth with his unrelenting passion, open-mouthed kisses overtaking your lips until you can feel them swell and burn from the pressure.
“Christ, I wanna make ya come so fuckin’ bad,” he growls. 
“Please,” you beg, giving into him completely. “I can’t wait. Not again.” 
You’re right, no waiting, not this time; he is not giving anything or anyone the chance to ruin this. The beast of his desire has him in a chokehold so agonizing that it will not let him go until he gets exactly what he needs, what you both need, until he completely loses himself in you. Some place hidden is what he desperately has to find now.
The shed is only a few yards away and his kiss-drunk mind makes the instant decision that it will have to do. At least you will have some privacy out of the rain; that is enough. As long as he gets inside you that is all he can ask for. 
“Come on,” Simon is able to get out as he grabs your hand tightly in his grip and starts to walk in long strides straight for the tiny shack just off the main house. You reach it in no time and he doesn’t stop as he flings open the door and pulls you inside behind him, leaving you to stand in the middle of the small space as he scrambles to block the door; there isn’t a chance in hell anyone is going to get to you both now.  
Not until he has had his way with you.
It physically pains him to be away from your lips for this long as he makes sure everything is secure, but it’s gotta be done. Once satisfied and not wanting to waste any more time away from your body, he moves right back into you and his mouth is crashing onto yours before you can blink. Its inherent, primal, a reaction as innate as breathing the way his lips know the exact way to embrace yours in that dance of back and forth as if you’ve done it for years.
To think he would have never gotten the chance to experience them had it not been for Mactavish’s idiotic game. Fuck, how could something so inconsequential lead to something so explosive that it is the only thing he craves above anything else?
Those determined hands of his paw blindly between your bodies, searching for the tabs at the sides of your tactical vest so that he can pull them to release it; there are more layers he has to get through this time. He breaks away from you so that he can flip the front of your vest over your head and throw it off your torso. Before it even hits the wooden floorboards he is hurriedly doing the same to himself, taking his shirt with it, before capturing your lips all over again; he will not stay away if he can help it and those pauses as he undresses you will be filled with him devouring your kiss.     
His fingers fill themselves with your shirt, clawing at it desperately trying to rip the wet fabric from your form without a care if he tears it to fucking shreds. The rough calluses on his hands create delicious friction along all that soft skin of your stomach as he goes up and under to rip both it and your bra off your head, making you gasp mutedly into his mouth. 
Pausing he can’t help staring at all this new, warm skin at his disposal. The nipples on your breasts are already hardening as they hit the cool atmosphere outside your clothes and he runs a greedy finger over the tiny rosebuds to feel them stiffen more from his touch. You are absolute in your perfection, a sight of sinfully decadent flesh that his mouth wants to get a hold of.
Strong arms wrap around your lower back to keep you locked to him as he bends his head down until his face reaches your breasts and he can bury himself against them so his lips can suck your nipple into his mouth. The moment his lips touch skin you arch your back with a shocked moan at how the suction sends waves of euphoria flooding through your limbs that only builds the longer he sucks. 
“Don’t stop,” you plead. 
Under his touch it feels just like heaven; there cannot be anything better than this. 
“Not this time, not till I fuckin’ make ya come,” he reassures in a husky, muted growl with his mouth full of you before he switches to the other breast, leaving neither out of their overdue pleasure. “You’re mine tonight. Ya hear me: mine.” 
The stubble on his chin pricks against the delicate skin of your breasts as he devours them, taking as much of the tissue into his mouth as he can hold as his tongue skillfully strokes around the areolas. All those contradicting sensations only add to the stimulation until your hips grind into him for the friction to relieve the pulsing in your clit. 
Heavy rain pelts down against the roof over your heads to drown out the sounds of your arousal; he needs to experience them all and so he has to get you closer. There are things he wants to say, dirty things he has fantasized about growling into your ear since that night when this whole fucking thing started and as his fingers itch to play with your pussy, he knows the way to make it all happen exactly as he wants.
Pulling his mouth from your chest, he moves from against you to situate himself sitting on the ground. Quickly he grabs onto your hips to spin you around so that he can promptly pull you down to sit in the middle of his lap. That throbbing bulge barely being contained by his pants is straining even harder now that there is pressure over it and you can feel it pulse into the muscle of your ass as your back molds into the contours of his broad chest and sparsely hair-covered abdomen.
You lean your head back against his shoulder as you enjoy the feeling of being wrapped up in him and he takes that as an invitation to lay more of his claim to your skin. All that gorgeous flesh of your neck is ready to be sucked and bitten till he has branded it with his mark. Taking your chin in his hand, he moves your head out of the way and immediately pounces on it. 
“Goddammit sweetheart, I’ve been in fuckin’ hell since even before we got ‘ere,” he murmurs in anguish into your throat, his heat-filled words warming your skin as his breath drifts down your exposed chest. “Thought I was gonna rip myself apart bein’ forced to only look and not touch. I’ve never wanted to feel someone more in my whole goddamn life than I do ya.”
His hands slip down your chest, drawing goosebumps from your bare body everywhere his fingertips grace until your mind is so numb you can’t feel your limbs; your body only exists in the places where he decides to touch. The poetry of his fingers leaves all those unspoken desires he has yet to fully acknowledge across your skin, searing the flesh until it is branded for him and him alone. His roughness makes you whimper open-mouthed into the air. Down the sides of your waist his hands travel, over your hips to cross in front of your belly button and finally his hand reaches your pants. 
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout your body in the worst fuckin’ ways,” he says with a growl. “You’ve been in my goddamn head since that first kiss. Never thought I could crave somethin’ so fuckin’ bad that I can’t let it go and I want to make ya to feel the same. I want ya so out of your fuckin’ mind from me that ya can’t function.” 
Undoing the belt buckle and button, he pulls down the zipper of your pants with feverish speed until he creates an opening that he can slip his hand into. Once inside he keeps going all the way down to the elastic that he has to fiddle with to get inside your panties. You let your knees fall open to give him more access as he finally reaches that sensitive mound between your thighs. He can feel just how warm you are, the damp heat radiating off your cunt and into his palm as he cups his hand up against your sex.
Your back jolts into his chest at the intense pressure. “Fuck,” he gasps into the crook of your neck. “There ya are, pretty girl. Goddammit, your pussy feels so fuckin’ good.”
His chest is tightening with his rapid breathing as he takes his middle finger to heavily drag over the slit of your cunt until he pushes through and it slips in between your silky petals right to your core. Again your body jolts into him as those thick fingers rub through the sensitive slit and then up so he can find what he is searching for: that small bundle he wants to stroke until you are dripping and grinding on his fingers. 
He can’t help himself once he gets his first real feel of how slick you are down there; it’s more beautiful than he could have ever imagined and brutishly he draws out concise circles with the pad of his finger on your clit. The heightened tension of this finally being the moment you have waited for, being with the man that has made you a mess without even trying, and the way his fingers work that tiny pleasure center like he owns it only makes the euphoria more intense. 
You are drowning in him.  
Your body writhes and squirms as his thick finger suddenly collects a friend to join it and they both travel together to your entrance to spread you open so they can slide up inside and stretch you out. Your hips start to roll over his hand in direct response to his stimulation, grinding so he has to keep an arm around your waist to keep you from bucking off his lap, but it is worth it just to feel the way your body moves against him.
“That’s it, ride ‘em, pretty thing,” he groans at the side of your head. You could almost hear it in his voice how much he is enjoying the sounds of you falling apart because of him.
That deep, permeating warmth gathering in your abdomen begins to spread throughout your entire form, its mind-numbing effects making it hard to speak, yet it isn’t enough. His fingers have taken you almost all the way, but you need him, need his cock filling you up and you need it now.
“Simon, fuck… please put it in,” you say breathlessly. “I want you in me. Now. God, I need it so fucking bad.”
Fucking hell, the desperate whine in your voice is enough to make him come. The moment is here and there is no chance that he is going to be able to do anything other than immediately grant your request after all the pining, all the tension you’ve had to struggle through. All of it comes to a head here and now.
“I’ve been fuckin’ dreamin’ of doin’ this,” he says as he helps you slip out of your boots and pants so that you sit there naked as you wait for him to do the same. “If we would’ve been alone in the rec that night… goddammit, your pussy would already know the way my cock feels, sweetheart.”
As soon as he’s done he pulls you back, turns you to face him, and helps you up onto your knees so you can straddle over his lap. Even through the haze of ecstasy, your sight catches the first glimpse of his body and you can’t stop the way your hands immediately splay over the sparse bit of hair covering his broad chest and stocky abdomen, trailing down towards his V line. Then you see it, what’s been prodding against you all this time; fuck, he’s big.
As your fingers run between the pectorals on his stomach, you can feel the moment his breath hitches. You will be the death of him and him you.
Your eyes meet again and he secures his hands around the curves of your hips. Here it is, the moment of no return. Time seems to stand still as you feel him position the fat tip of his cock at your entrance. 
“Breathe for me,” he says and with that he slowly shoves your hips down until the head is able to slip inside.
The girth of his phallus stretches you out as it fills you and the world falls away into nothingness as you cry out with the pleasure of his body as he keeps pressing down on your hips until the entirety of him rests inside you. It is overwhelming, the sensation that takes a hold of your soul and doesn’t let go, the one of finally having him. Try as you might to not let this get out of hand, you know it is already too late. Nothing, absolutely nothing in this whole fucking world can ever compare to the way your body feels wrapped around his cock: the glorious stretch, the fullness, the throbing that you can feel pulse inside you. 
And from the sounds Simon is now making, you know he feels the same.
“Oh fuck…oh fuck,” that deep agonized whimper echoes through the shed as Simon’s hands bear down hard into your hips so he can keep you still until he can steady himself. His head falls against your forehead where it rests. “…s-shit…so fuckin’ good, luv.”
As he moves your body slowly up and down over his lap, making you bounce on his cock, he realizes that he will not be the same after this. Christ, you are the worst type of addiction; no matter how much he gets he only wants more. Simon is inside of you and yet even that isn’t enough. He wants to fuck you to the point of ruin, so that you will be his and only his from this day forward because there is no coming out of this unscathed.
Even within the first few minutes of being inside you he is already pussy drunk off how beautifully your walls contour to his shape, holding him fixed in all that warmth and wetness, and that leaves him unable to take things slow. Without warning Simon tilts you both back slightly so that he can take over and fuck you even rougher now. 
His fingers grip into the muscles of your hips hard enough to leave purple fingerprints as he pounds up into you furiously. Your body shakes with each snap of his hips as he slams into you with a feral roughness that his brain forces on him as he can only think of one objective: for you both to come.
“Look at me,” he demands through ragged breaths as he grabs at your face with those large hands; he’s falling apart so fast now, “keep those pretty eyes on me. I need… shit…I need ta see what they look like the moment ya come. My fuckin’ pretty girl.”
The rain that had coated your bodies moments before almost turns into steam as the passion of his movements fill the air with so much heat. You are completely at his mercy, his hulking size overwhelming you so that he can do with you as he pleases, but the way he thrusts deeper and deeper only draws you closer to that razor’s edge; it’s approaching fast.
“Fuck, don’t stop Simon, please, I’m so close,” you plead through your panting, your toes curling into the floor as the stimulation makes your brain blank. It’s there, right there; just a bit more and you will fall over the precipice.
He pumps with everything in him and that is it; with a shudder your orgasm rockets through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp as you cry out and a loud clap of thunder rings through the heavens to drown out the sound. You try to fall against him, but he won’t let you. That firm grip keeps your head up so that his eyes can take in everything about the moment as it crosses your face and fuck is it beautiful.
God, it won’t stop, second after second your orgasm just keeps pulsing with relentless intensity and Simon isn’t letting up. He can’t, he’s so fucking close he can taste it. Shit, the way your engorged walls are fluttering something fierce he just needs a little more friction and he’ll come too.
Bringing your face in he takes your mouth with all the roughness he has left as he allows himself to let go and with a few more thrusts, that is it. At the last second he rips his cock out of you and nestles it between your bodies as he milks out all that warm cum along your stomach, coating you with all that pent up tension he has been holding on to all this time. His abdominal muscles contract hard, heart pounding out of his chest, body writhing as a shiver runs up his spine until his movements finally slow and he stops, completely spent. 
Rain slacks off as you both just sit there a moment, panting to catch your breath as he holds you securely wrapped in his arms, face still close as if he only ever wants to breathe the same air you breathe, his nose nuzzling against yours as his lips fight to stay off of you long enough that you can both settle. It takes a few minutes, but finally he can feel his limbs again.
Just then the alarm on your watch begins its high-pitched beeping to signal that your relief is meant to take your place on guard duty. You laugh under your breath as it seems it’s now your opportunity to say those fucking words that seem to be the signal of the end of your time together. 
“Times up,” you say quietly, but he just shakes his head.  
“You’re not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart,” he replies firmly as his arms tighten around your form, “not yet. You’re still mine for now, I’ll deal with tha rest ‘a the shit later. I’m not lettin’ ya leave me.”
There’s no way you are going to fight him on it; you want to stay here with him a little while longer as well. Leaning in, you rest your head against his chest to listen to the beat of his heart as it continues to slow with each deep breath. As he sits there bundled up with you in that glowing euphoria as you both come down from the high, he knows this is only the beginning of something that he cannot stop. 
And maybe for the first time in his life, he doesn’t want it to.
Tagging: @kirewinter @spooky-pomegranate @heliumshorns @mudisgranapat @konigs-left-pec @dragonstoneshortcake @cum-tea-and-towels @scaleniusrm @cod-z @shadowydestinylover
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bfbkg · 2 years
Text
boss katsuki in his agency ordering people around and overseeing work. always wears a black t-shirt with his name printed in his breast (his merch), chunky black boots that make him an extra inch taller and his black cargos as his uniform while everyone else is in office attire. lots of pointing and snapping demands and reading through documents and looking at graphs on screen. all the interns and his workers are a little terrified of him, they try to say the just right amount to get a decent response before pottering off to continue.
and you seeing this all, entering a room from the back and he hasn’t noticed you yet. he’s frowning, like usual as him and two other people check a map and he literally towers over them. biceps thick and tight in his t-shirt with his tattoos sneaking down his arm. you can see the tattoo of your birth flower on the back of his forearm at this angle and the ownership makes you smile a little.
though your boyfriend always has a second sense when it comes to you. after twenty seconds his head jolts up and looks right at you. you don’t know how he does it, the room is packed and busy in the dark minus desk lamps and the screens all around. you know if you told him he’d mutter something like, “it’s ‘cause we’re fuckin’ soulmates baby.” and perhaps that might be true.
he stomps over to you, never liking you being around his work because of all the violence and graphic details. you can barely handle when you know he’s in the hospital for a check up let alone knowing what he’s about to fight. he tries not to show much pda at work, he doesn’t want his team to see him so loved up and getting babied by you when they equally need to respect him. he does kiss you though as a hello, then puts his hand on your jaw to look at you properly, “have you not been sleepin’?”
you slap his hand off you, “are you saying i look like shit?”
he huffs a laugh, always amused by how quick you are to jump at him, “no, i’m sayin’ you look tired. y’can have a nap in my office if you want. i’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.” you just look at him for a few seconds, his eyes flicking over you for any issues, always flooded with care. then his hand slips from your face to your hand to play with your fingers. “and for the record, i never think you look like shit. y’know i always think you’re beautiful, baby.”
you’re lost in him like always, wanting him to wrap his arms around you in a cuddle when someone walks over. it’s the guy who takes care of the finance side or something, you don’t really know. “dynamight! i’ve rounded the numbers and—,”
everyone loves you around the agency. not speaking to many people but always smiling and nodding a polite hello. you’re also so pretty most people do stop to get a quick glance and often wondering, how the fuck did dynamight get her?
“o-oh yn! didn’t see you there, h-hi,” he stumbles, and he’s cute. a little young and small, definitely nothing compared to katsuki. he holds his clipboard to his chest, completely forgotten about the prohero he needed to talk to and nervous around you. honestly he should still be nervous of bakugou.
“the fuck are you doin’?,” bakugou looks him up and down incredulously and the man suddenly remembers him, “i’m clearly busy.”
the man’s eyes drift from you to bakugou and his face flushes in embarrassment, “oh yes, yes sir. sorry.”
when he scatters off, bakugou turns back to you with a clenched jaw though you giggle, lightly slapping his chest.
“you’re so mean.”
“why’s he lookin’ at you like that? i’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you and he’s interruptin’.” he grunts, fingers tightening around yours.
“be a little nicer to them, they’re working hard baby,” you smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek, “i’m gonna have a nap in your office though. get me when you want a break.”
what you both fail to notice is how everyone in the room, all thirty people who dynamight is supposed to be tending to and looking over aren’t doing any work at all in this moment. sure, their hands are flicking through random papers to look busy but really they’re staring at you both. the fluttering touches bakugou leaves at your waist and how he delicately (who uses this word to describe the hero?) plays with your fingers. how there’s so much being said with your eyes; how the black of his pupils expand when they stare at you and how your eyes squint when you smile at him.
“wanna go with you now. they’re all fuckin’ useless here,” he sighs, not even bothering to lower his tone around said people.
you tilt your head, taking in his grumpy furrowed eyebrows and tight black top across his chest, “one hour and come get me.”
bakugou firmly nods, licking his bottom lip, “fine. love you.”
you hum, reluctantly letting go of his hand, “love you too. be nice.”
“no.”
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reds-skull · 4 months
Text
Not Alive, Nor Dead
[PREV PART] [AO3]
Okay I realized a scene I love comes up in the fic on this chapter, so I was like "well, I'm not doing anything right now, why not write it?"
So I wrote it. Enjoy.
(This one has description of some gore and aftermath of torture, very short segments, not worse than was already in the fic)
Ghost woke up slowly, the slick residue of his nightmares fading away as he lifted his head and groaned. Soap had already woken up, and by the chipper way he moved around the room, a while ago.
The Sergeant is getting better at telling when he’s being stared at, and he turns around to raise an eyebrow at Ghost.
“Sleepin’ beauty is finally awake!” he says with a smile.
Ghost drags a hand under his mask, sighing, “time’s it?”
“500 sharp, sir” Soap provides happily.
The fuck’s kinda person is this cheerful at this hour? Ghost exhales loudly and finally gets out of bed. The Sergeant opens his mouth, to probably comment on his old man habits, but Ghost shoots him a stare that would’ve killed a lesser man.
Soap just gives him a shit eating grin in return, “not a morning person?”
Ghost walks towards the bathroom, “I’m a normal person, you’re the fuckin’ anomaly.”
The Scot barks a loud laugh that makes him feel a little less groggy.
At mess, the taskforce finds a table of their own, and the Sergeants busy themselves with an argument about one daft thing or another. 
Price caught his attention and started speaking to him in his mind, “your nightmares are bloody loud sometimes, y’know that?”
Ghost bites on his toast, “don’t fuckin’ listen then.”
The Captain laughs a little before his features turn serious, “you wanna tell me how much of what the Reaper said in your dream actually happened?”
That’s what he dreamt about that last night? Fucking hell. Can’t keep secrets from Price.
“Won’t have to if you just told me, Simon.”
Ghost puts down his meal to stare intently at the Captain, “what did you see? In my dream.”
Price’s moustache twitched in thought, and he replied, “it said something about Soap bringing your demise?”
“It said ‘bringer of demise’, didn’t fuckin’ specify whose.” Ghost spat back.
“What else?”
Before he could stop him, he felt Price pull the memory to the forefront of his mind to watch for himself what unfolded on the plane that day.
“It told you to stay away from Soap if you wanna live?!”
Ghost banged his fist on the table, startling the Sergeants out of their idiotic bickering. He paid no mind to them, focus fully on Price, “I’m not going to stop working with the Sergeant just because my Reaper decided to be a little shit.” he snarls in the Captain’s head.
Price huffs, “I’m not going to let you die Ghost.”
“Did it say I’m going to die?!”
“Simon…”
Gaz cuts their exchange, “what’s going on? Are you two talking in your brains?”
Soap crosses his arms, “well, yer welcome to use your outside voice.”
Ghost gets up, “no need, we’re done.”
Before he can get out of range, Price tells him “keep yourself safe on this mission, Simon. We’ll figure it out later.”
He supposes that’s manageable. 
Ghost and Soap bid their farewells to Gaz and Price, as they go on their own part of the mission, and walk back to the armory to get ready for theirs.
The two of them get dressed up, Ghost armed to the teeth with various throwing knives. He’s not going to use Limbo, not with Soap being right next to him.
And he won’t need to - Ghost is perfectly capable as a fighter with no abilities. There’s a reason the rumors about him as so varied.
Near inhuman in every aspect.
Soap is done before him (less knives, amateur), and now sits to watch Ghost finish up.
A low whistle makes him twist around, “haven’t seen this get-up since the last time we worked together, lookin’ good LT”.
…huh?
“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Ghost voices almost mechanically.
“Aye sir, yessir.” Soap gives him an overexaggerated salute.
He rolls his eyes and ignores the warm feeling spreading through his body for the billionth time.
The cartel member’s house appears in the distance after a few minutes of making their way through the wilder parts of Las Almas. Ghost and Soap take out the guards at the front gate and make their way in.
The house is a two storey, drab building, with no real defining features. It’s surrounded by a tall fence, and a smaller shed is stuck by the far left corner of the large yard. 
The suspected location of the kidnapped people is by the far end of the house. They’re tasked with making it inside without alerting any alarms, lest they start killing the people trapped inside.
With the front door clear, the two soldiers open the door and instantly check corners, covering each other’s blind spots.
“Clear.”, Ghost announces.
“Clear.” Soap lowers his silenced pistol a bit, “seems awfully empty, LT. Sure we got the right house?”
“Affirm, stay sharp Sergeant.” Ghost starts forwards, Soap not far behind him.
He feels unnerved. The Sergeant is right, the house is quiet, as though it’s been deserted weeks ago. But a quick look at the amount of dust settled on the floors tells him it couldn’t be more than a few days.
They continue forward, clearing rooms methodically. Ghost has a sense of satisfaction from the act, an enjoyment in working together with Soap besides him for the first time.
They complete each other’s blind spots like puzzle pieces.
Soap declares the first floor clear, barring one last room at the very end of the hallway. Up until then they found several evidences that there were narcos residing here in the past, including a hefty amount of white powder, but they’re not here on a drug bust.
“On me Sergeant”, Ghost orders Soap before pushing the door open.
The scene inside is gruesome. Ghost is intimately familiar with narco torturing techniques, so the bloodied items strewn across the room were an unfriendly sight.
4 bodies lay in the room, and Ghost walks over to check for cartel tattoos on them. One of the bodies has dog tags, and he frowns while pulling it out of the dead man’s shirt.
They read “Thomas Anderson”. Why is that name familiar-
“Sergeant Thomas Anderson, 28. Revenant powers… ‘Breathing underwater?’”
Soap examines the torturing devices with wary eyes, muttering “steamin’ Jesus…” under his breath.
Ghost spots a large tub, filled with reddish water.
Anderson’s body is dry, besides the blood oozing out of his cold body.
The three other men in the room however… Their body is coated with an even amount of thinned blood, from their head down to their chests. They died from drowning.
What is the meaning of this…?
Ghost takes Anderson’s dog tags and stands up, “4 confirmed deaths, no survivors”, he radios in. 
“Copy, exfil inbound in 30, get yourself there.”
They both exit the room, “copy, out here.”
Ghost turns to stand in front of the Sergeant, “one of them was a revenant”, he dangles the tags in front of Soap’s eyes. The date of Reaping is listed right under date of birth, like in their own tags.
Soap frowns, a certain anger washing over him, “what do you think they’re playin’ at?”
“We can chew on that back at base, for now let get to exfil-”
Ghost barely finishes his sentence when he sees Soap’s eyes widen, locked on something behind his shoulder. Half a second later, he’s being spun around, and the piercing sound of bullets fills the air.
Ghost’s heart hammers, and he finally focuses on the view in front of him. Soap’s wide, blue eyes.
And several blotches of red peppered across his torso, spreading quicker than Ghost can process.
“...Soap?” his mind can’t, refuses to make sense of the sight in front of him. Soap isn’t… he can’t be…
The Sergeant’s breaths are erratic, chest rising and falling in big swells. The shock in his eyes transforms, burns away.
Until all that’s left, is rage.
“I’m so sick of this…” Soap murmurs. Shouts in Spanish echo behind them, but Ghost have eyes and ears only for his Sergeant.
Soap lets go of his shoulders, and Ghost scrambles to take him in his arms.
But Soap turns around and walks away, legs shaking and hands burning brighter and brighter by the second. 
One brave narco shoots at his shoulder, making the Scot stagger for a moment.
Ghost lifts an arm, to drag Soap back to him, to cover him from anyone who ever harmed him, to do something, anything.
But Soap unleashes a terrifying snarl and launches forward, grabbing at the narcos.
The explosions blind Ghost, screams and horrible sounds of metal creaking to the breaking point and bones snapping deafening him.
Soap whirls in the middle of this firestorm, exploding guns, heads, walls, anything in his path.
Ghost’s eyes water from the amount of dust and smoke that fills the air.
His Sergeant is radiant.
“Soap…” Ghost tries to stop the unstoppable. He just wants Soap to rest.
“Johnny…..” 
Soap finally stills, carnage creating a halo around him, and all Ghost sees is the red on his clothes, the wheezing of his breath.  
Ghost takes a step forward, and Soap collapses on his knees.
He rushes to grab him by the shoulders before he can fall further, “you’re fine Johnny, you’re going to be fine.” he sputters, pushing his Sergeant up to look at the wounds.
So many wounds.
He knows no one can survive this. Not even revenants. 
“LT…” Soap whispers, voice weak and wobbly.
“You’re going to be alright, you…” air leaves his lungs without a sound. He can’t breathe. How can he?
How can he breathe when Soap lifts a trembling hand, the gentle warmth of flames licking at Ghost’s nape, and looks at him like that?
“LT… I’m not gonna-”
They both jump at the sound of car tires getting closer. The narcos called for backup…
Ghost can’t breathe. He watches Soap shivers in front of him.
He doesn’t have a choice. 
Ghost takes Soap in his arms, hand on his nape mirroring his Sergeant, and presses his head to his own shoulder.
“Close your eyes, Johnny. It will all be over soon.”
He can hear Soap gasp, can feel his chest stuttering.
Ghost closes his eyes the moment footsteps enter the house.
Limbo courses out of him, darkness and emptiness and void filling the house, the residents of it screaming, snarling to take a bite at the intruders.
He holds Soap tight, pressing himself as close as he can. The protective wisps of light barely cover them both, but he will not let Soap be taken by Limbo.
Not Soap. Not Johnny.
In the next blink, Limbo is gone. The victims of the void quiet, as if they also mourn along Ghost.
Johnny pushes lightly at his chest, and Ghost separates them to look him in the eyes.
He seemed to try to form a sentence before a series of coughs wrecked his body, so Ghost laid him down on the blood-covered floor.
“G-Ghost”, he utters through clenched teeth, “d’ye… d’ye know how guns work?”
Ghost’s heart crushes at the sound of his Sergeants voice. He’s… not making sense anymore. Blood delirium isn’t unheard of… especially… especially with how much he-
“Yes”, Ghost softly whispers, more gentle than he ever learned to be.
“T-tell me”, Soap winces when more pain makes its way through his system.
Ghost wants to wither away with him. “The bullet goes into the chamber… and the primer is ignited to cause a small exp-”
His world stops completely.
“T-Teh cause a small ex-explosion.” Soap finishes slowly.
Johnny is…
“I’m not gonna d-die, LT”
Ghost’s eyes slide away from Soap’s, to the rest of his body. He slowly lifts his Sergeant’s shirt, to reveal multiple bullet holes where the tac vest didn’t cover him.
Bullet holes that are already closing.
Ghost wanted to scream out of joy, wail in premature unwarranted grief, shout at Soap for not telling him earlier.
But the radio informs them exfil is 10 minutes out, and they need to get a move on if they want to arrive in time.
Ghost slides his hands under Soap’s body, blood soaking his gloves in a way that takes him back 8 months ago. Back when it was different.
Soap grasps him like he’ll fall if he doesn’t.
Different, yet also the same.
The walk to exfil is quiet, save for Soap’s harsh breathing. Healing or not, he still feels pain.
The driver of their exfil car looks horrified at their shared state, but neither give an explanation and take a sit at the back of the car. It’s only after a few moments of nothing that Ghost mutters, “drive” to the Vaquero.
He feels numb, his arms and legs limp, gaze forward, but nothing truly passes through his brain.
Soap shifts beside him, letting out grunts of pain every once in a while. Making it obvious, despite what his heart tells him, that he’s very much alive.
The blood seeping under his fingernails feels freezing.
The Vaquero was at a loss of what to do with them once the car reaches the base. Ghost shuts the door loudly, and with it the connection to his heart.
Lieutenant first, human last.
“Where is medical?” He asks the man.
Ghost carries Soap all the way to the nurse’s hands, where he was stopped and told he had to clean up if he wanted to stay any longer. He wanted to scream infection doesn’t matter when the wounds will close in the matter of minutes, but the look on the nurse told him she wasn’t impressed.
He left medical to drag himself to the showers, energy left behind him with every step. 
Showers are usually a short ordeal for him, as efficient as they come. But Johnny’s blood going down the drain made him linger.
30 or so minutes later he comes out, and for the first time in what feels like hours there's  something in his brain, besides numbness.
It’s Price. Him and Gaz returned.
The voice in his mind sounds concerned, imploring him to explain why everything looks so dull there.
Ghost ignores it and goes to find his teammates.
“Ghost” Price greets, Gaz perks up from his previous position, head held in his hands. “Where’s the Sergeant?”
Ghost nods back at the hallway, “medical.” is all he provides.
Garrick startles, “Was he injured? What happened?”
“Flanked.” Ghost says, voice matching the emptiness in his head, “got shot.”
“Shot?! Fuck, where-”
“He’s immune.” Ghost cuts him off.
Gaz becomes confused, “immune?”
“To bullets. Primer ignition counts as explosion.” 
The Sergeant sits back down, body slackening, “thank fuck…”
Price catches ghost’s eye contact, “but you didn’t know that.”
Ghost just… shrugs.
“Fucking hell…” the Captain looks away, “it was one of the redacted details in his file…”
Gaz frowns, “why would they redact that?”
“Reapers know.”
The next couple of hours zoom past Ghost. His teammates try to coax him out of his unfeeling self, but Ghost isn’t truly in base.
His mind is stuck in a cartel house, in the Las Almas wilderness. On bloody and soot covered floor, with a dying man in his arms.
On eyes, shining with burning rage.
Pain! Pain! Pain! All I'm making Ghost feel is pain!
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marinerainbow · 8 months
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This inspired me!!! Keep in mknd, I'm in the middle of a shopping center now typing this on my phone, so it wont be the best 😅 I still felt like sharing though, so here I hope you like it!:
~
Harper sat on the steps to Boone's place, elbows on his knees, a sour look on his fine face. He was watching Y/N talk with Miss Peaches and Boone, and... one of the new guys.
Their weren't nothing special about the boy- his posture was absolutely fucked, his sandy hair stuck to his forehead cuz of the sweat (Northerners just can't handle our heat. Puh), and he looked like he ate too much salt; all red, and splotchy. And-
Is that acne?? Christ-
Harper groaned and rolled his eyes, looking away then. Why was he even concerned about this? That kid was nothing compared to him, he knew it. Everyone in this town knew it- and you certainly knew it.
But that boy had one thing Harper did not.
He wasn't broke at all. He could look at Y/N and she could see how much he liked her; The admiration and the gooey-ness. Harper had lost that, a long time ago. He'd been here rotting away long before she came into his life, and she did make it - bein stuck here, - a million times better, but he could never love her so effortlessly like that. When he looked at her she just saw a broken old man. Well- on the inside, at least.
And he could tell that Y/N was eating it up. Gettin' looked at like that.
That boy was grinning like a goofy little fool, asking her questions just to keep her there, lookin nervous even.
Harper hated it with every fibre of his being. Y/N was his.
He wanted to go over there and make that fact crystal fucken clear. Walk on over to her and give that kid a glare that'd make his grandkids puke, then plant a kiss on her that'd be obscene a hundred years ago. He'd tell her sorry honey, I just couldn't resist.
But he didn't. Instead he was sat here, a pathetic old man glued to a porch and looking sulky over it. Jesus christ.
Just as Harper was about to get up and leave - he'd apologise to Buckman later. But right now he could not care about killin no yanks, - , a pair of boots land on the porch right by one of his hands. He doesn't flinch, he knows who it is.
He rolls his eyes, instead.
"'T's odd to see you in the back over here, Harper- what the hell are you doin'?"
Glancing up, Harper sees Buckman rub his jaw, looking thoughtful before looking down back at him. Harper glares and doesn't look away. "Relaxin'."
"Oh?" Buckman's eyes widen, fake-concerned. "Then why doya look like someone took a shit on your pillow just now?" He waives a hand in front of his face and scowls, 'smelling something'.
"Thats just my face, sir." Harper responds, contrary.
"... Son," Buckman sighs now, giving up pretences because he knows that Harper is stubborn as a mule- and he does not have the energy to break him tight this second. He's a very busy man; Theirs people ta eat. "I'm askin' you nicely. Go out there and deal with that whore in the purple. Please."
"Not today."
"Wh- " Buckman is not used to being refused.
"No thanks."
"'No thanks'- "
"Uh uh."
"Alright- "Looks like he is going to have to break the little shit. First things first, what's wrong with him? Taking a look around, Buckman tries to figure it out. "Why're- ... Oh."
Harper's gaze had returned to Y/N, lookin' especially pretty today and chattin' up some Yankee boy, and Buckman could feel the soul leaving his body again. The problem was pretty self explanatory Jesus christ. What- He- This is non problem!! Has Harper seen that kid?? He- He's got velcro on his shoes- Ughhhhhhh. "... Harper. Are you, perhaps, a little jeal- "
"Sir, I swear to God, if you suggest it- "
"Fine fine!" Buckman quickly raises his hands in surrender, seeing the other man get so snippy so quickly. "... But- "
"No."
"I think you- "
"I don't."
"Harper!- "
"Sir!- Ow!"
After smacking Harper on the back of the head, Buckman huffs. "Sorry, but it had to be done. Sheesh... Look, if you ask me... -ah," Harper opens his mouth then, probably to remind the mayor that he didn't, but turns away in defeat when Buckman raises his hand again; Warning him. "I know you didn't you little bastard, but if you did... I'd tell ya to drop it while it's hot. You're being a moron and it's not attractive."
"... you know sir, that makes a lot of sense. I feel a lot better, thanks."
"Great, now go and- "
"Not."
... One of these days, Buckman is going to find a way to kill everyone here and live the rest of his hell-like eternity in peace and its going to be so lovely- "I swear to- You know what? Fine. Here we go- "
Before Harper can even turn to see what in the world Buckman means by that, he's being yanked up and shoved down the stairs. "Hey!- "
"Get out there and don't make me say it again. Go seduce the little yankee bitch or go claim Y/N- I don't care. But keep your behind off that porch. If I see you sitting again I will find a way to kick your flat ass. Jesus christ almighty... gimmie strength... " With this, Buckman strides past Harper and approaches Boone and the rest of that group. Harper watches him spare Y/N and that doting yankee boy an exasperated glance, rolling his remaining eye, before excusing his wife and going to plant he 'festivities' with her.
Peaches goes off next, catching sight of better prey, and that leaves Y/N alone with that dopey looking fool hanging off her every word.
Harper watches them for another moment, seeing Y/N get her arm touched, and decides he really needs to go over there.
Because- no. That is too far. That's enough. Time to ruin that little yanks whole fucken day.
(I hope you like the little Harper drabble!! XDD And, side note- Buckman is so much more fun to write when he is not the love interest?? XDD Might have to write more Harper and Boone stuff just so I can write platonic, aide character Buckman XDDD )
BRO I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS!!!
I'm so happy and flattered that I inspired you for one! And how you wrote Haroer being a jelous bitch and Buckman being a tired old man is spot on! And Y/N with the Yankee boy!! This boy sounds so sweet 🥹🥹🥹🥹
I want a whole multi chapter fic of this, you have no idea. Thank you for sharing with me!!!
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moonlightwarriorqueen · 9 months
Text
Me VS Republic Commando 3
Sooo... Kashyyk is a long mission I guess lol This isn't even the end of it
minor spoilers? swearing? yes.
(loads the game after dropping)
sev: MOVE IT me: DONT TELL ME WHAT TO DO
sev: i sense movement me: where?
fixer: nice shot sir me: thank you bb
me chasing lizards: come here scorch: lizards give me the creeps sev: everything gives you the creeps me: im with him on this one. dont like em (the lizards)
(fixer did something that I dont remember now) me: thank you, favourite son
me: sev stop stepping in front of me.
me: DONT HEAL ME. HEAL THE BOYS
Me getting shot: where am i getting shot from...? Sev???
me: OPEN THAT DAMN DOOR SCORCH (scorch just running over to said door)
fixer falls me: NOT MY FAVOURITE SON
everyone about to die me: BOYS
(getting obliterated by droideekas) me: listen, i love droideekas...but like...this is too many
me looking around: okay i have all my boys...no wait i lost fixer. Scorch, come on, we're leaving
(scorch being incoherent) me: what...?
me: fixer, health please. fixer: on my way sir me: good boy
me: okay, that's great...buuuuut you guys are refusing to leave the marker
me attacking lizards: STAB YOU IN THE FAKING FACE. YEAH? YOU TOO. STAY AWAY FROM MY FUCKING SONS
(sev shooting already dead enemy) me: no he's dead. trust me, i stabbed him
me sending sev for bacta sev: recieving bacta me following him to the machine: me bacta too
sev: 6 2 is down me: yeah im working on it sev or fixer gets in the way (i dont remember which) me: or maybe someone else is working on it okay, WHERE AM I BEING SHOT FROM?!
me: boy, why are you dying all the time scorch alive again: SET FOR ACTION me: health first!
scorch having just murdered: exterminated with extreme prejudice me: thank you
me: bacta for all you dumb dumbs..my dumb dumbs...but dumb dumbs nonetheless
fixer: 3 8 behind you me: im a little busy
scorch: nice handy work sir me: thank ya
me to random ass wookie: you coming big boy? sev, bring up the rear. i trust you to cover my ass
creepy disembodied voice: death to the enemies me stopping and spinning about: who...? said that...?
me laughing as i end the mission and saved the game: that was easier than i thought
scorch: enemies go boom sir
me: protect my dead ass boys
me having snuck by and blowing up a droid maker: hilariously, they havent even noticed me at all...theyre shooting you guys *laughing*
me as I am setting a bomb to another droid container: watch my ass
me: bankta? backta? bankta...backta??? (me, finds no health) me: alright, we're going forward. Scorch, you'll live
(agressive shooting)
me petting and scrooching my irl cat: how am i supoosed to play my game?! be with my commando sons when youre so damn cute?!
scorch: do you need a timeout sir? me: i do need a timeout! fuck you.
me accidentally blows up the ammo i'm protecting: was that me...? I can blow it up...?! what the heckk *laughing*
me, stabbing droids to heal scorch: again.
me: GODS DAMN IT, I DONT WANT GEONOSSIANS. I THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH THAT SHIT
me: are we...standing here for a reason boys...? no...?
(someone complaining about health) me: boys. i am lookin for the meds, okay?! i am LOOKING.
me: fixer...i dunno what you're doing...but you need to be following me
me: do not fall off the catwalk...i hope you boys are following~
me: everybodys alive. nobodys dead. we have weapons...okay
(saving)
disembodied voice: -wookie kind me: his wookie kind *laughs*
(me singing the same episode one battle song)
scorch: okay, you tell him to retreat fixer: uh...negative me giggling
scorch: thats impossible 3 8 me: WHATS IMPOSSIBLE. GET HEALED.  DONT SASS ME BOY scorch: much better me: i know...urgh.
(scorch talking about promenade) me: what, you dont like promenading?
(someone gets shot) me: not. my. child!
scorch about healing: i didn't think you'd ever ask sir me: then why didn't you just do it yourself?
me angry i can't find health: IS THERE NO FUCKING HEALTH?! THIS WHOLEFUCkING THING AND NO HEALTH?! WTF IS THIS?! (finds bacta) me: EVERYONE HEALTH. NOW. GET IN HERE.
sev: when do i get to kill something me laughing: no? just cuz you wan't doesn't mean you get it. fixer doesn't bug me. 
me throws a bomb into sev's head: whoops sorry sev, i wasn't looking where i was throwing...
sev: let's do that again sometime me: let's NOT and say we did
me: i dunno where im going anymore.. i got turned around
fixer: 3 8, watch your fire me: I DIDN'T SHOOT HIM
me: fixer... me 2 secs later: scorch!
(me, dies trying to revive scorch) (sev says something) me: yeah, come get me. i tried to get your stupid brother and died (fixer comes running) me: yeah fixer, come join us in the dead pile!
(reloads from save)
disambodied voice: 3 8 i'm reading low vitals on your squad me: IM WORKING ON IT, trust me. me: okay son 1...son 2...idiot son that ran in ahead and effectively got us all killed...
me picking up the enemy's heavy gun: ohhh yeah...big gun...
scorch: im good as new sir me: im GLAD. cuz im NOT. i'm fucking PISSED
me slicing something: wow...a whole minute...wellp, hope you guys can protect me for a whole minute... (someone promptly dies) me: urgh...
scorch: 40s down me abandoning control console: NOT MY FAVOURITE SON me reviving.him: oh fixer...*shaking head*
me watching the bugs not die: BOYS. you're not hitting them. at ALL
me: alright boys...lets go...oh wait, heal!
fixer: 0 7s down me: damn it sev! What did I tell you!?
me reading the loading screen laughing: "keep an eye on sev he's been talking in his sleep and it's some scary shit"
me: god damn. how many times...i gotta ask these boys?! now i gotta do it. i gotta place the charge
me reviving: fixer...and then scorch... (me reviving everyone) disembodied voice: 3 8 vitals- me: IM WORKING ON IT. YOU TRY BEING A SINGLE MOM TO THREE IDIOTS. THERES ONLY SO MUCH I CAN DO AT ONE TIME scorch: i got 0 7 me: thank YOU
me angrily sighing after repeatedly reviving and sending them to health: STRESSFUL. you boys are SO stressful sev: i feel better me: I FUCKING DONT
scorch: its primed sir (me blows thing up and kills a wookie) me: shit, we killed a wookie
(us being cornered) me shooting rocket launcher laughing: haha, rocket to the face~
and thats the end for this one lol
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lilisbigworld · 8 months
Note
The start of the apocalypse and the death of his daughter meant, for Joel anyway, that life was supposed to be lived alone. Like a hermit. Minding your own business, doing what you need to do, and returning home at the end of the day, only to repeat that all over again the next morning.
And then he met Tess. Tess, who... somehow weaseled her way into his life by helping with the missions he had taken up. Tess who was, some mornings, just as grumpy as he was, and didn't mind laying in complete silence as the sun slowly seeped through the window.
Tess, who he loves more than anything. Who he has nightmares about losing. And he should leave her- so often, he thinks he should leave her. It would be best for both of them.
Or... maybe selfishly it's what's best for him. Maybe he just can't stand to lose another person.
Every time he looks at her and she offers him one of her rare smiles, he knows that to be true. He can''t lose her.
Which is why, before he starts on his journey to look for Tommy, he asks her to come with him. He asks her to pack up her things, leave the 'home' she's come to be semi-comfortable with, and hit the road with him once again. Only this time they have no idea what they'll encounter along the way.
If Joel ever had any doubts about the feelings Tess had for him, all of those doubts washed away with four simple words. 'Of course I'll come.'
Of course she would- because she's Tess. She helps people. Even when they don't deserve it, she helps them. She's helped him all this time, encouraging him to find a place of peace within himself. Most of the time it sounds like pure bullshit- but it's true. He's better when he's with her. They're better together. Everyone knows it.
Their relationship is mostly private- nobody around them is good enough friends with them to see any sort of affection. That's all saved for the bedroom at the end of the day, or even the shower if they want to save water.
Joel loves the shared showers.
What he doesn't love is how he's standing in his living room, staring at Tess, who now has a little girl sitting on the couch with her.
A little girl. A kid. They're supposed to take a kid.
"Once again I gotta say- you've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me." He studies Tess, "You're just... what... alright with this?"
"She's a kid, Joel," she says softly, brushing a hand through Ellie's hair. "She needs help. When have I been known to say no to helping someone?"
"God dammit- never." He admits, putting his hands on his hips with a sigh. "Ellie. That's your name, right?"
The little girl nods quickly, "'m Ellie and I like horses. And space! Have you ever been to space? You don't look like an astronaut."
"Certainly ain't." Joel shakes his head. "You know how t'listen? Be a good girl?" Why's it feel creepy to ask that? Probably 'cause of the perverts who'll take just about anything for pleasure during this god damn shit storm.
He hasn't been a dad in a long time. What's it even like to be a girl dad? Can he even remember?
One more mouth to feed. One more life to protect.
And he'd do it all for Tess. He will do it all for Tess.
"Yes sir," Ellie nods again. "So can we go now?"
Joel murmurs something under his breath about how she 'won't be so enthusiastic once she sees the real world', then begrudgingly heads out with her and Tess.
Even just an hour into the trip, he can tell Tess is having a great time. She's worried too, sure, and on high alert- but she's also real happy about having a little girl to look after and chat with. Bonding time.
Bonding time. What a fucking joke.
Tess should know that Ellie's just cargo- that's all she was meant to be. Not some... little adoptee. But something tells him that's how this story will end up for them. One day they'll find Tommy and sit on the porch with their rifles lookin' for runners while this Ellie girl runs around in the front yard.
Having a little one with them slows them down quite a bit- honestly, Joel doesn't mind. Even though he's young he often thinks that he's getting way too old for some of this shit.
But Tommy needs him.
The second day of their trip, Joel has them pick up the pace a little, wanting to at least get as far from Boston as quick as he can.
Until a street covered with the gruesome aftermath of an infected attack stops him in his tracks.
"Woah." He puts a hand out, stopping Ellie before she can walk past him, ignoring her huff of annoyance. Stubborn thing.
Using his free hand, he slings his rifle off his shoulder, getting it into position as he checks out the scene. "Tess, you an' Ellie stay back, now. I mean it."
He slowly walks forward once Tess has her hand on Ellie's shoulder, her pistol at the ready as well.
Bodies lay everywhere. What the fuck happened here, exactly? He's not too sure he wants to look close enough.
Most of these bodies are human, too. Well- they were. But they didn't look infected, is what he's thinking. They just look... torn. Absolutely shredded up.
"What... the hell..." he whispers to himself, stepping just a bit closer to get a better look.
I let out a whimper at the sound of his boots coming near, curling up tighter into my ball. Day two of being in here without any food or water. Day two of sitting in a puddle of blood, cold and soaked to the bones.
0 notes
tenshindon · 3 years
Text
I am still thinking of 22nd yamtien what of it
#snap chats#I personally believe tien shoulda been a dick#just a#how you say#lil longer 😩#anyways the tournament timeline makes me violent#the amounta bullshit I woulda churned out if there was maybe an extra day or two#‘snap you can fudge the timelines’ yes but no <3#I like being as accurate as I can when it comes to timelines don’t look at me#there ain’t an ish if you do that by the way I just like to make myself go insane#22nd tien I miss you#you come out once in a blue moon and when you do I Perosnally short circuited#Solely Cause it’s so out of nowhere and I’m just 👁👄👁#eyo is yamcha seein this shit 👀👄👀#I will never get over the literal two-second scene from the bojack movie on god#I HAVE already written a fic for it I HAVE however I just can’t get over it#like what was your business there sir why the FUCK you lookin at him like that#tien can smile at people and not look like we got another motive he can do this he’s done it before#the fuck kinda look was that Literally 🥴 like the fuck is that#SO MUCH SHIT ILL NEVER BE OVER THST I REALLY WANNA DO THINGS WITH BUT DOTN KNOW HOW TO#the fact tien got a fixation on punishment/discipline like what the fuck Certified Freak 😫#can’t even say I did that cause what I did was redemption 😔#I will figure bullshit out I swear I got a lot of ideas#and i don’t know if I wanna draw em or write em I hate it here#also I haven’t even articulated them in my brain yet fuck 😫#I live in a personal hell I’ve curated for myself
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mypoisonedvine · 3 years
Note
do you think you can write soft dom! andy with housewife/service/cnc free use-ish?
yes, I think I can lmao and I WILL!  warning for everything in the prompt plus some loving dumbification plus sir kink and hair pulling... and breeding kink haha
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Andy had a philosophy that you looked best while you were cooking his dinner.  That was probably why he hardly ever let you finish cooking it.
“Andy, I’m busy,” you giggled as he stood behind you and delicately lifted your dress up your legs.  Just like he instructed, you weren’t wearing panties underneath; he’d recently decided that you shouldn’t have to wear them around the house, just to make it easier for him.
“You can keep cooking,” he offered as he opened his belt and trousers.  
But of course, you lost your ability to focus on the boiling pot of broth when he pushed his cock inside you, hands holding your hips tight to keep you steady.
“Oh, I forgot,” he grinned, “of course you can’t keep cooking.  ‘Cause you get all stupid when I put my cock in you.”
“Yes, sir,” you agreed breathlessly, gripping the edge of the marble kitchen counter to stabilize yourself.
“But you didn’t forget your manners,” he praised, his voice getting deeper as he began to thrust into you, slow but not exactly gentle, either.  “Good girl.”
At first, he could pass it off as just casually using you while you finished dinner, but that illusion fell away once he’d dragged you to the other counter just beside where you’d been slicing and dicing moments before, pushing you down on it and pulling your hair as he railed you senseless.
“This is how you like it, huh?  Hard?” he taunted.
“Yes, sir,” you moaned, “I love it.”
“You love being my whore?”
“Yes!”
“You love being my slutty little wife, always acting innocent but begging to be fucked just by the way you walk around the house lookin’ like this?” he snarled.
“Yes!” you cried.
“I bet you want me to come inside you, fill you up and let it run down your legs the rest of the night, is that what you want?” he pressed.
“No,” you whined, “I want you to keep it in me, please... I wanna be full of your come.”
He laughed a little.  “It’s not gonna get you any more pregnant that way, dumb little girl.”
“I don’t care,” you breathed, “I just want-- fuck-- I want all your come, sir, please.  I wanna have your baby so bad...”
“I know you do, you’re such a good little wife,” he groaned.  “Don’t worry, I’m gonna come so deep in you and knock you up, honey, just like you need.”
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shurisneakers · 3 years
Note
if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!
a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj
warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333
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Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist
Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.
“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.
“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”
“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.
“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”
“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”
“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”
“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.
“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”
“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”
“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”
Ah, fuck.
“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.
“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”
“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”
Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.
“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.
“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”
“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.
____
“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.
“What could I possibly get you?”
“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.
“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”
“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."
“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.
“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”
He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.
“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”
He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.
“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”
“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”
“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”
“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.
“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.
“It’s none of your busi-”
“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”
His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.
“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.
“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.
“I’m literally asking you.”
“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.
“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”
“Like Pandora’s Box?”
“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”
He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.
“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.
“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.
“Sir, you’re a geriatric."
“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.
“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”
He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”
“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”
“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”
“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”
“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.
“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”
“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”
“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”
“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.
“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.
“I want this to get over before this evening.”
“What time’s your date?”
“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.
“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”
“Five o’clock, now let go.”
“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.
“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 
You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.
A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.
“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.
Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.
“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.
“I told you; bad luck in a box.”
“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”
“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”
He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.
“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”
He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.
“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.
“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”
He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.
____
Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.
He isn’t used to having his weekends free.
He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.
His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.
It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.
The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.
He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.
He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.
He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.
“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.
They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.
He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.
The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.
Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.
He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.
Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.
He was sure he picked it up.
He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.
This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.
Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.
His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.
“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”
“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.
See? Good luck.
He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.
He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.
He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.
He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.
He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.
He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.
“Is everything okay?”
Fuck.
He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.
“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”
He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.
He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.
He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.
He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.
His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.
Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.
The box.
He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.
Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.
He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.
Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.
He fucking trips again.
“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”
He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.
Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.
No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.
He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.
There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.
There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.
There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.
The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.
Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.
The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.
He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.
“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.
He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.
“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”
Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.
The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.
It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.
The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.
Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.
The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.
He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.
Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.
Motherfu-
He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.
“James?”
“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”
“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.
“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."
“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.
“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.
“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.
“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.
“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”
“You must be really dehydrated."
Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”
He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.
“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”
He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.
“I, uh,-”
“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.
“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.
His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.
However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.
He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.
“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.
“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”
He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.
“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”
“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”
It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.
He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.
But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.
He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.
“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”
Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”
He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.
He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.
He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.
Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.
It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.
Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.
He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.
He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.
Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.
The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.
The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?
His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.
The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.
When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.
There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.
He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.
But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.
The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.
“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.
“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”
When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-
“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”
“I need you to fix whatever this is.”
“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.
There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.
The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.
The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.
He should have known. He should have fucking known.
Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.
In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.
It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?
There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.
It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.
But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.
He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.
The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.
His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.
“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”
He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”
“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.
It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.
“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.
“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”
“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”
He hesitates. “I guess?”
“Was she nice?”
“Yeah.” Where was this going.
“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”
“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”
“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”
“Just fix it.”
“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.
He waits for you to do something.
You flick him on the forehead.
“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”
What.
He says exactly what he’s thinking.
You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”
Huh?
“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”
He’s confused.
“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”
“The shoelaces?”
“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”
His face scrunches in puzzlement.
“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”
He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.
“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”
“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”
He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.
“What about the fucking geese?”
You pause for a second. “The geese?”
“And the elevator.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”
“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”
“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”
“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”
“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”
He nods briskly.
“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”
“Perfume?”
“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”
“It wasn’t an inator?”
“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.
“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.
“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”
“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?
“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.
Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.
“Wait here a second.”
You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.
“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."
He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.
You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.
He reluctantly extends it towards you.
“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”
You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.
“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”
“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”
“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”
“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”
“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”
He scoffs. “Thanks.”
You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.
He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.
“Bucky.”
He turns around.
There’s a hint of a smile on your face.
“Take the stairs.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
Next part
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Text
Must be this tall to Hunt| Boba Fett (tcw age so like 13/14)
Couldnt find a good teen boba gif, so heres bosk instead
Warnings: fake blame,
Reader: female
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"You are expelled from the order-"
"What!?" Y/n shouted looking up at the council, "I did nothing! Master Plo! Reason with them!"
"I am sorry little one, I-"
Y/n was heart broken, looking up at the surrounding Jedi, this couldn't be true.
"Master Obi-Wan!" Y/n pleaded.
"Your attachments grow," Windu spoke, "and with them your anger."
"My anger?! My anger?!" Y/n shouted at him.
"Little one please." Plo pleaded, "I have brought a witness."
"You!?" Y/n argued, "Master I demand an answer! Why! Why would you- You out of all People!-"
She watched Anakin walk in guilt ridden on his face, "You!? Anakin! You!?"
He kept quiet as Fives walked in, her world stopping.
"Y-Your lieing!" She shouted, "Fives?! Not you! I trust you and you do this!?"
"Arc Trooper Fives." Windu spoke, " what have you seen Padawan Y/n do?"
Fives looked at her, "I. Saw Genral Y/n with a clone trooper,"
"Im with troopers everyday!" Y/n defended.
"What was Padawan Y/n doing with this clone trooper."
"...intercourse sir." Fives responded.
"Thats Obsurded Fives! And you know it!" Y/n argued, "You're my brothers- Why in gods name would I fuck any of you!"
"Y/n! That is enough!" Plo argued.
"You believe this crap!? You're suppose to have MY back!" Y/n demanded, "I'd have your back no matter what! And you turn on me!"
"Are there any other witnesses?" Fisto spoke.
"Yes." Windu spoke, "bring them in."
Y/n watched, her brothers, the wolf pack, Commandos and even some from the Corosaunt Gaurd walk in, and they strung there string of lies and they strung them high and low, entagled the lies beyond untanglement.
"Padawan L/n is to be expelled from the Order and that is our final verdict."
The platform she was on went downward, the clone troopers who had made there testimonies were gathered at the bottom, a path for her to go through.
"Y/n-" Wolfee spoke reaching out a hand.
"Don't you dare touch me!" She shouted in anger pushing past the clones.
"It had to be done." Commander Thron spoke quietly.
The others nodded.
"Damn it!" Fives shouted running out the room and rushing down the halls, after the light echoing of Y/n's angered footsteps.
She pushed the doors open and just walking out them she stopped, hearing Five's steps behind her.
"General. It had to be done-"
"What!? The lies! The string of lies you built! Why!? Why would you do this to me?!" Y/n argued looking back at the clone.
"We wanted to protect you-"
"Bullshit Fives! Bullshit! I love all of you! All of you!" Y/n shouted, screaming so loud it was sure to be heard all the way down to the lower level.
"Y/n listen!-' he grabbed her shoulders trying to plead with her but she pushed him away ingiting one side of her double sided saber as Fives quickly backed up.
"Touch me again and I'll kill you." She spoke.
"I don't even deserve death. I know- I-" Fives tried to explained, "We wanted to protect you-"
"Then you should of had my back!"
The bright blade turned off and she turned around leaving without a second thought.
"Hey! Wake up!" Boba argued.
Y/n turned her self around as she opened her eyes, "what do you want Fett."
"Rations idiot." He spoke as Y/n sat up, the girl only a year older than Bobba.
She was thrown a rations bar by the boy as they were in a hotel room, she had been sleeping on the couch.
"How much longer we waitin?" She asked taking a crunch out of the bar.
"An hour, I told you that the how much longer last time you woke up." He argued looking through the window.
Y/n kept quiet as she ate her food, it bland and bleak in both tast and color.
Bobba took an arm chair by the window as he ate his own rations. It was silent for a long mintue.
"Did. You have that nightmare again?" He asked.
Y/n looked over at him, "when do I not?"
Boba ate a peice of his own ration bar, he never knew what the nightmare was about, but knew it was the same one, on repeat.
He had the same.
"You, uh. Wanna talk about it?"
She looked his way, then looked away quickly, only able to see the faces of her brothers.
"No." She replied coldy tossing the barely eaten ration bar on the table, her appetite gone, "I'm gonna go scope the roof, don't wait up for me."
She walked towards the door, grabbing the sniper on the way out.
"I'll come with you. Incase someone tries to get you from behind."
"I don't need someone to have my back." Y/n argued.
"Well then Im coming because I want to!"
He pushed past Y/n as she scoffed, following him close behind as they walked towards the steps, somewhere along the way Y/n hacked into a vending Machine, Boba going up the stairs himself, stealing whatever she pleased putting it in her sling bag, enough for her only.
"Sharing is what?" Y/n questioned Woflee
"An opportunity for someoen to get there arm chopped off, it's my food." Wolfee told her.
Y/n sighed, how she hated her own little life lessons to her brothers, and stole more food, enough for both Boba and her, and a little extra.
Walking up the rest of the steps she made it to the door she kicked open with the bottom of her foot.
"Could you try and be quiet?" He seethed.
"I mean. I could. But no." Y/n responded walking towards the edge where Boba sat on a near by utiliy unit.
She sat down setting her back infront of her as she laid herself on her side her back to Boba the lights of the bright city below barely reaching the top of the tall hotel they sat on.
"You want one?"
Boba looked over seeing Y/n holding up a soda.
"Where did you get that?"
"Stole it."
Rolling his eyes he walked over to her snatching the bottle and sitting himself by her head.
"Hey hey. Fives calm your tits." Y/n laughed.
Boba stayed silent as he looked at her, she too busy looking out and onward, but feeling the stare she looked besides her.
"Oh." Y/n realized, "My bad Fett."
Boba stayed silent, as Y/n took a drink of her own soda, he had realized she had become more sympathetic with her apology.
"You wanna talk about it now?" Boba questioned.
Y/n sighed, answering in silence for a mintue, "My only family betrayed me. Strung a String of lies to supposedly keep me safe. I think about it all the time. We use to find these abaonded places and sit up on the roofs like this, we'd sing, start a bonfire, get drunk."
"Your as old as me." Fett argued.
Y/n shrugged, "war does that, you only live once Fett."
"Then why are you still worrying about it?" Boba defended.
"Why do you still worry about the things you worry about?" Y/n questioned, "but I was kicked out of my group, my name stripped of me, and instead of having my back, they had me cast out. Happy Now?"
It was silent again, the hearing of honking and swearving down below could be heard.
"I lost my dad to the Jedi."
Y/n stopped mid way lifting her drink to her lips but then contuined to drink then pull away.
"They tend to do that..." Y/n responded, "they expect you to follow every rule every word, there no better than the sith."
"You know alot of jedi and sith."
Y/n looked at him once, "It was when you father died did I stop really believing in the Jedi-"
"You knew my father?! You're a jedi-"
"Shut your trap and listen before you get rowdy you damn idiot!' Y/n argued Boba gritting his teeth, "I met Jango Fett when I went on a small assignment, my first one, with Master Shakk Ti- it was basically playing paper boy. I remember delivering work to your father...alot of people were mean to me, he. He never was, always said thank you, always asked me if I had eaten. He even watched me leave on the ship back to Master Plo Koon. So when I went througy reports and found him dead I was in shock, later to find out a Jedi did it. I started to loose faith. Why kill a man lookin out for him and his child, sure capture him- but taking family...I know how that feels and no one should go through it."
Y/n took a drink finishing her bottle and tossing it over edge, "so. I fought. And I fought and I fought. If i couldnt save Jango, I'd save what was left of him- the clones- my brothers. They share the same face but are diffrent than any could imagine. I spoke, I wrote, I pleaded, I trainned. It never was enough, and it was my 'emotion' that got the better of me. Pssh. Yeah right the Jedi can piss off because if they want to see emotion? I'll give it to them."
Boba listened, he had nevee seen Y/n before hand, maybe he had and just didnt remember, he never knew someone could share his pain. Neverless with the same person.
"Windu will pay." Boba seethed, "and your a jedi! You can help me."
"I will go head to head to him, I don't plant bombs." Y/n defended.
"We can take him! Two on one!" Boba tried to persuade, "you know his fighting style! I know guns! You know sabers! We take his head and anyone else that stands in our way!"
Y/n looked at him dully.
"Come on! How many bounty hunters have you single handedly taken on! And killed! How many sith have you injured! Jedi that chase after us! Without your laser swords! We can kill him! Together!" Boba explained standing up, Y/n move to sit up, "We're the left behind! We are the strongest! Because we were left behind! We round up a few others! Bane! Sing! Bosk! And there's always someone paying for a Jedi's head!"
Y/n stood up grabbing hee sniper rifle as she did and looked at her watch.
"It can be a sniper shot! A saber battle! Whatever you want! As long as he die and Im involed I don't care how!" Bobba argued.
Y/n looked down below aiming her sniper adjusting the scope.
"My father would do the same for you-"
He was cut off by a bullet shot and soon the sounds of crying folks who see a man just drop dead on the street, the target they had been waiting for dead. She pulled away from her weapon slowly, turning her head towards him.
"I'll do it.-" Y/n agreed
"No." Boba spoke, "We'll do it. Together. For everything the jedi took from us!"
Y/n looked at the outreached hand as she took it.
"Together."
"As One Unit."
"As One Unit." Y/n responded, "well one and a half"
"Im not that short." Boba argued.
"Shorter than me." Y/n chuckled.
81 notes · View notes
twokinkybeans · 3 years
Text
MAKE IT LAST - STARKER MOB BOSS/COFFEE SHOP AU
HERE IT FINALLY IS! So, a few months back we did a prompt line fic thing. This means this one shot is wayyyy late, but it also got wayyyyyyyyyyyy out of hand and is now nearly 11k words long omg.
The prompt line @jeranasblog gave me was: "He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City." I hope you enjoy! <3 -Lien
Warnings: Adult!Peter Parker, Mob boss!Tony, Barista!Peter, No powers!AU, Peter is a little dense but we still love him, angst, fluff and smut, near the end there are some gruesome threats, abduction, guns, May is mentioned, Obadiah Stane is the bad guy, Bucky and Steve are there, Coffee Shop boss is an OC and has a gambling addiction. Smut tags: NFF, teasing, sexting, masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, hand job with much lube lol, hand & finger kink, praise kink, daddy kink, possessive kink, dry humping, finger sucking, anal fingering
Read “Make It Last” on AO3! Taglist: @the-secret-avenger ​@ironspiidey
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“Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. You see, the owner of the coffee shop, Mister McDougall, made a deal with New York’s biggest mafia boss to be able to keep the shop and… He wasn’t able to pay back on time. Lucky for Mister McDougall, Peter was working when the Big Boss came to collect. At two PM. On a Tuesday afternoon. A few months ago...
The bell of the front door rang and Peter walked in from the back, smiling kindly. He greeted the rich looking man. “Good afternoon, Sir,” he said in his regular chipper voice. The man cocked an eyebrow over his sunglasses and pursed his lips. His neatly trimmed beard moved along with his expression and he sniffed once. “One black coffee to go,” the man demanded. Peter’s mood didn’t falter. He was used to stern customers, New York generally wasn’t a kind city. Peter smiled and nodded, immediately getting to work. It wasn’t a difficult one to make, after all. He’d ring this guy up in less than a minute. “You know what,” the man suddenly said. “Make that a caramel Frappuccino. Extra whipped cream. Drink here. Make it last.” Make it last? Peter wondered what the man meant with that. It was only then that Peter realized that the man was studying his every movement a little more closely than a regular customer would. It didn’t necessarily make Peter uncomfortable, though. The man was at least twice his age, but it was undeniable that he was the hottest man Peter had ever laid eyes on. Even though his eyes were covered by an expensive pair of sunglasses. Peter quickly moved to pour the milk, but the man’s deep voice filled the empty space again. “Make. It. Last.” Peter blinks, dumbfounded. “You… You want me to work slower?” The man then raised his hand to pull down his glasses slightly, so he could look Peter in the eye properly. Infinite whisky browns stared straight into Peter’s soul. “Yes.” “A-alright,” Peter stuttered and went back to work, tearing his gaze away from the man. If Mister McDougall were here, he’d kill him for working at this pace. But ah well, the customer is always right. The customer is king. And the man he was making the coffee for sure looked like he was in charge. Maybe he would leave a nice tip. “Where’s your boss?” There was a hint of annoyance hidden in the man’s voice. “Mister McDougall?” Peter replied as he turned to grab the caramel. “He’s at a convention on the other side of the country. Was pretty vague about it, to be honest. Something to do with beans.” “Beans,” the man scoffed. “Sure.” He rolled his shoulders and walked to the other side of the counter where Peter would ring him up. His eyes never left the young man. “And he left you in charge of the store on the day he knew I’d show up?” Peter glanced up from his work questioningly, but then shrugged. “Apparently.” “Do you know about our deal?” “Oh!” Peter exclaimed softly as he placed the large cup on the counter. “He mentioned he was working on a business proposal with someone, but I didn’t pry, cause this isn’t my store. I’m sorry, Sir, did he have an appointment with you?” The man gritted his teeth and pushed out his reply. “Yes.” “I could call him now? If you want?” A slight smirk crept up on the man’s face. “Please do.” Peter didn’t hesitate to grab his phone from his back pocket. There usually weren’t any other customers at this hour of the day anyways. He looked up the number of his boss and hit call. “Hey Pete-“ “Hi, Mister McDougall, there’s someone here to see you, but you must’ve forgotten your appointment.” The other end of the line stayed quiet and Peter pulled a face at the customer. “Sir?” More silence. “Do you want me to reschedule it for you?” “Peter,” the customer interrupted them. It didn’t matter how long Peter wore that name tag, he never got used to strangers saying it out of the blue. “Hand me the phone and go to the back. Mister McDougall and I can discuss our arrangement here and now, but I do require some privacy.” Peter blinked once. Twice. And then he slowly moved to give his phone to the man in the suit. “Don’t let your coffee go cold,” Peter said with a curt nod before rushing off to the back. He shuffled to the dishwasher and turned it on to give them some more privacy, the loud rumble of the water inside the machine drowning out any other sound in the back. Not even five minutes later, the man walked into the back with Peter’s phone in hand, a dark smirk plastered on his face. “Your phone,” he said politely, placing the piece of technology in Peter’s palm. Peter smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sir.” He walked passed the man back to the front. The man followed. “No, Peter, thank you,” he chuckled. He grabbed his coffee from the counter and sat down at one of the tables. “Did the arrangement work out okay?” Peter asked innocently. If this man was working together with his boss, it was probably smart to stay kind. Though, that wasn’t all that hard, somehow. There was something about him that lured Peter in- made him feel warm and at home. The man grinned even wider while placing his sunglasses on the table. “Perfect.” His smile turned sour after he took a large sip from his coffee. “Is- is something wrong?” “Eh, no. I’m not one for overly sweet coffees.” Peter swallowed a sassy reply. If he didn’t like Frappuccinos, why would he order one? “Would you like me to make you another one?” “Still got that black coffee there?” “Yes, Sir.” “Very good.” The man left, just as hoped, a big tip and walked out the door with a promise. “See you next week.” Somehow, that made Peter’s stomach tingle. He did want to see the man again. There was something mysterious about him. Alluring. Their conversations were interesting and surprisingly eloquent. The man was very smart and Peter found himself loosening up more as the chat went on. The man let him. It was nice. That night, when Peter wanted to message a friend, he wondered when he added “TS” in his contact list. He didn’t recognize the number, but he couldn’t be bothered to look it up either. From then on, every Tuesday at two PM on the dot, the man walked in. Mister McDougall was always nervous about his arrival and usually fled to the back, leaving Peter to take care of the customer. But more often than not, he’d leave Peter in charge of the store entirely, leaving for appointments or errands whenever the man was bound to come in. Peter learned the man’s name is Tony and their conversations were always pleasant. Interesting. They talked about Peter’s life, mostly. Tony always managed to make everything about the college student, earning his cash as a barista. Peter didn’t mind, but he couldn’t help that he was curious. Tony offhandedly said he worked in real estate, when Peter asked. That and ‘some other things.’ He learned Tony was a tinkerer and a scientist in his free time. That he enjoys fixing up old cars, modern art and what he called ‘a good fuck.’ The comment had Peter blush a bright red. A blush Tony would always compliment whenever it crept up to his ears. Something about Tony drew Peter in. Maybe it was their casual conversation. Maybe it was his compliments. Maybe even his smile? Though, Peter’s smile always faltered as soon as other customers came in, since Tony would usually leave the store when they did. One day, the customers appeared to be his employees. And they all stayed. Two men, both tall and wide. One was blond, clean shaven and the other had slightly longer brown hair and a trimmed beard. “So, this is your Tuesday retreat, boss?” the blond quipped before ordering an americano. “Shouldn’t you be working?” Tony sassily replied, leaning back in his chair. “Coffee break,” the brown haired man said simply. Tony scoffed and waved it off. The three men were awfully picky about what they said and how they said it, Peter could tell, but that might just be private business stuff, so he didn’t pry. After they finished their drinks and walked out the door, Peter blushed again when the brown-haired man spoke. “That sure was a good coffee. I’d come here every Tuesday too, if I knew I’d be served by such a good lookin’ young man.” The compliment was paired with a wink. The door closed and Peter laughed softly to himself when Tony gave the brown-haired man a gentle slap at the back of his head to scold him. … One Tuesday, Peter called in sick. He lived to regret that. Mister McDougall was furious, but Peter couldn’t help that he was down with the flu and he didn’t want to make other customers sick. Especially not the man he’d grown to like so much. He got a text, later. TS: Are you okay? Peter: Who is this? TS: Tony. TS: Black coffee Tony. Peter: Oh! Peter: Sorry, I wasn’t at the shop today. Caught the flu, I think. Hope not worse. Glued to bed rn. TS: Got it bad? Peter: Can barely stand, tbh. Coughing a lot and it sounds weird. Don’t wanna make anyone sick. TS: That’s sweet. Peter: Just lookin out for the little guy. TS: I’m not little. Peter: Didn’t meant it like that, omgg, im sorry! TS: I’m messing with you. Peter: Ohh 🙈 It was quiet for a little bit, and Peter nearly fell asleep again if it weren’t for his screen lighting up. TS: Can I get you anything? Peter: I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be fine. I mean it. TS: Peter. Tony wasn’t even in the same room as Peter, yet he knew exactly how Tony would’ve said his name if he were. Peter: I’m a college student. Meds are out of the picture. Don’t have much cash. TS: I do. And after not even half an hour, there was a doctor on Peter’s doorstep to check on him. Pneumonia in its early stages. A few days of antibiotics and he should be good as new. He wasn’t sure how Tony knew his address, but figured he got it from Mister McDougall. True to the doctor’s words, Peter was up and running again in a few days and on Tuesday, two PM on the dot, Tony walked into the shop with a wide grin and spread arms. “Good afternoon to my favorite barista,” he quipped. Peter grinned and cocked his head. “Good afternoon to my favorite customer.” “Oh,” Tony gasped, placing his palm on his chest. “You flatter me.” “Do I? With the tips you leave, everyone must like to see you.” “Most rather see me go, trust me.” Tony loudly cleared his throat and evaded Peter’s gaze to collect himself, before he casually leaned over the counter. “Black.” His coffee order is followed by his usual command. “Make it last.” “All I do is press a button, Sir, it’s pretty hard to make a black coffee last.” Peter laughed quietly as he started rubbing a cloth over the counter to clean it while the coffee set. “Then make yourself what you like.” Peter stared at Tony for a second before turning to grab another, taller cup. “Would you laugh if I said it’s a caramel Frappuccino.” He licked his lips. “With extra whipped cream?” “No,” Tony replied immediately. His voice was lower. Darker. Hotter. “It fits you.” “Does it?” Peter chuckled as he handed Tony the black coffee. “Overly sweet,” Tony said with a nod, toasting and raising the cup to his lips. He glanced at Peter and then repeated himself. “It fits you.” Peter slowly moved around the bar, preparing his own Frappuccino. “Thought you didn’t like caramel Frappuccinos?” “I like you.” Peter didn’t halt his movements as he worked himself around the coffee machines, though, his body went at a whole different speed than his brain. Did Tony actually just say that? “I think I like you too.” The reply had left Peter’s lips before he could even process the thought. “You think?” This time, Peter stopped. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” It was barely a whisper. His hand was stuck on the lever and he bit his lip. “Wha- dating?” Peter opted to ignore the implication of what Tony just said and instead, replied honestly. “Flirting.” “Oh, pretty boy, you’ve got a lot to learn. And experience.” Goosebumps spread over Peter’s body at Tony’s words and he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was because he felt embarrassed or… Something else. This was the first time Tony called him anything like this and it felt like they both stepped over some sort of threshold they had both been ghosting by for a while now. Tony brought him back to the present with his trademarked sniff. “I have no need to rush things. If you’re interested, we’ll take it slow.” Peter finally turned his head to look at Tony with big eyes. Tony just smirked and quipped with a wink. “We’ll make it last.” … Peter: You up? It was two AM. Two Tuesdays later. Tony had become a lot more flirty and a lot more forthcoming with his sweet words and suggestive praise after they addressed their interest in each other. Most of it was via text, but whenever he was at the store, Peter could see Tony’s dilated pupils, could feel the man’s hot breath as Peter explained how one of the machines worked with Tony right behind him. He admired Tony for holding back too. He knew Peter wanted to take things slow, heck, he even suggested it. And he never snapped. Never broke. Never did anything out of line. Sure, his words were suggestive, but he never acted upon any primal needs. He was a gentleman. And it made Peter respect him even more. It also made him want Tony even more. Peter bathed himself in the compliments Tony peppered him with and Peter realized the man knew everything he said and did made Peter… Needy. Peter was fairly sure Tony was already asleep, but after all the sweet and… slightly filthy things the man had been saying to him that day, he couldn’t help himself, he had to jerk off. And he needed Tony to help him with that. TS: Been working. You’re up late. Don’t you have uni tomorrow? Peter sighed gratefully as he typed one handed, the other already creeping down to cup his half-hard shaft through his sweatpants. Peter: I do. TS: Hm. TS: Then why would you message me so late, huh? Peter wanted to scoff. Of course, Tony knew. The man just wanted Peter to say it. And… Peter kind of liked it. No matter how embarrassing. He typed and erased. And typed and erased. Typed and erased. He really wanted to send Tony what he wanted, but he felt like too much of a chicken to actually say it. He needed Tony’s sweet words. His… His filth. Peter: I’m,, eh… TS: Hm? Peter: Talk to me like you do in the shop? Please? TS: How I talk to you in the shop is a lot tamer than what I think you need right now. Peter hid his face in his pillow for a second, before taking a deep breath and finding the courage to reply. Peter: What do I need then? TS: You need me. Without a filter. But before I tell you anything… Where are you right now? What are you wearing? Talk to me, first. Peter: Alone. Bedroom. Bed. Sweat pants. T-shirt. TS: Turn off autocorrect, baby, how am I supposed to know you’re losing yourself if I see full words? Peter: happyy now? TS: Yes. One-handed, huh? Already touching yourself? Peter: mhm, thruogh fabric. TS: Alright, first things first, pretty thing, take off all your clothes. TS: Make it last. Peter complied immediately and he both loved and hated the slow movements he used to slide off his shirt. When his sweatpants were down on his knees, his screen lit up. TS: Are you making it last? Peter: yes TS: Good boy. Peter didn’t expect to moan so loud, but he did. The praise blasted through him and went straight to the cock that now rested against his abdomen. Stiff. Twitching. Leaking. Peter: say thatagain TS: Earn it. Peter: how TS: By being good for me, my sweet. Are you naked? Peter: almost TS: Let me know when you’re done. Peter was almost afraid that when he finally finished undressing after another minute, it was still too fast for Tony. He decided to make the jump, though. Peter: done TS: Lovely. Hard, baby boy? Peter let out a soft growl and was already struggling to type. Peter: ys, for you TS: Touch yourself for me. Go on, hump the hand you make my coffee with, Peter. It felt perfect – absolutely perfect – to wrap his fingers around his cock, now that he was doing it on demand. He couldn’t even hold back if he tried. His thrusts were relentless, straight away. Peter: Yyes yes TS: Oh, I wish I could see how pretty you look right now. How you roll your hips and fuck your fist. TS: Want to see the sweat drip from your temples, want to hear your soft gasps and moans. TS: Want to hear my name fall from your lips. Say my name, Peter. Say it. “Tony- O-oh-“ Peter gasped and he barely managed to keep his eyes open to watch the next few messages come in. TS: Don’t come. Not yet. TS: Slow down. Peter: nn tony please TS: Make. TS: It. TS: Last. Peter felt the tears stream down his cheeks. He felt so good. But he couldn’t come. Not with Tony right here with him telling him not to. Peter: yes sir TS: Good boy. Peter: feelsso good when u callme that TS: Mm. It does, doesn’t it? You know what makes me feel good? Peter: ?/ TS: When you call me Sir. A dreamy smile spread across Peter’s face as he lazily stroked his cock. His hips kept rolling, arching his back and lifting off the mattress with each thrust. His intellect had melted away. All he wanted was to feel good for Tony. TS: You know what else would make me feel really good? Peter: nno? Sir TS: If my good boy called me Daddy. Peter had to stop his hand or he would’ve cum right then and there. And he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He simply had to make it last. Instead, he moaned obscenely. Peter: ggod, nearlu came TS: Did you now? Peter: yes daddy Peter: held back TS: Oh, you’re so sweet for me. Wish I could taste that awful Frappuccino on your lips. Suckle on your tongue as I squeeze your cock, run my thumb over the head. TS: You have no idea how much I want to make you come for me. Peter: wanna cum for u Peter: faster?????????????/ TS: Speed up, baby. Show Daddy how desperate you are for him. Such a good boy for asking permission. The fact that Tony’s messages were still put together as opposed to Peter’s near button-mashes had another rush of arousal flow through Peter. Everything about what was happening was so hot. He’d never done anything like this before. He never even had sex in his life. And now the hottest man in New York was sexting him. God, he wished he could see Tony right now. Was he naked too? Was he stroking himself? Maybe he was fingering himself. Or fucking himself on a dildo so he still had two hands to type his coherent sentences with. Shit, that’d be so hot. Though, the image of Tony at his desk, working while casually messaging Peter all these things as if it’s just a regular chat about their day was even hotter. Tony, in his tailored suit, barely bothered by Peter’s desperation. Fuck. Peter: Yes yys ddaddy thanku TS: Mhm. It didn’t take long for Peter to get near the edge again. He was barely able to contain himself, phone shaking in his hand with every jerk of his other fist. Peter: close TS: Are you now? Peter: ya TS: Do you want to come? Peter: eys yes so badsoo bad TS: What do good boys say when they want to come? Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gasping and writhing on his sheets. His toes curled as he whined and begged while typing. “P-please-“ he muttered. “Please, please, please-“ Peter: pleease TS: Please, what? That’s it, Peter couldn’t type anymore. Didn’t want to type anymore. Instead, he hit the voice record button. “D-daddy, wanna cum, I wanna cum so bad, please, may I?” His lines were paired with moans and sobs. Desperation dripped from every word. Every thrust of his hips, every squeeze of his fingers, had him see stars. He had to come, he simply had to. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Lucky for Peter, it didn’t take long for Tony to reply with a voice message of his own. His deep, dark voice, coated with lust, like fresh honey, echoed through Peter’s simple bedroom. “Come, Peter. Come for Daddy.” … As time went on, Peter realized that Mister McDougall didn’t like to have Peter around anymore. Every chore he had to do, every command he had to follow, everything McDougall asked of him; he was never good enough. Peter felt like a nuisance. And he wanted out. He felt a weight fall off his shoulders when an on campus lab learned of Peter’s skills and offered him a job. So now, a few weeks after Peter and Tony started sexting, Peter told Mister McDougall he wanted to quit. “You can’t,” was the short reply. It had Peter nearly explode with frustration. “I can, though? I got a job offer in one of the labs on campus, I’m not letting this fly by!” Mister McDougall grabbed Peter’s shoulders and dragged him to the back by his shirt. He nearly flung the young man against the large dishwasher. “You’ll ruin me! You’ll get me killed!” “Don’t be so dramatic!” Peter yelled back. He was done working for Mister McDougall. So done. Peter swallowed his next words when a knife was suddenly pointed at his nose. He stared at it wide-eyed as he got ushered into a corner. “Tony owns this building, Peter, and the only reason I’m allowed to stay here is because you work here.” “Wha-“ “SHUT UP! You shut your mouth! I’d have fired you ages ago if it weren’t for him!” Tears pricked in the corners of Peter’s eyes. “If you leave, I’m going to pay your aunt a visit. And none of us will like what I’ll do to her.” What was happening? What was going on? Why did his boss threaten him like this? “S-sir?” “You’re not quitting, you hear me? You’re gonna get your ass back on the floor and you’re gonna do your job. As long as Tony doesn’t hate you, I can keep this business. You don’t want me to lose this business do you?” He waved the knife, pushing it towards Peter’s left eye and resting the tip right below it. The young man leaned back as far as the wall allowed him to. “Do you?!” Peter didn’t even dare to blink. “No, sir,” he lied. “Why are you so scared of him?” Mister McDougall laughed maniacally. “Why aren’t you?!” He yelled. “That’s Tony Stark! He owns sixty percent of New York!” The world stopped spinning. Tony - Peter’s Tony - is Tony Stark. The biggest, baddest Mafia Boss of New York. Known to be vile, relentless and cruel to anyone who dares to cross his path. And Peter… Peter had fallen in love with him. No. No, he didn’t. He fell in love with Tony. Not with Stark. But if they were one and the same, maybe the stories were wrong? Maybe- “You didn’t know?” Mister McDougall stepped back and let his arm down. Peter finally allowed himself to breathe, even if it was the worst intake of air he’d ever done. He held back his tears with everything he had. “No.” “Jesus Christ.” Mister McDougall threw his hands up, flailing the knife around. “You’re an idiot!” “But-“ A quiet beep came from McDougall’s wrist. He looked at his watch and turned. “Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. “Get to work.” Peter swallowed and blinked away his tears as he walked into the front of the store. He took a deep breath and fumbled with some of the cups on the counter. Mister McDougall stayed in the back, as usual. Peter looked up, startled, when the bell rang. Tony walked in, blissfully unaware and leaned on the counter like he always did. Peter was bad at hiding his fear, he knew that, and it didn’t even take a second before Tony caught on. “Did you cry?” His question was blunt. Straight to the point. “I’m alright, I hit my head.” Peter had to pause to clear his throat in the middle of his sentence. His words were small. Unsure. Tony didn’t buy it. “Who hurt you?” A shiver ran up Peter’s spine. He couldn’t tell Tony about what Mister McDougall did to him. As much as he disliked the man, he didn’t want the deadliest man in the area to… To hurt him. Peter didn’t dare think of the k word. But more importantly, he didn’t want anything to happen to May. “Me,” Peter tried to sound cheerful, but his voice shook. “I hit my head. I hurt me.” Peter finished up the black coffee and turned to give it to Tony, so he could start making his own Frappuccino. Tony wanted to take his hand, but Peter swiftly turned around. He played the machine to make his own drink, but he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t make it last. He had to get it done. As fast as possible. He had to get this over with. Tony spoke, but Peter didn’t hear it. He could already feel the tears threatening to glide down his cheeks. He couldn’t pretend. He couldn’t- Tony grabbed Peter’s wrist from over the counter and the Frappuccino cup slipped from the barista’s fingers. Peter stared wide-eyed at how the scorching hot liquid gushed onto Tony’s suit. The stain was evident, but Tony seemed unfazed by the heat. Peter’s lip trembled and he was certain there was no oxygen left in the store. He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City. Peter barely dared to look up, but when he saw Tony’s expression, his shoulders fell. The way the man looked at him was… Vulnerable. “You’re afraid.” Tony’s voice was fragile. “Of me?” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears flow freely now. He screwed up. He screwed everything up. “I don’t know,” Peter replied honestly, through quiet sobs. Tony swiftly jumped over the counter so he could embrace Peter. “Talk to me, Bambino.” “I- I didn’t know-“ “Didn’t know what?” “S-Stark-“ “Yes, Frappuccino, that’s me.” “Did you just call me-“ “Yes, did it make you feel better?” Peter scoffed, but managed to smile. “A little.” Tony then pushed Peter away from him to force the young man to look him in the eye by holding Peter’s chin between his thumb and index finger. “Did you really not know?” Now Peter feels stupid. He should’ve caught on, obviously. Everybody knew Tony Stark. Peter pushed his lips together and gently shook his head. “Oh, bother,” Tony mumbled as he pulled Peter against his chest to hug him tightly. Peter’s insides were in a struggle. Every part of his rational brain told him to get out of there. To push Tony away. The man was bad news. He reeked of danger, yet… He smelled so wonderful. His cologne invaded Peter’s nostrils and there was no way the young man could let go of him. The way his arms were wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, the way he held him, kept him warm and safe... No matter how frightening Tony might be, Peter felt protected. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. Peter’s face was pressed against Tony’s shirt and he could feel the wet coffee stain from Tony’s suit seep onto his own pants. A hand found its way into Peter’s hair and gently started massaging his scalp. The soft lips Peter had only imagined up until now, pressed themselves onto his curls and stayed there, leaving long, slow pecks. Sometimes, Tony hummed. With every passing second, Peter’s muscles relaxed more and more until his body practically went limp against Tony’s. “Now…” The man finally spoke. He gently pushed Peter away from him until he could look Peter in the eyes, hands cupping his face. His thumb gently stroked away the drying tears and he smiled kindly. “Who hurt you?” Peter’s pouting lips were pressed together. He tried to hide the truth, but one quick glance towards the back and Tony knew enough. “Please, don’t kill him,” Peter whispered. Tony scoffed softly. “Is that why you’re suddenly afraid of me?” Tony pushed forward slightly, until something long and hard pressed against Peter’s thigh. And it wasn’t Tony’s cock. “Cause I’m not just happy to see you?” Peter whimpered and closed his eyes, still not wanting to leave Tony’s embrace, even though he was afraid of what might happen next. “Do you know why I own 64.7 percent of New York?” Peter shook his head lightly, focusing his attention on Tony’s warm hands still keeping his face up by his cheeks. “Because I don’t just shoot whoever gets in my way. I give people a chance,” Tony said matter of factly. “Take your boss, for example. This building? It’s mine.” The way Tony enunciated the word, not just verbally but also with a soft squeeze of his hands, had a shiver run down Peter’s spine. “Ex-gambling addict who wanted to get back on track. Promising fellow. Clean for years. He loaned a chunk of my money to start his business. All was good. A thriving coffee store can make quite a bit of money in this area in New York. During my first visit I learned that not everything I offered him went into this shop. Told him I wanted the money back that he didn’t spend on the store. He also couldn’t pay rent. Somehow.” Peter breathlessly listened to everything that came out of Tony’s mouth. “I gave him another shot. Told him to have my money ready in a month. That’s a fair time to make what he owed me. And when I came into the store to collect… I found you. And your boss? Well, he wasn’t exactly at a convention. He was at the other side of the country, though. In Vegas.” Tony sighed and broke eye contact for a few seconds. “This is where it gets embarrassing…” He mumbled. “Embarrassing?” “I was completely enamored by you, Peter.” Tony’s eyes reconnect with Peter’s and they lock gazes. “And I decided that, when you called McDougall, I’d change the deal. He’d get a delay on his debt as long as you would be there to serve me coffee. On Tuesdays. At two PM. Figured you’d stick around for a while, give McDougall enough time to cover his ass.” “So,” Tony cocked his head. “After half a year, he still doesn’t have my money. And I’m guessing you want to quit the job?” Peter nodded, face contorting. “He had a knife and-“ “A knife?” The energy in the room changed abruptly. From loving and caring to dark and aggressive. Peter immediately pulled back, but Tony’s grip on him tightened. “He threatened you?” He seethed. “No- Tony, please,” Peter begged, but he didn’t fight. “Is he in the back?” Tony stared Peter down with an intense gaze. The young barista froze. “Peter.” “Yes.” Peter felt small, yet his body betrayed him when his cock stirred at Tony’s authoritative voice. Tony guided Peter to one of the chairs and gently sat him down. His hands caressed Peter’s curls before he pressed another kiss on top of them. He bent down until he squatted in front of Peter and looked up reassuringly. “I will not physically harm him, I promise. I just want to have a word with him, okay?” “Okay…” Tony smiled and nodded before standing up and making his way towards the back. Before he disappeared, Tony looked behind him one more time and winked at Peter. Probably to relieve the tension. Not long after Tony went to the back, Peter was startled by the doorbell. He looked up and quickly collected himself before greeting the customer, wiping the remainder of his dried tears away. “Good afternoon, Sir, how can I help you?” Peter barely managed to put up his customer smile. The man was a bit scruffy looking, dark haired and he had a slight beard. There was a strange look in his eye. Peter wanted to walk around the counter to his usual spot to take the order, but the man stopped him. “Hold it there.” Peter paused his trek and turned back to the man with a questioning look. The man suddenly bolted for him, but Peter realized too late he was holding something in his hand. Peter tried to yell but before any sound could leave his mouth, it was covered by a damp cloth. His eyes went wide as he stared straight into the other man’s. He had no choice but to inhale the strange and intense, sweet scent of whatever was in that piece of fabric. The man didn’t smile, nor did he look angry. He seemed rather indifferent. The man’s other arm wrapped around Peter’s body, right before he lost the strength in his muscles and dropped against the man’s chest. Peter’s mind suddenly felt over-stuffed with fuzz and it was only a few seconds before his muffled scream died out and his eyes rolled back. Right when Peter lost himself, the man spoke softly, with a mocking tone, before carrying him out of the coffee shop. “Night night.” … Peter’s head felt like it was going to burst. He could barely open his eyes, but the hand that pulled him back at his hair in the uncomfortable chair forced him to wake up. He gasped for air, squinting his eyes into slits in the bright light. “Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice echoed through the room, ringing Peter’s ears. He finally managed to open his eyes when the light was blocked by a shape. A person. “Eh…” A soft whine escaped Peter’s lips, but the sound wasn’t taken kindly. The person- man- yanked at his hair, causing Peter to wince in pain. The man was bald, but had a thick beard. A scowl pulled the strangers bushy eyebrows together and Peter’s entire body tensed when he spotted the gun in the man’s other hand. “So…” The man leaned in and cocked his head. “All this trouble for a twink.” Peter tightened his jaw even further and kept his lips glued together. The man quite forcefully let go of Peter’s hair, allowing Peter to take in his surroundings. They were in a plain room, nothing too interesting. Peter could hear seagulls outside. They were probably close to water? The door was guarded by two imposing looking men, one of them Peter recognized as the guy who took him out. In the darkness of the room, a camera seemed to be recording them, judging by the red light flickering in the corner. “Barista,” Peter mumbled, staring at the gun in the guards’ hands.. “Excuse me?” The man pushed into Peter’s space again, seemingly offended. Peter held his breath, but replied anyways, eyes locking with the bald man’s. “I’m just a barista.” “Just a-“ the man interrupted himself, put his hands on his hips and leaned back, letting out an over the top laugh. When he finally calmed himself again, he bolted forward, pressing the gun against Peter’s neck. The young man instinctively tilted his head up, eyes wide at the unexpected aggression. “You,” the man spit out accusingly. “Tony seems to think more of you.” “He doesn’t,” Peter bluffed, silently swearing at himself for his reckless bravery. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose. “I just make his coffee. Black. Every Tuesday.” “Right,” the man scoffed and revealed Peter’s unlocked phone from his inner pocket. “And does just making his coffee include a happy ending?” “N-no-, it’s-“ “Nighttime sexting? Then?” The man sauntered around Peter, casually scrolling through Tony’s and Peter’s chat. “Was hoping to find some intel, but all I got was your disgusting conversations.” Peter swallowed hard. He angled his head to look down so that he wouldn’t have to meet the man’s judging eyes. “I’m not gonna lie,” the man sighed. “Those voice messages? Your moans? They’d rile up anyone.” Peter gently tugged at his restraints, pressing his eyes shut. To say he was afraid of what the man could and might do to him was an understatement. The thought alone paralyzed him. There was a pressing ache in his chest and a growing need to get out of there. If only he could move. “What do you want from me,” Peter managed to push out. The man chuckled darkly. “I want at least 75% of what Stark has.” The man stopped circling Peter to gently push the tip of his gun through the young man’s hair- toying with it. “And you’re going to make sure he gives it to me.” “As if,” Peter replied simply, immediately swallowing his confidence. It now weighs heavy in his stomach. One short glance at the guards made them leave the room. They shut the door behind them and Peter couldn’t help but hold his breath. “Tell the camera-“ The man gestured at the red flashing dot. “-Tell Tony- what to do. If he doesn’t give me what I want, I will take what he wants most.” Peter looked up at the man confused, but the man’s smirk made the student’s legs burst with adrenaline. He wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. He’s bound. The man’s eyes sparkled and turned to slits. The wide toothy grin plastered on his face had Peter’s heart drop. “You.” “Oh, don’t worry about that ol’ camera.” A familiar voice said from the door opening. Peter and the man turned their heads towards it surprised. There, Tony lazily stood against the door post, the two men that Peter had met one Tuesday accompanying him. The guards that were there before were now laying on the floor. Peter quietly hoped they were nothing more than unconscious. “You can ask me, right here, right now, Stane.” Tony absentmindedly studied the pistol in his hand, turning and twisting it. Loading it. “Tsk. Answer’s gonna be no, though.” He moved to stand up straight, confidence oozing off every inch of him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” A shiver ran down Peter’s spine and he gulped when the gun that was still aimed at him pushed under his jaw. He dropped his head backwards in an attempt to get away from it and whined quietly. Peter’s breath quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut again. “If you want your boy to live, you’re gonna do exactly what I want.” “Hmm.” Tony grinned. “If you put a bullet in his head, I’m not even gonna use my gun.” He squared up, tightening every muscle in his body. The look in his eye was dark and resolute. “Will let you pick how you go, though. Could snap your neck- stick a knife through your brain. Wiggle it around a little to make your corpse spasm. Heck, I’ll rearrange your guts first if you want me to. Bet that’ll feel real nice.” Peter could barely believe the words falling from the man’s lips were Tony’s. Apparently, neither could the guy Tony called Stane. “You’re all talk, Stark. Never seen you hurt a damn fly, that’s what you got your goons for,” Stane sneered accusingly. “First time for everything,” Tony replied collected. Stane then pulled loose the ropes around Peter’s body and pulled him up, forcing him to stand with his back flush against the man’s chest. Stane wouldn’t allow him to stand comfortably, keeping him up on his toes as the nuzzle of the gun pressed up under his chin. As free as the lack of ropes made Peter feel, the presence of the gun annihilated any feeling of liberty. “Obadiah, I swear to mother Maria, if you so much as leave a scratch on Peter, you will regret it.” Stane didn’t seem fazed by Tony’s threats. He had the upper hand after all. He had Peter. “We’re leaving now. Don’t think I won’t shoot. I will.” Peter complied the nudge in his back, taking small steps in the direction of the door. Obadiah moved the gun until it rested against Peter’s temple. “Step into the room.” Tony’s jaw tightened, but after a few seconds he cast his eyes downward, entering the space. His bluffing hadn’t worked and the soft shaking of his clenched fist betrayed his frustration. He genuinely seemed afraid to lose Peter. In return, Peter was afraid to lose him. The two men Tony had brought with him, joined him silently. When they were all far away enough from the door, Obadiah shuffled Peter to the opening. They reached the hallway and Stane forced Peter to step over the – hopefully – unconscious guards. All Peter could think was ‘No-no-no-no-‘ at the mere idea of being taken to another location. One Tony might not be able to find him at. One he might actually die at. Peter took a deep breath and decided to do something reckless. He could only die once anyways. The second Obadiah pulled the gun back a little to give Peter more walking space, the barista ducked away from the gun, pivoted on his feet and pushed Stane back into the wall with all the force he had. There was a gunshot. One that had Peter’s eyes go wide. With the lack of pain or blood, Peter realized Stane had missed. Adrenaline pumped through his body at an incredibly rapid pace. Peter fell backwards on his ass and saw Obadiah’s gun that had been dropped in the process. The student scrambled to grab it in a reflex. He pushed himself back against the wall, knees up, eyes unblinking and wide, as he aimed the gun two-handedly at Stane who laid there with his hands up. The feral look in Peter’s eye told the small gang leader enough. No matter how scared, this kid would shoot if he had to. Peter couldn’t blink. He just couldn’t. He barely heard the footsteps next to him. Barely felt a hand rest on his shoulder, as another lifted to be placed on Peter’s shaking hands, holding the gun. All Peter could do was stare at Obadiah, stinging tears nearly obstructing his view. His breathing was quick and erratic and he didn’t realize how much he was vibrating until Tony’s voice pushed through the veil, clouding his mind. “I need you to let go of the gun for me.” Peter only clutched the weapon tighter, his finger twitched on the trigger. His breathing was loud and fast, making his entire body buzz with tension. “Boss, he’s in shock, he won’t-“ “Peter,” Tony said a little softer. “I’m right here, Frappuccino, look at me.” The hand that was on his shoulder before, now cupped Peter’s chin, gently forcing him to turn his head. Peter’s eyes didn’t leave Obadiah, though. He held his breath, hearing his heartbeat thump in his brain. “Peter…” For the first time in what felt like forever, Peter blinked, which caused the tears that had been threatening to spill up until now to glide down his cheeks. He found himself staring at Tony’s face as his body slowly lost tension. The man’s brows were furrowed, but his expression was soft. He carefully took the gun out of Peter’s hands and pulled him in for an embrace. Peter hid his face against the man’s chest and couldn’t help but sob into it, adding another stain to Tony’s expensive suit. “Oh, Peter.” Tony’s voice was muffled against Peter’s hair. “You’re okay, we’re okay.” Just like he did earlier that day in the coffee shop, his fingers tangled in Peter’s hair and started massaging his scalp. “You’re with me now, ‘s all good.” Another time, Peter would’ve been embarrassed for being pulled into Tony’s lap in front of all these strangers, but right now he couldn’t care less. His arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s torso as the man left his dragged out, flat kisses on Peter’s head. “M-sorry,” Peter mumbled between sobs, curling up into Tony’s embrace and tugging in his legs. “Sorry-“ “Ssh, ssh- you have nothing to be sorry for, my sweet.” They stayed like that for a short while, Tony rocking Peter back and forth until his heartbeat settled and his muscles relaxed. Eventually, Tony stood up, carrying Peter bridal style. “Let me take you home.” … Peter woke up among the softest of silk sheets, surrounded by an abundance of throw pillows, wearing nothing but his underwear and an oversized white T-shirt with a V-neck. Everything smelled like Tony. Peter groaned at the stiffness of his muscles and turned around, half surprised by Tony sitting on an armchair next to the large canopy bed. “Morning, sunshine,” he said with a smile. Tony was wearing sweats and a similar T-shirt. The corners of Peter’s mouth curled up too and he instinctively folded into himself, pulling the sheets up to his chin. “Morning.” “How are you feeling?” Tony leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Little stiff,” Peter answered honestly. As if on cue, his stomach growled. “And hungry.” “My cook’s making us breakfast as we speak. Should be here soon.” “I knew you were rich, but a personal chef?” Peter chuckled. “Isn’t that a bit overkill?” “Look, kid,” Tony laughed, sitting up straight again. “I don’t have time to make my own meals. I’m a busy man.” “Busy enough to visit me every Tuesday at two,” Peter teased, the sparkle in his eyes evident. Tony seemed relieved Peter was acting like his usual self. “Hey, hey,” he said, shaking his head. “I scheduled in that time. I always wanted you to have my undivided attention. That was my me-time.” Peter’s smile faltered. “Was,” he parroted quietly. There was no way he could go back to his barista job. To mister McDougall. Not that he particularly wanted to work for that man anymore, but it felt like this pleasant chapter of this life ended with a terrible cliffhanger. Now, Peter was at the start of the next chapter, going through the repercussions of what happened before. “Pete, I-“ “Where are we?” Tony seemed taken aback by the interruption, but collected himself swiftly. “Home,” Tony replied matter of fact. “My home, to be precise.” He cleared his throat and looked away uncharacteristically shyly. “Could be yours too if you want.” Peter didn’t reply straight away, which caused Tony to stand up and raise his hands in a defensive manner. “But we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.” There was a knock on the door and Tony cocked an eyebrow at it. “Breakfast,” a muffled voice spoke. “Come in.” A man with a giant tray opened the door. He walked in quickly and placed it on the table next to Tony. “Take the rest of the day off. Paid leave. Tell the others the same, save for the guards outside. I want this house empty within an hour.” The cook nodded and thanked Tony for his generosity. Not long after, Peter and Tony were alone again. Peter stared at the over-filled tray and licked his lips. “Anything that tickles your fancy?” Tony’s words are accompanied with a smirk. “A coffee sounds good right about now.” Tony immediately perked up and turned to grab the carefully made Frappuccino, but before he could curl his fingers around the cup, Peter continued: “Actually-“ Tony looks at Peter surprised. Peter grins and nods at the other cup on the tray. “After everything that happened, I could go for something stronger.” “Peter Parker, are you taking my black coffee from me?” Tony chuckled. Peter pulled himself up so he sat up straight among the throw pillows. He then reached forward with both arms, making grabby hands at Tony. “Mayyybe,” he teased. Tony laughed as he complied, handing Peter the black coffee. Peter gratefully took a sip and pulled a face at the bitterness burning his throat. “Sure you don’t want the sugar, sugar?” Peter snorted and nearly spilled the coffee on the bed. He looked into the deep black of the cup in his hands and then up at Tony. “Fine,” Peter said with a grin, offering Tony the black coffee. Peter waited for the older man to give him the Frappuccino, but instead, Tony stood up. “Here,” he said, lifting the tray and placing it on the bedside table. “Mind if I join you?” Peter didn’t answer, he just lifted the sheets. Gratefully, Tony slid in, placing himself flush against Peter and handing him the Frappuccino. For a short while, they just sipped their coffees, not exchanging any words. Peter occasionally glanced at the food on the bedside table, unable to choose where he’d even start. He let go of his thoughts for a little bit, letting his mind wander to yesterday. To Obadiah Stane, to the rope burn on his wrists, the feel of the gun against his head, in his hand, the trigger under his finger. Tony. Tony was there to save him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” Peter was his. And while his rational brain was scared of this mob boss side of Tony that he only just learned about, there was something exhilarating about it too. Tony was still Tony- still the same man Peter made all these black coffees for, the man he had late night conversations with via text. Peter thought back to before he lost himself to sleep, how he was being cradled by Tony, sitting in his lap. The memory made him feel warm, somehow. Peter swallowed and took a breath. “I felt safe,” Peter whispered. “Hm?” Tony turned his head slightly and put down his now empty cup on the nightstand. “Yesterday.” Peter’s brows furrowed as he kept staring ahead. “In your lap.” He paused, trying to put his thoughts in a row and say something a bit more sophisticated. However, he couldn’t think of the right words, so he just repeated himself. “I felt safe.” It was quiet for a second. “Do…” Tony sniffed once and tugged at the tray on Peter’s side of the bed. “Do you want to sit on my lap now?” Peter’s mouth went dry, even though he just finished his coffee. The tension between them hung thick in the air. He looked at Tony wide-eyed, but quickly averted his gaze again. “Yes,” he mumbled, nothing more than a whisper. “What was that?” “Yes… Please?” “Good boy.” Peter shivered and closed his eyes, but only until he felt Tony gently pulling at his arm. He didn’t struggle as Tony guided him to sit on his thighs, back pressed against the older man’s chest. “Oh, Bambino,” Tony cooed as Peter’s ass pressed against Tony’s already hardening shaft. “Been through so much. Let me help you.” Peter wanted to ask what Tony meant, but the man had already taken the mug from Peter’s hands, placed it on the bedside table and grabbed a blueberry muffin from the breakfast tray. “Hold this,” he ordered, giving the muffin to Peter. Their hands grazed past each other, eliciting a small gasp from the younger man. Tony immediately moved to rip a small piece off of it and brought it up to Peter’s lips. Peter stared entranced at Tony’s rough hand. “Go on, my sweet,” Tony whispered into Peter’s hair. “Eat up.” Peter leaned in and opened his mouth. He carefully maneuvered himself in an attempt not to touch Tony’s fingers, not wanting to be weird or gross, but Tony had other plans. He pushed in his fingers to help the piece into Peter’s mouth and then brushed his fingers over Peter’s lips. Peter didn’t realize his eyes were closed, but there wasn’t much to see anyways- save for the lusciously decorated room. Peter was more occupied with feeling right now. And boy, did Tony’s lips on his neck feel absolutely perfect. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. Tony’s free arm was possessively curled around Peter to caress his neck from the front, grazing past his Adam’s apple and gently squeezing right under his jaw until he swallowed. Tony presented Peter with another bite, but this time he really pushed his fingers in. Peter wrapped his lips around the digits and sucked, moaning softly. “That’s it…” Peter absentmindedly spread his legs on Tony’s lap, arching his back to grind into Tony’s groin. Tony’s other hand found its way down Peter’s body until it cupped Peter’s balls through his underwear. Peter immediately pushed into it and gasped at the gentle rubbing of Tony’s thumb. “Thaaat’s it…” Tony took his fingers out of Peter’s mouth, a small string of saliva dripping down, to take the muffin out of Peter’s hands, put it on the tray and then stick his fingers into the small bowl of jam. His other hand fondles Peter at a steady rhythm and Peter rolls his hips along with it. “Feeling good for Daddy, Peter?” The young man smiles lazily and nods, letting his head fall back against Tony’s shoulder. “Y-yes,” Peter whimpered. “Feels so good.” An overly sweet scent filled Peter’s nostrils. He opened his eyes to see Tony’s jam covered fingers. He stared at them transfixed, mouth already opening, tongue hanging out, ready to take it all. “Atta boy,” Tony whispered, suckling on Peter’s skin. “Don’t hold back. It’s all yours…” Peter didn’t hesitate and grabbed Tony’s hand with both of his own, pulling it toward him to lick the sweet strawberry jam off of Tony’s fingers. The fingers of one hand were curled around just the thumb, while the other gripped onto the man’s palm. “Don’t hold back,” Tony repeated with a squeeze of his hand around Peter’s clothed cock. The young man immediately moaned louder, pressing himself against Tony harder and licking the man’s fingers clean in a near-obscene manner. “Aren’t you a good boy?” Tony growled as he slowly started to push up against Peter’s ass. Peter groaned and clenched around nothing, working his way down Tony’s hand and suckling at the golden ring on his index finger. “Yours,” Peter gasped between licks. “Your good boy-“ Apparently those were the right words, because Tony let out a guttural moan and within seconds, they were flipped over with Peter lying on his back on the bed and Tony possessively hovering over him, caging Peter with his arms. Peter was met with Tony’s dark pools and twitching nose. There was something animalistic about the otherwise so collected man Peter had served coffee to. It had Peter’s cock throb with anticipation. Tony’s wet fingers pushed under Peter’s shirt to tweak and tug at one of his nipples. “Mine,” Tony pushed out, immediately moving in to ravage Peter’s lips himself, tasting the flavors Peter had only just taken in. Peter, in turn, could taste the bitter coffee. “My sweet.” Peter pulled at Tony’s shirt, quietly telling Tony he wanted them to get naked. The man seemed to understand and within a minute all clothes were discarded. Tony’s cock stood tall and proud and had a girth that had Peter drooling. He wanted it in his mouth. ASAP. “Eager, eager,” Tony chuckled darkly as he saw Peter’s eyes locked on the swaying dick in front of him. Peter’s gaze broke free and he gave Tony a pleading look. “Next time, my sweet.” Tony leaned in to give Peter a short, passionate kiss while his hands squeezed nearly half a lube bottle all over Peter’s groin, slicking him up as Tony massaged every inch of skin. Peter immediately granted Tony access into his mouth and Tony eagerly licked the insides. He pulled back again and grinned. “You first.” Tony’s free hand grabbed hold of Peter’s cock, squeezing it until Peter saw stars. His hips bucked up into Tony’s touch while his hands grabbed at the sheets in an attempt to ground himself as Tony’s hands pleasured him. He moaned with every loudly-squishing jerk of Tony’s hand, but it wasn’t going fast enough. “More-more-more, please, Daddy-“ Tony seemed pleased with the begging, because the hand at Peter’s nipple slowly travelled down his toned body, grabbing and coating itself with the excess lube. “Sure you want more?” Tony had a wicked grin on his face. “Cause I can give you everything.” He curled his tongue up to lick his own teeth. “If you think you can handle it.” “Yes,” Peter gasped, arching his back more, pressing his head into the throw pillows. “Please, please, want everything, want it all, want you-“ “Good answer.” Tony’s praise goes paired with him mercilessly pushing his index finger into Peter’s tight hole. The young man gasped at the sudden sting, but his expression turned to absolute bliss in an instant. He clenched and unclenched around Tony’s digit and soon enough, Tony started pulling out and pushing back in, curling his finger in the process, in search of Peter’s… Sweet spot. “God, yes, T-Tony, Daddy-“ Peter moaned as his body rocked under Tony’s attention. “Mr. Stark-!” Tony’s eyes went wide, revealing a previously unseen aggression behind them. His movements became more forceful and he lowered his face until it was right in front of Peter’s. “Yes, boy, call me that again. Do it.” “M-Mi-“ Peter squeezed his eyes shut, completely overwhelmed by all the sensations and the tightening knot in his abdomen. His balls were tight and his heartbeat throbbed everywhere. “Whose cock is this, Peter, tell me who it belongs to-“ Tony let his thumb glide over the tip of Peter’s cock as he quickened his pace and the intensity of his jerks. “Yours- Mr. Stark, it’s y-yours!” Peter’s reply was rewarded with Tony’s mouth sucking marks on Peter’s neck. “And this hole? Huh? Who does this belong to?” Right when Tony uttered the words, he found what he’d been looking for. Peter opened his mouth wide in a silent scream as his body convulsed. “Yes, yes, yours, yours-“ Tony attacked Peter’s prostate without remorse, not halting any movement. He was good at this and he owned it. He owned Peter. “And your mouth? Your chest and your arms and your legs and your neck-“ Tony cut his own rambles short by biting into the skin right below Peter’s jaw, eliciting another loud moan from him. “Mr. Stark’s, his- his, yours!” “That’s it, good boy, it’s all mine. You’re all mine!” “F-fuck, I’m gonna come, Mr. Stark- Please, please-“ Peter’s gasps were erratic. The complete polar opposite of Tony’s near robotic movements. Along the way, he had added two more fingers into Peter’s sopping hole and he kept pumping mercilessly, curling his fingers at just the right moment. The young man was practically folded in two on the bed, taking everything Tony was giving him. He’d never felt this good in his entire life and he basked in the hot sheen covering his body. All his fantasies, all their sexts, were now reality. Tony stayed true to his word. Everything he had promised Peter, he was now giving- almost forcing- upon the young man and he loved it. They both did. “So close, my sweet, stay on that edge for me, don’t tip over just yet-“ Tony growled. “Make...” The young man found himself humping into Tony’s fist, moaning at the trademarked line that had started falling from the mob boss’s lips. “It…“ Peter whined as his body shook, trying to hold onto the last bit of sanity that he had left before he would lose it all and spill. “Last…“ Every part of Peter’s being writhed and convulsed at the scorching pleasure pumping through him. He had to make it last. He had to wait. Had to drag it out. Felt so good. Too good. Yes, yes- yes! “That’s it… Just a little longer,” Tony encouraged. Peter’s eyes rolled back and to his dismay, Tony sped up even more. “Haaa-,” Every muscle in Peter’s body shook with tension, ready for that blissful release. “Yeees, good boy, such a good boy, hold on…” Tony’s breath was hot on Peter’s lips. His deep voice vibrated through Peter’s body, sending even more surges of arousal through him. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” Peter’s jaw was locked as his eyes fluttered open. He stared straight into Tony’s and the sight had his toes curl. “Come.” Peter’s vision went white at the intense eruption bursting from him. If he screamed, he didn’t hear himself. All he could do was experience it. White streaks covered his abdomen and Tony’s hand and the overstimulating sensation of his orgasm seemed to last forever. After who-knows-how-long, Peter came down from his high, panting and twitching on the mattress, body completely limp. Tony was lying next to him, whispering sweet praise into his ear and slowly bringing Peter back to reality with his calming voice and caressing hands. Peter blinked a few times, his vision sharpening again until Tony was completely in focus. The man smiled. “Good morning, sunshine,” he repeated himself. Peter chuckled and cuddled up against Tony’s chest. Tony immediately embraced him, tangling their legs together. “Morning,” Peter laughed softly. It was quiet for a minute while Peter cleared his mind, basking in the afterglow of what was the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced. “Thank you,” he whispered against Tony’s body. The man kissed the top of Peter’s head, humming softly. “No, my sweet, thank you.” After another hour of cuddling together Peter shuffled back so he could look Tony in the eye. “We should probably get out, don’t we?” Tony smiled kindly, pressing his fingers through Peter’s curls. “Work can wait.” “I wasn’t talking about work…” There was a playful sparkle in Peter’s eyes. “I want to explore this place.” “Can’t we cuddle a little longer?” “I’ll stay naked,” Peter teased. “We’re alone anyways… And I’ll make you coffee?” “Are you trying to bribe me with coffee that requires pressing one button?” Tony teased right back. Peter moved to sit up straight and tossed the sheets on top of Tony. He jumped out of bed, his cock already hardening again and bouncing with every movement. Tony grinned and seemed to be enjoying this newfound confidence Peter had. “I don’t know, Mr. Stark, am I?” Peter sauntered towards the door and opened it swiftly, arching his back and showing off his toned body as he walked through. Tony’s cock, that had started softening up after not getting any attention last round, sprung back to life at the sight. “Could make the coffee last, but… I’m sure there are other rooms in this place where I could make it last?” Tony laughed positively wicked and crawled over the bed towards Peter. The young man squealed delighted and ran out into the hallway. Tony stepped out of the bed and started chasing his good boy through the mansion.
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honoredbastard · 3 years
Text
ෆ self indulgent and entilted
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characters — bonten!rindou haitani  + *yakuro nanami (oc) .
content and warnings   — mentions of drugs ( yo sanzu ), clubbing, stalker mention, mention(s) of drugging, yelling, angst(?), swearing, and so on.
note  — sorry for the dark content hhhhh, it came with the idea of ackerman being a yakuza that hated bonten and wanted yakuro gone. it may actually be apart of the fic i’m outlining..... these men hold my heart and WILL NOT LET GO OF IT. also they just like dive into my brain 24/7. help i had a fit over what looked best for three hours- at this point i’mma probably make a lil sum’ for sanzu. i love this man and i can’t stop having him appear in my stories that involve bonten. like this guy is 24/7 in the back of my mind.
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                                         *Yakuro Nanami.                                            he/they/bun! 
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                  Now playing ayanami  — by satin
rindou woke up first to yakuro wearing his bunny ears and a bunny pajama set that he seemed to just slip on before marching into bed. it was cute, but there was still smudges of makeup on his face and the dark circles of terrible inconsistent sleep. rindou sighed, brushing away blonde parts of hair that yakuro was chewing on. 
“yakuro.” rindou lightly pushed yakuro’s shoulder, trying to wake the boy in his semi bunny work attire. “rindou? rindou....” yakuro groaned, his head searched for rindou’s lap or hand that he could lean into. just exist near, to feel his skin and be aware of his warmth, that he was alive and not dead. that he stayed the whole night. “morning doll.” rindou smiled quietly, brushing his fingers over the boy’s hair. 
there was a knock on the door, “come in” as if that was a full offer to entangle himself with the couple he busted through the door and made a running start to jump onto the couple. “HI!” “i don’t do the touching, i’ll sit and pour you your drink and be your personal bunny. please treat the bunny well and we will have no problems. if they bunny feels uncomfortable the bunny has full rights to leave and find a new client. if you understand these rules please enjoy your bunny.”
yakuro stated as if he was at work. it was grilled into his brain and always had to repeat it infront of new clients. working at a bunny suit club was not it, almost rolling over onto sanzu. “bad work day?” “bad work day.” rindou confirmed sanzu’s suspicions with three simple  words. “yaku..” “no.” “yakuuu.” sanzu scooted in between the two, poking yakuro’s cheeks aggressively. he seemed sober, thank god. 
rindou shrugged the mans presence off and trudged to the bathroom to wash and whatnot. “you have another shift, ran told me to wake you up. “that’s not my problem. tell my boss to go fuck himself with a dildo filled with nails.” sanzu’s eyes widened, that was aggressive. although at the same time sorta funny?
“he said he’d cut off your shift times and cut back on how much money you make plus tips.” sanzu repeated what ran had informed him of, with a quite frustrated appearance.  “THAT FUCKER WILL NOT!” raising up from his laying position, yakuro ran into the hallway stumbling here and there from improper pace. 
“i’d love to see him try i swear if he even tries reducing my pay i’ll quit the whole fucking job how about that? i never liked this bullshit bunny shit anyways, it’s annoying when the customers try to touch and then you get stalkers.” yaku was mumbling to hell and back from his bosses call, waving to ran who nodded. making himself a bento before heading off on a small mission.
yaku threw open the washroom door and started searching for his bunny suit attire. the club’s theme was rainbow today so he washed a deep red suit with a black add-on tail and clip on black ears (which were foldable too. yakuro always folds one ear.) when yakuro made it back to his room, sanzu was gone and rindou was crouching near the bottom drawer.
“whatcha lookin for?” yakuro asked curiously, sitting beside the man who made a mess beside him “looking for a red suit now, i’m trying to match with you subtly.” cute- that was the only thinking yaku could think of this man who is a part of a criminal organization/gang. who woulda thought?
“i think you might be better with either a red with black tie or a deeper red of a suit.” yakuro suggested, getting up from his sitting position, joints cracking. “or black would go well, after all i’m only wearing red heel, a red body suit, and red makeup. the rest is black!” yakuro called out to rindou who was still crouched as he exited the room. taking into account his suggestions, he went with a more black with red accents attire.
           ާlocation, bunny palace! ෆ             late night, 11pm.
“here in bunny palace we have many bunnies to suit your taste! male, female, and even those who do not define themselves! run and created by the ackermans.” bunny palace is under the hands of those with the ackerman name. mikasa, the current owner, is softer on us than many. although the music blaring is not something you can get used to.
“hello! i’m moonie! it’s so good to meet you, are you new here?” yakuro was tired, it was about 4 more hours until he shift ended and he was already hungry again. salad’s really don’t fill you up especially when you wolf them down. his feet ached and cried out each time he took another step, he wanted to lay down and use rindou as his personal body pillow.... rindou! ‘i hope he’s okay.’ he thought, placing himself beside the very important client his boss claimed. “oh i am! it’s nice too meet you moonie.”
“it’s so good to meet you too! we have a few rules here that our bunnies tell each new client: i’ll sit and pour you your drink and be your personal bunny. please treat the bunny well and we will have no problems. if they bunny feels uncomfortable the bunny has full rights to leave and find a new client. if you understand these rules please enjoy your bunny. please keep touching to a minimal. do not force your bunny drinks or food. respect your bunny. is that doable?” yakuro asked with big puppy eyes, a big smile, and high pitched voice. “of course!” the customer happily said, hand already on his thigh.
i am SO uncomfortable was all that yaku could think about, his eyes flicking between the customer and each place his gross hands laid upon. squeezing every-so often like it was a pleasuring act for yaku. before he removed the man’s hand, he restrained himself. drawing a large breath before responding to the customer. “i’m so sorry sir! shall i get you something to drink?” yaku pouted, “if you’d like, moonie!” i’m saved.
yakuro smiled and stood up, “why of course! i’ll be right back!” like a breath of relief, he rushed to the staff room. he waved to some girls, “not on stage today moonie?” one asked, a baby stripper new to the bunny palace club. “yeah! boss was all: ‘act cutesy, be close, allow touching this once. there are really important customers here today.’ like thanks for threatening my paycheck and then saying that!”
“oh my, that’s rough babe. ackerman is always like that, it’s like she has a stick up her ass.” one of the older strippers that had been with yakuro since he started chimed in, “you’re right!” yaku chuckled, leaning closer into his vanity mirror to adjust his lipstick and have a chance to message rindou. 
40 missed messages. “i’m so fucked.” “why’s that babe?” “i may have forgot to message rindou telling him ackerman added hours onto my shift.” the room grew tense, “that’s awful? read his messages.” sei suggested, “might cool him off if he’s angry.
“alright!” yaku sighed with a smile, opening the messages. to his surprise, rindou wasn’t angry but instead worried that a client had gotten too touchy and triggered yakuro. after all, ran did inform rindou about the bits and pieces that sanzu did not tell yaku. “whew, i’m good! i’m safe. he’s just worried....” sei and bab took a loud sigh and began laughing. “BUT I’M FUCKED.” “really? that’s great! now go out! your client must be waiting.” 
yup the girls took it that way. “i will! don’t worry don’t worry. i just hope sanzu doesn’t buy the whole club.” “he won’t now go!” sei pushed out yaku who glanced over at the client who finished the previous bottle. his nose was red and was slightly swaying back and forth.
walking up to the bar, yakuro ran into polaris. “polar!” “moonie.” “can you get something for my client? he seems to be a lightweight.” “sure, i’m sure he wouldn’t mind beer.” polar sat down the cup he was wiping back and forth to keep busy.
“the bar isn’t very busy huh?” “oh no, it’s just we got our best girls today dancing and the waitresses and working ten times harder. it works out for both of them and neither of them have to fight each other about unfair pay. tomorrow you’ll be our best so good luck.” polar smiled earnestly to add to the words of encouragement, sliding over the foaming beer over the black marbled counter. 
“thanks! i’ll need it.” turning with the drink in hand, yaku noticed the man’s disgruntled face. he looked as if the whole world was going to blow up and he was watching the countdown. ‘act cutesy, act cutesy, act cutesy.’ it was a constant mantra in his head before he sat down and opened his mouth.
“what could be wrong sir?” yaku felt like rolling his eyes into oblivion, he could care less. “oh it’s just something wrong with the gang.” “oh my, a yakuza?” boring, yaku fake gasped handing over the bear to the angered man. “yeah!” he said pridefully with a chuckle, gulping the drink down and slamming it down. “something about bonten this and that and one of our men died.”
now that’s interesting. yaku felt like walking out to just go see sanzu, it felt like everything was reminding yakuro of him. hell even the purple lights were. but alas he was stuck eyeing the entrance while the man babbled on and on about this whole yakuza shin-dig he was in. he decided to slip off his shoes because the waitresses’ assured the man that they would handle getting drinks.
it felt like hours, drink after drink the world became more hazy. yakuro grew a high tolerance because of his job but he seemed to be losing himself while the client seemed more than sober. “you.. slipped somethin, huh?” the client beside him flinched, clenching onto his bag. “w-what? are you sure you don’t have a low tolerance m-mr. moonie?” the man stammered, through gritted teeth yaku managed to huff out a ‘whatever’.
“miss. ackerman set you up? thought so, the bitch never liked me because i have a bonten member for a partner. guess i’m finally leaving this hellhole. send her my best regards, yeah?” he asked with a agitated tone. his words were laced with threats, raising slowly. “mr. moonie?” “i’m leaving, i want to leave. i have to go see rindou.” he dug the acrylic nails that were done just recently into his thigh. fuck the shoes. 
whatever was in the drink didn’t seem strong but it had yakuro in and out of conscience. the man who was once his client seemed nowhere to be found, leaving a stumbling yaku to himself. sei noticed this and dropped her waiters plate, running over to the bunny who was just about to fall. “MOONIE!” 
          ާlocation, the bonten loft.             early morning, 3am.
blue eyes fluttered open, fighting the urge to close once more. “they’re awake! rindou, they’re all good!” a familiar voice echoed throughout yakuro’s head. his body felt numb, in an attempt to speak he noticed his voice was gone. every one of his senses felt like they were being drowned under water. his eyesight was the only thing that was significantly normal.
though his contacts seemed to be taken off, leaving the blue and purple hues of yaku’s true eye colour roaming free. rindou’s footsteps were heavy and had a quick pace, the vibrations went through the bed. “yaku?” his usual docile purple eyes were filled with worry and anger mixed together, forever burning until yakuro got better.
all the man managed to do was a weak smile, his eyes blinked slowly while he stared at rindou. the two conversed, rindou’s agitation growing as his jaw clenched harder with every muffled word sanzu spoke. “i am very upset sanzu, yakuro was drugged. AGAIN!” “we can’t do anything but sit it out! we don’t even know who it was. rindou you need to calm down.” sanzu too was frustrated beyong belief.
the whole loft was filled with tension that was denser than a brick wall. everyone considered yakuro a part of bonten after two years. he even got a bonten tattoo per mikey’s request. it lays on his right shoulder which he covers up during his job with makeup despite his hatred, it was the only condition ackerman gave him before he could work at bunny palace. ackerman and bonten hated each other, seeing a bonten tattoo at the ackermans would start a war. 
“he’s quitting that job and working at our club. this is the last time i’ll EVER see him like this again.” this wasn’t the first time rindou raised his voice when he was angered by the way yakuro looked in this condition. unable to move, speak, only look plainly at the wall with a weak smile here and there.
it tore him apart from the inside out each time, it did every member living in the loft. finally after whatever happened between those two. sanzu left, rindou left as well but returned with water and began to cuddle the numb and quiet yakuro.
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breanime · 4 years
Text
Bre’s Boys: “So what if I’m jealous?”(Jealous Boys)
Billy Russo: “Oh,” you looked down at your phone, “it says I have a missed call. When did Rob call me?” Billy didn’t look up from his phone. “When you were in the shower.” “Is that why you came in there?” You smirked; Billy had ended up joining you in the shower, hence you not checking your phone in a while. “I came in there to remind you who you belong to,” he answered back. You grinned. You and Rob had been working together for a while now, and Billy made no secret of his dislike for the guy. “Are you jealous?” “So what if I’m jealous,” he stood up, pocketing his phone as he walked over to you, “Doesn’t make you any less mine.” You laughed, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss. If Billy’s jealousy resulted in sexy showers well... who were you to say no?
Logan Delos: Logan had been pacing for 15 minutes now. No, correction--he was pacing and ranting. “So he grew up with you--okay, and? I still know you better!” You were on the couch, watching him. Logan had just met your childhood best friend, and they hadn’t exactly hit it off... “And what the hell was that whole ‘oh, since when were you into macaroons’ thing? Like, are you not allowed to like new things?” You laughed, and Logan stopped, glaring over at you. “What’s so funny?” “You/ You being jealous.” He huffed. “So what if I’m jealous--I’m the one you go home to every night, not that douchebag!” He leaned down and kissed you, and you smiled into the kiss. “That’s right,” you said as he crawled onto you, “you’re the one.” 
Jax Teller: As soon as your ex saw you, you could feel a change in the air. Jax watched him closely, his blue eyes unblinking until the guy is gone. “Dude, you looked like an insane person,” you said, leaning your head on Jax’s shoulder, “Did you get it all out?” “Get all what out?” “The jealousy.” Jax chuckled, shaking his head. “So what if I’m jealous? Doesn’t matter.” “Oh, it doesn’t?” Jax grabbed your waist and pulled you in front of him so that he was smirking down at you. “Nope. All that matters is that that guy, and every other guy within a 30 mile radius knows that you’re my girl.” He kissed you then, and it was the kind of kiss that made your toes curl. Jax probably had a point about everyone knowing you were his--after a kiss like that, how could they not?
Coco Cruz: “So what if I’m jealous?” Coco followed you into the house. “You’re my girl, I have a right to be jealous!” “Baby,” you sighed, turning to face him, “there’s no need to be jealous; I’m all yours.” “Yeah,” his hands went down to your waist, “I know you are, but still... I don’t like the idea of any asshole off the street coming on to you...” “I mean, I can’t help that I’m fine.” Coco laughed, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “Yeah, you’re fine as fuck, querida.” You wrapped your arms around him. “And I’m with you,” you promised, “for ever.” Coco raised his head. “Forever, huh?” He asked. “Forever,” you said back, your lips brushing against his, “my loco Coco...” 
Angel Reyes: “Say it again,” Angel grinned, leaning against the door. “Angel, I swear to God--” “C’mon, baby, say it again, please,” he whined, batting his eyes at you. You sighed, rolling your eyes and trying to swallow back a laugh. “I was just a little, teeny tiny bit jealous when I saw you with her,” you confessed, “Like--just a little bit.” “Awwww,” he grinned, “baby, you were jealous!” “Yeah, okay, so what if I was jealous? I can’t help it!” You reached over for him, your fists balling into his shirt. “You’re my Angel.” Angel’s answering smile made your heart melt, and he leaned down and kissed you, his lips soft on yours. “Tell me you love me.” “I love you, Angel.” He smiled, his lips on yours. “Love you too, babe.”
Miguel Galindo: Miguel didn’t say much on the drive home, but he didn’t have to. You knew he was jealous. He held your hand in his as the driver took the two of you around the city. You smiled as you dropped your head to his shoulder. “Lunch was great,” you said. His hand flexed in yours. “Yeah? You didn’t think it got too crowded?” You closed your eyes, a little buzzed from the mimosas. “Why? Because Blake was there?” Miguel groaned, his head nesting on top of yours. “I hate that you were with him.” “Once,” you reminded him, “a long, long time ago.” “I hate that you were going to marry him.” You sat up, smiling at your cartel boss husband as he basically pouted. “Are you jealous, Miguel?” He scoffed. “So what if I’m jealous? I’m the one who married you,” he huffed, his arm wrapping around you, “so I won.”
Nick Amaro: “I don’t like that guy,” Nick grumbled as he sat down across from you. “What guy? The host?” “He was looking at you...” “Well, yeah, that’s how conversations work.” “No, I mean...” Nick sighed, shaking his head, “forget it. I’m being stupid.” You licked your lips, trying to and failing at not smiling. “Is... Are you feeling a little territorial, Nick?” “Maybe...” “A little possessive?” You smirked. Nick laughed, shaking his head again. “It’s possible...” “Maybe even a bit jealous?” “So what if I’m jealous?” He leaned closer to you, his dark eyes gleaming in the low light of the restaurant. “I have the most beautiful woman in New York on my arm, how can I not be?” “Oh, Detective Amaro,” you cooed, “you’re such a charmer!” 
Johnny Tuturro: You could feel Johnny’s eyes on you as you talked with the local cop. And when you walked back over to Johnny, he was frowning. “What?” You asked, walking out of the precinct. “I didn’t know you two were friends,” Johnny said back. “Well, he’s the main guy on the gang unit here, so...” “So he gets that smile, huh?” He grumbled. “Thought that smile was just for me.” ‘Oh, Johnny,” you laughed, “are you jealous?” “Nope.” “Yes you are!” “No I’m not, I’m too hot to get jealous.” “You’re so jealous, you’re a jelly green donut, dude.” Johnny rolled his eyes as he took your hand in his. “So what if I’m jealous? I’m still 100% cuter than that guy.” You laughed. “Yes, Johnny, you’re cute.” “And I got a banging bod.” “Yes, Johnny.” “And I’m the best kisser in the world.” “Okay, babe--” “The galaxy, actually!”
Rio: “Hold up a second,” Rio’s voice was hard, and you looked up from your seat behind him as you went over this month’s expenses. He was glaring at one of the guys who were trying to do business with him. “The fuck are you looking at so closely?” Rio asked, he turned towards you, an eyebrow raised before he looked back at the men. “Her? My Queen? She what you’re looking at?” The room went silent, and you could feel the men take a collective, nervous breath. “Huh?” Rio went on. “Answer me.” “Nah, we--we weren’t,” one of the guys began. “Nah, not you. Him.” All eyes were on the accused man, and you could see the tension in Rio’s shoulders. “Sir, I--” the man began, but Rio interrupted him. “Get the fuck out of here,” he said, already turning back towards you as Mick escorted the men out. You raised an eyebrow at him. “So... you a little jealous, babe?” “So what if I’m jealous?” He leaned down and pecked your lips. “I don’t like people lookin’ at what’s mine.”
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angelthebedsheet · 3 years
Text
hi! can i request a hxh headcannon with kurapika maybe like what it's like being a relationship with him? sorry if you can't do this or i requested this the wrong way-
- anon
a/n: it’s alright anon! i’ll try my best to write about the loml and the bad bitch himself kurapika! love hims i may have went CRAZY for this. also i write on my phone so sorry if this is so long!
lets get it!
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How yall started dating
okay so yall first met at the hunter exams elevator
the main four first walked in there and were surprised to see another person there
and gon being his friendly self started to chat it up with you
“hi im gon!!”
“hi gon. i’m y/n.”
kurapika there respectfully looking at you
like you’re attractive.
lookin at how those elevator lights shine on your beautiful melaninated skin
whew baby he went 😳 inside but greeted you
“im kurapika”
“well hello kurapika”
and that was the BEGINNING
timeskip up in this bitch rq
the arcs are pretty hazy to me so like.... lets say yall were feeling e/o during the york new city arc
yall both were trying to become bounty hunters and were alr pretty close to e/o
you suggested working with him and he liked that idea
yall alr fought really well tgt and he actually liked having you around him
so you both became neon’s bodyguards
yall were slowly becoming closer to each other each day yall worked together
like lingering touches, yearnful gazes
allat cute mushy shit
kurapika is one touch starved and closed off bitch so he’s struggling here
you on the other hand you KNOW you want kurapika like who wouldn’t want him???
he’s a whole package in that tuxedo 🥵🥵
n e ways
soon neon notices this shit and it goes downhill
this lil shit starts PURPOSELY locking yall in rooms together
like baby no we are supposed to protect you what are you doing???
“im not letting you out till you two kiss!!”
“i beg your pardon?” - kurapika
“neon huh???” - you
kurapika is internally like what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck i lwk wanna kiss em but.... feelings.
you can see the internal STRUGGLE thats going on in kura’s eyes
you just say fuck it and pray the gods and any other spiritual holy beings are on your side and kiss him
kurapika’s stomach said 🦋🦋🦋🦋 when you cupped his face
like your lips are SOFT
(no cuz like some of yall rlly be making y/n have crusty ass lips like um no baby i wear lip gloss and chapstick religiously you aint gon catch me w/ brittle ass lips)
and you cant tell me kurapika doesnt wear chapstick
and he’s like ✋🏽😳 hol up this kinda.... this kinda hits why didnt i do this earlier?
(bc you’re a gated ass bitch thats why honey)
my mans just has to kiss back
he kinda just gently holds your wrists and kisses back
now you’re deceased bc damn boy where you learned this???
no cap you kinda felt your knees buckle and he noticed that but yall not gon talk about that
and you two reluctantly pull away bc hello yall still on the job and literally are bodyguards
“the door wasnt even locked.”
“you cheeky lil shi—
cue you chasing neon while she runs away giggling
kurapika can only gently touch his lips and smile with a red face
In the Relationship
now yall are disgustingly cute in private
kurapika is definitely touch starved and he always needs to be touching you in some way
he always looks out for you too
he’ll definitely press tons of kisses to your face or the back of your neck
calls you a bunch of cheesy nicknames
darling, my love, my sun, sweetheart, beloved, honey, babylove (the stanely uris thats played by wyatt oleff makes me lose my sHIT)
my boy loves your hair so much
like the texture? the volume?
he’s all for it
he would probably ask canary about wash day bc she’s black herself
would 100% help you with wash day
want him to detangle your hair? hand him that rat toothed comb he’s on it
wash your hair? let him roll up his sleeves he’s on it
oil massages? pass them oil bottles baby he’s putting you to sleep
like you will be KNOCKED as he washes your hair or oils it bc he’s that skilled
i think he would struggle braiding your hair but after you show him?
this man is taking over and braiding your hair neater than you
like excuse me where did you learn this??
parting god.
them parts are crispy and straighter than a mf
literally doesn’t comb your hair like ya mama do w/ all that tugging and shit
he’ll just gently move your head along or softly apologize whenever he accidentally tugs on your hair and presses a kiss to your scalp
taking. baths. together.
my boy CRAVES that intimacy
no sexual shit
after a long day of work he just LOVES to take a nice bubble bath with you
either you leaning against his chest or you on the opposite end of the bath
he can always unwind around you and let go of that stoic facade he puts on
i would say he’s a lil goofy in private? like he’ll scoop up the bubbles and blow them in your face
if you want jokes you gotta give em
baby had to grow up quicker so he’s more mature for his age
i’d say if you want them giggles out? hold his waist and blow the back of his neck
the way he JERKS from that then starts laughing
heart eyes up in that bitch
his laugh is so 🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰
“darling!” “that was so FUCKING CUTE KURA WTFFF”
another way? blow kisses in his neck
he will giggle like a lil kid
god i love him
when you go to sleep he’s always big spoon
doesn’t matter if you’re taller than him
big. spoon. kurapika.
the only times you can hold him is when he has a breakdown and his scarlet eyes are activated
nightmares haunt him alot and he just needs to hear your heartbeat to know you’re still here
he needs to feel your warmth and you whispering that you’re here
other than those moments you better be fine with him holding you
i would say he doesn’t move alot in his sleep other than the small twitches
but for some reason his grip is strong as FUCK
like you aint getting out of his arms at ALL
if you gotta pee hold it
nah im kidding
just wake him up he’s not a deep sleeper but he isnt a light one either
if he were to wake up in the middle of the night he’d definitely fix your bonnet or durag if it fell off
morning kissies!
one way he loves waking up is kisses all over his face
especially kissing on his eyelids
it makes him wake up with a big ol smile
“morning beloved.”
WHEWWWWWW THE RASP
ahem anyways
“morning pikapika.”
he used to hate that nickname
now? baby LOVES it bc it’s just for him
the lohl giving him a nickname just for him makes butterflies in his stomach go crazy
he can practically feel the love oozing from your eyes
the way he wakes you up?
if he’s feeling a lil goofy or silly he’ll lay ontop of you and blow kisses into your neck
if he’s still tired he’ll cup your face and gently call your name
yall cook together
if you cant cook he will respectfully say take your goofy ass out of the kitchen
if you can? show him how to season your food correctly. rmb how he made that pig look pretty asf but merchi basically said it taste like shit?
not on your watch
he’ll take mental notes as you teach him the ways of goya and sazon
sometimes he’ll just gently take over
not bc he thinks you cant do it right but bc he likes to provide for others
you just gotta lightly slap his hands away like bby i got this its okay
and he’ll understand
kisses with him are very soft but passionate?
like he isnt gonna eat your lips but he will hold you close and make sure you know how much he loves you
he’ll definitely twirl your curls around his finger
you of course gave him your permission when you started dating
he will always have one arm around your waist and one hand behind your neck
doesnt matter if you’re taller
he will 100% get on his tiptoes and do it
or make you sit down
he doesnt CARE if he has to step on a stepladder he’ll do it
he said run me my kisses NEOW
i would definitely say he’s a passionate lover and would throw hands with ANYONE if they make any snarky comments about your skin
“my s/o’s skin is beautiful mind your business and take yourself somewhere else before i do it for you”
😳
🕶🤏🏾
sir.....
you would throw hands for him too
anyone says anything about him being a girl?
its over
there was a time where someone called him a girl who was confused and you went off and got into a fight
you won by a landside
kurapika was like 😟😦😳🥺
bc you really fought for his honor
but he had to pull you away before you damn near put this person in the hospital
“honey thank you but it was okay. it didnt bother me.”
“no but it bothered me! nobody can just talk about someone i love like that.”
he went 🥺🥺🥺
he definitely kissed the FUCK outta you when yall got home
yall hands were rated e for everyone!
a ride or die couple
yall are in love love
maybe he’s looking for a ring and kurta wedding earrings
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poptod · 3 years
Text
Subterfuge (Baxter x Reader)
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Description: You’re the new medical examiner. Like most medical examiners, you’re a little... different.
Notes: aghhhh im caught in so many lies with my family and friends that im gonna fucking break down but if i tell anyone the truth im gonna get my ass beat on several different levels WC: 1.7k
+
The latex gloves on your hands did little to stay the cold blood, staining up the skintight material that clung to your sweat. This wasn't the first time you had your hands wrist-deep in organs, but it was the first corpse who had a bullet in his eye, and the first time you were completely alone.
Your years as an assistant were finished, and now you were a full-on doctor––a medical examiner, to be specific. A coroner. The one who deals with the dead. Not a particularly charming profession, but far more interesting, and far more safe than most others.
There was one problem, though––the policemen. You were never a timid person, but some of them just got to you, itched beneath your skin and sped your heart. Why that was hadn't yet been identified, so instead you focused on something you understood; the human body. The stiffness of refrigerated muscle, the stench of uncleaned organs, a mask chafing against your cheeks. The heat of a bright light on your neck.
The man below you was a particularly unfortunate man. Died young, was never quite fully healthy, and had few friends and family. His method of death was what caught the eye of one of the detectives, though it seemed cut-and-dry to you. There were no struggle marks, puncture wounds, bruises, or even scars on his body. Only the bullet hole. He had to have done it himself. Still, it wasn't your job to question the detectives––only to bring them the information you gather.
"How's he lookin'?" Asked a man from behind you, the quiet hinges of the door swinging shut as he entered. You shot up, eyes instantly meeting his.
"Haven't gotten far. About through the small intestine," you said, gesturing to the different jars and plastic boxes categorized with the man's organs. The nearest to you was the lungs. You noted the scrunch in the man's nose with mild amusement.
"Gotten the bullet out yet?"
"Oh, yeah. Already sent it up for ballistics," you said with a curt, polite smile.
He remained silent after that, watching you work from the safe, mostly smell-free area of your desk. With his back leant on the table, he crossed his arms with intent eyes.
"You're the new medical examiner, aren't you?" He asked after a particularly wet squelching sound came from your working fingers.
"Yes sir," you said, nodding. "Started yesterday."
"Oh, this must be new for you then."
"I've done autopsies before, but this is the first time on my own, yes," you admitted with a tinge of embarrassment. It was the truth, that this was new, but he didn't have to mention it.
"Well then, welcome to the team," he chuckled. "My name's Baxter."
"(L/N). Pleasure to meet you."
"You as well. I'd shake your hand, but," he trailed off as the both of you turned to your bloodied gloves.
"Don't worry," you said, a grin spreading across your face. "I'll give you a raincheck on that."
He hummed, uncrossing his arms and legs as he began to saunter over to you. For the most part, you could easily ignore his eye, stuck between your concentrated expression and steady hands. Having teams of professors and doctors looking over your shoulder for exams had prepared you well.
"Find anything curious?" He finally asked.
"Not really," you mumbled, gently cutting open the flesh of the stomach. "Not yet. There aren't any cuts or contusions of any notable kind. Only wound I could find was the bullet hole and an infected bruise on his toe. I'll be sending blood, stomach, and stool samples up to Peters soon, I'm sure you'll know more then."
As you took the samples out of the victim's stomach, Baxter circled the brightly lit table, stopping when he reached the feet. There he knelt, scanning the pale blue skin.
"How do you suppose he got this?"
"Haven't gotten there yet, but I'd assume he bashed it against some furniture," you said. He eyed you curiously but remained quiet for a moment.
"Looks like a puncture wound," he said slowly, contemplating his words carefully before he spoke.
"Give me a moment, sir," you said with a huff, sealing up the stomach tubes and setting them on the tray beside you.
Since you were the only doctor present, you had to hold the stomach walls open yourself, which kept you busy for a good two minutes before you could look at Baxter's little pointer. To your immense relief he waited patiently for you to finish sewing and setting away your tools, before shuffling to the side to make room for you at the end of the table.
As he noticed, there was a small, dark spot beneath his big toe's nail. Digging into your white coat pocket, you pulled out your magnifier glass and set it up close to the cold skin.
"Could be right," you said softly, focused more on your sight than your tongue. You raised a gloved hand, pulling at the wound, pushing on the bruise till the hole widened.
"Needle mark?"
"That's what I was thinking," you said, shoving your magnifier glass back in your pocket. "Good eye, Baxter. I'll tell Peters to check his blood for any trace drugs."
You circled back around to your spot on the table, sorting through the six tube samples before lifting the case into your arms. Noticing your small stumble over your feet, he rushed over to join you, taking the case from you.
"I can take this up for you," he offered, his wide, grey eyes set strictly upon you. The sudden closeness had your words stammering and stuttering.
"Um – y- yeah, thank you," you said with a smile, your chest tight as he left. Only when the door shut behind him did you breathe again, turning back to the patient beneath you.
Hopefully, when you got the chance to meet the rest of the officers, you wouldn't slip up like that––messing up in front of one person was enough, and Baxter already felt like a very strange person, so probably would mind your oddness the least. The others would be less forgiving, or at least that's what you assumed. Most of the police you'd met in your life had been incredibly straight-cut, diamonds-up-the-ass kind of people.
"What a strange lad," you commented to your patient. "I should bake him some cookies."
The rest of the autopsy took three hours, full of rotting stenches and labelled gizzards. Your thirty-minute break was reduced to ten as the victims of a bar shootout came in, the three bodies riddled with bullet holes, leaving the cause of death obvious to anyone who stopped by. You didn't see Baxter again that day––not until it was done, and you were wrapped back in your personal coat, heading towards the elevator.
He caught the door before it could close in front of you, and as you rushed in with full hands you hurriedly thanked him. A bell dinged and the door shut, leaving the two of you alone in the enclosed space, the buzzing florescent light buffering between you.
"Did you hear about the shootout?" You asked when it became clear to you that this was a slow elevator.
"Yeah," he nodded, "I got a call and stopped by, but... they were already gone, and the, um.. the others were dead."
"Well, if they weren't then, they are now," you said, once again ignoring his questioning eye. "I had to put their brains in some jars."
To your surprise, he chuckled, brushing the hair off his face and readjusting his perfect posture.
"You know, usually it takes some time before new people start making jokes about the dead," he said, grinning as he looked at you out of the side of his eye.
"I'm a fast learner and a natural comedian. Mother always was disappointed in my career choice... wanted me to be a court jester," you teased with your own giggle, heart beating rapidly at the prospect of someone pretty enjoying your company.
"You do well in both careers. Do – do you need some help with that?" He asked, noticing your struggle with the varied bags in your arms.
"I think I can do it," you said, huffing as you tried to hoist the plastic back onto you. Before you could help it two of them slipped, nearly falling but halted when Baxter caught them mid-air.
"What do you have in here?" He asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to glance inside.
"Clothes," you said after a mumble of a 'thank you'. "One of the women here had a lot of clothes to get rid of and, well, I need some. And I'm sure one of my roommates could use them, too."
"Oh. Do you have a car?"
"You could call it that."
"I'll help you carry these there, then," he said, taking another bag off your shoulder. The loss of stress on your muscles left you relieved, and you sighed happily.
"Thank you, sir."
You tried to contain your smile as you led him through the parking lot, slipping between the empty spaces to get to your tiny vehicle. Legally it wasn't even a car––actually, you'd built it from the basis of a golf cart, slowly adding and changing features until it drove and looked essentially like a car. Hard work, but you'd been doing it since you stole it in the 7th grade.
Rarely did you ever get along with people, and so Baxter's politeness had sparked a delight in you that brought a ceaseless smile. When you took the bags from him, you thanked him again, attempting to hold a conversation while shoving the bags into the back of your car. He chuckled at your strained words, but eventually helped you when he got over his amusement.
"It was nice to meet you today, and thank you, again," you said once the backdoor was slammed shut beneath yours and Baxter's combined strength.
"Pleasure to meet you, as well. Drive safe now," he said, shaking your hand with a grin.
"Oh I will," you assured him, laughing. You clambered into the driver's seat, shutting the door but leaning out the open window. "If I don't I'll have you on my ass."
"You know it!" He said as he walked away, his bright laugh echoing in the mostly-empty parking lot.
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blackmissfrizzle · 4 years
Text
Meet The Furys
Characters: Erik Stevens x black!reader, Nicky Fury x daughter!reader
Summary: Its time for your dad to meet your boyfriend.
Warnings: None
A/N: Based off this imagine. After almost a year its finally here! I hope you all enjoy it.
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“Okay, remember to play nice. My dad can be intense.” You warned Erik before ringing the doorbell.
“As long as he ain’t on some fuck shit.” Erik was already not too fond of the work your father did.
“Erik!”
“Aight, I’ll be nice.” He changed the tune of his story when he saw the crazy look in your eyes.
The front door opened and revealed Tony Stark. “What are you doing here?” You asked shoving the cake in his hands.
“Nice to see you too, kid.” He kissed the top of your head. Despite your love-hate relationship, Tony was like a big brother to you. Actually, all the avengers were like older siblings to you.
“Stevens.”
“Stark.”
Erik and Tony greeted each other. Neither one liked the other. You believed it was because there was no room big enough to hold both of their egos.
“Please you two, no arguing today. I got enough to worry about.” You continued to venture into the house.
“Erik, my man!” Sam came up and clapped Erik’s hand and gave him a one arm hug. “What you been up to?”
Tony leaned into you and asked, “Why doesn’t he greet me like that?”
You rolled your eyes and turned over your hand. “You know why.”
“Shit, nothing. I’m just out here trying to survive.” Erik ended the clap with a snap. He hit Sam in the middle in the chest. “I see you hitting them weights. You out here trying to get swole?”
“Nah, man I’m trying to get like you.”
“Trust me you don’t wanna be like him.” You interrupted the nigga-fest before it went too far.
“She’s always hating.” Erik whispered to Sam. “I’ll get at you later.”
Erik followed you throughout the house. The two of you constantly stopping to greet everyone. Eventually, you made it outside to see your dad at the pit.
“Hey Daddy!” As you reached up to kiss his cheek, you had to restrain yourself from hitting Erik when you heard him mumble, “I’m the only one she calls daddy.”
Nick put the spatula down and hugged his baby girl. “How is it possible you get more beautiful every time I see you?”
“I get it from my daddy.” You boosted his ego. “Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet.” You tugged on Erik’s hand to bring him next to you. “Daddy this is Erik, Erik this is Nick Fury.”
Erik stuck out his hand to shake your dad’s. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Nick looked at the young man’s hand for some time. Before everything went down in Wakanda, Nick heard of Erik or better yet Killmonger. He wanted to bring him into SHIELD, but decided he was too volatile and stubborn for the organization. Now that same man is dating his baby girl. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.
“Hmmph.” Nick looked Erik up and down before shaking his hand. “You treating my daughter right?”
“Yes, sir. I’m the one you should be checking on.”  Erik rubbed up and down on the bicep you hit him on earlier. “She’s always hitting me.”
“Don’t act like you don’t deserve it. You always testing me.” You bucked at him.
Erik was about to mush your head, but he remembered his surroundings and that he was supposed to be making a good impression. “See, you got a little thug over there.”
“She ain’t the thug I see.” You knew your dad would be snarky when he met Erik, but you didn’t think he would be going this hard this early.
You saw Sam behind Erik, cracking some joke with Bucky. Quickly, you motioned for him to come get Erik. “E, you wanna go grab a drink and dig into that cake before anyone else can?”
Erik looked to you if it was okay for him to leave. Even though he was already itching to leave he didn’t want to piss you off.
“Yeah, go.” You waved him off. “Me and Daddy need to have a talk.”
With your go ahead, Erik took off. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold his tongue.
Once Erik was out of earshot, you poked your dad in the shoulder and got on his ass. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Nick played dumb as he flipped the burgers.
You flicked your dad’s ear and quickly got out of arm’s reach. “That elitist nigga bullshit you just pulled by calling Erik a thug.”
Nick gave you the full Fury glare that was usually reserved for Tony. He pointed the spatula at you. “You got that one free lick. You don’t get anymore.” Closing the pit, your dad came next to you. “And the last thing I wanna be is one of those siddity niggas. I just…I just expected you with someone different that’s all.
“Elitist bullshit.” You mocked him by singing.
He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I was a little elitist. I’ll be better, I promise.”
If you consider better as not talking to one another then better happened. The barbecue was tense due to the obvious animosity between your dad and boyfriend. No matter how hard you, Sam, Bruce, and Steve tried to ease the tension, somehow your dad and Erik found a way to throw off-hand comments. And Tony was no help because he liked to add fuel to the fire.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Sam complimented Erik’s hair and your dad mumbled, “I don’t know why you young niggas think that’s a good look.”
Erik’s smile before he said anything told you everything you needed to know, and you knew there was no way to stop it. “I’m sorry that your receding hairline made you cut your hair. But hey, you rock that Samuel L. Jackson look.”
“What’s wrong with Sam L? That man got style.” Nick looked at Erik incredulously. He choose the wrong one today. “And while we on the subject of hair. Son, if you can’t grow a full beard then at least have the sense to cut that shit off.”
You almost spat your drink out. Erik’s been using some oils to grow his beard completely and it was working so well, you thought it was full. Leave it to your dad to find the last patch.
“At least I’m not dressed like Shaft. Nigga it’s 85 degrees right now, why you got on that hot ass leather duster for? Ole Little Bill lookin ass with an eyepatch.” Erik refused to be outdone by this old head.
They continued to trade jabs. It was like watching a tennis match when neither player could score. Each jab was hitting its mark. If this wasn’t your dad and Erik, then you would be cracking up like everyone else.
You needed to stop their bickering before it got too far. Out of the two, your dad would be the easiest to stop. “Daddy!” You called out to him, trying to redirect his attention.
“What?!” Both Erik and your dad turned to you. When you saw your dad’s face processing that Erik answered as well, you knew right then and there you would have to kill Erik. You’ll just tell T’Challa and Shuri that he died in a horrible car crash. It would be believable, because that nigga doesn’t know what a speed limit is.
Sam slid out of his chair in silent laughter, Tony spat out his drink and was howling in laughter, Steve’s face flushed red in embarrassment for you, Bucky looked like he wanted to congratulate Erik, Wanda and Nat offered you sympathetic smiles, and Peter was confused to why everyone was in a state of shock.
That shit-eating grin was wiped off Erik’s face when he looked at you. Was it possible to plan your own funeral, he thought.
“Y/N, why did he answer you?” Nick asked his lovely daughter. He knew his daughter was grown and she was most likely doing grown people activities, but that didn’t mean he needed to be blatantly reminded of it.
“Cause I’m her daddy, nigga!” Erik was done playing nice. Nick Fury needed to know he was serious about you and he wasn’t going anywhere.
Tony wiped tears from his eyes. “This keeps getting better and better.” Nat kicked the leg from under his chair causing him to fall.
‘Thank you’ you mouthed to her. Tony obnoxious ass was next on your hit list after Erik.
Standing up, Nick pointed between him and Erik. “Me and you about to have a little talk.”
You tried to follow them inside the house, but your dad stopped you. He said they needed to have a talk man to man.
The longer they were away, the more you worried. For sure, you thought you would hear yelling. Neither one of them were afraid to get loud. Maybe one of em killed the other, you thought. Nah couldn’t be, neither one would go quietly.
Suddenly, your dad’s laughter was wafting through the air and that didn’t happen too often. Rounding the corner was a happy Erik and your dad, laughing with each other like they just weren’t at each other’s necks.
“What is this?” You asked surprised that they weren’t arguing.
Erik came to your side and kissed your temple. “Me and your pops came to an understanding.”
“And that is?”
“None of your business.” Your dad told you, leaving you speechless. Wow, did your dad and Erik have secrets now?
You asked Erik the same question and got the same answer. Erik was your best bet to tell you their secret, so you pinched him to get him to spill the beans.
In less than five seconds you felt a flick to your ear. “Keep your hands off that boy. I forgot how mean your little ass can be.”
You grabbed your ear and looked at your dad in awe. “What the hell is this?! Y’all friends all of a sudden?” You had to be in the twilight zone, because now your dad was defending Erik.
Both men turned to you and simultaneously repeated, “None of your business.” You decided to give up for the moment. You would have to divide and conquer to get any info.
The rest of dinner went really well considering where it started. Instead of roasting each other, Erik and your dad ganged up on Tony and it was your turn to laugh at his pain and suffering.
At the end of the night, it was only you, your dad, and Erik left. On your way out, Erik promised your dad he would come to his poker night and that they could hustle Tony out of some money. These niggas were really best friends now.
Finally, in the car you could try to pry some information out of Erik. Your dad would never tell you what they talked about. He was the king of secrets.
“What?” Erik’s lip slightly curled up when he felt you staring at him.
“What did you and my dad talk about earlier?” You pinched his arm. “And don’t tell me it’s none of my business.”
Erik slid his eyes at you when he came to the stop sign. “Imma handle that ass when we get home.”
“Promises, promises.”
Erik shook his head at you. He contemplated telling you the truth and decided to give you an abridged version, because he knew your ass wouldn’t stop bugging him until you got something. “All you need to know is that we both have your best interest and love you. Anything else you wanna know, you gotta ask your pops.” Taking the hand that was intertwined with his, Erik kissed the back of your wrist.
That answer would have to do for now. Just like Erik said you could get the rest from your dad with a lot of  begging and honestly, Erik might tell you more, because either way you looked at it you were daddy’s little girl and neither one of them would want to disappoint you.
Tagging:@lostennyc @chaneajoyyy​ @vikkidc​ @ginghampearlsnsweettea @honeyflii​ @youwishiwasyobabymama​ @just-juicee​ @quietpoeticheart​ @soufcakmistress​ @twistedcharismaaa​ @marvelmaree​ @thickemadame​ @titty-teetee​
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