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povlvr · 1 year

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7 • A Bitter Blow | YLGSE

Pairing: Mob Boss Bucky x Baker Reader

Summary: After leaving the club will Bucky follow you? How will you cope with the knowledge that Yelena betrayed you & will the Mob Boss accept your decision?

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Swearing, NSFW, love bombing, betrayal, swearing, slightly horny thoughts, Mob Boss Bucky, Mob Business.

A/N: I was going to post a one shot this weekend but I didn't want to leave you hanging! Let me know what you think!!

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He fucked up, he knew it the second his eyes found yours amongst the crowd, he had let his insecurities & imposter syndrome take the bait that Natasha had obviously set up for him, hook, line & sinker. He would need all of his strength not to put a bullet between her eyes for doing it, but he knew ultimately, they were his actions & he had to be accountable for them. He should have made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with those girls & he didn’t have any intention of letting it go further than it already had, at least that’s what he was telling himself.

The look on your face he knew would keep him awake at night, sure there was anger but the ease at which you looked like you accepted it threw him, as if you were already prepared for him to hurt you. There was no point chasing after you, as much as every fibre of his being urged him to find you & tell you it was all for show & it meant nothing, it would just end up with raised voices & him probably saying things he didn’t mean because he had been backed into a corner of his own making. Instead, he shook off the two blondes latched onto him then watched as you said something to Nat’s sister, down your drink then leave, without her, he wasted no time himself & without a word to anyone got up & left.

Earlier that night

The deal with stark had finally been done, he had spent the entire week burning the candle at both ends, meeting after meeting in all hours of the night interspersed with visits to your bakery to spend pockets of time with you over coffee when he could & he was never far from his phone to text you when he couldn’t make it in person. He might have been out of practice dating, but he found the need to be around you at all times helped keep all his attention trained on you when it wasn’t caught up with work, making sure to send you gifts to apologise for his absence & promising to make it up at the weekend where he had planned to completely spoil you silly, despite you insisting that you understood he was busy & the presents were not necessary.

Sat in his office breathing out all the tension he had been harbouring during the week he was relishing the thought of an evening of peace, he knew you had been roped into a night out so wanted to remain sober & free just in case you needed him to collect you, something he was persistent on since you told him you were going out. He would rather get up at 2am & make sure you were safe than you risk an uber & end up in danger, but you were stubborn as they got it would seem & refused a driver.

Steve, Sam & Natasha aka the three stooges barged in unannounced looking like they were on some sort of mission waylaying his plans to call you before you left for the night, it irked him that they would dare walk in without so much of a knock, Chanel no doubt on a break or left for the day. He scribbled down a note on his pad about installing a remote lock on the door, so he could be left undisturbed or maybe for when you visited to fulfil the fantasy of him bending you over his desk.

Sam clicked his fingers in front of his boss’s eyes who looked as though he was lost in his head somewhere, ‘what’s going on in that cyborg brain of yours Bucky, come back to us man, we’re going out to celebrate & we’re taking you with us.’

Blinking the reverie from his eyes he firmly shook his head at the thought, ‘No thanks, got big plans tonight with my couch.’

The smirk plastered on Sam’s face irritated the Mob Boss, he knew what was coming & was in no mood for his antics, ‘You’re seeing that Baker girl again?’

‘No, she’s busy I’m gonna hang out in my apartment & if she needs a ride I’ll pick her up.’

Natasha scoffed hoping it would set her plan into action, ‘Jesus, she’s got you whipped. Since when do you turn down drinks & some company for a woman?’

Bucky’s head twisted towards the red head lounging on the couch in his office, ‘I’m not whipped at all, just fucking tired, still need to deal with the Rumlow situation too so gotta think about that.’

‘Well you can be tired & think tomorrow, right now your staff have worked hard & wanna party.’ As far as Bucky was concerned Samuel was far too jovial to be in the Mob, it should have been beaten out of him by now.

‘Then go right ahead.’

It was Steve’s turn to scoff this time, ‘Jesus one woman & you’re going soft, what would your dad think?’

He moved like lightening across the room, haunches up, blade out pressed to Steve’s skin before he had chance to flinch. ‘Get my fathers name out your fucking mouth.’

Natasha rose from the sofa to try & diffuse the situation, ‘Christ Barnes, you’ve nothing to prove.’

He retracted the knife, running his hands through his hair trying to calm himself down, were people saying he’d gone soft? A few flowers & jewels weren’t enough to make him soft, it’s not like he was marrying you … yet. If all it took was him going out for a drink to shut them up, fine, he would happily prove them wrong.

It started out pretty tame, a few drinks in Vibranium, then Steve insisted on a strip club, Bucky still went along with it, but things escalated when two particular dancers who he knew intimately came over to give him a private dance, he tried shaking them off, but an eyebrow raise from Natasha shut him up. Of course, they followed him to the final club of the night, settling themselves on his lap, he wasn’t totally comfortable & there was an unfamiliar feeling of guilt creeping up on him the entire night. He hadn’t even checked his phone on the odd chance you had messaged him & by this point he felt utterly sick at the thought that you had asked for a ride at some point & he hadn’t answered. He doubled down telling himself to relax & enjoy the company, he wasn’t doing anything wrong & people were mistaken if they thought he had gone soft for a woman.

But the second he saw your eyes across that club he knew he had, one thing Steve didn’t realise whilst goading his friend, was that whilst yes, his father was ruthless, almost taking pleasure in ending people’s lives, especially when they had betrayed him, he was temperamental, aggressive & an asshole but when it came to Winnifred Barnes, the man was as soft as silk. For his kids too, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for them, he raised Bucky to be tough, but he typically used the carrot rather than the stick approach. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that regard, but his father wouldn’t have ever let his ma down like he had you & he swore to himself he wouldn’t ever again.

Thankfully a line of cabs waited outside the club, you had spotted Peter waiting in Bucky’s car but in your haste to leave you avoided him & almost felt guilty for ignoring his wave, you had a feeling Bucky wasn’t going to follow you out from the nonplussed expression on his face when he saw you, but then again you had a feeling he was a good guy, so what did you know?

He could easily drop by your place if you somehow managed to get in a cab before he came out to find you & you really weren’t in the right frame of mind to face him, getting in the taxi there was only one person you wanted to turn to right now.

‘Honey, what happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’ Wanda was frantically scanning you for injuries, having turned up to the hospital unannounced with a truly miserable look on your face, she didn’t need to be a mind reader to know something happened.

You shook your solemn head, ‘No Wands, I’m ok.’

She wrapped her arm around you, holding you tight to her side, ‘Clearly not, come on, I’ll take a break & you tell me what’s going on, ok?’

You nodded & let her lead the way, she made a quick stop at the staff room for a hoodie & coffee, having felt how cold you were in your mini dress & her motherly instincts wanted to warm you up with something comforting, she found an unused suture room & set you both up with your drinks so you could tell her what was going on.

‘Wands why are men such scum bags … apart from Vis of course.’ You may have had your heart stomped on, but you didn’t want to piss off your friend tarnishing all men with the same brush, mainly because she had bagged herself one of the good ones.

The look you had seen many times appeared on her exhausted face, you felt a flood of guilt that you were troubling her with your silly issues when she should be busy saving lives or napping on her break instead of comforting you through your issues, ‘Oh honey, what happened.’

You sat pathetically perched on the table, legs swinging with the sleeves of the hoodie curled over your hands propping your face up with your elbows on your knees, ‘I went to a new club with Yelena & I saw James, he said he was gonna stay in tonight & wait for me to call so he could pick him up but he was there with two women sat on his thighs, practically licking his face.’

Her expression turned from pure empathy to vengeful rage in a split second, it was quite an impressive range of emotions to see in such a short space of time, ‘I’ll kill him.’

Your shoulders shook from laughing at her terrifying voice, you had no doubt she meant it but her diminutive stature & the fact she was soft to her very core meant she wouldn’t ever be able to inflict violence on anyone, ‘No you won’t, but I appreciate the threat to his life.’

You twiddled your fingers in the jumper trying to work out how you were really feeling after the shock of seeing him settled, ‘The thing is Wands, we hadn’t discussed anything about being exclusive, so he technically didn’t do anything wrong. I insisted he didn’t wait for me all night but he was so adamant that he wanted to pick me up I assumed he was staying in, so again he did nothing wrong.’

You let out a big sigh trying to reconcile the other betrayal that had dawned on you in the cab after you deleted James’ number trying not to feel a stab at the last message he sent you telling you how much he would miss talking to you tonight, ‘but that’s not the worst thing.’

Wanda hated seeing you so defeated, you never got hung up on a guy so knew it ran deeper than just him, ‘Go on.’

‘I’m pretty sure I was catching some major feelings for him, so yeah it hurts, but what hurts the most is I think Yelena set it all up with her sister.’ You could feel your bottom lip wobbling at the admission, never did you think Yelena would betray you like tonight, she was incredibly loyal, but maybe her loyalty sat with her sister more than it did you.

If the rage towards what Bucky did was scary, she went nuclear hearing that, ‘WHAT?’

‘Yeah’, you nodded trying to stop your quivering lip turn into a sob, ‘She was really tense all night even more than normal, she kept trying to rush me, telling me we needed to be there by 10 & whenever I asked why, she never really gave me an answer & was being really weird. She found a table that happened to be reserved, that happened to give me a clear view of where they were all sat & when I did see him, she didn’t even acknowledge the situation, didn’t move to punch him or threaten to kill him & she didn’t even question me walking off or if she should come with me.’

A single tear escaped your eye & quickly blotted with your sleeve, ‘What you gonna do honey?’

You shrugged feeling more miserable with each passing second, ‘I don’t want to see her.’

‘That’s fine, you have every right to not be on good terms with her right now but maybe she did you a favour. If that’s the kind of guy he is on top of the Mob thing, which is bad enough already, are you really willing to put up with that?’

‘hmmm.’ You drummed your fingers across your chin, although no, you certainly wouldn’t put up with that & the only chance you were going to give he blew you weren’t mad at him, just disappointed that would be it between you & you gotten laid out of it. ‘I think I’m going to become a lesbian.’

Wanda smiled at your ridiculously quick turnaround, only you could turn your frown upside down that quickly & make a joke out of it, although knowing you she wasn’t sure the lesbian bit was a joke, ‘If I recall you had your shot in college & you said it wasn’t for you’

Giggling you wouldn’t help a little dig, ‘Ha, maybe I didn’t try hard enough, we worked better as friends Wands, you need to get over it already.’

‘We both know you love cock too much to be a full time lesbian.’

Now that had you laughing, you both doubled over at the bluntness of the statement, the arrangement with Peter delivering to the hospital meant you didn’t get your usual Wanda time, you really had missed it. ‘Good point. Ugh I didn’t even get to see his, it felt huge when I gave it a rub.’

‘Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t see it. Like pandora’s box or something, keep that genie in the lamp.’

‘Honestly that thing could have granted every wish I’d ever had, I know it.’ She playfully batted your arm giggling away with you whilst giving you a side hug.

At least you still had Wanda in your corner, you stayed to catch up with her for the rest of her break before admitting you were exhausted & headed home, putting on your big girl pants in the Uber you sent a text to Yelena, immediately putting your phone on airplane mode to avoid any potential replies.

You were wary approaching your building, eyes darting around looking for anything unusual, any parked cars that weren’t the norm on your street, it was late & you just wanted to go to bed. You hadn’t heard a peep from Bucky or Yelena so half expected one of them to be waiting for you in the shadows, but apparently, they were as cowardly as you hoped, or they didn’t care as much as you thought, with the coast clear you made your way into your apartment.

You headed straight for the bathroom with the intention of a long hot shower, passing through the lounge you didn’t bother turning on the lights & caught a flash of red hair reflecting from the street lights coming through your window, the yelp you let out wasn’t your proudest moment but the last thing you expected to see was someone sat in the dark waiting for you.

‘Shit, fuck, how did you get in Natasha.’ Your hand instinctively covered your heart as it practically beat out of your chest.

‘I thought you’d come straight here, so when you didn’t show up I got cold, you should really lock your windows when you leave.’

Flabbergasted at her cool & calm demeanour, you scoffed ‘I have nothing of value.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ She nodded to the necklace you were unconsciously holding, a habit you had picked up since you put it on a few days prior, the unwelcomed guest didn’t fail to spot the piece of jewellery that once belonged to her boss’s mother hanging from your neck.

Having it pointed out that you were clutching it like some sort of comfort blanket, you let it drop suddenly feeling like it was weighing you down, ‘yeah well now you’re here, you can make yourself useful & return it to the sender.’

Natasha rolled her eyes, ‘Bit dramatic, it suits you, you should keep it, he would want you to keep it.’

‘Why are you here Natasha?’

‘I wanted to apologise for dragging Yelena into this. She only brought you to the club, she didn’t know that was what you would see & I hope it hasn’t ruined your friendship.’

She almost sounded sincere, but the dismissive shoulder shrug rubbed you the wrong way. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘I know Bucky, he had good intentions when it came to you, but he doesn’t commit to women, so I made sure you saw the kind of man that he really is. You are too sweet for him, this life is not all sprinkles & rainbows, he’d ruin you & I didn’t want you to get hurt.’

‘And yet, I got hurt. Because of your actions, not his.’ You let out a sigh, all you wanted was the day to be done, to take a shower, crawl into bed & sleep this feeling off, you reached behind the back of your neck to unclasp the necklace & threw it over to the red head. ‘Sell it, flush it down a toilet or give it him back I don’t care.’

As you turned towards the bedroom you looked over your shoulder to the red head still sat contently in your lounge, ‘let yourself out.’ With a brow raised she watched you walk away, maybe you were tougher than you looked, not many people spoke to her like you just did. Despite telling herself she did the right thing, as she studied the necklace swaying from her finger she felt a growing unease that she might have ruined two friendships & the outcome would push the two people together she was trying to keep apart.

You didn’t even wait for her to leave before you turned on the shower & stripped out of your clothes, you felt the most naked you had all week without the weight of emeralds sitting on your sternum & the raw feelings exposed to the empty room.

One sob, that’s all you allowed yourself as the heaviness of reality set in, betrayed by your friend & discarded by a man, all in the same moment & it fucking hurt, tears didn’t count in the under the steaming hot water so maybe you were crying, maybe you weren’t, but the pity party ended the second you stepped out.

Bucky sat in a blacked-out Aston Martin DBX watching you rushed off your feet serving customers, Yelena hadn’t been in to work today, he hoped it was because she was sick or hungover but deep down he was feeling an insurmountable guilt that you may have lost a loyal staff member & friend because of him. His worry that you worked too much was now in overdrive, you weren’t even going to get a moments peace if no one was helping you out, you may not accept it, but he shot a text to the one person he thought you could do with right now.

Finding your necklace on his desk first thing was the first crushing blow to his day, he still hadn’t dealt with Natasha & he had a feeling she had something to do with it being returned but she was nowhere to be found, wisely choosing to make herself scarce.

He was going to fix this, that he was sure of, he knew it would take patience & lot of grovelling, you were worth it & hopefully it would prove to everyone how serious he was taking this, it wasn’t a test run or an experiment, for once in his life he was committed to committing.

Peter turned up shortly after your third mini meltdown of the day, it was too much serving customers, clearing tables & baking, once the day was done you would be able to take a breath & re-strategize how you were going to cope on your own. The sight of an enthusiastic volunteer both warmed your heart & made your blood boil, Bucky knew you were alone, which mean he had stopped by without you noticing & you knew he sent Peter to check on you, a canary down the mine to feel out how mad you were.

Your stubbornness was about to fuck you up, you could see that, you could acknowledge it, so why were you letting it take over all logic that was screaming at you to accept the help, even if it was indirectly from him. A deep sigh recalibrated your brain & you reached for Yelena’s frilly apron handing it to the literal excited puppy in front of you, ‘Thank you Peter, can you clear the tables whilst I serve customers.’

‘Will do Boss.’ He quickly got to work & you managed to fly through the line of customers waiting to be served, throughout the day you showed him how to use the till, the coffee machine & most importantly how to prepare your coffee. He excelled in all areas & it only reminded you how wasted he was under Bucky’s employment, if anything came out of this whole mess it was the determination to set him up on a better path, one that included attending MIT & fulfilling his potential.

You ended the day dead on your feet, was it a good thing you didn’t have any spare capacity to be miserable about what transpired? Sure, but not dealing with it wouldn’t be the best idea, you’d have to face it sometime. Peter left with the usual surplus stock & told you he’d be there bright & early in the morning, he had spent the day checking on you but not overbearingly so, like he was a concerned friend rather than mother hen.

Instead of going home, you decided to stay upstairs in your father’s old apartment, with the amount of work needed to be done to prepare for the next day it would be a pointless endeavour to trek back to your apartment in the small hours of the morning just to crash & then come straight back, so you figured you may as well face one of your daemons whilst avoiding the other.

The melancholy hit you as soon as you crossed the threshold of the upstairs apartment, if you closed your eyes & inhaled strongly enough you could still smell faint hints of your father’s cologne, but visually he was everywhere, the shelves filled with countless recipes books, boxes sat full of old invoices waiting to be shredded, next to them records stacked high with the old record player, you had to stop yourself welling up at the memories of him twirling you around the floor to Sinatra in your little tutu after your weekly ballet class when you were 6.

You had been avoiding facing the task of clearing out the apartment for years, not long after your father died you hired a cleaner to come upstairs once a month & freshen up the place until you could decide what to do with it, you were thanking your lucky stars that you didn’t have to deal with any dust or eight legged friends during the night.

Whenever the subject of letting out the space above the bakery was mentioned it felt as though a dark cloud was looming over you, avoiding problems was your specialist subject, so not going home to face the Mob Boss potentially waiting for you was completely within your remit. You may be swapping one problem for another but hey, at least you were finally forced to deal with the longest standing issue.

In the days that followed there was no sign of the Mob Boss physically, but gifts started to arrive the morning after & never seem to end, boxes in every size imaginable were being delivered at regular intervals, the temptation to open them great but your self-preservation overruled your curious mind & so all remained unopened in your office except for the bouquet of flowers & notes that accompanied each surprise. Those were moved to the apartment upstairs & you would end every evening in some sort of masochistic self-sabotage by reading them.

The first one was a simple hand-written note detailing that he would be stopping by when he could & that he was having to deal with an urgent matter, after that, each note was a handwritten poem that pertained to the situation, he signed off each one ‘Yours James’ & each time you forced yourself to picture those girls on his lap, you weren’t his, he wasn’t yours.

Bucky was stuck between a rock & a hard place, he was desperate to visit you as soon as he could, but having been so distracted with all-consuming thoughts of you for the past few weeks, the leader of his main rival had sent Rumlow & his band of merry men to wreak havoc on the city in a bit to oust him from some of the territories he held.

Reports had begun to echo of masked men terrorising a neighbourhood in Harlem, women being harassed in Queens, then one of his warehouses was hit & he didn’t need any more confirmation as to who carried out the operation as he stood looking at the 10 ft six tentacled calling card spray painted on one of the surviving walls, he had to admit the artistic flair was impressive, but completely idiotic.

Ever since, he had been spending night after night dealing with the guys his men caught, getting more & more incensed that his focus from fixing things between you was being stolen, but he never failed to stop by the bakery at some point every day to watch you through the windows, his guilt rising every night you were there until the early hours baking before you would head upstairs to sleep. You hadn’t once returned to your apartment since the night he fucked up, Peter gave him regular updates on how you were coping, he noticed the lack of personal updates & how business he kept it all, admiring the young man’s apparent loyalty to you.

You had just received the daily bouquet of roses along with another note & small velvet box, the hoard of gifts sat in your office suffocating you with every addition, touching the exposed nerve you were fighting each day. It felt like you were drowning in your surroundings, trapped under the continuous wave of betrayal & anger when you couldn’t leave the place, having the constant reminder of it sat in your office everyday brought you to the brink of letting it consume you. The latest delivery made you snap, it needed to stop, finding an old archiving box you swiftly assembled it & gathered all the unopened gifts, somehow managing to fit them all in like puzzle pieces until the lid could be secured on top. After scribbling a note & taping it on top you asked Peter to drop it off at Bucky’s office once he had made the usual deliveries.

‘My pride, self-worth & self-respect cannot be bought by you or anyone else. Whilst I appreciate the kindness & generosity you have shown me it is ultimately not necessary, you owe me nothing.’

‘You’ve not been billing me Bunny.’

You froze, the deep voice you both missed & dreaded hearing, cursing yourself for not locking up after Peter had left, your pulse picked up & you tried to steady your breathing. You had a feeling that poking the bear would incite a visit, whether you secretly hoped it or not remained to be seen.

You span to face him, avoiding looking directly in his eyes, ‘I decided to end our agreement, I will reimburse Peter’s wages for helping out so if you let me know who to contact I will request an invoice.’

‘Don’t worry about it. You’re still paying Yelena I take it?’

You continued with your batch of crossiants to keep your hands busy & to stop you looking at him for too long, your resolve faltered the minute you heard him, ‘Yes.’

‘Well I’ve got her working with Nat on some urgent business so consider it a swap.’

Your heart sank, hoping to all that is holy that she was ok, he could read the concern on your face from your brows furrowing & you biting your lip.

‘Don’t worry she’s perfectly safe, we’ve been having trouble in some neighbourhoods & I’ve got them helping with the clean up & anyone that needs help.’

You let out a deep breath, internally debating texting her to check up on her, you were still so mad at her but not at the potential cost to her life if she was getting caught up in the Mob.

‘Now that business is taken care of, I wanted to talk about us.’

Your eyes shot up to meet his, ‘There is no us to talk about James.’

‘Oh no, you’re not getting away from this sweetheart, we need to talk about what happened.’

Shrugging, again you focused on the rolling the dough on the countertop, ‘Why, it’s pointless, you made a decision, that’s fine, good for you, done.’

‘Shout at me Bunny, I deserve it.’

You half chuckled at his demand, ‘No, you don’t. We weren’t exclusive, so you can do what you like.’

‘Natasha set me up.’

‘I know that & whilst yes it’s a shitty thing for her to do she proved that she was right about you, so I’m glad I now know & don’t have any vested interest in this … yet,’ it stung him, he was all in the minute he set eyes on you.

‘No, she’s not right, I’m a good man, I can be good for you if you’ll let me.’ He followed you out to the front of the shop, you needed a coffee after this conversation, you were already behind on your prep & this was taking up too much of your time.

‘That’s the thing, I don’t think you will be, you’re head of the Mob Bucky, you live a dangerous life, mine is simple & peaceful. Since knowing you I’ve had my hopes dashed yet again & been let down by a man & not only that betrayed by someone I trusted.’

‘I’ll show you you’re wrong & show you that I am more than just what I was born into, our life can be peaceful, I’ll prove it to you.’

‘If you want to prove yourself to be a good man, pay for Peter’s tuition to MIT, don’t let him get caught up in the Mob & waste his potential, I’ll work out a way to cover his living costs so he doesn’t have to work for you at any point when he’s studying.’

‘Consider them both covered Bunny, anything else?’

‘Return the gifts & donate the money to the Children’s hospital.’

‘Done. Anything else?’

You thought for a moment trying not to smile at how willing to appease you he was, ‘nope.’

The silence hung in the air, the tension thick & unmoveable, an impasse, you didn’t want to encourage him to stay but you weren’t sure you wanted him to leave, you needed you head to overrule your stupid weak for a gorgeous man heart.

You took a long look at him having avoided anything more than a glance at him to this point, his face was bruised & scuffed, his lip split & you almost wanted to reach out to make sure he was ok, to soothe those tender areas with your lips, instead, your head finally kicked in & you left him standing in the bakery returning to your prep with an instruction you hoped he listened to. ‘Take care of yourself please.’

The tension in your muscles finally dissipating when you heard the bell ring signifying he had left, you were half way through letting out a relieved breath when he turned around & stormed back in, you were surprised the glass didn’t shatter at the force in which he yanked the door open.

‘No.’

You were dumbfounded, ‘No, you won’t look after yourself?’

‘No, I won’t back down on this, on us.’ He was stood in front of you in three strides, it would be intimidating if you knew you didn’t hold the power in this exchange.

‘I’ve told you, you’re free to do whatever with whomever, I shouldn’t have got caught up in it, we had two great dates, that’s it. There is no us, there never was.’

‘But there is an us. You can pretend to yourself Sugar, but you can’t look me in the eye & say there is no us. We both feel it.’

That damn pet name.

You finally looked him in the eyes, maybe dismissing your hurt feelings by telling yourself he technically didn’t do anything wrong was just a lie to stop you admitting how much you wanted it to work with him, that he was all you had thought of since the second you met him & you felt an intangible pull towards him like you had a connection you couldn’t explain. ‘Then why do it?’

‘Because I’m an idiot, I know how I feel about you, they don’t. Nor do I want them to know how deep those feeling go having not known you for long, so yes, I let them goad me into make a bad decision, to not be soft in any way, to make it look like I’m the Mob Boss I’m expected to be.’

‘This is the thing Bucky.’ hearing you not call him James felt like needles in his bones, it was so cold & devoid of your usual warmth. ‘You owe me no loyalty, so you didn’t do anything wrong, at no point did we agree that there was no one else & whilst I know it was set up by Natasha, you still did it.’

‘Bunny.’

‘No, don’t Bunny me, I don’t care why, as a grown man you choose to be led by others when you are supposed to be their leader. If you want to live your life like you are, then that’s fine, I’m happy for you but it’s not a life for me, I got too carried away with the gifts & flowers & you acting like a decent human being to see that the chaos of your existence isn’t for me. I want a peaceful life filled with love, safety & security, I don’t want to wonder where my partner is, if he’s dead in a ditch because he was born into a dangerous life or between someone’s legs because he didn’t want to admit to the world he has feelings for someone other than himself.’

‘I told you, that won’t ever happen again.’

‘But how do I know that? When you fell so easily at the first fucking hurdle, the first fucking time someone mentioned that you’d gone soft & you have two women on your lap an hour later.’ You couldn’t stop your voice rising or the way it came out so brokenly.

His expression was darker than you’d seen it before like it pained him to admit out loud, ‘I can’t let anyone know that you are my weakness, they will use it against me.’

‘They’re your friends.’

‘And you found out what friendship means to some people, yes some I trust with my life, but I wouldn’t trust any of them with yours.’

You shook your head at the bleakness of his statement, ‘So not letting anyone know about me, means it will eventually happen again.’

‘I’d shout it from the fucking roof tops that someone like you was giving me the time of day, but this is for your safety Bunny, you can’t get hurt because of me, I won’t let that happen & whilst yes, I would lay down my life to keep you safe I’d rather not risk anyone knowing about you to eliminate any risk.’

You let out a deep sigh, ‘This will be easy then, forget you ever met me & leave me in peace Bucky.’

His jaw clenched at you using his nickname again, you turned you back on him to walk away, hoping he would get the hint this time, but of course he didn’t & reached out to spin you back around.

‘I think you forget who you’re talking to sometimes Sugar.’ The depth of his voice & the darkness in his eyes told you you were talking to the mob boss now, not the James you had come to know, the way his brows dropped, stalking you as you shuffled back blindly until your back hit the counter. Trapped between the cold steel pressing against your skin & his warm body turned you on more than you care to admit, he grasped your chin in his hand to force your eyes to meet his.

‘You’ve told me what you want & I can offer you all that, I won’t fuck up again, I will be the love of your life Sugar, because I know you’re mine.’ His pinkie finger slowly stroked your cheek & you were fighting yourself not to flutter your eyes at the contact. ‘Don’t ask me how, I know it’s only been two dates, but my ma always used to tell me when you find them you know & I guess she was right.’

He leaned in placing his lips on top of yours gently, his iron grip held you tight, the danger in his eyes simmering but still you made no move to get away from him, ‘I’m a man who knows what he wants, I don’t want two cheap flits only after some money & glory, I want you, the woman who holds my entire heart in her hands.’

Your breath hitched at his words & you felt yourself getting lost in his crystal blue eyes, another kiss, firmer this time paired with pressing his entire body against yours, ‘I always get what I want. It may take months, hell, you can make me wait years, but you will me mine. I’ll show you who I am, the real me, Bunny. You & I are inescapable, inevitable.’

Your heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, you could picture most people having being so curt to a mob boss expecting a gun to be retrieved & threatened with it, but instead the emerald necklace you returned to him hung from his fingers, he reached out for your hand, prying your palm open with his strong digits & dropped the pendant into your grasp before he abruptly turned around & left, leaving you in a state of seething anger & an insurmountable desperation for more of him.

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billthedrake · 2 years

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SARGE

I didn't know his first name. The town referred to him as Sarge MacAllister, but the guys on the team just called him Sarge. The man was definitely ex-Army, though possibly he rose to a rank above sergeant. After the military, he'd spent twenty solid years coaching the Jackson High Cougars to several state championship seasons. He was like a god in my hometown, and people still referred to the Sarge years of Cougar football.

The man retired several years ago but had stayed on. I think his title was volunteer coach, but his real job was to be Sarge - to remind us of the team's winning past and to inspire us to live up to it. It must have frustrated Coach Fitzgerald, our real coach, to have a competing authority figure on the team, but Sarge was hands off for the real coaching. He mostly spent time with us in the work out room or invited us to his back office for man-to-man chats. And each Friday, he'd give the rousing pep talk before we stormed out onto the football field. Fitzgerald was the brains of the team, but Sarge was its heart.

I'd been playing varsity a couple years when I found out that Sarge encouraged team morale in other ways.

"I heard about you and Kelly," Tom Stansell said as we walked back to the field house after a long, grueling practice. Tom was another linebacker and he and I were pretty tight, though maybe not good friends outside of football. "That's tough."

"Yeah, it sucks," I said. Kelly Allen was a very cute and very stacked cheerleader I'd dated through junior year. "I mean, I was the one who broke it off, but I miss pussy something bad," I added with a laugh. Like most of the guys on the team, I'd learned to be crude in talking about the girls I fucked, wanted to fuck, or just pretended to fuck.

"I hear ya," Tom said. He tended to date the smart girls rather than the cheerleader type, but he too was between girlfriends, despite being one of the most attractive, outgoing guys in the school - 6'5", muscular, and with sea blue eyes that amped up his success rate.

Tom then dropped his voice low and looked around a second before he added, "Listen, Rick... you ever think about letting a dude take care of you?"

I was shocked. Less by the idea. I mean, yes, I had thought about that idea, a lot. But more shocked that lady's man Tom Stansell was the one bringing it up. "I dunno," I replied noncommittally. "Why?"

Tom gave a casual shurg, even through his football pads. "Maybe not your thing, but men can do it better, I swear. At least when you're between chicks," he clarified. He gave me a deeper look. "If you want, bro, I can introduce you to a very good cock sucker."

A part of me worried this was a bait, a gag on Tom's part. But the way he was talking and looking at me seemed dead serious, and I knew instinctively that Stansell wasn't that good an actor.

"Yeah?" I ventured. My dick was starting to firm up in my jock strap as we got closer to the field house.

We paused and Tom nodded. "You gotta swear you'll keep it a secret. The dude could get into some trouble if people found out."

"Sure," I said, surprised how the conversation had turned from a hypothetical to agreeing to a man blowing me. This was going to happen, I felt.

Tom smiled but reasserted. "Seriously, Miller," he used my last name. "Promise me."

"I swear, man."

That's what Tom wanted to hear. He patted my shoulder. "Just follow me after practice, bro. You won't regret it."

So I did. And a sinking feeling entered the pit of my stomach as I followed Tom's car to a familiar neighborhood and a familiar house. Sarge's. He'd had the team over for end of year pool parties and now I wondered what else went on at those parties.

But any butterflies in my stomach didn't compare to how turned on I was as I got out of my car and walked over to my teammate. He had a proud look on his face, and a big smile, and he walked in kind of a jocky strut. "See why I couldn't tell ya, Miller?" he grinned.

"Oh yeah," I said. "Fuck. Is this for real?"

"For real," Tom said as he patted my shoulder again to encourage me to walk with him to the door. "Sarge is a pro at sucking cock... you'll see, man."

It was the same old Sarge who answered the door. 65, give or take, silver hair thinning now, tan, ruggedly handsome face, and all that ex-military muscle filling out his beaten-up gray T-shirt and sweat pants. I'm sure that muscle was harder twenty years ago, but it was still pretty damn impressive and if anything his granddad look made the bulk more enticing.

"Gentlemen," he greeted us, come in.

It was like the one-on-one bull sessions in Sarge's office. Open door policy, making you feel like one of the men. "Glad you could join us, Miller," he said as he gave my upper arm a quick squeeze. Like Tom, I was a few inches taller than Sarge.

"Thanks for having us, Sarge," I said, as if he was inviting us over for iced tea or something. I felt nervous and awkward but Sarge didn't seem either of those things, and that put me at ease some.

Sarge chuckled softly and gave Tom a knowing look. "Wanna enjoy the pool for a bit, Stansell?" It was as much a request as a question.

"Aye aye Sarge," Tom grinned and gave my a fist bump before walking to the back fenced in area. Sarge live in a quiet subdivision on the egde of town and had a big private fenced in back yard with a sprawling deck and a pool. Tom was already peeling off his shirt and tossing it on an empty chair. He'd clearly been coming over regularly and made himself at home.

Pretty quickly, it was just me and Sarge, in his living room. He looked at me in a friendly but quietly lusty way. "Tom told you how I help him out, right?"

I nodded. "Not the full details, Sarge, but yeah."

His gaze grew more direct. "You want me to help you out too, Rick?" Sarge almost never used my first name.

I was so nervous but I was even more horny. A lump formed in my throat as I replied. "Yeah, Sarge. That'd be great."

That made the veteran coach smile. "Why don't you show me what you got," he urged.

It took me a half second to realize what he meant. Then I started undoing my jeans and pulling them and my briefs down. My dick had a mind of its own and was pulsing rapidly toward full erection.

"Fucking nice cock, Miller," Sarge enthused, like he was complimenting me on a great catch during a game. "You been holding out on me, buddy."

I looked at Sarge. 200 and then some pounds of mature, hardened muscle, gruff man's man. But all of a sudden his bachelor ways made sense to me. "I guess," I laughed nervously. But my dick wasn't nervous. I was getting rock hard and Sarge's clear desire for me fueled my excitement.

As if time was in slow motion, the built older stud got off of his sofa and crossed over to me. His eyes were half on me, half on my cock. He gave a subtle nod then crouched down, running his hands up and down my bare legs. That felt great.

Sarge edged closer to my crotch. I watched, almost not believing this was going to happen. The man was over 45 years my senior and hot as fuck. And that gruff masculine fact looked up at me. "You don't have to hold back, Miller," he urged. "Just last as long as you like, buddy."

And with that I felt the man's lips circle the head of my cut cock. The first bobs were exploratory and shallow. I loved them, loved watching Sarge clearly excited for my cock. I guess I knew I had a decent sized tool, but this man acted like it was the most amazing dick he'd ever sucked.

Then, the blow job got better. Sarge's mouth strokes went deeper, fuller onto my prick, getting closer and closer to my pubes with each bob. This wasn't a cheerleader blowjob, this was a man who loved servicing dick and loved showing off his skills.

My breath grew short and I held on to Sarge's meaty, muscular shoulders as he got me there. "Oh fuck, Sarge... I'm gonna cum... oh fuck.... HOLY SHIT!"

My ejaculation felt like a firehose of pressure releasing the built up load in my balls. Hands down, it was the best orgasm of my years to date. Sarge bobbed up and down more frantically, milking every drop from my horny teen testicles. He seemed to know when I was getting too sensitive, too, cause he finally pulled off, resting his face about a foot from my spent hardon.

"Damn, buddy," he gurgled with cum and saliva in the back of his throat still. "That was one hell of a load." He held on to my balls, not roughly, almost lovingly. "You need to get these drained more, Miller."

I was coming down from the high of my orgasm and getting my senses back. "You offering, Sarge?” Now feeling more familiar with the grandfather figure, who I now looked at in a very different way.

The man looked up at me. Playful, but lusty. "Damn straight I am, Miller." He patted my prick once more before letting go of my genitals. "I'll take care of you again in a bit if you want. After Stansell's turn."

Damn, I'd forgotten about Tom. All of this was so wild. "Yeah?" I said. My dick surged at the idea of another BJ, but I knew it could use the rest.

Sarge winked at me, then patted my leg. I still had my T-shirt on but my jeans were pooled around my ankles. "Why don't you cool off in the pool? You can skinny dip... no neighbors to see you."

I nodded and got off of the sofa, pulling up my jeans but not zipping them up. Sarge led me back to the french door entrance to the deck, his strong hand affectionately on my shoulder the whole way. I couldn't help but notice the man's dick was stiff in his sweats now.

"Ready, Stansell?" he called out before stepping back inside.

I walked out toward the pool. Tom was treading water but swam to the edge and got out. He'd been nude in the pool, and his naked body looked pretty good as he got out. His dick was thick, thicker than mine, and was already chubbing as he walked toward me.

"How was it Rick?" he asked.

I gave my biggest grin. "Fucking incredible, man. You weren't lying."

"Cool," the linebacker said. "I might be a while. Sarge has been showing me how to edge... Kind of something he and I have been exploring lately."

"That's cool,"" I said. "Enjoy it, bro."

"I will," he said and sauntered into the big house.

I stripped down and enjoyed the cool water. In another month, it would be too cold for an outdoor pool, but then it was perfect. I didn't have a watch, but Tom must have been inside for a good thirty to forty minutes. It was almost dark when he slid open the doors and ran out to jump into the pool, like a little kid. When he resurfaced he swam over to me. "If you want seconds, Rick, Sarge is ready for you."

I felt self conscious getting out of the pool with a hardon. But I couldn't help it, thinking about what Sarge and Tom had done got me excited. And I figured Tom and I were there for sex with a man, he wouldn't be phased by me showing hard. And he wasn't. As I walked around the pool decking, Tom dove back in and started doing gentle laps.

Sarge was waiting for me, hanging out seated at his kitchen island and drinking a sparkling water. "Damn, buddy," he growled as he saw my hardon. "eager for more, aren't ya?"

"Yes, sir," I grinned.

The man pushed his stool back and turned toward me, spreading his legs. I saw that even though he had on that stretched gray T-shirt still, he was naked from the waist down. Maybe he was nervous he was going to scare me off earlier with his nakedness and was less concerned now. Turns out I loved seeing it. Sarge's crotch was thick was dark-silver fur that extended to lighter-colored hair that covered his legs. The man's dick was a solid tool, though not as big as me or Tom, nor as firm in its erection.

"Bring it here, Miller," Sarge growled, patting his legs.

I stepped forward and enjoyed being a piece of meat for the older man. His callused hands ran up and down my mostly smooth jock muscle. "The weights have been paying off, buddy," he hissed appreciatively. Even if he wasn't touching my cock, I felt the excitement there, too, almost as if he was stimulating my genitals.

I reached forward, too, in a cautious, exploratory way, and ran my hands along Sarge's arms and shoulders through the shirt cotton. I knew the man lifted regularly, cause he was there in the weight room with us guys day in and day out. But I had first hand knowledge of how solid he'd kept himself. Sarge grinned as he watched my face.

"You like that muscle, Miller?" he asked excitedly.

"Yeah, Sarge, I do," I replied honestly. "A lot."

The man bit his lip thoughtfully, then reached to the hem of his shirt. I stepped back a little and watched the man strip off the last of his clothing.

Holy fuck, it was an incredible sight. I didn't know until that afternoon how much I was wired for older men. Much older men. Granddad types, at least if they were like Sarge. His chest swirled with heavy silver fur and had this amazing combination of still hard muscle and rugged, sagging skin that made my cock twitch. It was a big taboo, being with a man so much older than me. I didn't lust after either of my grandfathers, but this felt almost as nasty.

I took the liberty of running my fingers through all that chest hair. That made Sarge grin up at me as he wrapped his fist around my boner, feeling first hand how turned on I was. I could tell he was surprised by how into this I was.

"You think you might be up for more than a blowie, Miller?" the man asked in a masculine gravely voice.

My heart pounded. I had an idea of what the man was suggesting, but I was still naive and new to all this. "What are you thinking, Sarge?" I asked.

He more openly stroked my dick, which was getting wetter in his palm from my precum. "I bet this bad boy would feel amazing in my ass... if you're up for that kind of thing, stud."

"God, yeah," I hissed. And like that, Sarge and I were kissing. Tongue and all. Not like a kiss with one of my girlfriends, this felt deep and crudely sexual. I loved it.

The authority figure led me back to his bedroom and I got to admire his backside, all thick and meaty. Sarge had a granddaddy ass, I'd come to realize after stroking off to mature porn over the next month, and for years after. Not quite as round and firm as a middle-aged man or younger, but somehow that allured me, too. As did the hamstrings which were underdeveloped compared to the front of his legs.

For the next twenty minutes, Sarge briefly coached me in how to prep a man's ass and how to enter him. Then he let my teen jock instinct and hormones do the rest. God, it was incredible. Sarge's guts were tight and warm and after I worked myself in, the man's insides welcomed me deep. I fucked him steadily, then harder, and was rewarded to see him stroke his own load out, a good half minute before I came inside him. We kissed softly then uncoupled.

Tom was waiting for us in the kitchen, helping himself to a beer from Sarge's fridge. He'd dried off from the pool but his hair was wet and his naked body damp.

"You showing him to edge, MacAllister?" Tom teased. It was the first time I'd ever heard a player call Sarge by his last name. It felt familiar, overly familiar even.

Sarge didn't seem to notice or be bothered. "Nah, gave Miller here the full ride," the man said. I was starting to feel self conscious being naked around Tom, but my clothes were outside. And Sarge was very open in his nudity. "If you ever wanna try, let me know, Stansell."

"I'm good Sarge," Tom grinned. "I'll stick to head." He reached down and arranged his junk. He wasn't hard but was getting there.

I watched in amazement as Sarge got down to kneel on the kitchen floor and take Tom into his mouth.

Sarge blew Tom. I watched. Tom sipped his beer and looked down, enjoying the grade-A blow job before he looked up at me. "You're real into this shit, aren't ya, Rick?"

I wasn't sure if that was a put down or not, but I answered anyway. "Yeah, I am. A lot."

Tom smiled. "That's cool. Just didn't expect it."

That made two of us. I watched Tom start guiding Sarge's slightly balding head up and down onto his hard dick, urgently coaxing the older man to get him off. I wanted to watch but worried Tom would think I was perving out on him too much. I gave him a friendly pat as I walked past to go out and retrieve my clothing.

***

I don't know how many players Sarge took care of. There was Keith White, a tight end, and our quarterback Cameron Barrett. One or both of these guys would be hanging out at Sarge's when I'd go over, in the evenings or on the weekend. Tom Stansell got a girlfriend and stopped coming, but occasionally he'd drop a lewd comment to me asking if Sarge was taking good care of me. I'd grin and say he was.

I still don't know if Sarge tapped into something that was there already, or if I got into mature men because of him. But I got into porn with older daddies. Granddaddies. Major age gaps. It was all amazing, even if none of the men were as hot as Sarge.

I was slow to put two and two together, but I saw Barrett walk out of Sarge's office as we were suiting up for the championship game. He had a familiar, freshly laid look on his face. There was no way Sarge was blowing him right here in the field house, was there?

My curiosity got the best of me. I figured we had about twenty minutes before Sarge would come out and give us our big pep talk. Telling us about Cougar pride and the killer instinct inside us. Telling us to go out there and whoop some ass.

I padded down the hall, cleats on the concrete floor. I knocked on Sarge's metal office door. The man was looking over play charts. Old habits, maybe, because Coach Fitzgerald was the one who called the plays. He looked up, brown eyes brightening as he saw me. "Come in, Miller... and shut the door."

I did as instructed, stepping in a couple of steps.

"You got the pregame jitters, Rick?" he asked, in his normal friendly coach-like tone.

"Something like that, Sarge," I said. I wasn't gonna come out and ask him for sex, not here. But I wanted to feel out if that was a possibility.

He grinned and got out of his seat. He wore a Cougars Football sweatshirt but had on a pair of coach shorts that showed off his sinewed, furry mature legs. I knew he was a week from his 66th birthday and the man could not be hotter in my eyes.

Particularly as he turned and dropped his shorts then bent over to brace himself on his desk.

"Gotta make it a quick one, today, Miller," he urged. "OK?"

"Yeah, Sarge," I hissed in lust, unlacing my football pants as fast as I could. As I pulled out my cup and fisted my cock to full hardness, I looked around. "Um, you got any stuff?" I still could be shy when it came to fucking, and for some reason asking for lube seemed too crude at the moment.

The man shook his head and held his upper body steady in a passive stance. "Barrett loaded me up pretty good just now. So I'm plenty slick for ya, buddy."

So I wasn't the only player fucking Sarge. I lined up my hardon and figured I didn't have to persuade his hole to relax. I nudged in and then pressed for full penetration.

Sarge's guts accepted me and then some. Twenty minutes before game time and I was in the saddle. Fuck.

I held onto the man's hips and replayed the granddad porn fantasies in my head. Then realized that Sarge was hotter than the fantasies so I watched his bent over body as I fucked him fast and hard. I loved it all. His broad shoulder and spread legs and silver haired head. I was getting there quick, all right.

I leaned forward and started kissing his neck and that bristly military-cut silver hair as I fucked faster to my orgasm.

"Love you, Sarge," I let out as I came, hard.

"Nice," I heard his soft masculine growl as I slowly pulled out and stood up. The man methodically grabbed a kleenex and wiped his spermed crack before pulling up those coach shorts. There was cum on the desk, Sarge's cum, and I felt a wave of pride rush through me.

At least until embarrassment set in. "Sorry, Sarge," I explained as I replaced my cup and laced up my uniform again. "Guess I got carried away."

The man gave me a knowing look, but it was almost like he felt he was the one getting carried away. He stepped up to me and placed his arms around my waist. "It's OK, Miller. I guess I'm pretty crazy about you, too," he said. We kissed, softly. This was wild and forbidden and completely right. When we kissed he patted my ass, almost like a coach more than a lover. "We'll talk about it this weekend, OK?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

The man winked. "OK, Miller... go out and knock 'em dead today. Make me proud of you, ya hear?"

I laughed. "Yessir, Sarge." I still didn't know his first name, but hopefully that weekend I would learn it.

I claimed another kiss then walked back out into the locker room, joining my teammates. Barrett shot me a smirk, but no one else noticed anything unusual.

Five minutes later Sarge strutted out, face reddened barking at his in his best Army-turned-Coach voice. "All right guys! You ready to wipe that football field with some Whtiman County ass?!"

"Yes, Sarge!" I bellowed out, in unison with my teammates.

#drakestories

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arthyritis · 1 year

Text

Nightmare

P has a nightmare involving Anti and the eye.

Warnings: violence.

He'd learned his lesson from last time: if the alarms go off, you stay put in your designated area. For P, that was his small, safe security camera room.

It was in the name, damn it! And after last time, well, let’s just say he didn’t want a repeat of that ALTR interaction.

The anomaly had, of course, found him, crouched pitifully next to a fallen friend he'd used as bait, but then he’d just… stared. No mocking, no children’s laughter that usually accompanied his form as a taunt.

Just staring.

Whether he knew about P’s status as a hidden anomaly or not he hadn’t made clear. But P guessed he hadn’t ratted if he did since the ALTR was back in his cell and P was a free-roamer.

But it seemed like it was happening all over again.

P crouched somewhere between the two doors of the cam room so he could see one and his ponytailed hair allowed the eye to keep watch on the other. Even though both doors had locked as soon as the lockdown started, he was wary to take any attention off of anything.

At least in here, the horrible, horrible screeching of alarms wasn’t bothersome to his hearing aids—

A tap. Faint, but at the door right behind him.

He turned, almost ready to go ahead and duck under his desk when the ALTR appeared directly in his peripheral vision. He made quick move to hide, but the ALTR was quicker, grabbing him by the ponytail and throwing him to the ground face-first.

The pain was overshadowed by a burst of adrenaline, but 114209 pressed him into the floor before he could do anything, not even lying a hand on him.

More of the force appeared around his wrists, holding them against his back as the anomaly gained on him, a fact he could only see through his own anomalous eye that was now not as hidden as last time.

The ALTR knelt down, almost gently moving P's hair to reveal the eye. He was always so insanely calm, though P had heard stories about him prior to being captured and apparently he wasn’t always so.

Insane was one word that was thrown around a lot and used to describe him. P was sure it still applied in this type of instance.

114209 lightly traced the eye with a normal, padded finger (P thought he remembered hearing the anomaly—no, all of the ALTRS—had no fingerprints, but it was weird to actually see and feel that up close) before a sharp nail came out and traced it again. The nail dug into the skin around the anomalous eyeball.

It couldn’t close if it wanted to, petrified at the sights it was seeing. P tried to will it, but it never did listen well, a mind of its own.

The static sound that normally surrounded the anomaly and bugged out his hearing aids started up, P’s attention shifting for a moment as he tried to struggle away from the noise but it was no use. He was left helpless, watching the ALTR make him bleed from a backwards only view until the eye finally shut tight, having witnessed enough itself.

Then he was waking up, the sight of his own bedroom a shock as he tumbled off the sheets and lay on the floor, staring dizzily up at the ceiling. He cradled his head with a shaking hand, lifting himself off of the floor soon after and making sure he wasn’t actually hurt.

The eye was moving around in its own sleep, undisturbed by P’s nightmare and tantrum.

Of course, yet another reason he needed to hide it. Protect it. There was no telling what the ALTR in his dream was actually trying to accomplish, but he was pretty sure he never wanted to find out.

Knowing he was only going to have a fitful sleep after all of this, he went to the kitchen to make breakfast.

#grey does writing #altr 114209 #camera wtchr p #whump #sona and ego interaction

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lovelybarnes · 3 years

Text

restless- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of natasha romanoff, sam wilson, and steve rogers warnings: mentions of nightmares and clingy bucky but it’s mostly fluff about: bucky can’t sleep without y/n a/n: i was going to post this yesterday but i fell asleep :| my computer was literally open and nearly dead when i woke up lmao

today marks one week that you’ve been gone, and with it, the official shortest amount of sleep that bucky has gotten in a week. he supposes it’s sightly pathetic that he can’t sleep well- or, really, at all- without you, but you continuously tell him you chase his nightmares away for him, and without you there to make them disappear, where else will they go but deep into the crevices of his mind, where they’ll hide long enough for him to let his guard down and lull himself to sleep, only to wake up with the ugly memories of things he hoped he’d forgotten. he’s constantly told that his attachment to you is overbearing- not by you, though. never by you- because it must be, with how much he clings to your side, always touching some part of you so that he’s sure that, yes, you’re there. not a dream or an illusion, although you’re good enough to be one.

he misses every part of you; your fingers and the way they run through his hair, trace his features with such tenderness he nearly believes he is what you see, your voice and its ability to transform the most mundane words into the greatest poetry, sing soft songs into his skin until he’s fallen asleep, your eyes and how they examine him in the best way possible, glowing when they meet his.

he longs for you, but he can only imagine your smile, the bitter reminder that you’re probably showing it to some psychopath for the mission you’re on. he hates steve every time the memory is evoked, the panic that comes with your being used as bait for some of the most screwed up villains in the world only returning stronger. he’s tempted to go get you himself, uncaring if he screws up the mission because at least he’ll have you.

stark will call him pathetic, then go to bed with the love of his life, so bucky prefers keeping his thoughts about you to himself, much like he’d like to keep you. you’ve told him you can handle yourself, and bucky never doubts it, having been victim to the using of your skills when he first encountered you as the winter soldier. you kicked his ass then, and you kick any and all ass now.

it doesn’t help his sleeping schedule, though your calls do. he swears you’re an angel because there’s no way a normal human could glow like that through a screen, but you always laugh off his words and simply tell him to turn his brightness down. however, you haven’t taught him that yet, so he greets you with the same sentence every time. his smile is always brighter after your calls, the dark bruises under his eyes reduced as if he got a full night’s rest. it’s your effect on him, and as much as everyone teases you both for it, they appreciate it.

you’re due to come back in a week or two, but bucky is unsure he can wait that long, and judging from your chirpier-than-usual voice in your latest interaction, you’ve finished early, like you always do. he likes to imagine it’s because of him, behind the deprecating voice that screams at him why would it be? (the answer is that you love him and hate every second you’re away from him)

sam scoffs when he overhears him telling that to steve, sitting down next to bucky, “man, there is no way you can tell that from a phone call. even if you could, i know she’s good, but to shave two weeks off mission time? natasha hasn’t even been able to do that.” a proud smile grows on bucky’s face without his permission as he shrugs, “she’s that good,” he brags, choosing to ignore the fake gag sam sends his way.

you frown when he tells you what he thinks on your call a few hours later, lips puckering into a small pout, “how did you know? i wanted it to be a surprise!” you ask through a crackled voice. so much for state of the art technology, bucky thinks, but is glad nonetheless to hear your voice. “i know you too well, doll. you’re really coming back today?”

you nod excitedly, biting your bottom lip. “mhm! i missed you and my bed too much to stay here a moment longer. villains are such pervs,” you complain, nose scrunching. bucky’s jaw sets when he hears your words, immediately thinking the worst. “but, i’m coming back today, so it’s fine. what do you want to do when i get back?”

bucky shrugs, “be with you,” he answers simply, making you laugh. “other than that, dummy. we could watch a movie, have a little date night to make up for the one i missed while i was gone.” bucky grins at this, remembering his plans for that night. “okay,” he agrees, “we’ll watch one of those movies on my list. although sam put some weird ones.”

you concur through chuckles that pass through the phone, reminding him how much you love him. he swears an oath to never let you go again and bites back a yawn that you see right through. “you’re sleeping the moment i get back,” you instruct, and bucky nods with your words, even when the sole idea of your being within arm’s reach is obviously too enticing to pass up for sleep. “whatever you want, doll. as long as you’re here.” he replies, thinking about spending the night pressing kisses to your hair and checking for any injuries you may have withheld from him.

the sentence is dishonest and you both know it, but you leave it at that, missing him too much and sure he’ll rest with how exhausted he must be. you say goodbye without the actual words, only giving a blown kiss and a “see you later.”

bucky spends the rest of the hours without you thinking of you, skimming through the words written in the little blue notebook you got him to replace his old one. that one sits on his dresser, the disuse proven by the layer of dust that covers it. the names he spent hours agonizing over, tracing his fingers over the indents made by the pen, are hidden by its cover. they never fade from his mind, though. only half of the pages of the one you gave him are blank now, and the ones that aren’t are bright and white, inviting him to drop his pen on the lines and jot whatever reference he didn’t understand but wants to. he eyes the names of the movies and shows, some accompanied by quotes that refer to them. “new girl: nick miller,” he reads, remembering how one of your friends said he was the avenger version of the character. “friends: ‘joey doesn’t share food,” sam told him that one when he didn’t let him have any of his chips. he looks at clueless, recalling the way all of his teammates stare at scott whenever the movie comes up. there are a couple pages like this, some of them recommendations and others titles he kept hearing. tonight, he decides on starting a new show, but he leaves the actual show up to you to decide.

you arrive a couple hours later, when stars have littered the darkness that bled through the sky. it’s all very rom-com-filmesque, the way you light up when you see his face- even through how tired you clearly are- and how you jump into his arms, ignoring the ache in your muscles because the way his arms wrap around you seems to make it disappear. he gathers you in his arms and kisses everywhere on your face, treasuring your laugh and the feeling of your lips pressing to his shoulder when you hug him again.

even when you pull away, he doesn’t let go of your hand, flesh fingers tracing small circles into your skin. you don’t complain, even when steve shoves papers in front of you and asks you to sign them with a sheepish look. sam comes by and teases bucky lightheartedly, hounding bucky to let you have both your hands. you chuckle at his request and squeeze bucky’s fingers, kissing the back of his hand, “oh, no, he better not,” you half-joke. he smiles, red tinting his cheeks as he gently draws you closer.

you don’t feel like driving at the moment, and you need to water your plants, completely sure that wanda forgot to do it, so you end up going to your room, even though you spend most of your time at his own room or your apartment outside the compound. you can tell how little the room has been used by the spotless counters and floors, furniture clean of any of the knickknacks you usually leave. you only sleep here when bucky leaves for long missions, his absence is overly blatant when he’s gone, and your plants keep you from feeling too alone.

you usher bucky inside, tugging open your drawers to search for something for him to wear. you grin at the soft fabric under the pads of your fingertips, recalling the memory of stealing them from bucky’s closet to soak in his scent when you couldn’t have the real thing. the considerable use has washed away all traces of him, and you decide that needs to be fixed, picking out clothing for him.

you change into one of his old shirts and make tea while he changes, smiling when you feel his arms wrapping around your waist and kissing your jaw. “what do you want to watch tonight?” he asks, and you contemplate it while you pour your drinks, shoveling spoons of sugar into each one to make it as sweet as possible- his favorite. “new girl, i think you’ll like it,” you reply after a moment.

he unravels his arms from around you, taking the mugs from the counter and following you to your room after you peck his cheek in thanks. “okay, i want to see what this nick miller is all about,” bucky says, making you laugh softly. “c’mon,” he urges, opening his arms for you after setting the cups down. you cuddle up to his side after you grab your computer, setting up netflix and choosing the show.

halfway through the first episode, bucky feels the fatigue hit him like a ton of bricks, hours of missed sleep catching up to him now that he’s finally relaxed and comfortable. keeping his eyes open is a job all on its own, and the sweet smell of your hair combined with the way your fingers move on his chest, softly writing letters and drawing shapes, is too much to resist.

you barely notice when he shuts his eyes, the evening of his breathing alerting you he’s succumbed to his tiredness. you stop the video and quietly shut your laptop, placing it on the bedside table while moving as little as possible. he feels you shift through your efforts, pulling you closer in his sleep. you chase away his nightmares like you always do, letting him sleep his first full night since you left.

he wakes up rejuvenated and embarrassed, sputtering out embarrassed apologies that you shush with kind reassurances and tender kisses. he’s reminded of how wonderful you are when you turn, arms extending to reach into your bag and carrying out a small stuffed animal that you say reminded you of him.

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eskelstits · 3 years

Note

Okay okay so hear me out:

Jaskier has been acting odd lately, though the bard was either too shy or too stubborn to acknowledge it. At the very least, he was stubborn fool for thinking Geralt, of all people, wouldn’t take notice. Jaskier had suddenly become adamant about more generous rations for his Witcher, started to insist on larger dinners at taverns, and was always quick to suggest another round of food and drink— only to insist that Geralt finish it. The witcher pretended not to notice the way Jaskier watched intently while he ate and hid his wry amusement when the bard hurriedly looked away upon being caught. Geralt had so far played along with these antics in feigned ignorance, admittedly feeling a small thrill as his body started to bulk and strain against his armor. And now that he was paying closer attention, he found himself fond of just how delicate his bard looked by comparison. Armed with his suspicions of what Jaskier is up to, Geralt decides to satisfy his curiosity by embracing the bard’s antics and seeing just how much he can him squirm.

I was thinking some stuffing and size kink ~ with increasingly daring taunts thrown from both sides of the table bc let’s be real neither of the boys would give in easily.

THANK YOU i definitely had fun with this prompt

[ masterpost - ao3 ]

"Are you ill?" Geralt asked the question hunched over the plate of eggs and bacon he was enjoying for his breakfast.

More accurately, Jaskier's breakfast. Geralt had already finished his own serving, but then Jaskier had deftly stacked his own half-full plate on top of Geralt's empty one. To be fair, as it turned out, that particular tavern did tend to dish out surprisingly hearty portions, and Geralt had to remind himself that Jaskier was not a witcher, and therefore did not have the appetite of one. It was not the only occasion on which Jaskier had passed off a good fraction of his food to Geralt, however.

In fact, it seemed to be happening more and more frequently lately. He would demand seconds, larger portions, extra bread or more ale, only to immediately claim that he was full and offer it up to Geralt. After a tough life of fighting for survival, Geralt was a rather opportunistic eater, and so he always took advantage of Jaskier's leftovers. It was … strange, but Geralt could not say he exactly minded it. He did like going to bed warm and satiated rather than starving, tossing and turning and kept awake by his growling stomach. The only thing that really puzzled Geralt was the staring. Jaskier would look at him like Geralt was the most fascinating thing on the Continent whenever they sat down together to eat, but as Geralt had recently discovered, Jaskier would always quickly look away the moment Geralt met his eye.

Jaskier gaped and sputtered for a moment, eyes wide and hand settled over his chest as though Geralt had just viciously insulted him.

"Ill? Geralt, you wound me. I will have you know that I'm positively glowing with good health," Jaskier huffed.

Geralt grunted. Eyes narrowed, he examined Jaskier for just a brief moment longer, then bowed his head again to continue eating. Out of the edge of his vision, he could see Jaskier watching him.

Geralt had been willing to ignore the odd behavior up until his trousers started feeling tight. He still was not quite upset. It was not an overly drastic change, just a slight layer of padding over top of his muscles, making him look more like he did after he had been settled for a while over the winters he spent at Kaer Morhen, but there was a definite difference. Jaskier seemed to be noticing, too. Though he had not said anything about it, he still stared, and whenever he and Geralt fell into bed together, the bard's hands smoothed all over him, wordlessly worshiping Geralt's fuller frame.

Geralt enjoyed it, too. He had always been broader than Jaskier, but putting on a bit of weight had only highlighted that contrast. The day before, Geralt had caught a glimpse of his reflection looming behind Jaskier's in the mirror as the bard stood there checking over his own outfit for the evening's performance, and he had looked almost … delicate in comparison to Geralt. The sight had ignited something deep and primal and exciting in his core, and he wanted to chase that thrill.

No, he was far from upset. He was curious, though. While he had pieced together what was happening, there was still one more question: Was Jaskier doing it on purpose? Geralt supposed he could simply ask, but the thought of setting himself up for vulnerability like that was horrific. He had to find some other way to weasel out the truth. He had to beat Jaskier at his own game.

"Do I look different to you?" Geralt dared to ask that evening while they waited for the barmaid to come back with their dinner order. Jaskier looked anxious for just a brief second, but then he relaxed again and hummed inquisitively as he scanned Geralt's face.

"Is that a new doublet? Oh! Have you trimmed your beard?" Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed. By trade, Jaskier was a performer, but Geralt knew him well enough to be able to tell when he was lying -- or 'acting,' as Jaskier often corrected him. Two could play that game. Feigning ignorance, Geralt nodded and falsely agreed that he had gone to a barber, and he watched Jaskier decompress with relief. When the barmaid returned and set a full plate down in front of each of them, Geralt cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I want another," he said, pointing to his own plate.

"Ah … Another leg of chicken?" The barmaid looked a bit confused, like she was hesitant to believe that Geralt had been referring to the entire meal.

"No. Another plate," Geralt insisted. A brief pause, and he tacked on, "Please."

The barmaid blinked, but she chose not to argue. Rather, she nodded and scurried back to the kitchen. When Geralt looked back towards Jaskier, the bard was staring. Again.

"... Hungry, are you?" Jaskier questioned.

"Very."

Geralt held Jaskier's gaze for a moment longer and watched as just a hint of color began creeping over the bard's cheeks. Without another word, Geralt began to eat. He tore into the half chicken and the hearty portion of roast vegetables he had in front of him, and each time he glanced up, he found Jaskier trying and ultimately failing to be subtle about the fact that he was watching Geralt like a hawk. Geralt thought that he would have wanted to shy away before he managed to get his questions answered, but that was not the case. In reality, he actually liked the attention, those enraptured eyes fixed on him making him feel alight with a strange mixture of pleasure and shame. The barmaid came back with the rest of the food Geralt had requested, and she set it down quickly almost as though afraid of getting bitten if she ventured too close. Geralt grunted his thanks around a full mouth. Jaskier had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time, all the way up until Geralt finally broke for air and a drink of ale.

“Are you … sure you’re going to be able to finish all of that?” Jaskier sounded both tentative and almost laughably eager.

“Yes,” Geralt answered.

He met Jaskier’s eye again, his gaze dark and smoldering. The bard’s throat bobbed enticingly when he swallowed, and Geralt only barely held back a smirk. Whether or not Jaskier had been feeding Geralt up on purpose, it was obvious that he enjoyed the show, and it was always fun for Geralt to try and get him flustered.

“Ah, yes, well … I suppose you have had quite a healthy appetite lately,” Jaskier said. He spoke hesitantly, testing his luck. Geralt pushed right back.

“Someone has to eat all your leftovers.”

“Mm, yes. You are rather good for that.”

Geralt made it about halfway through his second plate before Jaskier was getting restless again. The bard still had some food remaining on his own plate, and judging from the way he kept glancing between it and Geralt and tapping his fingers anxiously against the table, he was hoping to see the witcher finish it off for him.

“Going to eat that?” Geralt spoke around a mouthful of chicken.

He had inched past satisfied a few bites ago, but he could keep going comfortably enough, and he so desperately wanted to see how Jaskier was going to react to his more deliberate goading. Geralt watched while Jaskier blushed and tried his best to act as though he had not been hoping to hear that exact question. It had been painfully obvious. Their many years together had given Geralt the ability to be able to read Jaskier like an open book. Sometimes, it was useful, likely saving Jaskier from some fights when Geralt was able to pick up on the body language that meant foolish determination or rising anger, but other times, like in that moment, it was simply amusing.

“Come now, love, you can’t possibly still be hungry,” Jaskier teased. Somewhat unexpectedly, it sent a jolt down Geralt’s spine. The witcher made a noise somewhat like a little growl, and his pupils widened. Jaskier did a much poorer job of veiling his own smirk. Perfect. Geralt was baiting him, and he was falling for it so easily. “I know you’ve been eating a great deal lately, but honestly … you’re getting greedy.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered nearly as quickly as a human’s as Jaskier scraped the rest of his food onto Geralt’s plate. By then, Jaskier seemed to have accepted that it was useless to hide his interest. He sat with his elbows braced against the table and his jaw cradled in his palms, alluring blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Geralt. Near the end of his meal, Geralt was at last starting to struggle, the fact that his armor clung to him a bit more than he would have preferred only keeping it pinned in the forefront of his mind just how full he was. Jaskier’s reddened cheeks had only grown more vivid, the color even dusting the tips of his ears. Geralt rarely saw the bard so silent, so unwaveringly focused, usually only when he was in the middle of a fit of intense writing inspiration, and while Geralt felt scrutinized, he was actually enjoying it. Feeling bold, he grunted around his last mouthful and then reclined back in his chair, hoping to give Jaskier a glimpse of his distended belly where it strained against his clothes. Judging from the look on the bard’s face, it had worked.

“Are you finally satisfied, then?” Jaskier asked, and something about his tone of voice had something hot and exciting churning in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He sounded almost condescending, but in the most deliciously arousing way possible.

“Mhm.” It was little more than a grunt.

Jaskier evidently had very little regard for how sluggish Geralt was looking. Lithe fingers curled around Geralt’s wrist and tugged insistently, and although Geralt easily could have kept himself planted in place if he had truly wanted to, he allowed Jaskier to haul him up onto his feet and lead him upstairs. Such a short trip normally would never have affected him, but with a full stomach weighing him down, Geralt found himself panting softly by the time he and Jaskier had reached their room. Distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of his trousers digging into his skin so tightly that it was almost painful, Geralt had little time to react before he was suddenly backed up against the closed door and drawn into a heated kiss.

“Jask --” Geralt breathed, cut off abruptly by yet another kiss.

Clearly, he had guessed right. Jaskier did enjoy that display, even more than Geralt had been anticipating. Soon, Geralt gave up on speaking, and he yielded to the kiss, lips parting for a teasing swipe of Jaskier’s tongue through his mouth. There was a pleasant warmth against Geralt’s middle that he soon recognized as Jaskier’s hands, kneading gently through stiff leather.

“Look at you,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt bit back a dry remark about how it was difficult to do that with the bard plastered up against him. “You’re getting so big.”

A thrill ran through Geralt at that. He curled his hands around Jaskier’s slender hips and squeezed, drawing him in closer, and Jaskier gasped against his lips. In truth, Geralt did not look too terribly different than he usually did, but there had been a little tone of hopefulness in Jaskier’s voice, a subtle but unmistakable hint that he wanted more. The next few seconds seemed to blur together, but somehow, Geralt had ended up spread out on the bed, staring up into Jaskier’s darkened eyes where he had perched himself on Geralt’s hips. Jaskier’s usually agile fingers trembled with anticipation as he worked Geralt out of his armor, putting him on blatant display. Where he had once been all sharp angles and overly defined muscles, he had accumulated a small layer of padding, and most noticeable of all at the moment was the rounded curve of his belly, warm and full and demanding Jaskier’s complete attention. His hands smoothed over it, rubbing and exploring, interspersed with little appreciative pats and scratches.

“Knew you were doing it on purpose,” Geralt said. Much to his amusement, Jaskier actually looked shocked. “Weren’t very subtle about it.”

“Yes, well --” Jaskier paused, seeming to be struggling to decide on what to say. Eventually, he just huffed, then decided to deflect and taunted, “Are you sure you aren’t just a glutton?”

Geralt smirked. Without any warning, he rolled over, pinning Jaskier beneath him. He heard Jaskier’s pulse flutter. A heated fantasy sped through Geralt’s mind, thoughts of how easily he could subdue Jaskier, how much stronger and bigger Geralt was, how much deep trust it took for Jaskier to lay himself out so vulnerable for a witcher, a predator. Jaskier’s arms snaked around him, and his hands splayed out over Geralt’s shoulder blades. Geralt laid heavier against him and growled in his ear just to feel Jaskier squirm. Jaskier would be unable to get away even if he wanted to with Geralt’s full weight holding him down. Oddly, that was a deeply pleasurable thought, and Geralt had very quickly decided that he would take no issue with it if Jaskier wanted to keep feeding him, making him broader and heavier still, only further exaggerating that contrast between the two of them. If the way Geralt could feel Jaskier’s hardening cock digging into his thigh was any indication, they were in agreement on that.

“Going to get me something good for breakfast tomorrow?” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier groaned, hooked his legs around Geralt’s waist to grind their hips together, and moved one hand to tangle into the witcher’s hair. His opposite hand snuck downwards, and he pinched at the slight, growing plushness at Geralt’s hip.

“Certainly. You’re just wasting away.”

Geralt’s mouth was far too busy then for any proper response.

#fic #prompt fill #HI THIS WAS FUN TO WRITE #thank u :)

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 3 years

Text

Pulse Point

A/N: Requested by anonymous. Warning for canon-typical violence; minor character death, nightmares, and post-traumatic stress. Also: borrowed Dr. Sweets from the show Bones.

Summary: A near-death experience leaves you with recurrent nightmares. Neal offers some comfort.

Word Count: 5,154

The steady beeping of hospital equipment was driving you insane. It had been hours now of nothing except the monotonous noise of your own heartbeat. If it didn’t shut up soon, you would claw your ears off. With a stiff body and an ache that penetrated down to your bones, you forced your body upright and pinched open the pulse monitor on your right hand.

You let out a relieved sigh as the equipment went silent and dropped yourself back onto the well-padded pillows behind you. The pulse monitor clattered to the floor on its long white cord and you settled down for a nap. The ache in your bones made you feel heavy, like lead. There was nothing quite like a well-deserved nap.

In mere seconds after you had closed your eyes, the equipment started acting up again, this time blaring one long, constant shriek. The surprise made your heart skip a beat, but your eyelids were too heavy to look and see what had happened. Then your heart kept skipping, and your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest burned. It wasn’t a heartbeat; it was a flatline.

You were dying.

The leaden feeling in your body doubled. Your muscles didn’t respond to trying to move and you couldn’t force your lungs to take in a breath. Footsteps pounded around you, incoherent shouts going in one ear and out the other. You were desperate for your paralyzed eyes to open. Was this what you’d have for the rest of your life? Nothing but darkness and unintelligible, mind-numbing noise, punctuated by electrical humming and the pain of a vice clamping itself again to your finger?

The flatline paused for a second. Your ears rang and you thought, for a moment, that you were safe, your heart was beating again. Instead, your stomach twisted and you realized you were losing feeling in your toes. No blood. No life. When the screech of your flatline came back again, it was louder, more piercing. The shrillness reminded you of screaming.

As soon as you remembered it, it was there – the same screaming as before, somewhere in your room, echoing from every corner. In the next pause of the flatline, it turned into a hoarse shriek and a plea. “No! Please!”

You couldn’t hear anything underneath it, no more overlapping voices, and your panic increased. Where were the doctors? Did they think you were gone? Help me!

Your eyes opened with a sudden snap, the droning of your alarm clock replacing the flatlining of the monitor.

As you stared at your ceiling, you panted for breath. Rationally, you knew, you had probably never stopped breathing, but in the panic of your nightmare, it felt like you’d been smothered. Terror powered your desperate gasps and convinced you that your feet and hands were numb, even as you could feel that one foot was poking out from the end of your blanket. After a long moment, you dared to move your arm, ready to scream if you weren’t dreaming after all and still couldn’t move. You turned your alarm off easily.

Soft rain pattered against the glass windows, creating shiny-looking streaks as droplets collected and streamed down the side of the building. It was much more soothing than the silence that usually reigned in Dr. Sweets’ office when he was waiting for you to talk. Maybe he should invest in one of those noise machines with rain as an option. You thought about making the suggestion, but knowing him, he would probably call you out on the procrastination, or deflection, or whatever else he wanted to call it.

You broke the silence. “I’m certain I can wait you out for the next…” You checked the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

Dr. Sweets raised his eyebrows, still leaning his head on a closed fist, propped on the arm of his chair. “I’m equally certain I can recommend you remain on desk duty for the next…” He pretended to check his watch. “Twenty-seven weeks.”

You scowled.

Psychological clearance was a bureau mandate after something traumatic occurred during the course of the job. You’d been lucky enough not to need it up to this point, but after… that, you hadn’t been given a choice. Dr. Sweets was a highly qualified psychotherapist, and you were sure that he did amazing things to help a lot of people, but so far you felt neither amazed nor helped.

“Agent L/N, you went through something incredibly harrowing that you were very close to not walking away from.” The psychologist finally took his head off his fist and put his arm down in his lap. At least he’d taken the bait and you weren’t the one starting the discussion. “You were a half-inch or couple minutes from bleeding out.” He pinched his fingers to demonstrate as if you didn’t have a scar on your body that distance from your femoral artery. You’d never be able to forget what half an inch looked like.

“But I did walk away, and the person who did that to me is in prison for the rest of his life.” You crossed your legs, trying to look more comfortable than you felt. You weren’t sure how effective you were going to be at convincing a therapist that you didn’t need therapy, but it was worth the try.

He looked utterly unconvinced. Actually, the jerk looked like he knew exactly what you were trying for and thought it was cute that you thought you could trick him. “Justice, or even retribution, which it feels like you’re leaning towards, doesn’t erase a wrongdoing or its associated harm.”

“I didn’t erase it, I healed from it. I took medical leave, now I’m back.”

“Physically, you healed. It takes a lot longer to heal mentally from those kinds of wounds.”

“Does it?” You challenged.

“I think your nightmares speak for themselves,” Dr. Sweets said pointedly.

You glared at him, at a loss for a quick comeback. You knew you didn’t look like a million bucks, but you hadn’t thought it was that obvious you were losing sleep. If he knew, then the coworkers who spent a lot of time with you must know, too. Especially Neal – nothing got past him. Oh, that was embarrassing.

The nightmares had been recurring for weeks now. They had started once you had a return date to the office, but after actually resuming your work, they had increased in frequency and intensity. They weren’t identical, but they did all share some similarities: some fatal injury had you dying, alone, in the dark, like you almost had in real life. You never got to the point of actually dying in your dreams, you didn’t think, but you were just fine with that. They were bad enough as they were. Yes, they were a sign of trauma and anxiety. But if your mind didn’t heal itself from weeks safe at home, then you knew returning to normal as fast as possible was probably your best bet at getting over what had happened.

“I’m not your enemy here,” the therapist said to you more gently. You couldn’t say he was heartless, even if you didn’t enjoy the half-hour sessions where he tried to talk about your feelings whether you wanted to or not. “My goal is the same as yours. I want you back at work, safely, able to sleep through a night so you don’t jeopardize yourself or the people around you.”

You let out a deep sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me about the affect this has had on you.” Dr. Sweets encouraged, not for the first time. “You’ve accepted what happened. I can see that. But the next step is processing what it means for you, as an agent, as a person… maybe both.”

You felt helpless. What was that supposed to mean? You couldn’t very well tell him you were terrified your job was going to actually get you killed or cost more lives on your watch. When your employer paid your therapist’s bills, you couldn’t fully trust doctor-patient confidentiality. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk it.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted. Your tone sounded mournful. In a way, you were mourning for a time when you could sleep through the night and enjoy your days at work. It wasn’t like white-collar crime was your passion, but you did like puzzles, and you did like being around the people you worked with, especially a certain blue-eyed felon. “I keep having nightmares that I’m… injured, and I’m alone.”

“Your wire was jammed and your team didn’t hear you signal for backup.” Dr. Sweets talked slowly, patient and pragmatic as he validated your nightly anxieties. “You expected help, but they didn’t know to come.”

“They did come,” you said with a shrug. “It just… almost wasn’t in time. I know it wasn’t their fault.”

Your words about time felt glued into your ears. Yours had come really close to running out. And for what? Insurance fraud? No amount of money justified murder, and you likewise couldn’t put a price tag on a life. So why were you so eager to leap back into the same job that almost cost you yours?

It was something you had been mulling over since it happened. Your job was dangerous. You had always known that. You’d been shot at, been near explosives… your partner had been abducted by a murderer not that long ago, and your best friend had had guns in his face so often that, honestly, you’d lost count a while ago. Somehow it just hadn’t clicked, you supposed, that you could legitimately die. You were protected by the bureau and your body armor, until that wasn’t enough. Other agents had learned that lesson in a much harder way; being confronted with that was hard to simply get over.

Apparently, your use of the word “fault” led Dr. Sweets to talk to you about guilt and anger around the incident. You didn’t blame your partner or feel angry, except at the man who shot you, but you let him continue around your noncommittal, half-assed answers. You knew he at least suspected you were putting him on again, but you also knew you hadn’t given him much to work with. Then again, he didn’t call you on your bullshit replies, either, so you weren’t quite sure what he thought.

While Dr. Sweets had yet to approve you for field duty, there was still plenty to do at your desk. You pretended not to notice the itch in your legs to go somewhere while you kept yourself busy, preparing documents, performing research, helping delegate and manage case files, and topping off your team’s coffee whenever they got low. You had become even more of a desk jockey than Neal; at least he got to go out with Peter when given the green light. You missed outings with your partner, or really with any other agent.

Comparing yourself to a caged tiger was likely on the dramatic side, so you put it out of your mind and refused to feel sorry for yourself. You understood the protocols and the routines and they were for your benefit as much as the bureau’s. Besides, your team wasn’t treating you like you were fragile or demoted. They leaned on you to help just as much as they ever did, the assignment of duties just went a little differently.

You doodled a cat on your notepad during a meeting. Everyone had great ideas and you tossed in some ways you could contribute when you’d been quiet for a while. Peter’s proposed field op was going to go smoothly. Odds were high that any hiccups could be taken care of by Diana’s swift running of interference. Neal was raring to go and Jones was a little too excited to play the part of an intimidating brute, in your opinion, and Peter was appropriately apprehensive (someone ought to be, after what had happened to you).

“Let’s sleep on it,” Peter decided after looking out the window and seeing how low the sun had sunk. “If we’re all still in agreement in the morning, we’ll set the ball in motion.”

Jones graciously commented, “Good idea. We can all think on it.” He was probably the most cautious of all of you.

“Y/N?” Neal asked. You immediately looked up from your (admittedly lopsided) cat drawing. The forger was still in his chair, even while the others were pulling on their coats and blazers. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have any concerns?”

You shook your head, but not too quickly that it raised suspicion. You could get away with doodling – Peter often turned a blind eye to it; after several years, he’d developed a soft spot for you – but only if you were still paying attention and participating, so you didn’t want to give him a reason to suspect you weren’t.

Peter, Diana, and Jones all said their goodbyes. The two younger agents left the room, but Peter lingered at the doorway.

“Neal, do you want a ride?” He offered.

Neal looked from you to Peter, and then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll find my way. You don’t want to be late for roast,” he added when Peter looked unconvinced. After glancing at you, your partner decided that he really didn’t want to be late for roast and left without another look over his shoulder.

Now that you were alone, Neal softened his expression. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m not worried. We’ve thought of just about everything we can predict.” You said with a straight face, pretending not to know that Neal wasn’t just talking about this specific case anymore.

He wasn’t having it. “Don’t lie to a conman, Y/N,” he chided you with a small, fond smile. “Come on. It’s not just today, you’ve been quiet ever since you came back. It’s not like you.” You raised an eyebrow and pursed your lips, uninterested in talking. Neal reached partway across the table for you but stopped there. It was an invitation but not a command. “I’m worried about you.”

The thing about your history with Neal was that it was a close one. You went from strangers when Peter got him out of Sing Sing to best friends within the span of two years. You trusted him more than you trusted just about anyone, and there hadn’t been a time when one of you needed the other and was turned away. He didn’t come to you when he was upset – seeking out reassurance and comfort was not Neal’s strength, because it involved professing vulnerability – but he never turned you away when you came to offer it, either. Now it seemed to be his turn to do the offering, as he had realized over the last few weeks that you weren’t going to ask.

You reached for his hand and silently sighed in relief at how solid and warm it was to the touch, so unlike the few dreams where you screamed and cried for someone to help and found yourself grasping at tricks that weren’t there. Neal turned his hand to hold yours and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s been so hard, Neal,” you told him reluctantly. “I have no idea how you do it. How you just walk away from all the close calls.”

Neal frowned a little. “I don’t just walk away,” he objected. “I have bad nights. I have bad days. Sometimes I have a whole bad week, or a few bad months.” You knew the latter was a reference to losing Kate, and you sympathetically gripped his hand tighter. “But, you know… there’s always something I can find to focus on instead, and after a while, the things go in the past. I let go.”

That advice was entirely unhelpful. “I’ve been trying to let go,” you said sourly. It wasn’t directed at him, exactly, but moreso at your brain, which was failing in its task of moving past what happened. “It’s not working. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can breathe.”

“It’s not easy,” Neal agreed, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. It was an intimately affectionate gesture that comforted and eased the nerves beginning to bubble in your stomach. “Company helps. The reminder that I have backup, even when it doesn’t come right away. I’ve got Peter, Moz. You.” He met your eyes with a small smile and raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

“Company?” You echoed uncertainly. If you were unconscious, how was company going to make a difference to what you dreamed about? Then you remembered what you had said to Dr. Sweets about your nightmares always ending with being alone. If you knew, on some level, that you weren’t alone, maybe you would feel safer. “Like, overnight?”

His expression didn’t change to give away whether you were right or wrong. Instead, he just asked, evenly, “Is that what you need?” The way he looked at you then, without judgment in his eyes, but with determination in the set of his jaw, you just knew that whatever you said you needed, Neal would move a mountain to give it to you.

“I’m not sure, but… maybe?” You hesitantly guessed. If it worked, it would be worth the awkwardness. Even just one night of solid sleep would do wonders for how you felt, and it wasn’t like it would be the first time you had stayed with Neal overnight. Long marathons on slow weekends, and the less pleasant nights after Kate’s death, meant he kept an extra toothbrush and a set of your pajamas in his penthouse.

“Okay,” he said right away with nothing but quiet matter-of-factness. It was so comforting to be proven right that you could rely on him to help you with what you needed. His tone just said, you need this, so we’re doing it, full-stop. You just hoped you were right, both so you could finally go eight hours without fearing for your life and so you weren’t inconveniencing him for no reason. “Let’s get dinner on the way. We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly said, seeing your face. “Whatever you need.”

Everyone should have a friend like Neal, but everyone should find their own, because this one was all yours. If it weren’t for the table in the way, you would’ve launched yourself at him in a tight hug. As it was, you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a grin as wide as you could muster. “Dinner sounds great.”

The stickiness of your pants along your thigh made your hands shake, unable to bring yourself to look at your palms. You knew what you would see all over them. The fire lancing up your thigh told you what you already knew. So did the weakness in your body and the fog in your mind. It was done. The hourglass on the desk was trickling through the last of its sand. Moretti was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t even die in the presence of a murderer.

There was screaming coming from another room. It was the desperate wail of another agent begging for their life. “No! Please!”

“No,” you mumbled, using all of your energy to turn your head to the doorway. He couldn’t… not now that you were down… you couldn’t even raise your voice to cry for help. You were completely helpless. You couldn’t save him.

Your chest burned with the effort of your heart, ironically helping you to bleed out faster. Your breaths came labored, and then they couldn’t come at all as your vision faded. The dark carpet blurred from a mass of pilled fibers into a solid navy sea. The pain in your leg was excruciating, it was all you could feel; the idea of feeling peace ever again slipping away.

Screaming. Banging. Footsteps. More screaming. Pounding. Shouting. It was all indistinguishable, a mess of men’s voices and loud gunshots. Then, you heard it. Just your name, barely audible above the rest, in a voice that made you strain to see past the blackness.

“Y/N!”

You’d give the rest of your precious seconds away just to see him one last time, just to know he was beside you and you weren’t alone.

“Y/N!”

Footsteps came closer and the pressure on your chest intensified. The blood loss made you dizzy and your body shook.

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open in time to see Neal leaning out of the way just in time to avoid your hand flying at his face. You processed slowly that his hands were on your shoulders – had he shaken you? – and it was still dark. You could barely see his face, but his figure was lit from behind by the lamp next to his bed. You could tell from his messy hair that he had been sleeping not long ago, and you felt awful for waking him up.

After cursing, you sat up and gripped the warm blanket on your lap tightly. “I’m sorry,” you said remorsefully, feeling like a fool. Not only hadn’t you been able to sleep through the night, but now you’d ruined his rest, too. You cussed again. “I really hoped being close… just not being at my apartment, alone…”

It had felt like a safe bet off to a good start. You had gotten dinner together near Gramercy Park, then watched a lighthearted movie before turning in for bed. Neal offered to let you take his mattress, but you didn’t want to put him out and you had slept over enough that he didn’t feel like a bad host for letting you insist on the sofa. You’d been out by ten, but now you could guess it had been less than four hours. Your heart was still racing, your leg still tense with an imagined pain.

“It’s okay,” Neal said, sounding unsettled. He kept his hands on your shoulders like he was keeping you grounded on the earth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

Neal’s eyes must have already adjusted to the low light, because his aim was spot-on when he lifted a hand from your shoulder to cup your neck instead. His profile ducked and you felt his lips land on your forehead, checking your temperature, signalling forgiveness, and administering reassurance all at once. He rubbed his thumb across your jaw as he stood up straight, releasing you, and walked away around the couch.

You put your legs down in front of you and rubbed your face, exhausted mentally and physically. Helplessness made you want to cry. Time wasn’t healing. Sleeping pills just made it harder to wake up, letting the nightmares ravage your psyche for longer. Not even the proximity of someone you trusted and adored was enough to let go of the past.

The light in the kitchen came on, bright enough to illuminate the studio but far enough away not to be blinding. Neal came back to the couch holding a bottle of water and offered it to you before sitting down. He looked so adorable, still sleepy and with a bit of pink in the side of his face from sleeping with his arm under his pillow. You scolded yourself for even thinking about how cute he was when you were the one who had woken him up.

You sipped at the water. It was so nice and smooth on your throat. You felt fine, now that you were awake, but the vividness of your nightmares always left you feeling parched and you always expected swallowing to hurt as if you had strep. Neal leaned into the back of the couch and put his arm up along the cushions. You capped the water, bent your knees to pull your feet back up onto the furniture, and let yourself lean into his side. Neal dropped his arm softly on your shoulders, holding you in a tender sideways hug.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again after a couple of minutes. You felt much better, much faster than you usually did, thanks to him, and if you were being fully honest, you were not ready for him to get up and go back to bed, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to stay up cuddling you at god-knows-what-time just because you were a wreck.

“I told you, it’s okay,” Neal said, his voice firm. If you apologized again, you figured he would start scolding you for it, so you let it go.

“I just – I should’ve expected this,” you said with frustration, feeling like you were confessing to knowingly bothering him. “I haven’t been able to sleep well in ages. I keep having these nightmares, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, making sure you had said all you were inclined to. Then, knowingly, he asked, “This is about the Moretti case, isn’t it?”

“I can’t let it go,” you said with a whimper. “It won’t leave me alone. Every night, it’s a little bit different, but at its core it’s always the same.”

Neal’s voice cutting through the fog of your nightmare had been a saving grace, giving you peace even in your unconscious, but now that you were awake, you realized with clarity that his voice saying your name wasn’t the only voice you could make out. In fact, you always heard the same thing, every night, no matter what else changed.

“What’s the same, Y/N?” Neal asked you, trying to help. He stroked your upper arm with his open hand. You were already shaking your head. Neal could comfort you all he liked, but he couldn’t bring back the dead. In grief and shame, you turned your head and bent your neck to bury your face in his shoulder. Neal tilted his head so his cheek was resting gently on your hair. “Tell me, darling,” he coaxed in a whisper.

You felt like someone’s hands were wrapped around your throat, strangling your reply. “Agent Flynn,” you answered dryly, barely more than mouthing his name. “In every nightmare, I hear… I hear his last words. Begging Moretti not to take the shot.”

Neal was quiet for a long time, but never pushed you away. He held you closer when you started to shake, crying against him as quietly as you could manage. The artist rubbed your arm and periodically kissed your head, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to erase the horror of what you had heard or take away the guilt that you had survived because Moretti was distracted by taking out the other agent.

Moretti was part of a family gang, often in conflict with the Barellis, who, interestingly, paid a little deference to the white-collar division ever since you and Peter had recovered a stolen Book of Hours. The Morettis had no such connection or gratitude, so their response to the FBI sticking their nose into an embezzling scam was violent and bloody. Moretti shot you in the leg and intended to finish you off, but one of his own men had reported you came with someone. He left you to bleed out, and only a few rooms over, you had heard Flynn’s pleas – and the subsequent gunshot. Your team, wising up to the dead signal, arrived for a takedown before Moretti could make his way back to you, but it was too late for your teammate.

Neal shifted after what felt like forever, only to pull you closer to his chest and wrap both arms around you. You trembled in his embrace, but that just made him hold you closer, like you were delicate and breakable. When he next talked, his low voice was quivering, just like your body.

“I thought we lost you,” he said, cupping the back of your head in a gentle hand. He massaged his fingers into your scalp, even as he kept you cuddled in his lap. “I thought I lost you, Y/N. Two gunshots. I thought…” He struggled to find his words and you hiccuped, trying to stop crying. “I was the one who found you, and I was so scared I was too late.”

You sniffled and uncrossed your arms to melt against his chest and hug him tightly around his waist instead. “I didn’t know you…”

“We found him first, but you weren’t there and I needed to find you.” Neal now sounded equal parts frightened and furious. “If he had taken you away, I would’ve…” He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, as desperate to be close to you as you felt to be close to him. “I would’ve shattered. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I just can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t die,” you blurted, almost in a sob. You felt so safe with him, but now you knew for a fact that your own safety wasn’t what had been tormenting you. It was a nearly debilitating case of survivor’s guilt. “I just wish I hadn’t been the only one who survived.”

“No one wants that,” Neal promised you, untangling his hand from your hair and stroking it down instead. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this and take it away, but all I can do is be here and hold you and tell you it’s going to be alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

You sniffed. Neal’s words were more of a comfort than you had thought they would be. They changed nothing about the situation, but… you weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone since you met him. You just agonized that Flynn had been. “Neal, I can’t lose you, either. I love you, you’re… you’re who I’m going to heal for.” You had to find a way.

Neal seized your lips with his in a searing kiss. It wasn’t as sexy or patient as you may have imagined, but you gripped his shirt and gave as good as you got, and wow, the man gave verygood. It was a desperate kiss, needing to bring you together and reaffirm your life. To you, it was the seal of a promise that you wouldn’t let the past crush your spirit. When you could sleep through the night and had a handle on your post-traumatic stress… if he would just be patient, you would be his the way you wanted him to be yours.

He released you to breathe, eyes opening wide as if he only just realized what he had done. Before he could pull away, you pressed your forehead to his again, urging him to stay close. Your breaths mingled between you and you were sure you could feel his heart beating through his chest.

“I love you, too,” he said once he had caught his breath.

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 3 years

Text

The Reunion - Part 2

Summary: We meet up with our crew after they have left Barab and after Friday’s episode of the Bad Batch getting their chips removed. Hunter x Reader. Echo x Reader.

A/N: Italics - Past conversations

The quotes Crosshair says during his nightmares are directly from the Bad Batch episodes. All rights for those quotes, belong directly to the geniuses working on the Bad Batch TV show at Disney.

Warnings: Slight mention of a beating, nothing described. Medical procedures.

If I miss a warning, just let me know.

Words: 4,608

AO3 Link

Drop some love, a comment or a reblog, it’s all appreciated. If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Previous -> Masterlist -> Next

“We don’t usually work with regs”

“Grow up, Wrecker”

“If your plans are so good, why did Commander Cody have to call us in?”

“An order is an order”

“Since when?”

“Good soldiers follow orders”

“He had us disobeying orders”

“I never thought you disobeying orders was a problem”

“Disobeying orders again over a kid?”

“You’re becoming a liability”

“You disobeyed orders”

“I did what I thought was right”

“You should have killed that Jedi, you disobeyed orders.”

“You never could see the bigger picture. Now surrender.”

“Best stand down sergeant, make it easier on yourself.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Your move”

“Bad play, Hunter”

“You want to know why they put me in charge? It’s because I’m willing to do what needs to be done.”

“What seems to be the problem with CT-9904?” Lama Su asked Nala Se

The two Kaminoans looked on behind the one way mirror, “medic, what seems to be the problem with CT-9904?” asked Nala Se.

I looked towards the mirrored glass, “he’s having a nightmare”, I glanced from the mirror to Crosshair that laid on the med bed before me. The Kaminoans wanted his inhibitor chip to be constantly activated and operating at peak efficiency; if they lost him, they would lose the backing of Admiral Tarkin, something they couldn’t have.

How I wished Hunter was here? How I wished I got to the ship in time? I wished for a lot of things, mostly I wished that Crosshair’s chip hadn’t been activated, and that as the medic for Clone Force 99, I wasn’t the one in charge of keeping his chip activated. Every time he laid down on that med bed, a little bit of me died. I had to do this to my friend, my family, Hunter’s brother. I tried at first to say that the chip was damaged, it wouldn’t activate, but they quickly dealt with my deception, in the form of a beating from two of the Clones who had taken me under their wing. The beating from the two had knocked me out, when I came to Bad Batch was gone, Omega, my little helper, was gone, and Crosshair had tried to kill his own brothers.

What’s worse is that Crosshair looked for every opportunity to wound me with his words, he wasn’t my Crosshair, he wasn’t the man I had grown to know and love as a brother.

‘Must be miserable to know you fell in love with a traitor.’

‘How does it feel knowing they left you?’

‘Only the Empire can provide what you need’

‘Join them and die’

“He seems to be having a particularly disturbing dream, he keeps thrashing” that voice, oh I hated that voice, it was responsible for the so called War Mantle project, Vice Admiral Rampart. How I wish he could be the one on this bed before me, so I could make him suffer, the way he’s making Crosshair suffer.

“Indeed” oh there’s that other voice, Admiral Tarkin. I loathed both men, and would be happy to see both die a very slow painful death.

“I do not believe we should continue for much longer, the procedure could cause irreparable damage”, I suggested. I’m sorry Crosshair, I hope you can hear me. I’m so sorry.

“Very well” Admiral Tarkin’s voice filled the room, I could almost feel his breath on my skin. It was revolting.

“End the procedure, medic Kambe”

“Yes, Prime Minister”

I turned off the machine and watched as Crosshair's tortured face relaxed. I moved beside him, and disconnected him from the machine, he was still unconscious, at this moment and I could pretend he was still my family, he was still the same Crosshair. The one who taught me to shoot a target five klicks out. The one who would tease Hunter and me, when we would go out on a date. The one who said he always wanted a sister, and was happy I was his. I discreetly held his hand, rubbing circles with my thumb on the back of his hand. I’m sorry Crosshair. I’m so sorry Cross.

- - - - - - - -

“That medic seems very attached to CT-9904” Admiral Tarkin noticed

“Yes, she was the medic for Clone Force 99. She got to know them very well and went on several missions with them.”

“Interesting. She may prove useful.”

“How do you mean Admiral?” Asked Vice Admiral Rampart

“She may know something the clone doesn’t, or she could be used as bait, to bring in the others”

“Admiral, I must protest” Nala Se interjected, “she, unlike the clones, is not Empire property, she is hired by the Kaminoan facility, and works directly for us.”

“And yet, she gets paid via the Empire, does she not? Or do you pay her directly, Prime Minister?”

“Uh … I would have to check our records, Admiral Tarkin”

“Don’t bother, I have checked already. She gets paid by the Empire. She used to receive funds from the Republic, and has subsequently received funds from the Empire, therefore she is a servant and employed by the Empire. As such, we have the right to do as we wish with our workers.”

“Admiral, I would be more than happy to take over … keeping an eye on the medic” offered Vice Admiral Rampart.

“That is not necessary, it seems we have the best thing to keep an eye on her already” he motioned towards the unconscious clone.

- - - - - - - - -

Although, I couldn’t hear what was being said behind the glass, I could sense eyes on me. I grabbed a data pad and pretended to check Crosshair's vitals. If they were going to stay there watching me, then they wouldn’t get anything except a medic doing her job. There had to be a way to get the chip out of his head, someway to go under the radar. If Cross was back to normal then he and I would be able to get off of Kamino and find the boys.

I heard the door slide open behind me, “Medic Kambe”, I turned to face Nala Se, she was the only Kaminoan that I could somewhat tolerate, although in the end she was the biggest problem of all, as the Chief Medical Scientist, if it wasn’t for her, so many soldiers wouldn’t have been killed and treated less than they deserved.

“Yes, Nala Se?”

“You can move clone CT-9904 to the recovery room”

“Yes, Nala Se”

She stepped closer to me, it was odd and threw me off. She disliked me more than anyone else, simply for making the clones feel like people and not property, it was one of the reasons I was assigned to an actual team, rather than the Kaminoan facility in general. “You need to be careful,” she said in a lowered voice.

I kept busy preparing Cross for transport, “what do you mean?” I asked in a similar whisper, “they’re watching you, they want to use you to bring back Clone Force 99 and Omega. We can’t have her land in the hands of the Empire.”

“I understand”

“Please be quick about transporting the clone, Admiral Tarkin wishes to see what effect the new enhancement has on CT-9904” she said in a louder voice.

“He has a name”

“He is a clone. Clone CT-9904.”

“His name is Crosshair!”

“Medic Kambe! One more outburst and I’ll have you restricted to your quarters and brought up on charges of treason. Do you understand?”

“Yes”

“Good” without further word she stepped out of the room, maker I hated her. I really did.

I looked at Cross one more time, he had a slight scarring from where the machine had performed it’s procedure. My only hope would be to perform surgery at night, or maybe if I was able to go on a mission with Cross again, distract him, get him isolated, and perform the surgery. We both needed to get out of here, and soon.

- - - - - - -

“I don’t know if the plan will work” Fives offered

“Oh I’m sorry, do you have something better, vod?”

“Listen Phoenix Ghost, we are not judging you, it just seems risky” offered Hunter

“Well, what do you want to do?” I asked, Rex had just left after we were able to get the chips out of the remaining Bad Batch, the idea was to take the med pod with us, or at the very least take it and hide it on a planet that we could bring Crosshair to.

“Why can’t we just use the method you did before, with the other clones?”

“That would require us going to a safe clone planet, the nearest one has over 500 of your brothers, inhabiting it. I would gladly take you there, if the Empire thought you were dead. However, as of right now, the risk is too great that someone would follow you, or someone spot your ship and decide to report you to the Empire simply for credits. I’m sorry but I’m not putting your brothers at risk. Either we find a way to bring Crosshair here, or find a way to bring the med pod to Crosshair.”

“Cyar’ika, it’s okay. We trust you”

“Really, cause if you trusted me, you wouldn’t be questioning the plan right now”

“It’s just dangerous” Tech tried to reassure me.

I couldn’t help the glare that had appeared on my face, “seriously Tech? That’s your pathetic platitude, that it’s just dangerous. Everything we’ve ever done, from the moment we either joined or were sold to the GAR has been a life filled with danger. I personally have a scar on almost every quadrant of my body from one injury or another.”

They all looked to Echo, who simply nodded. Oh that was it, “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT HIM? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK I WOULD LIE ABOUT THAT?!!!”

“No, of course not” Hunter tried to calm me down, but the anger within was growing from their… I guess lack of trust.

“Cyar’ika”

“Don’t Echo! Don’t Cyar’ika me!”

Echo let out a frustrated breath, being back with Echo was amazing, it’s like we hadn’t missed a beat, all those years being apart had evaporated within a matter of minutes.

“Fine, ner riduur”

Ugh! Why did he have to tug that cord? All the anger I had a second ago washed away at remembering that we had indeed gotten married, I dropped my shoulders and my head to my chest. As soon as we were off Barab, we had found a place to lay low for a few weeks. Echo didn’t want to waste anymore time and proposed, I didn’t want to waste any time either and said yes. We both had wasted too many years apart, to waste another second not being with each other, was downright idiotic.

Fives had been his best man, Omega was my flower girl, Hunter walked me down the aisle, Tech officiated and Wrecker stood in as my man of honour. Rex had come to wish us well, after the ceremony, he pulled me aside and gave me a big bear hug, “I’m happy for you ad’ika. I wish you nothing but happiness.”

The words were there, but the warmth in the eyes weren’t, “I’m sorry Rex. I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

He didn’t let me finish, “nothin’ to be sorry about, little one. You followed your heart to the man you love. It’s the heart I fell in love with, so how can I be upset about that” his warmth finally reached his eyes, we hugged one more time, “thank you, Rex. I love you, vod”

“Love you too, vod’ika”

“Alright, let’s come up with another plan than” I offered calmer, I looked over at Echo, and smirked.

“How do you do that?” Whispered Wrecker

“It’s my gift” Echo chuckled, I simply shook my head, “what if we make a medical droid?” Asked Omega

“It is possible” Tech advised

“We are at the scrap yard so we could find the parts we need, it won’t be pretty, but it’ll get the job done” I added, Tech and I sat down to work out a plan and design for the medical droid.

“While we are doing this, maybe the five of you could try to find an actual droid, maybe if there is an actual medical droid, we won’t have to make one” suggested Tech.

“Fine, we know when we’re not wanted,” Fives teased.

“Hey Omega”, I called, she turned towards me, “good suggestion” I winked at her. She ran over and hugged me, “thanks mo…I mean, thank you Phoenix Ghost”, I returned the hug and looked at Hunter, he had a smirk on his face, “hun, I think your dad’s waiting for you”. Hunter shot me a look, I couldn’t help but smile back, at the end of the day we were all co-parenting, so what was one or two more parents, uncles, or aunts. Whatever way she looked at us, we were family.

- - - - - - - - -

“How does it feel, vod?” Fives asked Echo

“How does what, feel?”

“Being married to the love of your life?” He elbowed Echo

Echo couldn’t help the blush that appeared on his face, “like I’m living a dream that I never want to wake up from”.

“Awww, that’s so sweet” shouted Wrecker

“Alright you guys focus, Omega and I will go done here" Hunter motioned to the corridor to his left, "Wrecker, go with Fives and Echo” as Hunter motioned to the corridor on his right.

“Copy that” Fives answered.

Hunter and Omega headed down what looked like a medical hallway, there were all kinds of beds, against the wall, “Hunter?”

“Yes, Omega”

“Are you married?”

“What?”

“Like Phoenix and Echo?”

Hunter didn’t answer for a minute, Omega could see something was bothering him, “I”m sorry, should I not have asked?”

“It’s okay, kid. No, I’m not married.”

“But there was someone?”

“Yes”

“Medic Kambe?”

Hunter stopped and looked at Omega, “how do you know that?”

“I trained under her as a medical assistant, she always used to mention Clone Force 99”

“That’s how you learned all about us”

Omega nodded, “she treated me like I was …”

“Like you were a person”

Omega nodded, “that’s how she treated us too.” Hunter continued examining the rooms, and realized more than likely his love had seen what was happening to Omega and how she was treated. He could see his tiny love stepping up to protect Omega. Knowing her, she probably even had to fight to be Omega’s trainer.

“Do you think we’ll see her again?”

“I don’t know, kid. I hope so, I really do.”

“Why didn’t she come with us?”

Hunter let out a sigh, “I don’t know, but something must have happened, otherwise she would have been waiting for us in the hangar.”

“I hope if we do find her, you two get married”

“Really?”

“Yes, she makes you happy. You clearly make her happy. She always had a smile on her face when she spoke of you, she kept her biggest smile when she mentioned you specifically.”

Hunter smiled at that, hopefully soon enough, he’ll have his brother back, and his love in his arms.

- - - - - - -

“Any luck?”

“There’s no such thing as luck” chuckled Fives

“What are you? Obi-wan?” I asked

“Hey how do you think I got so good with the ladies? I learned from the best” he laughed.

“Fives, you were good with the ladies, because they took pity on you. Not because you had any of the charm, Obi-wan had.”

“How do you know about Obi-wan’s charms?” Asked Echo.

“Hmm… what, my love?”

“We will discuss this later”

“Whatever you say, ner cyare”

“Oh don’t try and placate me with sweet sayings”

“As fun as it is to be in the middle of what’s probably your first argument” Tech interrupted, “did you find a medical droid?”

“I did!” Shouted Wrecker

“Good. By the way", Tech directed towards Echo and I, "I would like to see how an argument between married couples proceeds, it would be interesting to learn and see first hand” inquired Tech.

“Yeah, not gonna happen” I said, “let’s get this droid adjusted. Faster we get this thing on the ship, the faster we get out of here, and the faster we can get to Crosshair.”

“I think I have an idea about how to get Crosshair out in the open,” Hunter offered.

“How?” Asked Wrecker

“I’ll tell you guys when we’re back on the ship”

- - - - - - - - - - -

“That’s a bold plan” Fives commented

“But it has the potential for working” I appeased

“How do we know we can trust her?” Tech questioned, “how do we know she didn’t wilfully not show up? Had a change of heart?”

“Come on Tech, you know her. She loves us.” Hunter looked to the ground before continuing, “she loves me, she would never … She was detained. I know it. Something prevented her from meeting us in that hangar.”

“Okay, so you want to send a message that will undoubtedly put her in danger, either on the mission, or before the mission, and definitely after the mission. Basically, you are okay painting a giant target on her back, Hunter? Cause that’s what you’re doing by sending that message.”

“I know Phoenix, but it’s the only thing I can think of to do.”

“Then I’ll help to try and limit the damage. First things first, we are going to need to split up, find a planet to draw their attention to, hopefully one that’s uninhabitable.”

“With lots of ground coverage” offered Wrecker

“No high ground” suggested Tech

“With lots of animals” said Fives, we all turned to look at him, “what? If he can get distracted that gives us an advantage, I’m not crazy”, we all nodded along. “He does have a point” chimed in Echo.

“What about Felucia?” Hunter suggested

“It’s not inhabitable. I actually think I have a place.” I offered

“Where?” They all asked at once.

“I can’t say.”

“Well if you can’t say, how can we use it then?” Fives asked

“Because I have to ask permission to go there, it could put someone in danger, and that could be worse then …”

“Then having the Empire after us right now?” Wrecker inquired.

“Yes, actually. They’re very dear and special to me, I need to …sorry guys, I’m gonna have to take over the bunk for now.”

“Oh” said Echo

“Oh” I nodded.

“Oh what?” Hunter asked

“Ohhh!” Clued in Fives adding, “I thought he was dead.

“About as dead as you and I are”

“What are we talking about?” Wrecker asked Tech

“I don’t know” Tech answered shrugging his shoulders.

“Sorry guys, I can’t say more, or talk more about it. Like I said, I need the bunk, no one come in until I emerge. It could be several hours, I suggest we stay in hyperspace as much as possible.”

“What’s going on?” Omega asked as she stepped out of her room.

“Sorry guys, but we can’t talk about it” Fives answered, “just trust us, when we say she needs to do this, and you really can’t disturb her, she needs the quiet.”

- - - - - - - - -

It had been a while since I sat here meditating, trying to connect with my older teacher. I had been a force-sensitive child, and was about to take the Jedi trials, to be ordained as a Jedi Knight, but the anger within me had proved to be too volatile, with the war in effect. It was important to not let those who could be in situations where the constant fighting, the constant bloodshed and the insurmountable injustice would be present all the time. It could lead one to use the force in an unnatural way, causing one to take actions into your own hands.

I closed my eyes, and focused on the force, being one with the force was always easy for me, which was why the Council was concerned when they felt my anger.

“Little one, hmmm? Yes, hmmm”

“Hello Master Yoda”

“Why reach out through the force did you, hmm? Alright are you, hmmm?”

“I seek advice, Master, the advice is not for me, I’m alright, but it is to save two innocents.”

“To save a clone called Crosshair you wish, and medic called Kambe. Innocent, Kambe is. However, shed innocent blood, Crosshair has.”

“It’s not his fault, Master, it’s his chip. If we remove the chip, he’ll be back to his old self.”

“Possible, removing stone from a puddle is, damage the stone caused when thrown in is permanent. Back, what makes you think the Crosshair you once knew would come, hmm? Hmmmm.”

“Because it happened to one of the clones I am travelling with. His chip activated, and he tried to kill Omega, the little clone girl, once his chip was removed he went back to normal, although he remembered the incident.”

“Wrecker activated for, how long was, hmm?”

“Not long, maybe about 20 to 30 minutes.”

“Crosshair been activated, how long has, hmm?”

“Since the start of the Empire”

“Over time weeds grow over stone, in the puddle, that is. When you pull out stone, pull out weeds too. The damage caused, irreversible, could be. Prepared to face that consequence are you, hmm? Hmmm?”

“At least he would be free.”

“Of clone life free from, hmm? No. Free from the Empire, hmm? No. His other self free from, hmm? Possibly. Plague his mind constantly, the nightmares of what he has done will. Carry, can you soothe the pain his soul will, hmm? If this chip you free him from, have to help carry his burden, you will. Ready for that are you, hmm?”

“Yes”

“Then I offer, what advice can hmm? Yes, hmmm”

“We need a planet that is shrouded in darkness, with no major high ground, lots of foliage and animals”

“You use Dagobah to draw him out want to, hmm?”

“With your permission, Master, yes. But if you feel it is too big of a threat, maybe you can recommend another planet, one that can wreak havoc on a sniper.”

“My permission, you have. I will give you coordinates that will put any in danger not, and your purposes that will serve.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Your anger and your fear I no longer sense. Changed, what has, young one, hmm?”

“Ever since my ‘death’, I no longer lived for myself but for others. With the help of others and my skills we were able to save 2500 soldiers. Brave men, each one.”

“That is all not. Herh herh herh”.

“No, Master. Ha, never could hide anything from you. I married the love of my life, Echo”

“Happy for you little one I am. Continue learning from the force. Serve you in the future, it will. To the dark side within you I no longer sense the temptation. However, to say goodbye to the man you love, be prepared, when the time comes, or to the dark side again find yourself on the path.

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”

“With you may the force be. Hmmmm”

“And with you, Master.”

- - - - - - - - -

“How long does this usually take?” Hunter asked Echo

“Once it took her - - - what was it? Fives, 12 hours?”

“I thought it was longer, closer to 15 or 16”

“It depends”

“On what?” Asked Tech

“On how easily I can connect to the force”, I answered. They all turned to see me emerge from the bunk room, “how long was I in there for?”

“About 8 hours,” Echo answered.

“Do we have a plan?”

“We do, Hunter” I smiled, not only did we have a plan, but I had the privilege to continue learning about the Force, who knows what will happen in the future, but as of right now I was very hopeful.

“So where are we going?” Asked Omega

“Dagobah, we’re going to Dagobah, but first I need to eat, secondly there are a few things we need to discuss and thirdly, only three or four of us should go, the others should keep Omega safe.”

“I feel like there’s going to be a whole Jedi sort feel to this story” Fives laughed

“Well not completely, but you’re not wrong either” I laughed along with him.

“Does that mean, you’re going to tell me how you know about Obi-wan’s charms?” Asked Echo

“You’re never going to leave that alone, are you?” Hunter and Tech got up and headed for the cockpit, Omega headed for her room, Fives and Wrecker headed for the bunk room, leaving Echo and I alone.

“Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Why do I need to tell you about something that is so trifling, and doesn’t matter in our current predicament?”

“Because I need to know”

“You don’t need to know, what you want to know is if I personally experienced his charms, isn’t that true?”

“I … how … that’s …” Echo rubbed the back of his neck after his failure to start his sentence, “that’s not what I want to know.”

“Then why do you keep asking that question”

“I just didn’t think that Jedis, you know”

I just looked at him, “Echo, I married you. I was learning to become a Jedi, remember?”

“Yeah, but I just didn’t think you were with anyone before me, I thought we had that in common”, that’s what he wanted to know! Man, why was he beating around the bush?

“Echo, my love” I kneeled before, cradling his face with one hand, holding his right hand with my left, “I love you. Obi-wan is just a horrible flirt. I was never interested in him. I wasn’t interested in anyone other than you. You have been and always will be the love of my life. No one can compare to you. They can’t hold a candle to your bravery, your courage, your kindness, your sweetness, the way you care for me, the way you look after your brothers, the way you look after Omega. You are the best man I have ever known. No one will ever change my opinion about that. I love you and only you, and I have never been with anyone other than you.”

Echo looked into my eyes, leaned forward and kissed me, with all the passion he could muster. “I really wish we had our own room, and our own ship, right now.”

I laughed out loud, “well let’s get to a safe haven where we can pick up another ship, and you and I take an hour for ourselves.”

“I think maybe four hours is needed”

“Ha, if only we had that kind of time my love, an hour and a half?”

“Two”

“Done, but then we have to get this plan under way as soon as we land.”

“I know”, I pressed my forehead against his, soaking in his scent; Master Yoda was right, I would have to prepare myself for the eventuality of losing him for real, one day. When I had thought I had lost him the first time, it nearly destroyed me, and it was because I wasn’t able to have a future with him. Wasn’t able to live freely with him. Now, I could. If I were to lose him tomorrow, I can be comforted in knowing that I had married, and had been able to love him without reservation. I would have no regrets with how I loved him.

“I love you, Echo”

“I love you, Phoenix”

TAG LIST:

@lady-ren

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kopikokun · 4 years

Text

Tell Me What You Want Me to Do to You༄ mark l.

↳ On an awfully planned trip with your best friend Mark, the place you end up spending the night in is not what you had in mind. Oh well, at least Mark’s there to keep you company. And apparently, he’s a pretty great kisser too.

pairing: bestfriend!mark x f!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, friends to lovers, college!au

wordcount: 1.8k words

author’s note: i’m so sorry that i can’t add the ‘keep reading’ thing. i’ve tried, but every time i do it, the whole post gets wonky and i can’t edit it on mobile anymore. i’ve even tried desktop tumblr but the same thing happens :(

Request 32: Mark + “I need a hug.” (42) + “Stop being so cute.” (67) + “Put me down!” (153) + “There’s only one bed...” (154) [F2L + Suggestive]

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

In hindsight, a trip with your best friend sounded like a more than sound idea. The two of you had combined what limited knowledge you had about general adulting, scrounged up most that you could considering your financial situations as two college kids, and, in essence, had made things worked.

Or at the very least, you think, eyes scanning the room, taking in the general gist of the next addition to your mountain of already existing issues, made things happen.

And to answer a question; yes, there is a significant difference between work and happen.

Mark sighs wearily. It’s most likely due to the ridiculously lengthy car ride the two of you had been subjected to just to get here (and the back-and-forth bickering over whose bright idea it was to decide to go on holiday when the travelling industry is at its peak—it had been Mark’s, by the way, something about promotions and discount prices) and the even more absurd hike—or as the cheery staff liked to call it—expedition to your room.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to take a trip to the middle of nowhere, Mark.”

“Excuse me, this is not ‘the middle of nowhere’. According to the website, this is a ‘refined establishment which offers a fresh look into life alongside Mother Nature’,” defends Mark, letting the duffel bag stuffed with clothing he has slung over his shoulder slip to the ground with not an ounce of care.

“Well, that’s marketing for you.” You roll your eyes. “Just admit, you screwed up.”

Mark scoffs, unwilling to admit his defeat. “Not my fault that you’re a city girl.”

“This has nothing to do with me being a ‘city girl’. And you say that like you’re not a city boy.” Mark is tempted to say something petty in response but bites back his words. “And we have a bigger problem at hand right now, Mark.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a big problem…”

“Dude,” you deadpan. “It’s a big problem. There’s only one bed.”

Mark clicks his tongue. “We can come up with something… I, uh, I could sleep on the floor?”

“In this weather? You’ll be dead of hypothermia by morning. So, no.”

“Christ, alright then I guess we’ll just have to sleep on the same bed,” says Mark casually, falling onto the linen sheets. The bed creaks under his weight.

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Together? On the same bed?”

“Yeah, why not? We’ve done it before when we were kids.” Mark stares blankly up at the ceiling. “What’s so different about back then to now?”

You laugh wryly. “What’s different? We did it when we were kids, Mark. Kids.” Your face warms as you give Mark a once-over, taking it how much he’s grown into his good looks over the years. “I can list off plenty of things that have changed since we were literal children.”

Mark flips onto his side to face you head-on, an elbow propping him up. “Why? What’s wrong? You got a crush on me now?”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks pool with even more blistering heat. “Ugh, as if.”

“Damn, alright then, Cher Horowitz,” jeers Mark.

You stick your tongue out at Mark. “Whatever. Pass me a pillow. I’ll take the floor.”

Mark jolts upright like a meerkat on the lookout. “What? No, you take the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“No, I’m good. You can have the bed to yourself. I don’t mind, honestly.” You jerk your thumb towards yourself, pushing your chest out proudly. “This ‘city girl’ can handle a little bit of cold.”

There’s the muffled rustling of sheets and the padding of feet against the floor before a pair of arms coil themselves around your waist from behind you, which by the way, doesn’t help your cheeks which only grow hotter by the second. You turn to face Mark who stares at you with nothing but genuine concern.

“No way. This ‘city girl�� is taking the bed.” His arms curl tighter around you, pulling you even closer to him. “Come on. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, Mark it’s—”

Your refusal is cut short when you feel your body grow weightless as your feet are lifted off of the ground.

“Oh my God! Holy shit, Mark.” Like a hapless ragdoll, you’re almost effortlessly thrown over Mark’s shoulder. You’d be impressed by how surprisingly strong he is given his skinny-looking exterior, but you find that this isn’t quite the right time to be complimenting his physical abilities just yet. Mark grunts when you writhe in his hold. “Put me down!”

“With pleasure.”

You yelp, startled when Mark nonchalantly drops you onto the bed, following suit not too long after, his face inches from yours. His arms cage in your face and you feel your head grow dizzy, intoxicated by his scent. Your heart lurches when the bed groans with all the brute force being heaved onto it.

Mark grins cheekily at you, an airy laugh leaving his lips. “Jesus, you should’ve seen your face! It was priceless.”

You stare up at him, subconsciously drinking in his beautiful features; from the hairs of his eyebrows to the flutter of his eyelashes to the rosy apples of his cheeks and right down to the dip of his cupid’s bow, you gawk at him in silence for a moment or two. You realise that it’s actually been a moment or two too long since you’ve said something by the way Mark’s smile falters and his eyes begin to roam your face with just as much intrigue.

You clear your throat, averting his keen gaze. “Yeah, alright. Haha, very funny, Mark.”

For once, Mark doesn’t have any witty comeback for you in response. In fact, the room is drop dead silent save for the mechanical whirring of the ceiling fan. Mark’s adam’s apple bobs up and down in apprehension as his eyes scan your face once more. You can’t look away from him. Your eyes are glued to his as your heart hammers in your chest, its vibrations ringing in your ears.

He makes a move to get off of you but freezes when he feels your hand wrap around his bicep, urging for him to stay as he is. Mark watches you with interest, waiting for something more, but all you can do is continue gaping at him. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, blinking up at him. You wait with baited breath as Mark licks his lips.

“What?” he whispers. “What is it you want from me?”

You inhale sharply.

Mark’s voice drops several octaves, turning almost gravelly, which is so out of character for him you nearly blanch. “Come on, I want to know. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You mumble your words incoherently, your mind too clouded over to formulate an actual sentence.

“Speak up, pretty girl. I can’t hear you.” Mark leans into your ear, his hot breath making your hairs stand on end.

“Want you to kiss me, Mark.”

“God, you’re so cute. Stop being so cute. Say it again.”

You huff, growing impatient. “Please, Mark. Just kiss me already.”

“Holy shit.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “That's really hot.”

Mark kisses you tenderly. His lips press softly against yours, testing the waters and gauging your reaction. He tastes of the spearmint gum you gave him on the ride here and he smells like the fabric softener you always use when you go over to his place.

His hand cups your cheek, and at your hum of appreciation, he finally decides to kiss you with a little more fervour.

You’re not sure how, but you soon find yourself in Mark’s lap as he rests his back against the headboard. You chase after his lips when he pulls away and he giggles, the sound so bizarre considering the atmosphere. You don’t stay displeased for too long though, as Mark begins kissing down your jaw, which tickles, if you're being frank.

Mark’s grip on you turns bruising when you scratch at his nape, savouring the way his breath hitches. As things progress, you can’t help but wonder how this exactly happened. Sure, you’ve had those moments where the idea of being more than friends with Mark excited you, but it’s not like you dwelled on the thought often. All throughout your friendship, you’d never had any moments like this, but you’re surprised you two hadn’t done this sooner, because God, this feels amazing. Thinking back on it, there have been moments where you’d caught Mark staring a little too intensely at you and vice-versa, but you brushed it off as a common occurrence, being friends with a guy. But, you suppose, given the fact that you and Mark are making out right now, probably means that those stares meant a little more than you had first surmised.

You pull away when Mark grips the back of your neck. He pauses, his gaze finding yours.

He swallows dryly. “You okay?"

You exhale shakily, a whirlwind of thoughts consuming you. “Wait- I- Can we,” you take a breath, “can we stop?”

Immediately, Mark’s expression melts into one of distress. “Yeah, of course we can.”

“Thanks.” You nod timidly, climbing off his lap and sinking into the spot beside him. You chew on the flesh of your inner cheek, guilt washing over you. “I- I’m sorry.”

Mark’s head swivels to face you. “What? No, don’t be sorry. It’s fine.” He fiddles with his fingers. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“What? No, no, you didn’t.” You laugh reassuringly. “I just- I don’t know- I just—”

“No, it’s okay. If you want to stop, I'll stop. No explanation required.” Mark smiles at you. “But… we’re still cool, right?”

“Of course we are, dude.”

Mark snickers. “Wow, I can’t believe you just called me dude after we made out. You’re really something else, huh?”

“Hey! You should take that as a compliment.” You shove him playfully. “I don’t call just anyone dude.”

“Well then, it’s an honour. Dude.”

Your conversation dwindles into silence. You feel anxiety begin to make its way up your spine as it latches onto you, sinking its gnarly teeth into your back. What now? Can you two really go back to being just friends if that’s what you ultimately decided? The faint spinning of the fan is the only thing that nulls your worries. Cautiously, you reach for Mark’s hand beside you and thankfully, he reciprocates the gesture. You sigh happily, finding solace in the warmth radiating from his fingertips.

“Can I—no I mean—can we cuddle?” You await a response from Mark, only to be greeted by nothing. “Uh, I’m sorry. That was dumb of me. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

You attempt to pry your fingers from Mark’s but he refuses to let you slip away. Instead, he brings your hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your palm. “Hey, no. Let’s cuddle. I’m down for that. I need a hug, anyway.”

It’s astounding how easy it is to get into a spooning position with Mark. And as corny as it sounds, you feel like you fit perfectly in his arms, snug against his chest. You allow yourself to relax in his embrace until you feel something digging into your thigh.

“Is that—”

“Yeah, sorry,” says Mark sheepishly. He shifts in his position, but to no avail. He just hisses in discomfort. You smother a giggle. “I’m still, uh, a little… excited?”

“My bad.”

Mark pokes your waist, fishing that repressed giggle out of you. “Dumbass.”

And as you lay there with Mark, your laughter fading as the moon rises, you can’t deny the sparks of attraction that have ignited. You’re not quite sure exactly how you feel, but you think, whatever the outcome, the two of you will be alright.

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class1akids · 3 years

Note

I do agree with what lily from twt has commented on how HK writes Bakugou (which is similiar to the recent click bait writing style) where with Bakugou there is a lot of bait and switch using ambiguity and misdirection for "surprises" and is a reason for long periods of hiding the inner thoughts of a main character (although a similiar closed offness is affecting Deku's writing) and if used too much (which it is) ends up under writing the characters and is not as satisfying as being more upfront

I haven’t read the twitter thread, so this is not a reply to that.

Personally, I don’t really have a problem with how HK writes Bakugou - I think in the manga it’s pretty consistent (apart from some gag scenes) and I like how we as audience have to try to figure it out together with the POV-character (most often Deku), what’s going on inside him. The art is really good and lets you glimpse under the surface from his facial expressions

or posture:

And as the story progresses, it gets much easier to read him - because as the character reveals his depths - we readers, together with pretty much every character in the story - learn his tsundere ways, see through his bark and know that there is no bite there.

So like yeah, 284 and 285 were right in your face of his change, but it was obvious already in 275 no matter how much Bakugou has been trying to mask it (at least I personally never had a single doubt that he’s there for Deku). Even when he’s lying to himself, he does it in a way that the readers can understand it. If you go even further back, his atonement is very much foreshadowed in 249 and 252.

You need to read between the lines, but to me that’s a big part of the fun.

My only complaints with HK’s writing of Bakugou is: (1) that he sometimes has to sit out very long stretches (2) he doesn’t get enough interactions with characters other than Deku, that could unfold better how the non-guilt-driven parts of his personality are changing and (3) I think that some of the gag scenes are way over the top.

To me, the problem is the anime that drops crucial moments or pads out ambiguous reactions in the wrong direction. It disrupts the careful balance of the manga when it comes to what Bakugou feels and how he behaves and pushes his anger for comedy purposes too far, so that’s why his growth moments then feel “out of the blue”

#c1a asks #bakugou katsuki #manga vs anime #manga!bakugou #anime!bakugou #there is a big gulf between his manga and anime depiction #but i think his writing in the manga is excellent

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pkg4mumtown · 3 years

Text

Signs of Attachment - Ch. 2

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Chapter 1

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

Taglist: @trash-dino-5000

A/N: Thank you to everyone who’s read and been super kind so far!!

Just a reminder:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 2 - Challenge Each Other

Over the next few days, I mysteriously started seeing Obi-Wan more and more. Thankfully, not because he was continually being injured, but on my route to the Halls of Healing in the morning. I’d never come across him on my journey before, surely I would have remembered his face among the other Jedi I normally see on my route.

I had first noticed him a couple days after his healing, his bright auburn hair standing out in a crowd. I paid him no mind, though, thinking he just happened to be passing through to a different part of the temple. It wasn’t until I saw a hand flapping up and down and a distant call of my name that I realized Obi-Wan was much closer to me now. It was easy to lose his signature, which I was not entirely familiar with despite having my own force so intertwined with him during the healing, amongst the crowd of Jedi. His face brightened as I finally laid eyes on him, his stride slowing considerably so as not to pass too quickly. Before I could wonder why he was so intent on staying in front of me, he surprised me.

Good morning, Obi-Wan signed slightly clumsily but the sign was right nonetheless.

An echo of his voice saying, “Good Morning, Y/N,” floated through the sea of chatting Jedi, noisy boots, and giggling Padawans. His smile at my shocked face barely registered before he was picking up his stride again and disappearing into the crowd.

This continued every morning that he was at the temple, allowing me time to discern his signature and become familiar with it. I could feel when the crowd was missing just that bit of extra brightness and serenity. After the first time, my shock wore away and I had the brain capacity to respond.

Good morning, he signed rather smugly.

Good morning, how are you? I signed back, delighting when he had no idea how to respond. It was only a few more signs but to a beginner, it was a lot. You need to keep studying, I smirked and left him there in the walkway.

Obi-Wan did just that, signing something different every day and impressing me to no end. Was the Council slacking on his missions? This man had far too much time on his hands to be learning a whole new language on top of the ones he already knew. Clearly, his Padawan was picking up a few signs as well, because when I would see both of them together, Anakin always signed a quick greeting accompanied by a knowing smile.

Months passed and I almost envied how well Obi-Wan was taking to BSL because he was just so good at everything. He would stop by when he was at the temple to brush up on his conversational skills with me or ask for pointers or help. I tried not to speak when I was helping him so he wouldn’t rely on speech to translate what I had signed. His nose would scrunch when I laughed at him for a messed-up sign, but I always helped him after or demonstrated. He was a perfectionist to say the least.

I packed away my data pad, making sure the rest of the examination room was in order before leaving the Halls of Healing for the day. I felt Ob-Wan’s force signature moving quickly in my direction, only for him to be right outside the door as I was ready to walk out.

“Obi-Wan,” I nodded at him, stepping out and round him, What can I do for you?

“Sparring? I wanted to show my Padawan that the rumors of you were true,” Obi-Wan smirked, falling into speaking and signing, which he had picked up from me when he saw me having a conversation with Master Plo.

“Like a glorified party trick, Master Kenobi? I’m offended,” I knocked my shoulder against his as we had started walking and I could no longer see his signs.

“Don’t pretend like you won’t enjoy it,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He had caught me training with my ears covered and a training mask on one morning with droids, with me seemingly unaware of the crowd I had amassed but he knew I could feel all the signatures around me gathering to watch.

“I wasn’t going to deny that part, Obi-Wan, but who will I be fighting?”

“Me,” he revealed arrogantly and strode ahead of me.

When we reached the salle that Anakin was in, I deposited my belongings and strode over to the stored equipment.

“Training sabers?” I asked Obi-Wan over my shoulder.

“It would ease my mind considerably,” he spoke and signed in case I couldn’t quite hear him.

“Scaredy loth-cat,” I called back.

Rude, he replied.

“My old Master uses the same form as you, Anakin, so naturally I learned it, too. I’ll use it here so you can see how you, too, can blindly defeat Master Kenobi,” I smirked, placing ear plugs in before Anakin could respond.

Arrogance already? Obi-Wan shook his head.

Pulled the training helmet over my head, not closing the visor yet, so I could still see.

It’s called confidence. See you soon, I smirked and slapped the visor down over my eyes.

With my vision cut off, I took a deep, calming breath and felt out with the force. I suppose it could be compared to Obi-Wan's battle meditation that I’d heard spoken about recently, but with a lack of certain senses. I had started training this way as a Padawan, when Master Plo discovered how much my disorder confused me as I fought. It started with ear plugs and graduated to both ear plugs and a training helmet by the time I was an adult. I could see Obi-Wan through the force, not quite exactly how he looks with my eyes, but his overall shape and signature flaring out from him, with his training saber as an extension of that. That, along with the force guiding me, allowed me to fight as if nothing was wrong and, in some cases, better than if I wasn’t blinded because of all of the visual distractions.

I ignited my own training saber and dropped into the starting stance for Form V, while he automatically dropped into Form III. With a nod from me, we started circling one another. I attacked first, wanting to get a feel for his form. While I had studied about it, I had never fought anyone who used it. He blocked every hit with ease, as was expected, and I knew I had to be careful because he could block all day with this form.

Obi-Wan would have to attack at some point, so I tried to bait him into it, not an easy task but it was easier than tiring myself out against his defense. Finally, when he did attack, he took a few quick steps forward so I let my saber go long enough to tug him forward with the force. He stumbled, allowing me to strike but he was able to block, recover and step back.

“Don’t go easy on me, now, Kenobi,” I taunted, or at least I hoped it sounded that way since I couldn’t hear myself.

His signature flared competitively, so I knew my words had worked. From then, he was less defensive, which worked in my favor even noticing that he slipped into his old Master's form a few times. He kept himself mobile, which wasn’t harder for me to track but I had to be aware of my footing and balance more. Obi-Wan ended up behind me, potentially thinking he had the upper hand because I was still facing the opposite way, but I felt his strike through the force before it had even been executed. I blocked my back easily and spun around, surprising him with a few more attacks. I had been so focused on overwhelming him that I didn’t notice his hand draw back before I was being force pushed away so hard that I fell backwards as I landed.

I kicked myself up back to my feet quickly when I felt his force signature charging at me. I blocked too late while steadying myself, his rush turning into a disarm so quickly that I barely dodged his next attack. I slid and jumped away to put some distance between us, my saber having flown too far away to pull it to me without him intercepting.

I dropped into a hand-to-hand stance, keeping my hands close to my body. Smugness rolled off Obi-Wan in waves as he stalked toward me. Until…

His training saber disappeared from his signature and his defense dropped. His posture straightened back to normal, his head turned to the side like he was speaking to someone, Anakin probably. I turned in the direction he faced, yes, definitely Anakin.

“Hey, I haven’t yielded yet!” I called out.

Obi-Wan’s head turned toward me in surprise, seeing me still in a fighting stance. He turned his head back toward Anakin briefly.

“Less chit chat, more fighting,” I said impatiently.

Obi-Wan dropped back into a starting stance, hesitantly this time because I was still disarmed. His saber ignited, flaring back up with his signature.

Good boy, I signed, noticing a slight waver in his stance as I did.

With me still disarmed, he was less guarded and more aggressive in attacking. I kept light on my feet, dodging where I could but there was no way I’d land anything without a proper deflection. So, I baited my time and waited until he swung at me head on. I deflected his hand to one side and forward with the force and stepped to the opposite side, bending his wrist enough to drop the saber and using my other hand to force push it away. I grappled him to the floor, easy when he was so surprised, not feeling much resistance until he was nearly on his back. I kept hold of his hand and slung a leg over his neck and another around his torso, using the force to help me yank his arm back toward me into an arm bar.

The force swirled around the both of us, using it to fight the strength of the other. I pushed my leg further against his neck, but gently so, not wanting to actually hurt him. That extra push did the trick, cutting off his air for a few seconds until I felt an incessant tapping against my leg.

I immediately released him, and moved my legs off his body, flopping on my own back to catch my breath. I ripped the training helmet off and caught my breath, not realizing how tired and sweaty I was from all the jumping and dodging until now.

My eyes fluttered open, a concerned Obi-Wan staring back at me as soon as I opened them. His chest was still heaving slightly, his cheeks red and damp. His hair was darker, soaked with sweat and plastered to his forehead. He was a sight. I stared up at him, looking dazed out of my mind but it was really all because of him.

Are you okay? He signed.

I couldn’t even pick my arms up to sign back, “Just give me a minute. I’m tired.”

A grin spread over his face, a soft shake of his head barely moving the damp hair from his forehead. Obi-Wan put a comforting hand on my forearm, before standing up on shaky legs.

He held a hand out to me to help pull me up, immediately seeing Anakin picking up the training sabers and helmet and putting them away.

Obi-Wan helped me over to some benches on the side, both of us collapsing next to each other.

That was so—awesome! Anakin signed as he came back, stumbling over how to sign “awesome”, which he failed at but I understood it anyway.

I didn’t want to take my ear plugs out yet, knowing the sound of my blood rushing through my ears would drown out everything anyway. When my adrenaline died down, I’d take them out.

Thank you, I bowed my head to Anakin. I turned my body toward Obi-Wan, How's your shoulder?

Fine, he replied, his face indicating that he wasn’t too worried about it. I watched him rotate and stretch it a bit to test. A little discomfort but not bad.

Can I? I asked, reaching my hand out until it was hovering over his shoulder.

He shook his head violently, You’re tired and drained, you’re going to hurt yourself.

I moved to sign back but he put his hand over mine.

If it hurts tomorrow, yes, he raised his eyebrows and smiled so I would stop worrying.

I nodded and turned back toward Anakin, who was staring at the both of us suspiciously with a smirk. He opened his mouth, clearly talking to Obi-Wan because of the direction of his head. I glanced at Obi-Wan, who was unusually slouched in his seat out of weariness, but was responding to Anakin. He nodded to something his Padawan said, promptly followed by an eye roll. He waved his Padawan away, the younger of which laughed brightly and took off with a group of Padawans standing off to the side. You had been so focused on beating Obi-Wan that the crowd barely registered in your head.

How was that? I smiled tiredly, barely angling my head toward him.

His head was lolled to the side to face me, his hands lazily hovering to sign, Better than I could have imagined.

You imagined me pinning you on the floor? I laughed, covering my mouth because it was a fairly wild laugh as the implication of what I signed dawned on me.

Obi-Wan was still deciphering, but I knew he had understood when he went red from the neck up to his cheeks.

Oh, stop. You know what I meant! He signed frustratedly at being embarrassed.

I nodded with mock sympathy, nodding my head gently and patting his hand.

You’re terrible, he shook his head, a smirk coming back to his lips. I’ll walk you back to your quarters.

What a gentleman, I signed as he stood and offered me his hand.

I gathered the belongings I had come with and looped my arm though his, both of us leaning on each other for support as we hobbled out of the salle.

Chapter 3

#obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan kenobi #gender neutral y/n #gender Neutral reader #gn!reader #gn!mc #hard of hearing reader

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cyra-de-leon · 2 years

Text

The Xavier Institute Announcement

December 3rd, 1997

There was a hum on Cyra’s lips as she pushed open the door to her office, large pad of sketching paper tucked up under her arm. She’d just taken down the dimensions of the new space she’d be working with, and now had some time she’d already set aside- time devoted towards creating the full concept sketch she’d then have to get approval for. This was her favorite part of setting up a new exhibit: sketching out the concept. Of course, picking out the pieces was a close second. The actual building and assembly of the space was much more labor intensive and nerve-wracking, therefore it was the only part of her position that actually felt like work.

She flips on her little radio on her way to the chair behind her desk, the static fading to what sounded like the middle of a news broadcast. Though she had wanted some background music instead, Cyra didn’t really pay the anchor’s voice any mind. The shows on her favorite station tended to switch times fairly frequently, and the mid-morning shows were never very long anyway.

The deep voice prattled on around her as she pulled out her colored pencils and began her experimentation on how she wanted the layout of this new exhibit to be; lightly humming her own tune as she drew.

‘And again, for those of you at home just joining us-’

A pencil lifted to rest between her teeth as she examined the set of lines she’d just drawn.

‘We’re here waiting with one of our reporters in front of the exclusive Xavier Institute, where we’ve been told that the elusive owner, Charles Xavier will be making some kind of announcement. Krista, tell us, what’s the atmosphere like over there?’

The humming came to a sudden stop, and Cyra’s eyes lifted to stare at the radio. Her back straightened as she refocused her attention.

‘I’ll tell you something, Mark, charged is how I’d describe the mood in front of the gates right now. We’ve been told that the gates will open at precisely ten A.M. Eastern Standard Time. So we’ve got less than a minute left before we get let in. At least, that’s the going theory right now. We’ll know more once we’re-- oh! It looks like their opening the gates-’

Cyra listened, semi-perched on the edge of her leather seat to what sounded like multiple people converging together. Listened still as the group of reporters unleashed their flood of questions. While most of the questions that she managed to pick out were harmless, there were one or two that saw her brows knit together in concern.

What type of students were attending the school?

She didn’t like the phrasing- even if it was a fair question to ask. Even if she did wait with baited breath to hear the answer.

And then he finally spoke.

Charles Xavier.

She knew instantly that it was him. He sounded exactly the same as she remembered, even though it’d been a handful of years since he’d extended that exclusive invitation. It’d been a short while after Jackie’s power had developed- right after the first of what would be many injuries. Cyra had been wracking her brain, trying to formulate some kind of plan to both train her oldest, while still being able to protect her husband and her youngest- fire didn’t care whether a non-mutant could handle it or not- when that warm, gravely voice gently eased into her mind.

An explanation and an offer was gently extended: His name was Charles, and he ran a special school for mutants of every type and every age. And he had a spot for young Jacinta to learn her power safely and in private. For a while, it seemed like he sensed all of her concerns, and he answered every question she was able to come up with. Cyra declined his offer, in the end, choosing to stick to the method of her own parents, and train her daughter herself. Though he made himself crystal clear that the offer would always be on the table- should she or Jackie change their minds.

Her lips twisted up into half a smile, the pencil in her mouth lowered to rest on the table as she listened to this familiar voice speak.

‘..until now. I have decided that there’s no need to keep our institute a secret from the world, not with the current events.’

The smile fades and again she finds herself waiting with baited breath.

He wouldn’t. Would he?

‘The Xavier Institute is not just the home for gifted young adults, it is also a safe haven and educational facility for mutants.’

If air control wasn’t her ability, the wind likely would have been knocked straight from her lungs with how hard that one, simple sentence hit her.

He’d seemed like the last real secret lately; one facet of their kind that the world didn’t know about. Like he was the last person holding out, following the rules when everyone else had been breaking them. And now here he was- breaking the rules.

The little crowed that had to have been there went wild, loud voices falling on top of each other. She lifted a hand and covered her chin and mouth as she listened, while a knot of unsure anxiety quickly formed in her stomach. Her shock wore down as he powered through the chaotic mess of questions, only to rock her once again as he followed his reveal with another and outted himself for what he was.

That too, dwindled as she continued to listen- really listen. His words resonated with her, as they had that day all those years ago. She’d never been against his mission as she understood it. But with the Brotherhood’s announcement and the riots that had followed- she was worried about how this announcement would be taken. She had to fight the urge to call Santi to start heading towards the girls’ school.

Then he did what she hadn’t realized she’d been silently hoping he would do: He denounced the Brotherhood and everything they stood for.

Tears welled and pricked at her eyes. After her parent’s passing, all she’d ever heard growing up was rhetoric like the Brotherhood’s. From her grandparents and those they associated with. No one had ever been strong or brave enough to openly refute it. To hear the words so plainly and clearly said- it ignited something within her. Something she hadn’t truly felt in a long while. Something that as of October, she’d thought she’d finally lost completely.

Hope.

Real, true hope in a chance at something better. For her daughter. For all future generations of mutants and non-mutants alike. Because- according to every history lesson she’d ever received- where one brave soul speaks out, others will follow.

Charles’ voice eventually stops, and the meshed voices of the reports replaces it, blasting out of the little radio. But Cyra’s no longer listening. She slumps back against her chair, hand still covering her mouth that’s now sporting a small smile, with a couple of stray tears falling down her cheek. She stares off into a random space of her office, letting that hope fill her mind with images of a future she thought had abandoned her. A future of tails and horns walking freely down the street.

Of wind and fire no longer splitting their lives into two, just to keep who they are a secret.

#listen #y'all know i tend to write long things #it's not my fault #don't @ me for how long this is #just be glad that i'm warning you LDSJKFLKJ #this was going to cover both announcements BUT IT'S SO FREAKING LONG AND I'M TIRED #so maybe there will be a part two #who knows #not me #solo: december 3rd

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marvelousstevetony · 3 years

Text

two a.m. (and I’m cursing your name)

I have absolutely no idea what inspired this, but I had a long car ride and had nothing better to do, so... a small stevetony fic of them fighting and making up, because why not.

~~~

Tony rubs a hand down his face and bites back a sigh as he approaches the door to the bedroom. Opening it slightly, he hesitates, hovering in the doorway as if he’s deciding whether he should enter or return back to the quiet, and safe, loneliness of the workshop.

He’s about to turn on his heels, because fleeing seems like the easiest option, but something inside him churns when his eyes catch the blanket-covered lump on the bed. It could go wrong, going in and getting in bed as if nothing had happened, but he figures he has run away from enough problems in his lifetime.

Tony could never bring himself to run away from Steve anyways, and especially not because of a stupid argument. Even if it meant lying awake all night, silently sobbing and worrying about everything they had said and can’t take back, Tony could never run away from the best thing he had.

It really had been a stupid argument. Tony had come home from a two-week business trip at one in the morning, exhausted and annoyed at just about everyone he worked with, Pepper being the exception. Then Steve had told him that he’d be leaving for a mission of unknown duration tomorrow, and somehow, they’d ended up at each other’s throats. Tony had said something about Steve taking on too many missions, and Steve had followed up by saying that Tony works too much. In the end, both of them had been at the top of their lungs, calling the other out for not prioritizing their relationship enough and saying a lot of hurtful shit.

At 2 a.m., after screaming and shouting and cursing each other’s names, Steve had finally had enough and went to bed.

Tony feels silly now, knowing that he, as a result of the overwhelming amount of frustration in his head, might’ve been the one to start the war of words. They have argued about this before, of course. And they always reconcile, well aware that none of them meant what they had said and that that’s just how their lives are.

That doesn’t mean it hurts any less, though.

He quietly undressed himself and slowly slips under the covers, careful not to wake Steve as he gets comfortable. Or, well, tries to get comfortable. Normally, he would cuddle up against Steve and not be as stiff as a pole, keeping a safe distance from Steve’s side of the bed.

Forcing himself to relax, Tony closes his eyes and waits for sleep to conquer his mind and body. However, the large lump of blankets shifts and shuffles closer to Tony, and suddenly his body goes rigid beneath the weight of Steve’s arm that drapes over his torso and his head that comes to rest against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony’s heart stops beating for a second, or maybe it’s beating so fast Tony can’t even register it. Either way, Tony’s breath catches and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to not let out a heavy sigh. He wonders for a quick second if he’s being selfish for not pushing Steve away, for letting himself have this moment of acting as if the argument hadn’t happened and he didn’t say all those cruel, untruthful things. Selfish for taking advantage of the way Steve curls up around him, clearly not aware of what he’s doing in his sleep.

And then—

“‘m sorry.”

Steve’s voice is so hushed Tony isn’t sure he actually heard anything. But then Steve’s eyes blink open and he tilts his head up at Tony, blue crystals meeting brown ones in a look of shared regret and sincerity.

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats, voice clearer now. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

Tony shakes his head at him and swallows around nothing. His throat feels dry and gravelly, as if from disuse, or maybe the slight burn comes from all the screaming and screeching earlier. Either way, Tony has to clear his throat before responding.

If he even has a response, that is. Tony knows Steve doesn’t like going to bed with an unresolved argument, but the sudden peace offering combined with the gratifying weight of Steve’s sleep-warm body pressed up against his takes Tony by surprise.

He goes through thousands of replies in his mind within the span of a few seconds, but none of them feel adequate, none of them can express what he wants to say because— well, because he’s note quite sure what exactly he wants to say.

“Oh, um, o-okay,” Tony stutters inarticulately.

Mentally slapping himself, Tony suppresses a sigh. He’s known for being a smooth talker and all, but right now, right here, he can’t even get a full sentence out without sounding like an idiot.

For God’s sake, Stark, get it together, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tony ends up saying. Even though it doesn’t convey everything he wants— everything he needs to say, it’s the best he can come up with, what with his mind running a mile a minute. It’ll have to do for now.

Steve shuffles a little closer, placing his chin on Tony’s chest and looks up a him through his long, thick eyelashes. “I hate when we fight. I’m so sorry, Tony,” Steve apologizes for the third time, which is about three times too many, Tony thinks. After all, he was the one to start the quarrel in the first place.

“No. No, don’t apologize,” Tony murmurs and shakes his head a little. Contrary to belief, Tony isn’t too proud to admit when he’s in the wrong. Not always, at least, and definitely not when Steve looks at him so tenderly, radiating a strong wave of affection that Tony doesn’t think he deserves. “This one’s on me, okay?” Tony adds and drops a kiss to Steve’s temple.

“But I shouldn’t have risen to the bait, or, y’know… you were tired and frustrated, and I just poked the fire. And I’m so—“

Tony cuts Steve off by covering his mouth with his hand. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Tony chuckles a little. His chest a little lighter, and his throat no longer felt constricted. “Like you said, I was tired and I missed you, and I… I know that’s not an excuse. God, nothing could justify what I said, but I promise I’ll make it up to you when you get home from your mission.”

“I’m not going,” Steve murmurs softly and lifts a hand to Tony’s face. He gently brushes the pad of his thumb over Tony’s bottom lip, then under his eye before letting his palm come to rest on Tony’s jaw.

“What?” Tony frowns. “But I thought—“

“I asked to be taken off the mission,” he explains, the corners of his mouth curling into a small smile. When Tony looks like he’s about to object, he continues. “I didn’t want to go in the first place… thought it might be a good time to use one of the days off work that I’ve saved up.”

Something warm starts to flood inside Tony’s chest, and if his eyes are becoming a little watery and unclear, it’s definitely because he’s tired and not because he’s become even more of an emotional wreck than when he was pacing back and forth in his lab, muttering curses under his breath and trying not to have a full-on breakdown, just an hour ago.

“I love you. So much,” Tony blurts out, because it’s the truth and it’s what Steve deserves to hear. After all those cruel things he had shouted, none of them true in the slightest, he needs to say this. “I know that’s not enough, but I really, really do, and I—“

Suddenly, Steve’s lips are catching his, sealing them in a soft, sincere kiss that makes Tony’s heart flutter.

“That’s enough for me,” Steve whispers against Tony’s lips. “I love you, Tony. That will always be enough for me.”

#my fic #stevetony #this is probably a mess but #oh well #no one asked for this #but it was fun to write #to anyone who has sent me prompts #thank you and I will get to them a some point #i hope lol #sorry for the typos #i’ll fix it later

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

With Cherries On Top

Chapter 3: The Ring & The Save

Summary/Author’s Note: I’m so fucking excited for you all to read this I am like BOUNCING. Max in all of his glory being a fucking SHIT. But we love him dearly.

You and Max start learning a little more about each other. Your current predicament calls for a drink...or seven. And the two of you land in Alaska to meet your family. @pedropascalsource for gif credit. Look at that fucking shit and that grin...it happens a lot in this chapter as he starts to schmooze your family.

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader (The Proposal AU) Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: R/18+ - drinking, alcohol, sass, so much sass, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, Max is a bastard man but he is...getting better?, also does he own casual clothes?

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [MASTERLIST]

You had taken Tylenol before you even went through security, but at this point you were pretty sure the entire bottle would not have prepared you for flying with Max Phillips. The non stop flight from JFK to Juno was almost ten hours and you had thought multiple times about stabbing your eardrums out with an ink pen. It wasn't that the flight was bad, in fact the flight itself was quite nice. First class was definitely a new experience but you could get used to it. The padded leather seats and extra leg room meant you could lean back and stretch. You propped yourself up with a pillow, and a book and was content to relax. There was just one problem, Max.

His presence was about as loud as he was and he insisted on chatting up the cute stewardesses, reading over your shoulder, and reminding you almost every fifteen minutes that this flight was boring. He at one point in time asked if you wanted to join the mile-high club and you fought the urge to snap your book shut and smack him with it.

The flight attendant walked by and asked if you needed anything and you sat up and gave her a warm smile.

"Yeah, um, I'll take a vodka cranberry, please."

Max raised an eyebrow and looked at you, "It's nine thirty in the morning."

"Oh, shoot. You're right!" You threw yourself over his lap and leaned into the isle to catch the attendant. Max grunted from the sudden weight of you and you bit back a grin. "I'm sorry, can you make it a Bloody Mary? Thank you."

You leaned back into your seat and opened the binder from immigration. Max dusted off his slacks and continued to look at you with curious disdain.

"Maybe you should eat something first?"

"It comes with celery, I think." You said without looking up. You could feel his eyes on you but refused to give him the satisfaction that it bothered you. The words on the page were suddenly the most interesting thing you had ever seen in your life and when he gave a heavy sigh, you grinned.

The attendant came back with your drink and you smiled as she set it on your fold out table tray.

"Is that the binder from I.N.S?" Max said and you nodded as you wrapped your lips around your straw and drank deep.

"Yup, and we have one week to learn all of this about each other. Which will be easy for me, because I can answer all of these questions about you--but you know nothing about me." You looked up and glared as he snatched the binder from you and started flipping through it.

"You expect me to believe you know all of this about me?"

"I do," you took another drink and turned in your seat to face him. "You never stop talking about yourself--and I've been listening to it for five years."

"Well," he said, flipping the page dramatically and looking at you with a grin. "I am my favorite subject."

"At least you can admit it."

He sat back in his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee, balancing the binder on his leg. "Alright, let's have at it then. What's my favorite color?"

"Red." You said without hesitation. "Which is ironic now, all things considered." He ignored the quip about his vampiric state and you leaned over the seat, making your drink slurp obnoxiously. "You know? Because of the blood--"

"Yes, I get the joke, dear." He moved his finger down the page. "What am I allergic to?"

"Soy, gluten," you ticked off on your fingers before waving your hand. "And a whole spectrum of human emotion."

"Are you going to be like this the whole time?" He looked at you exasperatedly and you shrugged. He sighed and shook his head. "Where did I grow up?"

"Transylvania."

"Okay. I'm done." He snapped the binder shut and you almost felt bad...almost.

"No! Okay, okay, come on, Max. I'm sorry," you put your hand on his arm and he looked down at it, making you pull back like he had burned you. "Queens. You grew up in queens. See?"

"Well, you grew up in Sitka. One down. Only two hundred and ninety-nine more questions to go."

You groaned and threw yourself over Max's lap again and held up your finger. "Excuse me, Ma'am?" You hailed the attendant. "Another Bloody Mary, please."

"Will you please, get off of me?" Max said, and you finished your drink and gave his nose a playful tweak.

You plopped back into your seat and leaned back against the headrest. "Next question."

"Do I have any scars?" He turned in his seat to mirror you.

"You have a pretty bad one on your knee. I see it every time you have your meetings with Ted. A.K.A--racquetball." Max nodded, indicating that you were correct and you continued. "So, what's it from? College sports, I'm guessing. What pretentious, frat-boy sport did you play? Soccer? Lacrosse?" You gasped and put a hand to your mouth. "Ultimate Frisbee?"

"You're very funny." He sneered and shook his head. "And I'm not telling you."

"What about me, Max? Do I have any scars?" You switched up the game. Proving that you knew everything about him wasn't going to get you very far with the government unless he could return the favor.

"No," he leaned in and lowered his voice. "But I'm pretty sure you have a tattoo."

You choked on your drink and the action made him smile. Taking a deep breath and a moment to wipe the tomato juice off of your sleeve, you glared at him. "Pretty sure?"

"Yes, when you had the nerve to be out with the flu and they stuck me with that idiotic temp, she accidentally transferred one of your calls to me. It was to confirm that you wanted to cancel your appointment with a laser removal company." He balanced his chin on his palm and continued to give you a smug grin. He was enjoying this now and it was suddenly a lot less fun.

"What are you getting at detective Phillips?"

"So, what is it?"

"No way," you took another large sip and blushed, turning away from him. "I'm not telling you."

"You know they're going to ask. I have to know. Is it a dolphin? An infinity symbol?...'live, laugh, love'?" He gave a mock gasp and put a hand to his mouth. He was imitating your earlier jest about his scar. This was still a game to him and all you had managed to do was encourage it by baiting him.

"You know, I really am glad you're having fun with this, but do remember I could go to prison. Give me that--" you snatched the binder back from him and he let you have it. "Next question. Whose place do we stay at, yours or mine?"

"That's easy," he kicked back in his chair and folded his hands on top of his chest. The action made you realize just how long he was. Between his broad shoulders and impressive calves, he barely fit in the chair. It had to be the alcohol talking. "We stay at mine," he said simply, drawing your gaze from his body.

"Why wouldn't we stay at mine?"

"Because I live at Central Park West. And you no doubt live in some squalid little studio apartment full of houseplants and a dusty, lonely, wine rack that you never use, because it's for guests you never have." He waved his hand as if imagining it and your jaw dropped.

You stayed quiet and closed the binder placing it in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him. The small bursts of moments when Max wasn't being an asshole, it was easy to forget how real this was. He was charming and you both threw it back at one another so easily that it felt like a game. But when his real nature came roaring back to life and his dig against you was just a tad too deep--well, you didn't want to play anymore.

"What are you doing? We have more."

You sucked the rest of your drink down and put it on the edge of the tray for the attendant to take.

"We should get some rest." You said flatly, pulling the thin airline blanket up over your shoulder. "Knowing my mother, she has a big dinner or something planned."

"Wonderful," he said, folding his hands across his chest as he settled back into his seat.

The two of you stayed quiet for the majority of the trip. You frequently looked over your shoulder to see if he was even still next to you, as he didn't make a sound when he breathed. It was unnerving but no doubt had something to do with him being undead. Did he even need to breathe? You had certainly seen him do it. Was it an act? Fuck all of this was going to send your family over the edge.

The last time you pulled back your silk, airline stamped eye mask, Max wasn't in his seat. His table tray was pulled down and sitting on top of it was a small black velvet box. You looked around but he was nowhere to be seen.

Your fingers traced the shape of the box gently before you picked it up and pried it open. The ring that sat inside was stunning. It was gold, with a few small diamonds in the band on each side before leading up to the main piece--a large teardrop ruby rimmed with more diamonds. You weren't sure if the red stone was meant to be a joke but regardless, it was actually very pretty.

It slid over your finger in a perfect fit and you watched it sparkle in the sunlight from the window over your shoulder. Despite your frustrations, you had to admit, Max Phillips continued to be full of surprises.

Seeing Max rattle in his cramped seat while the puddle jumper took you from Juno to Sitka brought you more joy than it should have. His broad shoulders were folded in on themselves as and he was glaring straight ahead like finding a fixed point on the wall would keep him from committing murder. You knew the flight wouldn't be long, and after the amount of Bloody Marys you had consumed on the last plane, you were too buzzed to care.

As soon as your feet stepped down off of the stairs and onto the tarmac, you saw your family, waving and jumping on the side of the airstrip with a 'welcome home' sign. Oh boy. Here we go.

"Chad! Talk to me, champ." Max said loudly and you turned around to see he had put in his Bluetooth. It made you roll your eyes and you didn't bother to wait for him as you started towards your relatives.

Your mother was soft and sweet and the joy you felt as she squealed and threw her arms around your neck couldn't compare to any other kind of happiness. She smelled like home and fresh baked bread, like holiday candles and clean laundry--things that made you think of home. She pulled back to look at you like you had grown so much since she last saw you, despite being practically the same, and you laughed as she kissed each of your cheeks.

"Oh, I missed you!" She said, hugging you again before passing you off to your grandmother.

"Missed you, too, Mom. Hey, Nana," you said as you stooped down to hug the older woman.

Your mom paused and pulled you back close enough to sniff the air in front of you. "Honey, have you been drinking?"

“Oh--” you leaned back and shook your head, which was a mistake as the world spun just a little bit. “Of course not. There was a guy on the plane and he--”

"We don’t care about any of that," Your grandmother waved a hand to stop your mom from continuing to make a fuss over you. "Where's your man??"

You stopped breathing for a moment as you were suddenly reminded that you were lying to the people who loved you the most. With a bite of your lip, you looked over your shoulder and gestured to Max who was slowly making his way over to you and still talking on his earpiece.

"That's him, the one in the suit."

"Oh, my," your mom said, lowering her welcome sign and taking in the sight that was your boss and now assumed lover.

"You've been keeping that from us for five years?" Nana said as she elbowed you in the ribs and your mother glared at her. “He seems a bit overdressed.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing down at your leggings, warm boots, and well worn over sized sweater in comparison to Max’s custom blue suit and silk tie. You hoped to god that Max had brought more suitable clothes for what was supposed to be a relaxing family oriented week in Alaska. “He does, doesn’t he?”

“Chad--I think I lost you. Can you hear me? Hello? Helloooo? Shit.” Max tapped the device in his ear repeatedly as he looked around like he would be able to see where there would be better signal. He had yet to acknowledge either you or your family and you clenched your fists at your side.

“Honey,” you said and Max had the audacity to hold up his finger to you as he continued to turn in a half circle. “Honey.” You tried again and finally you raised your voice curtly, “Max!”

“What?” he hissed and you reached up and took the earpiece out of his ear. It took everything you had not to turn and chuck it into the harbor. You gestured to your mom and grandmother and Max’s face changed into his large and inviting smile.

“We agreed not to bring work onto this trip, it’s family time, right?” You raised an eyebrow and he glared at you. “This is my mom and grandmother,” you gestured to them, keeping a firm hold on his Bluetooth and almost daring him to try and get it back.

“You won’t get any reception on that thing anyway, dear,” your grandma waved to Max and then around to the vast landscape. “Too many trees.” She took a few steps over to him and gave him a hug like he wasn’t a complete stranger. You had to give Max props, he hugged her back and managed not to look entirely uncomfortable as he silently worried she was going to wrinkle his suit. “Now, do you prefer to be called ‘Max’ or ‘Satan Reincarnated’? Because we’ve heard it both ways.” She laughed as she patted his chest and smiled up at him.

“Nana!” You looked at her wide-eyed and Max grinned from ear to ear. How was it that the elderly managed to get away with saying the most inappropriate things?

“Oh, have you?” he glanced at you and you felt your face get hot. “Max is fine. As long as I can call you Nana.” He continued to offer that grin that you knew to be his trademark salesman smile but it made your grandmother positively beam.

“Of course!” she said, patting his chest again and adjusting his pocket square. You ran a hand through your hair wanting to scream.

“Shall we?” You interjected and grabbed your suitcase with one hand and your mother’s arm with another. The two of you walked pointedly towards the edge of the pier and she looked at you with parental concern.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured with a shake of your head, slowing down for Max and your grandma could catch up. “I’m just tired.” If you continued to lie this much you were certain your nose was going to grow pointed.

Your mother helped the elderly woman down the ladder that connected the main strip to the edge of the pier where the family speedboat was parked. The chill off of the water made you shiver, it was definitely coming up on winter time and with the constant overcast came icy waters and snow. Max was just lucky it wasn’t summer time as the non-stop sunlight would have been an issue.

Looking over the ladder and feeling your body sway without even being on the water, you were starting to regret the amount of drinks you had had on the plane. You put a hand to your lips as a small amount of indigestion came up to the middle of your throat. Max stopped beside you and held his hand out expectantly.

“I’ll take my headset back, thank you,” he snarled and you ignored him. “Are you going to be sick? Pull yourself together--”

“Pull myself together? Pull m--” you shook your head and slapped the small device into his hand. “Unbelievable, you’re unbelievable.”

“This is going to be a long fucking week,” he said, looking at the boat as your family settled in. “I’m not getting in that. I cannot get these wet. They’re Armani.” He gestured to his shoes and you vowed in that moment that if you did wind up vomiting, it would be on those shoes.

“Hence the boat,” you gestured. It was the only way of getting to the island that the tiny town resided on, you were happy to make him swim but somehow you doubted that would go over very well with your family. “Either you climb down or you can stay here and I’ll see you in a week--”

“Fine. Fine.” He stopped arguing and climbed down the ladder, hopping the last few rungs to land firmly on the pier. He held up his arms as you passed down the suitcases and tossed his shoulder bag to him and he placed them in the back of the boat. “Are you coming?” he added impatiently as you leaned heavily on the railing at the top of the ladder.

“Give me a minute,” you said through gritted teeth.

“I told you to eat something. You’re drunk--”

“I am not.” You argued with him, straightening your posture and turning around to climb down the ladder. You were going to prove him wrong even if it meant that you landed on your ass. It was simple, all you needed to do was put one foot down in front of the other and keep a tight hold. Rinse and repeat until your feet were firmly planted on the wooden boards--simple.

“Lookin’ good, sweetheart,” Max said, and you didn’t have to look to know he was staring up at your ass. “Those leggings are nice--are you wearing a thong?”

“Oh my god, shut up, Max,” you paused and leaned your head against the ladder, wanting to both strangle him and dive into the pier and let the ocean take you far away from the week ahead of you. After a few moments, you regained your sense of self and took a few more rungs down.

“Almost there,” he encouraged and you let out a heavy sigh. “There ya go--annnnd, congratulations. I am now five hundred years old.”

“Good for you, old man,” you quipped and tried to push passed him. Your boot caught on one of the loose boards and there was nothing to catch yourself on as you started to tumble. Despite refusing to admit that Max was right, maybe you should have eaten something. Your desperate attempt to forget your current situation was about to land you in the middle of the freezing gulf. You heard your mom gasp from the boat but instead of hitting the water, Max’s arm shot around your waist and pulled you back against his chest with ease.

You stumbled and grabbed the front of his suit coat as you tried to turn around and he tightened his grip. He looked down at you with a grin that was much different than the one he had been giving your family. “Got ya.”

“Nice going, Max!” your grandmother cheered and you knew there would be no living with him after this.

“Thank you,” you said curtly and tried to move from his arms but he didn’t release you.

“What, no kiss?” he smirked, keeping his voice low enough that your family couldn't hear him. “I did just save your life.”

“Let. go. of. me. Max.” You said through gritted teeth and you braced for him to force a kiss on you for the sake of your family, but to your surprise, he released you. The way he watched you as you climbed into the boat, all dark eyes and wide grin, sent a shiver down your spine.

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