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vgilantee · 2 years ago

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dorm room antics {ethan landry}

ethan landry x fem!reader

requested: n/a

words: 2k

a/n: surprise! turns out when my brain decides to work, i can write a 2k word fic in three hours. which means you guys get a march fic! this fic is part of what i like to call “char’s ethan fic universe” in which i haven’t written any other fics, but it’s all apart of the long ask i sent julie (this one here) so i will mention a couple things here that reference it. Also on referencing things, i was tempted make a star wars reference in here, but julie doesn’t need more reasons to point and laugh at me and call me a star wars nerd (julie would never point and laugh at me, i love her). This is not a smut but things get a little steamy. There may be an alternate version that starts the same but is nsfw (oh my god finding a gif for this fic was too hard and this isn't even the one i wanted, but tumblr hates me)

warnings: steamy!, if you were reading fanfics in the 2000s/early 2010s this would count as an orange

pronouns: none used

You had everyone’s timetables memorised, all of you did. It was one of the first things the four of you did at the start of each semester; you sat down and learned each timetable so you always knew where each other was throughout the day. It was how you knew that Chad would be out of his dorm.

You knocked on the door, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Ethan didn’t know you were coming over, you wanted to surprise him with your company on his day free of classes. After your first and only class of the day, you would usually be with Mindy in the library or Tara in one of her lectures. But Mindy had ditched you to spend time with Anika, and Tara was in bed with the flu. Not that you needed the excuses to spend time with Ethan, but Mindy didn’t entirely trust him, so the excuses were required to satiate her.

The sounds of moving around came through the door, and you heard Ethan muttering that he was coming.

“Oh, hey.” Ethan’s curls bounced a little as his head tilted in surprise. He gave you a dopey smile and stepped to the side, letting you move past him and into the room. You had been in the dorm a few times, but you still couldn’t help turning in a slow circle to look around. On his bed was a textbook and notebook, as well as various pens scattered on the sheets.

“Sorry, did I interrupt your studying?” You turned back to face him, lazily pointing at the study supplies on his navy sheets. Ethan blinked, almost as if he forgot the stationery was even there, before shaking his head. As he did, you noticed just how long his curls have gotten, falling into his eyes more than usual.

“No. I mean yeah but-” He bit his lower lip gently. “You’re always welcome to interrupt my study.” Ethan’s mouth quirked in a shy smile, trying to hide how he cringed at what he said.

You took a step toward him and reached your hands up to his shoulders, lazily looping them around the back of his neck. Almost immediately, Ethan’s hands moved around your waist and pulled you flush against him.

“Are you sure? I can leave you to your…” you glanced over at his bed to try and decipher what subject he was studying, “I have no idea what that is but I’m sure it’s important.” You felt the breath of Ethan’s laugh against your hair.

“It’s programming and yeah, I’m sure.” You turned back to him, making quick glances down at his mouth that was so close. “Don’t leave.” Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper, embarrassed but pleading, and you stopped fighting the voice in your head and leaned up to finally kiss him.

It quickly deepened, one of your hands moving to his face and the other weaving into his hair. Ethan’s fingers dug into your waist, pulling you even closer to him, so close that one of his feet ended up between yours.

When you pulled back to take a breath, you kept your eyes closed, foreheads rested together.

“Bed?” You felt his hands tighten slightly as your breath hit his mouth. You and Ethan had slept together before, but only a handful of times, and every time Ethan started out quietly excited, and shy.

Ethan let out a single hum before dropping his hands to the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to jump lightly and wrap your legs around his waist. As soon as he was sure you’re safely held up, he took the five steps from the door to his bed. You expected him to place you on the bed, but instead he turned and sat down, sitting you on his lap. As soon as you’re comfortable (which took a fraction of a second) you pulled him forward by the back of his neck, reigniting the kiss more desperately. You left one hand weaved into his curls, but the other dropped to grip his bicep.

His hands slide up from your thighs, pausing briefly on your ass to give the muscles a gentle squeeze. You rolled your hips gently forward in response to the squeeze, and you felt the light vibration of his hum against your mouth. Ethan moved his hands up a little further, encouraging your movement, and you gently bit his bottom lip. Ethan opened his mouth and the kiss quickly became messier, tongues rolling against each other and teeth occasionally bumping.

As you moved to pull away, you pulled Ethan’s tongue into your mouth and sucked on it gently pulling a moan from deep in his throat. You opened your eyes, seeing him with his cheeks flushed red and his eyes still closed, his mouth opened slightly.

You could never get over how pretty he was, especially when so flushed. And you always felt a swell of pride because you were the one able to get him like that and the only one who got to see the sight underneath you.

Ethan slowly opened his eyes, pupils blown. He slowly raised a hand, pushing some of the hair that had fallen out of its place in your ponytail behind your ear before quickly leaning down and gently bit and kissed at your neck. Your head rolled to the side, desperately exposing more skin for him to give attention to. His tongue rolling over his teeth marks elicited gasps from you, your fingers lightly tugging at his hair in a silent plead for more.

A soft moan broke from your throat as Ethan bit down, slightly harder, and sucked, determined to leave a deep mark. You pulled harder at his curls in retaliation and rolled your hips against him. Ethan dragged his tongue across the mark, continuing to move it up your neck and along your jaw until his mouth meets yours again for a short kiss.

“You sure?” Regardless of how many times you made it clear to Ethan that you wanted him, he always asked, checked to make sure that you hadn’t changed your mind. You rolled your hips again in a silent reply.

“Completely.” Ethan let out a whimper before pulling your hips down, letting you feel his need for you under your core. You let out a choked sound before pulling Ethan into a rough kiss that left him gasping.

For every roll of your hips, Ethan responded with a sound against your mouth, though it didn’t take long for him to begin retaliating instead with soft thrusts upward. Your head fell back with a breathy moan, and Ethan quickly began pressing open mouthed kisses to your throat, humming every time he felt you make sounds.

“Ethan.” You whispered out his name and his hips twitched forward, further into you than his teasing rolls. Using the hand in his hair, you pulled his face back to you, and your other hand slid down his chest before slipping under the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips grazed across his abs, and you smiled against his mouth as stomach flinched from your touch. Your hand continued to move up to his chest, dragging his shirt with him, until you pulled away, silently begging for him to take off his shirt.

Ethan dragged his hands from your waist, across your thighs, prolonging taking his hands away from you, but finally he did, following your quiet ask and took off his shirt. You raked your fingernails down his chest to his stomach pulling a whimper from Ethan, before your hands quickly moved to loop around the back of his neck, moving to kiss him as his warm hands met your skin again, one hand snaking under your shirt to rest on the bare small of your back, and the other resting softly on your cheek.

You gently let out a moan as Ethan bit down on your bottom lip, your nails digging softly into the skin on the nape of his neck.

“Oh, fuck!” Chad’s sudden voice caused you to jolt. You hadn’t even heard the door open, you were so engrossed in the feeling of Ethan. Ethan quickly pulled away from you, and you tried not to follow after his suddenly-missing mouth. “Ew, that is so not what I wanted to see in my dorm.” You rolled your eyes, flipping Chad off over your shoulder.

You tried to fight the soft smile as Ethan pressed his face into the side of your neck, wanting so desperately to hide from his roommate. His soft curls brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps.

Turning to follow the movement of your arm, you glared at Chad, who had a hand over his eyes while dramatically using the other to feel around for his side of the room.

“Oh fuck off, Chad.” You said with a slightly amused laugh. Ethan sighed into your neck and the sudden breath made you realise that you were gently stroking his hair. Your fond smile won against your fighting as Ethan hid.

“This is my room!” Chad threw his hand up, keeping the one already over his eyes pressed firmly in place. “Now, are you done dry humping each other so I can grab my shit?” You reached for the bed beside where Ethan was sitting and grabbed one of his pens, throwing it at Chad but missing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Slowly, ever the drama queen, Chad peels his hand from his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sound of relief.

“I can’t believe you almost defiled my poor, virgin eyes.” He pressed a hand to his heart while walking toward his desk to grab his forgotten textbook. “Corrupting my innocent soul with your filth.” You threw another pen at him, this one hitting him square in the head.

“Innocent, my ass.” Chad let out an indignant gasp. “Don’t you,” you mocked the sound he made, “me, fucker. I’ve walked in on you doing worse.” He gasped again.

“I would never!” His voice was weighed down with sarcasm and he pressed his textbook to his chest. Chad tsked at you before walked back to the door. “Don’t get cum stains on my bed, assholes.” Ethan let out an embarrassed groan against you skin, and you flipped Chad off again.

“I’m going to move to your bed just to spite you.” Chad scrunched his nose in disgust and Ethan pulled back from your neck to stare at you in shock, praying you weren’t serious.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Chad, ever the dramatic, pulled the door shut, ensuring that he got the final word. When you looked back to Ethan, he was still looking at you, eyes wide in horror. You winked at him with a smile.

“You wouldn’t..?” You snorted out a laugh and your head fell back, shaking your head.

“Fuck no.” You ran the backs of your fingers across his cheek softly, revelling in the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Ethan sighed, leaning into your fingers. “He would be so lucky.” His mouth dropped open again and you leaned forward to kiss him on the tip of his nose. Ethan let out a contented hum, and the soft sound caused your hips to grind against him on their own. Once again, Ethan’s fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your waist.

“Did he ruin the mood?” Your voice was shy, unsure whether his bruising fingers was a warning to stop, or him trying to hold back.

“No. Not for me.” Ethan leaned forward as he spoke, saying the words against your shoulder before pressing a light kiss to your skin, rolling his hips up lightly against you to pull a sigh from you while your head rolled back. “Not when you look like that on my lap.” Neither you nor Ethan knew where his confidence came from, but you quickly pushed your questioning aside as he pulled your core down against the tightness in his trousers and bit down on your shoulder softly.

moot tagging: @websterss

#char writes #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry fic #reader insert #ethan landry scream #ethan landry #scream x reader #scream x you #scream reader insert

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court-jobi · 2 months ago

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Unsee

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!prohero reader, afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1k

Rating: T+

Warnings: CH 362 SPOILERS, Pro-Hero! Bakugou x reader, angstttt, HURT/COMFORT, light PTSD, anxious stomach/vomiting, discussions about death, lots of comfort, est.relationship and lots of softness + trauma sharing

Summary:

When you love someone, you love their past, present, and future selves-- even if you were not part of their story for the hills and valleys that have made them who they are. This was the way of heroes: risking it all, even to death. You should know this threat by now, as it's the life you make for yourself as well-- but it's so much harder to keep the mentality when it's your loved ones on the line. You learn the extent of one of the biggest trenches in Katsuki Bakugou's life, and it shakes you to your core.

A/N: since I first envisioned my lil biker! reader, I've had this exact interaction on loop in my head. Making it the internet's problem now. apologies in advance for the feelings I've dumped in this fic. Signed, "Bakugou would hold your hair back" Club President

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Weekday mornings pass by generally uneventfully nowadays, leaving you with not much to do except to wait for calls for hero pickups when the shifts change over. It makes you feel like a bit of a taxi service, but the relaxed vibe makes up for the emergency response times you’re faced with in the dead of night when you get a message from the on-call line.

After a brief stop by your office space to glance at your inbox, you take a lap around the Service Lab in order to catch up with Hatsume.

There’s no one better fit to upgrade your helmet models and even take a special interest in how to bulk up your hero costume in order to protect you better. That’s a revolving topic from Bakugou’s lips as well, so your bringing up the idea wasn’t a foreign one– a revelation that touched you, deep under the professional front you keep here in the office.

Hatsume is highly sought after nowadays. Time in her own lab is where she should be calling home, but given her sporadic interest in all things support tech, she has been prone to taking outsourced Technical Outsource calls for nearby agencies– especially when said agencies employ her dear old schoolmates.

When you join her today, she’s busy talking shop and ropes you right into the conversation by pulling you right into her personal space. As far as subject matter, it’s hit or miss if you can contribute anything to the conversation, though today you’re pleased to see that she's in full ‘Dynamight’ mode.

A favorite topic of yours– and of all the tech assistants in the room. Mei, however, holds a far more casual opinion of Bakugou out of familiarity. They’re hardly on a first-name basis as you are, but hearing her peel back details about the larger-than-life sweetheart of yours is both fun and enlightening to hear.

Through your visits with her over the last year or so, you’re still not one hundred percent sure she actually knows what he means to you, because she barely looks you in the face as you cut your attention over old footage of him across all of her schematics monitors. Had she studied you as much as she studies Bakugou’s shoulder cannons, she’d spot your particular brand of appreciation by the tracing of a finger on your lower lip.

"Yeah it's kinda nice sometimes to jump back to basics with Blasty,” Hatsume drifts into a relaxed state back at her table, “Simple fixes like this -darn thing- hmmmthere we go!- Yep, some things never change! Always smart to figure out how to store more sweat, defer more exhaust. Lil harder now that it used to be, having to worry about the magnets."

“Magnets,” you throw in a word, catching up to her thought process, “What, on his belt?”

“No, those clip into place! The way he complains about ‘em with his gloves though, I should probably look into making them easily detachable, too.. But no, I mean the ones he used to have across his chest, back when we made the first suit edits at UA: Year Three,”

Hatsume keeps a long, archived track record with Bakugou, if her nearby drive bogged down with version files is indication of how many changes she’s made to his hero costume and support items…

“-- because we were trying to offload weight from his arms, I tried to strap ‘em to his torso. Only we learned pretty quick the strength of magnet grade was affecting the charges where it was hitting along his chest.”

"Charges–” you pay more attention now, inspecting what she’s doing. Hatsume doesn’t look your way, but is listening, “In the grenades?"

Do they go off at any second?? You assumed Bakugou’s smaller bombs were pulled in traditional fashion with a pin, as you’ve seen him use them in action firsthand. Hatsume has hard work, if she’s having to check each and every one of those, too…

"Oh! Haha no!" she chuckles brightly, "Sorry hun, shop term: ‘electromagnetic charges’! Each baby bombie has them, even when they’re not in use– but they don’t go live unless triggered. But in the rare event of a preemptive ignition, I didn’t want the chain reaction settin’ off his heart! Couldn’t use the strap anymore after that hoo-hah; too close to the loop device in the ‘ole ticker~"

Now that she’s talking organs, you start to get a pang of nerves.

You know Bakugou’s quirk is biometrically dangerous, but till now, you’ve not worried about the risks it would cause him in that way. Even more, you didn’t know of any internal monitoring device he’d have to check for that sort of activity. Bakugou went to the doc here in this building, when he’s in too rough shape to handle himself. But beyond that, you’re stumped.

"Whyyyy would that matter? What’s inside him, again?"

Hatsume handles the internal wiring of Bakugou's cannons with ease-- now that nothing is connected to an active, explosive vial of sweat. With her outfitted eyes set on the tiny soldering work, Hatsume's got Bakugou’s chart up and briefly flicks it over to the shared screen.

"'Dat one, 'hurr," the a teeny tool in her teeth drops at her need to speak, "I pull a read on his heart monitor whenever I come around to keep tabs on things- same as the core staff here does! Works like a charm with the new heart, now that he's had time to build up muscle around it~"

You look for yourself at the screen as she chatters-- and are horrified at what you find there in a continuous crawl across the screen.

Can't move. You can't breathe.

Can't understand how the hell Mei is still talking with such pep in her voice, when these pictures are taking nearly all of your composure away:

Nothing in your career prepared you to see stills of Katsuki lying stock still and caked with blood.

You're pale as the ghost you're looking at– as gutted as he is in this photo: frozen in time. The archive thumbnails are mostly drone footage, but this much you can see clearly- and wish with everything in you that you could unsee it.

The reference photos on his hero account don't show the extensive medical layover you see here in his technical file. You run through every tiny detail in the stills above you on the screens.

He's incredibly young. The soil around him, plants barely peeking out from the battle-torn ground; it's gotta be the big fight he rarely talks about. It's where he's got certain scars across his arms, chest, and the one cutting across his face; that much he's told you. They’re scars you’ve kissed and shown love and care for in his quietest moments, in which he felt the need to tell you why they stand out more than the others. In that much, Katsuki was honest… but not enough about this.

He never once mentioned organ replacement.

He's never told you his arm was torn to shreds by his own doing.

He never told you he’s living his second chance at life at the expense of another Pro Hero he’d never mentioned either--well, third if you could the brief blip while he was on the operating table after the battle. Didn't flatline for very long, according to these surgery notes, but still...

Surgery notes. Plural. There's many here. Wires sustain his oxygen and bloodflow, putting color back in his face. There's streaks across his cheeks- marred with tracks of soot and old blood, mixing with what must have been tears of pure exhaustion and rage and resolve. Yours sting at your own lash line. Every nerve ending clams up in your body: worse than the wreck that almost put you out of commission.

In your mind, Dynamight’s professional headshot is a flat, grumpy one. No smile to be found, but at least there's a spark behind the eyes.

He's not dead.

He literally brought you a can of coffee this morning.

He stopped you from getting up from the dining table too soon, needing to turn the clasp of your necklace around first because it was 'pissing him off'.

You know he's not dead– but you wish you'd never set foot in this room.

That old coffee's turned to lava in your gut.

"And these boots of his– they make too much noise! Talk about stealth-”

"Scuse- me, Hatsume.."

"--I know he’s not necessarily a known stealth hero, but– hey, when did she leave??”

He may not like how slick they go on when applied, but Bakugou had to admit it, these counterirritant patches were the best dang thing to ever happen to his shoulder blades. Menthol flooding his senses by heat activation, he was feeling better already after his first catch of the day.

After getting the note from Hatsume that his gauntlets were ready to pickup from R&D, he traipsed into her room while texting you. Just a short n’sweet message, hoping that he’d be able to cross paths with you before he’d need to go out again. The messenger app showed you were active within a few minutes ago, but you haven't responded to his messages.

He comes in, half listening to Hatsume’s rant to the staff technicians once again. He catches sight of his file, streaming up at the top of her video wall.

"Ugh, this again?” Bakugou barks out, “What am I, a sideshow to you science freaks?!"

"Hardly when we're the ones you need, Blasty," Hatsume huffed his way, "and besides, I think you better watch who you're talking smack to about this stuff anyway! And it wasn't online for my freaks, anyway. They know your work orders inside and out~ you should be nicer to them!"

You tell him as much, in his more crotchety moments… and you are always right.

Bored of the medical records, he turns to his completed support items out on the reception table, "Then what're you blasting all this shit for? Haven’t had any arrhythmias for months."

“Just because you haven’t had any doesn't mean it’s not a good idea to circle back and check. We can learn plenty from stable periods, just as much as emergencies, ya know!”

Bakugou simply rolls his eyes, throwing a grumbly word of thanks to the technician who brings over the case for said equipment, and starts packing it into place.

Hatsume slips her goggles up her face. Trying to read the Pro Hero before her wasn’t a hard task; he usually deflects when his weaknesses are on full display.

"You want my advice Mr. Murder God?” Hatsume turns more solemn– an attitude she rarely radiates.

“Sounds like you’re gonna give it anyway.”

“I think your teammates outta know what all's happened to you, cuz it sure isn't obvious to everyone. ‘Specially the ones who hang around you all the time… I think it’d be smart if they kept an eye out any emergencies, too- like your transport queen around here– Joyride, isn’t it?"

Katsuki flinched. He turns back from the table -past Hatsume- and centers back up to the full view of the record up on her computer.

He’s not so irritated by its presence anymore… but rather worried about how long it’s been up there, in full view of the room.

"...She saw all this?..."

"Mmmmyea, pretty sure?" Hatsume was already engrossed in her current project, "Was in the middle of your pieces when she came by. She normally doesn’t as so many questions, but she sure was today till she-”

Kaminari slides into the lab -winded and nervous as all getout- nearly colliding with the reception table altogether. He almost hit Bakugou square in the face, since the hothead had turned ready to bust out of the room himself.

"Oh geez, (heh) there you are, Bak- (heh) listen-- your girl's barfing her brains out! You know if she's sick or something??"

Bakugou grimaced and seethed at his own negligence-

"fuuuUUUCK," he hissed rounding the table, before he remembered Hatsume- "YOU, DUMBASS-"

"Scuse you???!"

"TURN THAT SHIT OFF, AND WHEN I GET BACK, WE'RE HAVIN' WORDS-- AND YOU-" Bakugou yelled back to Kaminari, carrier of bad news as he was, "WHERE. IS SHE."

"Bathroom by the rec room- but, hey man, it's locked!!"

Bakugou didn’t take time to listen more as he books it down the hall, making a beeline to where you'd be.

Down the hall just a few corridors away, you hadn’t made it far to take your leave. Bakugou approaches where a couple sidekicks hear you coughing behind a door, and are presently failing to be let in. The sound is heart-wrenching, hearing you sick, but he’s in full protective mode and ready to take out the door himself if need be.

He’s breathing hard, and scares them as he snaps and points harshly for them to move. They do, but not without one of them looking soured that he's getting in their face when they were only trying to help.

Coming to the door, Bakugou tries the handle despite Kaminari’s clear warning that it is indeed locked. He immediately rears up to bang his announcement, but rotates that fist to use just knuckles and taper his knocks down to a reasonable level. He's no less frantic in speech though, calling for you hoarse and breathy -mindful of his audience, only at first-

"Joyride...hon', it's me. Open up."

You're crying on the other side, but gasp when you hear him speak. An urp of a gurgle hits you in the quiet that follows, then another stomach-churning cough.

The rant of expletives that runs through his mind is enough to turn Bakugou’s own stomach... He palms his face for a minute, before letting his forehead drop to the door and speaks again.

"I can't help you if I can't see you, sweet’eart. I… know I got a lot to answer for."

The chances of him greeting a furyless version of you all gone, Bakugou accepts his fate.

"-And I figure if you're gonna yell at me, you should do it to my face. Please open the door."

After a sniffle and an incredibly uncomfortable beat of quiet where Bakugou is staring at the doorknob below him -gripping it in wait to open the second he hears the upper safety lock move-... he finally does, the moment you release it.

Bakugou steps in the single stall room -deftly fast- then locks it right up behind him. The girls on the other side fuss again, but he doesn’t give a spare thought to their efforts.

Down on the floor, not even fully sat back yet from your reach to catch the door, you're the most miserable sight. Stuffing a used-up paper towel that’s in reach by your stash, you're folding the unsoiled side to try and clear off your face and blow your nose for good measure.

What's worse, you can't bear to look at him.

With a careful sigh, Bakugou knows he's got a world of explaining to do- but has a greater worry over your slumped self on the tile floor. He’s seen you with the flu, and you weren’t this sick.

"Baby–"

One word and you're crying again, head down into your knees. Bakugou can only imagine what headspace you’re in, and the list of what he thinks he can say to console you is now down to zero. Actions it is, then.

Bakugou kneels down, swiping your hair back into a rough pony by teething off a hair tie from his wrist to secure it. Just in case you feel sick again, it wouldn’t hurt, he reasons. Once freshened, he takes away your trash bucket next without a word. Collects all the used bits of your attempt at cleanliness into the trash, barely a care for how many there were to clean up. Whatever he’d need to do -whatever you’d allow him to do- that’s how he’s determined to serve.

Finally, he shifts from a kneel to a sit. The blonde crisscrosses his stance under him, bringing you by both arms to pull you forwards, into his lap.

At first you're confused at his hands' insistence, but since he's made himself in prime position to hold you, he's glad to see you fall to the open invitation even in a dire time like this. A little shaky, but still you clamber over to his lap on your knees until he can get you settled the rest of the way himself.

Chest to chest, legs astride him, he'd hoped he'd catch a better look of your face as you came over-- but no such luck as you duck your head in. His chance at helping you remains though, as you’re holding him tight around the neck and shoulders and clearly aren’t averse to him. Frightened enough for one day -maybe even a lifetime- Bakugou lets you cling on, and simply holds you tight in return.

All that matters to him is that you're positioned as close as humanly possible. Protected. Safe to cry and ready to just absorb it. He knows it's what he deserves, and considers himself your personal sponge.

To your hiccups making you jump against his chest, he just pets through your hair quietly hushing you to stillness.

"I'm here." He takes a tepid breath. "I’m not there, baby, I'm right here."

You stutter, but simply try to control your own breaths.

"i--... I'm so.. so.. 've never been so upset.."

"I know."

"I feel so'sick.. y’looked–"

The impulse to kick aside that damn puke bucket is raging within him-- but knowing your possible need for it, he brings it close instead.

"I know, babe.”

He'll get you set before you head out on patrol today. If you ever settle… but for now, he's focused on the one thing he can control, and that’s getting you as comfortable as possible.

From here, you can't look at him, but you can look straight ahead- which shows you Bakugou's full back in the mirrored wall. The movement when he breathes, his neck craning as he lowers his head to sink over your shoulder. How you're being held so tightly it shows in each muscle group.

You can't see it, but feel it: cold breath blown from his lips, to comfort onto your heated neck. Bakugou's lifted up your haphazard ponytail, trying to introduce some cool touch to you in this small space.

You gather it's an apology, done his way-- seeing as he's unintentionally created this catastrophic response in your body.

As you've told him in your most private moments, you've only really felt this raw outlash of emotion in the workplace once before: the day you found out your sweet brother in arms, T’challa, passed away so expectedly. You suppose that's why this is jarring you so strongly now; losing him was the first major loss in your life, years before you met Bakugou.

This is so different, but all the same. A core figure in your support system- your inner circle– here one minute and gone the next. This was the way of heroes. You should know it by now, but it still breaks your tender heart. Even looking at snapshots of Katsuki at his lowest has you heartbroken and shocked.

You're a dichotomy of strength: tough enough to ride headfirst into a mission, but also prone to such intense emotion in your most private moments that you retreat into yourself and deal with an anxious gut all by yourself. Anything to protect the image you keep.

Only today, that exterior means nothing to Katsuki. Not when he alone can try and hold you back together while you try and fix yourself enough to speak coherently.

He's been holding himself together solo for far too long, too; you’ve known this from the first day he out and out confessed ‘I’m bad at this’ when he asked to simply hold your hand in public. You can feel it in your conjoined breaths, cycling back and forth for comfort. He’s unsettled, too– his new heart’s going far too fast.

“Did you actually die out there?” you manage in broken whispers.

Tell me I just thought the worst.

“... I did,” Bakugou answered calmly, “But I didn’t wan’ you to see how. Not alone.”

“Would you have shown me? Ever?”

“Doesn’t exactly come up at the breakfast table, angel.”

‘But it should have by now.’

Bakugou senses the retort and simply pets through your hair again, another apology written by touch.

“But… I coulda picked any other time, by now. You know everything else. I swear.”

Everything meaning injuries, you hope to God… “No more?”

“No more surprises. I promise.”

Secure enough to take a deep inhale, you try to lift your sights heavenward.

Such a sobering thought you have to operate in on the daily, knowing hero work is among the deadliest professions. You could lose your best friends at any time, anyone you love. In that vein, you are trying your best not to be selfish with your need for Bakugou’s safety…. Yet you still hold that small hope that as long as you have each others’ backs, you have a shot at staying ahead and staying alive- together.

Back then, you didn’t know each other. Katsuki Bakugou lived an entire life before he met you, one you were still learning.

"I didn’t know how bad it was for you…” you remember the site of the attack, what surrounded him- or rather, what didn’t. So much of that battlefront had been laid low. That told you as much as the injuries, how bleak everything looked.

Bakugou takes a centering breath himself. His grip on you never lessens.

"It was the worst day of my life,” he shares, “I fought the world's greatest villain. Almost watched my hero die… Almost lost my best friend, all on the same day. Bad memories all around, for all of us."

Memories that seep into sleep.

"S'that what you dream about? When it gets bad?"

Taking the shot at Shigurake, sent flying back by his own ricocheted blast, giving it all- fruitless as it might have been in the moment when every bone in his body felt like it was bleeding out of every pore.

You know somewhere in that event, the best friend Katsuki speaks of must have been on the brink of death in an emotional full-circle moment, for he never speaks ill of him in all the ways that matter. He’s a dork, but he’s his dork. You identified their relationship as special from the moment you’d met Izuku Midoriya but… in a deeper way than you’d found the words for yet. They’re twin stars, bound by something stronger than you even think you share with Katsuki some days. Or maybe it’s just different– not one bond that’s better than another.

You've heard him waking in a panic those nights: how he calls for Izuku, and wakes up in tears. Even in recent months, he doesn't always explain why he’s crying, only that he wants to bury it for the night… and that you help him do that.

On the subject of those nightmares, today’s discovery of that era of Bakugou’s past becomes painfully clear.

And so, he answers honestly, "...yeah."

“That’s so scary, Katsuki. You were so young.”

He feels around with one hand between your crammed bodies- for yours. Your head's still hung over his shoulder, but you crane back to watch what he's doing.

He puts it in place over his heart, forehead knelt to yours.

"Here. This is me, now."

The heartbeat under your palm is strong- a little fast, at the moment.

"They asked me if I’d do it again, if given the chance. N’for the longest time, I woulda said ‘yes’. That’s what I figured heroes say, in the face of the unknown.”

Before you can let that thought gut you again, you feel Katsuki press his thumb in one singular spot: your empty ring finger.

“But I faced the unknown. It was– really light, actually. But all I wanted was more time. I wanted the time to say words. Say more, or- do more. I had to make it right to the ones who mattered. I’m still trying to make it right. And I was given that chance to raise hell, and won. So when I see that shit, I’m grateful. I’m stronger now because of what happened then.”

You look to his face now; the older, stronger, seemingly immovable version of that younger self that still makes its appearance when he’s more pensive. He is still stuck on the look of his thumb where your third knuckle should be…

“Looking at it today though, there is more that war gave me than just making me the hero I am now.”

You press into his heart, “What’s that?”

“If I’d stayed dead,” he treads carefully, “I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have someone who– cares for me, like you do. Who would care about that shitty kid who just barged ahead, even with warning signs going off everywhere.”

With a raise to kiss your hand, Bakugou lets his voice go raspy.

“You looked at that idiot and threw up- all because you cared,” he sniffs with a laugh, “Got a second chance at life, and got a complete knockout who gives a shit about me.”

Abrasive but honest; you laugh in full force. The odd thought passes you: why people watch gory, scary movies for ‘entertainment’ makes no sense to you. If they want horror, just take a gander at a pro-hero’s medical file.

You cradle Katsuki’s head in for good measure and lay an appreciative kiss on his head.

“Of course I give a shit,” you say hoarsely, “tho I prefer to say things like that with honey than vinegar, Kats.”

“Yeah, I know ya do… I count on it.”

When you hug him now, it’s a gentler connection. Bakugou still rubs his hand up and down your back, but out of affection instead of dire comfort.

Finally you feel assured enough for now: you reconciled his past enough to have confidence in his present. He’s bold and never short of giving his all, but to know he acknowledges this living on extended time and has a unique appreciation for the cornerstones around him gives you calm again.

Bakugou truly is your hero– who you know will drop everything to make sure he protects what’s closest to him first and foremost.

When you sniffle and lick at the corner of your mouth, it still tastes sour and you finally register a pang of self awareness. You have to smell foul talking so close to him right now.

“I shoulda thought about gum or something..-sorry.”

“Would you stop,” Bakugou droned, taking out your insufficient ponytail now that you finally seemed settled, “I’m with you just about every morning the second you wake up, and I don’t give a fuck.”

Sweetly you silently thank his efforts with a sweet nod to how he put the hairtie back on his wrist. “Still, don’t mean to make it your problem.”

The hint of a smirk starting to come back to his face, you couldn’t completely eradicate his worry with one little bat of the eyes.

“You are my problem. One I’m happy to fix up when I break it. We’ll get you freshened up when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready.”

You notice your position now on the floor of this bathroom and find it endearing how he managed full cuddle mode in such limited space. Surely the locked door was the straw that secured this.

But the knock was sure to halt it–

“Hey man, leave them alone!-”

“Um, hey ‘Joynamight’?~” Kaminari tested from the other side, “Haven’t heard any hurling in a while, are y’all good?”

“We’ll be GOOD when I SAY WE’RE GOOD!” Bakugou fired back, “HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES, SPARKPLUG!”

Muting all laughter at the old school rivals was a challenge, but you did so while trying to gracefully detach from your loving partner. He let you with a steadying set of hands to yours to help push yourself up. You offer him steadying arms to pull him back up as well before putting your trashcan back to where it belonged.

A rinse of your mouth later, you fan your face as best you could in a last-ditch effort to look like you haven’t been bawling like a baby. While he awkwardly stood to the side to give you a minute, you caught Bakugou thumbing at his waterline, too, with a stiff upper lip to get himself back in business.

Once you rejoined him for a last hug, he readily accepts you with a rush of kisses to your forehead– just how you like it. It’s the mushiest he gets with you physically– guaranteed to get you back to your happy-go-lucky self. Once done, he smirks back at you pleased, petting your hair perfectly back into place.

“You good?”

“I’m good~”

“OKAY, WE’RE GOOD, SHITTY HAIR!”

“Hey I was the one tellin’ him to lay off you guys!!”

“YEAH AND I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING FROM HERE.”

“Damn, for a guy with hearing loss, he sure can pick you out pretty well-”

Bakugou finally swings the door open, pissy as usual, “I HEARD THAT!!”

While Kirishima and Kaminari jog on, Bakugou pockets his hands and holds back for you. Once you exit, you figure you better brave a trip to the kitchen and make a round 2 of breakfast.

“Something easy, ok?” he warns gently.

“I will. Won’t go fainting on ya~”

Knowing you’ll be on the roads later, Bakugou will impress a stable diet on you more than most.

“And no coffee.”

“Well, tie my hands completely, why doncha, Dynamight?” you sigh dramatically in the doorway.

He takes your chin in a bossy move, “Hey- m’lookin’ out for you, dummy.”

He sounds gruff and looks like he means it in the coolest of ways… but you hear everything in between the fussy brows and piercing eyes:

I care about you-

I’m sorry-

I know you’re this way because of me-

Never again-

Find me if you need me-

I love you- I love you- I love you-

“I know you are, Blasty~”

“UGH, she’s still calling me that shit too?!” Bakugou recoils further, shooting daggers down to the Tech Room, where he knows Hatsume is the one who fed you that old nickname.

You giggle as he stomps away, but he still throws back a last threat that you need to drink a fucking water before you go the fuck anywhere.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou angst

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drghostwrite · 2 months ago

Note

Your work is amazing!! My obsession with Regina mills is so bad and I need your help because I swear I see her as a power bottom 😫😫 AND NO ONE ELSE DOESSS. If it’s okay please could you write a Regina and reader fic where the reader is a service top? LOVE YOUUUU

Omg hehe YES!! I can so see her being a power bottom, mmm yes okay so here we go. I’ve never intentionally written this dynamic so here goes nothing, let me know whatcha think. Also thanks for the suggestion love. 😙

Pairing: Regina Mills x wife!reader

Summary: Regina’s lover brings her breakfast, a visit that turns… steamy.

******************************************************** Your heels clicked on the hard marble floors as you made you way to your wife’s office. When you got up this morning she wasn’t in bed and her car was long gone so you assumed she had gone into the office, on your way to the station your assumption had been right. So being the amazing wife you were you stopped by Granny’s picking up some pancakes and coffee and made your way to her office.

You stopped outside the door and read the bold letters, Mayor, you knocked softly hearing a very annoyed ‘come in’ from the other side. You could almost feel the eye roll from the woman behind the desk.

You slowly opened the door to see her reading over some paperwork, her elbow on the desk holding fingers pressed against her temple as her other hand held a paper and pen. She didn’t even bother to look up as she heard you enter.

“This better be important or so help me…” she started, looking as annoyed as ever.

“Well that’s no way to greet your lover, is it?” You teased as you walked towards her desk. She looked up at you surprised, her eyes raking over your body as you walked in. You were wearing all black, her favorite, a vest and pant combo, the black shirt underneath to match, your holster and badge displayed on your hip.

“Hello darling.” A smile playing at her plush red lips.

“My love.” You nodded and came around to her, bending down to kiss her soft lips, your hand softly ghosting her cheek. “I missed you this morning.”

“Well duty calls, especially when you work with idiots.”

“Hmm…” you chuckled leaning down to kiss her more passionately.

“So tell me detective, to what do I owe the visit?” She teased, grinning against your lips.

“Can’t I just bring my wife some breakfast?” You poked, kissing her again. Setting the bag and cups on the desk, taking your badge and gun off laying it to the side.

“Mm, depends on what else comes with the breakfast.” She pulled you closer by your belt loops, finally standing to meet you.

“Well whatever her majesty wants she gets…” you trailed, as she pushed her tongue into your mouth, you fought for dominance before just letting her take over.

“Rough morning?” You asked kissing her neck, her perfect red lipstick now smudged.

“Darling you have no idea…” her breath warm against your lips, as you picked her up setting her on her desk

“What can I do to help?” You said pulling back and looking into the mischievous brown orbs as she grinned back at you. She wrapped her toned legs around your waist as her well manicured fingers played with the buttons of your vest.

“I think you know…” she trailed with a smirk, running her tongue seductively along her perfectly white teeth with a smirk.

“Mm… maybe you should lock the door first, wouldn’t want anyone to catch the mayor with her thighs wrapped around my head.” Your low sultry tone gracing her ears.

“Mm…” she chuckled, “why not let everyone know who you belong to, show everyone that you’re the only person that makes me feel this good.” She raised her hand with a little purple wisp and you heard the door lock.

You chuckled, “doesn’t mean they won’t hear you…” you trailed bites and kisses down her neck as her hand tangled in your hair. She pushed your vest off, you leaned back helping her as she ripped your shirt open, buttons hitting the floor and rolling under exquisite furniture, exposing the black lace bra underneath. Black was her color but God did she love seeing it on you.

“I liked that shirt…” you whined while leaning to kiss her. Soft hands were running up your exposed sides, pulling you closer.

“I’ll buy you another one…” she smirked. In between heated kisses you reached back undoing the zipper of her top and pulling it down. Her perky breasts spilling over the exposing black lace lingerie that she wore underneath, you could see her nipples perfectly through the lace.

“Damn you’re gorgeous…” taking in her beautiful body, undoing her bra and tossing it to the side, placing open mouthed kisses down her collar bones and over her luscious breasts. You used your tongue to lightly ghost over a hardened nipple, before pulling it into your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you before moving to the other pulling the soft flesh into your mouth, your fingers moving to the other to tease. Pinching and twisting her nipple between your fingers at first softly but then harsher the pain turning to pleasure for her. The first of many erotic moans falling from her lips. You started leaving little nips, forming little red marks that would be purple by morning. Something that Regina typically didn’t mind, unless she had no way to cover them up and hide them from the office for the rest of the day.

“Y/N, dear…”

“Yes my love?”

“Behave…”

“Or what?”

“I’ll make you…” she groaned out. And you chuckled leaving another mark along her chest, she cocked an eyebrow at you seeing the defiant smirk you had on your face.

“hmm…” you chuckled against her chest and placed small kisses over the now reddened marks. You felt her hand that had been tangled in your hair reach around and grab your neck, slightly squeezing as she lifted you to meet her eyes, her bottom lip trapped under her glossy pearly white teeth, she loved when you mouthed off cause it meant she could put you in your place. One of her legs moved up and settled on the chair behind you, her red bottom stiletto clicking against the handle, you ran a hand up the smooth olive skin slowly pushing up the fabric of her lifted skirt.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and show your queen what that tongue can really do?” She whispered out in a low growl, spreading her legs even wider in front of you as she perched on her desk.

You met her hooded brown eyes and slowly bent down, pulling the chair closer, weaving your arm under her leg that was up on the chair arm, letting it rest over your shoulder while your skilled fingers lifted her skirt. You slowly ghosted your fingers over her clothed core, feeling the small spot of wetness, “so wet for me…” you said breath hot on her thighs as you nipped at her, snapping the waist band of her black lace panties against her hip before slowly sliding them off. She let out an approving moan as she watched you place open mouthed kisses up her thigh, she let her head fall back her mouth open as she chuckled to herself.

You worked your way up her inner thighs, drawing it out the best you could before you felt her hand weave through your hair, forcing your head down closer to her dripping core. You ran your tongue flat against her tasting her. Pulling your fingers through her folds and collecting her slick, looking at it glisten on your fingertips, setting up and watching her through your eyelashes you sucked on your fingers and released them with a pop. “You taste amazing…” you said as she looked into your devious eyes, biting her lip once again. The hand currently in your hair tightened demandingly as you bent down and pulled your tongue over her again, this time coming dangerously close to where she needed you most, watching her as she bit her bottom lip and then pulling her clit into your mouth. Her head fell back in pleasure with a small whine of relief that turned into a groan of pleasure as you used skilled licks and sucks to bring her closer and closer to the edge.

“You look so perfect down there between my legs, eating me out like a good girl.” lewd moans filling the room as you moaned into her sending vibrations through her core.

Thankfully no one was actually around to see how perfect you looked between her legs. Regina was sitting legs spread on her desk, upper torso exposed to the world decorated in an array of reddish purple marks as you were in front of her, her perfectly manicured hand gripped your shoulder as the other tangled in your hair, your hand held her hip steadying her. Her toned leg in her perfect designer heels over your shoulder.

You reached down using two fingers and curling them into the spongy spot that made her go wild, pumping in and out slowly adding a third. You could feel as her thighs clenched around you, her hand forcing you closer and closer, you started to feel lightheaded but you were determined to please your wife.

You felt her thighs begin to shake and her moans become more breathy and frequent as she got closer, chasing her high. You snaked a free hand up and pinched a nipple between your fingers before grabbing her entire boob in your hand. Letting one last low vibration come from your throat as you worked on her clit, you heard her let out one last soft moan working her through her orgasm. Coaxing her until she was lifting her hips away from you, overstimulated by your tongue on her clit.

You sat up and pulled her down into a kiss, feeling her soft plump lips on yours, she could taste herself still on your tongue. Thinking about the fact that she could taste herself when kissing you drove you both wild, a sign that you belonged to her and her only.

“Next time you bring me breakfast I prefer it be in bed, instead of my office…” she chuckled, finally breaking the heated silence and chuckling against your lips.

“Well maybe next time I can fuck you senseless over your desk and I won’t have to worry about going back to work.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged… you are married to the mayor after all.” She smirked, pulling at you ripped shirt, still partial tucked into your pants, pulling you closer and sliding her hands over your smooth skin exposed to her.

Before she could do anything else her desk phone rang and she picked up, “Hello?” She eyed you cautiously.

“Yes, if you don’t mind sending it over…” you eyed her mischievously and bent down to place soft kisses on her thigh before placing one bite drawing a gasp from her lips, risking her wrath for later that night. She hung up the phone and glared at you playfully.

“if I didn’t have to get back to work I would punish you right now…”

“Saved by the mayor then?” You poked sarcastically knowing what would be waiting for you later. With a wave of her hand your outfit was put back together and she was smoothing out her clothes.

“I will see you later tonight my love.” You said kissing her before making your way out.

“Y/N dear?”

“yes?” You turned.

“I seem to be missing…”

“these?” You asked holding up a black lace pair of panties as your trophy, “you’ll get them back later.” You said folding them in your pocket with a smirk.

A stern but excited look crossed over her face knowing you were being a brat on purpose, “you’ll get your punishment tonight.”

“On that note…I love you.” You said with a wink and sly smirk, sliding out of her office as she called a stubborn, I love you, after you.

******************************************************** @poisonappleeater @gayestswiftie @thesamesweetie

#x yn #x reader #female reader #regina mills x reader #regina mills #ouat x reader #ouat fanfiction #ouat #x reader smut #wlw smut #smut prompts #office #office smut

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sometimes-i-write-good · 2 years ago

Text

Abs Sans Brain

Top Gun: Maverick - Jake “Hangman” Seresin x f!pilotreader [no use of y/n]

2.6k || Your date with Jake at the Hard Deck is crashed by the rest of the squad.

==== Genre: Fluffy, flirty, and funky

CW: Swearing, drinking

Author’s Note: I’m writing this before I start writing the fic itself. I’m shooting for 600 - 800 words. Please laugh at me when we see how wrong I end up being. Oh, and the reader is best friends with Bob because I said so. || cross-posted on ao3

===

There were very few things you had asked for in life. Good health, good people, and the entire sky at your disposal. A small list, if a bit demanding. One thing you hadn’t been expecting when you’d asked for the Heavens was all those who came with it. In particular, Jake Seresin, who slid into the booth across from you. Beers in hand, grin in place.

“Come here often, doll?”

You roll your eyes at him. A movement that does little to hide the smile blooming across your lips. “I can’t believe I ever let that line work on me.”

“In your defense,” he said, taking a long swig of his beer. “The first time I used that line, we were thousands of feet in the sky. It’s where I’m at my most irresistible.”

“Ah, yes. That must have been it. Everywhere else you’re just insufferable.” You laughed and took a significantly smaller sip of your beer. It’s your second one in ten minutes. “If I didn’t know you any better, Seresin, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk here.”

“Tryin’?” he scoffed, “and you say you know me.”

The unfortunate thing about this whole situation was that you did know Jake. You knew him well, better than Coyote. You knew his favorite color was yellow. That’s why it had been put in his helmet. (He’d also left off the ‘a’ in his helmet because the idea of filling it in to say ‘Hungman’ fit his sixth grade sense of humor). You knew he over-exaggerated his southern drawl whenever you walked into a room because you’d once drunkenly admitted to him that hearing him talk flooded your mind with dirty thoughts. You knew Jake’s mind was fifty percent dirty thoughts, twenty-five percent sky, twenty percent you, five percent ways to school you at cards and five percent cheeky comebacks he was sitting on to annoy the rest of the squad with. And, most disheartening of all, you knew Jake was not a romantic.

It didn’t bother him that date night was a few beers, fried food, and a game of pool. It didn’t bother you either. Not entirely, but you were hoping for one night where you could dress up nice and go out somewhere fancy. Somewhere along the lines of joining the military and ending up at TOPGUN the line of being feminine had been blurred. Commanders couldn’t understand why you’d want to put on a bit of mascara to fly a plane. In the same stretch of imagination, Hangman seemingly couldn’t put it together that you’d like a bit of romance in your life beyond the cheesy pickup lines and pet names.

If you could add anything to your list of ‘good health, good people, and the entire sky’ it would be a few nice dates. You’d say nothing fancy, but you wouldn’t mean it. You wanted fancy. Even if it was just to realize that fancy is actually not what you wanted at all. Something to change up the pace of playing pool with Jake and being hit on by him like you were his latest conquest and not his girlfriend of six months.

Part of you felt like you were being slightly unfair.

“Your turn, doll,” Jake said, but when you went to pass in front of him he grabbed you by your belt loop. He pulled you back towards him, matching your laugh, and captured your lips with his.

Moments like these almost had you convinced that maybe you could push those selfish date ideas off to the side. Jake liked showing off. He liked being able to flirt with you in a place where you could laugh loudly and no one would look at you weird. He liked being able to slip out the back door to walk down the beach with you under the stars.

“If it’s my turn,” you said between kisses, “then let me shoot the ball.”

Reluctantly, he let go of your waist and you positioned yourself to sink yet another ball into the pocket. You planned to kick his ass in an embarrassingly short amount of time to get the pettiness out of your system, then enjoy your night together.

Except for the fact that the front bell chimed, and familiar shouts filled the bar. Familiar because you’d heard them less than an hour ago. You considered altering your list once more. ‘Good people who knew when not to come get a drink.’

“Hangman!” Payback shouted across the bar. “Rack ‘em up. Rooster was just telling me how the two of you ended in a tie game last week.”

Jake’s laughter filled your ears. He still had a hand on the small of your back, but his attention was entirely on your group of friends trailing through the door. “Chicken doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. I smoked his ass.”

“I’d like to see you put your money where your mouth is, Seresin. Unless you’re still broke from the last time I kicked your ass.”

Rooster headed over to the pool table followed closely by Fanboy and Coyote. Payback, scribbling in a notebook, hung back for a moment. Then opened his mouth to edge the tension on a bit more. You knew your date night had been pushed aside, so you took it upon yourself to step off to the side yourself.

Phoenix smiled at you, waving, and tilted her head. “I thought you guys were on a date?” She asked. You shot her a look that said ‘We’ll talk later.’ Natasha let out a laugh. “Sorry. Look, I’ll get you something strong to drink.”

“Make it a double!” You called out after her as she made her way over to the bar where she’d be trapped by millions of questions from Penny. The sound of your name, your government name, being called by a certain southern drawl caught your attention. “Yes, love?” You asked, hoping that your boyfriend was about to make an unexpected promise that the two of you could leave after one game.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Jake nudged you softly with his shoulder then threw his head over in Bradley’s direction. “We can always just ask the peanut squad to leave. The small man will only get so much smaller when I whoop his ass for the hundredth time”

Rooster stiffens, almost to attention. He holds the pool cue next to him. Straight and tall. “I’m taller than you are, Bagman.”

It had become a trend of sorts to refer to Jake with various insults that fell so effortlessly from Bob’s mouth. You had tried your hardest to resist, out of solidarity for your boyfriend, some of the nicknames were too creative to avoid… and it gave you an excuse to make Jake try and draw his true name from your lips.

“I wasn’t referring to that kind of height, Chick.”

“C’mon, Jake,” you whine, “can you please just be the polite Jake I know you to be?”

“Oxymoron!” Rooster calls from across the pool table to which Jake whirls around and says, “What the fuck did you just call me?”

You shoot a glare in Bradley’s direction. “Seriously?” Out of the corner of your eye you see Payback pulling that same little notebook out of his pocket to make a mark. You turn on him. “And what the hell are you doing?”

He turns the page towards you. On it in crude, unintelligible handwriting is what you can only assume to be two columns labeled “Hangman” and “Rooster” with a series of ticks beneath them. Jake in the lead by a long shot. “I like to keep track.”

In the corner, you noticed when you squinted to read the handwriting, was a third little box. Completely full of ticks. “Who is that?”

“Bob,” Payback said at the same time Bob said, “Mine.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to Jake. “Can I talk to you?”

Your tone is enough to etch worry on his face. He set his pool cue against the table, grabbed you by the waist, and pulled you off to the side. “What’s wrong, doll?”

“This isn’t a date.” The whiny lit to your voice didn’t make you feel the most sexy, but you’d tried seducing Jake to go to a movie so the two of you could make out in the dark instead and that hadn’t worked. Pouting was your last resort. “Every time we go on a date, they show up. They’re like fleas!”

“At least fleas can do tricks.” Jake turned to look over his shoulder. “Rooster can’t even hit a ball straight.”

“Jake, I’m being serious. Why won’t you just take me on a date? A real one.”

“Look, pretty girl, I’ll make a deal with you.”

You side-eyed him, unconvinced, and sighed. “Lucky me.”

“Play me in darts. I win, we stay and hang out with everyone. Lord knows Rooster and Phoenix need to be humbled in pool. Plus, you’re the only one here who can get Bob to do enough shots to start doing karaoke.” He rests his forehead against yours. “I know how much you love his drunk renditions of ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

Jake had a point. There had been one night - shockingly, another date night at the Hard Deck turned into a group activity - where you went to sulk in a booth while your schmooze of a boyfriend fueled his bromance with Coyote, Rooster, and Payback. Bob, still not the biggest partier, had grown tired of the swapping insults over darts and was worn out from dodging Phoenix and Fanboy’s attempts to get him to dance with them. So he’d ended up in the booth across from you.

You’d been pounding back shots of tequila like they were water. “He’s stupid,” you had slurred to Bob, “but you’re not stupid. You’re fun. Here, do a shot with me. Let’s be fun.”

He would tell you the next day that he had only intended to do one shot but one turned into two which turned into four which turned into Bob unplugging the jukebox to sing a melody of songs from your Grandma’s playlist with impressive range. After each one he would make sure to point you out of the gathering crowd of dazzled patrons. “This one’s for her!” He’d shout in dedication and start up singing again.

It hadn’t been a bad night then, and, even though you’d never admit it to Jake, you had a lot of fun. Tonight would be the same if you could let yourself stop moping long enough to enjoy it. But there was still the matter of:

“What if I win?” You ask. Competition was the reason you were here on the West Coast to begin with. You were the best of the best because you refused to let anyone else get the upper hand on you. “What do I get then, Seresin?”

“If you win,” Jake said, slowly kneading your hips with his hands. “I will take you out on another date - a fancy one. With roses and the opening of doors and the biggest bottle of wine this nice restaurant downtown has to offer. I’ll dress up and give you the most romantic night of your life. But tonight we’ll stay here and do everything we’d do anyway if I had win.”

“If I win.”

“If you win… but you won’t.”

He didn’t have to say it for you to know it was true. He threw darts the same way he flew planes: with deadly precision. There was a reason Hangman was the only one out of everyone in their generation with two confirmed kills. He could land a shot with his eyes closed. In the air and with two feet planted firmly on the hardwood floors of the Hard Deck.

“That’s not fair at all.”

“I don’t make the rules, sweet thing.” That stupid smirk was back on his face. The two of you hadn’t made it back to your booth yet for appetizers, otherwise there’d surely be a toothpick rolling between those lips of his too. “C’mon, we’ll make it easy. Three darts each. Most points win.”

“That’s not how you play darts, Jake. Even I know that.”

“Bagman,” Payback called out, “what are you doing, the balls are racked?”

You went to grab the darts from the board as Jake said, “Kicking my girl’s ass in darts as a warm up for kicking your sorry asses in every game after.”

“Ladies first,” you gestured, mimicking his smug smirk. He glared playfully at you but stepped up to throw the first dart in a movement almost too quick for you to see. A perfect bullseye. “Show off.”

“Got to put some skin in the game.” Jake moved you in front of him. His hands gripping your waist to hold you in place as he pressed kisses to your neck. “I like your skin better, darlin’.”

You shooed him away. The dart felt heavy in your hand. Screwing this up would essentially be throwing away your only sure shot at the date of your dreams. You lifted your arm and threw the dart. It flew, fitting itself snugly into the single bull.

Jake’s turn. He moved just as quickly as the first time, but the angle he shot at landed the dart in a single scoring 18. Winning was still well within your grasp. A decent date was inching closer and closer.

Your turn. A deep steady breath. This dart felt weightless. An extension of yourself. You throw the dart in a less fluid motion than Jake, but manage to stick it in the bullseye right next to his.

“Look at that!” You shouted, pointing and jumping. Joy overwhelmed you not just because you were currently winning, but because this had been the first bullseye you’d made without Jake helping you in the slightest. He’d likely still claim this victory as his. It was his silly deal that made you so determined in the first place.

Jake’s final turn. He still had the chance to put you in the dust. Your eyes were glued to the board, but the dart never came. When you turned to look at him, Jake threw the dart at the ground. “You win,” he said, but you shook your head. Eyes back to the board. You won even without throwing this last dart.

You snapped your head in his direction, ready to call him out for cheating, but you were cut off by Jake’s lips crashing onto yours. He pulled away quickly, muttered a small, “You really think I’d deny you anything, doll?” then rushed off to join the restless group at the pool table. Leaving you to glance from the stray dart stuck in the floor and the man you were beginning to fall for at the pool table.

Phoenix saddled up next to you, drink in hand, and passed one over to you. “What did he promise you if you won?”

“A real date.”

“The fancy one with all that inspiration you’ve been sending me on Pintrest.”

“That’s the one.”

She let out a low whistle. “Wow, and I thought he loved you just by the way he looked at you, but this is something else. He’s smitten.”

“I guess I have that effect on some people,” you said and hid your giddy grin with a sip of your drink. “Did you ask Penny to get the tequila shots ready?”

“The real question is if we’re ready to hear Bob signing.”

This might just be one of your favorite dates yet.

===

oneshot taglist:

@rosiahills22 @pono-pura-vida @gizmodear

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callsign-mayhem · 3 months ago

Text

i'm with the band (part 1)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female!Reader & Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader (final pairing to be revealed at the end...) Word count: 7.6k CW: Use of Y/N; reader wears Dr Martens, but that's the only specific detail.

You discover that your best friend Bob can play the drums, and since you have some musical gifts of your own, you decide to start a navy band. It's supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but what happens when lines get blurred between you and Bob, feelings come to the surface, and a certain Rooster gets jealous?

This is a multi-part fic. Part two

‘If I’d known you could play the drums like that,’ you said, looping your arm through Bob’s. ‘I’d have suggested starting a band months ago!’

As the two of you walked across the near-empty runway, you mourned all the time you’d wasted already and wondered how soon you could get a move on with your idea. Bob was smiling shyly, eyes fixed firmly on the tarmac. You knew he didn’t think he drummed well enough to be in a band. You also knew he had a habit of being too hard on himself.

It was pure chance that had led you to discover Bob’s affinity for music. You’d been standing outside the front door of his house with a box of doughnuts in your hand, ready to surprise your friend, when you’d frozen.

Somebody was drumming—drumming well.

It sounded perfect, not just messy noise and missed beats, and it was coming from Bob’s small garage. Resolutely, you’d hurried back down the stairs that led up to the red front door and crept across the well-kept lawn. Once you’d safely hidden behind a fern closer to the garage, you’d realised that a backing track was playing over a speaker, which Bob was drumming to. It was a Catfish and the Bottlemen song—one of his favourite bands. Even now—days later—you still weren’t over it; how your heartbeat had fallen in time with Bob’s drumming and how alive it had made you feel.

And then there was the small matter of how good he’d looked doing it.

Bob Floyd had been your closest friend in San Diego since you were first called back to TOPGUN many moons ago. Both of you were Weapons Systems Officers; this similarity was the gravitational force that had pulled you together, but how much you had in common kept you that way. With this being said, you were having a hard time justifying your body’s reaction when you peeked around the fern and into the garage that day. He was wearing a white t-shirt, the front of which was soaked with sweat, his hair was uncharacteristically mussed, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

Eventually, you’d decided to announce yourself, but not before heavily debating whether or not you should just take yourself home and have a cold shower. In the days since, your brain had habitually dredged your unholy thoughts up from the dark corner you’d haphazardly shoved them into. The veins in his hands and forearms, the way his biceps moved when he hit the drums, the furrow of his sweat-slicked brow, his messy hair… It was too much.

The two of you were nearing the changing rooms, where you’d go separate ways to shower and change. You knew if you let the idea of starting a band drop again, that would be it. Bob would have to give in eventually, so long as you were persistent.

‘You’re so talented, Bobby.’ You said. ‘I can play guitar, and I’m an alright singer. We’d only need to find a bass player and a lead guitarist.’

Bob scoffed. ‘You’re more than alright, Y/CS. Now who’s the one putting themselves down?’

Your face heated up, and for once, you were glad that Bob struggled to maintain eye contact.

‘Well, thank you.’ You murmured.

Momentarily disarmed, you walked a few paces in companionable silence. Surprisingly, Bob was the one to break it.

‘I’m not saying no,’ he told you. ‘I’m just not thrilled at the idea of people hearing me play. I didn’t even tell you that I could.’

‘And that’s saying something,’ you grumbled. ‘Okay, let’s shelve it for now. What do you say we go out for drinks tonight, and we can brainstorm.’

Luckily, Bob wasn’t in the habit of saying no to his best friend.

He probably couldn’t even if he wanted to.

Summer was winding down, and although it was never freezing in San Diego, the evenings were beginning to get chillier. As you approached The Hard Deck and saw Bob sitting outside waiting, you were glad you’d decided to wear a jacket.

He sat with his back to the bar, looking out over the sand and the ocean beyond it. The fiery sunset made it seem like the beach was doused with honey, and you were momentarily reminded why you loved your station so much. You didn’t want to startle Bob, who was—let’s face it—easily startled, so you walked around the car park and up the decking instead of going up behind him. He watched you close the short distance from the edge of the seating area to the table with an easy smile on his face.

That’s how it always was with you and Bob. Easy.

‘I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.’ He said as you took the seat opposite him.

‘Sorry. I was gonna drive, but then I decided it was too nice, and I didn’t know if we’d drink much.’

‘I never drink much.’

You reached over and ruffled his perfect hair. ‘I know, Bobby, but there’s a first time for everything.’

A Peroni was already waiting for you, and Bob was nursing an ice-cold Corona Light. He probably wouldn’t drink more than two tonight since it was a work night. Then again, he remained his sensible self on the weekends too. Jake and Bradley had tried countless times to get him to ‘let loose,’ and you’d backed Bob up every single time, telling them firmly that not everybody needed to get shit-faced to have a good time. Jake usually responded with some variation of ‘you don’t need a car to get places either, darlin’, but it sure helps.’

You took a sip of your pint, glad to find it had a dash of lime. Bob never forgot anything, least of all your drink order.

‘So,’ you grinned devilishly. ‘The band.’

The corner of his lips twitched as he fought a smile. ‘There is no band.’

‘There is no band yet. I plan on changing that. I think we should make a poster to put up around base. There’s a notice board in the female changing rooms, so I’m assuming there’s one in yours, too. We could also put a few up in the barracks.’

Even though Bob seemingly didn’t want to start this band, he suggested asking Penny’s permission to put some in both bathrooms in The Hard Deck as well.

‘While we’re at it, we could put a few up around town,’ you added. ‘Unless we want this to be a navy-only band.’

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose and sipped his beer. You knew him well, including all his mannerisms and facial expressions. He was antsy and had the look he always had when Jake or Javy tried to extort personal information from him, like if he’d slept with anyone lately.

‘There’s something you don’t wanna tell me.’ You stated.

‘No, there isn’t.’ He tried to insist, but his heart wasn’t in it.

‘Look, Bobby. We don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll drop it now and never speak of it again.’ For whatever reason, you found yourself reaching out and taking his hand. It was cold from gripping his beer bottle. ‘But before you say yes to that with what I’m sure will be a massive amount of relief, I want you to know that you’re mega-talented. It’s not just a case of me thinking it—it’s an undeniable fact. If we find some decent bandmates and give this our all, we could have a lot of fun.’

Bob’s eyes were boring holes into the wooden picnic table. ‘I know we’d have fun, but would we have to play in front of people?’

‘If you really didn’t want to, we wouldn’t. But we’ve gotta find two more members and see if we can all work together before we even start thinking about that kind of thing.’ You squeezed his hand reassuringly. ‘It’s just a bit of harmless fun. What do you say?’

He met your eyes and smiled sheepishly. ‘Okay, fine.’

‘Yay!’ You shouted, practically jumping out of your seat to run around and hug him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind and leaned down so your face was next to his. After the initial shock had worn off, he reached up and put his hands over your forearms. It was the most awkward hug ever, but it was the best the two of you could do at such short notice.

‘I’ll start working on the posters tomorrow when I get home.’

Bradley knew that you and Bob were close, and he understood why. You were both WSOs, both loved music, and you were both quiet. When the group was overly drunk or rowdy, or the conversation ended up in territories neither of you was comfortable with, you retreated into your own private world. Bradley had seen it happen more than enough times: the way you eased each other’s anxiety just by sitting close together, the knowing looks you shared when one of the daggers did something predictable, the inside jokes and references you made that left everyone else feeling like they were on the outside of something.

It was hard to ignore.

Bradley wasn’t as unruly as Mickey or as daring as Jake and Javy. He wasn’t as stern and fierce as Natasha and didn’t ramble about sports when drunk like Reuben. But he wasn’t a wallflower like you or Bob, either. He was something else entirely.

Bradley prided himself on his ability to fit in anywhere. He could talk to almost anyone about anything, but still, he felt something was missing. He didn’t have one specific person he thought he was in tandem with. At first, he liked it. When he was young, he thought it meant he was just a social butterfly, able to jump from group to group and fit into them all. As he got older, he felt out of step, like one of his legs was longer than the other.

He wanted to find his person. The one he could sit with at the bar and judge everyone else with. The one he could communicate with through a single facial expression or private joke—whose mere presence would comfort him.

Bradley was sitting inside with the rest of the daggers. They were only having a quiet few, then heading home. Natasha was thrashing Mickey at pool, and Jake was attempting to show Javy how he managed to get a bullseye almost every time in darts. Bradley and Reuben sat at a high table nearby, chatting about this and that. They were next to the window that looked out across the outdoor seating area, and Bradley had been glancing at you and Bob all evening. At first, he’d been waiting for you to wrap things up and come and join in. Then, when you came in to get another drink before heading back outside, he wondered if something had happened. Maybe it was something you didn’t want to talk to the rest of the daggers about. He watched as closely as he could without making it evident to the rest of his friends. Natasha was already convinced he had a thing for you—he didn’t feel like adding fuel to that particular fire today, thank you very much.

Judging by the way you were talking exciting with your hands, he knew the two of you weren’t talking about something bad. Then, he saw you run around the table and hug Bob, and he wondered if he’d gotten this totally wrong. The whole group, aside from him and Natasha, were convinced that you and Bob were more than best friends. Jake and Javy teased you incessantly, and he was pretty sure that Mickey had started the bet on base as to how long it would take for the two of you to admit your feelings for one another. Bradley had ten bucks on this never happening because he was very close with Nat who was very close with you, and you always reassured her that you and Bob weren’t a thing. Bradley wasn’t a girl, but he understood that if you were lying, Natasha would know. Girlfriends always know when their girlfriends are lying, especially regarding guys.

So Bradley was confused. He’d never seen you and Bob hug before, and you’d never spent a whole evening separate from the group, knowing said group was ten feet away. Something was going on, and Bradley was desperate to know what. Part of him wanted to take this to Natasha for a second opinion, but she would only accuse him of jealousy.

Maybe he was jealous, but he didn’t need his best friend telling him that. How could he not be jealous when you looked, walked, and talked like that? When were you so intelligent, caring, and mindful of other people’s feelings? When you sang with him at the piano some nights, music coursing through your veins the same way it coursed through his?

Bradley had always known that you and Bob were close. He understood why. But just because he understood why didn’t mean he had to be okay with it.

Bob was working out in the gym on base when you cornered him the next day. It had been a slow morning and an even slower afternoon, which was welcomed after almost a fortnight of incessant training courses. He was lifting weights with his headphones on when he felt a presence at the bottom of the bench. He finished his reps, lifted the barbell back onto its stand and sat up. You were standing with a stack of papers in your hands and a face that meant business, and you were saying something Bob couldn’t hear. He removed his headphones, just about catching the back end of your sentence.

‘—so all you need to do is put one in the guy’s changing rooms and stalls. Mav is taking some to Penny’s tonight.’

This was all happening very fast.

‘I thought you were making posters tonight after work.’ He said, scratching the back of his head.

‘I was, but I couldn’t sleep when I got home ‘cause I was too excited.’

It pleased Bob to see you so joyful and filled with passion. There was nothing he loved more. But he couldn’t help but feel strange about the whole band thing. You were never supposed to find out that he could drum, mainly because he didn’t think he was that great at it. He was embarrassed that you’d seen him so unfiltered, and in a way, it made him feel vulnerable. The prospect of other people seeing him in the same way made him more than a little nervous. On a daily basis, he blended into the background. The only person he stood out to most of the time was you; he liked it that way. He didn’t want to stand out to anyone else; he didn’t want anyone’s eyes on him.

But he had to admit that making music with you did seem appealing. The two things he loved most in the world come together as one. If the band ended up being as good as you wanted it to be and you managed to score some gigs, he would find a way to be okay with it.

Anything to keep that smile on your face.

‘You wanna come over later?’ Bob asked. ‘We could order dinner, maybe try out a few songs. I haven’t heard you sing in a while, and you’ve never played your guitar for me.’

You flushed scarlet, and Bob wondered if you were just as shy when playing for people as he was. You hid it better than he did, like everything else.

‘That’d be nice. We can start thinking about a setlist.’

‘I think we need to find some bandmates before we make a setlist.’

‘It doesn’t hurt to have some ideas for when we finally meet aforementioned bandmates,’ you said optimistically. ‘I think they’ll find our eagerness enticing.’

Bob couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re perfect, you know that?’

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so it was somehow easier to keep eye contact. Like being half-blind made him more confident. He supposed if he couldn’t see your reactions clearly, he wouldn’t have to worry about what he said as much.

‘Well, so are you.’ You replied timidly.

‘My place at seven?’

‘It’s a date.’

Bob was only half blind, not totally. He saw your whole demeanour change when you realised what you’d said.

‘N-not a date,’ you stammered. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

He smiled. ‘It’s okay, I know what you meant.’

‘Okay,’ you breathed. ‘Your place at seven.’

Your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and you looked everywhere but at him, but he thought you were adorable.

By seven-thirty, you were scarfing egg rolls at your best friend’s place. It was his turn to pick the takeout, and he’d chosen Chinese. Your laptop was on your knee, and you were going through your ‘Songs That Would Wake Me From a Coma’ playlist, explaining to Bob what you loved about each one. He had a similar playlist, and whenever you played something that was also on his, the smile on his face got larger. He’d been smiling at you all day, and you could scarcely believe he’d been on the fence about starting a band together. He didn’t seem nervous now, and the two of you had fallen into your usual, easy rhythm.

After dinner, Bob helped you get your guitar and amp from your car. You had a black Fender Dreadnought for playing acoustic, but since you’d be playing electric in the band, you brought your Gretsch. It was the same guitar Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy played, and it was your pride and joy.

Bob’s garage was perfect for band rehearsals. He left his car on the drive and used the garage as his music room since his house was relatively small. This was how he’d managed to hide his talent from you for so long. What reason would you have to go in his garage?

It was soundproofed since drumming was hands down the nosiest hobby a person could have, and he’d outfitted the place with creature comforts: a mini fridge for sodas and snacks, a small leather couch with blankets and pillows, framed band posters on the walls, a tasteful rug, and, of course, his drum kit. You’d never played, but it didn’t take a genius to know that it must have cost a pretty penny. You could tell that Bob took good care of it, too.

‘Bobby, this is going to be perfect. We’ll be able to practise here.’

‘We’ll probably have to get some more kit. Mics, some more amps. Pedals.’

‘Any guitarist worth their salt will already have that kinda stuff. I have tonnes of shit in my lockup. Haven’t got a mic or a stand, though.’

‘We can cross that bridge when we come to it.’

‘We’ve been saying that a lot lately,’ you grinned. ‘There’s a lot of bridges in our future.’

You got comfy on the couch, and Bob perched himself on the stool behind his drum kit. He watched as you expertly tuned your guitar, fingers moving over the pegs with the kind of surety that only came with doing something a million times.

‘What shall I play?’ You asked.

‘Play me your go-to when you’re just playing for yourself.’

Since you always played for yourself, you had no shortage of options. But you settled on your favourite: the solo from Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch. It was short but tricky and had taken you months to perfect. Maybe you were showing off, but you were proud that you could play it, and you’d be damned if Bob’s shocked expression wasn’t worth it.

When you were finished, he stood up and gave you a round of applause. You had no idea what to feel. Embarrassment or pride? A mixture of both?

‘Damn,’ Bob breathed. ‘That was insane. You’re a total rockstar, Y/CS.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ you chuckled. ‘But thank you. It took me so long to learn how to play that.’ ‘That’s like me and Psychosocial.’

You raised a brow. ‘Slipknot?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I didn’t take you for a Slipknot kinda guy, Bobby.’

‘I listen to a few of their songs,’ he explained. ‘But it’s more that they’re really fun to play.’

You gestured to his drum kit. ‘Well, go on then.’

‘No way,’ Bob shook his head. ‘I’ll screw it up in front of you.’

‘Please?’ You pouted.

So you spent the next few hours taking turns playing parts of songs you knew, bonding over your shared favourites and introducing one another to new music. You were going to stop for the night, but then you discovered that Bob knew how to play some of the same songs as you, and you started playing together.

You were the one who suggested starting a navy band—you knew it would be entertaining—but playing with Bob like this… There were no words to describe how incredible it felt.

It was Reuben’s idea to go out for dinner that Saturday night, but now that day had finally arrived, Bradley regretted saying yes. It had been pouring rain all day, putting a pin in his plans to swim at the beach. Then, his dryer—which was second-hand and had always been temperamental at best—had finally packed up, with his soaking wet uniform for Monday still inside. The last thing he wanted to do was get himself ready and drive halfway across town to Little Italy, but every excuse he typed out to the group chat sounded meagre and childish. He ended up deleting them and getting himself in the shower, hoping that going out with his closest friends would lift his mood, even though he couldn’t be bothered to leave his house.

Autumn was quickly closing in, and Bradley was glad he had a reason to wear his favourite jacket again— a vintage, fleece-lined Levi number covered in patches that had belonged to his dad. He took it from his wardrobe and laid it on his bed, along with a pair of black jeans, a Smiths t-shirt and his Chelsea boots. The day he’d bought—or rather, been forced to buy—those boots was still fresh in his memory. It wasn’t long after you’d all been called back to TOPGUN for the special detachment. In fact, it was only a few days after the daggers had received the news that they’d be staying in San Diego permanently. It was a day not unlike this one, and he’d been at the mall looking for a suit to wear to a wedding he was flying home for. He rounded a corner on his way to Starbucks into a head-on collision with you. He hadn’t known you long, only since that first night in The Hard Deck when everyone either reunited with old friends or made new ones.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you gasped. ‘What an idiot, I’m so clumsy.’

Your shopping bags had fallen to the floor, and you were scrambling to pick them up, not having realised who you’d just bumped into. Bradley was so caught up admiring you in your long-sleeve dress and boots that he forgot his manners. He’d never seen you out of uniform and suddenly felt very cheated.

You were gorgeous.

‘No, it’s my fault,’ he insisted, crouching down to help you gather your things. ‘Sorry, Y/CS.’

Your head snapped up, and you met his gaze, a shy smile taking hold of your delicate features. ‘Rooster,’ you breathed. ‘How didn’t I know that was you?’

The two of you stood up at the same time, almost bumping heads. ‘Beats me,’ he chuckled. I’m big enough to see.’

Your laugh was a little more on the awkward side, and he briefly wondered if you’d missed his sarcasm.

‘Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw,’ you’d said toyingly. ‘Callsign: Beanpole.’

Until now, Bradley hadn’t thought you capable of a jibe like that. You were quiet at work, only speaking when necessary, as though you believed that if you didn’t have anything to add to the conversation, it wasn’t worth speaking at all. The most he’d seen you speak was with Bob about work, and with Coyote, since you were his backseater.

He was sure his laughter echoed through the entire shopping centre.

‘You shopping for anything in particular?’ He asked, desperate to keep the conversation going and that smile on your pretty face.

‘New boots,’ you replied. ‘Dr Martens have brought out their new Fall collection.’

Bradley glanced at the boots you were wearing and realised he’d just learned a little something about Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N. ‘I just bought a new suit,’ he told you. ‘I could use a nice new pair of shoes to go with it if you’d like some company.’

‘Well, sure. I don’t see why not.’ You blinked, taken aback.

Bradley couldn’t understand why you were surprised that he wanted to spend time with you. Before heading to the Dr Martens store, the two of you stopped at Starbucks. He explained that he was initially heading there before he so rudely knocked into you and asked if he could buy you a coffee by way of apology. You’d told him he didn’t need to apologise but accepted the coffee anyway.

‘I’ll have an iced white mocha, please. If you’re sure.’ you told him politely.

‘An iced white mocha,’ he echoed. ‘Sounds fancy.’

‘What do you normally order?’

‘Usually just a flat white.’ The disgust on your face as you glared up at him had him laughing all over again. ‘What’s that face for?’

‘You don’t go to Starbucks and order a flat white!’ You exclaimed. ‘That’s like going to a strip club and chatting up the security guard.’

Bradley guffawed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much. And he couldn’t believe that your quiet and composed self was the cause of it.

‘What should I get instead, then?’ He asked. ‘Since you’re such an expert.’

‘Do you like iced drinks?’

‘Of course.’

You thought for a moment. ‘What about caramel?’

‘Yup.’

‘Then you should try an iced caramel macchiato.’

Nobody had been waiting behind you when you came into the store. Now, four people were waiting behind you and Bradley. The server had been trying to get your attention for a while, and someone tsked impatiently.

‘An iced white mocha for Y/CS here, and I’ll take an iced caramel mach- machi… whatever she just said.’

‘Macchiato,’ you corrected. ‘It’s macchiato.’

Bradley gently nudged you with his elbow. ‘It’s leviOsa, not leviosA.’

It was your turn to nearly pee your pants from laughing.

‘Can I get a name, please?’ The server asked frustratedly.

‘Beanpole.’ Bradley smirked.

You were still giggling like a couple of school kids when you got to the Dr Martens store. You already knew which boots you wanted, so you only had to ask the shop assistant to fetch your size. While you waited, you browsed the men’s section with Bradley, pointing out styles you thought might suit him.

‘Wait!’ You exclaimed. ‘I know exactly which pair would look the best on you.’

Your excitement enamoured him; he probably would have bought anything you handed him to make you happy. It was a stroke of luck that the shoe you gave him was decent, something he probably would have picked for himself: a pair of black Chelsea boots, subtle but sexy with their thick soles and shiny leather. He’d never imagined himself in a pair of docs before, but he could undoubtedly imagine himself in these. When the clerk returned with your shoes, he asked if she wouldn’t mind fetching a size 12 of the ‘edgy-looking Chelsea boots.’ She’d smiled at his description, and so had you.

‘Let’s just hope I can pull them off as well as you.’

You flushed, batting your eyelashes at him. If it were anyone else, he’d have thought you were being demure on purpose, just to be cute. But it wasn’t anyone else; it was you, and you were cute.

He wondered if you’d notice that he was wearing them today. Usually, you pointed them out when he did, and he liked it when you singled him out from everyone else and called him Beanpole, leaving everyone else slightly confused. Even Bob wasn’t in on that joke.

Once he was dressed and ready, he headed out to the Bronco. He had to run to avoid getting drenched, and he once again questioned his decision as he pulled off his driveway. Then he thought about you and realised he didn’t have music playing. For the duration of his journey, he sang along to old Bon Jovi songs, grinning like a fool at the thought of seeing you.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It was only natural that you and Bob had travelled to the restaurant together since your house was on the way. Bob had an umbrella in the back of his pickup, so he went to your front door instead of texting to let you know he’d arrived. You received him in the most exquisite dress he’d ever seen, made even more jaw-dropping by the fact it was you wearing it. It was a deep navy, with a cowl neck and a ruffled hem. The top material layer was peppered with tiny crystals that gave the illusion of a beautiful starry night. Your hair fell in loose curls down your back, the top half pinned up with little star-shaped clips. As for your makeup… well, that was another story entirely. You’d worn more than usual, but you’d been careful not to make it seem overdone.

Bob was speechless. Objectively, he’d always known you were a gorgeous woman but seeing you all dolled up like that had him pulling at the collar of his shirt, hoping to loosen it a little.

‘Bobby. You look handsome.’

Since the restaurant Reuben had picked was fancy, Bob had opted for black suit pants, a white button-down, and a collared leather jacket. Standing next to you, he felt he must look overwhelmingly disappointing.

‘And you look like a movie star. I should’ve laid a red carpet.’ Bob replied, sounding more confident than he felt.

You shifted from one foot to the other, beaming like you’d won the lottery.

‘I thought I’d meet you at the door with this,’ he explained, waving the umbrella. ‘I’m glad I did. Wouldn’t want your pretty hair gettin’ ruined,’ he stammered. ‘Or your dress.’

‘That’s kind of you, thanks. I don’t even know if I own an umbrella.’

‘Do you have a jacket?’

‘Yeah, let me just turn the lights off and grab it. I’ll be back in two seconds.’

As you turned around, Bob diverted his gaze from your figure, focusing instead on the colourful flowers you had growing in hanging baskets on your porch.

You came back wearing a leather jacket similar to his. He held the umbrella over the two of you the whole way down your driveway and opened the passenger side door so you could climb in. He was momentarily worried that you’d struggle to step into his truck with heels on, but then he realised you weren’t wearing heels. You were wearing a pair of white Dr Martens with silky white ribbons as laces—in retrospect, he should have expected that of you by now.

When you arrived at Juniper and Ivy, the host took you to a large table in the back corner near three floor-to-ceiling windows. It wasn’t dark yet, but the stormy weather made it feel like the middle of the night. The table was set for eight, with impressive settings and flickering candles. Mickey and Natasha had already been seated. You sat opposite her, next to the window, and Bob tucked you in.

‘Thanks, Bobby,’ you said as he sat beside you. ‘You’ve been a true gentleman tonight.’

‘Anytime.’ He mumbled.

It took a tremendous effort to ignore the sensation of Mickey and Nat’s eyes boring holes into the top of his head as he scanned the menu before him. However, it was harder to ignore the feeling of Mickey kicking him in the shin beneath the table. Bob glared at him over the rim of his glasses, silently asking what the fuck, man? Mickey raised his eyebrows in silent response, nodding his head at you. Thankfully, you were so absorbed in the cocktail menu that you hadn’t noticed. Then, the unthinkable. Mickey nodded at you, then back at Bob, then subtly did the thrusting action. He bit his lip and rolled his eyes to paint a detailed picture of what he was trying to insinuate. Natasha snorted into her glass of water, causing you to look up.

‘Did I miss something?’ You questioned.

Mickey’s eyes dropped to his lap as though he’d been chastened.

He was prevented from having to answer, thanks to Bradley and Javy arriving at the table, instantly distracting you.

‘Beanpole,’ you smirked. ‘If you keep wearing those boots, you’ll wear ‘em out.’

Bradley made straight for you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. You seemed just as surprised as everyone else.

‘Show me which pair you’re wearing tonight.’

You swivelled in your seat and hiked your dress up so he could see your boots. The sight of the smooth skin above them was enough to turn Bob’s stomach to mush. He needed to pull himself together.

Bradley tapped the tip of your boot with the tip of his to show his appreciation while Javy took the spot next to Bob. Bradley walked around the table next to Mickey, presumably so he could see you better.

Bob wasn’t an idiot. If he’d showed up and the seat next to you was already taken, he’d have done the same thing.

‘So,’ Bradley started, an insatiable smirk plastered to his face. ‘We’re waitin’ on Payback and Bagman?’

‘Reuben just texted me,’ Mickey responded. ‘They’re five minutes out.’

You leaned over slightly—your head almost resting on Bob’s shoulder—and showed him the

cocktail menu. ‘I wonder if they make good sex on the beaches here.’

‘How did I know you were gonna order that?’

‘I can’t help it,’ you groaned. ‘They’re my weakness.’

‘I’ll order you one when the waitress comes over.’

‘We should’ve got a cab,’ you countered. ‘Then you could’ve had one too. I promise you’ll like them. It’s glorified fruit juice.’

‘We could go for drinks at that bar by your house sometime,’ Bob offered. ‘It’s walkable. That way, I can try one, and we don’t have to worry about driving.’

Bob genuinely wasn’t expecting you to get as excited as you did. ‘Yes! Why haven’t we thought of this sooner?’

Your conversation was (rudely) interrupted by Bradley, setting an ornately decorated cocktail in front of you. Bob had been so wrapped up in your proximity and the sweet scent of your perfume that he hadn’t noticed Bradley leave the table.

‘Sex on the beach.’ Bradley stated, seemingly quite proud of himself.

The spell was broken, and suddenly, it was no longer you and Bob. His eyes flicked from you to Bradley, noticing how you mirrored his pleased expression.

‘Damn, Bradshaw, at least take me out to dinner before you start suggesting that.’

Everyone who had been paying attention laughed, even Bob. His was nervous, and when Natasha shot him a pointed look, this nasty sensation only increased. It was a look that said get her before it’s too late.

You were only kidding, right? You’d have said the same thing if Mickey had bought you the drink instead of Bradley. Right?

When Reuben and Jake arrived dressed to the nines, the waitress came over and took a drink order and your starters. Bob made a point of ordering you another cocktail. When you winked and asked him if he was trying to get you drunk, he felt as though all the balance had been restored in the world once again.

‘Y/N,’ Natasha said. ‘You wanna come to the bathroom with me before the first course arrives?’

You shrugged. ‘Sure, why not?’

You waited for Nat at the top of the table since she had to walk around. She linked arms with you when she got to you, and the two of you headed off toward the bathroom, completely unaware of all the eyes on you.

Bob was aware. It was all he could do not to get up and walk out when Jake opened his mouth.

‘Who knew Y/CS had a body like that underneath her uniform?’ Jake drawled.

Javy seemed to share Jake’s thought process. ‘I know, right? She looks like a damn supermodel in that dress.’

Bob accidentally locked eyes with Bradley, who was doing a worse job of hiding his anger than he was. He wished you’d both said no to this dinner and gone to the bar near your house instead. He wished he was listening to you sing or playing the drums to your guitar at his house.

He wished he wasn’t jealous that the other guys had started paying attention to his best friend.

He wished this meant anything other than what it did because he knew things were about to get a lot more complicated.

Natasha looked drop-dead gorgeous in her pale blue trousers and matching oversized blazer. Her hair was loose and wavy, and you were obsessed with the smoky eyeshadow she’d done.

‘That outfit is to die for,’ you told her. ‘I love the colour on you.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘But let’s talk about that dress. You look stunning.’

You scoffed. ‘This old thing.’

She opened the bathroom door for you, and you stepped inside. Nobody was in there, and before you knew what was happening, Nat dragged you over to the bench on the other side.

‘Why does a bathroom need a loveseat?’ You wondered aloud.

She sat you down and took both your hands, leaning forward excitedly. For what, you had no idea.

‘We need to talk about the dress. And Bob. And Rooster.’

‘What do you mean?’

Nat rolled her eyes, squeezing your hands urgently. ‘Don’t be cute. Tell me you didn’t see all those guys turn around to watch you walk away just then!’

‘They did?’

‘Yes! Not to mention Bradley acting like a lovesick fool the second he saw you. Or Bob staring at you like you hung the fucking moon in the sky!’

This was too much. ‘Okay, system overload.’

‘You need to open your eyes.’

‘I need you to back up a few steps. How was Bradley acting like a lovesick fool?’

‘He didn’t even say hi to anyone else. The man didn’t even look at us. He went straight for you, and started on that little inside joke you have about your boots. And then he bought you that drink, which, by the way, he’d already gone up to buy before you even said anything out loud. He remembers from that time we all went to that seafood place, and you had the bartender make you a jug for the table.’

This was all well and good, but it didn’t necessarily mean he was lovesick, and you told Nat so.

‘And as for Bob, that’s another story. That man worships the ground you walk on, and if you can’t see it, you should ask to borrow his glasses.’

It was almost comical that Nat was so riled up and self-assured. You could believe that Bob had a little crush. Hell, you had a little crush on him, too. But there was no way someone as confident and vibrant as Bradley could have a thing for you. That was one step too far into crazy town.

‘They’re gonna wonder where we’ve gotten to.’ You said, hoping she’d just drop this.

‘We need to talk about it at some point. I’m dying here, Y/N.’ Natasha insisted.

‘Breakfast date tomorrow?’

‘Yes. I swear to God, if I’m wrong about Bradley, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.’

‘Oh, you’re on.’

‘But if I’m right,’ she grinned. ‘You have to do the same.’

Another cocktail was waiting for you when you returned to the table. Bob’s brow was furrowed, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and smoothing the worry line above his glasses. For the second time that evening, it dawned on you just how handsome he was.

The rest of the meal passed without great event. The food was to die for, and everyone commended Reuben for his spectacular choice of restaurant. The atmosphere was great; friends surrounded you, and Bradley and Bob seemed to be taking turns buying you cocktails. Nat was drinking an old-fashioned, and the boys had taken to buying her one every time they went up for you. You watched as she reached for her phone and typed out a text, not in the least bit surprised when your phone vibrated on the table.

You were glad Bob was chatting with Javy and Reuben about work because it would have been awkward if he had seen your phone now.

Both of you were giggling like idiots, utterly unaware of everyone else around you. Mickey was reading Nat’s phone over her shoulder, and Bradley watched you like a hawk. If you’d looked up at that moment, you’d have seen him gazing hungrily, eyes flitting from your face to the bare skin your dress didn’t cover.

The cocktails had gone to your head quicker than usual. You’d lost count of how many you’d had, what with Bradley and Bob’s efforts to keep a drink in front of you at all times. The more you thought about it, the more it did kind of seem like a dick-swinging contest.

After dessert had been eaten and the cheque split seven ways (Bob insisted on covering your portion), the dagger squad devised a new plan. Those who had been drinking wanted to keep on drinking, and the designated drivers wanted to start. Bob, Bradley, Mickey, Jake and Reuben had all driven, and they wanted to lose their cars and meet up with everyone at The Hard Deck to continue the night. Well, Bob wasn’t given a choice because if he was paying for your meal, you were taking him drinking and paying for everything he wanted. Plus, you didn’t want to go if he wasn’t going to be there.

So, you and Nat were going with Bob to The Hard Deck—he would leave his car there for the night, get a cab back to your place and spend the night in your guest room. This way, you could drop him back to his car tomorrow morning. Nat insisted she also wanted to stay at your place, like a slumber party. Clearly, the drinks were hitting her, too. You were sure Mickey would have invited himself as well had he been in the car with you. He loved being an honourary girl. Bradley, Mickey, Javy and Jake were taking their cars home and meeting everyone else there.

Bob gave you and Nat the umbrella and ran to start the truck.

‘So,’ Nat giggled, wiggling her eyebrows. ‘Floyd is spending the night at your place.’

‘In the guest room.’

‘Still. He’s gonna be ten feet from you all night. How ever will you control yourself?’ She teased.

Bob’s truck was a monster, and you’d always thought it didn’t match his personality—a black Dodge Ram 1500, basically big enough to live in. Like his house, he kept it incredibly clean, and you were always scared of breathing inside it.

You opened the back door for Nat, and she clambered in. Just as you were about to close the umbrella and climb in after her, Bob said: ‘Get in the front, Y/CS. I’m not a goddamn Uber driver.’

Well, that was it. Nat was literally doubled over in the back seat, and you ended up crouched on the pavement next to the truck in stitches. Maybe it was the alcohol and the good vibes you were tipsy from, or perhaps it was because Bob wasn’t even trying to be funny with that line—he was deadly serious. Either way, you couldn’t stop laughing.

Bob had to get back out of the truck and help you into the front seat, so he was soaked when he got back behind the wheel.

‘Oh, Bobby,’ you giggled. ‘Look at you. I’m so sorry.’

Your inhibitions were long gone, so it made perfect sense in your mind to reach out and take Bob’s glasses off and wipe them clean on your dress. Then, you took his face in both hands and gently swiped the water off his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. He’d closed his eyes, completely lost in the feeling. You’d momentarily forgotten that Natasha was in the backseat until she cleared her throat. Gently, you put Bob’s glasses back on for him and then busied yourself by connecting your phone to Bluetooth.

‘Okay,’ Nat said. ‘If you two are finished, I need another drink.’

You struggled to connect to the audio system, so Bob quickly typed his password in and handed you his phone. Opening up Spotify, you hit shuffle on his liked songs. Rollin’ by Limp Bizkit came on, and you gasped loudly.

‘This is a fucking great song. One of the best ever.’

Bob laughed as you reached out and turned up the volume, bopping your head along as he reversed out of the parking lot. You didn’t expect Nat to know it or like it, but she did, and you sang along obnoxiously the whole drive, first to Rollin’, then to Break Stuff.

‘You know what they say, Bobby?’

He indulged you: ‘What’s that?’

‘Live, laugh, Limp Bizkit.’

A/N: I can't express how excited I am about this series. If only you knew what I've got hidden up my sleeve! I've been thinking about it for a long time. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future parts!

#top gun maverick #top gun #robert floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley bradsaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #robert bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #natasha trace #mickey garcia #jake seresin #reuben fitch #pete mitchell #javy machado

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bridgetotheskyyy · 1 year ago

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Queen - Mikasa

Kinktober masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, facesitting, oral sex, fluff, pet names

A/n: Day 26: Facesitting! My first aot fic is a Mikasa wlw extravaganza ... Nature is healing.

Word count: 979

Read on ao3

“C’mon.” You tapped Mikasa’s naked thigh in encouragement. “Just ride me.”

She looked away, seemingly to conceal her blush. “Give me a second.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just …” She fidgeted. “I don’t want to hurt you is all.”

You clicked your tongue on the roof of your mouth. You looped a hand around her neck to bring her closer, your breath painting her lips as you said, “This isn’t my first rodeo, Mikasa.” You pecked her on the lips. “Hurt me. Hurt me.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes but began to fall back all the same.

“C’mon.” You kissed her plump lips before trailing down her chin, jaw, beginning to attack her throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste your pussy this way. Just let me …”

“Okay.” On cue, Mikasa spread her legs wide.

You felt them come apart as you made your way down the valley of her breasts, taking advantage of the position to flick and suck at her pert nipples. You kissed the underside of her tits, reveled in Mikasa’s twitch as your lips grazed one of her ribs. You swiped and circled in the dip of her navel.

“You’re — You’re stalling.” You took the tremble in her voice as a compliment.

“Savoring,” You corrected, voice gentle as you kiss your lover’s abs. Your lips brushed against Mikasa’s slight pubes before swiping your tongue out at the onset of her slit. You licked your own lips as you ease her lips open, her clit in sight.

“Please …”

“God, I love you like this.” One hand propped up your chin while you swept a finger pad over her clit — tap, tap, tap — to watch her shiver. You’ve played this game with her before. You stared eagle-eyed at her pussy, knowing soon her lips would start to glisten. She would whine and her legs, trapping you in her middle, would squirm. And all for you. “All obedient and begging.” You lifted her clitoral hood to further expose your prize, leaning down to suck the nub, and relished Mikasa’s cry above you. “Y’know, I was just talking to Eren last night about —“

Mikasa stopped you with a hand behind your head, pressing you into her cunt. “I don’t want to talk about Eren right now.”

“What?” You teased, Mikasa’s juices coating your tongue. “I’m just saying —”

A blink and Mikasa was out from beneath you. You read her face and the room and took her place on the bed, knowing better to aggravate your queen beyond her limit, especially when you haven’t yet satiated her desires. Mikasa waited for your head to hit the pillow before she mounted your face, sufficiently muffling your snickering.

“Do something purposeful with that mouth,” Mikasa droned, though the blush bridging her cheeks gave her away.

A jolt of pleasure shot through you to know you were affecting her. You trailed hands up her thighs before they could press into her hips. Mikasa’s lips parted as your lips circled her clit and gave it a purposeful suck.

“Ahh …” Mikasa moans mingled with the suction sounds emitting from your lips. She began rocking into your mouth, riding your face as you released and reclaimed her clit.

You tapped her side. “Harder, Mikasa, my love, c’mon …”

Mikasa’s eyes were closed as she rode your face, and for a second you weren’t sure if she even heard you — until she thrust into your mouth. Your eyes rolled into your head; the motion had released a new globe of juice into your mouth.

“Fu — Fuck …!” Mikasa’s hands rested on either side of your head as your tongue wandered, stroking her lips, lapping into her hole.

You moaned into her cunt, reinforced the heavenly sounds she was already making. You had half a mind to try to sneak a hand to your own cunt and jerk yourself off to her cries — so shrill and girlish, god, and only you got to see her like this? But you resisted; you wanted this to be about her.

Especially since Mikasa’s composure was evaporating by the second. With her eyes squeezed tight and face running over with red, she tribbed into your face, her clit knocking into the hilt of your nose when not accosted by your mouth. You yanked her by her hips and shoved her clit into your mouth.

“Oh — Oh!” Mikasa began to squirm.

Right on time. “Are you close, my queen?” You breathed out.

“Yes!”

You asked but didn’t need to; Mikasa’s trembling, her cries, only increasing in volume, told you everything you needed to know. You snaked hands up the planes of her refined chest to cup her breasts, tweaking her nipples with your thumbs.

Mikasa cried out, drenching your tongue with her juices. She lurched forward, bangs curtaining her face. You took the responsibility of holding her as she rode out her climax on your pruning lips.

“Mmm …” She opened her eyes and you saw tears pebbled in their corners.

I love her so much. Mikasa scanned the upper half of your face wordlessly. Seemingly coming to her senses, she removed herself, and you lamented the relieving pressure. After this little experiment, you were sure you could live the rest of your life with Mikasa above you. Your eyes fluttered as she maneuvered to the side of the bed.

You turned to her. “C’mere,” You said, cajoling her with fingers petting her forearm.

You licked the remnants of Mikasa from your lips, partly out of desperation, partly to give yourself something to do as she situated herself at your side.

She swatted you a faint smile.

You giggled. “What?”

She eyed you. Realization dawned on you.

“Eren?” You giggled harder. “You’re still mad —?”

“Don’t bring up other people when we’re doing this,” she said.

You snuggled into her neck and she let you, knowing full well other people stood for Eren. “Roger.”

#aot smut #mikasa smut #mikasa x reader #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #aot x female reader #kinktober #mikasa x you #mikasa x y/n

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dlavend3r · 9 months ago

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Got an idea for a fic abt Adam!!

Adam is the all narcissistic person that he is feeling a bit... Self-concious about his weight? He thinks he's too.. Fat? Which he really doesn't like because, to his own standards, he's the hottest guy to ever exist, being firest man and all. And him not being all buff/skinny as he was in Eden, really.. It affects his mental health. The only person he feels okay talking about this with is his best friend, the reader! Just an idea, tho, and it can be an Adam x Reader or just those two being really close besties, lol. The reader could be that one friend in a friend group that is the therapist.

Like I said, juuust an idea ^^

Tysm for the request! I hope you enjoy it 🌙. Don’t forget my requests are open!

Self conscious! Adam x reader

Recently Adams been feeling down. Down on himself, down on his appearance. Oh especially his appearance. His the man, the first dick. He’s supposed to be the idolized man. Big, tall and buff. Not…. Whatever he is now. Anytime Adam has to look at his body all he think is how he let himself go. How chubby he’s gotten. How it doesn’t look right for his image. The big dog image.

Adam doesn’t feel like he can be the man, the first dick unless he’s perfect. From top to bottom. All he ever did was workout, but it never made a difference. Well not in his eyes. He can see that he can do more, that he can do better. And even if he did workout he’d just relapse on the routine, which made him hate himself more. He wanted this certain image that he couldn’t achieve. It all comes in circle. Adam sees a way to improve himself but his self destructive nature breaks it and makes hate himself to where he needs yo improve himself more only to fall into a loop over and over again.

Adam knew he needed to talk to someone. He had to but he couldn’t. That was until he met you. He saw how easy it was for him to be him around you. You didn’t judge him, you listened. And not listened because you needed to, you listened to him because you wanted to. This has made your relationship with Adam grew closer. He felt like he can be himself with you, and that you wouldn’t judge. You know you wouldn’t judge him, and he knew that as well.

“I just…. I have to be this chad you know. How would it look for my image that the first man, the first ever dick isn’t some fucking big buff dude. That he looks like a fucking discord moderator” He said to you, “I look like I have a fucking e kitten waiting for me to pay them for feet pics. That’s not me, I don’t want to pay for feet pics…. Unless they’re hot I mean obviously. But I don’t want to be known as a feet man. I want to be know as a big dick man, you see what I mean” Adam finished his rant with a loud ass slurp from his drink.

You nodded as you listen, “I mean there’s nothing wrong with being…. A discord moderator, or well. There is in some way but the way you look doesn’t really matter. Do you want my honest opinion?” You asked him. Adam nodded, “straight honest, no fucking sugar coating anything. Does it look like I can be on 600 pound life?”

“No Adam. You look amazing. Yes you’ve gain some chub, but hey a very well fed man is a powerful man. In the past, if you were chubby than that means you are powerful and you rule. Do you want to rule? Do you want to be the big powerful man you are?” You asked him, “fuck yeah I do!” Adam said in return, “than don’t change anything, you’re already powerful, having your own team of exterminators, being the first man. That’s some pretty powerful shit. Your voice is always heard. You are amazing the way you are Adam. If you want to work out, go do that than. But don’t sit here and judge yourself because you ate well, or because you don’t have a six pack anymore. You are amazing Adam. Inside and out”

Adam sat there astonished, the speech you gave hit him. It wasn’t ‘I Have A Dream’ good but it was good nether less. “Thank you” Adam said. Your speech didn’t clear his self consciousness but it did help him see things from a different perspective. He was so focused on the negatives that he just needed to see it from a different side.

“You’re amazing you know that.” Adam said to you, “I know” you answered as you gave a smile back. “I know you know that.” Adam said back.

#hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #Adam x fem reader #adam x male reader #Adam x gen reader #hazbin hotel

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lokischocolatefountain · 2 years ago

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Second Thoughts

Series Masterlist

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 4.2k words

Summary: Weeks before their wedding, one of them might have second thoughts.

A/N: For days, I have been haunted by this picture of Pedro wearing gold chains and I needed to write this to keep myself from exploding. It’s Pedro’s fault. And I chose Javi for the fic because that slut always has like the first 3 buttons of his shirts undone (like a whore, jezebel, harlot) and it drives me mad to see his neck. Anyway, enjoy 😉

“What’s this?” He took the cigarette back between his fingers to ask. It was his customary post-sex smoke. Something he couldn’t give up on, much like his customary workplace smoke, road rage smoke, morning smoke, post-lunch smoke— you got the idea.

“A dildo.”

Javi looked up at her, eyebrows raised and lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t as impressed by her attempt at a joke as she was. But then again, the man was known for his eternal grumpy face. He could be offered a lifetime supply of free whiskey and he would still look like someone ran his dog over.

She rolled her eyes at him. For a man employed by the US government to go after Pablo Escobar, he sure was dumb.

“What does it look like, Pendejo? It’s a gold chain. For you. Happy birthday,” she snapped, pushing the present into his hands.

His brown eyes softened as he took her hand and rubbed circles on her wrist with his thumb. “Querida…you shouldn’t be spending all this money on me. I don’t even wear jewelry.”

“It’s a gift, Javier. And I know you don’t wear jewelry. I just think you should be.”

“Oh?” He asked, head tilted and eyebrows knitting together in curiosity.

“Mhmm. Let me explain to you in terms that your male brain would understand,” she said, getting on her knees on their bed and setting them on either side of his thighs. He looked incredibly beautiful in the dim lighting of their bedroom, golden skin made more gold by the warm streetlights. His hand that was not holding his present came up to her back, his touch gentle despite the rough calluses he’d earned with his years on the force.

She brought her index finger to his chest and traced his collarbones. He had beautiful skin, no matter the scars and the sunspots from all his days running around in the Medellin streets under the sun.

“Seeing you wearing a gold chain would do to me what seeing me in lingerie does to you. It’s like a little sneak peek of what’s inside, you know? Especially because you are a slut who forgets that the top three buttons of your shirts exist and I can see your chest all the goddamn time. It’s a little tease of what lies underneath.”

“Ahh…”

“Finally. He gets it.”

“‘s like seeing your lace bra and a bit of cleavage. I like the cleavage more, but the lace adds to it,” he said, hand lazily grazing the curve of her ass. There was nothing sexual about it or their nudity. They’d already gone at it like rabbits and were done for the night. But it was good to stay bare with him, her lack of urge to cover up adding to the easy intimacy they slipped into post sex.

“Exactly,” she said, taking the gold chain from him. She straddled his lap and looped the gift around his neck before clasping the ends together. He watched quietly, his stoic expression cracking through to reveal a smile when she pulled him towards herself by the chain.

Through lazy pecks of her lips, he said, “So it’s a leash, I see?”

“Maybe,” she smiled as she pulled away. She licked her lips as she took in the sight of him, congratulating herself mentally. It looked better on him than she thought it would. His body was already fucking perfect, well-toned, but the chain made it sexier somehow. The way it sat around his neck and bent when it touched his clavicle, the light hitting it beautifully to highlight it against the pink flush of his skin.

“Looks good,” she added, fingering the cold metal.

“If you say so, Jefa,” he said before taking a drag of the cigarette.

“Well I do say so,” she said, reaching to the back and pulling the pendant to the front to rest on his chest. He looked down at the pendant, eyebrows raised as though surprised to find it there. He took it between his fingers and squinted at the letters engraved on it. Her initials.

“Marking me, I see?”

“Sure… You gave me a diamond ring and I felt bad I didn’t give you anything, so…”

“It’s not traditional for women to give their fiancé something. You didn’t have to feel bad.”

“I know,” she said, tracing her initials.

“Hmm, can’t wait until the wedding to let everyone know I’m taken?”

“Suuure,” she said, rolling her eyes before getting off his lap and sitting next to him. “If that makes you feel better about being tied down to one woman forever, Javier.”

“It’s a woman who lets me tie her down to my bed, so…” he trailed, brushing his mustache with him thumb and giving her a once over.

“You sound worried…” he said, turning to get a better view of her. She kept her eyes on her lap, afraid that looking at him would be confirmation in his eyes if this worry he’d caught so easily.

She wasn’t worried. Or so she liked to think. When he got on one knee, she was a little surprised. One, they’d only been dating for a year. Two, she didn’t think he was the marrying kind. The first words out of her mouth weren’t Oh my God or a resounding Yes. It was a hesitant Are you sure?

When she visited his hometown Laredo with him to meet his Papa and his extended family and friends, she had more reason for unease. A neighbor just not so casually dropped the secret that he’d once been engaged to someone else, someone he left at the altar before moving to Colombia.

“You’re so brave, giving our Javi a chance after what he did to poor Lorraine.”

“What did he do to…? Who is Lorraine?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? Figures. She was his fiancée. Left her at the altar. The poor girl.”

Lorraine had reassured her that everything was alright, even implying that she was glad she didn’t have the bad luck of ending up with Javier. It was an immature Javier from many years ago, she’d said as much. He wouldn’t do that again. He made mistakes, but never made the same mistake twice. Or that is what she told herself. It didn’t stop her from thinking of the worst case scenarios— Javi leaving her at the altar, a future divorce, Javi getting bored with her and cheating. He wasn’t the cheating kind despite his reputation as a manwhore. But rational thought never stopped anxieties.

“You sure you want to get married?” She asked, letting her insecurity shine through. It was better than the alternative.

“Hmm, let me think about it,” he said, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “It’s good you asked me because I didn’t even think about that when I took a good chunk of my savings and spent it on a diamond ring that lost half its value once I left the store. I just bought it on a whim and had no choice but to get on one knee, profess my undying love for you in the restaurant we met and ask you to marry me.”

You asked Lorraine too!

She swallowed her words, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“Are you sure? Because this isn’t the first time you’re asking me that,” he said, the sarcastic tone finally leaving for a more serious one. She nodded and when he looked unconvinced, she said, “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“I know I haven’t given much time into planning a proper wedding. It’s not that I don’t want one,” he said, taking her left hand and playing with her engagement ring. “It’d be nice, with both our families there. But it’ll take time and I just can’t wait. It’s a dangerous job, you know that. And you decided to be with me anyway.”

His other hand cupped her cheek, his brown eyes revealing the depth of his heart for once. There was always a softness to them with their deep color and the downward turn of their outer corners.

“If I’m going to keep you in danger by virtue of being attached to me, I figured I should take the plunge, commit fully. If… I know it’s not great to hear it, but…” he sighed before rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “If something were to happen to me, I want you to be my next of kin. For any medical decisions, visitation rights, survivor benefits if…You wouldn’t have those rights over me if I was just your boyfriend.”

“If that’s the only reason you’re marrying me…”

“Of course not. I’m marrying you because I know I want to spend my life with you. But if this isn’t the life you want…the danger, the anxiety, the missed anniversaries and birthdays,” he said pausing before he continued, “potential of widowhood.”

Her hand closed around his and he held her back, his hold tight and reassuring in its firmness. She pulled her trembling bottom lip between her teeth and leaned into his chest. “If you have any doubts, there is still time.” She heard him swallow before he spoke again. “I’m willing to make more time if you need it. We could push the wedding, you can take as long as you need. It’s a big ask— marriage. So if you want to say…if you want to change your mind, you have every right. I won’t… no hard feelings.”

“Pobrecito…” she cooed before placing a kiss on his forehead. “I don’t have doubts. And I’m not going to change my mind.”

She felt him exhale. His eyes closed and he nodded. “Okay.”

“It would be too late anyway. Had I thought of it before we started dating, when it was just sex…maybe I would’ve left you,” she chuckled, fidgeting with the loose threats coming off their thin blanket. “But I’m in too deep now. The damage to my soul in leaving you would be far greater than anything that could happen if we stayed together. We hit a point of no return long back and now I just can’t be without you.”

Something like gratitude crossed his deep brown eyes. His eyebrows raised and his tight expressions softened. His large hand came up to cradle her face. “I can’t be without you,” he echoed, voice rich with emotion. His thumb traced her bottom lip before he leaned in. She kissed him eagerly, gentle yet passionate as they poured their anxieties and fears into the kiss. Slow and languid pecks decorated her lips and then her face.

“I was lying…”

“Hmm?”

“When I said there would be no hard feelings if you changed your mind. I was lying.”

She chuckled against his lips, placing one last kiss before pulling away. “Oh yeah?” She asked and he nodded. He held her close, not allowing her to leave his embrace.

“I would be so upset.”

“Good to know,” she said, curling a finger around his gold chain and pulling him close. His lips stretched into a grin and he gladly went where she took him. He leaned in, hoping for a kiss, but she dropped his chain and pushed him off by his chest. He raised an eyebrow at her and she simply smiled.

“You look so handsome when you smile,” she said, bringing her thumb up to his mustache, caressing the prickly hairs.

“Mhmm?” He asked, his smile morphing into a smirk. She slapped his cheek lightly and he laughed before he flipped it to a frown. “Not like that. Don’t look smug.”

“My naked wife is on my bed telling me I’m handsome and I’m not supposed to look smug?”

“Wife?” She squinted at him. “I’m not your wife yet. Keep that smug smile up and I might change my mind.”

“Oh? Didn’t you just say you weren’t changing your mind? That you were in too deep for that.”

“Yeah, that was before I realized I was marrying a liar. You kiss your fiancée with that lying mouth, Javier?”

“Oh I do more than kiss her with my lying mouth,” he quipped before getting off the bed and pulling her down the bed by her ankles. She squealed at the sudden movement, lifting her head up to find him on his knees on the floor by her legs.

The smug smile she asked him to get rid of was present and glowing more than ever. He spread her legs wider than necessary. His eyes narrowed at where her thighs met and he licked his lips, sending a shiver through her. It was maddening, the effect he had on her. She’d had him multiple times in several different positions that night. She’d put on lingerie and taken him over and over until he couldn’t anymore, until her body was covered in evidence of his presence and satisfaction settled in her heart. But here she was, a mere half hour later, desiring him again.

Spread out obscenely for him, his wide chest in between her legs, she wondered how she looked to him. If it really was such a sight that it made his eyes glaze over with lust.

“Mi esposa… Estás tan guapa así,” he praised, peppering kisses up her thigh. Her heart beat for him, faster and faster with each kiss that brought his lips closer to where she needed him most. She brought a hand to his messy curls, caressing the strands she’d pulled at just a little while back.

She groaned as he moved to her other thigh, skipping her pussy that was dripping anew with her arousal, blending with both their cum from when they last made love. He dipped a finger in, coating the tip white before bringing it between his lips.

“We taste so fucking good together, baby,” he said, pushing his finger in, deeper this time. Her pussy squelched from its wetness as he pushed in and out, the white liquid flowing out of her. He bent his head down between her legs, licking up her excess, not wasting a drop of it. He gave her a few pumps before he withdrew, making her whine.

Hovering over her, he smeared the liquid on her swollen lips. His birthday present hung from his neck, gravity bringing the cold metal into contact with her own neck. God, this was what she was hoping for when she bought it for him.

Before she could lick her lips, he brought his pretty pink ones to hers. She moaned, both from the sensation of his lips on hers and the realization of how dirty it was to be kissing with their cum from between her legs coating her lips. The man was certainly creative in the plans he cooked up to defile her. There were men who refused to even kiss her after she sucked their cock and there was Javi, tasting his own release on her lips.

She parted her lips for him, allowing his tongue to glide in. She moaned into his mouth as she tasted their combined release on his lips and his tongue. She played with his hair, untangling the knots she’d left there from tugging at it. The smell of sex filled her senses as he pulled back and breathed out of his mouth. One hand played with her breast, covered in bite marks and hickeys from his greed, while the other reached back between her legs and fucked her with two fingers instead of one, his large digits stretching her out in preparation for him.

“So fucking gorgeous, fuuuck!” He cursed, taking in her expressions as he circled her clit. “Thought I’d just taste you again. But you got me hard again. What’s this, round four for the night? Look what you do to me,” he said, taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock. He guided her hand up and down his hardening cock, making her stroke his length in his hand.

“Have me fuckin’ addicted to this cunt, baby. You can’t have second thoughts now. You’re not allowed, not even if I say you can rethink this. You think I’ll let go of pussy this good? Hmm?” He asked, withdrawing from her pussy and bringing his fingers up to his lips. He plunged them between his lips and licked it up with a moan. “Don’t be fooled by how good I take care of you. I’m a selfish man. You can’t give me aaaall this,” he said, hands roaming her body and stopping to knead her breasts. “and think I’ll be all selfless and give it up.”

She shivered from his words and arched into his touch, pushing her tits into his hands. “I was being kind and fucking stupid ‘cause I thought you might want to reconsider marriage. But I’ve got you, don’t I?” He taunted, collecting what was left of them from between her legs before bringing his fingers up to her line of sight.

“I’ve got you, all for myself. No woman who comes like this for her man will think of settling for anything else,” he said before smearing it on her face. She stroked his cock faster, relishing in how he screwed his eyes shut from her touches. She brought her thumb up to the tip of his cock, swiping up the bead of precum. She brought it to her lips and tasted him, maintaining eye-contact with the man hovering over him.

“All mine… Look at you, so fucking filthy with cum on your face. You do that for your boyfriends?” He mocked, putting down all the other men she’d let touch her before him. She shook her head, speechless as she devoured what was in front of her. She lined him up with her cunt, allowing him to push in. The fervor of his words sunk into her with his cock and she wrapped around him, warm, wet and greedy.

He was fucking beautiful— messy ink black hair falling over his forehead, soft brown eyes, neatly trimmed mustache, pretty pink lips and her initials in a gold rectangle swinging from his neck. She reached up and pushed his hair back and placed a kiss on his forehead. He didn’t always understand words, was stunned by her confessions of love, of the need to spend eternity in his arms. She knew he struggled with words, saw how much courage it took him to say I love you the first few times he did. Te quiero came easy to him, having grown up saying the words to his parents, but te amo was like moving a boulder uphill.

He spoke words of love with much more ease now, he told her he couldn’t wait the duration it took to plan a wedding to finally be her husband, told her he wanted her to be his next of kin, that she could change her mind even though he didn’t want her to. He made himself better with words. For her. Because he knew when she smiled at her book it was because of a ‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope...I have loved none but you’. When she read to him ‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more’, his breath hitched as he asked her to read the sentence once again before he confessed it was how he felt about her.

While he’d gotten so much better with his words, she liked to meet him in the middle, speak his language- touch. He understood touch— her gentle hand pushing his hair back and her lips on his forehead. He understood her hips rising up to meet his slow thrusts.

“‘Y’know, fiancée pussy is good. Better than girlfriend pussy. Bet married pussy will be miles better,” he said, making her tighten around him. “You like thinking about that? When you’re all mine to do with as I wish…”

“You need a piece of—” she stopped to hiss from how his body made contact with her clit. “Y-you need papers from the fucking government to make me all yours? Thought you didn’t go by the books, Agent Peña. You are already mine, husband or not. You’ve been mine since I— hnnng!” Her words devolved into muddled sounds as he forced himself in her harder.

“Can’t talk? I shut that mouth up, huh? Try to say you might not marry me and I’ll shut you up just like this,” he scolded, pinching her nipple between his fingers and letting go to knead her breast in his large hand. “Pissed me off so bad, I wanna drag you to the fucking embassy right now and make you my fucking wife.”

His thrusts grew harder and his dangling necklace swung back and forth, grazing her chin before swinging away only to hit right back. Exactly what she pictured. It was a pretty sight, forehead covered in sweat, errant locks of hair sticking to it and eyes glazed with lust, all for her. She wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his back and pulling him closer to herself as she struggled to meet the vigor of his thrusts. As much as she wanted him, she wasn’t as fit as a man who hunted other men for a living.

His physical prowess thrilled her, made her writhe underneath him. She ran her nails down his back, preparing him for how she would sink them into his back once again when he brought her to her peak. His muscles felt glorious under her fingers. She visualized each bulge and dip, pictured them with the scars she’d already left on his back and the scars she would give him. She moved her hand to his shoulder and then down his arm, licking her lips as it registered how fucking muscular he was, how he could crush her with them but chose instead to hold her, to love her.

As his thrusts grew more erratic and his breathing uneven, she knew he was getting close. His chain went from swinging against her to resting on her as he lied atop her and his thrusts got short. She moaned at the weight of him, aroused by how bulky he was. So beautiful and so goddamn muscular and all hers. He buried his face in her neck and filled her up with his cum, moaning her name before crumbling on top of her.

She felt him softening inside her. He slowly came to, kissing her neck before sliding down her body.

“What’re you doing?” She mumbled, fatigue settling into her worn out body. He looked up from where he slithered down, eyes still ferocious with hunger. How the fuck was this man still horny?

“Still haven’t shown you what else I do with my lying mouth,” he said, kissing down her belly and stopping at her cunt to give it a lick. She shuddered.

“Baby, ‘m sleepy…”

“‘s okay, you sleep. I’ll just get a taste here. Need to make you come.”

“You’ve made me cum many times already. I’m perfectly content.”

“I’m not. I need this pussy again,” he begged, flattening his tongue against her cunt. She hissed, sensitive from their night of passion, but grabbed him by his hair and pushed herself up into his face. “Thank you, ma’am,” he groaned into her, making her giggle.

“You’re such a whore, Javier,” she teased, still laughing. He gave her one more lick before he looked up at her with a shit-eating grin.

“You know what they say- you can take a man out of a whore but you can never take whore out of a man.”

“What does that even mean?” She asked, chest rising and falling from laughter.

“It means…” he trailed before licking his cum dripping out of her. He moved to her clit and sucked it between his lips, the pressure having her whining. Her hips jutted up instinctively, but he pushed her back down to the bed with a firm yet gentle hand on her belly. A minute of licking and sucking from his expert mouth and she came undone for him, thighs shaking and back arching before she fell back on the bed. He placed one final kiss on her mound before he lied back neck to her.

Javier and their blanket wrapped around her, she sighed in contentment.

“I’ll be gone before you wake up.”

“Oh…” she said, trying to not let her frown show. She’d planned a fun day out for him because he was supposed to have this Sunday off. Sightseeing, birthday cake and more birthday sex. But their plans were always written in water.

“I’m expecting intel from Helena tomorrow,” he said, caressing her arm. “If I’m right, if what she says matches my suspicions, the guys and I will join Carillo in Medellin. If things go well, I won’t be home until right before the wedding.”

“Well, then I better not see your ass in Bogota before our wedding day,” she said, earning herself a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

“Thank you…umm, for the gift. I… it’s nice,” he membled awkwardly. His arms pulled her in tighter and his lips pressed on her temple before she gave in to sleep. When she woke up, there was no evidence of the passions of her night other than the rumpled sheets and the soreness between her legs.

Series Masterlist

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena fic #javier peña fluff #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena imagine #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x you #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x y/n #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #domestic javier peña #javier pena narcos #narcos smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #all that i've inflicted on the world

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

Text

A New Tradition

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't have any holiday traditions, but maybe he can start something new with you. Word Count: Over 2.5k Warnings: Slight angst, mention of trauma, pining, falling in love, slight feels (it's me), canon divergent, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). Future fluff and smut for this couple. A/N: This idea hit me and it wouldn't let go until I wrote it down. Set in the same AU as lumberjack!Steve, I hope to share more when I can. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky stared at the ceiling from the floor as he tried to fall asleep. Evergreen and spice lingered in his nostrils from the earlier festivities of the evening. One of the songs you sang over dinner played in a loop in his head, a beautiful melody of hope.

It didn't stop him from feeling as cold as the weather outside.

Random bouts of insomnia weren't new to him, but he couldn't put his finger on what his issue was tonight. It was a good day filled with happy moments thanks to you, the neighbor he harbored a crush on. He moved into the building around the same time as you after his pardon and someone delivered one of your packages to his door by mistake. Luckily you lived just across the hall and he made sure the box ended up in your hands.

He hadn’t expected a goddess in human form to answer the door.

“I got your box,” he said harsher than he intended to.

He half expected you to slam the door in his face for his tone. If you recognized him as the former Winter Soldier, you kept it to yourself. In fact, you didn’t look afraid of him at all as you took the box from his hands. He almost told you that you should be scared of him.

“Thank you so much for bringing it over,” you smiled.

It was the start of an unexpected friendship. He tried to find excuses to stop and talk to you whenever he saw you, which ended with him giving you an awkward smile in the beginning before he walked away. He used to know how to talk to girls and it was silly having a crush on a neighbor when he was trying to get his head on straight.

If only you didn’t make it so easy to want.

And you either found him endearing or entertaining since you began to invite him over for dinners.

Every other week, you’d trade off meals and talk about the day. You split your day between your job and making and selling jewelry online. The pieces you showed him were beautiful. You put so much care into them.

While he couldn’t give you all the details of his missions, he found himself more comfortable talking to you as time went on. One of the things he liked was that you always asked what he needed. If he wanted advice, you’d give it. If he wanted you to listen, you did just that. If he just wanted to talk, you chatted with ease.

You even stayed up with him after a few nightmares.

He was used to dealing with people who had agendas or messed with his head, but you didn’t play games.

Steve and Sam were both happy when he finally told them about you. After the former Captain America found his own girl and a bit of peace after everything, he hoped Bucky was on the path to doing the same. It impressed Sam that he actually talked to you instead of keeping everything inside.

It didn’t stop him from feeling like a burden some days.

“You’re always welcome at my place and you can always talk to me, Jamie.”

No one else was allowed to call him that.

When you heard he wasn’t doing anything around the holidays, you offered to make him a nice dinner since you wouldn't be around your family. They were, unfortunately, too far away for a quick visit. You joked that he had to watch a movie with you after dinner if he decided to come over. It was nice that you extended an invitation to him, especially when he didn’t have any traditions or anything else to look forward to.

Bucky had every intention of getting you the perfect present until an extended mission came up. He barely made it back in time to see you. Steve had to rush home to his girl and the same with Sam and his family. He declined both of their offers for him to join them, not wanting to impose on them or let you down by not showing up.

"You made it!" you said excitedly when you opened the door, looking as gorgeous as ever in a little black dress. He'd fantasize about you in it later. "You aren't hurt? You're okay?"

"Not a scratch," he assured you when he stopped staring.

"Good," you sighed in relief. "May I give you a hug? I missed you."

You didn't give him hugs without his permission and he appreciated your thoughtfulness that he might not want to be touched some days. He held his arms out for you as he wordlessly answered, taking a moment to cherish your embrace when you moved close. He didn't let it linger since he didn't want you to be uncomfortable.

But he wished he would've held you a bit longer.

"Missed you, too," he whispered as you led him inside.

If he read into it, he would’ve thought the setup was romantic. He felt a little underdressed in his leather jacket and jeans, but you didn't judge. You served by candlelight and you made sure to include all sorts of dishes he enjoyed. He ate and savored every bite. You even had a gift waiting for him under the tree before you started the movie.

He almost hugged the personalized apron and small book of recipes you made for him. He already had a meal in mind to make for you as a thank you for the next weekly dinner. But that wasn't all. You pulled out a small, white and black box from the back of the tree and handed it to him.

"You're spoiling me," he joked.

"I wanted to," you teased, messing with the hem of your dress as he opened the box.

He held his breath as he held up the dog tags. They were almost an exact replica of the ones around his neck, but there was a difference when he flipped one of them over. He ran his thumb over the letters as he read them out loud.

"I am James Bucky Barnes."

He explained to you once his need to make amends. That he was no longer the Winter Soldier. That he didn't have a choice. You took his words and created a gift for him.

His hands destroyed so many things while yours brought beauty into the world.

"I hope you like it," you said, still messing with your dress. A nervous habit he picked up on. "I know you wear yours, but I thought it would be nice to have those just in case."

"Thank you," he croaked, clearing his throat as he carefully placed them back in the box. "And I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet for not having your gift ready."

"You came over and spent the evening with me. That is a gift," you said with such sincerity that he wasn’t worthy of receiving.

Of course you wouldn’t take any offense that he showed up empty-handed. Why were you so kind to him? He wished there was mistletoe nearby simply to have the excuse to kiss you. He also wanted to thank you for making him feel at home.

Do I have a home anymore?

Naturally, he chose to flee when that thought became too much.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" you asked carefully as he gathered his things and got ready to leave. “We don’t have to watch the movie.”

"I should get back to my place, but thank you," was all he said.

His place, but not his home.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"I will be," he said, not wanting to lie to you.

You nodded and thanked him for stopping by. You also told him to call or come back if he needed anything. The image of your sad smile as you walked him to the door would haunt him. He just knew it. He wondered if you’d ever invite him over again for another dinner after his abrupt departure.

He attempted to meditate once he got home, but it didn’t quiet his mind. Working out got some of the tension in his body out, but not much else. He debated going back to your place, but it was too late by then.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face before his eyes trailed to the clock on the wall. It was almost 3am and he knew sleep wouldn't come to him. He grabbed his phone and debated calling you. He didn’t want to disturb you, but he wanted to hear your voice.

He half hoped you wouldn’t answer since you deserved a peaceful night of sleep, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep himself until the two of you talked.

You answered on the second ring. “Hey, Bucky,” you said with a small yawn.

Were you up waiting for me to call or did I wake you?

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said immediately. He had to get that out there.

“Please, don’t apologize,” you replied. He knew he should’ve let you rest. “Do you need me to listen, talk, or give advice?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his vibranium hand forming a fist as he took a deep breath. “You treated me to a nice night. The best night and I just,” he gritted his teeth and exhaled through his nose. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

He was at a loss because everything tonight was right and he didn’t know what was wrong. If he couldn’t pinpoint the issue, how could he know how to fix it? How could you? It was bad enough when he was alone with his own mind and nightmares, but it was another when he felt helpless.

He didn’t like that sense of control being taken away from his own thoughts.

“Do you mind if I say something?” you offered after a few more seconds of silence.

“Not at all,” he whispered, if only to hear you speak.

“I think you might be feeling a bit alone or lost,” you said. He heard a bit of shuffling around and wondered if you were trying to get comfortable. “Holidays, for many, are about being with family and friends. When was the last time you got to celebrate with your loved ones?”

“Before I went off to war,” he whispered.

He swallowed as he put his head on the pillow. Hydra made sure he never felt the happiness of this time of year. The couple of years he went into hiding after the fall, he was alone. After healing in Wakanda, he went back into the fight. The snap happened.

And his family?

They’re long gone now.

Sam, Nat, everyone had their own traditions. Steve lost so much and deserved his quiet moments outside of the city. None of them needed to rearrange their lives to accommodate him.

Holidays were a joyous time, but also a reminder of things lost and what could have been.

“Jamie,” you breathed out. “If my dinner tonight upset you in any way, I’m-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he stopped you, gripping his phone tighter. “It isn’t your fault my family is gone and you aren’t the cause of my pain.”

One of the reasons he respected you was because you didn’t pity him. He didn’t want you to start tonight.

“Then I need you to take back your apology because you aren’t the cause of my pain either,” you argued.

Touche.

“But I left you alone after you went to all that trouble and had those gifts made for me,” he said.

Why are you not mad at me?

“It wasn’t any trouble, but maybe it was too much or overwhelming."

“I swear, it wasn’t,” he said. How could he make you believe him? “I just have no traditions now. No special meals, movies, gifts, things to pass on, nothing."

He did just fine on his own for years, but things changed. He wouldn’t have believed he deserved happy moments before therapy and meeting you, but he did and he does. You gave him a taste of what he could have. Why couldn't he let himself take it?

"Maybe I can help you create a new tradition."

"You're done more than enough," he promised, smiling at your offer.

You've done more than you could ever know.

“I wanted to give you a special night, but I didn’t check in to see if the holiday dinner was what you really wanted. I should’ve asked, Jamie.”

“Are you kidding? Without you, I wouldn’t have even had a holiday to celebrate. It was perfect,” he promised you, standing up as he tried to gather the courage to say that you are perfect. “Did you know the only thing I wanted to do when I got back was see you?”

“Really?” you asked in a small voice. “That was the only thing you wanted?”

“Really,” he said. It wasn’t a full confession, but it was coming out. “And that’s exactly what I got, so thank you.”

“Well, to be honest, the reason I suggested a movie was so we could possibly cuddle,” you admitted.

And I fucking ruined it.

“I would’ve liked cuddling,” he said, smirking a bit. “And I really liked your dress.”

“I wore that just for you,” you said in a hushed voice, like you were trying to keep quiet. “Is there anything else about tonight that you wish would’ve been different? If you could do it all over again?”

“Honestly?” he said, not caring that he only had his boxer briefs on as he left his bedroom and headed toward the main door. “I would’ve kissed you the moment I got back from the mission.”

Even with his super soldier hearing, he had no idea you were on the other side of the door until he opened it. You still had your phone in hand as you gazed at him, no longer wearing the black dress. You switched to red and green pajamas that looked amazing on you, but he would prefer them on his floor.

“New tradition proposal,” you smiled as you stepped inside and ended the call. “We have a nice meal together, exchange gifts by the tree, and cuddle on the couch for a movie.

"Okay," he smiled, hanging up his phone, too.

"And end the night with a kiss," you said hopefully.

��I don’t think so,” he shook his head.

Your face fell when you took a step back. “Oh. I’m sorry. I should-”

He reached out to pull you back toward him, smiling when your eyes widened. “Kiss me every chance you get," he said as he removed his dog tags and put them around your neck. "Starting right now.”

You smiled just as bright as you did the first day he met you. “I think I’m going to like this tradition.”

“Me, too,” he whispered, pressing his lip against yours.

Bucky couldn’t wait to start many more traditions with you.

What other traditions would we like to see from our new couple? We have Valentine's Day!❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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bedlamsbard · 2 months ago

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Some concept writing! Deaging isn't usually a trope that does anything for me, but I've been toying with this particular concept for a while now, and wanted to play with it while I was still too discombobulated from moving to work on Home. I do have a pretty good idea of where this would go, but I'm not sure that I'll return to it as a full chaptered fic. also I would have to do a lot of research in order to make Sokovia like. work.

About 4.1K below the break; CACW AU. (Would be SteveNat but they don't actually appear in this sequence.)

*****

By the time Tony got off the stage and checked his constantly buzzing phone, he found he had twelve missed calls from Rhodey, two from Pepper, and one each from the Vision, Sam Wilson, and Clint Barton. He stopped just past the curtain, waving off the dean when he tried to speak to him, and called Rhodey first.

“Who’s dead?” he demanded.

“What?” Rhodey said.

“Who’s dead?” Tony repeated, feeling his shoulders brace in anticipation of the response; he could think of plenty of reasons for Rhodey or Pepper to call, but the others weren’t very likely to. Well, Vision, but not Wilson or Barton.

There was a momentary pause on the other end of the phone, then Rhodey said slowly, “No one’s dead.”

“Okay, so who’s been horribly maimed?” Tony demanded, glancing around. No one was running toward him to tell him that there had been some kind of terrible Avengers emergency, so whatever had happened hadn’t hit the news or social media yet. In his experience, there was no one more willing than college students to put their noses in where they weren’t wanted, and considering some of the people Tony had met in his life that was saying something. “I know the Lagos thing was a shitshow, but I thought all of us were fine.”

“You need to get over here now,” Rhodey said.

“Where is ‘here’?” Tony demanded warily.

“I’ll text you the coordinates.”

“I got a thing.”

“Cancel it.”

“You know I’m retired, right?” Tony said, but he was already walking toward the closest emergency exit, ignoring the dean’s startled expression and attempt to stop him.

He had come in the helicopter, not the suit, which he was ostensibly trying to wean himself off of on Pepper’s insistence. He’d built a suit into the helicopter, though, and it would be the work of a few seconds to get into it and take off; it would get him to the coordinates Rhodey had just sent faster than the helo would. On the other hand, that would probably get the attention of all the reporters who had been in the audience and who were waiting for the press conference that was supposed to follow the event. If Rhodey didn’t want the press to know that they were apparently having an Avengers-level emergency, then Tony wasn’t going to be the one to alert them. At least not yet. He wasn’t about to leave the helicopter parked here for some curious undergrads to dissect, though.

He let FRIDAY take the helicopter out of MIT’s airspace before he engaged the suit and fell backwards into the freedom of the wind, letting himself take a few lazy loops for the hell of it before turning towards the coordinates Rhodey had sent.

As soon as he got there, it was obvious from the air where the Avengers had been and presumably still were. The complex had probably once been an old SHIELD facility, which meant in practice it had really been an old Hydra facility; that was presumably what had brought the team out here. Not only was it in the middle of nowhere, but the area around the site was heavily forested; Tony guessed that none of the scarce population in the vicinity had noticed when the Avengers had flown in. He could see the Quinjet parked on the remnants of a helipad, near the far end of one of the still-standing buildings. The two other structures had both collapsed, one sometime ago from the look of the wreckage and the other so recently that it was still smoking. Wanda Maximoff was sitting cross-legged on the ground outside it, holding a water bottle and looking shaky while the Vision stood beside her. Steve’s shield was propped up against the Quinjet’s ramp, but the man himself was nowhere in sight.

She jumped as Tony touched down next to them, though the Vision looked as implacable as usual. There was a long scrape across Wanda’s cheekbone and dust on her leather jacket and in her hair, but otherwise she looked unhurt as she scrambled to her feet.

“Where’s the fire?” Tony asked, putting back his faceplate.

Wanda looked like she was going to cry, and after a moment, Tony corrected himself and asked instead, “Where’s Rhodey?”

“Colonel Rhodes is on his way,” the Vision said, which turned out to be an understatement, since before Tony could respond Rhodey slammed down beside him, making Wanda jump again.

“Finally, someone sensible,” Tony said, turning towards him in relief. “You know I’m retired, right? Emergency calls are supposed to be Cap’s thing.”

Rhodey had put up his faceplate when he landed, which meant that Tony saw his face go grim as soon as he heard Steve’s name.

Tony felt an odd looping sensation in the pit of his stomach. He and Steve weren’t friends exactly, not the way that Tony was friends with Rhodey or Bruce, but they were friendly. They weren’t not friends. It took him a moment before he could ask, “What’s happened to Cap?”

Rhodey pressed his lips tightly together, then confessed, “We don’t know.”

Tony stared at him. “What do you mean you don’t know? What about –” He looked around at the compound again, taking in the overgrown buildings and leaning fences. There wasn’t another living being in sight. “What about Romanoff and Wilson?”

“Sam’s fine. Natasha –” Rhodey hesitated. “She’s missing too. Sam’s looking for them.”

“What?” Tony said, feeling like he had missed some important details somewhere. “Missing? How? What happened?”

“It’s my fault,” Wanda said, clutching the water bottle to herself. The Vision put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned back into his grip, her eyes sparkling with tears.

Tony turned to stare at her. “What, like – you snapped your fingers and went abracadabra and sent them to Timbuktu?”

“No, I mean –” She hesitated. “Maybe?”

“Maybe?”

“Nobody went to Timbuktu,” Rhodey said impatiently, making Tony return his stare to him.

“What happened?”

Rhodey made a helpless gesture, oddly delicate despite the bulk of the War Machine suit. “Well,” he started, and then stopped before trying again, “Well –”

“Oh, god, they’re dead,” Tony said.

“They’re not dead,” Rhodey said. “That would be easy.”

He glanced up as Sam Wilson’s shadow passed over them, circling once before he backwinged and came in to land alongside them. “No sign of them,” he reported grimly as his wings folded themselves back into his harness. There was an empty spot there; Redwing must have still be off somewhere. “But I don’t think we were ever really going to find Nat around here, not with the woods this thick.” His mouth twisted. “Not from the air, at least.”

“What, like she went feral and ran off?” Tony demanded, more confused than ever. “And took Rogers with her?”

“Well –” Rhodey said again, then thought about it and admitted, “Well, actually, sort of, yeah.”

There was video.

It wasn’t very good video; FRIDAY edited it together from the War Machine’s, Falcon’s, and Vision’s cameras, which meant that it was jumpy and incomplete, overlaid by Rhodey’s and Wilson’s HUDs. All three of them had been outside the building when whatever had happened inside had happened; the only witnesses had been Wanda, Steve, and Natasha. Steve and Natasha were gone; Wanda herself didn’t seem to have a clear idea of what had gone down.

“There was a man –” she said, and then stopped, still holding the water bottle against herself like a teddy bear.

“There was a man, okay,” Tony repeated, prompting. When she didn’t go on, he muttered to Rhodey, “When’s Barton getting here, again?”

“He’s meeting us at the compound,” Rhodey muttered back. “We’re not going to find anything else here.”

There was something terribly final about that. Tony looked at him sharply and said, “Nothing?”

“Not at this point,” Wilson said. There was a grim set to his mouth that Tony didn’t like, though his expression was still a little baffled by the turn of events. He didn’t know Sam Wilson well, since the other man had been Steve’s friend more than Tony’s and had only joined the team after Tony had left, but Tony knew him well enough for government work.

Tony glanced up, where the Vision was just visible hovering above them, using his scanning capabilities to search for Steve and Natasha. The general consensus was definitely that they wouldn’t be found if Natasha Romanoff didn’t want them to be found. Everyone seemed to agree that whatever had been true about Steve Rogers’ woods capabilities in 2016, his ability to get around in them in his current circumstances was probably highly abbreviated.

Tony went to look at the footage again, frowning to himself behind his faceplate, since he had had to lower it to watch the video. From outside, the building had looked well and truly deserted. He watched Steve, Natasha, and Wanda go inside, all three of them careful and wary. For exactly twelve minutes, nothing happened – nothing visible from outside, anyway. Then scarlet energy exploded outwards from the building, making Rhodey and Wilson bank away; Vision had stayed where he was.

For a few moments the energy hung suspended in a nauseating red cloud, like something out of a horror film, then all of a sudden it was sucked back inside as part of the building collapsed in a pattern that was uncomfortably familiar. The video veered dizzyingly as all three men swooped in, the radios suddenly crackling with overlapping voices. At the last minute Wilson pulled back and veered away to fly circles around the building; of the three of them, he was least maneuverable inside, where his wings wouldn’t do much good.

Tony watched the three views on the inside of his helmet, a rather nauseating experience. Rhodey had to force his way through the rubble of the building, while Vision simply phased through it; Wilson kept looping the outside of the building, asking periodically for status updates. It was through his HUD that Tony spotted the figures slipping out of the ruins of the building. As Wilson swooped in for a closer look, he saw that one was a slight red-headed girl in black. She was half-dragging a boy with her, tall and lanky and awkward with it; he actually tripped over his own feet once. As Wilson stooped on them, the girl turned, a pistol in her hand, and shot at him.

He got one wing up to block the bullet, though the action dropped him a few feet in the air and gave the two teenagers enough time to make the tree line that had been encroaching on the courtyard. The girl went unerringly to the thickest place, where Wilson wouldn’t be able to follow with his wings out, still dragging the boy behind her. He looked back at Wilson, his eyes wide, his face thinner and younger than Tony was accustomed to, just like the girl’s was.

They vanished into the woods as Wilson swept after them and had to stop, dropping to the ground as his wings folded up behind him. He followed on foot, or tried to.

Inside the ruins of the building, Rhodey and Vision had found Wanda passed out on the floor. The shield was next to her, covered in a fine coating of dust but otherwise untouched. There was no sign of Steve or Natasha.

Tony retracted his faceplate and said, “What in the Freaky Friday hell?”

Wilson took his goggles off and rubbed a hand over his face. “They looked right at me and didn’t know me. I spent twenty minutes following on foot – trying to, anyway, never found a trace of them.” His mouth twisted a little. “If it’s what it looks like, then that’s all Nat; Steve said that the first time he ever left New York was to go to Camp Lehigh when he was twenty-four.”

“It can’t be what it looks like because what it looks like is insane,” Tony said. “Also impossible. Where’s Thor when you need him, the guy who actually knows about shit like this? How long has it been?”

“Four hours. They could have reached the highway by now, gone anywhere from there if someone picks them up.” Wilson grimaced. “The way Nat looks right now, someone would have picked them up. And she has a gun, so…”

“This is America, everyone has a gun.” Tony started to rub at his temples and remembered just in time that that would be an extremely painful experience in the suit. “Okay, just so we’re all on the same page and I know I’m not hallucinating, what…was that?”

Sam and Rhodey exchanged a significant look, Vision’s expression remained inscrutable, and Wanda clutched her water bottle more tightly to herself, her gaze darting to Steve’s shield.

“They’re kids,” Rhodey said.

Tony winced. “Yeah,” he said. “I was really afraid that was what you were going to say.”

Clint Barton was waiting for them back at the compound. “What happened?” he asked as they all filed out of the Quinjet. The question was obviously directed at someone who wasn’t there; Tony saw him waiting for Natasha and Steve to come out last, and when they didn’t he actually stepped up on the ramp to look inside, where the shield had been stowed in a corner. His gaze went to it, then he hopped off the ramp and repeated the question, his face going serious.

He didn’t take the answer well.

“They’re what?”

Wilson made a helpless gesture in response, stepping aside to let the Vision tenderly lead Wanda into the compound’s main building. Tony eyed them as they passed; Wanda still hadn’t offered any explanation of what had happened, though it was clear that she had been at the center of it. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he agreed with Steve’s decision to bring her onto the team over a year ago. Against Ultron, maybe, but that should have been a one-off as far as he was concerned.

Clint’s expression was grim. “Let me see that footage,” he said when Wilson had finished laying out the situation for him as best he could, which wasn’t very.

He watched it silently once they were inside, then looked around at the five of them – Wanda and Vision had reappeared, Wanda out of her field garments and now in comfortable clothes, the Vision looking as imperturbable as ever – and said, “You know the problem, right?”

“They’re kids?” Tony said dryly. “Or – teenagers, I guess.” Long experience had taught him how to recognize jailbait at a glance.

“No. Well –” He tossed his head, looking uncomfortable, and went on, “If this is what it looks like, then they don’t know us, they just know – uh, whatever age they…are. Were. Are?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said warily.

“Nat was with the Red Room up until eight years ago,” Clint said, sounding like he was expecting that to mean anything to them.

“Yeah, but she’s a kid, so –”

“She was raised in the Red Room,” Clint said.

“Yeah, but they’re gone,” Wilson said. “They have been for years.”

“She doesn’t know that,” Clint pointed out. “And Steve –”

Wilson winced. “He was a kid in the twenties and thirties,” he said. “But – I’ve seen pictures from before Steve got the serum, and that wasn’t – that was Steve, Steve now. I mean, Steve as a kid, teenager, whatever, but with the serum. Which means whatever happened to him couldn’t undo that.”

They all looked at Wanda, who had sat down heavily on the couch.

“Wanda?” Clint said. “What happened in there?”

She fiddled with her rings, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and then said, “I didn’t know he was there when we went in. I don’t – I have to know someone’s there before I can read them.”

Tony gritted his teeth but didn’t interrupt her; he still didn’t have a good grasp on what Wanda’s powers actually entailed, which grated on him.

“Do you know who he was?” Clint said, sounding very patient. He sat down on the couch beside her, his fists clenching and unclenching before he stopped them with an obvious effort.

Wanda nodded slowly. “Only from the papers,” she admitted. “I never met him.”

Clint blinked and looked around at the rest of them, his eyebrows raised. Wilson had perched on the edge of the coffee table, clearly trying to make Wanda feel more comfortable by not looming over her, but Tony and Rhodey were still standing. Vision had gone over to the kitchen to get her a glass of water; he returned, his passage eerily silent, and pressed it into her hand as he sat down beside her. Wanda took it, then had to cup her other hand around it too to keep it from shaking as she took a sip.

“Our newspapers?” Sam asked. “Someone one of us knows?”

They’d all made plenty of enemies over the years and not all of them had ended up behind bars; theirs wasn’t a profession that guaranteed friends. On the other hand, Tony couldn’t think of a single person who could have produced this result – well, not one that was alive, anyway, since according to Thor Loki was dead. Even if he hadn’t been, this seemed a little too petty for Loki.

Wanda shook her head. “From home,” she said, then clarified, “From Sokovia. He –” She said something in her own language.

“The equivalent would be a baron,” the Vision translated for her.

It was JARVIS’s voice, of course – it was always JARVIS’s voice, and now as always it made Tony flinch a little to hear it. It had been his call and they’d needed the Vision to beat Ultron, but at seventh and last he still didn’t know if the trade had been worth it. He hadn’t even thought about it at the time, what the real cost would be.

“A baron?” Rhodey said, his eyebrows climbing. “They still have those? I thought the Soviets –” He hesitated, clearly uncertain whether or not it was a sensitive subject, but Wanda just shrugged one shoulder. Tony did the math and realized that she probably wasn’t old enough to remember the fall of the Soviet Union.

His memories of the event weren’t particularly great themselves, since it had been the same year his parents died. Even without that, though, he hadn’t been all that interested in what was going on in the Eastern Bloc; at the time the closest he had ever come had been when he and Rhodey had crossed over into East Berlin a few years earlier just to see what all the fuss was about. He didn’t remember having been impressed.

“Families like that don’t forget,” Wanda said, with a faint note of bitterness in her voice. “A lot of them left when the Soviets invaded during the war – the Great Patriotic War – World War Two,” she clarified when they all looked blank. “After independence, when the ones who left came back, they brought it back with them.” She put the glass of water down on the coffee table and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and added dryly, “Some of them wanted to restore the monarchy, too, but nobody would vote for it.”

Tony looked at Rhodey, who shrugged helplessly back at him, then asked, “This guy have a name?”

“Zemo,” Wanda said, like that was supposed to mean something to them. “Helmut Zemo.”

“Sounds German.”

Wanda shrugged again. “A lot of people in that part of Sokovia have names like that. Some speak German, too.”

Tony remembered abruptly that he still couldn’t find Sokovia on a map.

“What did he want?” Wilson asked.

She hesitated.

Tony felt himself tense, unwillingly remembering the greasy feeling of Wanda sliding into his mind the previous year. His fingers twitched a little, wanting the security of his suit back, but he had left it in the Quinjet and it would have to smash through several walls to get here. Not that walls couldn’t be replaced, but it would be so messy.

Besides, Wanda Maximoff was, technically speaking, on their side. Even if right now it didn’t feel like it.

“Wanda?” Clint prompted gently. “What did he want?”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough that Tony started twitching. His phone buzzed in his pocket, probably Pepper wondering what was going on, but he didn’t reach for it; he wanted to know what was going on.

“Sokovia,” she said finally, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. She dashed it away impatiently with the back of one hand. “His family died at Novi Grad.”

Tony felt a muscle work in his jaw. “And?” he demanded.

Wanda was quiet again, and then she said, “I don’t remember.”

Tony opened his mouth to call bullshit and then stopped himself with an effort. Maybe it was bullshit and maybe it wasn’t. Right now, at this exact moment, it didn’t change anything. They could get the truth out of her later.

Wilson and Barton joined him and Rhodey in one of the labs later, leaving the Vision to fuss over Wanda. Tony, not being stupid and definitely not wanting to relive his teenage years, waited until the door had shut behind him before he said, “So she did it, right? Whatever happened to Steve and Natasha?”

Clint grimaced. “It sounds like it, yeah. You guys see any sign of this Zemo guy?” he asked Wilson and Rhodey.

They both shook their heads. “He must have gotten out while Vision and I were looking for Wanda and Sam was chasing Steve and Natasha,” Rhodey said. “Ever heard of him before?”

The question was directed at Clint, who shook his head. “Never had anything to do with Sokovia,” he admitted.

“FRIDAY?” Tony said.

“On it, boss.”

“We’ll get something on the guy,” Tony assured the other three men. “If he was in the news, even in a shithole like Sokovia, then we’ll at least know what he looks like.”

Clint shrugged. He sat down heavily and clasped his hands together, pressing them to his forehead. “This guy’s not the problem,” he said. “Well, not great, obviously, but not the biggest problem.”

“Steve and Nat,” Wilson said.

Clint looked up. “Nat, mostly,” he said. “Steve’s probably harmless right now; he doesn’t know anyone. Nat –”

“Come on, she’s a teenager,” Tony said. “I mean, a teenager with a gun, but –”

“She’s still a Black Widow,” Clint said meaningfully.

“You said that already,” Rhodey pointed out. “Look, whatever Nat thinks is going on right now, the Red Room’s gone; she can’t go back even if she wants to. That’s not a problem we need to –”

“Just because the Red Room’s gone doesn’t mean that no one in Moscow’s going to pick up the phone if she tries to check in,” Clint cut him off. “We did all the clean-up we could eight years ago, but there were loose ends that even Fury couldn’t get tied off; SHIELD never had all that much pull with Russia, even after the end of the Cold War. And Nat’s high profile. Leviathan – whatever Leviathan turned into – whoever’s running it now would probably pull out their own eyeteeth to get her back, especially if she can bring Captain America with her. Leviathan was the USSR’s answer to the SSR and SHIELD,” he added in response to the blank looks he got. “As far as I know, Russia kept the name, the same way everyone keeps talking about the KGB even though it’s been the FSB and the SVR for years. As far as we know, they didn’t go belly-up when the Red Room fell, but that’s a big ‘as far as we know.’ And I never had all that much to do with the Russians anyway; it was mostly before my time. You’re going to have to call Fury and Hill to find out more.”

Rhodey massaged his forehead. “You really think Nat’s going to want to go back there?”

Clint’s mouth twisted. “It’s not about wanting. That’s not how places like this work.”

“And Steve does know someone today,” Wilson put in suddenly.

“What, Peggy Carter?” Tony said, doubtful. “She’s, what, a hundred years old? You think he’s going to turn up on her doorstep?”

Wilson shook his head. “If he’s a kid, then he hasn’t met her yet as far as he knows. But there’s someone out there now that he did know when he was a kid.”

They all stared at him, and then Clint said, “Jesus. Steve’s been looking for the Winter Soldier for years and getting nowhere, you don’t really think he’s going to find him now.”

“No,” Wilson said. “But Bucky Barnes might be able to find him.”

#does any of the sokovia stuff in this sequence make historical sense?#who knows! I didn't want to do serious research yet the way I did for home so it is somewhat handwavey and based off things I already knew #cut scenes and concept writing #stevenat deaging concept

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wolfjackle-creates · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

So I'll be sharing a snippet from a different fic today! If I share anymore of Bring Me Home, I may as well just post the entire first chapter. (Which, I will be looking for a new job and hopefully moving in 2 months or so, so I'll probably try and start posting after that. Get another chapter or two written in the meantime.)

This fic is also from a prompt that was submitted by @regonold to @stealingyourbones. I did part of a collab fill previously, but the idea has been living in my mind rent free and I couldn't help but want to take it on more fully. I've written 5.5k and this snippet is just under 900 words.

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The formal gardens beyond the iron gate filled Danny with dread. Vlad’s mansion had looked like this, too. But Jazz had promised him, over and over again, that the Waynes were nothing like the Fruit Loop while begging him to come. Besides, he’d spent weeks making sure his schedule was clear and making deals to prevent any interruptions. No backing out now. With a sigh, he pressed the button for the intercom.

“Good evening, may I ask your business?” asked a man with a British accent.

“Um, yeah. Good evening.” Why was it so much harder to communicate with other people as human Danny than ghost Phantom? “Um, I’m Danny. Jazz’s brother?”

“Ah, yes. Of course. We’ve been expecting you. Follow the drive up to the house and welcome.”

Motors activated and the gates slowly opened. Danny started the trek up the long driveway. His anxiety wasn’t relived when he saw the manor with it’s dark stone facade and literal tower. If it was made of lighter stones, it could have been a copy of Vlad’s castle.

“This is for Jazz,” he muttered under his breath as he walked up the stairs. Before he could knock on the doors, they opened and Jazz ran out to hug him.

“Danny! Thank you so much for coming! How’ve you been? I know you’re busy, but you need to call me more often.”

Danny hugged her back tightly. “Sorry, Jazz. You know how I lose track of time. So where’s this famous Jason?”

A man stepped forward and started speaking, but hanging off his back was a ghost. The ghost of the dead Robin, to be exact. Shit.

At least the position of the ghost meant he appeared to be looking at probably-Jason. Even if he didn’t hear a word the man said. To make it worse, Robin realized he could see him and was sending out help-me trills.

Danny had to bite hard on his tongue to keep from vocalizing his own comforting chirps.

He was so focused on Robin that he almost didn’t notice probably-Jason holding out his hand to shake. Laughing self-consciously, he took it. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

The other man hesitated a moment and asked, “Is everything all right?”

But all Danny could focus on was Robin hanging off Jason’s shoulders and sending out happy-sad-helpless feelings. Danny relaxed the hold he had on his ghost self and tried to sense what was going on. But he had to reassure the human, too. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But wow, was Jason not. Where had he come into contact with such weird ectoplasm? It seemed to twist every emotion into anger and fear and violence.

Even worse was Robin. He was barely perceptible even to Danny’s enhanced senses.

Of course, Jazz was liminal enough to realize he was doing something. Quietly, she chirped a question.

Danny just shook his head and pulled back his power. “Later,” he murmured.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said back, just as quietly.

Louder, Danny said, “Sorry. I just have bad memories about large manors like this. Has Jazz told you about Vlad?”

“He’s come up a time or two. With the black hair and blue eyes, someone will probably make an adoption joke at you before the night is over. But I’ll stab them if they do.”

Danny's laugh would have been much less forced had he not just felt the twisted anger inside probably-Jason. “Just don’t hit anything vital,” he said, hoping it sounded like a joke.

Robin rolled his eyes—and how could he do that so obviously with a mask on?—and tried to pull on Jason to lead him inside.

“Well, it might be summer, but Gotham is never warm. Come on in and I’ll introduce you to everyone,” said Jason.

Jazz grabbed his hand as they made their way inside where they were greeted warmly by an elderly gentleman.

“You must be Mr. Danny. Welcome to the Manor. I’m Alfred. Dinner will be served in one hour and please let me know if you need anything. Your sister stated you didn’t have any dietary restrictions?”

“What’s that?” Danny was trying not to stare at Robin who was now hugging the older man. Before Alfred could repeat himself, however, Danny’s brain caught up to the human conversation. “Oh, uh, no. I don’t. Jazz is right.”

“Very good. Can I take your coat and bag?”

Danny did shrug off his backpack, but only so he could also take off his coat. “Can I keep the bag? I don’t feel comfortable without it on me.”

“Very well.” Alfred hung the coat up on a rack right next to the door. “Master Jason, be sure to show him where the bathroom is on your way to join the others. Mr. Danny, there are plenty of drinks in the sitting room where everyone is relaxing should you need a refreshment.” And he finally had confirmation that this was Jason!

“’Course I will, Alfie.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, though he was more focused on the desperate chirps Robin was sending out.

I’m here-notice me-I love you.

Looks like he was breaking his promise to Jazz to not do any ghostly business tonight. Of course Jazz’s boyfriend would be haunted by a ghost that needed help. Why was he even surprised?

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As far as I know, there hasn't been a lot of requests for a tag list on this one. @addie-lover-of-stories is the only one I noticed. But let me know and I'll start one!

Next Part

#dp x dc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #anger management #alfred pennyworth #i reread everything ive written today for the first time in a week or two #and theres some scenes i cant wait to share with others #it'll be fun #for danny at least #the bats not so much

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isa-ghost · 9 months ago

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amfmn missa.. p please.. please mother … feed us

I'M BEING ENABLED PPOVERHEAT

He's an actual grim reaper. That's where he's disappeared to so often in canon, reaper duties. It's a very demanding job, you know.

Doesn't stop him from feeling terrible about being gone so often though. He misses his husband and kids and hates how often he's out of the loop :(

Fr though Phil and the kids make him so so happy after spending countless hours working such a sad job. It's also partially why he sings and makes art. That brand of fun is catharsis for the soul.

He has all his canon weapons but I ALSO gave him a reaper deathscythe. And boy is he gonna use it. Fucking AWOOGA MissaSinfonia when he's angry.

Btw as a reaper he can FEEL souls. He can see their power, their condition, feel the surface level emotions and personality of its owner. This will come in handy later in the fic. ;)

As per the post I made asking for Missa appreciation so I can characterize him properly: He's undyingly loyal, he fights hard and loves even harder, he's protective, silly, and goddamn can he flirt.

All his wet cat behavior is a result of getting too overwhelmed by The Horrors. He's seen A Lot as a reaper. But somehow Quesadilla Island and all its... Everything. Always manage to show him a new brand of What The Fuck he's never even imagined before. Hence all his screaming and weeping when he's caught up on what he's missed. Like how tf else is he supposed to react??

Somewhat attached to that, he and Phil rlly were a match made in Federation Heaven bc they both have issues with self-doubt despite being insanely skilled and sharp-witted. Missa is better abt it than Phil though. His only acts up when he messes up a lot or just. Doesn't have a clue how to handle a situation where it's dire that he does. It's more of an insecurity about being unprepared and failing his loved ones than it is a doubt he has skill. He KNOWS he does, he hates when it's not enough. That's how he differs from Phil, who thinks he has none at all.

Btw when you fuck with the people he's protective over, he gets PISSED. We're getting a LOT of pissed off Missa in AMFMN <3 Ofc there'll be a lot of reaper tears too, his husband is suffering and there's little he can do about it. :( But ohohoho when the sad turns into rage. BARK WOOF. Eventually he decides EK is catching these hands and scythe.

He also shakes hands with his husband on being a self-sacrificing little shit. And. Yeah this is gonna happen later in the fic. (He's not dying dw dw)

You have no idea how excited I am that I basically get to build his dynamics with Fit, Etoiles, and Bagi from scratch. I'm so hyped. People are welcome to reply with this with any crumbs we have of their dynamics in canon but afaik they've rarely interacted outside of very minor moments, so AMFMN will largely be a sandbox for me to establish what I THINK they'd be like. Which in my fic plan so far, is largely taking each character's personality and applying how I think they'd react to a situation, and how that would look when two of them are interacting in that situation. Ex: at one point Etoiles has to comfort Missa bc he's just having a ROUGH time with this saving Phil stuff. But Etoiles is NOT a comfort guy. So he does his Etoiles thing: hearing Missa out while also cracking his usual brand of jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I also have a plot point planned with him and Bagi when shit is hitting the fan the hardest and OUUGHHH. That self-sacrificing shit am I right.

God I'm being so mean to him specifically in AMFMN though. Ender King is a sack of shit, he knows exactly who to harass most using Phil's body >:/

See in my AMFMN Fitza headcanons, I said they're each other's confidants. Which IS true. However, no one in the fic gets the honor of Phil FINALLY communicating with someone about his issues other than his husband. Missa is the person he caves and confesses things to. Missa gets the HC Deity lore and what's been happening to him lately. This is actually what Chapter 3 is :D

Also I am so sorry but I'm sliding a Missa Romantic Love Confession attempt into the fic and it gets interrupted by The Horrors. But yeah Missa is romantically in love with Phil, he just respects that Phil sees things platonically. He still wants to communicate his feelings though.

#qsmp #qsmp pissa #pissa #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #AMFMN things #deathduo #qsmp deathduo

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 11 months ago

Text

Three (m/m, cold)

And now, for something completely different.

Well, not completely - it's still a cold fic lol. This one is specifically for @ghostlychill who has asked for more Matt and Mark. This is basically the saga of how they ended up together, and it is certainly out of my wheelhouse because it actually has romance lmao. A pre-warning, this is plot heavy (for me) and a little sneeze light. There are a few Greyson cold sneezes, and Matt is sick for the latter half, but it's more of a romance sickfic than a true snz fic. But I hope you like it if you read it; let me know if you all want more Matt and Mark. They were honestly really fun to write, and I banged this monster of a fic out in just a few hours so the muse was musing.

Ok, done rambling. Enjoy :)

CW: Male, M/M (not sexually explicit, just kissing), colds, contagion, coughing, fevers, light mess. 4.3k words under the cut.

Three

Their first kiss was an accident.

Post-brunch. Pre-holidays. “Grab a beer?” Mark had asked as Matt stuffed his dirty chef coat into his backpack. It had become a bit of a ritual for the two of them to grab a drink after a long shift in the past few weeks; usually it was under cover of darkness, but this brunch had been particularly brutal and Matt was craving not just a beverage, but some commiseration. He shrugged, hoisted his backpack onto a shoulder.

“Sure. You’ve got first round.”

One round had quickly turned to two, then three, and before five pm hit they were drunkenly crashing their pint glasses into each other and talking much louder than the half-full pub required to be heard. Matt drained his fifth beer and looked to Mark, smiling sloppily. “One more?” he asked.

Mark pushed his hair out of his face and leaned his head into one hand, taking the other man in. “If it’ll keep you in my line of sight,” he said, emboldened by booze, “I’ll stay here all night long.”

When the bartender finally kicked them out around eight, the two men were so drunk they had to use one another as walking sticks to get down the block.

“We’re way too drunk to be on the street,” Mark laughed, putting a hand over one eye. “I’m seeing, like… quadruple.”

“That’s wild, ‘cause I can’t see at all,” Matt said, looping his arm through Mark’s. The two of them laughed and stumbled until they hit a bench near well-lit central park and flopped down.

“I can’t remember where I live,” Matt admitted, placing his head on Mark’s shoulder. Their arms had stayed looped. Mark gently placed his head atop Matt’s.

“Me either,” he said. “But… can I tell you a secret?”

Matt looked up. Nodded.

“I don’t want to go home,” Mark said, letting a slow smile spread across his face. Matt felt his cheeks flame; he let a beat pass before he smiled back.

“Me either,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Later, they wouldn’t remember who initiated it. All they would remember was when their lips pressed together, everything else melted away.

***

“Oh! Oh, shit, fuck, sorry guys I didn’t -”

“Chef, shit! Oh, fuckin’ hell -”

Greyson slammed the door to the bathroom shut, leaving Matt and Mark to stare at one another, eyes wide as saucers – the silence between them thick as the cigarette smoke that hung in the air outside that little room.

Finally, Mark broke the silence. “Um… do you think he saw anything?”

Matt couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. Mark slapped a hand across the other man’s mouth, making him laugh even harder. He really didn’t know what he’d been thinking following Mark in here in the first place.

Much like the stupid party they were hiding from in the bathroom, their second kiss was clearly a mistake.

The New Year’s Eve party had been Elijah’s idea, much to the surprise of literally everyone at the restaurant.

“What?” Elijah had asked when his announcement during pre-shift had been met with a stunned silence. “I thought you all loved parties!”

The servers and cooks eyed one another in a way they all hoped wasn’t completely obvious, until finally Greyson said what everyone was thinking. “Boss, yeah, everyone loves parties… except you.”

Elijah had scoffed at this. “You guys obviously don’t really know me; I love parties.”

Of course, Elijah didn’t love parties and it ended up moving from his roomy condo to Greyson’s tiny Brooklyn apartment at the last minute. Post-service on New Year’s Eve, Matt helped his boss load extra bottles of champagne, vodka, and tequila into the back of the restaurant’s van all while Greyson grumbled about Elijah.

“Fuckin’ Elijah,” Greyson said for about the fiftieth time that evening. “Why the fuck would he even mention a party if he wasn’t a thousand percent sure he wanted to ho – hh-”

Matt glanced up at his boss, who held an arm midair in anticipation. This was the real reason Greyson, who threw parties at his place at least three times a year, was pissed about having to host the work shindig: he was sick.

“Hh-! HhhITSZZH-ue!” Greyson folded over into his elbow, sniffled, and cleared his throat.

“Bless,” Matt offered, placing the rest of the alcohol into the back of the car. “Chef, I’m sure that everyone will understand if you don’t feel up to having twenty people in your apartment. There’re tons of parties right around here, why don’t you just… call it off?”

Greyson, stubborn as ever, just shook his head. “I said I’d do it. They’re already on their way.”

So Matt loaded into the van with Greyson, and Mark got in Elijah’s car with the GM while the rest of the staff hopped on the subway for the party that no one really wanted to be at. Greyson, who’d been able to keep his illness at bay for most of the shift thanks mostly to the Sudafed he kept slamming, started coming down hard the moment they began their drive to Brooklyn.

“Hh...hhITSZZH-ue! Huh-! ETSZH-ue! Fuck mbe,” Greyson muttered, using his sleeve to wipe under his nose with one hand while he drove through the busy Manhattan streets with the other.

“Um… do you want to pull over so I can drive?” Matt asked, a little more pointed than his boss was used to him being. Greyson shot his sous chef a look.

“Ndo,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

Matt was hardly a germaphobe – working in a kitchen bred that out of you pretty quickly – but he couldn’t help but cringe away with every sneeze and cough that came from his boss’s side of the car. He found himself thinking about Mark; they had plans to hang out in just a few days, plans that both of them had been forced to cancel multiple times already, and Matt could just feel Greyson’s germs making themselves at home inside his body. He really didn’t want to cancel on Mark again; he wasn’t exactly sure what they were, what he wanted them to be, or what Mark thought they were, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to fuck it up. Matt was entirely too good at fucking up a good thing.

“HRRSHH-ue!” Clearly, that one snuck up on him, because that time Greyson barely covered his mouth. Matt shrank into the door and considered pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his boss from infecting him. Greyson glanced over at Matt and coughed out a laugh.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, patting Matt’s leg, “but you’re probably already fucked.”

Eventually, they made it to Greyson’s walk-up and after what felt like an eon, they got everything inside. Elijah immediately recruited Mark to help pour champagne for everyone, and Greyson left his sous to go outside and smoke on the patio – Matt had no choice but to just start drinking.

By the time the cooks and servers made it to Greyson’s apartment, Matt was half in the bag. He floated sloppily from group to group, telling jokes and prompting everyone to take shots with him, all while keeping one eye on Mark at all times. Elijah had been keeping his liege busy; Mark was bartending, putting appetizers in the oven, picking up trash… everything except hanging out with Matt. So when he finally got to take a bathroom break, Matt threw back his tequila soda and, emboldened by liquor, followed behind him.

“Hey, it’s occ-” Mark started to say when the bathroom door opened right on his heels – but he was cut off when Matt swung him around, grabbed his face in both hands, stood on his tiptoes, and pressed his lips firmly on the other man’s.

Mark certainly wasn’t pulling away; in fact, the moment their lips touched, Mark grabbed Matt by the hips and lifted him onto Greyson’s tiny vanity to make the kiss easier on both of them. Matt pulled away for just a moment to look at Mark – his black-framed glasses were askew, his hair was wild from Matt’s hands coursing through it, and his face was flushed with lust. Matt was sure he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

“What was that for?” Mark asked, his voice low. Matt’s face cracked into a smile.

“I haven’t gotten to spend any time with you tonight,” he said, pushing Mark’s hair away from his face. “And I’m probably gonna have to cancel our plans on Monday.”

Mark’s brows knit together, confused. “Why?” he asked. “Is this, like, a fare-thee-well, this is the last time this will happen kiss situation?”

Matt laughed, shook his head. “No,” he said, cocking his head towards the door, where the party rumbled outside. “I’m, like, 99% sure Greyson infected me with his disgusting illness on the long-ass drive over here. I wouldn’t force you to hang out with me when I’m inevitably sick.” He shrugged. “So I figured I’d sneak some time with you where I could.”

Matt didn’t wait for Mark’s response about his impending doom; he just leaned in again. This time, Mark parted his lips and slid his tongue in to meet Matt’s. Matt allowed a quiet moan to escape his lips, let his hand feel its way down to Mark’s shirt, and began unbuttoning when the door flew open once more.

“Oh!”

Greyson.

***

“Chef, I am not in the mood today.”

“Oh c’mon, if I can’t poke fun at your drunken antics then what’s even the point of living? You make fun of my drunken antics all the time.”

Matt put down his knife and gave his boss a pointed look. “Yeah, maybe for like a day after they go down, but New Year’s was three days ago. Are you planning on ever letting it go?”

Greyson shrugged as he pushed onions into a deli container and snapped the lid shut. “Probably not. I mean, it’s just too good – caught red handed in my bathroom. Like, it couldn’t have happened more perfectly if I wrote it myself.”

Matt rolled his eyes; while Greyson living for his embarrassment was annoying, it was kind of the last thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mark – after the bathroom kiss situation went down, he’d slipped out of the party and hadn’t mentioned anything about it to Matt since. Matt assumed he wanted to put it out of his head. Maybe the kiss – both of the kisses – hadn’t felt to Mark like they did to Matt. Maybe Mark was put off by how drunk Matt had been both times. Maybe he just wasn’t into him.

All Matt knew was, he desperately wanted to talk to Mark – but despite working the same hours in the same tiny restaurant, Mark had managed to avoid him like the plague.

Speaking of which.

“HTSHH-uh! Hh! Hh’ITSHH-uh! ETZSH-ue!” Matt turned away from the food to sneeze into his shoulder, then his hand, then finally his elbow. Greyson stepped over and plucked Matt’s knife out of his hand while the younger man was compromised.

“You’ll take someone’s eye out that way,” he chastised, placing the knife on Matt’s cutting board. The sous rolled his eyes, sucked in through his nose, and trudged to the sink to wash his hands.

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Chef. You’re the fucking plague rat of this restaurant,” Matt murmured, pulling a hand down his face. This was the other issue: Matt and Mark were supposed to hang out tomorrow, but just as he predicted, Matt had been gifted the cold Greyson had on New Year’s. If Mark didn’t want to talk to him when he was healthy and just a few steps away, he certainly wouldn’t be traversing the city tomorrow to hang out with Matt when he was fever-addled and snot-ridden.

“Rude,” Greyson said, continuing his prep. “But not entirely untrue. Sorry you’re sick.”

“Whatever,” Matt grumbled, his bad mood amplified by his pounding head. “Can you just drop the bathroom situation?”

Greyson bit his cheek to keep from smiling. “I can certainly try.”

Matt knew that meant ‘no’, but he’d take what he could get. He picked his knife back up to start chopping broccoli, but almost cut himself when Mark slipped into the back kitchen.

“Chef?” he asked, prompting both Greyson and Matt’s heads to shoot up. Matt’s face flamed when Greyson swiveled his head to meet his sous’ eyes with a cheeky grin – he put his head back down, pretending to focus on his work.

“Yes, Mark, how can I assist you?” Greyson asked, wiping his hands on the towel next to his cutting board. Matt felt Mark shoot a quick glance his way; his cheeks burned with the knowledge.

“Elijah is looking for you. Says he has a question about tonight’s ten-top with the prixe fix?”

Greyson rolled his eyes, but abandoned his prep for the moment. “When doesn’t Elijah have a question about a prixe fix?” he asked to no one in particular. “I’ll go talk to him. Thanks.”

The chef exited the back kitchen, leaving a sniffling Matt and a stuck-in-place Mark in his wake. Matt was the first to break the silence – unwillingly.

“Hh-! NTSHH-uh!” The sous attempted to stifle a sneeze into his palm, but only succeeded in making a mess of himself. His face reddened impossibly deeper, and he was forced to put down his knife and head for the sink.

“Bless you,” Mark said as Matt pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and blew his nose. Matt swallowed painfully, washed his hands again, and nodded.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat.

They lapsed into silence once again, neither one looking at the other. “Um,” Mark said, finally, “are you -”

“I have to get this work done,” Matt interrupted, though he couldn’t explain to even himself why he wouldn’t let Mark ask if he was okay. “Have a good shift, okay?”

Mark blinked, taken aback, but nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and turned to leave the back kitchen without a word. Matt didn’t let himself watch the other man go.

***

It was like watching a train wreck.

“Matt,” Greyson called from his spot at the expo board. “Where are we at on the halibut for 63?”

Mark’s eyes darted behind the line where Matt was doubled over, coughing into the collar of his chef’s coat. The sous chef had started the evening looking very much under the weather and quite a bit worse for the wear, but now, at nine PM he looked like he was ready to keel over right there on the line. Mark bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.

“Matt!” Greyson called again, and Matt stood, shakily, to place the likely-overcooked halibut onto its plate. He pushed it through the window and gave his boss a pointed look.

“The food has to cook, Chef, you gotta give mbe a minu – uh! ETSZCH-uhh!” Matt collapsed once again into his collar, righted himself quickly, and sucked in through his nose. “A mbinute,” he finished, his voice cracking.

“Halibut doesn’t take twenty minutes to cook, Chef,” Greyson snapped, snatching the plate from the line. “I expect my number-two to be able to keep ticket times under fifty minutes so the fucking restaurant doesn’t shut the fuck down.” Greyson handed three plates to Mark, who took them wordlessly and slunk out of the kitchen.

Mark dropped the food at its respective table, the guilt of not saying anything to Matt slowly eating away at him. He counted the tables left in the restaurant who still needed to eat – definitely more than he was hoping for. He really, really didn’t want to go back to the kitchen.

“Hey, Lij?” Mark said, approaching his boss at the host stand. Elijah was moving reservations from table to table on the iPad, configuring the remainder of the night.

“Hmm?” Elijah murmured, only half paying attention. Mark pursed his lips, weighing whether he should say anything.

Finally, he said, “Do you think you could ask Greyson to kind of… cool it with Matt? I mean, he seems like he’s really sick and Chef is like… totally berating him.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow and looked away from the iPad to meet Mark’s eyes. “You want me to ask Greyson to stop yelling at Matt… now? In the middle of service, when there are tables who have thirty-plus-minute ticket times?” The GM huffed out a laugh. “Man, Greyson told me about the whole bathroom situation, but I figured you guys were just drunk. I didn’t realize you were down so badly for him.”

Mark’s face flushed crimson; Elijah smirked at him, and turned back to the iPad. “Matt’s a big boy, Mark,” he said, not looking the floor manager in the eye. “He can handle Greyson yelling at him.”

“Yeah,” Mark muttered. “Okay.”

Mark trudged back to the kitchen to grab more food, the sound of Greyson’s frustrated voice hitting him before he could even step foot through the swinging doors.

“Order in! Two filets, two tofu, one halibut! Matt, I swear to God I had better see table twenty-six up in the next three seconds, Chef, it’s already at twenty-two minutes.”

“Yes, Chef,” Matt mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

“I can’t hear you, Chef,” Greyson yelled back, tweezering herbs onto a dish.

“Yes, Che – ITZSHH-ue! HRETSZH-ue!” Matt ducked down below the line to sneeze, the sound painful and desperate. Mark could hear the crackling cough he was trying to hide all the way from where he was standing; his heart sunk. He wished like hell that he’d had the balls to say something – anything – to the other man this week. He wished he wasn’t such a fucking baby when it came to his feelings, or relationships, or standing up for himself or anyone else. He wished he was anyone but himself.

“Bless – Chef, do you need to switch spots with me?” Greyson asked, his voice finally softening at the sound of Matt’s coughing.

“Ndo, Chef,” Matt managed, standing. “I’mb fine. Twenty-six, up,” he said, slamming the plates onto the pass.

“Great,” Greyson mumbled. He garnished the plates and shoved them into Mark’s hands. “Twenty-six, go,” he said, not looking at the floor manager.

Mark nodded; he took the plates out into the dining room and dropped them; as he did, he made a promise to himself and, silently, to Matt: maybe there was nothing he could do or say during the shift to make Matt feel any better, but he would figure out a way, post-shift, to do something to help him. He would grow some balls, if it killed him.

While Elijah was still busy looking at reservations, Mark slipped into the bathroom and pulled out his phone. He put in a grocery order, to be picked up at ten the next morning. He typed out a text to Matt, scheduled it to send at the same time he would be picking up the groceries so he wouldn’t be able to wimp out and unschedule it. Then he put his phone back in his pocket, opened the door, and went to finish the shift.

***

His phone was ringing.

Matt groaned as he came to; he was covered in sweat, he could barely breathe, and he was stiff as a fucking board from passing out on his couch. Who the fuck was calling him? It was his one day off, could Greyson not leave him alone for one fucking day?

He grabbed the phone off the coffee table, ready to throw it across the room, when he realized the name on the screen wasn’t his boss’s.

Call from: Mark, Work.

Matt’s stomach jumped into his throat. The phone continued to ring while he squinted at the clock in the corner: ten twenty-three AM. Had he and Mark spoken last night? He could barely remember a fucking thing about the previous night, other than being utterly and completely miserable. The two of them definitely hadn’t spoken; he remembered giving Mark the cold should before service started, remembered the pitying look Mark had given him as Greyson screamed the restaurant down, remembered flying out the door the moment Greyson told him to go. They hadn’t spoken, their plans were obviously off, so why the hell was Mark calling him?

The call went to voicemail. Matt coughed into his elbow, a chesty sound that he really didn’t like, especially since he didn’t have health insurance. After a minute or so, another notification popped up: one new voicemail.

Curiosity got the better of him. Matt opened his phone and hit ‘play’.

“Hey, Matt, it’s um… it’s me. I know this is super weird, like I don’t know why I did it at this point weird, but, uh… I’m outside your building. I texted you, but now I’m realizing you’re probably asleep. Uh… I mean, if you get this I’m gonna, like, hang out out here for a bit. I brought soup! I can’t cook, so it’s from a deli, but I figured you might need something to eat, and you probably don’t want to cook since you’re sick. Your place is nice, by the way. Um. Okay. If you get this, cool, if not, I’ll uh… I’ll leave in a little bit. Okay. Bye.”

Matt felt his heart near-explode in his chest. Mark was sitting outside his building, with soup? What was this, a Hallmark movie?

He did it without thinking; he pulled up his text conversation with Mark and typed, hey, im awake. sorry I missed ur call. ill buzz you up :)

Mark was up the stairs in record time. He knocked, and Matt stood from the couch, forgetting until he was vertical that he was still in his work clothes from last night. Gross, he thought, but it was too late to change now – he took a few shaky steps towards the door and opened up.

Matt barely recognized Mark at first; he was only used to his floor-manager getup, button-downs and ties and slacks, his hair gelled back. Today, Mark wore jeans and a jean jacket over a Brighton University hoodie – did he go to college in England? - with black high-top converse. His curly hair was in his face, and he was carrying two full grocery bags. Mark smiled.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Yea -” Matt attempted, not realizing his voice was completely shot until he tried to use it for the first time that day. His hand flew to his throat and he attempted to clear it, to no avail. “Shit, sorry, apparently I can’t talk,” he whispered.

Mark pursed his lips, obviously concerned. “That’s okay,” he said, stepping through the front door. He placed the bags on Matt’s tiny kitchen table and began pulling out supplies. “I come bearing gifts.”

There was the soup, like he said, but Mark also pulled out dayquil, and sudafed, and cough drops. He pulled out a box of tissues, bags of tea, and cough syrup – quite literally the whole nine yards. “I didn’t know what you had, so I figured I’d grab one of everything,” Mark said, embarrassed.

Matt didn’t know what to say. “Mark, I – hh! hhIGTSZH-uhh! Hh’TSHH-ue!” Matt crumpled into his elbow to sneeze, hard, and lapsed into a fit of coughing. Mark pushed the cold supplies towards him, smiling a bit.

“Bless you,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re so sick.”

Matt took a moment to blow his nose and uncapped the cough syrup. He chugged a bit, righted himself, and shrugged, embarrassed. “Not your fault,” he croaked. “Thank you for bringing all this.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Mark said, not looking into Matt’s eyes. “I’m really sorry for ignoring you the past few days, Matt. I… I mean, I don’t want to scare you off or anything but I haven’t really had, like, a real relationship in a long time. Like, a really long time.” He looked up, caught Matt’s red, watery eyes in his, and gave up the whole truth. “Like… ever.”

Matt nodded slowly, processing. “So… you don’t hate me?” he asked, the fever tossing to the wayside any filter he might have once had. Mark’s face colored; he laughed.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like… I really don’t hate you. I – I mean, I really, really like you, Matt.”

It was Matt’s turn to flush bright red. “Even like this?” he asked, coughing into his fist. Mark smiled.

“Even like that.”

The two of them stood there, smiling twin goofy smiles, for a moment before Matt ducked once again into his elbow.

“Hh – ITSZHH-ue! Guhh.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, not caring how disgusting he looked. “I, umb, I really like you too, Mbark,” he said, coughing again. “Like… probably mbore than is normal or rational.”

This time, it was Matt who was caught off-guard. Before he knew what was happening, Mark had his hands on either side of Matt’s hot face and was tipping Matt’s head up to meet his. This one was different; while the first two kisses felt hungry, dangerous, this one was soft; an invitation. A promise of a future yet to come.

Matt pulled away to catch his breath. “You’ll get sick,” he muttered, eyes closed and hands around Mark’s thin frame. Mark tipped Matt’s head up, pushed his sweaty, dishwater blond hair out of his eyes, and pressed their foreheads together.

“I know,” he said, and pressed his lips against Matt’s once again.

Their third kiss – well. That was the one they would tell everyone at the wedding about.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz #m/m #male ocs #contagion #mess #i'd love to hear any feedback good or bad on this one bc i haven't written romance anything in a very long time lol #and idk if this sucks or not lmaooo

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