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rcmclachlan · 4 months ago

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On this week's episode of Things I Think About While Driving, I was having myself a grand ol' time thinking about all the different times and ways Buck could've met Tommy earlier, and the one I kept coming back to was S4xE5.

Like, right after Buck walks out of Maddie's apartment having learned about Daniel...

He drives.

He drives and drives and drives with no actual destination in mind, operating completely on autopilot, for hours. No music, no podcasts, just the rush of wind through all the open windows of the Jeep and the echoing refrain in his head of so they made one.

It would've been an allogeneic transplant. He'd looked it up once when he was watching a 60 Minutes special on Myelodysplastic Syndrome. They would've taken the stem cells from his umbilical cord if the timing was right. Unless they tried it a little bit later, maybe waited a few months before they scraped Daniel's homegrown defense system right out of Buck's bones. He would've been too young to remember the pain and discomfort that came after. He wonders if he cried as a baby more than he would've if he'd been wanted for anything other than the hellfire missiles in his marrow.

And then it didn't work. Defective, right out of the gate. No wonder they've always treated him like a massive disappointment—he is one. He had one job and he couldn't even manage to do that much.

So he drives. He drives and he's furious. He drives and he's inconsolable. He drives and he's sorry. With every street he turns down at random, he moves onto another emotion, and by the time the gas gauge is nudging close to empty and the evening is giving way to night, the only thing he's capable of feeling is tired.

And hunger. He'd only had an apple before he went over to Maddie's.

So he circles back to Glendale Boulevard and decides on the place with a red lion on their sign solely because it doesn't look busy for 8:30pm on a Tuesday. There's even a free space in the little lot next to the building. Thanks, COVID.

It's pretty quiet inside, with a substantial bar set against old wood paneling on the walls, making it feel like an old tavern. He takes a seat at the far end of the bar where the lighting's kind of dim.

Turns out it's a German bar, so he orders a glass of Warsteiner, which he's never had before, and it's got a strong, malty backbone for a lager. The bartender tells him there's a Biergarten in the back if he wants to take his drink outside.

Buck doesn't want to move from his little corner. It feels safe here, even with his mask off. At least two of the one hundred thousand knots in his back muscles have relaxed since he sat down. He quietly declines the offer, but he does order himself the sausage plate and a glass of Augustiner Maximator once he's done with the Warsteiner, which goes down so good he can't believe it's got an ABV of 7.5%. He orders a second.

He's in the middle of robotically eating a smoked bockwurst he can't taste, thinking so they made one, when the door to the biergarten opens up. A guy walks over to the bar and Buck throws him a cursory glance. Then he looks again.

The guy is exactly who you'd find on the cover of the LAFD charity calendar: big and beefy, with the kind of high cheekbones that belong on a runway in Milan. Effortlessly handsome. Buck wants to tip his beer toward him, because, respect. He also wants to poke his biceps and ask what his regiment is, if he P90X's or something. Buck isn't a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but this guy looks like he could throw Buck around like a grizzly bear.

Buck lets himself be distracted by watching the guy lightly tap his fingers against the bar to the beat of whatever 80s song is playing softly over the speakers. He's always loved people watching; it's a great way to get out of his head after tough calls. This guy is a particularly fascinating specimen. There's just something magnetic about him. Buck's known people like that: they draw the eye even if they're not doing anything to warrant attention. Without even being called, the bartender wanders over to the guy, no doubt drawn to whatever invisible light is coming off him. Buck can't hear what they're saying, but then the bartender turns and points right at Buck, who freezes, caught.

The guy flashes Buck a thumbs up and asks just loud enough to be heard through his face mask, "How was the Warsteiner?"

Swallowing, Buck lifts the empty glass and says, "Uh, g-good. Full-bodied."

With a thoughtful nod, the guy turns back to the bartender and says something too quiet for Buck to hear, but he figures it out when the bartender goes and comes back with a glass of what is clearly Warsteiner. The guy takes a sip, pauses, and then moves toward Buck, stopping before he gets too close. "Thanks for the recommendation. Hey, Jay, put his next one on my tab."

The bartender—Jay—gives him a thumbs up and goes to the register. Buck, mortified at the thought of being a charity case, of this guy pitying him enough to buy him a beer, opens his mouth to tell Jay he can pay for his own beers, thanks, when the guy holds up a hand to forestall the protest.

"German beer's not usually my thing. I'm more of a craft beer kind of guy, so really, I appreciate the assist. If it makes you feel better, pay it forward." His cheeks curve up, and in the bar lighting Buck can see there are long legs attached to the guy's crow's feet. He clearly has spent his life smiling. Buck would bet this man has never once curled up in the dark on his birthday knowing for a fact his parents weren't going to even text him and was still disappointed when the clock ticked past midnight and he had nothing to show for it. This guy's parents probably had a golden statue of him erected in their front yard.

Buck musters up a smile that feels like one of the little, weak waves that just sort of roll over the shoreline without any fanfare before dissolving back into the sea, and the guy tilts his head.

"Rough day?"

"Rough life," Buck says, utterly pathetic, and feels like he's betrayed all his friends for even saying it. "No, that's—that was incredibly ungrateful. My life isn't—I-I have a good life. I just learned something today about my parents that, uh, clarified a few things for me about our relationship. It... wasn't great."

The guy taps his finger against the bottle of Warsteiner in his hand, staring at Buck with deep consideration, flaying Buck from head to toe without a word. Then he gives a nod that smacks of commiseration and walks around the bar until he's only two chairs away. When the guy opens his mouth and inhales, Buck can already hear what's coming: surely it's not that bad. You should talk it out with them. You're being too hard on them. C'mon, they're your parents, they love you.

"That sucks," the guy says, simple as anything.

Out of nowhere, heat starts prickling in Buck's nose and the corners of his eyes, and he looks at this guy and the calm, earnest expression on his face, and... yeah. Yeah. It does suck. It sucks so hard and it has for so long, and all his life he's wanted someone to tell him that, to hear him list every injustice and offer a crumb of support without any pretense or judgment. Buck gasps a laugh that sounds more like he's been stabbed, and he opens his mouth to thank the guy for telling him exactly what he needed to hear, but instead what comes out is... everything. The whole story comes out of him like an unraveling firehose, pulling longer and longer the more he talks, stretching from the day he crashed his bike—"But it wasn't my bike, it was his."—to sitting in Maddie's living room and finally learning the truth: that he hadn't been crazy, that something had been wrong his entire life and the something was him.

"They'd made a box for her—full of all these memories and little trinkets and pictures—and I bet you he had one with baseball cards and his first, like, pacifier, and Skittles, and whatever, but when I asked them where mine was, they looked at me like I had three heads, because human junkyards full of scrap metal and defective blood cells don't get baby boxes," he finishes on a shout. Panting like he just sprinted to Santa Monica and back, he finds himself deflating into his folded arms on top of the bar now that he isn't filled to the brim with 29 years worth of bottled-up grievances. This must be what bulldozed graveyards feel like: scraped clean and ready to be filled up again. Buck is surrounded by five empty glasses, a little mountain of twisted-up napkins, and a complete stranger who hasn't said a word since Buck began, and it's as a good place to start again as any.

Buck closes his eyes and stews in embarrassment for about thirty seconds, then turns his head to look at his audience of one. At some point, the guy had gravitated into the chair right next to him and took his mask off, revealing a stupidly handsome face, and his wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare makes Buck want to throw up a little. It may have been the cleansing Buck'd needed, but the poor guy didn't ask to be part of any of it. Buck doesn't know why he told him in the first place. This is the kind of thing he'd hesitate to blurt out to Eddie, never mind a complete stranger, but there had been something so oddly steady and compassionate in the guy's gaze that Buck had felt like he could trust him with anything. It had been so easy to just... talk. And to his credit, the guy had listened to Buck's entire rant—stopping Buck only twice to ask a quiet, clarifying question—without making a face, snorting, rolling his eyes, or getting up and just leaving.

Face warm, Buck shifts in his seat to try and get feeling back into his left ass cheek, then he opens his mouth to apologize for dumping all that on the him instead of at his next session with his fucking therapist.

But the guy just blinks out of his stupor and flags down Jay, who wanders over sedately. He taps the bar counter twice and says, "Yeah, can you just put the rest of his bill on my tab?"

When Buck sits up with an outraged squawk, the world spins a little, and the guy places a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder to steady him. He doesn't take it back right away and Buck doesn't shrug it off. The weight feels good.

"N-No, that wasn't—you can't do that, man," Buck mumbles, face hot. His mouth feels a bit gummy.

"I can and I did," the guy says. "Someone should treat you to dinner for putting up with all that shit for all this time. I don't know your parents from a hole in the ground, but I would happily drop 3,000 pounds of water on their house. Jesus Christ, and I thought my issues with my parents were bad."

"I never should've—"

But the guy shakes his head and tightens his hand on Buck's shoulder. "You absolutely should've, actually. If that had built up any longer, I probably would've seen you literally explode on the 6 o'clock news."

Buck snorts a laugh, rubbing his disbelieving smile against his sleeve. "Believe me, it wouldn't be the first time you saw me on the 6 o'clock news."

The guy gives Buck a curious tilt of his head, so Buck clarifies, "Do you remember a few years back when that kid was mailing bombs to people and he rigged that fire engine to explode? And it fell on that firefighter?" At the guy's slow, wary nod, he continues, "I was the, uh, firefighter."

At that, the guy sits up and his gaze goes so sharp that Buck wants to call Jay over and have him slice up some bratwurst on it. "You're with the 118."

Buck blinks, and then the guy introduces himself... as LAFD firefighter pilot Tommy Kinard, who'd gotten his start at Buck's own damn station. Who knew both Chimney and Hen when they were probies, and who watched Bobby walk in and turn the place into a house Tommy could be proud to be part of. Who had been their air support during the Doheny Park gas leak incident.

"That was you?" Buck glances down at the bar counter to make sure it hadn't cracked when his jaw hit it. "Chimney told us afterwards he'd called in a favor from an old friend."

Tommy grins and jauntily points to himself with his glass. "Except Howie was cashing in on a favor I owed him, which means I only owe him like 973 more now."

Over a round of drinks—another Maximator for Buck and a seltzer with lime for Tommy—Buck tells Tommy about who's at the 118 now and confirms which of "the most batshit insane stories I've heard about you guys" are true. He tells Tommy about the rollercoaster ride that was his recovery from the explosion, and then follows that up with being caught in the tsunami and being struck by lightning. In return, Tommy regales him with army stories, including the time he landed a burning helicopter under enemy fire, and his favorite calls from his time with the 118—the fucking rooster has Buck practically crying laughing into his arms. He also tells Buck about Hen's fearlessness in standing up to their asshole captain who was voted the LAFD's Most Likely To Have Been At The White House On January 6th, and how Chimney saved Tommy's literal life. He tells Buck that without Bobby showing up and making them into a family of sorts, without him being in their corner even when they didn't trust him not to abandon them like all their other captains, Tommy never would've found his way back to the sky.

Then Tommy gleefully drops a pipe bomb into the scant space between them with, "And you never would've joined the 118."

Buck squeezes his eyes shut to try and make his brain stop feeling so swimmy. "W-What? What does that mean?" His tongue is too big for his mouth. His words taste a bit funny, like they're mushy. He hopes Tommy hasn't noticed.

"You said you joined in 2017. That's when I left," Tommy says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm pretty sure you were the one who took my spot."

Buck untucks one of his arms so he can reach up to touch the hills and valleys running down Tommy's cheeks, then realizes that probably would be rude and tries to play it off like he was going to scratch the back of his own head. All he does is knock over one of his empty glasses. It takes a few clumsy tries before he successfully stands it back up.

"We missed each other," Buck mumbles. He thinks of what it might have been like walking into the station that day, seeing Tommy sitting between Hen and Chimney, smiling wide as he dished up more spaghetti. Maybe he would've turned that warm light on Buck as he passed him the tongs. Maybe Tommy would've shown him the ropes, got him through his first shifts, and even stopped him from stealing the engine for a booty call. Maybe they'd have met up for drinks just like this after their shifts were over, or as a way to distract themselves from bad calls the way Tommy's distracted Buck all night. Maybe they'd have been a two-man unit, and then when Eddie showed up they'd be a tri...something. Buck can't remember what it's called, but it means 'three'. Maybe Tommy would've been every bit as important to Buck as Eddie, Hen, and Chim.

He's hit with the realization that if he doesn't tell Tommy this, he might die, so he garbles out, "You're important. W-Wait, no. I mean, you could've... you were important... I—y'get the gist."

And Tommy must, because Tommy's smart and quick witted and a good listener, and he's looking at Buck fondly, like he might've done if he'd stayed at the 118 and they'd come through fire together, but he's also rolling his lips inward and his cheeks are trembling.

Buck whines, aggravated, because, "Y-You're laughing at me."

Tommy ducks his head and does, in fact, start laughing.

"'s so rude. Don't laugh at me, 's not my fault I'm defective." Buck buries his face in his arms in embarrassment. The cradle of it is so warm and comfortable he just stays there.

"You're not defective, Evan." Even though it sounds like Tommy's suddenly on the other side of the room, Buck can hear the matter-of-factness in the words. He says it like he'd said that sucks. "But you are drunk."

He's not. He's just really tired and his arms make for a great pillow. He also feels heavy and tight, which isn't good for a firefighter. What if he's called onto a massive scene? What if City Hall's on fire and he can't pull the mayor out because he's slow and weirdly full? What if his career as a firefighter is over?

"That's just bloat from all the beer and sausage," Tommy says from even farther away than he'd been a second ago. "Jay, can I settle up? I'm so sorry we kept you this late. You're getting a helluva tip, I promise."

His name's not Jay. It's Buck. But he'd introduced himself as Evan and... forgot to tell Tommy he goes by something else. But he likes that Tommy doesn't know that, because when Tommy says 'Evan' it sounds like how 'Buck' feels. He wants Tommy to keep 'Evan' in the warmth of his mouth, like how some alligators carry their young. For them, it's the safest place to be.

Buck wants to tell Tommy about the alligators, because they are super cool and only exist in two places in the whole world. He blinks his eyes open and finds his face pressed to something hard and cool. The bar stool feels a lot softer than it did a second ago. And it's vibrating.

There's a weight on his knee, shaking it gently.

He must've fallen asleep while watching Celebrity Death Match in the TV room again. Mom's going to kill him when she finds out. "Mads, five m're min's."

"Evan, you need to give me a building number."

"Hmmm...?"

"Your apartment building. I've been driving up and down South Spring for ten minutes. You gotta help me out here. What's your building number?"

"Mmm..." Buck rolls his forehead to chase the coolness. It feels so nice against his skin. He could just sink right into it.

"Evan, c'mon. You can do it. Tell me where you live."

"27 P'plar Road," he mumbles. He blinks his eyes open and catches sight of the rush of lights and road ahead, which blend together like they're about to jump into hyperspace. He's not in Hershey. He knows this road. Sighing, he closes his eyes again. "Oh. 's rowing. 409 at th' rowing."

He blinks awake when he suddenly trips over nothing, and he tries to stop himself from falling but there's nothing except the gaping maw of open space. But he doesn't actually go anywhere. Someone's got an arm around his waist. There's a name for that kind of rude awakening. He can't remember it.

"Two more stairs," the person with him mutters in his ear. "I'm begging you, lift up your feet before we both end up in the ER."

That's fine. He has his own bed there.

"Yeah, let's try to get you into the bed you have here first."

Strong hands lower him onto something soft, and he buries his face in sheets that are cool and smell familiar, his entire body smoothing out like the surface of a lake. Something tugs at his foot, and he rolls onto his back and tries to lift his leg to help, but he's comfy and cocooned in the dark. His sneakers get taken off anyway.

"Evan." Tommy's voice hangs in the air, soft and warm and invisible, and his name sounds like it's precious where it sits in Tommy's mouth. He read somewhere that alligators do that. "I'm going to get you some water and then head out. Do you need anything else?"

In the dark, he somehow lost his body, and he can barely see the outline of Tommy, but he can hear him step closer when Buck reaches out for him. When Buck's hand is caught, he's suddenly so aware of himself, of his blood and bones and every nerve trapped under his skin, and arches a little into the feeling with a quiet moan of relief.

Tommy knows about him. He knows Buck's cells are defective and he still bought Buck dinner and spent the night making him feel like he was made correctly from the start.

"D'nt go," he whispers. He's starting to float away, and he tugs on the hand holding his, trying to bring that steadfast presence on top of him, use it to keep him here. "Stay."

"I absolutely can't do that," Tommy murmurs. His thumb strokes over Buck's palm and it feels like he's dragging his tongue along the length of a nerve. Buck gasps. Something pulls tight and sweet between his legs, and he tilts his head back on the pillow, lips parting so he can suck in air desperately. So he's ready.

"Kiss me," he breathes.

He wants it so bad he almost gags. He wants all that weight and strength to hang over him like a bough, keeping him together, feeding his body what it's screaming for. He inhales deeply and the smell of indelible man fills his nose and the back of his throat, along with the faint hint of smoke and something sharp like snow. He wants a mouth on his. He wants strong, sure hands to run over his ribs. He wants to say I'm full of broken cells and I need you to fill me up with something better, but he's breathing too hard and the words keep blowing out of order. His legs slide open and the sound of them moving on the sheets is deafening. He's so hot, and so hungry. He thinks he's hard. He thinks he's dying.

The hand in his squeezes gently, but then it lets go.

Without it, Buck's going to dissolve. He's going to disappear. He squeezes his burning, wet eyes shut and pulls in a breath that is all wheeze, every part of him a live wire, unsteady and shivering and thwarted. So they made one.

"No. No," Buck sobs. "Y're just like them. You don't want me—no one... why. 's not fair."

The bed suddenly dips right next to Buck's thigh, right on the edge, and the hot press of a thumb against his chin stops him from howling his sorrow and disappointment. When it slides up and just barely brushes against his bottom lip, his mouth falls open. Yes. Yes.

"I'll tell you what." It's whispered so closely that Buck thinks he can feel the wash of breath over his tongue. "You remember any of this tomorrow? Call me, and I'll kiss you as much as you want. I'll kiss the idea you're unwanted right out of you."

Buck exhales in utter relief and sinks into the comfort of the bed as the weight next to him lifts away. He's going to do that. He's going to call and then let Tommy kiss him until he forgets he was ever unloved. But persistence pays off, so he tries one more time, even though he's suddenly so tired he can barely get the word out. "Stay."

"Sleep well, Evan."

When Buck wakes up, he immediately wants to crawl into a hole and die. His mouth tastes like there's roadkill in it and there's an egg beater trying to escape his skull by way of his left eye. Whimpering, he tries to bury his face into the pillow but half of it is wet with drool, so he reaches up and throws the stupid thing on the floor. His mattress is comfy. He can just plant his face there and suffocate, no problem.

He has no idea how he got home last night, which is terrifying. Everything after the third Augustiner is a bit hazy. He was talking to some guy who made him laugh, he knows that much. His mind conjures bits and pieces of his mysterious drinking companion: a wide, white grin; large hands; a voice he can hear the cadence and depth of but can't remember a single word it said. After that, he's got nothing.

It takes a few tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and he rolls onto his side to put his back to where the sun is starting to filter through the curtains. The move puts the nightstand right in his line of sight, and when his vision focuses, he pauses.

There's a glass with water on top of it, but it's not the cup he usually chooses. It's one of the textured acrylic ones he picked out when he moved in that he absolutely hates using. Even though they're impossible to break, he feels like he's ten years old when he's forced to drink out of one. All that's missing is a sippy-cup lid.

Although he has to hand it to himself: the acrylic cup was a pretty solid idea, considering he might've knocked a real glass onto the floor sometime in the night and then cut himself when it shattered. Chimney forced Buck to watch Die Hard last year and it was a fun movie, but Buck has no desire to recreate the "shoot the glass" scene.

He slides his face a little closer to the edge of the bed so he can find his phone. It's sitting on the top of the nightstand, plugged in, which is almost as surprising as the acrylic cup. He never remembers to plug his phone in when he's sober, but there it is, charging away. His wallet and keys are also laying next to it. It's such a neat and tidy tableau that, for a second, he thinks he's still asleep and this is one of those dreams where only one or two things is out of place and he spends the entire dream wondering if he's dreaming.

If he were dreaming, though, he wouldn't feel like hard-boiled ass, so someone else had been here and got him squared away. Maybe he called Eddie for a ride home? Buck reaches for his phone and his fingers brush up against the edge of a piece of paper. A receipt? Maybe he took a taxi instead.

Buck squints at it, and he has every intention of grabbing it to look for clues, but he ends up dozing for almost two hours. By the time he wakes up, the sun has invaded every part of the loft, but he doesn't feel so much like he's about to slip this mortal coil. He'll take the wins where he can.

It only takes a minute or two of psyching himself up before he's able to roll into something resembling sitting, and after that he gives himself five minutes to drop his head into his hands and regret his life choices. Once he promises God, the Devil, Zeus, and the purple laser ghost of Prince that he will never drink to such excess again as long as he lives, he finally looks over at the nightstand where his phone is.

It's been set to Do Not Disturb, which is nice. It's not something he ever does, because he's afraid he'll miss something important, and when he turns it off the screen fills with dozens of missed calls and texts from Maddie and Chimney. He takes great pleasure in dismissing all of them. Nothing from his parents, of course. There's also one from Eddie asking if everything's okay because "Chim called me asking if I'd heard from you and he sounds like he's about to start climbing the walls using only his teeth."

It's followed by a text that reads "Bobby says to take your time coming in. What happened?"

He taps open the message to reply when he glances up and sees the receipt on the nightstand. Abandoning his phone in favor of learning just how much he spent on a DD, he learns it wasn't a taxi at all. It's a note written in an unfamiliar hand on a small piece of drafting paper.

Your car is parked at the Red Lion. Jay said it was OK to leave it there because you weren't in any shape to drive.

Underneath that is a phone number, and underneath that is a single line: Remember—as much as you want. But only if you want.

It's signed "TK".

Baffled, Buck brings a fist to his mouth, because he's not sure what else to do, and when his thumbnail presses against his bottom lip, something hot and shivery pops low in his belly. It's how he realizes he's got to pee so bad he's going to wet the bed if he waits any longer.

After he pisses for what feels like an eternity, downs four Advil, showers the sweat and shame off, he stumbles back up the stairs feeling wrung out but definitely more human. Once he's in a pair of clean boxers, he surveys the room.

There was a stranger here last night, but it doesn't look like anything's missing. He checks his wallet, but all his cards and cash are still there. His sneakers were neatly placed against the wall, out of the way where he wouldn't trip on them if he got up during the night. And there's of course his phone, fully charged for once, and the note.

He sits on the edge of his bed and reads the note four more times. Then he looks up the Red Lion's operating hours, but it doesn't open for two more hours.

Which leaves him with the number and As much as you want. But only if you want.

His mind immediately takes a swan dive into the gutter. It's probably not meant to be as sexual as it reads, but... he's not sure how else he's supposed to take it. TK's blocky penmanship reveals nothing.

Maybe after he was done talking to the guy at the bar he met some woman? Maybe she was the one to take him home, although considering how drunk he must've been, it couldn't have been an easy feat. That she didn't help herself to his money and was thoughtful enough to plug his phone in and get him a glass of water really warrants a thank you.

He looks down at the phone number.

He grabs his phone—100%, what an absolutely wild concept—and taps in the number, double checking it like four times while his finger hovers over the CALL button like an anvil.

What the hell. He's got nothing left to lose.

He taps CALL and brings the phone to his ear. It takes two rings before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

Not a woman. Buck sits up so straight they could use his spine as an I-beam level.

"Uh, h-hey," he stutters, looking around his room, trying to divine any lingering atoms this person might've left behind. "Um, I think you—I have a note with this number on it and—"

Thankfully, the mysterious "TK" stops Buck before he gets a good ramble going, his voice friendly as he breaks in with, "Evan! Hey. Glad to hear the Maximator couldn't keep you down for long. How're you feeling this morning?"

Buck's entire body goes warm as it relaxes from its ramrod-straight pose. "I, uh, a little confused. I don't remember getting home, but I guess I have you to thank for that." Buck pauses. "So, thank you."

"Well, you didn't make it easy." TK laughs, and it shivers down the line right into Buck's ear canal. "It took me a lot longer to figure out you were saying 'Rowan' and not 'rowing' than I care to admit, but we got there in the end. Your place is insane. Did you get a signing bonus when you joined the 118 or something?"

Buck blinks. An image of Bobby winning a fight against a rooster comes winging out of the back of his mind. "That—that's right. You're a firefighter. Uh, do you really fly with Harbor One or am I making that up?"

"You made me promise four times to give you lessons," TK says warmly. "I had to stop you from slicing your palm open so we could shake on it."

Ducking his head with a helpless chuckle, Buck nods, even though TK can't see him. "Yeah, that, uh, sounds like something I'd do. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'd love to take you up."

He doesn't know how he got lucky enough that the person he made a fool out of himself in front of was one of the chosen few who are able to handle The Full Buck without too much of a fuss, but he's so grateful for it. They're a rare breed.

"Anytime you want, just tell me when."

Buck's gaze immediately shoots to the piece of paper he's still clutching in his other hand, and for no reason he can think of his heart rate picks up. His cheeks start tingling with blossoming warmth.

He curls a little into himself, cupping the phone closer to his mouth. "I-Is that what you meant in your note?"

There's a little pause on the line, and then when TK's voice comes back, it's softer. "No. That's not what I meant."

Buck swallows a mouthful of saliva and asks, just as softly, "What does 'TK' stand for?"

"Tommy Kinard."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Buck's eyes fall closed. He thinks of cool sheets under him, and feeling heavy and safe in the dark. His belly clenches with something like hunger. He bites his bottom lip and then licks it.

"... Evan? You still there?"

He doesn't know why his body feels like it's being pulled in a million different directions, or why the first thing he thought of when Tommy said "Evan" was baby alligators, but he does know this: on the worst day of Buck's life, Tommy Kinard made it easier to bear. He kept Buck company, kept him distracted, and then kept him safe.

I told you not to go, he thinks out of nowhere.

"Look, Evan, it's completely fine, and I promise I won't be offended if you don't want—"

Evan Buckley was born to fix someone else. He has defective cells and has never once been enough for anyone, and that sucks. But he's still here and this life is his whether it was meant to be or not, and he does want.

Buck opens his eyes.

"Hey, so, what are you doing Saturday?"

#bucktommy #this started out as a bulleted list in the tumblr text editor i have no idea wtf happened but now i'm gonna be LATE for a lunner meetup #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #911 #rc's 911 fics

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punkshort · 4 months ago

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Something Unexpected

Thank you @pasc4lfuzz for this request!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's been ten years since you lived in Texas, and of course the first week back, you run into a familiar face from your past.

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, mention of OC death (reader's father), romcom vibes (bc of course), meet cute, shy!joel, flirting, sexual tension, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex (reader on BC), sex in public

WC: 4.8K

Dirty Bill's bar was exactly as you remembered.

As the name implied, the place wasn't the cleanest. Even after Bill locked up for the night, your shoes used to stick to the floors and it was almost a guarantee to find a stray lemon or lime somewhere on the bar top.

His definition of clean never matched yours. Hell, it didn't match anyone's, but that didn't stop locals from frequenting the place regularly.

It had been years since you lived in Austin and worked at the bar. At least ten, maybe more. When you tended bar, you actually kept the place relatively clean, but you knew the second you walked in that Bill clearly went back to his old ways once you quit and moved.

To his credit, the place was still packed. You had to stand up on your tiptoes and crane your neck to find your oldest friend, Leah, sitting at the bar nursing a gin and tonic. You grinned and pushed your way through the crowd, doing a double take when you recognized a few poor souls from your bartending days drinking the same bottles of beer.

Some things really never do change.

"Leah!" you cried out excitedly as you approached. She swiveled around on her barstool with a huge grin when she heard your voice. Jumping down, you enveloped her in a huge hug, swaying her back and forth and holding each other as tight as you could. She looked a little older and she gained a bit of weight since she had her kids, but otherwise she was the same. Same bright blue eyes, same wavy blonde hair, same toothy smile.

"Oh, my god! I can't believe it's really you!" she exclaimed, leaning back but still gripping your shoulders so she could get a good look at you. "You look amazing," she added before dropping her hands.

"I was about to say the same to you," you said before sliding onto the barstool next to hers. She scoffed and shook her head.

"Don't bullshit me. After I had Aiden I was never able to lose the extra weight."

"I'm not bullshitting you," you laughed. "You were always too skinny before, I told you that tons of times. You look incredible. I mean it."

She blushed and waved you off. "What're you drinking? They have some specials til nine, that's when the fireworks are supposed to start, but sadly that's also when I'll have to leave," she said with a pout. "Babysitter's got plans. Can you believe the audacity? A twenty year old daring to make plans on the Fourth of July?" she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. You laughed and took the stained piece of paper she held out for you.

"I can't believe he's doing specials now," you told her while you perused the menu.

"It ain't anything earth shattering. Bud's a buck cheaper and well drinks are two bucks each."

"And here I thought he dreamed up a cocktail menu," you replied with another laugh.

"Oh, honey, you know Bill won't even buy a goddamn blender for daiquiris."

It had been ten years since you left Texas and saw Leah, but just the way good friends do, you fell right back into each other without skipping a beat. Although the topics of conversation that had once centered around boys now focused on her children and work, you still found her so easy to talk to.

"And what about you? Now that you're back, what's the plan for work?"

You winced when you tossed back the rest of your drink and shook your head. "Don't know yet. I gotta get my head around going through all of dad's things and trying to sell that house. Hell, maybe Bill will hire me again," you joked.

"I know you're just kidding but he would in a heartbeat," Leah said before clearing her throat and taking on a more somber tone. "How're you holding up? Dealing with your dad passing 'n everything?"

You shrugged and smiled at the cute bartender who gave you both refills without having to ask. "I'm alright. It was a long time coming, he was sick for so long. I'm just glad he's not in pain anymore, but I miss him. This whole town just reminds me so much of him, you know?" you said, furrowing your brow while you watched your ice swirl in your glass. She nodded sympathetically and put a gentle hand on your arm. "It's so weird being back here now without him. Like I keep waiting for him to walk through the front door. It's why I can't keep the place. Too many memories, it's messing with my head," you said with a dry laugh before taking a sip of your drink.

"I get that. I can come by this weekend and help you for a few hours if you like," she said. You smiled at her and tilted your head to the side, overcome for a moment at how generous she was, knowing full well she had enough to deal with at home.

"Thanks, Leah. I'll let you know."

After another hour, the cute bartender cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and announced last call for drink specials. Leah's face fell and she pushed off the bar with a sigh.

"Guess I oughta get going."

Sadness rippled through your chest at the thought of being alone again, but you tried not to let her see it. She had a family to go home to, a life.

"Thanks again for meeting me, I know it's hard for you and your schedule is so busy now," you said, giving her a hug.

She opened her mouth to reply when the cute bartender you had been eyeing up all evening put a drink in front of you.

"Oh, sorry, thanks, but I'm just about to leave," you told him. He wiped his hands on a towel and tipped his head to the side.

"It's on him."

Your gaze followed the direction in which his head tilted and you could hardly believe your eyes.

"Oh, boy," Leah muttered under her breath.

The man on the other side of the bar lifted his beer bottle to you before stepping away into the crowd. You could see his greying curls making their way through the throngs of people fighting to get one or two more cheap drinks and you felt anger slowly bubbling to the surface.

"Play nice," Leah warned you. You clenched your teeth and shook your head.

"I'm always nice."

She chuckled and gave you a kiss on the cheek. "Call me about this weekend."

"Yeah, okay," you replied distractedly, your heart thudding faster in your chest when the familiar looking man stepped through the crowd and sidled up next to you at the same time Leah disappeared, heading towards the door.

"Hey, darlin'. Hope you don't mind me buyin' you a drink," he said, his southern drawl thicker and slower than you remembered. "I'm Joel," he added, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

You stared at it too long, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and slowing down your train of thought.

"Yeah, I know who you are, Joel," you replied, ignoring his hand to glare up at him. "Do you really not recognize me?"

He swallowed and let his hand fall limp as he scanned your face, the gears in his head working overtime to try and place you, and the fact he didn't remember you hurt your feelings more than you expected.

"I, uh..." he trailed off and scratched his chin nervously. You rolled your eyes and leaned against the bar.

"I used to date your brother. For like, eight fucking months in high school. He stood me up for prom?" you reminded him, your tone turning icy. The realization clicked and his face softened when he quietly murmured your name.

"Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn't... thought you moved outta town."

"I did," you snapped. "I'm back now. Just got here last week."

He nodded and shifted his jaw to the side. It was like you could see the wave wash over him in real time: his memory recalling images of you in his mother's house, probably remembering stories Tommy told him when you weren't around, and finally, the uneasiness settled in when it dawned on him his brother could find out he made a move on his ex girlfriend.

But much to your surprise, Joel didn't come up with some feeble excuse and run off. In fact, he took Leah's abandoned stool and put his beer next to your untouched drink.

"Tommy was an asshole to you, wasn't he?" he asked. And even though it was ages ago, you could feel that wound in your chest slowly begin to open back up.

You shook your head and looked down at your hands.

"He embarrassed me. Dated me the entire school year, went to football games and every single house party together just to bring Jill fucking Parker to prom." You angrily took a long drink from your glass before setting it down a little too loudly on the bar. "Didn't even break up with me. Just... pretended like I didn't exist. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? I showed up an hour late, my hair and makeup all goddamn perfect, just to walk into the gym and see him dancing with her. Kissing her. Fucking dick," you muttered, raking your fingers through your hair.

Joel listened quietly, a sympathetic look on his face while you continued.

"I couldn't stay there. I turned right around and walked home. Cried the whole fucking night in some stupid fucking dress that matched his stupid fucking boutonniere."

Joel winced and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I - I remember some of that but I was too wrapped up in my own shit back then. Had one foot out my parents' door, had a girlfriend and was gettin' started in construction. I remember you at some family dinners but... I don't know, I'm real sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to ruin your night."

You sighed and rolled your shoulders. "You didn't, it's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Yeah, but it still hurts you. I can see it," he replied, his soft brown eyes boring into you.

"It shouldn't. I just haven't thought about all that in forever and so far, being back here is only bringing up shitty memories," you said sadly, stirring your drink absentmindedly.

Joel glanced around the bar, noticing it was beginning to clear as patrons filed out to the parking lot to get a good spot for the fireworks show about start in the town park down the street.

"C'mon," he said, abandoning his beer and taking your hand before sliding off the stool. "Let's go make a good memory. Fireworks are 'bout to start."

Your eyelids fluttered in surprise, first at the way he was holding your hand, and second at his proposition.

"Oh, we don't have to. I was going to head home, anyway," you told him. He was nicer than you expected about the whole situation, but it was bordering on pity, and that was something you certainly were not interested in.

"I ain't gonna keep you from leavin', but I could sure use the company," he said, still holding your hand. You chewed your bottom lip as you silently weighed your options. He smiled softly and gave your hand a little tug when he saw your resolve crumbling. "C'mon. I don't wanna watch fireworks alone."

You rolled your eyes and fought back the stupid smile from spreading across your face. "Alright, why not?" you said, hopping off your stool. You allowed him to drag you by the hand through the crowds of people mingling in the parking lot, through clouds of cigarette smoke and boisterous laughter until you reached his truck parked at the very corner of the lot.

Joel dropped your hand so he could unhook the tailgate, then jumped up with a grunt to unfold the pile of blankets he had shoved in the far corner. You took a few steps forward and watched curiously as he fluffed up two pillows, and you wondered if this was some kind of move he often pulled on girls.

"You came prepared," you said, trying to subtly test your theory. He glanced over his shoulder with a grin.

"Got stood up tonight," he replied, and the irony of it was too much. You burst out laughing, clapping your palm over your mouth.

"I'm sorry, it's just... what are the odds?"

He chuckled and, once he was satisfied with the blanket arrangement, extended an arm out to you.

"It was a blind date. Wasn't nearly as bad as bein' stood up for prom, but still stung a bit," he admitted. He clasped your hand in his and pulled you up into the bed of his truck with so much strength, you nearly fell against his chest.

"Oops, sorry," you said shyly when you had caught yourself from falling into his lap just in time. He just gave you another smile that was beginning to make your knees weak and leaned back into the bed of the truck. He readjusted his head on one of the pillows, one arm tucking behind his head with a sigh, and gazed up at the sky.

You looked around nervously, unsure what to do. The setting was a little too intimate to be in with your ex's brother, but no one else was around. The closest car with people in it was fifty yards away. And besides, if someone were to report back to Tommy, they would have already seen you together in the bar.

"So, why'd you move back?" Joel asked, his voice so much deeper now that you weren't surrounded by classic rock and loud conversations. You tucked your legs underneath you and looked down at him all stretched out. His shirt was riding up just an inch, exposing a sliver of tanned skin and a trail of dark curls leading past his waistband. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to look away.

"Um, my dad died," you told him. His brows pinched together, giving you that look of pity that you had grown too familiar with.

"I'm sorry," he said, and you could tell he meant it.

"Thanks. He was sick for a long time," you explained, trying to downplay it, but he shook his head.

"Don't matter. Losin' a parent ain't ever easy."

You pursed your lips and nodded, staring down at your fingers twisting together in your lap.

"Suppose that's true."

He allowed you to sit quietly for a moment while you gathered your thoughts, waiting to see if you wanted to talk about it more or let it be.

"A blind date, huh?" you asked him, changing the subject.

"Yep. Blind date," he repeated, eyes flickering briefly down your body. "Don't wanna use no apps or shit. Thought it might be easier to do things the old fashioned way. Guess I was wrong."

"I know what you mean," you said. "It feels like it's impossible to meet anyone organically anymore."

He hummed and took a deep breath. "Like buyin' a girl a drink in a bar?"

You giggled and he grinned, the sound of your laugh sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

"Yes, but we already met before," you reminded him.

He nodded, smile still playing at his lips. "You use a lot of them apps?"

You felt your cheeks warm and shrugged. "Not really. I have used them, but not lately."

He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest when he asked, "That 'cause you got a boyfriend now, or..."

You laughed again and his nerves immediately calmed at the sound.

"No. No boyfriend."

He felt his hands shake while he struggled to come up with the right thing to say or do next when fate intervened and gave him the perfect answer.

A loud boom echoed from behind you and you jumped in surprise, then grinned when you tilted your chin up to see the fireworks had started. Joel cleared his throat, pulling your attention onto him.

"Gonna pull a muscle in your neck if you keep that up for the next half hour," he said, then patted the empty area next to him. You smiled shyly and it made his stomach flip.

"You're pretty smooth, Joel Miller," you teased before sliding down onto your back next to him so you could look up at the dark sky all lit up above you.

He tapped his chest nervously with the tips of his fingers, hardly paying attention to the fireworks now that you were so close that he could feel the heat from your soft skin and smell the scent of your shampoo burrowing its way into his blankets.

Unsure how to make the next move, he chose to go with a classic. He figured at the very least, you might laugh again.

"Why don't you get closer, darlin'? You look cold."

Sure enough, you did laugh, making his heart soar but to his shock, you also inched closer to him. Nestling into his side, you gently placed one of your hands on his stomach, but he could tell it made you nervous because your shoulders felt stiff and your breath was shallow.

"Is this okay?" he murmured after he wrapped an arm around you, his fingers brushing delicately over your arm.

"Mhmm," you said, feeling your skin prickle under his touch. He felt it, too, and pulled a blanket over you both.

How the hell did you end up in the back of your ex boyfriend's brother's truck, cuddled up under blankets and watching the fireworks? When you were getting ready earlier, your only hope was to find some distraction with an old friend for a couple hours. Whatever this was was a complete and pleasant surprise.

Both of you watched as your hand slowly crept up from his stomach to his chest, your hearts beating fast with anticipation. You tilted your chin up to look at him, those deep brown eyes meeting yours and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between you.

You met each other half way at the exact same time, pressing your lips together tentatively at first, then with more desperation. He tasted like stale beer but you loved it. It felt comforting. He was so warm and strong under your touch, his hand so big when it came to rest on the side of your face as he plunged his tongue greedily into your mouth for the first time. Somewhere in the back of your mind you realized what you were doing was probably wrong, that it could very well cause a problem between him and Tommy, but he was a grown man who knew exactly what he was doing when he took your hand in that bar.

You weren't exactly sure how it escalated, but it did. He rolled on top of you, pinning you with his weight while one hand skirted up your side, squeezing your breast before tugging the cup of your bra down underneath your shirt and rolling your nipple between two expert fingers. You moaned into his mouth and arched your back, pressing yourself into him.

"Joel," you whispered when his mouth trailed down your neck and his hips began to rut against yours.

"I know, 'm sorry," he panted, yet he didn't make a move to stop. "This probably ain't a good idea," he added, but just tilted his head so he could suck on the other side of your neck.

You bit your lip and tipped your head back, giving him better access.

"Probably not," you agreed when your hands found his belt. His lips stuttered against your throat when you deftly undid the leather and popped the button on his jeans.

"Shit," you whispered when his hand slid down the front of your shorts, his fingers petting at your sex through your panties.

"You want this, baby?" he asked, nipping at your collarbone. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, the fireworks in the sky matching the ones behind your eyelids.

"Say it," he commanded, voice dropping an octave and sending a shiver down your spine.

"I want it," you breathed before palming his erection through his jeans. He groaned and pressed himself further into your hand, encouraging you to rub his cock through the thick denim, your mind spiraling at how hard he was already.

He undid your shorts in record time, helping you shimmy out of them as quickly as possible, each of you panting for air, the excitement overwhelming.

"Joel, what if - shit," you cursed when he yanked your panties down and off, tossing them to get lost amongst the blankets. "What if someone sees?"

"Don't worry, I got you," he said, eagerly pushing his jeans down so they bunched up mid-thigh, then settled between your legs and tugged the blanket back over you both. "Ain't no one gonna see us, they're all lookin' up," he whispered before slotting your lips together once again.

Your brows pinched together and your mouth fell open when he first pressed inside, his impossibly hard cock parting your walls and making room for himself deep within your body. His hand cradled the side of your face, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your cheek when he buried himself inside you with a grunt.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, wrapping around the thick muscle there, threading through some of his hair and holding him close.

Joel bumped his nose against the side of your throat, his own gasps being drowned out by yours as he hid his face against your neck and slowly dragged his cock in and out. Each flex of his hips made you soften under him until you moaned his name into the night air, your voice being muffled by the fireworks overhead and oh, he liked hearing that. His name falling from your lips in ecstasy while he buried himself as deep as he possibly could inside your warmth caused him to think stupid thoughts and feel stupid things.

You wanted to ask him how he did it, how he made you feel so fucking good, how he managed to reach a place inside you that had your mind going numb and your skin tingling with anticipation, but you couldn't find your voice. You could only offer him small whimpers and throaty moans, hoping it would be enough to encourage him.

He panted against your skin, his wet exhale mingling with the humidity of the air, leaving your throat sticky and warm. His hand gripped your thigh, tugging your leg upwards, shifting you around until he found a position that pleased him.

His hips began to move faster when, in the back of his mind, he knew the fireworks would be wrapping up soon. He wished he could take his time with you. He wished you didn't have to hold back those pretty sounds that fell from your even prettier mouth. But fuck, you just looked so beautiful and you felt so good wrapped around him that he couldn't stop himself.

"Oh, god," you whined, fingernails digging into his upper back so hard that he could feel the pinch through the fabric of his shirt. "Right there, Joel, please," you whimpered, and he grinned.

"Y'feel so good, baby," he murmured in your ear, making sure to maintain the same pace within you, not wanting to deny you any pleasure. "So fuckin' good. Wanted you from the second I saw you tonight, y'know that?"

You moaned and continued to claw at his back, your eyes prickling with tears as your climax swelled low in your belly.

"I lied earlier," he admitted, watching your face closely when he said, "didn't sting at all that my date didn't show. Wouldn't've been able to keep my eyes off you the whole time, anyway."

You groaned and cried out his name, your hand slapping over your mouth and once again he grew angry with himself that he didn't just take you home.

"Joel," you whimpered behind your hand, and he yanked it down, uncaring if anyone heard at that point.

"Tell me what you want," he said roughly, hips fucking into you at a steady clip that made beads of sweat form against his hairline.

"Harder," you groaned, biting at his jaw, then latching onto his neck and sucking wet, open mouthed kisses there, hoping to leave a mark. "I'm close, fuck me harder," you repeated, and something primal in him unfurled at the command.

You buried your face against his shoulder when he started to snap his hips into you, his arms caging you in and keeping your body from sliding up the bed of the truck. You wrapped your legs around his waist like an anchor as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, all the while his mouth dragged up and down your neck, your face, your shoulders... anywhere he could find skin, he left his mark.

Then he felt a familiar tightening around his cock and your body began to tremble underneath him, causing his stomach to tense and his hips to stutter. Your teeth clamped down on his shoulder when you came, your words muffled against his body, your hands scrambling against his back as if you were about to fall.

Maybe you were.

"Where?" he whispered frantically, and when you took too long to respond he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to lock. You were all fucked out, your body slack and your breath haggard as you gazed up at him, confused. "Where?" he asked again with more urgency, and finally it clicked.

"Inside," you replied, voice cracking. He shook his head like he was in pain and dropped his hand from your chin back down to your hip, pulling you impossibly closer while he continued to plunge inside of you. "It's fine, it's safe," you clarified for him, and that was all he needed to hear.

His mouth crashed over yours when he came, his kisses sloppy and his throat hoarse from the way his words turned into growls against your lips. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and cupped your face again. Your noses brushed together and your eyes locked as his hips slowed down but still rocked into you, each surge of his cum punctuated by a soft ah until he finally stilled and collapsed.

"Christ," he grumbled against your shoulder. You gently raked your fingers through his hair while you each caught your breath, his body shivering when your nails scraped his scalp just right. He turned his head and gave you a little smile before tenderly pressing your lips together, then carefully sliding out of you with a grunt.

He rolled onto his back and yanked his jeans back up before searching around the ruffled blankets for your clothes. Right when the big finale began, he handed them back to you.

"Perfect timing," you giggled as you squirmed around under the blanket to put your clothes back on. Joel glanced around, his veins still pumping his body full of dopamine, and confirmed that nobody had been close enough to overhear, let alone see, what happened.

Once the fireworks stopped, the crowds of people in the parking lot clapped and began to head to their cars, headlights and engines turning on all around you.

You sat up and straightened out your shirt, trying to play it cool but internally you were freaking out. Was this a one time thing? It had to have been. Right? Did you want it to be a one time thing?

Then, Joel broke the awkward silence.

"Can I ask you somethin'? And you can be honest, it won't hurt my feelin's none," he said. When you looked over at him, he was looking off in a random direction, unable to look you in the face when he asked, "Was this just to get back at Tommy?"

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"N-no, of course not," you stammered. "I haven't even thought about Tommy in years. Besides, I wouldn't do something like that."

He tilted his head back in your direction and grinned.

"That's a relief, 'cause it mighta hurt my feelin's."

You laughed and tossed a pillow at him.

"You liar."

He chuckled and gently tossed the pillow back. You tucked it against your stomach as you stared at one another, each of you trying to work out what happened next.

"I wanna see you again," he said, answering your unspoken question, and you couldn't hide the delight from spreading across your face.

"Me, too," you said, and he smiled. A big smile, one that definitely made your knees weak that time. "But what about Tommy? I don't wanna cause some problem with you two."

Joel shrugged and took a deep breath. "Then maybe it can be our little secret."

A slow, mischievous smile tugged at your lips and you knew in that moment he was going to be trouble.

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller x you #the last of us au #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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alchemistc · 7 days ago

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Part One

Part Two

They make it past the second six months.

It's agonizing. It's wonderful. Tommy wants to scream.

"Why are you calling it your six month anniversary?" Hen asks, with a quirked brow, eyeing them both from across the twelve-top they'd scooped up (and modified under the careful scrutiny of the curmudgeonly bartender Joe) early.

Tommy's glad his hand is under the table. The nervous habit of running a thumb along the underside of his empty ring finger would be the kind of thing Hen notices.

"You don't just get a Mulligan on the first six."

It's been a year and a half since Tommy met Evan Buckley. Over, actually, since Evan had just gone a little insane instead of taking a step back to examine his feelings, at the start. It always makes Tommy wonder exactly how much he'd examined those first days with Eddie. He's heard the story, clips of it, bits and pieces scattered between everyone Evan knows, and he wonders if Evan will ever come to the conclusion that he'd had virtually the same reaction to Eddie, back at the beginning. It's settled, now. They are firm in their friendship, and any attraction that might be there isn't simmering under the surface waiting to blindside Tommy. But he wonders sometimes if Evan won't just bolt up in bed ten years from now to shake Tommy awake and tell him he'd had a crush on Eddie.

Ten years?

Christ.

If Evan ever knew how many times the future popped into his mind like a jump scare, he'd -

They're far past the deadline for annulment. At this point they're at "split the assets before you go". Can't quite talk your way out of a committed relationship six months post-marriage.

Neither one of them has brought it up, and Tommy is getting great at pretending like it's not a scythe shifting closer and closer every time the pendulum swings past him.

Evan tosses a balled up napkin at Hen and sticks out his tongue, and before she can do more than scowl there are five more people flooding through the door behind them to shout congratulations and drop into their seats to gossip.

---

Hiding it becomes a moot point. He's had it in his head this whole time that if it were to get out, it would definitely be Evan's fault.

The universe does enjoy a twist

He'd gotten a jumbled text from Evan mid-flight, and a more coherent one from Eddie when his captain asked him to turn the bird around and land, and he's a bundle of nerves as he spills through the barely open doors of the elevator and spots the rest of the 118 looking concerned off in the corner of the waiting room.

Eddie catches him first. Spots the look on his face and makes a valiant attempt to explain, to soothe his worry, but there's a nurse rounding a corner and all Tommy has gotten to this point is <Buck's being transported to Good Samaritan. He's stable but you should come.>

He's kind of an ass about it. He'll regret it later when she narrows her eyes and reminds him visiting hours have ended. He'll shoot back with the same shit he's gearing himself up for in this moment and they'll reach a detente.

"Evan Buckley. Do you have any new information?"

She eyes the flight suit he hadn't bothered to take off before booking it to his truck. Tilts her gaze behind him, to the 118, and maybe that's what does it. The idea that they're any more family than he is. "We'll inform family immediately with any updates."

Tommy can see Eddie wince out of the corner of his eye, but all he's thinking about is the hundreds of moments Evan's smile has left him breathless, all the promises they'd made each other that night with the neon lights of Vegas spurring them on.

"Seeing as I'm his husband, I'd like a full update. Now."

He regrets it the moment the words are out of his mouth. Not just because he's being a complete fucking dickhead about it, either.

The pendulum gets its first taste of blood and swings away again.

---

Evan grins at him. He's bruised and bandaged and high as a kite, and he's so fucking beautiful it nearly takes Tommy out at the knees. Thankfully he's already sitting.

Perched on a chair close enough to the bed that he's annoyed an orderly, a doctor, and two nurses, hand curled over Evan's in the bed, he's just finished confessing he can't keep a secret for shit and Evan is smiling at him.

The rest of the 118 is still waiting outside. He'd let Maddie go first, so it's likely Evan already knew this tidbit, but it doesn't hurt to be honest. Or so he's learning.

"You love me," Evan sing-songs.

Tommy sucks his lips behind his teeth to hide his grin. Blows out a breath. "So you're not upset?"

He looks - momentarily shifty. "Uh - don't be mad."

Tommy quirks a brow.

"It's - okay so you know how we have to update all our medical information every year for the insurance?" Tommy nods. Licks his lips. "Um."

The next sentence is a garbled rush. Tommy gets 'power' and 'just in case' and nothing else. "Say again?"

"I... Uh. I updated my forms."

That paperwork was due about two months after the Vegas trip.

"To... Just in case I was incapacitated, I wanted to make sure..."

"Evan," Tommy presses.

"You have, uh. Power of attorney. And you're listed as next of kin with Maddie. Just. Just in case."

It should freak the hell out of him. It should make him question everything they've been doing, with the open honesty crap, for the last eight months.

"I want a divorce," Tommy says, and then grimaces. "Shit, that's not what I - ." And Evan's grin gets wider. Like he knows. Like he understands. Like everything they've been building and breaking and rebuilding for the last almost two years has actually made him an expert at interpreting Tommy when he doesn't have the right words in the right order.

"Gonna need that ring you've got hidden in your moms music box," Evan says, and then someone is rapping impatiently at the door Tommy shut behind him as he practically shoved past Maddie to get to him. "I get to propose this time." Tommy bites back a choked laugh while half the 118 spill into the room to whisper-yell at them both.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #married in vegas

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bucks-babe · 4 months ago

Text

Not Like This

Summary: A night at the bar doesn’t go the way Bucky or you ever thought

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: established relationship, Bucky trying to get Steve a date, angst, attempted drugging with the intention of SA (nothing happens though), mentions of a knife/stabbing (doesn’t happen), smut, but like angsty smut not the sexy smut, Bucky being a huge idiot, lack of communication, dub-con/bordering non-con at times, degradation, oral m!rec, subspace, manhandling, very mean Bucky, safeword being called, crying, spanking, self-hatred, insecurities, self-reflection, aftercare, scared Bucky and reader, overstepping boundaries, communication at the end, some fluff

A/N: This is my gift to @buckys-wintersoldier for her birthday! This fic contains topics that maybe sensitive to some people. This is your last warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Updates are posted to my side blog @bucks-babesideblog

“This is getting hard to watch, Buck.” You grimace and turn your head towards your boyfriend. Steve stands on the dancefloor in a futile attempt to talk to the girl he’s been eyeing up for the past hour and a half. Bucky takes another swig of his beer before meeting your eyes with the same grimace. “ You should go and help him.”

“And what am I supposed to do, doll?” Bucky leans back in the booth, left arm resting behind your head as he whispers in your ear. A shiver passes through your body and your thighs clench involuntarily. His scent mixes with the faint smell of his last beer and the crowded bar’s sweaty stench.

“Go play wingman, apparently you were great at it in the 40’s.” You playfully nudge him away, mostly because you can’t think straight when he’s pressed so close to you, your body craves his already and you don’t need to make it any harder for yourself. “While you’re at it, I’ll get myself another drink.”

Bucky grumbles as you stand up without giving him a kiss. “Make sure you put it on my tab, doll.”

You giggle as you spin around to face him, dress swaying as you do so. “You know I will, hotstuff.” You take your seat at the bar and signal for the bartender, turning around to watch Bucky try and get Steve a date. You thank him as he places your drink down, but before you can get up, another man seats himself in the stool right next to yours.

“Hello, gorgeous.” At first you don’t realize that he’s talking to you, too caught up in the way Bucky’s muscles flex as he gestures to Steve. “I say, you’ve caught my eye tonight. Mind if I ask your name? I’m Jake.” It dawns on you that he wasn’t talking to anyone else, only you.

As you go to turn around to decline his horrible attempt at flirting, you see him slip a pill into your open drink out of the corner of your eye, so fast that none of the other patrons nor the bartender saw, but you did. Ice shoots through your veins. He tried to drug you. What do you do now? Leave? That would look suspicious. Call the bartender and say that it wasn’t the right drink? No, he heard your specific order.

“Umm,” you trail off. At first you were gauging how far you would have to run to make it to Bucky, but then you saw the pocket knife bulging out from underneath the man’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m here with my boyfriend.” Good, let him know I’m not alone.

“Him? Well he seems quite friendly with the lady in blue over there.” You don’t turn to look, not trusting to take your eyes off of him. “If I were him, we wouldn’t even have made it to the bar when you’re wearing a number like that.” He lets out a low whistle, eyes hungrily raking up and down your body.

You want to yell out for anyone to come over, but you’re too scared when you know that he has a knife. Yes, Bucky is a super soldier, but Jake could stab you faster than Bucky could reach you. “We have an open relationship actually.” Open relationship, really? Why would I fucking say that?

“So you’re telling me that I have a chance.” His beatty eyes lock in on your cleavage and you shift around uncomfortably. “Why don’t you have a sip of your drink? You seem pretty tense over there.” You pick up your drink with shaky hands before bringing the straw to your lips. You pretend to take a small sip which makes Jake smile, showing off his smoke stained teeth. “There you go, good girl.” Where the hell is Bucky? Come on, please come back.

You’re practically shaking in fear as his sweaty palm lands on your knee, creeping up to your thigh. Behind you resides Bucky who has overheard most of the conversation. Anger doused his entire body. He didn’t see Jake drug your drink or how scared you were, too caught up in your words. Open relationship? Letting him call you good girl? Touching you?

You almost shriek when Bucky’s metal hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away, but you instantly relax when you notice that Bucky’s come to save you. The fear still lingers under the surface but it feels like you can breathe without a heavy weight on your chest. “Thank god, Bucky. I-” He cuts you off as he spins around, flesh hand wrapping around your neck.

“Thank what? I leave you for five minutes and you turn into a little slut, huh?” Your eyes widen. There’s no way that he thinks that you wanted to even talk to that man at the bar. Before you can answer he lets your neck go and continues to drag you along. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. You want to be a little slut,” he pushes you into the passenger seat of his car before slamming the door and getting in the driver seat. “Then you can keep your mouth stuffed with my cock.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he slides his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi hard cock. He doesn’t see the tears welling up, or how you’re silently begging for him to comfort you, hug you. To tell you that everything is going to be okay, you’re safe and he loves you, but no, Bucky is furious at you.

You feel yourself start to slip into subspace, the fear of your previous situation in addition to Bucky’s harsh words have you floating off into space. You want to please him, show him that he’s the only one you want, but you also don’t want to have sex right now. Either way, he grabs the back of your head and forces you down on his cock before slamming his foot on the gas, making you lurch in the car.

“Keep your fucking head right there. You’re gonna let me use you however the fuck I want since you seem to think that you’re not mine and I’m not yours. You really fucking think that I would want another pussy? Another mouth? Oh, shit. Choke on that fat cock. Think Jake can fill up your mouth like this?” For just one moment, you forgot about Jake, about what could have happened to you, but at the mention of his name you try to pull off, suddenly not wanting to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.

“Don’t fucking run away from me. Never gonna share this perfect body. Shit, can feel you slobbering on my nuts. Bet you fucking like it too, being my little cocksucker.” No, you don’t like it, at least right now. I just want you to hold me.

“You’re so fucking good at this. Already gonna cum, ready? Fuck, gonna make me crash the fucking car just from some head. K-keep going, shit.” Tears stream down your face, partially from all your emotions bubbling over and partially from the brutal facefucking. His flesh hand grips the back of your neck and rails your head, spit and tears everywhere, makeup completely ruined, black streaks running down your face.

He cums with a shout, balls pulsing on your cheek where he holds you down. The breaks squeak as he pulls into your shared driveway, ripping you away from his dick. “You look fucking pathetic right now. Trying to get another man’s cock and then gobbling down mine it’s your only purpose.” You can’t find any love in his eyes, only rage and lust. More tears fall down your cheeks.

“B-b-buc-” You try to speak but your voice is hoarse from his cock ramming down your throat.

“Just get upstairs. On the bed, face down, ass up, naked.” If his jaw clenches anymore you’re sure he’ll break some teeth.

“Please, just let me-” He cuts you off again after you’re able to speak.

“Do what I said or else it’s gonna be much worse for you. I don’t take well to insolent whores.” Why can’t you see I need you?

Without another word, you head to the bedroom, trying to wipe away your makeup but only smearing it around even more. You don’t have any more fight left in you. All you want to do is forget the whole night, but you know that it’s nowhere near over. You do as you were told, grabbing the stuffie Bucky won for you at the carnival over a year ago and clutching it to your chest.

You gulp at the sound of Bucky’s clothes dropping to the floor. “Don’t make a sound.” It’s the only warning you get before his hand smacks against your ass, hard. You bite the stuffie, more and more tears falling from your eyes. He slaps your ass over and over again, no doubt leaving bruises. By the end, you’re so deep in subspace that all you want to do is please him.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to have sex, that what you want from him is his warmth and comfort. If you make him happy then he will take care of you after. You need to please him, make him proud of you. Just take the punishment. Don’t make him angrier.

Without warning, he slams into your cunt, driving in and out with no regard for your pleasure. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, and you could tell just based on his thrusts. He was using you to get himself off. This is what Jake planned on doing to me, isn’t it? You bite onto the stuffie harder. It hurts, but it feels so good. This is what I deserve.

He cums in your pussy but doesn’t stop moving. The added lubrication makes his thrusts easier and the pleasure starts to build in your stomach. Trying to hide your moans as you near the edge only for him to pull out and slap your ass again and again before railing you again. You try to reach a hand back, maybe to get him to slow down, maybe just because you needed to feel some sort of tenderness, but he only pushes your hand away.

Any thoughts of Jake leave your mind with every plunge of Bucky’s cock. You melt into the mattress, focusing on the pleasure Bucky’s bringing you. He loves me, that’s why he’s so mad. “Fuck, pussy’s so fucking good, never want to leave her. M’going to fuck this little cunt all night if I want to.” Do I want that? It feels so good, but I want him to cuddle me.

You can feel your orgasm build up in your stomach, threatening to burst at any moment. “Can I cum?” It’s the first words you’ve said since he started fucking you. For a fleeting second you think that he’ll pull out again and take your orgasm away, but he only fucks you harder, right hand coming down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. It hurts in the best way, throwing you over the edge as you cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, no one else can make you cum like me, can they?”

Those two words take you right back to the bar, where the threat of what Jake could have done is still fresh. “RED!” Mid orgasm, your mind reels in fear. Bucky pulls out immediately, all the rage coursing through his body leaving at once. You collapse on the bed, curling into the fetal position, still clutching the stuffed animal to your chest as sobs take over your body.

Bucky shakes as he watches you fall apart. He has no idea what really happened at the bar but he knows that he pushed you too far. He replays every word and act that occurred in the past hour. How he didn’t let you talk, how you looked so small, like you were trying to curl into yourself, how he didn’t even look at you as he shoved his cock down your throat. All the names he called you, the roughness, the lack of care.

He tries to reach out to you, but you jerk away, sobbing harder. Panic swells in his chest. What did he do? How could he hurt the love of his life? Bucky gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom, getting a damp washcloth and walking over to your side of the bed, crouching down so that he is at eye level with you. “Doll?” You whimper in response yet meet his eyes. “Can I clean you up?” You give a small jerk of your head, all you can muster.

Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach as he sees your swollen cunt. He caused that. As gently as he can, he wipes away his cum and your juices before tossing the rag across the room and settling next to you, leaving space so that you can decide if you want to cuddle with him. You crave his warmth so you curl yourself into his side, sighing at the comfort his skin brings.

Self hatred licks at his spine. He wants to run away, not giving himself the chance to do anymore harm, but you need him and he can’t let you down again, not after what he did. Eventually, your sobs ebb and your tense body relaxes. “He tried to drug me.” You say it so quietly that if Bucky didn’t have enhanced hearing he wouldn’t have caught it.

He jolts away, ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact. The morsel of responsibility that was keeping him next to you vanishes. He treated you like a whore, thinking that you were flirting with another man, when in reality you were just trying to keep yourself safe. Bucky stands and paces the room, darker and darker thoughts run through his mind.

“He what?” Bucky can’t breathe, he can’t fathom what he just put you through after one of the worst experiences of your life just happened. You needed him and he wasn’t there in the way you needed.

You try to keep the tears at bay, but you can’t help it. “He slipped something in my drink when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was so scared and you were so far away. I-I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I stalled him long enough I would be okay until you came back.” You shrink into yourself again, the stuffies head tilted at an odd angle at the force you were applying.

“And then I, I let myself, I should have-” He can’t think straight. Anger flairs inside of him. At himself, at the man at the bar. “I’m so sorry.” Tears stream freely down his face as he rounds to where you lay, dropping to his knees.

“Please hold me.” Bucky jumps back into bed, he was fully ready for you to kick him out, hit him, make him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but not for you to want him to touch you again, not after the pain and fear he inflicted. “I just want to be held, want you to love me.”

“I do love you, sweet girl. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have listened to you, should have seen how uncomfortable you were, but I was so caught up in my own head, that you were looking for someone else because I wasn’t good enough.” He hastily wipes his tears away before wrapping his arms around your frame. “And that is no excuse for what I did. I let my own insecurities blind me and I hurt you as a result.”

He trails off before speaking the words that he has been too scared to ask before, but he knows the answer to. “You didn’t want to have sex, did you?” It’s framed as a question, but he says it like a statement, because he knows that you didn’t. Not at the time, mostly because of his own rage, but if he would have thought about more than himself he would have.

“I wanted to please you, though. Thought if I took my punishment that you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.” Bucky feels his heart break in two. You didn’t have to answer his question. His stomach churns at the fact that the only reason you went through with anything was because you thought that you needed to, for him to treat you the way you deserve, with love and devotion.

You don’t blame him, maybe it’s because you still are so deep in subspace, but either way, he’s taking care of you now. “You never have to do something you don’t want to do just because of me. You know that right?” Clearly, he made you feel like you had to.

“Please, it’s not just your fault. I could have tapped your leg three times, I could have said our safeword long before you fucked me.”

“But I didn’t even let you fucking talk.” You see the hurt in his eyes, not at you, but at himself.

“My hands were free. I could have tapped you at any time. This isn’t just on you. We both fucked up.”

“The only reason you didn’t was because you felt like you had to please me though.” Why is he so desperate to put all the blame onto himself?

“Partially, but also because I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought that if we had sex that your touch could wash away his. But when I knew it couldn't, I should have stopped you.” Both of your eyes were red and full of tears. “Neither of us are exempt from the blame, okay?”

Bucky nods his head, not fully believing you, but not wanting to fight about it. “Can we take a bath and cuddle? We can talk about it tomorrow. I just want to be held right now.” With shuddering breath, Bucky nods his head and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to get the tub ready.

You both have to work to get past this, to understand what you both could have done better to prevent it from happening again, but you still trust Bucky with your life. There is no love or trust lost between the two of you. It happened and you can’t change that. You doubt that you’ll be going to any bars soon, and there’s going to be a lot of trauma that you’ll both have to work through. Him with his insecurities and you with how easy it would have been for someone to take advantage of you, how you didn’t communicate your needs. But you have Bucky and he has you, and he is going to do everything in his power to make this up to you, that this never happens again.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky smut #sebastian stan x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #buck

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munsonsmixtapes · 5 months ago

Text

Just a Taste

cabana boy!Buck x rich!Eddie x bartender!fem!reader

summary: You and Buck compete for Eddie's attention until he offers up a key to his hotel room to the both of you.

word count: 6.8k

cw: MDNI (18+) fingering, smut (p in v) masturbation, voyeurism, anal, oral (both f and m receiving) nipple play, finger sucking, brief mention of struggle with sexuality

The California sun beat down on the pool on the very hot July day as Eddie sat in his lounge chair, sipping on the drink that had just been served to him. A pair of black sunglasses were sitting on his face and even though his eyes were closed, he could feel practically everyone staring at him. He knew he had that effect on people and would often use it to his advantage. Maybe that was why he was receiving such great service during his stay. Well, that plus the very hefty tips he was handing out like candy.

After he felt like his sunscreen was fully dry, he stood up from his chair and slowly pulled his shirt off to reveal his very muscular, very hairy chest. You turned your attention to him and felt like you were being hypnotized as he lifted his arms in a stretch, giving you a very nice view of his happy trail. It should have been illegal to be able to walk around looking that hot.

“Y/n, jesus christ!” Buck called out to you and you looked back to what you were doing, realizing that the cup you had been pouring into had been overflowing. You had completely forgotten that you had been pouring a drink for a customer that Buck was supposed to be serving, the man across the pool completely pulling you in, distracting you.

“Sorry!” You apologized as you set the bottle back down on the bar and Buck just shook his head before turning to where you had been looking and his eyes locked on the man who you had been looking at.

Eddie was still stretching and Buck pulled his sunglasses down to get a better look without the black tint. That man was easily the most beautiful one he had ever seen and suddenly, he didn’t blame you for your actions. Shit, if he had been in your position, he probably would have done so much worse.

As soon as Eddie was in the water, Buck turned back to you, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. You could tell that he could see the appeal and you just let out a laugh as you handed him the cup that was sitting in front of you and he turned to bring it to the proper customer while you cleaned up the mess you had made.

Buck took the drink and made his way over to the woman who was lounging by the pool. He had been flirting with her all afternoon in the hope of getting a nice tip and it was working like a charm. He could see a crisp twenty dollar bill in her hand that she was holding out to him and that had to be one of the bigger tips he had received in the time that he had worked at the hotel. He would have thought that a bunch of rich people would have wanted to give more than five dollars for Buck’s hard work, but he supposed that small tips were how the rich stayed rich.

“Here you are, one sex on the beach,” he offered the drink to her and she took it. The woman could have easily been the same age as his mother, but to Buck, a tip was a tip and he’d flirt with whoever he could if it meant he’d get a little extra cash.

“Thank you so much, Evan,” she smiled as she took a sip from the straw, making eye contact with him as she did so. He would flirt with customers all day long, but he made a vow that he’d never sleep with them. That was a line he’d never cross because it would always get blurry and he knew better than to mix business with pleasure.

“Of course, ma’am,” he nodded. “Enjoy.” With that, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the bar. Just as he turned, he ran into a very wet body, causing the platter that he was carrying to clatter to the pavement. He looked up at who he had run into and let his eyes rake over the very wet, very hairy chest that he found himself wanting to run his hands over.

The stranger picked up the platter and held it out to him and all Buck could do was stare, feeling his mouth become dry as he looked into the beautiful honey eyes that were staring back at him. Sure, he had come across men that he had been attracted to and had even dated a few, but never immediately wondered what they looked like naked. He could feel his cheeks getting red at the thought and the stranger just smiled at his shyness.

“Th-thanks,” Buck replied, his brain suddenly forgetting every single word in the English language as he made eye contact with the very beautiful man in front of him.

“No problem,” Eddie replied. “Can I get a towel when you get a chance?” Buck suddenly wished that a towel would have materialized right there, not wanting to keep him waiting.

“Yeah, s-sure,” he nodded, still standing there and neither of the men minded how the other was stalling.

“Well, thank you, Evan,” Eddie let his gaze fall on the name tag that was attached to Buck’s polo. He then lifted his head to look him in the eyes one more time and Buck didn’t miss the subtle wink he gave before turning to head back to his chair.

“What the fuck,” Buck mouthed to himself, trying to shake the embarrassing moment from his head. He had become very confident in his bisexuality over the years, but his conversation with Eddie definitely made it seem like he didn’t know how to speak to a man properly. Usually, he was the one to have the other man become a weak-kneed, stuttering mess, now it seemed like the roles were reversed. And somehow he had made that work for him considering the wink after the stranger left.

You had worked on your drinks and assisted customers while occasionally letting your gaze move to Eddie to see what he was doing. The two of you had been flirting throughout the week and you were sure that you were close to finally getting a date with him, hoping that he would have taken you up to his room afterwards and had his way with you.

Buck set the platter with the rest on the counter that was behind you then hurried to fetch a towel for the pretty customer. You watched him move as you served the people at the bar, wondering what had him in a hurry. He never rushed like that for anyone. Not even you, his supposed best friend. Just as Buck went to get the towel, the man he was getting it for stepped up to the bar and you felt your mouth go dry as his honey brown eyes focused on you.

“Can I get a whiskey on the rocks?” He asked, bringing the end of one of the arms of his sunglasses between his lips. An action like that shouldn’t have been so hot, but it was because he was doing it. And he knew exactly what he was doing too. He knew the effect he had on people and was willing to use it to his advantage. A little flirting never hurt anyone.

“Of course!” You nodded and you could feel his eyes on you as you prepared his drink. Eddie had seen you every single day of his stay at the hotel and it was bothering him that he didn’t know your name. There was something about you that was intriguing to him, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Here you are,” you handed him his drink and watched him put a very generous tip into your jar.

“Thank you,” he winked as he took a sip from his drink and just when you thought he was going to leave, he took a seat on the only empty stool. “Y/n.” When he said your name, it filled your stomach with butterflies. The way it rolled off his tongue made it sound so poetic and you wanted to hear it over and over, knowing that you would never get tired of it.

“Anything for my best customer,” you winked and Eddie didn’t care if that was a line, he was eating it up.

“Here’s your towel, sir.” Buck held the towel out to him and Eddie took it, not missing how their fingers brushed as he did so.

“Thanks, Evan,” Eddie put on his megawatt smile and Buck swore that his legs were going to give out just from seeing it. Someone being that attractive wasn’t even fair.

“S-sure. Is there anything else I can get you?” Buck was always trying to go above and beyond at his job, but especially when it came to a crush. A few years ago, he would have pushed down his attraction to Eddie, but not anymore. He had struggled with his sexuality for a long time, but you had really helped him through it. At the very beginning of your friendship, you told him that you were bisexual and hearing that was like a revelation to him. He had known he was interested in boys from a young age, but pushed it down, not wanting to give his parents yet another reason to be disappointed in him, though.

Over time, he had gotten a little more confident using the specific label as you guided him through it. You had introduced him to one of your guy friends and after the date, he had cried in your arms, so grateful that you had convinced him to do it. For the first time in his life, he finally felt free and he felt like had you to thank for that even though you kept trying to tell him that it was all him and that you had only helped him a little.

“I’m okay for right now, but thank you.” With that, Eddie turned back to you and Buck ran off to take care of his other customers while you did the same. Eddie couldn’t help but watch as you worked, admiring how you moved so smoothly and quickly while making conversation with the other customers as if it was second nature.

Buck didn’t like that you were taking Eddie’s attention from him. He really thought he had it in the bag, but he clearly couldn’t compete with you and your tight shirt that showed off your cleavage.

He had never envied you before, but here he was, wanting to be you so bad that it hurt. He wanted to be the one who Eddie was flirting with, but he was beginning to think that he wasn’t interested. Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe he was the only one that was able to see the connection between the two of them.

He watched Eddie lean over the counter to get even closer to you and he could feel his blood boil. This had never happened to him. He had been jealous before, just not of you. Not in that way. You were his best friend, but at that moment, he was starting to hate you. He knew exactly what Eddie saw in you, you were the greatest person he had ever met. But in that moment, you were his competition.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” Was he asking you out? There was no way you were passing that up even though you had a shift. Maybe you could have gotten someone to cover it. Buck was always looking for extra hours.

“I don’t, why?” You served Eddie yet another glass of whiskey. “You gonna take me out?” You asked, leaning on the bar, a flirty look making its way upon your face.

“Depends, is that something you’d be interested in?” How could you not be when he was talking to you like that? He was hot and flirting with you to no end so you felt like the obvious choice was to say yes.

“Very interested,” you replied, grabbing a pen from beside your register and grabbing a slip of receipt paper before scribbling down your number. You then turned to assist the customer that had just walked up to the bar. Since you were occupied, Eddie took his drink and headed back to his chair and you watched him dreamily before turning back to your duties that had been completed before you left and Sophie, the other bartender, took over.

Buck quickly approached you while he set another tray behind the bar and you turned around, almost bumping into him. He looked angry and you wondered if a guest had been rude to him. That wasn’t uncommon since a lot of people would complain about silly things because they felt entitled.

“Who’s bothering you now, Ev?”

“You!” he pointed in your direction and you turned around to make sure that he wasn’t talking to someone else. But why would he have been talking about you? You hadn’t done anything wrong. At least, you didn’t think so.

“Me?” You pointed a finger at yourself. “What did I do?”

“You know exactly what you did,” he glared, stepping towards you. “You were flirting with Eddie and throwing it in my face.” You had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. Yes, you were definitely flirting with Eddie, but you weren’t trying to throw it in Buck's face. In fact, you had no fucking clue he even liked Eddie in the first place.

“Now you’re just making things up, Buck,” you laughed, giving his shoulder a pat as you stepped out from behind the bar after you had clocked out and Buck followed you. “Eddie was doing most of the flirting so if you want to be mad, be mad at him.”

“This isn’t over.” That made you stop in your tracks. You didn’t think he was being serious until then. You never thought you’d see him that angry, especially not over something as silly as a little crush. Buck didn’t crush on many people, but when he did, it was fast and hard, allconsuming to the point where it took up every single part of his brain.

“What’s not?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why don’t we have a competition to win his affection?” That made you laugh. Imagining doing something like that, and with Buck, made you chuckle.

“That’s really good,” You nodded, then turned back around to head to the parking lot where your car was. “For a second, I thought you were serious.” You paused when you saw the look on his face. “Buck, be for real.”

“I am,” Buck’s eyes bored into yours and you resisted the urge to laugh again. But then again, it could have been fun. Not to toot your own horn, but you thought you were a far better flirt than Buck and could have easily had the competition in the bag.

“You’re on, Buckley. And I guess I’m already ahead because I have a date with him tomorrow.”

“Y/n, what-”

"Sorry, Ev, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a hot outfit to pick out for Eddie,” You winked then made a beeline for your car and Buck watched you, anger bubbling up inside him. Oh, it was so on.

You and Eddie had texted all night about your plans and the two of you decided to meet at the hotel pool the next morning. You showed up in your hottest bikini and Eddie couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when you showed up at his chair. The sun was shining down on you and for a second, he could have sworn that he had died and gone to heaven.

He was wearing the tightest fucking swim trunks you had ever seen and they were short too, barely covering his ass and you had to stop yourself from imagining what he looked like underneath them. He sat up and moved his legs so you could sit on the edge of his lounge chair and you set your pool bag on the ground, purposely bending over when you grabbed your sunscreen to give him a view of your ass, your cheeks practically spilling out of your bottoms.

You turned to look at him and had him right where you wanted him as you had caught him staring exactly where you wanted him to look. He had even pulled his sunglasses down so he could see it without the dark filter over his eyes. You sat down on the edge of the chair with your sunscreen and squeezed some of the stuff into your hands before extending one of your legs and applying it there. How was it that you made something so innocent look so fucking dirty? Eddie didn’t think it was very fair.

You continued to apply the sunscreen to all of the places you could reach then turned your back to Eddie, passing the bottle to him.

“Can you get my back?” You asked and Eddie was trying to not look so eager to say yes.

“Sure,” he nodded even though you couldn’t see him and squeezed some of the stuff into his hand before rubbing it and you closed your eyes as his rough hands moved along your back. They were slow, as if he was doing it on purpose, and maybe he was, finding any excuse to touch you.

Buck happened to be passing by the two of you as Eddie was finishing up and he stopped right in front of you, but you couldn’t see him since you had your eyes closed, partially because of the sun, and partially because of how good it felt to have Eddie’s hands on you.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked and you rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. You looked up at him and he had a smirk on his face that to anyone, would look normal, but to you, it was filled with mischief. But he wasn’t going to get to you, not this time.

“And may I just say, Eddie, your hair looks really nice today. Did you do something different?”

“I did, actually. I didn’t put gel in it. And can I get a whiskey on the rocks?” Eddie asked, turning his attention to Buck, his hands moving up to your shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

“Of course, and it looks really nice. Much better than the gel,” Buck nodded. “And for you?” He turned his direction towards you and you could see that he was not happy to ask that question.

“I’ll have an espresso martini.”

“I’ll have those right out for you,” Buck replied before hurrying off to get your drinks. God, how fucking horrible was his luck that his best friend was on a date with his crush and that said crush seemed to be more into you. Clearly he had to have been to have asked you on a date instead of Buck.

Buck eyed you and Eddie the whole time, muttering to himself as he waited for your drinks. Once he had them on his tray, he plastered on a smile and headed back over to the two of you just in time to see Eddie press a kiss to your cheek.

“Here are your drinks,” Buck announced as he held out the tray for the two of you to take the beverages from them. “Enjoy,” he nodded with a wink at Eddie but Eddie stopped him before he could get away.

“Wait,” Eddie grabbed onto Buck’s wrist and the man turned to look at him. “Look,” he said and the two of you gave him his attention. “I can see that you’re both interested with all of our flirting over the past week and the tension and I don’t want this to be a competition.” He reached into the pocket of his swim trunks and pulled out his keycard before holding it out to the both of you.

“If you’re up for it, I think that the three of us could have a lot of fun. I’ll be waiting upstairs and if you don’t come, I understand. But I’d really like you to.”

With that, he fled the pool and headed back up to his room, leaving you and Buck to make a decision. You turned to him and eyed the card in your hand, the words that just left Eddie’s mouth absolutely not being on your bingo card.

You had never been proposed with a threesome, but the thought of it sounded hot. And you’d be with Buck, someone you trusted with your life, so if something went wrong, at least he’d be there too. You were honestly into the idea the more you thought about it.

“What do you think?” You asked him and he looked deep in thought. Buck had never had a threesome either, so he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. But it sounded enticing, the thought of getting with two people at once was definitely something he was into.

“Fuck it,” he shrugged. “I’m down if you are.”

“It won’t be weird?” You and Buck had slept together a few times, but that was just with each other. Adding another person will definitely be different, but you were willing to try and apparently, so was Buck.

“I don’t think so. Do you think it will be?”

“Maybe not. Let’s go,” you held out your hand and he took it before helping you up from the lounge chair, and lucky for him, it was just in time for him to clock out.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you and Buck stood in the elevator. You were about to be on Eddie’s floor and you couldn’t believe that you were about to have a threesome with your best friend and the hot stranger that you were just on a date with. There must have been something you had done in a past life to have been so lucky as to have been wanted by two of the hottest men you had ever seen.

Buck pulled you to Eddie’s room and he gingerly unlocked the door with the key he had been given. He pushed the door open and there Eddie was, sitting in the chair that was by the window, a pleased smile on his face.

“I was beginning to think that you weren’t going to come.” Buck almost wanted to tell him that he was very close to actually doing so. He could feel his cock tightening in his jeans as the sight of Eddie in his very tight,very short swim trunks. Eddie’s eyes moved from Buck to you and he grabbed you by the back of the neck, pressing his lips to yours in a hot, rough kiss, taking no time to stick his tongue in your mouth.

Buck wasn’t even feeling jealous anymore, because watching his best friend making out with his crush was one of the hottest things he had ever seen. His cock was full-on tenting in his pants and he didn’t even mind just standing there and watching. He moaned as he stuck his hand down his pants, desperate to take care of himself when Eddie pulled his hand away.

“Let me,” he said and went to unbutton Buck’s pants, looking up at him for approval. Buck nodded furiously and Eddie pressed a rough kiss to his lips before pulling down his pants and boxers, his very hard, very leaky cock. Eddie spit into his hand and grabbed hold of the base, giving it a few slow pumps to get him started then began to move faster, Buck moaning loudly as the sensation.

You watched the two of them and felt a puddle forming in your swimsuit as you watched them, suddenly feeling the urge to clean Buck up, not wanting all of that cum to go to waste. You felt drool pooling in your mouth as you thought about having it in your mouth, sucking him off as he let out screams of euphoria.

“Yeah, you like that?” Eddie asks. “You look so hot when you cum.” His voice was so rough and sexy that Buck swore he was going to cum right there. And he did, letting out his loudest moan as he reached his climax, throwing his head back as he did so.

Eddie pulled away and Buck swore he was going to come undone as Eddie licked the cum from his hand, getting every last drop. As he did so, you got onto your knees in front of him with every intention of licking him clean, desperate to have him in your mouth.

“Can I clean you up?” You asked, batting your eyelashes and Buck nodded furiously.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned and without hesitation, you wrapped your hand around the base and took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip as he grabbed fistfuls of your hair, giving it a yank as you gave him a hard suck.

“Oh my god,” he moaned. “So good, you have no idea.” Sure, Buck had thought about what it would have been like to have you suck him off every once in a while, but if he had known that it would have been that good, he would have asked you to do it a long time ago.

You moved your tongue to wherever you could get it then eventually removed your hand and forced him further into your mouth. Your eyes were watering as it hit the back of your throat. But you didn’t mind. You continued to suck, even harder this time and Buck gave your hair a yank as he threw his head back, feeling his knees buckle as you licked and sucked up every last drop of his cum.

“Holy shit,” Eddie rasped. “Can I be next?” He was going to cum right there watching how much Buck was enjoying himself.

“Fucking shit,” Buck moaned again. “Think I’m gonna-” Just as the words left his mouth, a wad of cum hit the back of your throat. You pulled him out of your mouth and you stood, grabbed Buck by his face, forcing him to look you in the eye as you swallowed and he fell onto the bed behind him in reaction as he tried his best to pull his underwear back up.

“Fuck,” he said in between breaths. “Think I need a break.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, taking no time to stick your tongue inside his mouth and he moaned as it scraped against his and just as he was about to moan again, you pulled away.

“You take a break, baby,” you told him, turning to Eddie. “It’s Eddie's turn.” He watched your eyes fill with lust as you grabbed onto him, pressing a messy kiss to his lips. You then pushed him onto the bed and he fell, landing right next to Buck who moved to sit on his knees, desperate to see the action even if he wasn’t in it.

You straddled Eddie’s waist and reached behind you, slowly untying it and letting it fall to the side of Eddie before pushing it into the floor. Both Buck and Eddie eyed your tits and you were eating up the way they were staring at them, looking like they wanted to devour you.

“Can’t believe you hid these from us for so long,” Buck reached up and touched your hard nipple with the pad of his thumb. “From me.”

“Yeah? You wanna suck on them?” You turned to him, moved from side to side, making them move with you.

“Please,” he begged and hearing the whine in his voice was making you even more wet than before.

“What about me?” Eddie asked as he sat up. He had put on a pout and you couldn’t believe that he actually thought that you would leave him out.

“I have two, don’t I?” You bat your eyelashes as you climbed off Eddie and slowly laid down with your back against the mattress. “Go on,” you urged. “You know you wanna.

Buck was the first to dive in, pressing kisses to your collarbone before going in for a light suck. He kissed his way all the way down to your left tit, bringing your entire nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. He then gave it a rough suck and seeing the way you were coming undone, Eddie dove in for the other one. You gripped the comforter as they did their work, licking and sucking, making absolute pleasure roll through you as you moaned and moaned again.

“Holy shit,” you whined. “How do you both do it so well?” Just when you thought you were reaching your climax, Buck brought your nipple between his teeth and gave it a little nipple, causing your back to arch as you orgasmed, a loud moan escaping your lips.

“Do that again,” you said between breaths and Buck did as you asked and Eddie mimicked it, seeing what was being done out of the corner of his eye, causing your hands to move to the back of their heads, grabbing fistfulls of their hair and giving it a hard yank.

“I’m coming,” you told them as your back arched once again and they pulled away, turning to each other with smirks as you laid there, your tits shining with their spit and the area around nipples turning a reddish purple.

“We can clean you up,” Eddie said as devilish smirks made their way upon their faces.

“Yeah,” Buck agreed. “Bet you taste heavenly.”

The three of you were overstimulated, but that didn’t mean that either of you wanted to stop. Eddie pushed you against the bed and both Buck and Eddie took one of your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed as they got onto their knees. Buck was the one to remove your swimsuit bottoms and once they were off, he tossed them to the side and spread your legs wide, both of them letting out dramatic whistles as they caught sight of your sopping wet cunt.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were so soaked?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, we could have taken care of you much earlier,” Buck added.

“I think this might be the wettest pussy I’ve ever seen, wouldn’t you agree, Evan?” Eddie smirked at the man to his right and Buck smirked right back.

“Oh yeah,” Buck nodded, then they each threw a leg over one of their shoulders and shoved their faces into your cunt. Buck went for it and buried his tongue inside of you while

Eddie suckled on your clit, both of them working as a team to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you whimpered through breaths, your hands gripping the bedding again, feeling sweat collecting in your hands.

They both lapped up your slick as Buck swirled his tongue inside of your cunt, hitting just the right spot, causing you to let out a scream. You could feel your vision go hazy as you reached your climax just as Eddie grazed your clit with his teeth, driving you absolutely wild. His tongue swiped to the right and touched Bucks just as the two of them were pulling away, having gotten just about every last drop of your delicious slick as soon they pulled out of your cunt, they turned to each other, pressing their lips together, desperate for the taste of you on each other’s tongues.

“Fuck,” Eddie groaned. “She tastes even better on your tongue.”

Their tongues tangled together and they both moaned at the sensation. Before they could stop themselves, Eddie’s swim trunks and Buck’s underwear were discarded in a messy pile on the floor. Buck helped Eddie from the bed and grabbed a condom, rolling it onto his cock. He then bent Eddie over the end of the bed, slamming his dick into him.

Eddie let out a loud moan as Buck grabbed onto his hips, roughly thrusting in and out of him. Eddie gripped onto the bedding so hard that his knuckles were turning white as another moan escaped his mouth.

“Yeah? You like that? Wish I could see your face so I could watched you come undone,” Buck said and you sat up, the look on Eddie’s face, looking just as hot as you ever could have imagined.

“He looks so fucking hot, Evan,” you told him and that made Buck thrust the fastest and hardest he could. You were quick to grab your purse and pull out your compact mirror. You opened it and quickly climbed back onto the bed, turning it around so Evan could see exactly what Eddie looked like.

“Shit, she was right. You look so fucking hot. Taking me so well, Edmundo.” He then took hold of Eddie’s face, forcing him to look at his own reflection. “See how hot you look, babe?” He asked.

Eddie let out another moan as he watched himself in the small mirror, not thinking much about what he looked like during sex, but now that he was seeing it, he finally understood all of the compliments he got about how he looked when he came.

“I look hot,” Eddie replied and Buck gave his ass a slap, causing Eddie to let out a yelp.

“Yeah, you do. Got one more in you?”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed and Buck continued to thrust the fastest and hardest he could and Eddie finally reached his orgasm, Buck not long after him. As soon as they both came down from the high, Buck pulled out and disposed of the condom.

“Do you maybe want to take this to the shower? I really need to clean up.” You asked, biting down on your bottom and they turned to each other, nodding furiously at each other.

“And I need to be fucked too. Seeing you two together made me jealous.” You grabbed onto each of their hands and pulled them to the bathroom. You decided the shower seemed plenty big enough for the three of you as Buck turned on the water and adjusted the temperature.

While he did that, you pulled Eddie into a kiss, your hands moving to his waist, pulling him as close to your as possible. One hand rested at your back while the other trailed down to your cunt, his fingers moving back and forth across it, but not actually entering you.

“Eddie, please,” you whined and he just chuckled, wanting to hear you whine for him some more.

“Gonna need for you to beg for it. C’mon, honey. You can do it,” he urged, his fingers moving even slower and it was driving you crazy not having his fingers inside of you yet.

“Evan, need your fingers, please.” That seemed to be enough because as soon as the words left your mouth, he shoved his fingers up your cunt, causing you to come undone.

“Need me to take care of your pussy, huh?” He asked as he pumped his fingers in and out of your still sopping wet cunt. “I can fuck you so good.”

“God, yes please.”

Eddie removed his fingers from you and pushed you into the shower, Buck following behind and closing the door. Eddie shoved you against the wall and pounded into you. He pumped in and out while Buck stood to the side, perfectly content with getting off by watching you. Eddie continued to pound into you, grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifted you off your feet. You wrapped your legs around his waist, Eddie fitting all of himself inside of you as he moved the fastest he could.

Buck swore he was going to lose as he watched Eddie fuck into you, entirely unsure whether he wanted to be you or Eddie, but either way, he thought it was fucking hot. He watched you come completely undone and had never been so attracted to you in his entire life. Now he was wanting to be the one who made you feel absolutely euphoric as he pounded into you again and again until you could barely walk.

“Look so fucking good wrapped around me, goddamn,” Eddie groaned as he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss sloppy and sloven.

“And you feel so good, Eddie. I could let you do this all night.” That was just what he needed to hear to encourage him to move harder and faster, your back continuously hitting the wall as he did so. His cock hit just the right spot and you swore you could see stars as you hit another orgasm, the feeling tearing through your body as you let out a loud moan.

Your body collapsed onto Eddie’s and he pulled out, before setting you back on your feet. His lips attached to yours again and his tongue slid into your mouth before he pulled away from you completely.

“You want a turn, Ev?” You asked, beckoning him forward and he stepped over to you, feeling a bit hesitant.

“You sure?” Eddie had just pulled out of you and he just wanted to make sure that it was what you wanted.

“I can always just take care of it myself if you’d rather,” you joked, but Buck clearly didn’t get it.

“Please do,” he nodded. “Wanna see your fingers fuck you. Don’t you Eddie?”

“Fuck yes,” Eddie nodded enthusiastically. You moved underneath the water and slowly moved your hand down to your body slowly, heading straight for your cunt. You shoved your fingers inside you and let out a moan at the sensation.

You pushed your fingers in and out of your pussy and both men could feel themselves getting hard as they watched you pleasure yourself. Your other hand held onto the wall for support as you threw your head back, your eyes shutting tight as your fingers hit just the right spot, making you moan.

Your eyes opened and you looked at both men in front of you, slowly moving your fingers towards your mouth and giving them a suck and they both moaned loudly as they watched you lick the slick clean from your fingers.

“Holy shit,” Buck whined.

“Goddamn,” Eddie rasped. “That’s hot.”

You pulled your fingers out of your mouth then grabbed onto Buck’s shoulder’s pressing your lips to his, pushing your tongue into his mouth before swirling it around. His hands moved down and grabbed your ass, giving it a squeeze and you gasped into his mouth.

He then pushed you against the wall, fucking into roughly and you both moaned as he entered you. He fucked into you much rougher than Eddie but that was how you liked it. Your legs wrapped around his waist just like you did with Eddie’s and Buck pinned your arms to the wall as he inserted all of himself into you.

“Evan, oh my god. More.” Eddie moved to the side so he could watch the two of you, his dick getting hard at the sight of Buck fucking you.

“Look at you,” he said. “Taking him so well, baby.”

“You really are. You like it when I fuck you like this, huh?” He began to thrust so hard that his balls were slapping against you and you were already on the verge of cumming for the final time.

“Fuck yes,” you moaned as you reached your climax and Buck was quick to pull out before setting you back on the floor. Your legs felt like jello and you were so blissed out that you felt like you could fall asleep right there.

“Alright, time to get out,” he held onto you and helped you out of the shower while Eddie turned off the water before grabbing towels for all three of you.

“We didn’t even shower,” you slurred and they both just chuckled.

“Next time,” Eddie assured as he wrapped you up in a towel as you held onto Buck’s shoulder so you wouldn’t fall to the floor. The two of them helped you dry off then dried off themselves.

“Next time?” You asked, confused.

“Oh, honey,” Eddie laughed, pulling you into a kiss. He then gave one to Buck, making sure to not leave him out. “That was just a taste.” With that, he grabbed both of you by the hand and led you back out to his room to give you each something to wear before you all climbed into bed together, the three of you already looking forward your next threesome together.

#evan “buck” buckley #evan buckley #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x y/n #edmundo diaz #edmundo eddie diaz #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz x y/n #eddie diaz smut #eddie diaz fluff #evan buckley smut #evan buckley fluff #buddie #buddie x reader #buddie x fem!reader #buddie smut

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delicatebarness · 7 months ago

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cry baby | prologue

Summary: Meet The Avengers, the infamous friendship group. Known for causing trouble all around town, and being feared by all. Expect the youngest member of the group, she was different and she was protected.

Warning: Smoking. Alcohol. Crying.

Word Count: 1179

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A/N: The final results of the poll were 68.4% in favor of posting this now so here you go. I really hope I did this idea justice and you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think <3

Tags: buckys0whore |

The bar hummed with music, laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional roar of a motorcycle outside. In the corner booth, among the haze of cigarette smoke and the dim glow of neon lights, sat a group of friends, claimed as The Avengers.

Bucky Barnes leaned back in the booth, his eyes constantly scanning the room with a gaze as piercing as the edge of his knife. His presence commanded respect anywhere he went, without raising his voice. He was an enigma wrapped in leather.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he observed the scene at the bar. Your presence was a stark contrast to the rough ambiance of the bar. Dressed in a delicate flowing dress, out of place amidst the leather and tattoos, you were the embodiment of vulnerability in a world that praised itself on toughness. Your gaze darted nervously around the room as you waited for your drink.

Bucky’s grip tightened around the beer bottle he had been nursing as he watched the bartender lean close to you. His jaw clenched with a quiet intensity, some instinct urged him to intervene, to protect you from whatever the guy was trying to do. But, before he could make a move he noticed Steve, your older brother and his best friend, standing closer to you. It was obvious from Steve’s expression and assertive stance that he was telling the bartender to step back.

Turning back his attention to the booth, he caught Natasha’s knowing smirk and Sam’s amused glance. They also had been watching the scene at the bar and offered small nods of approval toward Steve as you both made your way to the booth with the drinks. You were a tight-knit group, and there was an unspoken understanding that you would always protect one another. Mostly, it was you that they were protecting.

Your emotions began to bubble to the surface, tears threatened to spill over. The reasons for them, you were unsure of. Was it the presence of the new bartender? Perhaps Steve’s protective demeanor had caused them. Or maybe it was simply the atmosphere of smoke and dust. Regardless, as you settled back into the booth, the sight of Bucky’s eye-rolling toward you only worsened the urge to cry.

“Spill the beans, crybaby,” Bucky’s voice cut through the chatter of your friends around you. “What’s the verdict today? Tears of joy or sadness?” his tone dripping with sarcasm as he leaned forward.

Your cheeks flushed, and you tilted your head up hoping gravity will stop the tears from spilling. “I, I don’t know,” you mumbled softly, your voice barely audible over the noise of the bar.

As the night wore on, the bar grew increasingly rowdy and you found yourself retreating into the safety of your thoughts. No matter how hard you tried to hide your teary eyes, you couldn’t escape Bucky’s watchful gaze.

As closing time drew near, there was a subtle shift that settled over the group, a silent acknowledgment that their night was coming to an end. With reluctant sighs, you began to gather your belongings. The rest of your friends picked up their packets of cigarettes and leather jackets, as you picked up your sketchbook and pencil. Preparing to leave the warmth of the bar for the cold embrace of the night, you begin to make your way to the exit.

Bucky remained rooted in his spot in the booth, his gaze fixed on some unseen point around the bar. “Hey, Buck, you coming?” Steve called out, his voice tinged with concern as he glanced back at his friend.

You could almost see the cogs working in his mind as he hesitated, clenching his jaw. “I think I’ll stay a bit longer,” he finally replied, his voice low.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, confusion took over her features as Natasha spoke for you all, “Everything okay, Barnes?” she asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

He offered you all a tight-lipped smile, a silent reassurance that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah I’m fine,” he beamed at you all with an uncharacteristic glee. His gaze flickered over to you for a brief moment before returning to your friends. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,”

With reluctant nods and murmured goodbyes, you and the rest of The Avengers made your way out of the bar, leaving Bucky alone. As the door swung shut behind you, Bucky let out a heavy sigh before making his way over to the bar.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky climbed the stairs to your apartment door, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. An hour must have passed since you would have gotten home. As he reached the familiar door, he hesitated for a moment, his already grazed knuckles hovering over the wood before finally summoning the courage to knock.

The door swung open, revealing your concerned expression as you took in the sight of him standing on her doorstep, a black eye already began to form.

“Bucky? What happened?” you exclaimed, your voice filled the air with concern as you ushered him inside.

He offered you a weary smile, his gaze met yours with a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion. “You should have seen the other guy,” he replied, his smile turning into a playful smirk.

You arched an eyebrow skeptically, as you gestured for him to take a seat at the kitchen table. “Let’s just get you patched up,” you sent him a reassuring smile as you moved around your kitchen to fetch the first aid kit.

As you began cleaning and dressing his wounds, he couldn’t help but marvel at the tenderness of your touch. Your hands moved with practiced precision while you stood in between his tights. Despite his attempts to downplay his injuries, he winced slightly as the antiseptic stung, his jaw clenching.

A wave of emotion washed over you, and tears began to well up in your eyes, a silent testament to the guilt you carried from causing him more pain and discomfort.

Bucky’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, forgetting about his own pain momentarily as he reached out to gently cup your cheeks, wiping away the evidence of her distress. A gesture as gentle as it was instinctual. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, his hand never leaving your cheek.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering away from his as you struggled to find the words you wanted to say, “I, I don’t like when you’re hurt,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

A pang of guilt twisted in his chest as he realized the hurt he was causing. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice filled with regret as he felt your tears dampen his skin. “I’m sorry,”

In the warmth of his embrace, you found comfort, and the weight of your worries subsided by the rhythm of his heartbeat. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, calming your emotions with every passing second.

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#cry baby series #cry baby #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #biker au #greaser au #bucky barnes x #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #steve rogers x sister!reader

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talktonytome · 5 months ago

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Buck’s nervously bouncing his leg on the barstool, hands a little sweaty, as he waits for Hen and Karen to show up. They had invited him to a gay western club, after he came out and he’s excited to finally be here. He’s craning his neck to see if he catches a glimpse of them, when a beast of a man walks up to him.

Wow, Buck knows he’s a big guy himself but this dude is even bigger than him. He’s got insanely broad shoulders, big arms, thick thighs and an ass that had to be sculpted by the gods-

Suddenly, the man is clearing his throat to get his attention. “Excuse me, but I think you took my chair,” he says matter-of-factly, like Buck should have known. And it’s maybe a little infuriating because who does this guy think he is?

“Oh I’m sorry, I must have missed your name on it,” Buck retorts, eyes narrowed at the stranger. The chair was open when he got there and really, it’s a little childish to be calling dibs.

Hot jerk holds his hands up placatingly, attempting to deescalate the situation. “Sorry, sorry”, he says genuinely enough. There’s something about his eyes that comforts Buck. “It’s just, I only ran out to take what I thought was a work call, and I was hoping my spot would still be free. It’s been a long week,” he sighs.

Buck can understand that. It’d been a long week of hectic calls for the 118 and he’s been looking forward to tonight. “Hey, uh, I get it. It’s been a week for me too,” he offers a rueful smile. “I’m meeting some friends so I’ll give you your chair back soon, don’t worry.” If he didn’t know any better, he could swear the man’s face falls a little.

As if by stroke of luck, the stool next to his opens up and hot guy immediately sits down. “It’s my fault really, I know this place is packed Friday nights. It’s worth it for the live bands, though,” he says. “I’m Tommy, by the way. Fighting the great chair war merits name privileges, right?” He winks.

Buck blushes, suddenly feeling a little breathless. “Oh definitely,” he manages not to stutter. “I’m Bu- um- Evan Buckley.” Wow he almost had it.

“Evan,” Tommy tries out and it sounds like the name was made to be uttered by him and him only. Buck gulps.

“Well, since we’re both here, how about I buy you a drink? I owe you that much for being rude earlier.”

Buck can’t help but smile. “Sure, why not?” He nods, “my friends aren’t here yet, anyway.”

“Great,” Tommy grins. “Craft beer okay? Or I can get you something else?”

“Beer’s fine, I’m not picky,” Buck shrugs.

“I am, at least when it comes to beer,” Tommy chuckles, signaling the bartender for two beers.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Buck teases. Why does this feel so easy?

“Hmm, I think there’s a lot about me that’ll surprise you,” Tommy smirks.

Buck may be inexperienced with the same sex, but he damn well knows how to flirt. He tilts his head a little, knows his eyes are twinkling. “Is that right?”

“Oh absolutely,” Tommy declares. He’s so confident in a way that radiates coolness. “For example, I’m a pretty great dancer.”

Buck thinks back to the times he’s tried to dance and winces. “I’m definitely not.”

“I could teach you,” Tommy says as Buck finishes his sentence.

“Really? Is that gonna be right after our beers?”

“I mean I don’t think we can drink and dance at the same time,” Tommy laughs, “at least not effectively.

“Yeah okay, teach me, Tommy.” Buck says dropping his voice, looking right into his eyes.

Tommy’s eyes grow wide and Buck immediately notices the blush on those gorgeous cheekbones. He preens a little because he did that.

“Ok,” Tommy swallows, holding out his hand. “Let’s do it.”

“What about our beers?”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

Buck laughs incredulously, but gives Tommy his hand and lets him lead them onto the dance floor. The band’s playing something sweet and slow, for lovers. Tommy uses the grip on his hand to pull them close together, until they’re chest to chest. He guides both of Buck’s arms around his neck and he circles Buck’s waist with those big hands, finally turning them into a gentle sway.

You got me out there, honey

We danced until I let go

Never been lost in a moment

But there's hours I can't recall

Buck looks down at his feet trying desperately not to mangle Tommy’s. He feels two fingers under his chin, as Tommy tilts his face up. “Eyes on me,” he says softly. “I got you.” Buck obeys and gets lost in Tommy’s eyes- gosh they’re so blue-as they sway and spin so smoothly he forgets about his feet altogether.

Maybe tonight

You'll let me run

Into your arms

And we'll conquer the heart

Tommy’s guiding them into another spin, when Buck can’t hold back from wanting to kiss him any longer. If Tommy’s eyes constantly flicking down to Buck’s lips are anything to go by, he’s on the same page. Buck tests the waters by leaning in, enough that Tommy’s breath ghosts across his lips.

You came in like a fire

Burned all I ever knew

I've been weighed and found wanting

And all that I want is you

Tommy gently grips his chin again, one big thumb slots right in the middle, and brings him in for the gentlest, most tender kiss Buck’s ever gotten. Tommy’s lips are warm and soft as they slide against his. It’s not long, by any means, but when they part, it leaves him breathless, all the same.

Tommy rests their foreheads together. “Was that okay?” He whispers, a little awestruck.

“More than,” Buck grins, playing with the hair on the nape of Tommy’s neck.

“Good,” Tommy replies, pressing a kiss to Buck’s bicep. “I do have a confession to make.”

Tommy tangles their hands and pulls Buck away from the dance floor. The song is over by now, so they make their way to the edge, where they can lean against a railing.

Bucks stomach drops. Did he get it wrong? Was Tommy not interested? Was he about to let him down gently?

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Tommy cuts into his spiraling. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“I’m a little embarrassed to say it now,” Tommy breathes, “but.. that wasn’t my chair.”

Buck finally lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Huh?”

“Erm, where you were sitting? It wasn’t actually my chair. I just… I saw the most beautiful man I’d ever seen all alone and I knew I had to talk to him,” Tommy rushes out. “Upon reflection, my approach could have been better,” he mutters.

Bucks laughs, but makes sure to squeeze Tommy’s hand in reassurance. “It was… not good,” he laughs again.

“Come on, hey!” Tommy exclaims in mock offense.

“But- you did it anyway. You came up to me all cocky and hot, not knowing the outcome, and it worked out so,” Buck shrugs.

“You think I’m hot?” Tommy smirks, playfully bumping his shoulder.

“Oh like you don’t know?”

“Did I mention you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen?” Tommy looks at him in a way that’s too fond for having just met.

“Maybe, but doesn’t hurt to hear again,” Buck grins. “Thanks for the dance, by the way,” he adds shyly. “It was pretty great.”

“I had the best partner,” Tommy says.

They look at each other for several beats.

“So, you wanna get out of here?” Tommy jerks his head toward the exit.

Buck doesn’t know if he’s ready for what that sentence entails, but he really likes Tommy.

Just like before, Tommy notices his apprehension; he’s so goddamn considerate like that, apparently. “Not like that,” he clarifies. “I’m having such a great time with you and I’m not ready for the night to end. I know this place with the best tacos,” he gives Buck his best puppy eyes.

Buck breathes a sigh of relief. He’s not ready to part ways either. “You had me at tacos! Lead the way.”

Tommy wraps an arm around his waist as they start walking toward the exit, when Buck remembers, “oh wait, my friends!”

“You sure they’re coming?” Tommy raises a doubtful eyebrow.

“I dunno, they said they would. Let me-“ Buck pulls out his phone and opens his messages. Sure enough there’s a couple from Hen.

Sorry buckaroo, Denny has a stomach bug and we’re pretty sure we all have it now :(

We’ll make it up to you, we swear!

Buck can’t feel too disappointed, when he got Tommy out of it. He texts back a quick ok feel better! and slides his phone back into his pocket, then reaches out to take Tommy’s hand again.

“Their kid has a bug and infected them so they are, in fact, not coming,” he explains.

“Kids and their germs,” Tommy laughs. “So you’re free to go?”

“Yes, I- I am free.”

- inspired by the chair (george strait) and conquer the heart (orville peck)

#bucktommy #tevan #my fic #they’re just sooooo #dailykinley

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typicalopposite · 12 days ago

Note

I have actually never really sent a prompt to anyone . So idk how much to ask for or how to really give one . But I guess some idea of

118 responding to a horrible bar fight and they find Tommy seriously injured. Buck sees the guy who did it at the scene and he gets furious.

Idk if I asked right lol

Here you go <3 I hope you like it!

(gonna kill two birds with one stone here)

Fuck It Friday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard & @nine-one-wanton & @lavenderleahy love you all! thank youuu!

(TW: homophobia and racism)

Buck tries to hide just how many times he pulls his phone out, opens the screen and checks to see if Tommy is typing again. He keeps it down by his leg, turns his back to the rest of the team, even hides out in the bathroom a couple times just to stare at the spot where for such a brief moment Tommy was considering saying something… but then changed his mind.

It’s late and he’s laying on one of the top bunks, eyes fixated on the screen, when Eddie pushes the door open. “Come on Buck…” he sighs. “You gotta give it a rest, man.” Buck tightens his hand around the phone, anticipating Eddie trying to snatch it away again, but he doesn’t. Instead he slumps down to the bottom bunk and goes quiet, leaving Buck alone with that very minimal advice and still no more bubbling.

The bell rings just as Buck is starting to doze off.

A bar fight; a bad one at that. They arrive on the scene and Eddie pulls the ambulance up and parks it right behind the engine. The customers are scattered all around the dirt lot, some talking to each other, some on their phones, some talking with police. Bobby said Athena was the first to arrive, but she’s not outside so Buck assumes she’s in the bar talking to the owner.

One of the bartenders directs them towards a guy sitting hunched over on a bench, holding his face. Eddie goes to him and Buck follows, while Hen and Bobby head inside to where people are saying the more severely injured victim is— or maybe it’s the perpetrator… they aren’t exactly sure what even happened yet. Eddie starts on cleaning the man’s busted brow, and examining the black eye already forming around it. Buck pulls an instant cold compress out and offers it to him for the swelling. All the while the man drunkenly rambles on about how the owner has let the place go to shit… letting just anyone in. Not caring about the patrons who funded them for years with their business.

Buck listens to his hate filled tirade, but only partially, also tuning in to a server who is telling Athena’s new rookie about what happened. How the guy Eddie was working on had antagonized the whole thing. She seems extremely worried about the other guy taking multiple kicks to the stomach and to the head. “He wasn’t even bothering anyone,” she says, voice shaking from crying. “He was just talking to Darlene about—” she pauses and gives a soft tearful laugh. “Well, he kept calling him ‘his Evan’. But he was so sad because he said he wasn’t really his anymore.”

It was as if all the sound around him vanished, and his feet were moving before his brain could register where they were going.

A hand on his chest stopping him from crossing the bar snaps him out of it; it’s Athena. She’s wearing that stern Sergeant Grant look, though it’s fraying around the edges with worry. “Is it him…” Buck starts, looking past her to where Hen is knelt down. Athena purses her lips, furrows her brows… and nods. Buck sucks in a sharp breath and tries to bypass her— he could easily bypass her if he wanted to, but he won’t. He allows her stiffened arm pushing against him to hold him back. “H- How bad is it,” he asks, fighting back against the tears rushing to his eyes.

“He’s pretty banged up, but he’s in good hands,” she gestures back towards where Hen is working feverishly over— over Tommy. Buck feels like he might pass out. Athena moves so she is in his line of view, and his focus is back on her, then gives him a sympathetic look. “Now I need to go out there so I can arrest the man who did this… soon as Eddie is done with him; and I need you to try to stay calm and not do anything… rash.”

Buck clenches his jaw, looking over her once again towards Tommy; he can barely see him for the tables and chairs, and multiple first responders hovering around where he’s sprawled out on the floor.

Athena squeezes his arm and he reluctantly follows her to stand outside. “Just wait here, okay…” she says, before walking over to Eddie and the man who hurt Tommy— his Tommy. He glares over towards them, his blood is boiling. He clenches his jaw tighter, gritting his teeth together.

The guy looks up at Athena as she starts explaining that he has been identified as the perp, and she is arresting him. Before she can begin reading his rights, though, he leaps up— eyes bulging, lips pulled back in snarl, a finger pointing angrily right in Athena’s face. “I’ll be damned if I’m getting arrested for this; for– for doing a public service,” he spits. Athena stares at him, unfazed. “Besides, he attacked me!” The man gestures towards his face.

“He did not!” The server snaps back. Athena offers her a smile, putting a hand up for her to not argue with him.

“I see what he did to you, and after the story I heard— about all the things you were in here ranting and raving about, with your chest puffed out like you're some big man just ‘cause you’re supposedly brave enough to say the all hateful things on your mind— hell, I can’t say I would have blamed him for doing more.”

The man sneered, but stepped back. “Yeah, I figured someone like you would sympathize with someone like that. I guess I might as well chalk this up to being demonized for being the normal one.”

“I’m sure you demonized yourself, all by yourself,” Athena says with an eye roll. She shoves him around and handcuffs him. “And I’m sure you’ll easily demonize yourself among your fellow inmates as well… though I highly doubt you’ll get lucky enough to get the upper hand again.”

She grabs his arm and leads him towards her patrol car, passing Buck while keeping a good distance from him. It doesn’t stop the man from looking over and catching Buck’s name tag. “Buckley…” he says, then chuckles. “As in Evan Buckley…” he throws his head back and fully laughs. “So you’re the one he was in there sniffling over like a poor love sick fa—” Buck is charging at him before he can finish the slur… they can fire him for it; who cares. He is stopped by Eddie, and held back long enough for Athena to get the man in her car.

Eddie loosens his hold and Buck shoves him the rest of the way off, then turns towards the bar. He can hear Eddie calling after him, he just doesn’t care enough to listen to anyone on what they think he should do anymore. Right now he just wants to see Tommy.

“Buck,” Bobby says, moving towards the door as he comes in. Buck walks past him, shying out of the way of the hand reaching for his shoulder. He pushes through the people, and reaches Hen just as they are getting the gurney lifted up onto its wheels.

He sees Tommy.

His shirt has been cut open and dark bruises are covering his torso from the man’s boots. His arm looks broken. His face— Buck sucks in a sharp breath— his face is unrecognizable. He wants to run to him, but he can’t move.

The jolt of the gurney locking into place causes him to stir. He groans and lolls his head to the side. “Easy there, Tommy.” Hen says, gently laying a hand on him so he doesn’t move.

“H- Hen?” Tommy turns his head towards her, but both of his eyes are so swollen and completely shut. “Oh god… Ev— B- Buck… he’s not here, is he? I don’t want him to see this…” His lip trembles and it takes the broken pieces of Buck’s heart and grounds them to dust.

Hen looks at Buck, and Buck shakes his head. “No, he— he was man behind for this one,” she lies. “He’s not here.”

Tommy breathes, it comes out haggard. “I– I’m so stupid, Hen… I- I was so scared and I hurt him. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to; I didn’t want to. ” Hen looks over the gurney at Buck. Buck still can’t move, he can’t speak, he can’t breathe. “I- I need to tell him I’m sorry. I was going to text him but— I can’t do it over a text…”

Hen encourages him to lie still, and save his energy. “You’ll get the chance to tell him Tommy,” she says, flicking her eyes to Buck.

“I– I love him, Hen… I want him back…”

Buck’s heart clenches; it feels like it's being ripped straight out of his chest. “I know you do,” Hen says softly, still looking at Buck. The gurney is taken away, towards the ambulance. Hen lags behind, walking over to Buck. “Well…” she says, offering a smile. “There’s your answer.” She rests her hand on Buck’s back and leads him out of the bar towards the ambulance.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #fuck it friday #answered asks #thank you bestie! <3

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iznsfw · 10 months ago

Text

Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away.

Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over.

Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—

“Vodka.”

“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit.

“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly.

Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink.

Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid.

Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook.

In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.

Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?

“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.

A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.

Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to.

Take your drink and thank Yuri.

The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything.

You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.

Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that.

Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.

Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way.

Loneliness?

You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.

The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb.

He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”

“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”

WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.

Their lives.

He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”

The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.

“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”

“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”

Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.

The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down”

Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.

The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.

Huh.

While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.

He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).

Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.

“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.

Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real.

Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?

Your table?

It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.

YENA.

Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.

The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.

Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human.

Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you.

“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute.

You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.”

“And that is?”

“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”

You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.

She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?”

Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.

“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”

How did you—how did she—

Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human.

“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”

Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in.

Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.”

“Only if you go first.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile.

Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?

You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?”

Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive. “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”

There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.

So no, you’re not buying it.

“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”

“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”

You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.

The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds.

That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.

“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”

“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”

Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.

Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”

Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.

“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?”

Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”

A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.

Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.

“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”

Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever.

“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”

It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”

You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.

She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”

Yena kneels.

There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.

So is your dignity.

Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes.

“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”

She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.

“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.

You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her.

You don’t.

The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?

Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer.

Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head.

Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—

“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”

At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.

You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them.

The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.

While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure.

“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.

Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.

Perfect hair, too, you note.

Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.

She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.

Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.

“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”

What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.

You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.

She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real.

“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”

You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.

This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.

“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I, uh…”

The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair.

“Well?”

The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly.

“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”

He stares at her.

“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”

You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?

His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.

“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”

The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases.

Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles.

She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.

Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up.

The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”

You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.

“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”

Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.

You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.

Stop in your tracks.

See the blood running down her arm.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?

“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”

You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding.

But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality?

To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?

“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”

Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this.

She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”

“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”

First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met.

Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”

Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.

She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap.

The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.

She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her.

You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had.

Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?

The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion.

“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.

Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.

You wouldn’t mind that.

Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.

And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.

“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”

“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”

Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her. You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness.

You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.

You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.

How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty.

She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity.

“Holy shit, Yena…”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”

Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.

Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.

“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before.

“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”

“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”

She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?

You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use.

“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.

Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust.

You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.

Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.

“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”

She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:

“Of course.”

Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?

Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her.

Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts.

Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs.

“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”

“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!”

Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.

The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.

The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.

Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”

Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears.

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?

Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before.

What the fuck?

Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.

Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive.

“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment.

The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—

“Chaewon?”

Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.

And yet here she is.

Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.

She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”

There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.

“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”

She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?

You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing.

“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.

You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.

This is the last time you ever want to hear from her.

A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.

She’s the last thing you ever heard.

614 notes · View notes

butterflyslinky · 14 days ago

Text

It's been seven months. They've seen each other on calls, but they keep up a mask of stiff professionalism if they have to talk at all.

But now Buck's sitting in a gay bar, looking for some fun the same way he does on every 48 off. His expectations are low. No one seems to want a real relationship, not that he's really trying for one, ad the sex is mediocre at best.

Because none of them are Tommy.

He's two drinks in when he hears a familiar laugh and turns. There's Tommy, sitting four stools down and talking to the bartender. Buck wonders how he missed him entering the bar, but it doesn't matter. What matters is Tommy is here, so close, and Buck...

Okay, he'd jumped the gun asking Tommy to move in. And everything he's said before that had been...not great. Thinking about it, it's no wonder Tommy had hit the brakes. Though he maybe could have asked to just take a break instead of ending it completely.

Though it would have gone the same way, probably.

Buck knocks back his last drink and stands. He's steady on his feet as he makes his way down the bar and plops himself into the empty seat next to Tommy

Tommy doesn't look shocked to see him. Not happy, either. Just kind of resigned. "Buck?"

"Don't," Buck says. "I don't want..." He grits his teeth to force back tears. "I think we need to talk."

"Why?" Tommy asks.

"Because I have things to say to you," Buck says. "And I'm not going to let you just walk out again."

He's said all those things, in texts that sat unanswered, voice messages that were probably deleted without being heard. This time, he wants to make sure Tommy hears.

"I don't have a lot of time tonight," Tommy says.

"Then I'll say it fast. You broke my heart, Tommy. You said you were my first but not my last...but you weren't my first. I've dated and broken up before, I know what relationships are. Just cause you're a dude doesn't mean it was any different. As to not being my last, well, I've had plenty in the last seven months and none of them are going to be my anything. I told you they can be the same thing, and I mean it. I don't want to be in love with anyone the way I'm in love with you."

"Evan..."

"And if you don't want me, fine, but just say that instead of giving me some bullshit about not wanting your heart broken. Because I can't break your heart, Tommy. Maybe it's been seven months, but I'm still in love with you, and I don't see that changing any time soon." Evan looks down for a moment. "So...I know I'm a lot. I know I said some dumb shit. And I know there's a lot I still don't know. But I do know I want you to come home with me, and you don't have to stay, but...I want to try again. Now that I know a little more."

Tommy's eyes are bright when Buck looks up. "I can't."

"What?"

"Evan, I can't come with you tonight. Or any night."

Buck's stomach sinks. "Is there someone else?"

"No," Tommy says. "No, just...I got a new job. In Seattle...they offered me a command. A chance to be captain...don't get much more brave and trailblazing than that, do you, being an openly gay fire captain." He swallows hard. "I'm leaving on Monday."

Buck stares. The world seems to be tilting, even though he hasn't had that much to drink. "Oh."

"I thought you would have heard," Tommy says. "It's been kind of big news around the department."

"Everyone's been extra delicate with me," Buck says. "They don't talk about you where they think I can hear." He forces a smile. "Congratulations...you deserve it."

"Yeah?" Tommy says.

"Yeah. I'm happy for you." Buck waves to the bartender. "Put his drinks on my tab."

"Evan..."

"Least I can do. Since...since it's really over."

Tommy nods, but he looks sad. "Yeah," he says. "I guess I can just...start again. And I guess you can, too."

"Yeah," Buck says. "I guess I can."

--------------

It's a stupid idea, but Buck's full of those. He knows that it'll probably end in disaster, that he'll end up crawling back with his tail between his legs again.

But he has to try.

The airport looks just the same as it had when he dropped Abby off all those years ago. The same was it had been when he'd watched her walk out of his life, only to be seen again when it was unavoidable.

He's not doing that now.

Tommy is easy to spot, in spite of the crowd, standing in the check-in line. Buck thinks it must be kismet, that he's on time. There had been several flights to Seattle today, and he just took his best shot.

"Tommy!"

Tommy turns, and his brow furrows when he sees Buck. "Evan?"

Buck pushes his way through the crown, suitcase heavy in his hand, until he reaches Tommy's side. Tommy looks him over, then down at the bag. "Evan, what..."

"I know you said it's over," Buck says. "And that you don't want to try this again. And if you tell me to leave right now, I will. But I couldn't take the chance that I'd never see you again, even if you don't want to be in my life. And don't worry about work, Bobby transferred me to a different station than the one you're commanding, and I have a place to stay until I can find an apartment, and I'll get a new car since I gave the Jeep back to Maddie, but..."

"Evan," Tommy interrupts. "Did you just upend your life to follow me to Seattle?"

"Yes," Evan says. "If you'll let me."

Tommy stares for a minute before he pulls Buck into a kiss. And this time, Buck really knows it will be forever.

#911 #bucktommy #ficlet

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andshesaidwhat · 5 months ago

Text

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Summary: Clay Beresford was one of Manhattan’s most notorious playboys. His name, and the money that came with it, garnered him a big reputation. Bored of the spotlight and in need of a distraction, Clay ventures to a hole-in-the-wall strip club in the Lower East Side. When he sees you walk out on that stage, he knows at once that you could be the one to rewrite his story.

Warnings: stripper!reader, playboy!Clay, reader works at a strip club and a lot of the story takes place there, descriptions of sex work, reader has a tragic backstory, mentions of abuse, mentions of homelessness, alcohol consumption, Clay doesn’t have heart problems, eventual smut, pining, angst, Clay has a savior complex, reader doesn’t know how to have non-transactional relationships.

Playlist / Masterlist

Clay Beresford nursed a glass of whiskey as he tried to tune out the droning of yet another young entrepreneur giving him a business pitch.

He went through the motions — nodding and humming, asking the occasional question, taking the knock-off business card — in hopes that they would be satisfied and leave him to his night.

All he wanted was to have a drink and relax, but everywhere he went he was bombarded by people who saw him as an opportunity instead of a person.

He supposed it came with the territory of carrying the Beresford name. He’d inherited an empire from his father, vile as he was, and essentially walked around with dollar signs flashing above his head.

He wasn’t ungrateful for his life, nor did he stray away from the benefits it gave him, he was just…frustrated. He never knew if the people in his life were there because they wanted to know him or because they wanted to know his money. More often than not, it was the latter.

He needed a distraction — something that made him feel a sense of normalcy for once. He finished the last of his whiskey, setting the empty glass down on the marble bar top. He offered a polite goodbye to the bartender and the scrambling businessman before grabbing his coat and walking out of the building.

His driver was already waiting for him outside and he climbed into the backseat of the black SUV, mumbling vague directions as he rubbed at his temples. The driver gave him an odd look in the rear view mirror, but didn’t question it as he drove off toward the Lower East Side.

Clay didn’t venture to this area of Manhattan often — hardly ever, actually — but, when he did, nobody ever noticed him. They had their own lives to deal with and didn’t need to be obsessed with his.

Maybe that was what was drawing him here this time. He wanted to be able to slink into the shadows, just for a little while.

As they drove, Clay watched the city pass from the car window. He cocked his head in interest as they passed a joint with a bright red sign flashing above it.

The Silk Rose.

A gentleman’s club. He snorted, doubting there were any gentlemen in there at all. Still, his interest was piqued. Maybe a night in a sleazy club watching girls dance around in lingerie was exactly what he needed.

He told his driver to park up the street a bit, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. With his hands in his pockets, he kept his head down as he made his way over to the entrance.

The windows and doors were blacked out, preventing any prying eyes from peeking in.

Perfect, he thought. This was just the kind of privacy he was looking for.

He grabbed the door handle, glancing up at the tagline written above his head.

Come on in and see Sal’s Dancing Girls!

The night had been slower for you than usual.

There were the regulars, sitting in their normal spots, but you’d barely broken $250 and hadn’t gotten a single private room booking. Granted, private dances certainly weren’t your favorite part of the job, but they were what made the big bucks. You could handle a creep or two if it meant your bills were paid.

You sat in the dressing room backstage, touching up your makeup and rubbing at your feet that were from the tall heels you wore as you waited for your next set. The area was bustling with the other dancers, all in different states of undress and disarray.

You didn’t mind what you did. You liked dancing — although you’d thought you’d be pursuing dance in a different direction than where you’d ended up. You weren’t forced into this life, like some of the others. You were here by choice. It just maybe wasn’t your first choice.

You were confident in it, though. You knew how to work a room. You knew how to manipulate sleazy men into emptying their wallets. You were always in control.

You certainly didn’t need anyone to save you.

You heard the last song of the previous dancer’s set end and took one more look in the mirror. You removed your robe and adjusted the skimpy costume before taking a deep breath and walking toward the back of the stage.

Showtime.

Clay sat at the bar, prying his glass up from the sticky table and taking a sip as one of the dancers exited the stage. He watched as the workers swept up the money that had been thrown, gathering it into a bag before bringing it to the back.

She’d been fine. Her set was pretty par for the course as far as Clay could expect. He’d still found himself zoning out or focusing more on his drink than her dancing.

After the stage was fully cleared off, the lights dimmed to a deep red as a new song started. It was like the energy in the room shifted. Suddenly, everyone was waiting with bated breath as the next dancer took the stage.

Clay sat up straighter in his seat, setting his glass down as the spotlight hit the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was captivated, mesmerized. Even the way you walked was enticing. He leaned forward, hanging on to every move you made.

He wasn’t the only one, either. You had the entire room wrapped around your finger.

Clay watched as you worked the stage, feeling the energy from the crowd. Then, you began to dance.

He felt breathless. His heart was pounding beneath his chest. The way you moved was like a song in and of itself. You were the music. Your movements told a story and he was very, very curious to unravel it.

You fell into the rhythmic routine, working the stage like you owned it — and, in that moment, you did. The lights warmed your skin as you moved your body to the sensual beat of the music, putting on a tantalizing show of removing bits of your costume until you were left in lingerie.

You scanned the audience, as you normally did, looking for anyone who seemed easy to reel in. People would be surprised at how many extra tips you get when the lonely people in the crowd think you’ve noticed them. However, this time, your eyes landed on one man in particular.

You hadn’t seen him at this club before, but he looked vaguely familiar — and devilishly handsome. He seemed to be transfixed on you, so you let your eyes stay locked with his.

The crystalline blue pulled you in, but there was something else about the way he was looking at you. You were used to stares of lust, envy, even ownership — but he was gazing at you with pure interest. The kind of interest that went beyond physical attraction. He wasn’t just watching you take your clothes off. He was watching you dance.

As the music of your last song faded out you gave the crowd a grin and a wave, winking at the handsome stranger before exiting the stage.

You walked back to your vanity, plopping down in the chair with a tired huff. One of the staff members brought you the bag with your tips and you sorted through it, counting the bills. It wasn’t bad, but it could’ve been better.

You groaned, tired of the slow night, and glanced at the clock. There was only a little over an hour left in your shift.

“What’s wrong, babycakes?”

You turned your head to face the dancer whose vanity was next to yours. She had her chin propped on her hand as she looked at you, her bright pink hair pinned to the top of her head.

Frenchie was the name she went by. She was the only dancer that ever had actual conversations with you. She was nice, if a bit eccentric, and you were grateful for the friendly face.

“Just a slow night, French,” you sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

She scoffed, taking a drag of a cigarette as she said, “Shit, doll. If it’s a slow night for you then it’s a wasteland for the rest of us.”

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, please,” Frenchie sigh, playfully rolling her eyes. “You’re the fan favorite, babes. Everyone here knows it. That’s why I’m the only one who talks to you.”

You swatted your hand at her with a laugh, shaking your head as you smiled. You spotted your boss, Sal, walking up behind you in your mirror and you tilted your head back to look at him.

“Someone’s requesting you,” he said, gruff as always.

“See?” Frenchie said, sticking her tongue out at you.

You stuck your tongue out back at her before turning back to Sal. “Who is it?”

“Does it matter? He’s paying,” he grunted, shrugging as he rolled his eyes. “It’s room four.”

Sal walked out of the dressing room as you touched up your hair and makeup, glancing over at Frenchie as she prepared to go do her set on stage.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she said, smacking your ass as she walked past you.

“Knock ‘em dead, French,” you called out after her, laughing softly.

You took a deep, steadying breath as you walked down the long hallway, readying yourself to face whatever greaseball would be waiting for you. This was where you made the most money, it just also happened to be the part you hated the most.

You stopped outside of the door labeled with the big number 4 and gave a silent plea to whatever was out there that this would go by smoothly.

To your delight, you didn’t see any of the sleazy regulars when you opened the door. Instead, you saw the handsome stranger who had been watching you so intently during your set.

A sultry smile pulled at your lips as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t supposed to enjoy these sessions — this was work, after all, and you were doing a job — but it didn’t hurt when the clients looked this pretty.

“I was hoping it was you that requested me,” you said, walking into the room with a sway of your hips.

It was true, but you would’ve said it regardless. That was the job. Make them feel seen and important so that they handed over more money.

The handsome stranger’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you, seeming to relax into the moment.

“I’m happy not to let you down, then,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Please, join me.”

He gestured over to a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice by the plush leather couch. His gaze lingered on you as you walked into the room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. He felt a sense of excitement building within him — an anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your eyes almost widened. Champagne? You were lucky to get so much as a polite introduction when you worked these rooms. You hadn’t ever had a customer provide refreshments. By the looks of the bottle, it wasn’t the cheap kind either.

Who was this man and why did he feel so familiar?

“So, tell me,” he said, pouring some of the champagne into a glass and offering it to you, “what’s your name?”

You kept up your performance facade, taking the glass from him and batting your lashes.

“It’s in poor form to ask personal details of the dancers,” you tutted, a teasing smile adorning your lips. “You can call me Cherry.”

All of the dancers had names that you went by. Yours just so happened to be Cherry. The name held a certain significance to you and you were grateful for the protection of identity — in more ways than one.

“Ah, Cherry,” he smiled, the name sitting nicely on his tongue. “I like that. I’m Clay.”

He paused for a moment, studying you as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction. When he didn’t get one, he nodded with a small smile and relaxed into the couch.

“I hope you enjoy the champagne,” he said, bringing his own glass to his lips. “I thought it might make you more comfortable while we…talk.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, taking a sip of the delicious bubbles. People who rented these rooms didn’t usually want to talk. They wanted you to dance and wanted to see how far they could bend the rules.

There were certain rules that you and the customers had to follow. Neither the dancers nor the customers could be fully nude, the customers and the dancers could not touch each other, and under no circumstances could the dancers maintain personal or intimate relationships with the customers.

Clay seemed…different. He was tempting in all of the wrong ways. You knew you had to tread carefully.

“So, Cherry,” Clay began, throwing an arm across the back of the couch, “what do you like to do for fun?”

A playful smirk pulled at your lips as you asked, “Is this not fun?”

Clay’s eyes lit up at your question and he laughed — a deep, rich sound.

“Oh, it’s definitely fun,” he said, smiling, “but I was thinking more along the lines of getting to know you. I’d love to learn more about you.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “If you’re willing to share, of course.”

Getting to know you? This guy books a stripper to get to know her?

“Respectable,” you nodded. “Most people just book me to see how close they can get to touching me. You can’t, by the way. Touch me, that is. It’s strictly against the rules.”

You set your champagne glass down on the table and walked over to the stereo to turn on some slow, sensual music.

“You paid for an hour long dance, so I’d be doing a poor job if I didn’t comply,” you said, sauntering back over to him.

You should’ve just started dancing and stuck to your job, but his pretty eyes were so intrigued that you couldn’t say no to him.

“How about this,” you offered, “you ask questions while I dance. Deal?”

Clay’s eyes gleamed with delight as he nodded, clearly pleased with himself.

“Deal,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Oh, and Cherry?”

He set his glass down before leaning back into the couch with a grin.

“I have to warn you, I’m not very good at following rules.”

You placed your hands on the cushion behind his head, leaning over him as you swayed your hips.

“If you want to keep the session going, you’d better be,” you whispered, warning in your tone. “Otherwise, the fun would be over. So keep your hands by your sides, pretty boy.”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, but he obediently placed his hands at his sides.

“Oh, I’ll be good,” he promised. “I wouldn’t want the fun to stop.”

He trailed his gaze over your figure, watching as you danced.

“Back to my original question, Cherry,” he said, flicking his eyes back up to yours. “What do you like to do when you aren’t…dancing?”

You stood up again, seductively twirling and swaying to the beat as you thought about the question.

You weren’t sure how much you wanted to reveal to him. He was still just a pretty face — a very tempting pretty face. He wasn’t the first person to come in here with delusions of grandeur. You didn’t want him to reel you in.

“I like to read,” you said, rolling your hips. “I like to watch cheesy romance movies, and I’m a damn good cook.”

His eyes sparkled with interest as you answered, his gaze never leaving yours.

“A woman of many talents,” he murmured, a soft smile on his face. He leaned forward slightly as he asked, “What kind of romance movies do you like to watch?”

“The ones with every cliche in the book,” you grinned, swirling around to the music. “I want the sappy love confessions, the angsty miscommunication, and the big fight that leads to the romantic kiss in the rain.”

You leaned over him again, rotating your hips as you bent down to whisper in his ear, “and it’s gotta have a good sex scene.”

Clay’s gaze darkened at your words, his breathing quickening. He felt a surge of desire course through his veins and he had to force himself to remain still, to not reach out and touch you.

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

You laughed softly in his ear, leaning back up as you continued dancing.

“That kind of thing only exists in fiction, pretty boy,” you said, trying not to sound bitter.

He smiled, cocking his head to the side with a small laugh.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice dripping with skepticism, “but I think there’s something to be said for the idea that two people can just click, you know?”

He leaned toward, his eyes locked onto yours as he said, “I think maybe we click, Cherry.”

You scoffed, an amused smile etched into your features as you rolled your eyes.

“Do you know how many people come here and claim they fell in love with me? People pay me to give them a show, and I deliver. It’s all transactional. I’m in the business of temporarily filling the vacant holes in people’s lives.”

Clay’s eyes never left yours, his expression tense with something that bordered understanding.

“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice serious. “I’m not naive enough to think that we’re anything more than what we are here tonight…but sometimes, Cherry, I think people need a little bit of fantasy. Just for tonight, let’s forget about life and reality outside of these walls. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company, okay?”

A pretty face that spoke pretty words.

Damn him.

“Fine,” you obliged, smiling despite yourself. “Still, no touching, but you can carry on with your questions.”

“Excellent,” he said, his eyes sparkling with triumph as his mouth curled into a satisfied grin. “What’s the most memorable performance you’ve ever given?”

You smiled, playfully, and responded, “Seventh grade ballet recital, hands down. Not a dry eye in the house.”

“Seventh grade, huh?” Clay chuckled. “I never would’ve guessed. What made it so memorable?”

A fond smile graced your lips as you let your mind reminisce on a memory you didn’t usually let yourself wander to.

“I used to have really terrible stage fright. I’d get under the lights and I’d just freeze. I had been working really hard all year on this solo and I got selected to perform in the recital. Right as I went on stage, I forgot every piece of choreography. I was so panicked, I wanted to run off the stage and hide. Then, I heard the music start and I just…danced. I let the music move me. To this day, it’s still the freest I’ve ever felt.”

You shook your head, instantly regretting the vulnerability.

“Never mind that, though,” you laughed. “You think everything is world changing when you’re that age.”

Clay’s eyes softened, his expression becoming more contemplative. “I think that’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “The fact that you were able to find freedom in that moment, despite your fears and doubts…it’s truly inspiring.” He paused, his gaze lingering on yours. “I think that’s what makes human connection so powerful. We can be ourselves, without apology, and find freedom in that vulnerability.” The skin by his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “Speaking of which, Cherry…do you believe everyone has a story worth telling?”

“I think there are stories to be found everywhere, if you look hard enough,” you shrugged, refilling his champagne glass.

“Ah, a philosopher, too,” he smirked, his voice ripe with amusement. “I think you might be the most fascinating person I’ve met in a very long time.”

He thought for a moment as he took the champagne glass, then said, “Would you like to hear a story, Cherry?”

“A dance for a story,” you pondered. “I think that’s a fair transaction.”

Clay’s eyes lit up with excitement as he sipped his drink. “Excellent,” he grinned, settling back into the couch. “I’ve always loved the story of Romeo and Juliet. The passion, the tragedy, the love that consumed them both. Imagine if Romeo and Juliet lived in modern times, Cherry. Would they still fall in love? Would they still meet the same fate?”

“I think Romeo and Juliet were two horny teenagers, too naive for their own good,” you smirked, swaying to the music.

Your movements absentmindedly transitioned from sensual to holding the essence of his storytelling as he spoke.

“Ah, but that’s what makes their story so tragic,” he countered, shaking his head. “Their naivety is what drives them to take such reckless risks, to chase after a love that seems impossible. Yet, despite the danger, despite the obstacles, despite the fact that they come from different worlds…they still manage to find each other, to connect on a deeper level. Don’t you think that’s what makes love so intoxicating?”

He paused, his gaze searching yours before he laughed softly and said, “Or am I just a hopeless romantic?”

“You’re hopeless, alright,” you joked, despite the fact that his words managed to pang your heart.

You did not fall in love. You didn’t even think about love. One stranger’s pretty words weren’t going to change that. This was transactional.

His stories were so compelling, though…

You leaned over him again, bringing your face as close to his as you could without making contact.

“You know what I think?” You whispered, glancing down at his lips. “I think our time is up.”

The clock rang, signaling that the hour was over. You straightened up and stepped back, giving him one last wink.

“Thanks for the story, pretty boy.”

Clay’s face seemed to fall with disappointment as you pulled away from him, but his voice remained smooth and charming.

“Until next time, Cherry.”

As you left the room and returned to your vanity, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. His words lingered with you, throwing you off balance.

You gathered your things and changed into your regular clothing, clocking out at the back door. As you were about to leave, Sal stopped you and handed you a wad of cash.

“Here,” he said, “for the private room.”

You’d been so caught up in the moment with Clay that you hadn’t even stopped to think about the fact that you didn’t get a single dollar from him.

You thumbed through the cash, expecting to see the usual earnings of maybe $50 or so. Your eyes widened as you counted out $1,000.

He’d tipped you that much? What kind of man was he?

Normally, you didn’t any of the customers a second thought once you were away from work, but this one wouldn’t worm his way out of your head.

Damn these men and their pretty words and ideas of love and fate. That was a life you had left behind.

Once you’d returned home to your apartment, you showered the day off of your skin and changed into more comfortable clothing. You made yourself a quick dinner before settling into your couch and flicking the television on.

The screen lit up in the middle of some story on a celebrity gossip channel. You were only half listening as you ate your food, your mind still reeling from the events that had occurred with the handsome stranger. You couldn’t shake that something still felt so familiar about him.

Your ears perked up at the sound of a name that struck a chord deep within you. Your jaw dropped as you glanced up at the screen, seeing those dazzling blue eyes and his crinkled smile.

The reporters voice rang out about the youngest CEO Manhattan had ever seen as your heart sank to your feet.

Holy shit.

The handsome stranger was Clay fucking Beresford.

#smut #fanfiction #hayden christensen smut #smutrequests #clay beresford smut #clay beresford #clay beresford x reader

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an-idyllic-novelist · 10 months ago

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Husk with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario

warnings: aged-up!reader [early to late twenties], spoilers for episode 4 to the season finale, mentions of physical abuse and attempted drugging, violence, Husk's language, dismemberment, mentions of cannibalism.

Hey guys, and welcome to another Hazbin Hotel fics, this time featuring our grumpy bartender and one of my favorite characters, Husk! :) This is a collaborated project with not just @isuckatwritingsobenice, but also with @vikkirosko, @witch-of-the-writing-desk, and @riddle-simp, who gave me honest feedback on the rough drafts and how to make it the best fic I could create before sharing it with the world.

If you would like to see more of Husk x Violet, please do let me know know in the comments section or as an ask! Like always, bullying is not tolerated here so if there is any implication of it happening here, this scenario will be taken down immediately. If you have nothing nice to say, do not say it at all.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see who will win the full house at the card tables tonight :)

Reblog to support content creators!

Husk isn’t gonna deny it. It ain’t like him to deny the truth when it’s staring at him right in the fucking face. He thinks you are a little bit of an oddball. You don’t smile, you wear the same outfit every day, and you don’t eat much either unless Niffty practically drags you to the staff’s dining room from wherever she found you hiding. Normally, it’s one of two places: out in the backyard, or the greenhouse, because you’re the hotel’s groundskeeper. And that was on your days off.

Like Angel, you worked for an overlord, but your boss wasn’t that shitbag Valentino or Vox or Velvette. Your boss is Rosie, the owner of Rosie’s Emporium in the Cannibal Colony. You were her personal secretary. You had been on her payroll for over ten years, working from nine to five unless you had to stay later. She did not seem to mind you staying at the hotel so long as it did not affect her reputation or your work ethic in any way.

So far you’ve kept your word. Alastor actually seemed to be happy that you were around.

Maybe. Husk couldn’t fucking tell what that son of a bitch is thinking anymore. But back to you.

You, who believed in Charlie’s work.

You, who participated in each activity and helped around without getting paid for your time.

You, the expressionless ex-military soldier, has been on his mind recently and he did not like it.

He lost the ability to feel anything years ago.

Nonetheless he continued to observe you from afar. When you weren’t busy with watering plants, you were seen in different parts around the hotel with the others.

You would sit with the princess in the parlor, comparing ideas on what tomorrow’s group exercise should be, even when the only two ideas you’ve suggested were shot down immediately by Charlie. She didn’t like the idea of group bonding through hand-to-hand combat but loved the concept of showing appreciation to one another through handwritten letters. Vaggie approved the former. The latter? Not so much.

In the kitchen you would go through the cookbook with Niffty and Alastor, trying to decide on tonight’s dinner. They allowed you to help out, at least when it didn’t involve cracking eggs. Apparently you were not very good at separating the yolk.

When Sir Pentious was away from the hotel doing God knows what, he trusted you to look after the Egg Bois until he got back. You kept them busy around the greenhouse though they tended to make a bit of a mess.

Angel started to work extra late at the studio after his show and tell presentation. Something about making a big commercial and Val wanted to make big bucks on this new product that the Vees were launching in a week. You must have noticed that something was off about him, but you didn’t say anything to him. No words of encouragement, no comforting hand on his shoulder. All you did was clench your gloved hands into fists, watching him leave and…unsure of yourself. What you should do.

Husk heard you asking Niffty what were some of the kid’s favorite foods about that time, and she was more than happy to help you with whatever it was you needed as long as you left the kitchen sparkling when you were done. You were concerned about the kid. Least from what he could remember. He drank a lot that day.

When he woke up much later after falling asleep at the bar, hearing your footsteps descend down the grand staircase and towards the kitchen. Groggily, probably stupidly on his part, Husk thought it would be a great idea to know what the fuck you were up to so early in the morning. Turns out you were trying to cook something, judging from how you looked at the ratty cookbook propped up on the counter and the wide array of ingredients spread out.

He saw you cook finely chopped onions, garlic, and minced ground meat in the large frying pan on the left side of the stove. You stirred something in a smaller sauce pan on the right side with a wooden spoon. He saw you handle all of the ingredients with great care, placing them in a baking dish even when you weren’t wearing your leather gloves. A small shudder crawled down his spine at how the kitchen lights bounced off of the adamantium skeletal prosthetics that acted as your hands.

He didn’t even wanna know how exactly you lost them in the Great War.

Everything was soon laid out, layer by layer and placed in the oven. He didn’t know he stood there for so long, even when you began to clean up the kitchen with a rag. Time ticked by slowly, and then a delicious aroma tickled his nose even as he took another swing of the half-filled booze bottle he was holding. He was about to leave you alone, knowing you’d be fine when he saw you pull out the dish with your hands and no oven mittens on, you fucking moron! Then his mind remembered something that stopped him from making an entrance. You couldn’t feel anything with your prosthetics, not even as you placed it on the stove top to let it sit.

A couple of hours later - maybe he can’t keep track of time anymore so it might have been the following morning - he saw you giving Angel a large paper bag every morning before both of you left the hotel, and telling him to have a good day.

Angel grudgingly thanked you later on that evening when he got back…though did say your garlic bread needed some work. The next day, he gave you a paper bag, telling you to taste real Italian grub and try to replicate it.

Guess it became a game between the two of you, ‘cause Angel was slowly being someone real and not some fake whiny bitch.

As odd as you are….you cared about everyone in your own way, even when the words that came out of your mouth angered someone or made them cry, you tried. You never asked for help unless it was necessary, trying to learn everything on your own. And you were smart, Husk will give you that.

And he…he doesn’t know if he had the heart to tell you that redemption might not be possible. Unlike him, you still carried a spark of hope. You believe in the princess. He doesn’t want to be the one to see you reach your breaking point, to be dragged into a swamp of despair and get drowned in all sorts of addictions to cope with the pain. He was…anxious. No. He was scared for you. He wanted to help you but he was afraid that by intervening, he would just make matters worse.

It was better to just stick to the sidelines with a bottle of booze and watch everything happen like the bartender Alastor wanted him to be, right? Well, turns out he was wrong.

One night after he made Angel a drink and called him out on his bullshit for being fake, the whiny little bitch stormed out of the hotel. Vaggie tried to make him go out and bring him out, but Charlie intervened. All she asked him was to make sure that Angel was okay. Do not force him to come back if he isn't ready. Obviously judging from the distraught look on her face, something happened between the princess and Angel.

Husk did not know what or why, and he really did not want to play the role of a goddamned babysitter. Not when it was actually a slow evening and he didn’t have to hear these fucks bitch and moan for hours on end. But Vaggie’s glare, knowing Alastor would force him to do it because he fucking can and not knowing what would happen if he actually violated the terms of their contract, he left the hotel. The first place he went to were the streets. No luck. And no one had seen him. When he moved his search to the bars, he spotted Angel going inside one of them.

Long story short, he was going to hang back and just keep an eye on Angel getting drunk off his ass with some shady sharks in a corner booth until he saw one of them pour something into Angel’s drink. He took care of the fucker, got Angel out, and listened to him. Angel Dust was not just an act. It’s who he needs to be. Drinking and getting high is his escape. He wants to be damaged so that he won’t be Val’s favorite toy anymore.

Then when it seemed like they came to an understanding with a song, those bastards opened fire on the streets, targeting him and wanting Angel to come back to have some ‘fun’. Yeah, fuck no.

That was when he heard car tires screeching against the asphalt, doors opening and closing with more shouting. Husk gritted his teeth. “Shit.” He turned to Angel. “Stay down. I’ll take care of this.” He pulled out his cards, ready to hop onto the roof of the pink Volkswagen they were hiding when he heard a shnk, a high pitched squeal, then a gurgle.

THUD.

Shnk.

THUD.

C-crack.

THUD.

“Who the fuck is this bitch?! Kill her, kill her you stupid asshats!”

“Holy shit, toots?! The fuck - why is she here?!” Angel cried. Husk raised his brow, craning his head as far as he could without being in range of a bullet to see what was going on. There were only two people Angel called toots and he was pretty damned sure they were back at the hotel, safe and sound. Not one of them blitzing across the street, dodging bullets and slicing enemies down with a hunter’s knife in one hand, a large carpet bag in the other.

He blinked. Nope. He was sober. Shit. He thought as you weaved between the shitheads, disarming, decapitating, and snapping their necks in no particular order. You weren’t exaggerating when you said you were a weapon for the army. When he saw a flash of movement from the smaller grunt, twirling a knife and aiming it for your head as you pumped lead into his friend, Husk made his move. Hopping onto top of the car and threw his cards. One cleanly sliced the asshole’s neck.

He quickly made through the growing crowd, running towards you as he threw some dice into a hammerhead’s mouth. But when he turned his back towards them, he felt something light and strong coil around his neck, cutting off his air supply.

Fuck. Garroting wire! Husk flailed around scratching, kicking, and trying to get loose but the fucker was too damned strong. Black spots began to appear in the corner of his eyes when he felt a white hot stinging pain graze his left cheek, then something warm and sticky with a metallic scent. Blood.

The body behind him dropped, and so did he, yanking the wire off him and inhaling deep gulps of precious oxygen. Husk looked up and saw Angel with a shit-eating grin and a Tommy Gun in his upper hands.

“Eat lead, sucker!” The porn star cackled, firing several more bullets into the corpse and his buddies that were closing in on them. Angel grinned at him, extending a hand to help him up.”I told ya. I can handle myself, baby.” Husk felt a grin stretching his own face as the fella pulled out more weapons with more arms. Well….not something he was expecting.

Between the three of them, they made quick work with the rest of the gang and their reinforcements. Like him and Angel, you were covered in grime and blood but you were all right.

“Are you two all right?” You asked as you wiped off the blood from your knife with a handkerchief, the carpet bag by your feet and in pristine condition. “No limbs missing that weren’t missing before you arrived?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Angel said, putting away his guns and extra limbs. “More importantly, why the fuck are you out here instead of the hotel?!” He interrogated, his voice lowering an octave as he glared at you, stomping towards you. Before Husk could stop him, Angel grabbed your cheeks with his hands and pinched them. “You know these streets are dangerous, toots! How many times do Vags and I gotta tell ya?! Come straight home when you’re done with work!” Then he blinked, his face turning white, his eyes widening in horror. “Toots,” He said slowly. “Y-you ain’t hooking up with anyone around here, are ya?!” He yelled, now pulling your cheeks outwards as if you were a cartoon character.

You didn’t flinch from the cheek pinching or pulling; instead, you looked at him in slightly confusion. “I don’t understand. What does fishing have anything to do with this except that these men were quite literally loan sharks standing outside a nautical-themed bar?” You asked.

“Toots.” Angel said warningly. “If you don’t give me a straight answer, I swear to fucking God I am going to yeet you off a rooftop.”

“ ‘Yeet’?” You repeated.

“[First Name], just tell us why you’re here.” Husk said, already feeling a headache coming on and in need of a drink. You turned your attention to him, then back at Angel before you spoke.

“Rosie sent me out on a last-minute errand to get fertilizer for her plants. But by the time I got there, the shop was already closed. I was on my way home when I heard the gunshots, and saw the two of you being pinned down. I was not going to leave my comrades behind when I could help them. So I did. And now,” You looked over at the bodies strewn across the street. “I have what I need. Two birds with one stone, as Rosie says.”

“Ya mean ‘kill two birds with one stone’, toots?”

“Yes.”

“So, by fertilizer, ya mean these schmucks that we just totally obliterated.”

“Yes.”

“Food for plants.”

“Carnivorous plants. And if the fertilizer is fresh, the better it is for them. Rosie loves her plants very much.” You said, pulling away from Angel and grabbed the carpet bag off of the ground, walking towards the nearest body. “If you do not want to be here, I suggest you leave quickly.” You knelt down, laying the bag down and opened it, laying out assorted tools. Bone saws, knives, a large roll of plastic wrap, etc. “Rosie says I have gotten much quicker at dismemberment.” You carefully peeled off your gloves, replacing them with gray surgical ones.

Husk glanced at Angel, eyebrow raised. It seemed like they were thinking the same thing because the latter spoke up with a toothy grin.

“Baby, I was a mobster long before I was a porn star. ‘Sides, hacking up a body all by yourself is gonna take you all night. Better to have more hands to get the job neater an’ faster, am I right Whiskers?”

Husk smirked. “Can’t argue with that, Legs. Guess you’re stuck with us until this job is done. You got another bone saw in that bag of yours?” He asked with a grin, somehow…happy to actually be doing this. Who would have thought a new friendship started with cleaning up bodies?

You stared at them for a moment, obviously stunned because you must have thought they’d leave you here alone, before you pulled out two more bone saws and more rubber gloves. Your instructions were simple enough: the severed pieces couldn't be any bigger than your body, and they needed to be wrapped up tightly in the plastic wrapping or else you’d have to pay a hefty cleaning bill to get the blood out of the bottom of the bag. Angel’s extra limbs came in handy for the latter task. Between the three of you, quick work was made with the dead loan sharks and everything was loaded inside the carpet bag, and no one was the wiser. This was Hell, after all. Cannibalism, gun fights, and dismemberment was commonplace in these parts.

You thanked him and Angel profusely, bowing your head to them before you shyly asked if they would be interested in getting a bite to eat. To Angel’s knowledge, the closest place that is still open late at night is Devil’s Diner, which is half a block from Jackpot, the casino Husk had owned from his glory days as an overlord. The food wasn’t too bad there, and cheap too.

Now that he thought about it, Husk had worked up more of an appetite after the fight and so did Angel. Better to do that than trying to cook something and waking up Niffty. So, the three of you went to Devil’s Diner. Of course, you tried to just have a cup of coffee, but neither he nor Angel were having it. Conditioning your body to minimize nutrients to complete a mission, his ass.

Both he and Angel persuaded you to try the day’s special with some water plus dessert. Whatever you couldn’t finish, get a to-go box. Husk himself ordered a sandwich with chips. Angel got pancakes, sausage, strawberries, and a strong drink because he fucking deserved it.

Conversation started slow at first, but as the orders were placed and drinks were served by their waiter, words were exchanged, and stories were shared. Angel revealed he had a little brother and more family down here, though he rarely talked to them anymore after getting into the show biz. Husk confessed that he used to be a magician in Las Vegas, showing off a trick with his cards.

They shared a good laugh over Val’s shitty eyesight. It shouldn’t take thirty minutes to count three bills, but it fucking did for the moth man.

You told them that you were once commissioned to help a playwright finish his newest script after being on a hiatus for many years, but he had been a difficult man to work with because he had no interest in doing anything else except drinking his days away. You had actually acted out a scene on the lake where the hero would journey home to be reunited with her father after vanquishing a monster. That was when you began to understand how grief affects people in different ways…and how your actions affected the people you had killed on the battlefield. People who had families and had one-day wishes that would never be fulfilled because they died by your hand. You are here in Hell because you are, you were, a weapon to be used in war. Reconnecting with people, with your emotions…it’s a lot harder than you thought it would be.

“That’s what being human is all about.” Husk said. “Ya make mistakes, ya regret the choices ya wish ya would have made, or should’ve made, and ya need to live with it.” He knew that better than anyone.

“The old timer’s got a point but look at how far you’ve come!” Angel exclaimed, spreading his arms out as he began listing all the good things you have done and accomplished since you came to the hotel, though you still needed to learn how to bake real Italian bread, not just heat up the cheap frozen ones in the oven. Husk silently agreed with him, taking another swing of his whiskey. In the end, you got a to-go box, but Angel said he could take it back with him to the hotel. You still needed to deliver the body parts to your cannibal superior and Husk said he’d go with you. But you insisted that you would be fine on your own, and that he and Angel should get some rest.

“Rosie will not let me stay long in the emporium with how late it already is. She’s very particular about keeping the lights on after business hours.” You said, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards into a frown as your gaze fell upon his wings. “Husk…you were twitching a little and I heard your spine crack earlier, and your voice sounded a little raspy. I do not know what the cause of your ailments beyond the scuffle with those loan sharks could be because I am not a doctor…but it would be better if you and Angel took it easy for the rest of the night.”

Keep in mind that Husk had once been an overlord. Yes, he’s been out of the game for a while, he won’t deny it. But he was not going to admit that you might be right. “There’s nothin’ to worry about, I’ll be fine. If I can handle a fight, taking you where you need to go will be a walk in the park.” He grumbled, ignoring Angel’s snickering.

He watched you raise your hand, fingers outstretched towards one of his wings, and then you pulled it away to clench your hand into a loose fist. Husk saw your hesitancy isn’t because you were disgusted at the sight of them, or his appearance. Hell, you had more bloodstains on your clothes than him and Angel combined. No. You were hesitating because you were afraid that your touch might hurt him, or make the pain he was feeling worse.

Husk grinned as he grabbed your wrist, pulling it forward and carefully coiling the gloved fingers around the outer part of the left wing near his forearm to give it a squeeze. “See?” He flexed the muscles. “I’m fine. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” It took him a second to realize how impulsive his actions were, seeing how your eyes widened and hearing Angel release a low, teasing whistle, muttering “Kinky~!” under his breath. Great. The kid wasn’t going to let this go, not even after a few drinks. Shit. Fuck.

He tried to ignore the warmth flooding his face as he kept his gaze on you until you nodded your head, removing your hand from his wing. You were convinced that he was more than fine to accompany you back to Cannibal Colony, at least for the moment. You turned to Angel. “Are you going to be okay, heading back to the hotel on your own?”

Angel smiled toothily. “Toots, you should know me by now. Sex isn’t the only thing I’m good at.” He winked, holding up the to-go boxes as he turned on his heel, waving his extra hands over his shoulder. “See ya back at the bar! Ya still owe me a drink, Husker~!” Now that he left the diner, it was time for the two of you to make your exit.

You walked down the steps and looked at him. “Ready?”

Husk nodded. “Yeah.” He then held out his paw to you. “Let’s get going.” You nodded, placing your hand in the center of his own, covering the golden-heart shaped paw before he scooped you up in his arms, one claw under your legs and the other around your shoulders. You stared at him.

“What-”

“Hang on tight.” Husk did not give you a chance to respond, unfurling his wings to their full length before putting all of his weight on his back leg, catapulting the two of you into the crimson skies of the Pride Ring. Walking was fine and all, but as you mentioned, it was already pretty late. Why waste more time when he could fly there?

So here you were, held like a princess with one arm wrapped around the carpet bag and your hand placed on his shoulder. But instead of screaming your head off or pleading with him to land somewhere, your attention was elsewhere. You were captivated with the multi-colored pin pricks of light down below, your mouth partly open and [Eye Color] irises widened by a fraction. It was obvious that you hadn’t seen Hell from above. Or maybe you hadn’t traveled by air before. Either way, seeing such an expression on your face, one that wasn’t calm or expressionless like a doll who lived by someone else’s order.

You looked like a living, breathing human who had her own thoughts and could find beauty in the most bizarre of places.

It almost made Husk consider extending this flight for a little longer until he realized he’d have to explain to you in great detail as to why he did decide to do it. So he brushed it off, and followed your instructions to your destination.

Twenty minutes later, the two of you arrived at the stone steps leading up to the glass double doors of Rosie’s Emporium. The dimly lit streets were mostly empty, the bars were still open and echoed with raucous laughter and jazz. It was tempting to slip inside there for a drink, but Husk wasn’t too keen on being around cannibalistic drunks. Alcoholic he might be, he wasn’t that stupid. And he didn’t want you to get in trouble with the overlord who ran this place. She was your boss, not his.

He watched you put a hand into your coat pocket and pulled out a small golden key. You put it in the dead bolt, twisting it to the left before pushing the door open. “Miss Rosie?” You called out, stepping inside the darkened establishment. “Miss Rosie, it is me. I am back.”

A moment of silence enveloped the place, but only briefly because soon a tall, thin woman in a burgundy dress with an oversized hat and feathers materialized in front of you. She was at least two or three heads taller than you, smiling down with rows of sharp, gray teeth and pitch black orbs. “Oh there you are, I was startin’ to really get worried! Did John give you everything for my precious little sprouts?”

You quickly explained what had happened, how you could not see John because he had closed the shop by the time you got there but the fertilizer you collected from a gun fight you got into and came out victorious should be more than enough. Rosie was all but delighted, twirling in a small circle as she cooed.

“Ohh, I knew it was a good idea to hire you from the moment you came for the interview! I wish I could’ve seen you at work, using that bone saw and hacking away at corpses, but there’s always another day~! You know how many people come in wishing to have their husbands or wives ripped from limb to limb, at least the ones that taste bad! Ah?” She stopped dancing, craning her long neck to stare at him. “Who’s this you brought with you, [First Name]?” She looked over her shoulder, wagging a finger at you with a raised brow. “Come now, I know I said I wanted you to find a good fella someday, but this one’s way too scruffy for you and you’re much too young for him! Oh, I’m just kidding, I know you’re dedicated to your job! Well? Introduce us!”

You did, introducing him to the overlord as Husk and the hotel’s bartender. Alastor must have told her about him because she immediately called him ‘Alastor’s kitty cat’ and ‘how he used to be such a sophisticated-looking fella until he gambled against Alastor’. She laughed. “Well, small world, after all! [First Name], be a dear and take that bag into the back, will you? I’ll feed the little monsters myself, and you can go home! Oh, did you want some pinky fingers to go? I’ve got plenty of them and you probably didn’t eat dinner again, am I right?”

“Understood. And no thank you, though I will take up on the offer to try one of those roasted legs next time.” Husk almost gagged at your monotone words and Rosie’s cackle, but he had to keep his composure. As far as he knew, you were not a cannibal. And if you were…well, you probably wouldn’t have gone out of your way to help him and Angel, or at least order something from the Cannibal’s Section at the diner instead of force feeding yourself on the daily special.

You might have only been gone for a few minutes, but it was awkward to stand near Rosie, the way she smiled at him like she was thinking about adding him to her menu for not dressing up in a vintage outfit. At least he hoped not. He could barely contain his relieved sigh when you appeared again, hands empty with no bag in sight.

“It’s done.”

“Wonderful~! Now, you march up to bed as soon as you get in the door young lady! No staying up late!” She said, following the two of you to the door. “Give my regards to Alastor and tell that man he must come back soon! These halls have lost their sparkle without his lively presence! Oh! Before I forget~!” She snapped her fingers, and in a puff of dark red smoke, a large wad of bills materialized in your hands. “Here’s your paycheck! I know it’s a little early but I have a very important task for you to do tomorrow!” She grinned. “Go to town and buy yourself some new clothes for work!”

You faltered. “But -”

“Tomorrow is your day off I know, and I really, really love your enthusiasm when you try to come in to help around, but a proper lady of society cannot live on just one dress and a pair of boots! Oh, and you will also need to get a Hellphone in case something like this happens again! No ifs, ands, or buts! If Alastor throws a fit about it, I’ll talk to him! Now, shoo! Husker, be a dear and get my darling worker back to that hotel safely, all right?” She added with a wink.

Husk grunted exasperatedly but did not say a word. The last thing he wanted to do was go pissing off an overlord who just happened to be the Boss’ friend. So he just nodded, and followed you out of the door. When it shut behind them with a click, things got…awkward. Now that you weren’t carrying around a bag full of body parts, there was no need to fly all the way back to the hotel. Or at least that he thought you were thinking.

But he told you that he didn’t mind, since Charlie was probably already worried about the two of you even if Angel had somehow managed to persuade her otherwise. So…you agreed, albeit hesitantly. Husk didn't waste any more time. He scooped you up in his arms and took off into the night skies, though with this being the Pride Ring, there was really no way to tell if it was day or night anymore. Cannibal Colony soon became another darkened spot, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight.

As soon as the two of you made it back to the hotel, Husk had no doubt everyone would be giving him shit. Angel would make comments on his little ‘date’ went, which he’ll deny in every possible way, and the princess might be cryin’ from anxiety or relief knowing that two of you were all right. But that was then. This is now. And…he’s come to like holding you in his arms.

“Husk?”

“Yeah?” He felt the arms around his neck tighten slightly…but not that it wasn’t too uncomfortable. It felt…okay. Like you were trying to say something, but you struggled to find the right words to say without sounding like an ass.

“Thank you…for everything.”

His lips stretched into a grin. "You're welcome."

He felt the cold of your palms, it would seem, through the gloves, but it was not so important. Because as the two of you flew back to the place you called home, he saw you smiling down at the Pentagram in wonder, whispering the places you had visited and or wondered what they were or if he knew anything about them, to which he either answered yes or no. It was such a small smile, but how could he not commit not it to his memory?

And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to get a drink with you on a night around town. Or make one for you at his bar. He knew how to make a good non-alcoholic pina colada, even an alcoholic version of it. But who knows? He’ll take things one step at a time, and see what happens.

What Husk did not realize at the time, not too far in the distant future, you would be the one to close the gap between them…and there would be something more between the two of you. Something that made his days in Hell just a little brighter.

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