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wkemeup · 2 years

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The Bet

summary: The agents at SHIELD have not taken well to Bucky’s pardon. When he’s injured on a mission under suspicious circumstances, you take matters into your own hands.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 7.7k

warnings: canon level violence, bucky’s internalized self-punishing issues, shield agents being real pieces of shit, badass reader who would defend bucky to the death

a/n: I know I’ve been really inactive lately (life’s actually been going well so I’ve been busier but that leaves me less time to write unfortunately), but I’m still lurking here! This is a fic I wrote several months ago but finally got around to editing it. Hope you enjoy!

Bucky wasn’t sure how you managed it – the punch to his gut every time you walked in the room. You were dressed in your tactical suit; black fabric draped over every inch of your body, protective layers of Kevlar and technology beyond Bucky’s years, a weapon strapped to your thigh and knives hidden in your belt and at your ankle. Your hair was tugged out of place, sweat beaded on your temple from the sparring match in the gym moments before the two of you were called to service. In your right hand, you carried your combat boots, the laces hanging low enough to touch the ground.

And still, Bucky held his breath as you approached. Stomach in knots, chest tightening until his heart threatened to stop entirely.

“My offer is fifty this time,” you announced, winking in his direction before you turned to head for the landing bay. “Take it or leave it, Barnes.”

It was a game you’d been playing since your first mission together. A running bet to determine the better combat fighter. You’d insisted on measuring it not by the number of Hydra agents taken down or the bullets left in the magazine at the end of the mission, but by who walked away with the least damage on their body. A competition in the lack of scars.

He suspected it was your effort to distract him, to center his mind on something other than the crushing weight on his chest as he stepped into yet another Hydra stronghold. With his pardon only coming through the official channels three months prior and the nightly news still debating whether he should be locked in a psychiatric hospital or executed for his crimes, Bucky didn’t mind a little distraction.

He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first – this woman who cared so little for the eggshells scattered around his wake. Thin, broken pieces shattered under your steps, sharp edges digging into the soles of your feet and you did not flinch. You never hesitated in your teasing, never withdrew a cautious touch from the hardened steel of his left arm, never treated him as though he were fragile or unhinged. Instead, you placed bets on the outcomes of your shared missions as if his lethality was something to respect, to admire.

Part of him wondered whether it was your attempt to keep him unharmed. The winner would have the least number of cuts and bruises – the least physical pain endured. Bucky had no problem using his body as the weapon it was designed to be, even if it meant being reckless in his own skin. It was what he’d been trained to do for decades; constantly reminded that his body was not his own to command, not his own to protect and shield. The mission came first. The mission always came first. Above his safety. Above his comfort. Above his sanity. Hydra cared little for how damaged he walked away from a fight as long as he did as he was ordered. But not you.

No, you never could seem to hide the subtle twitch of relief as he won bet after bet. How your shoulders seemed to lose the tension aching in your muscles as you handed over the winnings he did not want. Because it meant you’d lost – that you’d been injured more than he had – and Bucky wanted no part in celebrating such a win.

“I don’t want your money, Y/n,” Bucky said as he did before each mission. He fell in line beside you as rookies parted down the hallway with each approaching step. Most kept their head down, eyes averted. But not all. Some openly stared at him as if they might bore holes into his tactical suit.

“Who says I’m paying you shit?” you scoffed, a smirk edging at the corner of your mouth. “Fifty, Barnes. You on or what?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, fine. I’m in.”

You walked with a slight bounce in your step after he agreed and Bucky could not stop the smile as it tugged on his cheeks.

By the time you reached the quinjet, the team of agents was huddled in the loading dock awaiting orders. Steve stood with a hand leaning against the pilot’s chair, the other hooked on the font of his belt. The rest of the team – a group of highly trained SHIELD agents dressed in full combat gear tensed as Bucky followed you onto the jet.

“Thanks for joining us,” Steve welcomed sarcastically though there was humor in his grin. You rolled your eyes and held up your unlaced boots as if that would be answer enough that you were caught off guard for the unplanned mission.

“Not all of us wait eagerly outside Fury’s door for scraps of adrenaline,” you teased and tossed a wink over your shoulder at Bucky.

Steve bit his tongue to hold back a laugh. He turned to one of the agents lingering by the cockpit. “Get us in the air.”

“Yes, sir,” the agent responded and quickly jumped into the pilot’s seat.

Steve made his way to the table at the center of the jet where the building’s schematics were illuminated in three dimensional holographic lasers. Bucky exhaled a heavy breath as he followed, studying the lights as they detailed every inch of the building he would infiltrate in a matter of a few hours. He kept his right hand down by his side in an effort to not reach out and touch the floating blueprints.

“Y/n will lead Team B through the back entrance and up to the second floor,” Steve explained as he widened the schematics with a single swipe of his hand. The floor print zoomed into the level he was describing.

“Meanwhile, I’ll lead Team A through the main floor,” he continued and adjusted the visual to display the path he intended to take. “We’ll come in hot through the primary entrance. Draw as much attention as we can. That’ll give Bucky the time he needs to track down the Berlin files.”

Bucky swallowed as many of the agents turned to look at him. Steve had briefed him ahead of time on the mission so he knew he would be taking this one on his own. He knew the building better than anyone else, better than anyone who had studied the blueprints. He knew Hydra better than anyone else. Whether he was stored in this particular site was irrelevant. He understood how Hydra operated, enough to determine where they’d keep the sort of information that could bring the organization to its knees. It made the most sense.

Clinical. Rational.

“He’s going alone?” you questioned, your voice quieter than Bucky was expecting. Your focus was solely on Steve, brows knotted at the center. There was a soft waver of concern in your tone he was sure did not go unnoticed by the rest of the team. You’d seen Bucky’s right-hand curl to an aching fist enough times at the mention of his former captors. You knew the wounds were still fresh, the ink on his pardon barely dried.

Steve nodded reluctantly. “We’re going to make a lot of noise, but don’t mistake me. This is a stealth op. Giving Bucky a team is only going to slow him down.”

“You could at least give him back up,” you argued, the gentle hesitancy dropped from your tone. Your hands planted firmly on your hips. Tension coated thick into the room.

Bucky was about to step in, to put a careful hand on your shoulder and tell you he could handle himself just fine, that there was nothing to worry about. Maybe he’d crack a joke. Maybe then he could brush off your concerns and the knots in his stomach as simple worry for a reliable partner. But one of the senior agents – Hanning – cleared his throat first.

“She’s right, Cap,” Hanning said. “It’s not a good idea to send him in alone.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, looking to Steve with a challenging smirk, but Bucky knew Hanning’s words for what they were. His stomach bottomed as he started to reach for you, to pull you back from the room before you could hear the rest of what Hanning was surely about to say. Bucky could read it on each of the agents’ faces – how they all looked down their noses at him, how thier gazes flickered to the reflection of his left arm in disgust, how they tensed the moment he stepped on board the jet. Humiliation burned hot in his cheeks before Hanning even uttered another word.

“See!” you hit Steve lightly on the arm. You grinned back in Bucky’s direction and did not see the dread weighing in his eyes. “Just give him two guys. Just enough to make sure he’s—”

“—watched. We all know the Winter Soldier can’t be trusted alone in a Hydra facility.”

You stilled at Hanning’s words. Bucky watched the edge of your jaw flicker as you clenched the muscle, your hands gripping tight to the edge of the table. Bucky wondered if it might splinter under your hold.

“Excuse me?” Venom dripped from your tongue on every syllable.

“You said it yourself,” Hanning replied with a short shrug of his shoulders, as if you had simply misheard him. “The Winter Soldier shouldn’t be left on his own. No telling what he’d do unsupervised. Especially around his old buddies.”

You flinched – actually flinched.

To Bucky, this wasn’t anything new. The serum has cursed him with heightened senses strong enough to overhear the quiet whispering when he entered the gym, the nervous murmuring of rookie agents who had grown up on ghost stories of his most prolific crimes. He noticed every frantic skip of a frightened heartbeat and every cold, seething glare of an agent whose loathing outweighed that of his fear. There was little room for anything else amongst the agents within SHEILD.

You – and only a few others among the Avengers – were the exception.

His pardon was conditional. He couldn’t afford the kind of trouble these agents were egging him into. One step out of line and he’d find himself with a lifetime sentence on the raft. Maybe that was what he deserved, but he couldn’t risk retaliating against the agents, couldn’t so much as chance a bitter word thrown back in their faces. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to admit that it was only in fear of not seeing you again that held his tongue.

Bucky had grown numb to the taunts and the stares long before he stepped foot in the tower. He knew how to keep his head down, how to swallow back his pride at the expense of his dignity. He learned how to endure the humiliation, the shame. Hydra had taught him well.

You, however, did not tolerate it.

“He can’t be trusted, Cap,” Hanning went on, turning to meet Steve’s warning stare. “We’ve lost too many guys to his friends at Hydra. I don’t care what papers the President signed. You can’t let the Winter Soldier—”

“Stop calling him that,” you hissed, pounding a fist against the table. The holographic blueprints flared in response. “I said Bucky should have support in the field. Not a fucking parole officer!”

Hanning rolled his eyes; a dangerous choice to make to mock a superior agent in front of her own team. Steam billowed from your ears as several of the agents behind him began to laugh. Hanning wiped his thumb over his bottom lip, his gaze slipping down the length of your body as if to size you up, but he lingered too long. A power move, Bucky deciphered. A means to belittle you. Bucky gritted his teeth.

“He’s a war criminal,” Hanning challenged, ignoring Bucky’s calculated step in your direction.

“He was a prisoner of war!” you shot back, voice raising on every word. “Who was pardoned, by the way!”

“You think that changes anything? A piece of paper doesn’t erase the shit he’s done. Doesn’t bring back any of the SHIELD agents he murdered. Doesn’t make him any less of fuckin’ monster and we shouldn’t have to put up with his—”

“Enough!” Steve ordered, slamming a hand down on the table. The blueprints flickered out until the table powered down. “Hanning, get your men in order. I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of you until we’re back in New York. Y/n, walk it off. We land in an hour.”

Betrayal seethed in your eyes as your gaze whipped to Steve. You expected him to defend Bucky as fiercely as you did, but Bucky knew better, as did Steve. Steve’s involvement would only worsen the division between Bucky and the rest of the team. They’d turn themselves into martyrs; jump on their high horse and twist Steve’s defense to align with what they already believed – that the Winter Soldier was dangerous, untrustworthy, and corrupted everything he touched. Including the Avengers and SHIELD itself.

And maybe they were right, but it wasn’t a fight you had to be a part of. He worked very hard to ensure you knew little of it at all.

You clamped your jaw shut to keep yourself from handing Captain America his ass next and quickly turned on your heels. Your hand slid around Bucky’s wrist and without much resistance, you dragged him along with you to the other side of the jet. There, you sank against the bench along the frame of the cargo hold and began sliding your hands along your thighs. As he watched you, Bucky wondered if you might tear the fabric of your suit with how intensely you were digging your palms into the muscle.

“Hanning’s an asshole,” you grumbled. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know shit.”

You spoke as if you believed it was an isolated incident – a single, rare occurrence he should brush off his shoulders – and perhaps you did. Perhaps you truly believed that no agent would be as brazen as to mock the former Winter Soldier to his face, but you would be wrong. Their confidence grew each time he kept his head down, each time he swallowed back the rage and humiliation at their taunts.

Bucky sighed, sinking down on the bench beside you. Your hands were still raking against your thighs, your pointed glare still finding its way to the agents huddled on the opposite end of the jet. He figured if he didn’t say something soon, you might lose the battle for your better judgements and take a swing at Hanning before the jet so much as crossed Hydra airspace.

“Make it a hundred.”

You furrowed your brow, your gaze shifting to him. Already, your features began to soften. Your hands stilled against your knees. “What?”

“The bet,” Bucky clarified, forcing a smile. It didn’t touch his eyes and it ached, but it was all he could muster. “Make it a hundred this time.”

A smirk slowly lifted the corners of your mouth and Bucky felt a weight slip off his chest.

“You’re on.”

***

“Do you want know what I’m going to do with your money when I win?”

Bucky dug his teeth into his bottom lip to repress a determined smile as your labored voice crackled through his coms. He could hear the static of the radio waves and the frequent draw of your breath as you led your team in combat on the second level. You’d learned early on to switch your coms to an off-channel frequency while you were separated. Steve was the only one who was aware of the isolated channel, but he knew better than to listen in unannounced.

“Huh, Barnes?” you challenged. He could practically see your smile edging up your cheeks. “Should I tell you how I’m going to spend your hard-earned cash?”

“You do remember you’re the one engaged in combat right now and I’m on an abandoned floor alone, right? Do you hear those odds?” Bucky smirked to himself, imagining the hard roll of your eyes as you scoffed into the coms.

“You’re not as stealthy as you think, Barnes. Maybe you’ll stub your toe on a desk. Don’t underestimate my skill against these... amateurs,” you spat the last word as if to make a point to the man you were currently barreling a fist into. “Now let me tell you how I’m going to waste your money.”

“Go on,” Bucky chuckled. He stalked through the empty hallway, passing by old offices and labs as he scanned in search of the vault in question. Hydra was rather predictable that way.

“Well,” you exhaled and clearly threw a punch at your opponent by the grunt that followed, “Sam’s birthday is coming up."

Bucky froze in his tracks; any trace of a grin wiped from his features. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Your laugh echoed in his ears and damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard – took him right out of the Hydra facility he wandered through, out of the memories attached to the lifeless, concrete rooms, and brought levity back to his chest. How you managed to do that while fighting your way through a hoard of Hydra agents was beyond him.

He turned into a promising office at the end of the hallway. Lavish enough to be one of the higher officer’s, with priceless stolen art on the walls and a desk chair that resembled a small throne. He rolled his eyes.

“Six ahead! Erikson, McKinley! Go now!” You shot an order at one of your men before returning focus back to your side conversation with Bucky. He smiled at the sharpness of your tone – the authority, the respect you commanded. Just as easily, your tone shifted to the gentle teasing reserved only for him. “Maybe I’ll replace the side camera on Redwing you shattered in Guatamala last month.”

Bucky groaned and drew out your name in a long, exasperated tone as he began fumbling through a pile of stray papers on the messy desk. You started to laugh again and Bucky couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the ends of his mouth. It was damn near infectious.

“Fine, fine.” Your voice was breathless; either from the fight or the laughter, Bucky wasn’t sure. “I might venture a trip out to Coney Island. I hear they have life changing soft serve.”

Bucky chuckled just as he tore open a locked drawer, shifting through the contents. “You’d have a hell of a lot of cash left over.”

“Well let’s see,” you began, a short pause followed as you knocked out another combatant. Bucky could hear the thud of the body at your feet. “Two tickets on the train, two world-renown ice cream cones. It adds up, Barnes.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. A sudden unwelcomed pit formed in his stomach as he straightened his back, his hands slipping from their task at the desk. He swallowed, though his throat was dry.

“Two? Who would you—”

“Are you really telling me you don’t want to show me around your old stomping grounds?” you teased, as if he should have assumed you’d only ever been talking about him. “I can be generous with your money, Buck. I’ll even treat you to a funnel cake if you want.”

Butterflies swarmed in his stomach, his teeth gnawing at his lips to suppress the grin and the flush in his cheeks. He didn’t dare look up at the Hydra symbol painted on the wall ahead of him, but he wondered then if the memory of it might have any effect at all in the wake of your laughter through the coms.

“That so?” he managed to reply, trying to find a piece of himself from the forties that could talk to a woman without stumbling over his words. His heart was pounding. Thundering. His hands gripped the edge of the desk in effort to stop the shaking of adrenaline, but it was such a lovely feeling.

“I might even win you a stuffed animal.”

Bucky exhaled as if it might relieve the pleasant aching in his cheeks. “Those games are rigged, you know.”

“I have my tricks.”

A throat cleared at the doorway.

Bucky jolted, his hand on the trigger and safety unlatched before he got a good look at the face of the man watching him from the hallway. His smile fell as he froze – the sound of your voice calling to him through the coms went unanswered. You must have heard the sudden hitch in his breath, noticed just by the short gasp of air that something was wrong.

Hanning didn’t so much as flinch as he stared down the barrel of Bucky’s gun. His arms were folded over his chest, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. Bucky didn’t dare wonder how long he’d been there watching. He was losing his edge. Distracted in the one place he was supposed to be clinical above all else.

Slowly, Bucky lowered the gun and latched the safety. Hanning cracked his neck to the side as six of his men emerged from the hall behind him. Bucky gritted his teeth and raised a hand to his coms.

“I’m going dark.”

No time at all passed before you argued, “don’t you dare! Not while you’re out there alone.”

Bucky kept clear watch of Hanning and the six agents slowly making their way into the room, knuckles cracking against their hips, stretching their arms. A quiet anger simmered under the surface – boiling in his veins though no steam would release him from the rage it carried.

“I found the vault,” he said, the lie slipping too easily off his tongue. “It’s heavily armored. It’ll cause interference. I’ll meet you on the jet.”

He didn’t like the short clinical statements he was giving you, as if you were little more than a handler requesting report. It wasn’t like him and you knew it.

“No. Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.” Desperation clouded into your voice.

“I said I’ll meet you on the jet,” he replied sharply; harsher than he ever intended to be with you, but Hanning’s patience was wearing thin and Bucky would not stomach you being able to hear what was about to happen.

“Okay.” You were quieter now, your breaths more labored. Bucky’s stomach wrung in knots. “Just be careful.”

He turned off the coms before regret could sink in.

“No more Avenger in your ear now, huh?” Hanning jeered, a cockeyed smirk hanging on the left edge of his mouth. He shook his head, a darkness sinking into his features when Bucky refused to answer. “Christ. She’s just as pathetic as the groupie sluts camping outside the tower.”

“Leave her out of this,” Bucky growled. He knew full well of the crowd who chanted his name, holding picket signs in support of an innocence he wasn’t sure belonged to him. Bucky wasn’t convinced they knew much of anything about his crimes. He often wondered if they would still draw hearts around his name if they knew the volume of blood on his hands.

Hanning scoffed. “She used to be a damn good agent before you started fucking with her head, you know that? Maybe if I take her to bed next, she’ll start defending my honor, too.”

The desk cracked under Bucky’s grip; splintered under his palms. It didn’t matter that he’d never touched you in that way. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t so much as whispered a breath to the torch he carried for you. But reputation and rumor weighed stronger than truth. And Hanning didn’t seem to mind which served him best.

“We both know why you’re here, Hanning,” Bucky said, his voice taunt in the effort. “Stop beating around the bush.”

A vicious smirk warped Hanning’s features as he signaled to his men. Bucky steeled himself – an agonizing, familiar feeling – and he waited for the first blow to land.

***

Bucky took his time returning to the jet. He didn’t bother turning his coms back on after he begrudgingly tore open the vault door at the back of the office and obtained the files SHIELD was after. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to stomach the onset of questions you’d throw his way, the inevitable concern in your voice, or the lies that would slip too easily from his tongue.

You and Steve would have already returned to the quinjet by now and he was certain you were wearing a tread into the floor of the debrief room. If he closed his eyes, he might have been able to picture your arms folded tightly across your chest, the scowl creating lines down your forehead, and the hushed grumble as you muttered under your breath, eyes constantly darting back to the door in search of him.

Bucky took no pleasure in his lies. He did not enjoy the slight hitch of concern in your voice as you begged him to stay on coms. No— it tore into his chest in such a way he was left wondering if there would be anything left at all if he continued this way.

But you couldn’t know.

You couldn’t know the truth of how far men like Hanning would go to appease their fragile egos. How agents of an organization you dedicated your life to abused their power and a loophole in the system to ensure they could pull one over on the Winter Soldier in favor of bragging rights and a misguided sense of justice. You couldn’t know it wasn’t Hydra that left him bruised and battered after these missions, but instead the agents under your watch.

Bucky paused as he came up on the ramp to the back of the jet. In the vague reflection of the charcoal surface was a trail of welts and bruising covering most of his face. Red had seeped into the white of his left eye. The center of his bottom lip was split open; blood dripped down his chin and left stray droplets against the chest of his jacket. He quickly brushed his wrist against his mouth, smearing the blood onto his hand instead and made his way inside.

Hanning was standing at the edge of the debrief room as his team passed behind him. He raised his hand to you in what appeared to be a mocking salute. You did not react; your arms folded over your chest just as Bucky had imagined and an irritable glare compressed most of your features. But your eyes shifted to the bloody and broken skin on Hanning’s knuckles as his lowered his hand back to his side. You turned and watched him as he joined the rest of the agents.

Bucky swallowed and pressed the button at the mouth of the jet to retract the ramp. While you were distracted by Hanning, Bucky shook his hair into his face, keeping his head down, and made his way to the debrief room as he was required to do. He would not be able to hide the damage to his face for long, but if he could at least conceal your reaction from Hanning and the rest of the team, it might be enough to preserve what remained of his dignity.

You turned and walked back inside the debrief room and Bucky exhaled a heavy breath. As he followed shortly in behind you, he wasn’t surprised to find you had quickly resumed pacing along the back wall of the room. The carpet was slightly discolored under your path.

Only when Bucky closed the door behind him did you notice his presence.

You froze, eyes darting across the room. The relief that sank your shoulders was instant, but brief, because the moment you took in more than just his physical body safe inside the jet, a wash of anger and panic absorbed any traces of solace.

You rushed across the room to him, hands hovering over his shoulders, his forearms, his torso – as if you were seeking to touch him but would not dare to lay a hand upon his body in fear of shattering him whole. Your eyes frantically scanned the open scarring and bruising on his face, searching for more wounds you could not see.

“What the hell happened to you?” You made no effort to obscure the panic trembling in your voice.

“Hydra,” he replied shortly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. He looked across the room to Steve, who was standing with his back leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Reluctance clouded the blues of his eyes but he did not contradict Bucky’s story.

“There shouldn’t have been anyone on that floor. You said it was abandoned! That was the whole point of drawing them all to us. You should have been clear!” you tried to reason and shot a glance at Steve to confirm, but his gaze lowered to the floor. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Did you get the files at least? Since you insisted on turning off your damn coms to get them?”

Your anger was a mask. Bucky could tell that much for certain by how your eyes shifted consistently to the blood in his left eye and the split on his lip. Fear was not an emotion you took kindly to, especially a fear you had no means of controlling.

Bucky steeled his features the best he could and pulled the rolled file from the inside pocket of his jacket. Blood stained the corners of the crumpled folder and he set it on the table behind you. You did not seem even remotely satisfied by its presence.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell us you’d been compromised?” you argued, shoving the folder further down the table. “I could have sent back up to you! Dammit Bucky, I would have come to you myself! You know I would have!”

Steve cleared his throat as he stepped away from the wall, a pleading heaviness filling his eyes as his head shifted towards you – a means of begging Bucky to come forward with the truth. You deserved as much, didn’t you? You cared for him for reasons beyond what Bucky could comprehend. But there would always be that sliver of doubt; that sickening voice in the back of his mind that questioned whether you might think he deserved the retaliation he got. Bucky only shook his head at Steve to warn him into silence.

Your eyes narrowed on him, gaze following his path to Steve and back. Your instincts were not something Bucky should tread lightly around if he was intent on keeping this from you, and yet – there was some ache of relief to see the questions spinning behind your eyes, the stubbornness drawn to the surface to simply accept his ruse and pretend as though he wasn’t beaten into submission.

Just as you parted your lips, you paused; your attention caught on the monitors just beyond Bucky’s shoulder. Upon one of the screens, Hanning was dramatically mimicking a fight scene to the entertainment of the surrounding agents. The video carried no sound but it was not easy to mistake the arrogant grin upon Hanning’s face as he showed off the bloodied cuts on his knuckles. Bucky resisted touching the bruise along his jawline.

Bucky watched as you slowly moved closer to the monitor, studying every muscle in your body as you deciphered what you were seeing. Perhaps he might have been able to play it off as another one of Hanning’s pathetic attempts at boosting his ego by dramatizing a basic combat training move against a weak-willed Hydra agent, but while some of the agents looked to Hanning as if he were a god among men, some carefully – fearfully – looked over their shoulders to the debrief room. As if they were awaiting retaliation. Or punishment.

Bucky swallowed bile as your spine suddenly went taunt. A gasp drew in a sharp breath to your lungs as you quickly turned to Bucky for confirmation. Suddenly he couldn’t speak – not with the way your eyes were pleading with him to deny it. You turned to Steve next and it only took a second before you saw the weight in his eyes, the truth he’d been hiding at the will of his best friend – how it ate away at him until there was little left. Your hand clasped over your mouth.

“I’ll be outside,” Steve said quietly, sending an apologetic look in Bucky’s direction.

When the door closed behind him, you turned back to Bucky, waiting for him to say something – anything – to help you understand what happened. Hanning was an asshole, but to do something like this was unheard of. To attack a member of their own team under the ruse of a mission...

And maybe he should have confessed everything then and there, but his own fears were too strong – the possibility you might laugh in his face and side with Hanning, that you might believe him to be as vile and violent as the rest of them, undeserving of a second chance.

So instead of an explanation, he reached into his back pocket and watched as your face contorted into something akin to horror and grief as he handed you a crumbled hundred-dollar bill. His hand trembled as he extended it to you.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was barely a whisper; gaze fixated on the speckles of blood on the corners and under his nails.

Bucky released a breath, though it burned on his exhale. “You won.”

You looked as though you might suffocate under the silence that sank into the room. Tears blurred into your eyes as you slowly took the bill from him, your fingertips lingering against his hand, and tossed it onto the table behind you as if the paper had burned you.

“I don’t care about the stupid bet, Bucky! I don’t... I don’t want your money! I never wanted your money. Not ever,” you told him, voice shaking. You clenched your right hand into a fist as if it might quell the lump building in the back of your throat. “How long has this been happening?”

Bucky’s own throat was coated in gravel. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, it has happened before.”

His stomach bottomed as he realized he’d given himself up. You were always too smart for him, too smart to fall for this pathetic ruse. He should have known better than to think he could keep this from you. He prepared himself for your anger, for your disappointment, for your mockery, but instead something akin to guilt sank into your features and Bucky swore his knees might give out entirely.

“Our own men have gone after you like this... they’ve beaten you on these missions, reported it off as field injuries, and I... I just didn’t know?”

You brushed at your tears. Bucky suddenly felt nauseous.

“This isn’t your fault,” he said quickly, giving up on any attempts at concealing his lies further. He could not stand for you to think that you played a single role in this mess. This was on him. Only him. You were only ever the light in his darkest days. You could not hold an ounce of blame for what happened. He wouldn’t allow it.

“You were in the med bay last month,” you realized suddenly, an awful mix of remorse and agony coating your features. “You were separated from the team when you were jumped. You said... You said it was Kingpin’s men but... it wasn’t, was it? SHIELD agents put you there. They were the ones who attacked you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his hand curling tightly to a fist as if that might stop the trembling. “This isn’t your burden to carry. I can take care of myself.”

“Not my burden?” you scoffed. “Look at you! Jesus, Buck. How is this even possible? You should be able to take these assholes on without breaking a sweat! I’ve seen you spar. I’ve fought alongside you. I know what you can do! Hanning barely has a scratch on him. You should have been able to knock him on his ass without—”

You froze and slowly, your shoulders sank.

“God,” you exhaled, the realization shattering every inch inside your chest as you met his eyes. “You don’t fight back. You can’t, can you? Your pardon. It’s—”

“—conditional,” Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair. “One word to the council that I’ve stepped out of line and they could revoke it. I could end up on the raft for the rest of my life. And maybe... maybe I belong there anyway but I’m trying to better. To right the wrongs I’ve done. To... to be on the right side of things again. I can’t do that from behind bars. And if word got out I’m throwing punches at the good guys, that’s exactly where I’ll end up.”

“I won’t let that happen,” you swore, wasting no time in your promise. Before he realized it, you were standing only inches from him, your fingertips gently tracing the golden lines on his left hand. He wondered then how he could have ever feared mockery and disgust from a woman who touched him so tenderly.

A tired smile tugged at his broken lip. “Steve doesn’t even have the power to intervene if it came to that. Let this go, Y/n. I can take a few punches if it means getting a chance to start over.”

You winced at his words, clenching your jaw as if to choke back a sob. “You can’t keep letting them do this to you. I won’t let you.”

“What would you have me do?” Bucky asked, his voice absent of anger or challenge. It simply carried the heaviness of defeat, of acceptance. “You know what would happen if I gave the council a single reason to doubt which side I’m on. My hands are tied.”

He realized his mistake the moment a deadly calm swept over you. Clarity, like standing under the eye of storm. Your gaze darted to the monitor where Hanning was still mimicking his fight with Bucky.

“Y/n, wait!”

But you were already halfway out of the room. You did not turn back at Bucky’s plea as you stormed around the corner of the short stretch of hall and into the primary deck of the quinjet. Steve straightened from his position leaning against the wall, his eyes darting behind you where Bucky was quickly following behind. But it was not Steve you’d come in search of.

Hanning was laughing with a hoard of his men, gathered around the holograph table worth more than any of their miserable lives combined. He rolled his eyes at the sight of you, making a mockery of the fury raging into every line upon your face as you sought him out as he swatted his buddy on the arm.

The bastard even had the unearned arrogance to smirk as he foolishly turned his attention to Bucky. “Enlisting your girlfriend to fight your battles for you, huh?”

You did not so much as slow your pace, did not draw in a full breath or acknowledge the slight furrow in Hanning’s brow before you threw a punch directly to his left cheekbone. He cursed as he jolted away from you, hands flying to his face as blood began to gush down his nose.

“What the fuck is wrong with—”

You didn’t give him time to finish before you grabbed a firm hold of his collar and tossed him to the floor. Agents scrambled out of your warpath as you stalked after him.

Hanning looked up at Steve, holding onto his broken nose. Blood seeped from between his fingers. “Do something!”

Steve did not avert his gaze as he replied, “I didn’t see anything.”

Hanning’s eyes widened as you dropped to your knees beside him and fisted his collar. “Sergeant Barnes may not be able to fight back without breaking his pardon, but I sure as hell can. And unlike you, I don’t need my fights rigged to win. Lay a hand on him again and I’ll ensure you walk away from your next mission on a fucking stretcher!”

Hanning clawed at your grip, fear seeping through every line upon his face. “You can’t threaten me!”

“Wanna bet?” Your nails nearly tore through the Kevlar fabric of Hanning’s shirt. “I’m an Avenger, asshole. You’re no one. I can make sure you’re transferred to the furthest corner of this planet. You’ll wish you were in space with the tree and the goddamn racoon!”

Hanning’s panicked eyes darted back to Steve who only shrugged and turned his attention to the passing of clouds outside the cockpit windows.

Bucky couldn’t help the smirk as it tugged at his mouth. He folded his arms firmly over his chest, sinking back into his stance. This image of you – baring your teeth, vicious in every muscle, seething in defense of him – was one he would commit to memory. He’d return to it in his darkest hours when he could find no answer for the cruel voices in the back of his mind – to draw upon this moment to chase away his demons with your anger and protection.

“Are we clear?” you ordered when Hanning was too stunned to respond. He nodded frantically, as did the rest of the crew. You released Hanning’s collar and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He stayed still as stone as you slowly rose to your feet and brushed off his blood on the thighs of your pants.

Your chest heavy and steady – each breath longer than the last. You did not tear your eyes away from Hanning for even a second, ensuring he felt every ounce of the rage burning inside of you.

Bucky took a step forward, unbothered by the stares of the agents as he approached you. He set a hand on your shoulder, instantly noting the rigid tension in your muscles.

“Come with me,” he requested, his voice quiet enough only you could have heard him. You expelled a breath as if it were made of fire and slowly followed him from the room.

Bucky stepped inside the debriefing room first. He looked to the windows where clouds were passing by below the jetstream. Steady. Even. He took as much of their calm as he could manage and picked up the crumpled hundred dollar bill from the table. When he turned to face you again, he attempted to hand you the money but you held your hands up defensively and took a cautious step backward.

“Bucky, no. Please, I don’t want it,” you resisted, your voice hollow and pained. “I only made the stupid bet to get you to stop being so reckless. I don’t want your money.”

He smiled at your stubbornness, at your scheming means to keep him safe. Bucky inched closer to you, extending his left palm up until you cautiously set your hand in his. His thumb drew a careful line along your palm and you watched him with such startling precision, he wondered if you might have been committing the feeling to memory.

“What happened to our plans for Coney Island?” he asked softly.

Tears spilled over your cheekbones as a tired laugh escaped you. He pressed the bill into your palm and closed your grip around it – holding it tight at the center of your hand as gently as you might his own heart.

“I should have said something the first time it happened,” Bucky said quietly, his gaze still fixated on your closed fist resting on his palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

You shook your head. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“No, I do.” He sighed, concentrating on the smooth skin of your hand. He skimmed his thumb along the tender skin on your knuckles, his heart suddenly heavy in his chest. “You didn’t even hesitate to defend me. Didn’t even second guess why they might have gone after me. You... you didn't question if I deserved it.”

Your face slacked at his admission. “Bucky...”

“I should have told you,” he repeated despite the burden of grief in your voice. He knew now that if he’d offered you a share of this weight from the start, that maybe it wouldn’t have gotten this far. Hanning wouldn’t have planned each mission to ensure he cornered Bucky on his own and got in enough swings to fuel his pathetic, sheltered ego. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t have spent so long believing this was his penance.

You lifted your free hand to the side of his face, gently settling against the bruising to cup his cheek. He closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling. Your thumb brushed along a tender ache on his cheekbone but there was no pain under your touch.

“I know now,” you told him softly, “and it won’t ever happen again.”

Bucky smiled though it tugged at the split on his lip. “I know.”

You lowered your hand from his face and gently pushed the hundred-dollar bill back towards him. “Take this back, Buck. Take it back and promise we’ll still go to Coney Island.”

Bucky closed his fist around the crumpled bill and slowly nodded. You did not release his hand. You did not pull away. You only held him – touched him as though you could not stand to pull away from him.

“I swear it,” he exhaled, his gaze still fixated on your hands.

You sighed, relief slipping through your body as you smiled at him. “Think you can win me a giant bear?”

Bucky chuckled and he didn’t mind when the split on his lip ached as he smiled. “Should we bet on it?”

---

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes X you #bucky barnes one shot

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hazbinshusk · 2 months

Text

blitzø x afab!reader. you're holed up at home with a broken leg and blitzø has surprised you by coming by to keep you company. you feel depressed and completely bored stuck in the apartment, so he decides to take your mind off it. for totally noble, selfless reasons, of course. featuring: oral sex (female receiving), masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, and horse drawings of questionable skill. 2.3k. anon request. I hope you're feeling better!

Fucking gravity.

You were a complete badass, both in Hell and on Earth – you’d spent a good long while now building up that particular reputation through your work with I.M.P, and no one was ever going to argue with that. At least, no one smart.

So, if someone could explain to you just how in the ever-loving fuck you’d managed to trip down a flight of stairs and break your goddamned fibula, that would be great. Because right now, you feel like an idiot. A hobbled, immobile idiot.

The cast wrapped snugly around your leg is bulky and irritates your skin, and Blitzø glances up from his place on the floor when you groan, an eyebrow raised. You’re sitting on your couch while a movie you’re only half paying attention to plays in front of you, your injured foot propped up on the coffee table, a pillow tucked under your heel. The other imp is sitting cross-legged between the couch and coffee table in front of you, a marker in hand. He has been happily doodling away at your cast for a while now, his forked tongue poking out as he concentrates on his latest addition to the plaster.

His tongue slips back between his lips as he registers the discomfort in your expression. “You good?”

You sigh. “My leg itches.”

“Which one?”

You give him a pointed look. “Take a wild guess.”

He snorts a laugh, abandoning whatever he’s scribbling – probably his latest (and as always, greatest) horse design – and tosses the marker on the table beside him. The plaster is already covered with his drawings; scribbles of horses all labelled with names like Bumblebee and Octagon, his name in bubble letters and badly designed graffiti, Loona giving everybody the finger. There was even one that looked like the two of you side by side, the lines jerky over the uneven expanse of the cast.

“Where?”

You lean forward long enough to tap your finger over a drawing of a horse that was christened ‘Crayon’, a couple of inches below the top of the cast. You exhale softly in relief as he slips the spade of his tail down into your cast and rubs it over your itch, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch.

“Oh, that’s godly…”

“’Bout fuckin’ time someone else said that about me.”

You chuckle, smirking at the ceiling. “Idiot.”

“Oh, c’mon.” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “You weren’t exactly fuckin’ shy about callin’ me a ‘god’ the other night…”

“Is that what I was doing?” you reply, even as you feel your cheeks warm. “Maybe I was praying for you to stop.”

“Yeah? And the shakin’ thighs and beggin’ for more?”

“…I’m an incredible actress.”

Blitzø scoffs and leans his arm on the sofa beside you, resting his temple against his hand. He gives you an appraising look as he withdraws his tail, letting the tip of it skim over your knee and over the top of your thigh as he does. You raise a brow at his expression.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, a devious grin curling his lips. “’s jus’ kinda fun seein’ you all helpless like this.”

“You think so?” you say, faux-brightly before letting the fake smile drop and flipping him off. He snickers. You were actually grateful, if not still surprised, that he was here. He turned up a few hours ago and let himself into the apartment – despite him not actually having a key – apparently fine with skipping work in order to keep you company and alleviate some of the boredom. He’d brought shakes and greasy diner food with him, and had been doodling away on your cast for the last hour, as content and as boyish as you’d ever seen him. It was endearing, really, if not still completely weird.

“Just give me my meds, would you?”

“What, you can’t reach ‘em?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you scowl at him. Blitzø grins, but straightens so he can collect your painkillers and your milkshake from the table. You swallow the pills down with the last dregs of the shake, sucking down the mix of chalky pills and chocolate foam noisily.

Blitzø takes the cup from you and sets back on the table, and you wince as he leans his elbows on your leg, his chin resting in his hands mockingly.

“Do you mind?”

“Not really.” he shrugs, his tail switching back and forth behind him in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Asshole.”

“You love it.” You roll your eyes despite your smile, and his widens. He removes one hand from under his chin, tip-toeing two of his fingers teasingly up along your cast and past it, from your ankle to the bare skin of your knee and higher as he speaks. “Y’know what I really love about you bein’ all busted up like this?”

“Vivid imagery?”

Blitzø gives you a sharp, wicked grin, ducking under your leg to plant himself between your thighs. He takes hold of your knees, pressing them wider, leaning in closer to you tauntingly. “You can’t go anywhere.”

A shiver rolls up your spine at the sudden huskiness to his voice, and you flush. Still, you try to push yourself further back onto the couch, away from him. “Blitz, I’m all sweaty and—”

“Not yet, baby, but you’re about to be,” he shoots back without hesitation, his claws squeezing the flesh of your thighs. “C’mon, bitch. You know I can make you feel so good…”

Your breath catches, a soft whimper slipping out of you before you can stop it. His smirk twitches wider, his tail switching back and forth predatorily behind him. He’s watching you with heavily-lidded eyes, and his expression burns into you, excites you in a way that makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to quench it. But his claws are too tight on your legs, and you can’t do it. He feels your muscles tense though, and he growls, low and hungry under his breath.

Blitzø slides his hands further up your thighs slowly, delighting in the way your breathing grows unsteady in response. The sleep shorts you’re wearing are threadbare cotton, and it takes so little once he hooks a claw into the leg of one for the threads start to tear.

“Say you want it, slut,” he urges roughly, eyes still burning into yours. “Say you want me.”

You bite your lip and nod, and that’s all Blitzø needs before he’s leaning up to catch your lips with his in a rough, hungry kiss. His tongue meets yours, his breath hot and sharp as it mingles with yours, and you sigh into the kiss, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. You can feel his smirk still playing on his features, feel his hands take hold of the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There’s the sharp sound of fabric tearing and then his hand is cupping your cunt.

You whimper into his mouth as he slides a finger up between your labia and finds you clit. He kisses you again, his fangs catching your bottom lip before he pulls back. Blitzø waggles his eyebrows at you cockily before he lowers himself back onto his knees between your thighs.

“Look at you, all wet already,” he growls before his mouth is on your clit and you moan, bucking up as best you can without moving your injured leg. Blitzø hums a laugh into your cunt, the vibrations a heady teasing against your clit, and he wraps an arm around your thigh. He hooks your injured leg up over his shoulder, and you grab blindly at the back of the couch with one hand as he smooths his claws up the outside of your thigh. He tugs you further towards the edge of the couch, opening you up further to his tongue. “Fuck, always taste so fuckin’ good…”

He doesn’t know subtlety, and he doesn’t work you up slowly to the sensation of his tongue against your clit. No, Blitzø practically attacks your cunt with his mouth, a groan rolling through him and into your pussy in a way that makes your eyes roll back. When he slips finger up into you, you moan aloud, wrapping a hand around his horn and bracing the other on the couch so you can grind against his tongue.

“Shit, Blitz, fuck…” you can feel yourself already soaking, dripping onto the cushion beneath you whenever he pulls away to tease you with biting kisses to your thighs and hips. He sucks a possessive mark into your hipbone, lathing his tongue over the same spot just as he pushes another finger up into you. “Holy fuck!”

He snickers, flicking his forked tongue tauntingly over your clit again, eyes on your face. “Careful, whore, you’re gettin’ close to callin’ me a ‘god’ again.”

“I’m…” you pant, brow creasing as you screw your eyes shut as though it can help you focus on your words instead of the way he curves his fingers inside you. “…rehearsing. Big role coming up.”

You jerk as he sinks his teeth into your thigh. “Only thing fuckin’ cummin’ here is you.”

“Satan, that’s lame, Blit—” you break off with a loud, keening moan as Blitzø sucks your clit into his mouth and tortures it with his tongue, your eyes rolling back and your hand tightening so much on the couch cushion beneath you that you hear the threads pop. The heat inside you expands, tingling through your limbs and making your back arch, and Blitzø reaches up to grope at your chest, palming your breast through your t-shirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, fuuuuuck…”

That heat clenches inside you and releases and you cum, hips lifting off the couch, your cast balanced against his back. Blitzø moans into your cunt as you soak his face, lapping at your clit relentlessly. He slows only enough to let you catch your breath, keeping you burning on that breathless precipice, too stimulated to come back down, but not enough to keep the orgasm rolling through you.

He releases your breast and you hear his zipper lower. Blitzø groans against you as he wraps a fist around the base of his cock, stroking himself with the same pace he finger-fucks you with. He’s muttering the filthiest sweet nothings into your pussy, each touch of his tongue against your clit sending sparks through you that make your body jerk.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. “Blitz… please…”

“Fuck, that’s it, bitch,” he moans, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy to roll over your clit, his fist quickening around his erection. “Fuckin’ beg me for it, c’mon…”

“Please, baby…” you whine obediently, too far gone to care about how he’ll lord it over you as soon as you’re done. He pushes his tongue into your quivering cunt, eager, hungry for every part of you he can taste. You’re boneless against the couch except for the disjointed jerks of your hips into his face, your body chasing another release even as it finds it too overwhelming to continue. “Please, Blitz… fucking, God, please…”

He presses his fingers down on your clit just as he quickens them further and you cum again, eyes rolling back and your vision going white. Blitzø groans loudly, leaning back on his heels to watch your cunt throb and pulse, his fingers still moving over it ruthlessly. His eyes flicker up from your pussy to your face and he cums too, shouting a string of curses you don’t really understand through the endorphin-fueled haze leaking through your brain.

“Shiiiit…” he lets his head fall against your thigh, and you giggle breathlessly, punch-drunk. His shoulders shudder as he catches his breath, then his head snaps back up as though he were completely unaffected.

He rests his chin on your thigh, raising an eyebrow at you with a small smirk. “Feel better?”

You run a hand through your hair, and Blitzø watches the movement lift your breasts under your shirt. “About being stuck on the couch, or do you think your tongue somehow heals broken bones?”

“Bitch, my tongue is a fuckin’ miracle and you know it,” he shoots back, grinning against your leg as you laugh.

“I do feel more relaxed…” you admit.

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

“…But now the couch is all wet.”

His grin widens lasciviously. “Fuck yeah, it is.”

“Blitz.”

He rolls his eyes, unhooking your injured leg from his shoulder and setting your foot back on the coffee table with surprising care. He stands, making a show of tucking himself back into his jeans, winking at you when he doesn’t do them back up. “Alright, alright. Unclench that ass, sugartits, I’m on it.”

You raise a brow. “You are?”

“Yup.” he says, clapping his hands together before grabbing your crutches from where they’re propped against the coffee table. “You’re gonna take a bath, I’m gonna scrub your cum outta the couch—’

“Ew, Blitz!”

“—and then,” he continues pointedly. “You’re gonna go get all comfy in bed.”

You feel a smile twitch at the edge of your lips, surprised by your thoughtfulness. “Really?”

“Yup.” he says, popping the ‘p’. “And then we’re gonna see just how well you suck dick lyin’ down.”

You snort a laugh, shaking your head. “There it is!”

He grins widely, holding a hand out to help you up off the couch. “Fuckin’ right. Now get your ass up before I decide to make your crippled ass run this fuckin’ bath bullshit by yourself.”

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syrma-sensei · 1 year

Text

→ Rugrats, Pool, and Grilling Techniques.

pairing: soldier boy x wife!reader.

rating: smut, fluff.

warning: domestic soldier boy, dangerously smitten ben (oocish), established relationship, daddy ben, breeding kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, non-canon complied.

word count: 2k

summary: soldier boy is surprisingly an amazing family man.

tagging: @zepskies

→ masterlist | ao3

“Ready. Go!”

As soon as your husband's whistle blows into the air, a loud splash follows when Jamie and Maggie hopped into the pool. Inheriting their father's super stamina and endurance, the two swim swiftly and with the agility of dolphins, while your husband's voice encourages them both. However, out of your twins, Maggie is the faster swimmer, whereas Jamie is quicker on land.

Bathing in the sun beam, you lay on the sunlounger next to Ben's, watching the trio having fun together in the pool. You plan on joining them in a bit, but you let them play on their supe level before you hop in, because after all, you're just a human. For the time being, you're sufficed with your feet dipped in the water at the rim of the pool.

“Haha, that's my girl!” Ben's face beams with a wide smile when Maggie, as expected, beat her twin to the other side of the pool.

“Cheater!” Jamie yells at his sister whom sticks her tongue out at him.

“No, you're just slow, Jay,” She retorts haughtily, a trait she caught from her dad.

He rolls his eyes, “See you on land, sis, 'coz you'll be dragging your ass behind me there,”

Ben bursts out laughing but he stops when you throw him a berating glare with a chiding tilt of your head. Your husband clears his throat.

“Oh, woah, manners young man,” Ben scolds, “You better watch that mouth, you don't speak to ladies like that.”

“Like she's one!” Jamie grouses, propelling his hands into the water, “She took on three children at school the other day.”

“Because they're bullies, and they had it coming!” Maggie replies heatedly.

Once again, a proud grin stretches Ben's lips from ear to ear. You shake your head hopelessly at him.

Maggie swims towards her father, saying, “Bullies are bad, aren't they, Papa?”

“That's right,” Ben agrees, stroking a strand of Maggie's hair away from her face, “You go kick their asses, kiddo.”

“He said it!” Jamie gasps.

“For the love of God, Ben, watch your language in front of the kids!”

He ignores you, “Our daughter, my daughter here is going to be a badass chick.” A grin is plastered on his mouth before his kisses her cheek.

Maggie giggles at her father, “What does badass mean, Papa? Is my butt bad?”

Ben hurls his head back with a laugh, “No, cupcake, your butt ain't bad. It means you're cool as f—hell.” He glances at you momentarily, then he corrects again, “As heck, cool as heck.”

Jamie swims towards his sister, slyness contorts his face, in that moment, you're in stupor at the way it resembles Ben's visage.

“Cool or not, Dad's not gonna allow you to go out with boys,” Jamie says, “Are you, Dad?”

One would expect Maggie's eyes to widen, to look horrified, and her to look at her father urgently, silently begging him to deny what James just said. But the little one swims to her father and wraps her tiny arms around his neck. “I don't need boys, Jay.” She replies with sass, “I'm daddy's little princess, right, Papa?”

While you swoon at Maggie, you smile amusedly as Ben grows a bit perplexed at the sudden affectionate admission from Margret. So, you decide you rescue your husband by climbing down into pool.

“Of course, sweetheart,” You say, swimming towards the three, “Daddy's always gonna be here for you,”

Maggie tilts her head and kisses her father's temple. Ben's grin falters; you can read the uneasiness written on his face.

“Love you, Papa,” she whispers.

“Love you too, princess,”

Maggie's giggles warble around, and Jamie rolls his eyes again.

The four of you play together in the pool, swimming and tossing the ball, after you've divided into two teams; you and Jamie against Ben and Maggi.

During the game, you pick up on the lethargy of his moves. He's not being himself at the moment, for normally, his competitive spirit would more eager to win, even if it were a mere game. You frown a bit when you hurl the ball to the other side of the pool only for Maggie to catch it with dexterity. She throws it back with her supe strength to your side, but Jamie baulks it with his supe speed.

“Close enough, sis, but you're being sloppy,” He teases.

“You wish!”

Jamie flings the ball to the other side again, and Ben blocks it with one large hand.

“Uh oh.” You hear Jamie whisper when he sees his father's smirk. Ben draws his hand backwards then darts it in Jamie's direction. It dashes through a blurry, white flash before it bashes into the water by you, the bolt makes your hair sway.

“Nicely-done, dad!” Jamie cheers.

“Hey, what side are on, Jay?!” You frown, grousing.

Your son only shrugs, “But it was awesome!”

“Ah, cut the kid some slack, would ya?” Ben makes an amused sound, raising his hands in a gesture, “Not my fault I'm the favourite parent here.”

“We' shall see about that, Mr. Gilman, we shall see.” You squint, lips puckering up in a playful curl.

The game ends with a draw; James and Margret aren't so crazy about the result. And they start to squabble about it when you decide to call it a day in the pool and climb out of it.

After having a quick shower, and wearing fresh clothes, the four of you embark on preparing lunch. You and Maggie are to prepare the table, and Jamie is to help his father with the grilling labour.

While Ben teaches Jamie the grilling technics (which you originally taught Ben, because the man didn't know to cook shit when you first met) you chopped the vegetables that Maggie rinsed for you into the salad bowl. The meat odorous smell tickles your nostrils and makes your mouths water.

In the evening, you take another shower, but more thoroughly this time. You don't want the smell of barbecued meat and the reek of coal to stick to your body when you go to bed.

When the plates are laid out and the meal is ready, the four of you encircle the table, and enjoy what you made together with the spirit of your extraordinary family.

You step out the bathroom with a fluffy towel wrapped around your body after thirty minutes. You find Ben sitting at the foot of the bed, his brown hair is still drenched from his shower. He's wearing a grey shirt, and a matching grey sweatpants, with a towel on his head.

His gaze instantly softens when his green eyes land on your figure, a tender smile visiting his lips. You smile back at him, taking the spot next to him on the bed.

“Today was great,” You say, your hands on his strong arm, massaging his muscle, “Thank you, Ben.” Again, he freezes when you reach out to kiss his temple.

Ben nods, the he draws his head back to gaze at you, his large hand cupping your cheek. “No, thank you, baby, for giving me all of this.”

You tilt your head, chewing your lower lip, “Well, you're most welcome, Daddy.”

You see something wicked swirl in the green of his eyes, and the sly smirk on his lips makes your heart skip.

“I was thinking...” Ben scratches his beard with a drawl, eyes predating your body, “The twins are seven now.” He reaches out a hand to tip your chin up, his lips are dangerously close to yours, “What do you think of a third one? Fuck, third and fourth and fifth too.” He thumbs your lower lip gently, “I want to make children with you as many as possible. I want our place to be full of those rugrats.”

A fierce blush rises up to your neck as his breath fans your face, and the flesh between your legs twang in delight. You like it when he talks like that.

Your answer comes as a crushing kiss, and a moan from your throat. Ben's hands trail down to your sides and he lifts you up to his lap. One of his hands roams down your back and loosens the towel, and you're gorgeously naked for him.

“Atta girl,” He praises, “Ready to take what I want to give her.”

He kneads your breasts just right, pinching and caressing where you like, and his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck. You moan his name, and you feel his cock beneath you coming gradually to life.

You grind your bare cunt on his nourishing cock, and his hand grasps your hair to pull your head. “Behave,” he warns with a chuckle, “Fucking eager, aren't we?”

“Ben, please,” You roll your hips again, your arousal is already glistening on his crotch, “Give it to me, fuck me please, please, please, Daddy, make me carry your babies, please make me your breeding slut.”

You can hear his breath hitch before he sears your lips shut with his, hands resting on your buttocks, his blunt nails digging on the flesh of your crack while you cup his bearded cheek.

Ben hoists you up sharply and flips you, splaying your body wide on the bed beneath him. Quick as the supe he is, he takes off his clothes and graces you with his naked glory. He grabs one of your legs and pulls you down impatiently. You giggle playfully.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” He cups your mound with a possessive hand, his thumb flicking your clit “How much I want to fucking breed this slutty cunt full,”

You spread your legs further for more friction, “Please, Daddy, please, I want your cum, I need your seed.”

“Fuck, baby,” He grumbles, “Needy, little whore...” Your toes curl at the word, more arousal oozing out if your cunny.

His hands grip your thighs, while lining up to your pussy. You yelp and laugh sporadically at the vigour of his thrust. His hands reach out to yours on either side of your head. Your fingers entangle as he paces up his moves.

Your back arches, and words spilling incoherently out of your mouth as he fucks your brains dumb. You hear him swear and spit in the most vulgar language you've ever heard, and it makes you squeeze him more.

You like that dirty tongue of his, how it makes you feel a flagrant whore yet an unstoppable queen.

“Ben, Ben, I'm so close!” You cry, closing your eyes shut.

“Come to me, baby,” He says, bringing his thumb to your clit.

You hang your arms on his strong back as you feel it coming. Your nails graze his flesh when your orgasm sweep over your being. Your inner drawers clamps down on his cock in a tight hug.

Ben growls in your ear, animalistic and primitive, as he twitches sharply inside of you, painting your insides white.

You take your time to calm down. Breathing gradually placating to normal before he rolls on his back beside you. You snuggle up to his chest, and he holds you close with his arm. You feel his seed leaking into your thighs, and your cunt still throbbing through the throes of your orgasm.

You close your eyes and relish in the moment in silence.

“You're a good dad, Ben.” You say after several minutes, looking up at him.

He gazes down at you, hand playing with your hair, “I try not to be like my old man.”

You smile, “I know you do, and you're nothing like him. The kids adore you.”

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, sneering, “Well, that's good to hear. Not to be a fucking disappointment in someone's eye.”

You peck his lips, pride flourishing within your chest; it took you ages to convince Ben that opening up and expressing his feelings to someone he trusts doesn't equal being a sniveling pussy.

He might be the greatest supe, the hero of heroes, an asshole to some and a god to others. But to you, Ben is just Ben, a doting husband, and a perfect father. And you'd stand against the world for him.

Kissing his forehead you say, “You never were one to me, Ben.”

#soldier boy imagine #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x fem reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x oc #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fluff #the boys soldier boy #the boys #the boys season three #the boys season 3 #the boys s3 #the boys smut #the boys imagine

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ssparksflyy · 6 months

Note

Hiii I hope you are having a great day!! I was wondering if you could make another percy jackson x daughter of Hecate reader? If you don’t/ can’t do it that’s fine I just though i would ask.

ask and thou shall receive ༉‧₊˚.

percy jackson dating hcs ! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing: percy jackson x latina!daughter of hecate!reader warning(s): swearin an: dw i got ur 2nd request that u wanted reader to be latina :)) i just added in some little things that tie in ♡♡ srry if these are short btw </3

in the dead of night, your eyes so greennnnnnnn

you and percy tend to stay up later than most of camp

your always up and out after curfew

you js function better at night okay

me asf

the day is reserved for lake dates and the night is reserved for sky watching dates ♡♡

youre literally attached by the hip if you couldnt tell

as they say in waitress, i love you means your never ever getting rid of me ♡

you usually watch from the roof of cabin 3, just cuddled up and sharing a blanket

but once percy suggested you watch from the docks

and you were like oh!

not actually but you looked really hesitant

he was like whats wrong??

so you told him about la llorona !! #coquette

it was so preppy

but now youre both scared to go to the lake at night

even though yk shes not real

and youve literally been through tartarus

and back

and you face unimaginable horrors every day

and percy's literally the son of the sea god

mexican folklore is scary ok yall

idc if it didnt scare you as a kid / you like horror

I DONT

IM TRAUMATIZED

MY GRANDMA PUT ON LA LEYENDA DE LA LLORONA WHEN I WAS FIVE AND I HAVENT KNOWN A DAY OF PEACE SINCE

sorry for trauma dumping yall

kinda silly how some story about a lady who drowned her kids is enough to make 2 of camp half blood's strongest soldiers shake in their boots

so u stick to rooftops ♡

you and hazel are bestiessss

shes a honorary member of cabin 20 of course

you exchange tips and tricks, hazel telling you about the things she saw hecate do and the things she said to her

and you tell her about the things youve picked up over the years :))

percy cant help but smile whenever he sees you two together

he sees hazel as a sister

(yall remember in son when he was ready to fight somebody for her or something like that i dont remember exactly what he said but i do know he was ready to fight)

and ur his fav girl ever ♡

his heart just feels warmed

same way he feels when he sees you playing with estelle

you show her a bit of ur powers and she flips outtttt

she asks sally to be a witch for halloween because "i want to be just like (y/n)!!!"

dont know about yall but if i went home and my family found out i was involved with ~brujeria~ i would not be accepted at home (please read as if youre white and cant say shit in spanish)

thats just the mad religious side talking dont worry yall

but sally and paul would literally let you in with open arms

the jackson's apartment is your second home

percy has a drawer reserved for your clothes in his room ♡♡

he loves it when you sleepover, at home or at camp

he absolutely adores kissing your hands

he doesnt care about the dangers you can produce from them, he'll kiss em allllll he wants

you could be cuddled up together, ur reading to him and he just grabs one of your hands and begins to leave a trail of kisses up your arm, shoulder, neck, cheek, and eventually leaving one on your temple

it just gets you like 😵‍💫

he loves his badass girlfriend, okay?

literally your #1 fan

would beat up anybody who talks shit !!!

tea is your holy ground ♡

because you cant drink coffee

cause ya know, adhd, youll just end up knocking out

though you do drink it when you cant fall asleep at night

its me, hi

and hot chocolate is strickly an only-in-december drink, because then it wont hit in december, since you had it earlier in the year

(my mom does that with gorditas and tamales broooo its painful)

so ya drink tea!

i dont drink tea, so im not even gonna try to tell you what his favorite is

he likes whatever you like

but you try a bunch of different teas and stuff together :)

youd probably adopt a black cat together when youre older

youre never gonna beat your neighbor's witch allegations

(probably because theyre true but youll obviously never say that)

i feel like percy would be more of a dog person but lets be real, he likes horses.

fuckin horse girl smh

but that does not mean he wouldnt love and care for the cat

he'd so let you stop to pet any stray cat you see on the street

takes pictures of the cat anytime you do ♡

you cook together !!

you teach percy a bunch of different recipes and stuff :)

has a 'kiss the cook' apron 100%

and what can ya say, you gotta kiss the cook

man you guys manage to stay silly throughout the horrors, we love

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo x reader #child of hecate #percy jackson x you #by bells ♡⋆ ࣪.#seaweed brain ⋅˚₊‧𓇼

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frostironfudge · 2 years

Text

My Angel - Bucky Barnes Smut

Summary: Bucky Barnes, your father's best friend has been very, very patient about matters involving you. Seeing you in that outfit however, he can't help but want to corrupt his angel.

Pairing: DBF! Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: main kink: corruption, age gap: bucky is 40 reader late twenties eg: 26, smut, dom/sub dynamics, possessiveness, slight dark bucky, praise kink, mild degradation kink, nickname - angel, oral f receiving, p in v, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, handjob, cosplay, cum play, Bucky Barnes is a warning MINORS DNI

A.N: i always wanted to write DBF!Bucky and the best way is smut I guess, hope you enjoy! also side note i know nothing of the hobbit and i did ask my best friend @stevesmewmew about it. also song i constantly heard while writing - dirty thoughts - chole adams

Word Count: 3020

Main Masterlist|| AO3 || Kinktober Materlist

You stare at yourself in the mirror, gnawing your bottom lip. The white dress looks pretty, sort of flowy, your cheeks heat at why you picked the outfit.

The lace sits nicely, you stare at the silver woven crown you DIY-ed. Placing it upon your head. You don’t know the first thing about the character apart from what you found on google.

Galadriel, you stare at your attempt of cosplay one more time. You do admire the dress. All your best friend said was she was powerful, innocent and that she had battle skills as well as knowledgeable. She seemed badass.

You knew the man’s eye you watched to catch was a fan of the franchise. You wondered who he would dress as, your palms smoothen over the dress once again. Grabbing your purse you do a final check and head downstairs. Nervousness blooms in your abdomen.

Your elder brother’s annual halloween party was an excuse for friends and teens to sort of let loose. The only reason it was even allowed was the fact that Bucky Barnes, your dad’s best friend and neighbour would keep the antics in line. The same man who you wanted to impress tonight.

Usually he would be having fun with everyone and covering for your brother’s shenanigans and mostly keeping you company and coaxing you out of your shell for about an hour and then you both would sneak into the theatre room to have a horror movie marathon.

As you traverse downstairs, the party already in full swing. Music thumping, you squeeze past the crowd in the hallway going to the kitchen for a drink. You wonder if forgoing the wig makes a difference as you head to the fridge. Shrugging you uncap the bottle. Glad, that the kitchen isn’t occupied yet.

“Holy fuck.” The voice startles you and the water drops across your chest. You wince turning to tell of the source. Your throat dries when it’s Bucky — dressed in a suit, fangs peaking through his lips.

“B-bucky?” You confirm, he’s gone for the modern vampire vibe and you can’t stop staring at the fit of his inner white collared shirt.

“You, you’re dressed as—,” his eyes trace over you, crown to hem of the white gown. His fake fang sinks into his bottom lip. Tongue then peeking out to wet the flesh.

You gulp eyes on his lips, “G-galadriel.”

“You look, ethereal.” He admits, you look away shyly.

“Thank, thank you.” Internally your heart hammers at his response.

Bucky steps closer, towering over you. His woodsy cologne evades your senses, he reaches up, fixing your crown. Fingertips then trace from your temple to your jaw to your chin, tilting your head back.

His heated gazes prompts your thighs to clench. Bucky inhales deeply.

“Such innocence.” He murmurs, “So much light. How would you look flush against darkness?” Bucky questions he can feel all the blood rush to his cock. Your nipples hardened perceivable through the lace. The tea towel he holds pressed against your chest.

He wants to push you against the wall and kiss you. Wants to rip the lace off with his teeth, watch how your lips part moaning his name, or stretched around his cock, how would you look bouncing on his— you blink up at him, he shifts back.

“Can’t taint you, can I?” He muses. You frown.

“Bucky I,”

“Do you like my outfit?” He gestures, changing the topic.

“Vampire?” You giggle when he smiles brightly, fangs bared.

“From those shows you like,” He admits sheepish.

“The one I like wears a leather jacket.” You tease, he narrows his eyes.

“Oh so when I caught you salivating at the suit wearing one, that was what?” He chuckles when you huff caught in your own web of lies.

“I do like him in a suit, you might just make it better.” Your fingertips trace the undone jacket button, biting your lip you look up at him.

Bucky breathes your name in warning, not for himself but for you. He had begun to disregard warnings the night he coated his fist and abdomen with his cum thinking about you.

“Want to know a dirty little secret?” You burn his curiosity brighter than light. He nods.

“I wore the outfit for you.” Your hand traces up to the jacket lapel, Bucky breathes deeply.

“You dressed up as one of the most innocent characters of my favourite series, for me?” Bucky recounts, god your perfume so sweet. How would you taste? He wonders.

“All for you.” You admit, swallowing when his palm finally meets your waist. Warmth sears through your skin as his thumb brushes over the lace.

Bucky’s mind is a swirl of should I, should I not, but you were making it so easy. So easy to choose the idea to corrupt you.

The groan he produces rumbles in his chest, Bucky watches as you shift and your pelvis moves in the slightest to your thighs clenching.

“Want to know a dirty little secret, Angel?” He questions, palm trailing up your side, to your breast.

“Y-yes.” You bite your lip trying not to make a sound as he palms the flesh through the lace.

“I want to ruin you, with my tongue, my fingers and my cock.” Bucky’s voice is deep, you softly moan at his words.

“Look at that, little innocent angel wants to be ruined.” He comments, tugging on your nipples.

“You’re going to look so pretty wrapped around my cock, begging for release.” He tugs on your earlobe, you feel his thigh between your legs, your hips buck involuntary, you whimper at the contact.

“Look at you Angel, turning into such a needy, pretty slut for me.” Bucky marvels at the way you’re complying, the way your needy little breaths are making him so hard.

He pulls away as he hears boisterous laughter approaching. You whine at the loss of him.

“Angel.” He chastises. Handing you the dish towel to help soak the water from your dress.

“Oh hey, Mr. Barnes, hey tiny.” Your brother chuckles when you groan at his stupid nickname for you. He busies himself taking out drinks from the wine cooler.

“Hi Y/N. What happened?” Nick Fowler, your brother’s best friend steps closer to you.

“Just spilled a drink,” you shrug, his grey eyes on you.

“Oh I’ll help—,” Nick’s hand outstretches, but Bucky steps closer, “She’s got it.”

Nick’s jaw tenses, Bucky only smiles at him.

You look between the two, not understanding the reason for the stare down.

“Run along now.” Bucky speaks sickly sweet as your brother calls out to Nick, he gives you a once over and then leaves with him.

You look at Bucky, he turns to you, signs of irritation leaving his features.

“Meet me in my theatre room?” Bucky smiles when you nod eagerly.

He cups your face between, his metal and calloused hand.

Blue eyes, admire you.

“I want the crown to remain on, though I wonder if it will stay secure after I’m done with you.” Before you can react he presses his lips to yours, warm, soft lingering taste of his whiskey.

The cold metal of the refrigerator blooms across your back as he presses you against the appliance.

You kiss back, as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip exploring your mouth. Taking his bottom lip between your teeth you suck on the flesh, he moans your name, grinding against you.

Bucky parts his lips from yours, your lust blown eyes gaze up at him, so innocent.

“Oh, Angel. I don’t think I have any patience left any longer.” Is all he says before grabbing your hand and guiding you out the side door, towards his house.

Bucky’s hands are everywhere, your knees either side of his lap, the dress pushed up bunching around your hips. He lifts his hips ever so slightly, you cry out around his fingers.

“Go on Angel, get them nice and wet. Good girl, oh are you chocking on my fingers already? Oh sweet little needy baby, what will you do with my cock then?” He tuts, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connects from the tip of his finger to your lips.

“Ask for my fingers Angel.” Bucky smirks as you whine.

“Please.” Your hands rest on his chest.

“That wasn’t a really good job.” He chastises, “You can do better sweet Angel, go on say the filthy words of what you want from me.”

Staring into his eyes, your skin heats, Bucky shifts his hips again, you mewl.

“Bucky please.” Your hands clutch at his half unbuttoned shirt. It hangs off of his shoulders.

“Please what?” His left hand moves up your back, cooler fingers find the zipper undoing it.

“Please fuck me with, with your fingers.” You bite your lip.

“Only my fingers?” He teases thumb brushing over your inner thigh.

“Do you want to sit on my face baby? Do you want me to lap up your sweetness? Bet you taste so good.” His thumb brushes over your clit.

You nod, you want all of it.

“No panties, no bra, were you wanting me to fuck you?” He raises a brow, thumb applying pressure.

You nod preening, “Want, want you.” His left hand urges you to kneel straighter, index and middle finger circling your entrance.

“You want, me, Angel?” He confirms again, “Look at you, clenching around nothing, let’s change that shall we?” His digit sinks into you, Bucky swirls it around touching your walls, he then begins to pump in and out.

You begin to meet the slow thrusts, your gown beginning to fall from your shoulders. Bucky swears as he sees the untouched skin and the pebbled nipples.

“Look at you,” Two fingers fucking into your cunt, “Meeting every thrust, not so innocent are you?” His lips latch onto your nipple, sucking and biting your head thrown back his palm rubs over your clit as you grind down upon his fingers.

Bucky shifts his attention to the other nipple, the pace of his fingers increasing he adds a third, “Have to stretch you out don’t I? Aw, Angel are you going to make a mess on me? My Dirty, dirty girl.”

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—,” His fingers continually tap over the spongy sport, stars begin to cloud your vision, left hand gripping your breast, tweaking your nipples.

“Go on, cum for me Angel, this is only the beginning of your ruin.” Bucky smirks as you shudder against him, cunt squeezing his fingers, thighs trying to close, your hands tugging on is hair.

Lust blown blues admire you unraveling, the bliss spreading over your features as the orgasm takes you, your walls begging to keep his fingers in, Bucky’s palm rubbing circles over your clit and the burn of it delicious. Your shaking from the aftershocks ceases. It takes everything in Bucky not to have his fingers replaced by his cock swiftly.

“You with me Angel?” Bucky chuckles, when you blink through the haze.

“Y-yeah.” You run your fingers through his hair.

“Crown’s still on.” He chuckles, bringing his slick covered fingers to your lips, “Have a taste, you need to know how you taste without me.”

His fingertips trace your lips, your tongue follows. Bucky then tastes you from his fingers and moans.

Your dress is pushed off of your body, Bucky’s hands roam in admiration.

“So fucking delicious, I deserve a reward don’t I? For being this patient, for letting you remain untainted by me this long.” He looks at you, you nod. Bucky taps your hips and you move off him to allow him to slide down.

He kisses your clit, “Already needy, my, my.” his tongue licks over your folds, humming at your taste.

“Grab onto the headboard, Angel.” He says before his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks wantonly upon the pulsing nub. Shivers bloom across your back.

You moan, grinding onto his face, he groans. Hands clutching your hips not letting you move away, Bucky laps at your entrance, licking stripes from your clit to circle and back. Nibbling on the clit your mewls and preens don’t stop, his light scruff burns deliciously over your inner thighs and folds.

“Bucky please, please, please—,” You warn as the coil snaps again, his hips lift off of the bed in response as he hungrily devours you for every single drop. When he doesn’t relent you try pulling away, you can feel yourself getting slick again as his ministrations continue.

His large hands push you back to sit on his lap again, pink lips glistening as he smirks. He pulls you close chest to chest.

“Rewarding.” He comments lazily tracing patters on your thigh.

You look down, the tent in his pants achingly visible.

“Can, can I?” You request.

“All words, Angel, need to know the filth that goes on in that innocent little mind, tell me is it all for me? Have my thoughts been corrupting you?” Your thighs squeeze at his word.

“Have you touched yourself thinking about me? Played with my pussy without asking me?” His thumb returns to your clit.

“Yes.” You squeak.

“Tell me what you’ve thought about baby?” He questions, “Tell me while you undo my pants, go on.”

Shaky fingers reach for the button, “I’ve thought, I’ve though about you fucking me, in your study.” You undo the zipper.

“Bent over my table?” He questions watch your tits with every deep breath you take.

You shake your head, toying with the wait band of his boxers.

“Against the window? My sweet, innocent, Angel wants the world to see I’m fucking her?” He questions, you nod.

“And maybe the table too.” You add, drawing amused laughter from him.

“What else, Angel?” He questions pace on your clit increasing, “Take my cock out.”

You do as he says, pumping him from bottom to top, his length is massive and girth as well. You bite your lip.

“Angel, don’t worry your pretty little head, it’ll fit, pussy was made for my cock.” He hisses as you rub your thumb on the slit then you bring the precum covered digit to your lips, locking eyes with him.

“Go on, taste me.” He watches as you clean your thumb eyes closed and humming at his taste before returning your hand to his cock.

“Stand up, we’re going to my office.” Bucky’s cock twitches in your hold.

His clothes are discarded, he easily lips you up, legs wrapped around him, his cock shifts over your folds with each step, Bucky keeps his lips pressed to yours as he easily moves to his office down the hall.

“Bend over the table corner.” He instructs, setting you down, you do as he says the cold marble has you shift, the rounded corner touches your clit.

“Just how I pictured.” He hums appreciative, lining himself up with you, slowly sinking in inch by inch you both moan in synchrony. Bucky grabs your hands holding them behind you. The arch it creates has him move in deeper, tip right against your g-spot.

“Fuck, so fucking tight, look at you, spread out for me, what would people say? Innocent little Angel is Bucky’s pretty little slut. She fantasises about being fucked by him. I’ll fuck you on every surface if you ask me.” His hips snap you cry out, clenching hard around him.

“Only you.” You whimper, as his pace increases, the cold marble rubbing against your clit.

“Fuck, how good are you squeezing me, cunt doesn’t want to let me go.” Bucky groans, pulling you up.

His cock moves deeper, your back is against his chest, his left hand moves to your clit, right hand around your throat squeezing lightly. Your walls quiver around him.

“Oh Angel likes being choked? Fuck, you’re perfect. My pretty little slut, look at you.” He groans, adding pressure and the sounds of his cock have you mewl and preen.

“Please, please, please,” More incoherent thoughts spill from your lips, he feels so good, so good. So deep.

“Only I, get to see you this way don’t I? Begging, on the brink of bliss.”

Yes, yes, yes—“Bucky, please—,”

“Look at you, can only think about my cock filling you up so good, can’t you Angel?” He bites down on your neck, leaving his mark.

“So, g-good,” You choke on another moan.

Your hands around his neck, your nails manage to claw at his flesh. Bucky knows he’s not going to last, he knows you aren’t going to either.

“Go on Angel, cum so you can feel me everywhere. My dirty, little, pretty girl. Innocent little slutty Angel.” His words set off the flame that consumed your veins, distantly you hear a desperate cry of Bucky’s name, Bucky groans your name in response your spasming walls setting his orgasm off.

He continues to fuck you through your orgasms, panting in his arms, Bucky loves how your pussy feels wrapped around him. He leans back taking you with him into his plush chair.

Cock still inside of you, his fingers rubbing at your clit, you protest, his hand clutches at your hair, lips swallow down your protests, fingers moving fast your babbles return, cumming undone on his cock, marking it with yourself.

“Look at that Angel, you’ve claimed my cock.” He admires the fluids coating your thighs and his balls, gathering the cum, he brings his fingers to your lips.

You keep your eyes locked with his, as you lick his fingers clean. Your clit pulses at the taste. Bucky smirks feeling your pussy clench. Your mind is a haze as his lips press kisses to your temple and cheek.

“I’ve got all night to corrupt your thoughts further. Against the window next, Angel. I know someone who would hate to miss out on the show we put on.” He chuckles darkly, hands roam your body.

You hum tiredly, basking in the warmth, Bucky’s eyes shift to the broken crown discarded to the floor.

“Little corrupted Angel.” He hums, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, "My Angel." He repeats, placing a soft kiss over the love bite on your neck.

"All yours, Bucky." You whisper, tilting your head back to meet his blue eyes.

-x-

permanent tags for bucky: @slutforsexyseabass

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year

Text

Uh-Oh, There Was a Monster in My Bed

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Anytime, really

Warnings: Poorly written smut, p in v, hand job, edging, blindfold, choking

Summary: Sometimes, he was your good boy.

A/N: Help! I’ve fallen for subby Daryl and I can’t get up. I’ll check this for errors later. Also, I think I finally managed a drabble!!

*gif is not mine

“It’s okay, you can handle a little more, can’t you?” Your praise was met with a guttural moan, the muscles under your fingertips spasming before you lifted your hand from his thigh. Your palm traveled up the planes of his stomach and chest before slender fingers squeezed his throat. His hips bucked, cock twitching in your grasp. “You’re such a good boy for me.” Each stroke was torturously slow, leaving him almost whimpering and ready to beg for more friction.

You released his neck and let your fingers crawl up to the blindfold, caressing the part of the cloth that lay over his temple. The idea had initially made him anxious, but Daryl trusted you. You established a safe word, but to his credit, he had not used it. And you had been torturing him for over an hour.

Your index finger was in his mouth now, pressing on his tongue while you delighted in the sounds he offered at each stroke of your hand. Rising from your knees, you released his tongue and perched your naked cunt on his thigh, grinding against his jeans to seek some relief for yourself. You had only removed his shirt and opened his pants, a decision you were now regretting. Not much you could do with him tied to the chair, though.

“Y/N.” He groaned, his head falling back, each breath a sharp pant. You answered with a hum, closing your lips around his nipple. “I—I need—”

“Not yet.”

He bucked again with a whine. Dragging your thumb over his tip to collect the liquid there, you licked your lips when your next strokes sounded wet and sinful. You yourself had nearly had enough and released him, lifting off his thigh. His head dropped forward and angled to the side, listening to your movements.

You threw a leg over him, sinking onto his length without warning, your velvet heat causing him to twitch. “Don’t you dare.” You warned, giving him no time before both hands roughly grabbed his hair and wrenched back his head. He somehow managed to refrain, breathing harshly through his nose. The pace you set was brutal, bouncing up and down with abandon to chase your own high.

“Y/N—Y/N, please—” He begged through clenched teeth. He was barely hanging on.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Your fingers twisted in his mane, earning a high-pitched keening noise.

“I need—lemme cum.”

You offered another hum, swallowing his moan with a rough kiss. “My good boy needs to cum?” One hand fell to his shoulder to help you balance, your thighs beginning to burn.

“Fuck. Yes, please.”

“I love it when you beg.” Your words whispered against the skin just below his ear, your teeth finding his pulse to nibble on the flesh there. You felt the fire building in the pit of your own stomach, your walls fluttering around him as the familiar tingle began to race out through your veins. “Alright, Daryl. You can cum.” You almost didn’t make it to the last word, your orgrasm crashing over you. Your pace slowed but didn’t cease, coaxing him to the precipice so you could force your eyes open to watch him fall apart. He writhed in the chair, mouth hanging open while his muscles twitched and flexed. Warmth flooded within you, the contractions of your cunt milking the most delicious sounds from him while his seed filled you.

“That’s my good boy.” You rocked atop him gently, drawing out both of your highs until you were oversensitive. Once you had stilled, you smiled and kissed him delicately, pulling the blindfold away. “Such a good boy.”

Outside, he was a badass archer, afraid of nothing.

Inside the walls of your home, he would always be your good boy.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #mdni #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon is a good boy #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl twd #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon drabbles #Spotify

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mrsshabana · 1 month

Note

Hey there, I've been kinda stalking your tumblr, and I just want to say I love your writing. And I wanted to make a small request (please don't feel pressured) of gyutaro from modern time finding out his straight A and shy S/O had a bit of a delinquent pass of stealing and lying to the point of boot camp. This is the first time I ever requested for a fanfic (or it can be a headcanon, whatever is easier). And honestly, I'm not gonna get my hopes up that you'll see this, but if you do loves and kisses ( =＾ω＾)

𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x GenderNeutral!Reader, Modern au, Fluff ꒦꒷‧₊ Note Tysm for the kind words!! You asked so nicely so I knew I had to write this up for you. I ended up changing things a bit so I hope you don't mind. (ˊᗜˋ) ♡

Gyutaro gets sent to boot camp every summer. Either because his mom got tired of his antics or because it was mandated by his school. No matter where Gyutaro goes, he's always getting into trouble.

This year was the same as any other, sent to boot camp yet again. It never worked and he knew it wouldn't work this time. Why did the adults always bother sending him every year if it never made a difference? He doesn't know and he really doesn't care either.

But this year he saw a familiar face, a face he wasn't expecting to see. It was you. The straight-A brat that was known around school for being a goody two shoes.

"The fuck are you doin' here?" He said with wide eyes as he saw you walking onto the campgrounds.

You try to ignore him and walk away faster but he catches up to you and grabs your arm.

"Hey! I'm talkin' to you!" He growls, getting frustrated already. If you weren't so pathetic he probably would have picked a fight with you.

"It's none of your business," you snatch your arm away from him, "Just pretend you don't know me!"

"Just cough it up already, I won't tell anyone," he says with a smirk on his face. He's most definitely going to tell everyone.

"Ugh fine..." you sigh, blushing in embarrassment, "My mom sent me here because I kept stealing, lying, and sneaking out..."

His eyes widen in surprise, "You serious? YOU? The prissy little model student?" he begins to laugh, "Holy shit. This is amazing, I had no idea you were so cool."

"What? Cool...?" No one's ever called you cool before, you were always just that shy nerdy kid in school.

"Hell yeah, that's badass!" he shouts, genuinely excited.

To be honest, Gyutaro always thought you were cute. But he avoided you because your reputation put a sour taste in his mouth. He didn't want to be associated with someone like you. But now that he knows your secret he's more than happy to be your friend. Or maybe even more.

Throughout the first few days of camp, Gyutaro sticks by your side. The two of you bond through exercises and activities run by the teachers at the boot camp.

But things take a turn for the worse when you get reprimanded by the most strict teacher on the campgrounds, Mr. Shinazugawa.

You were snickering with Gyutaro when Mr. Shinazugawa was talking, and he did not like that. Not at all.

"HEY YOU!!" He yells, "What the hell is so funny?! Drop and give me 40! NOW!!" Veins pop out on his temples as he demands you and Gyutaro punishment.

Gyutaro hates Mr.Shinazugawa so he whispers to you, "Just do it so he'll leave us alone."

But Gyutaro didn't realize how hard this would be for you. 40 push-ups are easy for Gyutaro, but you struggle to even do 10. And Mr.Shinazugawa won't let up.

"I-I can't do it," you whimper as you try to hold yourself up.

"STOP COMPLAINING!! IF YOU DON'T STOP WASTING MY TIME I'M GOING TO CONFISCATE YOUR DINNER!" He yells in your face.

You feel embarrassed as all of the other students stare at you, so embarrassed that you begin to cry. And that is the final straw for Gyutaro.

"FUCK YOU, MAN!" Gyutaro rasps as he pushes Mr.Shinazugawa, "Don't talk to them like that!! Pick on someone your own size!"

Mr.Shinazugawa is known for losing his temper, so what happens next isn't pretty. A fistfight breaks out between him and Gyutaro. Other teachers have to run in to put a stop to it.

Once Mr.Himejima, the coordinator of the boot camp, hears about the incident he decided it'd be best to suspend you and Gyutaro from the program in order to avoid any lawsuits. Especially since Mr.Shinazugawa got physical with Gyutaro, both of them getting a few good hits on each other.

The next morning the two of you are instructed to pack your things and leave camp, which you do very quickly since neither of you want to be there.

"Thanks for standing up for me, Gyutaro," you say as you walk with him to the train station.

"It was nothin'," he blushes, "I couldn't let him talk to you that way."

"You know," you stop and look up at him, "You're more of a gentleman than I thought."

Getting on your tip-toes you lean forward and give the tall delinquent boy a kiss.

His entire face goes red and he's left speechless, just watching as you smile back at him while walking towards the train.

"Are you coming? The train won't wait for you, silly!" You yell as you enter the train that's headed back to your hometown.

"Oh!" he finally snaps out of it, though his face is still as red as a tomato, "C-Comin'!"

Now that you don't have to go to boot camp anymore both of you will be free all summer. Maybe Gyutaro can take you on a date or two before the school year starts. And if he's lucky, maybe you'll become more than just friends.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #gender neutral reader #𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 ʚ♡ɞ

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 10 months

Text

The Princess & The Playboy (Part 5)

Summary: While meeting Dean's parents went smoothly, the reader's may be a different story. Meanwhile, Dean confides in Eric he knows a secret of his that sheds light on Eric's past actions and the boys set their plan in action...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 6,500ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping

A/N: 👀

_________

Dean POV

I woke with a jerk, eyes flashing open as a small surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. I sighed, closing my eyes as glimpses of a nightmare ran through my mind. I was honestly surprised at how long I’d gone without one.

I wondered if Y/N ever had that recurring dream about not being able to get to Max in time like I did with Sam. I turned in bed, scooting closer, searching for her warm body to curl up against. When my arm reached out to find her though, all I discovered were cold sheets. My eyes popped open again, the clock on her nightstand showing it was almost six in the morning.

I was due to get up in half an hour but Y/N could sleep in. Given how she’d told me just last week she was a night owl, my thoughts wandered to not so great places.

Either she was missing or she was so stressed about her parents visit she was losing sleep over it. The fact she lived in fucking Fort Knox led me to believe it was the later.

I stretched in bed before wandering over to the closet, smiling at the previously empty side. I stayed over most every night, even if the most intimate thing we did was a cuddle. We hadn’t officially said I had a drawer or anything like that but I had a space in the closet for some personal items. Mostly it was fresh underwear and socks but Y/N had hung up a few things that hadn’t belonged to me. Just things she thought it’d be “nice to have” around.

Including a dope ass robe that looked way too freaking comfy on the chilly morning. I threw it on and wrapped my arms around myself, humming as the fleece warmed my cool skin. I wasn’t exactly a robe guy and suspected this thing cost more than some people’s rent, but it did feel damn good.

I trudged through the dark house, ears perking up as I made my way towards her home gym. Piano notes filled the air and I saw light spilling through a cracked door, a soft melody breaking through the quiet.

“Endless,” breathed out Y/N, smashing her fingers against the keys, her eyes closed, face contorting like she didn’t like that sound. “Endless,” she sang softly again, moving her fingers to a lower note, her face less critical.

I didn’t want to disturb her and tried to close the door. Unfortunately, it was enough to prick her spidey senses because next thing I knew, a hardcover notebook was smacking me in the forehead.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, covering her hands with her face as she shot up. I rubbed my temple and picked up her papers, Y/N moving my hand away before I even straightened up. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” She guided me to the couch in what looked like a studio, taking off quickly and returning in less then thirty seconds with a small first aid kit. “I’m fine, I swear.”

She ignored me, dabbing a cotton ball with alcohol before lighting pressing it against the cut. I winced, Y/N frowning as she found a butterfly bandage and stuck it on.

“I am fine,” I said again, taking hold of her cheeks, smiling sleepily before pecking a light kiss on her lips. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. I shook my head, pulling her to sit in my lap.

“I’m not. You’re kind of a badass. Plus with an arm like that I’m thinking we get you in as backup QB. If you ever got sick of singing, I got a job lined up for ya.” She didn’t smile like she usually did when I teased her though. “What’s wrong? It’s one little bump is all. No biggie.”

“I woke you up early and you need your sleep and now I’m sure you have a headache on top of that and I have my stupid parents coming in this afternoon and you’re not going to be to stay over like normal because god knows what they’ll say and I’m so behind on the next album already and-”

I put my hand over her mouth to stop her, Y/N blinking as tears welled up in her eyes. Fuck, she ripped my heart out when I saw her like that.

“Listen, listen,” I shushed her, Y/N wearily watching me. “I am fine and I’ll tell you if I’m not. You are exhausted, honey. You have not caught up from when you were on tour for half the freaking year. I want you to go back to bed and I’ll talk to Eric, make sure your morning gets cleared. All I want you to do is get some sleep. Someone from your team can grab your parents and entertain them until tonight where I will come over to have dinner with you and then I will stay over like always. You’re not going to worry about any other shit. Promise?”

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around me in a deep hug. “My parents stress me out whenever they visit. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t say sorry,” I said, pressing my lips to her ear. “I just want you to get some sleep. Now do you promise?”

“Promise,” she mumbled, burying her face in my neck. She sighed softly and it was only a few beats later I realized her breathing had evened out, fast asleep. My girl really was at the end of her rope. As gently as I could, I carried her out and upstairs, tucking her into bed before changing. Downstairs, I filled up my thermos with coffee and made Y/N some pancakes she could reheat for lunch later.

“Good morning,” said Eric quietly. I glanced left, his body drenched in sweat, most likely from the gym. “You’re up early a lot.”

“My day starts at eight on the dot, sometimes sooner. I get fined if I’m late,” I said, taking a mug from beside the sink and filling it up for him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a long sip. “You guys get Tuesdays off, right?”

“Yeah but I normally work it and review game film. Gotta set a good example for the team.” I wrapped up the pancakes on a plate, putting a sticky note on top. “I turned off Y/N’s phone. She needs to catch up on sleep. I know she’s busy but please let her sleep late today and cancel any morning meetings she has. And make sure her parents stay away until this evening. She’s worried about them and I told her I’d be here when they get here.”

“Can do.” I nodded, washing up the pan and taking another sip of coffee. “Dean.”

I turned around from the sink, Eric leaned back against the counter. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry again for how I treated you before. Y/N’s always deserved someone good. I’m glad she finally has that with you.”

“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to him. Eric shook it, a quiet beat passing. “Do you think you and Sloane have a chance of working things out?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t even want her forgiveness. I just want her to know my reasoning and that I regret it. I just need her to know that I never thought she was weak or incapable and especially that I didn’t string her along. I always loved her. Even if I fucked it up for good.”

“I’m no relationship expert but why didn’t you go to her in the hospital?” I asked, Eric taking a seat at the island with a sigh. “Like, is there any possible reason you could tell Sloane about why you left?”

“You blamed yourself for your brother’s abduction when there logically was no reason to. For years you did.” He stared me down and nodded. “Now imagine that feeling of guilt but you know you fucked up. The intel was bad and you were distracted and imagine Sam or Y/N were taken, beat to hell, every inch of skin battered. And it was 100% your fault. Your job was to protect them and you screwed up. Would you be able to walk in that room and sit there, your mistake staring right back at you?”

“Were you abused as a kid?” Eric’s eyebrows shot up fast before his jaw clenched.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” he snapped.

“Survivors often blame things out of their control on themselves because they’ve been conditioned to,” I said, raising my chin. Eric closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“You did a background check on me,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t use Sloane for it if it makes you feel better. No one knows except me and I plan on it staying that way. I wanted to know who the fuck you were was all.” Eric nodded, inhaling sharply. “Does Sloane know about your dad?”

“No and it doesn’t matter. I screwed up-”

“You probably ran away because you’re conditioned-”

“I’m a fucking solider, Winchester. My sack of shit father has been dead and gone for a very long time. I did not run away from Sloane because of some childhood trauma crap. I was a shitty person. Case closed.”

I stepped closer, looking down at him with a hard face. “Y/N and I were barely adults when we got our trauma and it’s still inside us. Don’t you fucking dare try and say it had no effect because it did. It made you a protector. It also made you expect Sloane to do or say awful things to you when you did go in that room. You’re smart enough to know I’m right.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eric grit out, shooting daggers at me. “I wasn’t there when she needed me and that’s that.”

“Do you know why Y/N let me in? Because I talked to her, because I was vulnerable. Big bad bodyguard and you’re too scared to tell the girl you love all your secrets.”

“So what? I tell her and nothing changes so what’s the fucking point? I still hurt her.” I grasped his shoulder, shaking my head at him.

“Buddy, we both love two badass strong women. You’re right, Sloane could tell you to fuck off. Or she can finally understand and maybe forgive you. A guy like you isn’t the bad guy, no matter how much you tell yourself.”

Eric lowered his head, his shoulders rising when he breathed deeply. “I can’t. I’ve never told anyone. Shit, my own sister doesn’t even know.”

“Well you can practice with me if you ever decide you do want to,” I said, patting his back. “Take care of Y/N for me today.”

He hummed, Sloane waiting out front by my SUV when I left.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked. Sloane rubbed her eye, opening the car door.

“I was working on understanding Y/N’s security protocols,” she said, still rubbing her eye.

“At six in the morning?”

“I wake up early. Is that a crime?” she snapped, her eyes red rimmed. I glanced back at the house, Sloane glaring at me. “What?”

“You overheard me talking to him, didn’t you.” She kept my gaze, only a slight tick of her jaw giving her away. “You’re in jeans and a t-shirt today.”

“So what?”

“So maybe your outfit choice doesn’t have to be the only change you make. You could talk to him-“

Sloane held up a hand. “I am not talking about this with anyone, including you. Understand?”

“And the world thinks I’m the emotionally immature one around here,” I mumbled, sliding into the passenger seat. Sloane slammed the door shut and I winced. I could only hope the rest of the day turned around.

Late Afternoon

“Winchester.” I blinked my eyes, noticing the conference room was mostly cleared out. Benny waited by the door as I grabbed my playbook and quickly followed after. “You alright, man?”

“Yeah. Just need to get some sleep,” I yawned, my phone buzzing in my pocket. My agent was having a field day today, fending off offers left and right from companies wanting to capitalize on my recent popularity. Thankfully Brad was a good guy and he knew what I was and wasn’t willing to endorse.

And any mention of Y/N meant they got an automatic rejection. No questions asked. I wasn’t about to profit off the fact people knew she was my girlfriend.

My phone buzzed again and I reached into my pocket, surprised to see Eric calling. “Uh, hey. What’s up?”

“What time do you get done with work?” Eric asked. I shrugged, waving for Benny to go on ahead of me back to the locker room.

“About an hour. Why?” Eric sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“Listen.” The phone got quiet for a moment, faint footsteps in the background. But then I heard it. Heard it loud and clear.

“Liars and cheats and oh you dirty, dirty sneaks! Like I’m the stain on your perfect life making it bleak!” Y/N sang loudly through the phone, her voice raw while her fingers slammed piano keys.

The noise dissipated, Eric clearing his throat. “Good news, she wrote a song for her record this morning. Bad news, her parents showed up early on their own and they had a massive blowout. I guess they saw the cake you guys made for Max and freaked.”

“...You wouldn’t call me with this unless you were concerned, would you.”

“Girl’s always used music to process her feelings. But she’s sort of bawling in there and I’ve promised in the past to not interfere when it comes to her parents.” I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “She’d rip my head off and probably yours if we went in there and talked to her. She’ll either be calmer in an hour or be halfway through another song.”

“I’ll be there in forty five,” I said, heading for the locker room. “Don’t tell her.”

I could feel his hesitancy on the other end. “Did you say not to tell her you’re coming over?”

“Yeah. Let her stay in her studio. I need to talk to her parents. Alone.” Eric was silent for a beat and then another. “Tell me the truth, buddy. Does Y/N exaggerate about her folks or do they say some fucked up shit to her sometimes?”

Eric breathed heavy, a door closing, the sounds of the outdoors surrounding him. “They already don’t like you. Her mom called you a man whore and her dad flipped that she wore your jersey the other night. So I guess you got nothing to lose.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me. But they will change their act if they want to be part of their daughter’s life. They can’t hurt her like that everytime she sees them.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, kid,” said Eric, opening a car door. “I’ll pick you up at the stadium.”

“I distinctly recall you hating my guts.” Eric scoffed, a sliver of a smile on my face. “Oh, I forgot. You loved me from the start, right?”

“Don’t push it, Winchester,” he said. “Get back to work. I’ll see you in a few.”

One hour later I was bouncing my knee in the passenger seat of my truck, Eric pulling into Y/N’s driveway. If my conversation with him over the past twenty minutes was anything to go by, Y/N had been far too kind regarding her parents.

They’d blamed her for Max’s kidnapping. Said it straight to her fucking face when she was eighteen years old. She was a kid and they told her it was her fault. Seven years later they told her they wished she was the one that was dead and they were burying. Called her a brat and diva for being upset on the day of Max’s funeral. Blamed her for paparazzi invading their moment. Blamed her when she tried to talk about Max or hear stories from when they were kids, told her not to speak his name, not when she screwed up his life. The day they “buried” her brother, their relationship had been done for good. They had no problem taking her money though, playing the warm set of parents when they needed to.

Y/N was not about to be forced to hide in her own home just to get away from people who clearly didn’t give a rats ass about her.

A strong hand gripped my shirt collar as Eric parked, my gaze shooting over my shoulder.

“Hey. I fucked up because I was too protective of Sloane. I don’t want that to happen to you,” he said. I nodded, Eric still leery. “She still loves them, Dean.”

“I know. And if she hates me for what I’m about to do, then she hates me. But her parents need a wake up call and I’ll be the bad guy. Like you said, they already hate me so no harm no foul.”

“They’ve been by the pool,” said Eric, dropping his hand. I slid out and gave a nod to a few of the security guys in the shack I recognized. I walked around the side of the house, nerves flaring up like this was a freaking super bowl for some reason. Sure, I’d like it if Y/N’s parents were friendly and she had a good relationship.

But she didn’t deserve their shit. I just hoped it didn’t turn into a screaming match immediately.

I inhaled slowly as I found the older couple relaxing under the umbrella on the patio.

“Hi, I’m Dean Winchester,” I said as I approached, both their heads turning toward me. “Y/N’s boyfriend. I think the three of us need to talk.”

“Excuse me son but I don’t think we have anything to discuss aside from the fact you're not the kind of man we want dating our daughter,” said her father. I sat down in an open chair at the table, leaning forward with a smile.

“See that’s funny. You think you have a right to have any say in your daughter’s love life. Regardless of the fact the media portrays me as someone I’m not or that your daughter is thirty two years old, you think you have the right based on what? That she’s your flesh and blood? As if you gave an actual shit about her. It’s just us, no need to pretend.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” said her mom, voice on the edge of something dangerous I didn’t like. “Who the fuck are you to say that crap? Of course we love Y/N-”

“There you go being funny again,” I said, narrowing my eyes, looking between them both. “I would never blame my daughter for something that wasn’t her motherfucking fault. I wouldn’t wish her fucking dead or call her names or forbid her from speaking of her missing brother. I certainly wouldn’t snap at her for making a cake to celebrate her brother. If you two really hate Y/N that much, just stay the fuck away. I’m sure she’ll keep giving you as much money as you ask for.”

To my surprise, they didn’t get angry. Y/N’s mom simply stood and wandered off towards the pool, holding a hand over her mouth. Meanwhile, her father closed his eyes, lowering his head.

“At least you have the decency to not lie about it,” I said. “You people are fucking disgusting to come into your daughter’s life like nothing’s wrong when you’ve hurt her as much as those kidnappers did. He was her little brother. She knows she was late to pick him up. You have no idea how hard she’s working to start to feel like it was simply something out of her control.”

They were both silent, still not looking at me.

“Where the hell were you two? Why wasn’t it your responsibility? Why not the parents of Max’s friend? The police? The damn kidnappers? Why’d it fall on the shoulders of an eighteen year old girl? Because you’re weak people, that’s why. It’s why you keep blaming her. You have no idea how lucky you are she’s strong. Telling her you wished it was her in the ground? She might have followed up on that, you morons. She deserves to be able to remember Max openly. She deserves to believe he’s still out there somewhere, even if you don’t. She deserves parents better than you two. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here sooner to say it to your faces.”

I stood up and headed for the back door, her mom making a sort of hiccup sound.

“We never forgave her for not picking Max up on time,” she whispered, lowering her head. “When she gets…I get so angry at her when she wants to bring him up.”

“So much of our lives changed because she wanted to sing. Our privacy. People always offering fake tips about Max. It hurts so much and we keep blaming Y/N for that pain,” said her dad. “We know we shouldn’t but we don’t know how to stop.”

“Try some fucking therapy,” said Eric, walking around the near side of the house, my eyes darting to his. “This is your official notice. You are both banned from this property and contacting Y/N until further notice. Pack up your things and you will be escorted to your hotel.”

I stared at him wide eyed, Eric raising his chin, ignoring me.

“Now!” he barked. Y/N’s father rose slowly, something steely about him.

“My daughter ask you to do that? Because I’m not leaving without her wanting me gone,” he said. Eric stepped closer, getting in his face.

“My job is to protect Y/N from threats and I am sick of you two coming in here every year and fucking breaking her heart. Get some damn therapy and deal with your shit or never, I mean never, fucking contact her again. You want something, you deal with me. Now get the fuck out.”

Roughly five minutes later Eric and I watched them both be driven down the driveway, my eyes still stuck on him.

“Keep staring like that Winchester and I’ll think you have a crush,” said Eric, giving a satisfied nod when the gate closed again.

“You said you’re not supposed to interfere with her parents.” Eric shrugged, giving me a smirk.

“She wants to fire me, she can. But those assholes send her spiraling and I’m sick of standing there and watching it. Kiddo was a fucking shell for months after what happened the day of the funeral.”

“I thought I said I had it handled.” Eric spun around and headed back for the house. “Eric.”

“Just cause you can do something on your own doesn’t mean you have to,” he said, opening the door, holding it open. I slid past him into the foyer, Eric patting my shoulder. “Go take care of her. I’ll face the music later.”

“Doesn’t seem your style to hide,” I said, Eric spinning back around to head out, pausing in the doorway.

“I have an appointment…therapy,” he said quietly. “Probably going to be a waste of time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Eric shrugged. “I’ll put in a good word with the boss for you.”

“Just focus on taking care of her. I can wait,” he said, leaving and pulling the door shut. I closed my eyes and ditched my bag by the base of the stairs, walking quietly down to the studio.

I knocked once, poking my head inside, frowning as I found the room silent.

And Y/N nowhere in sight.

I flinched when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, a small body hugging me tight. “Y/N, we should-”

“The team in the shack texted I should watch the security video in the back. I heard the whole thing.” Her head burrowed between my shoulder blades, squeezing me hard. Soft, mumbled cries filled the air, my heart aching for her. Slowly, I turned in her embrace, her face hiding away in my chest when I came to face her. I gently shushed her, one arm around her back, one around her shoulders as I tucked her head under my chin.

“I’m sorry I upset you but I’m not sorry I set them straight. You don’t have to put up with people that won’t take accountability for their actions. So be mad with me and Eric but we saw how much it hurt you. We don’t regret it. The only-”

“You think I’m mad at you guys?” she whispered, raising her head, puffy, red rimmed eyes staring back. A quiet laugh slipped past her delicious lips, her head shaking as she laughed harder. “You’re such a goof, Winchester. That was…that was what they needed to hear. Thank you for saying it when I couldn’t.”

“Maybe they’ll get some help for themselves and things can get better,” I said, even if I didn’t believe they would. I’d happily be proven wrong but I wasn’t counting on it. Y/N shrugged, not seeming to have faith in the idea herself. “Can you play me something?”

“I just wrote two new ones,” she said, catching my head shake. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Nothing particular. Just want to sit and listen to you poke around if that’s alright.” She smiled, taking my hand and leading me inside. She left me at the couch and wandered to the piano bench, rolling her shoulders with a heavy inhale.

“You like rock and grunge,” she said, tapping a key, her head cocked as she did it over and over. “Think I could pull off a few alt rock songs?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want to, sweetheart. Pretty sure you could throw bagpipes in a song and make it go number one.” I caught her smile as her fingers started to dance, hips starting to sway in her seat.

“Normally I come up with music before the lyrics,” she said, something rhythmic and heavy in the air. “You know people think because I’m the pop princess that’s all I listen to. Never would think Metallica inspired a good number of songs on the last album.”

“You partial to Zeppelin?” I asked, her smirk stronger, the puffiness around her eyes going down.

“Everyone loves Stairway and for good reason but I’m a Kashmir girl,” she said, my eyebrows raising. “Surprised?”

“No. Think I fell in love with you a little more is all,” I chuckled, getting up and taking a seat on the edge of the piano bench, watching her fingers move quickly, a hint of both songs coming through. “I am sorry about your parents, sweetheart. I wish things were different.”

“Me too,” she said, flurrying her fingers before abruptly pulling back. “But I won’t ever completely forgive myself for Max as long as they’re in my life. At least how they are right now. S’like Sloane said, even if you're strong, sometimes you want someone else to be strong for you.”

She bumped my shoulder, a coy smile sneaking onto her face. My hand found hers, clasping them together. “We take turns and it’ll work out how it’s supposed to.”

Her head rested on my shoulder, nodding once. “I don’t want to be sad anymore today. Do you want to go out to dinner?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her temple. “People will probably take pictures of us though.”

“I really don’t care anymore,” she said, squeezing my hand. “If I want to go out with my boyfriend, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“That’s my girl.”

Sam POV

“Eek! Y/N and Dean went out! In public!” squealed Cecilia from the kitchen island, showing her phone to Sebastian’s event planner. The woman in her mid-thirties gave the phone a passing glance, probably wishing she could plan a party for one of them instead of fucking Seb.

He was even more of a dick whenever it got to close to him hosting one of his stupid ass parties at the house.

But the piece of shit’s desire to mingle with the rich and famous on a regular basis meant Max and I had a real shot at our plan working. I worked at the end of the island, near the open planner with a tentative guest list, my back blocking the camera.

All I had to do was slip the piece of paper from my pocket into the planner and hope the event planner added Y/N and Dean to the list without too much thought.

Without getting caught of course.

And assume that the super detailed planner lady would just go ahead and invite two of the most popular people on the planet right now willy nilly.

That was all assuming Max didn’t get caught in his part of the plan. Or too hurt. Or dead.

Shit, we really were laying it on the line for this one.

A few moments later, we all heard the loud thud, our heads snapping towards the front of the house. I moved fast, taking the split second opportunity to place the paper in the planner. Then I was off the second Max groaned, playing the role of concerned friend.

Sebastian knew how close we were, that we considered ourselves brothers. Even if we were both scared shitless about the consequences of breaking a rule, he knew I’d abandon my “job” duties to go to him if he was hurt. So I rushed through the front hall to where a few security guys were already surrounding a grunting Max on the floor.

“I’m fine,” grit out Max, even though we could all see the growing bruise on his cheek. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to hit his head. He tried to sit up, a few of the security guys urging him to stay down. Ironic considering they were the ones they’d kill us if we ever got caught.

“What the fuck…” said Seb, coming out of his office, staring at the scene before him.

“He fell down the stairs, boss,” said a guard, Max brushing the guy off and sitting up, wincing a bit.

“I said I’m fine,” said Max, his movements proving that was a lie. He was hurt. Hopefully just bumps and bruises. But that was key.

If we wanted a believable story, one of us had to get fucked up in the process. And unfortunately for Max, he was beyond shitty at rock papers scissors and had to take the fall. Literally.

“He needs to rest,” I said, forcing my way into the crowd, helping Max to his feet with another wince. I didn’t wait for a response and started taking him towards our room, Seb’s tsk making us both freeze.

“Andy, make sure he’s alright and then Max should rest the remainder of the day. Sam, I trust you can complete all unfinished chores yourself?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said, reluctantly letting Andy take my place and help support Max. I watched them disappear down the hall, Seb turning to another guard, Frankie.

“Explain yourself.” The guard stared at Sebastian, his thick swallow heard loud and clear. Sebastian stepped closer, until his nose was jammed right against the young guard’s. “Why the fuck did you punch my house staff in the face after he fell?”

I stared at Frankie, Sebastian smirking when he saw my face.

“His knuckles are scrapped, Sam,” he said, turning back to Sebastian. “Question is why the fuck do you think you can touch my fucking property?”

“The guy doesn’t respect me,” said Frankie, finding his voice. “Doesn’t laugh at my jokes, don’t call me sir.”

“He knows his role and abides by it. You on the other hand need a reminder,” snapped Seb. “Sam, dismissed.”

I quickly went back to the kitchen to finish my vegetable prep. On the one hand, Frankie was about to have a world of shit thrown his way which normally I’d feel bad about. On the other, I hated his guts and he’d hit Max for no damn reason so he deserved what was coming to him.

“Take a tylenol in six hours and ice that ankle,” said Andy, patting Max’s shoulder from where he looked him over. We shared a quick look before Max headed for our quarters, the event planner shaking her head.

“That’s why I always say you need a stair runner on those grand staircases, be damned the design.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” said Andy with a role of his eyes. Cecilia eyed me up and down before looking at her phone.

Weird…

“What do you think about maroon?” asked the planner to her just as I caught Seb storming across the hall to his office.

Yeah, today was not about to be Frankie’s day.

It was late when I finally finished with the chores. I was a better cook than Max so I normally handled dinner and prepping snacks and lunches. But doing all of Max’s cleaning on top of all of mine meant I was exhausted and starving for my own dinner.

“Sam.” I turned my head in the dim hallway, Sebastian sitting in his office, sipping on a glass of what I guessed was very expensive whiskey. “Come in here, please.”

I swallowed. The last time I had a late night conversation in that office, I was being branded by the poker in the fire place. God, if he was going to kill me hopefully it’d be fast.

I entered the room, pulling the door shut when he waved his hand. “Yes, sir?”

“How’s Max?” I clasped my hands behind my back, lowering my gaze.

“I haven’t seen him yet. I’d assume he’s resting.”

“You’re a hard worker, Sam. Always appreciated that about you. Max too,” he said, standing with his glass. He spun slowly, taking a sip. “You know what I like most about you boys though?”

Oh God. I was so dead.

“You’re loyal,” he said with a grin. “Sure, it took us a little bit to get there but you were young men. I made plenty of mistakes when I was twenty too. Now…now you boys know your place and I haven’t done a single thing to either one of you since. That’s the kind of trust I know we have. It’s loyalty. Something I seem to be lacking with some of my men.”

I raised my head, Sebastian finishing off his drink.

“Frankie’s…no longer with the operation. That kind of boy wants my head. All he sees is how to get rid of me. And I won’t say I liked the way he looked at my daughter.”

Okay. Good news, Frankie was dead and buried out in the woods out back. Bad news, Sebastian was in one of his killing moods which normally didn’t stop at one body. Mob bosses were like that.

“It’s too bad you and Max aren’t suited for this kind of work. You’re the kind of boys I could trust to be successor,” said Seb, refilling his glass from the bottle on the desk.

“That’s very flattering of you sir,” I said, his chin raising.

“Those are my issues to deal with though. You and Max on the other hand, I can promise that even when I step down and am long gone, you’ll always have your places in this organization. You were a big investment and it’s paying off. I don’t want all that effort to go to waste,” he said, clasping my shoulder. Fuck, I could literally taste the bile pooling up from my gut.

“Thank you sir,” I said quietly, fighting back a shake when he ruffled my hair.

“If only Cecilia were a man. This kind of work doesn’t lend itself to women…although she does have enough rage inside her to handle it,” he said, walking over to his desk, my eyes widening for only a split second when I saw the planner there. “She fucking slipped that singer and Dean Winchester’s names on the guest list. Can you believe that? The balls on that kid.”

Fuck. It didn’t work. It didn’t-

“I guess it’ll make her happy though,” he sighed, cracking a smile when he looked at me. “And I wouldn’t mind meeting Dean Winchester. I bet I could get him to sign my jersey in the game room.”

“I know how much you enjoy the LA Wolves. I know your work is…stressful,” I said carefully, Seb allowing it. “Perhaps Miss Cecilia wouldn’t be the only one to get some happiness out of the guests.”

“This is why I like you, Sam. Always looking out for the big guy,” he chuckled, nodding his head. “She practically begged when I asked her about it earlier so I suppose if I get a benefit out of it too that’s a happy accident.”

I forced a smile, Seb humming to himself.

“Alright. Go and tend to your friend. I have work to do.”

“Yes sir,” I said. I was quiet in the house as I made my way to our room, closing our door with a quiet thud. Max sat up from the twin mattress, a shiner on his eye and some bruises covering his arms and legs but otherwise in one piece. “It worked.”

“It worked?” asked Max, a smile growing on his face as I nodded. “It fucking worked!”

“Yup. Now we just got to hope they accept,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “Although…we may have a problem with Cecilia. Dickface confronted her about the names, thought she slipped them in. She covered for us. The way she looked at me in the kitchen earlier, I think she knows I did it.”

“The kid is smart and knows her dad’s in the fucking mob. Maybe she’s got a gut feeling something’s not right. Let’s just hope she keeps her mouth shut until after the party,” said Max. I tried not to worry about her right now. I think she knew enough to not say anything.

“So now we just wait for them to accept a random ass invitation to a party for a guy they’ve never heard of.” I sat down beside him, Max still all smiles.

“Have a little faith, Sammy. We made it this far. Who knows? Two weeks from now we could be free men.”

Free or dead. One way or the other, I had a feeling our stay at the Sebastian household would be coming to an end very soon.

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean x #dean winchester x you #football au #series

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peachetteprice · 2 months

Text

A Hand for Radio | Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary:

Ghost X Badass Reader (ft. Soap)

As requested by anon!

Content Warnings: Slight gore (mild), suggestive tones...

Word Count: 2.8K

You were not the sort to sit around and look pretty.

Those were both of the only available two ends of the argument.

You had a purpose, like every other schmuck on base, and you were not about to let anyone think otherwise. It was a damn shame that you had the appearance to promote the assumption, too, because there were many occasions when new recruits sauntered to your behind, shocked you with a dirty line or two, only to be met with the most disappointed expression they'd ever seen.

Sodding bastards never realised that the worst thing a woman could say was nothing at all.

Never mind that your boyfriend could have been there to give a stern word or two. He would have surely scared them half to death. (It would be too crass to make a comparison with his namesake, so it shall not happen.) That, and you often digressed to calling him 'mask', whenever you were in a hurry, which they could have only ever dreamt of - well, when the sun was up, at least - and was the very thing that made Simon chuckle over nothing during briefings, eventually leading to the security of your presence in his cot.

(Other, less digestible, names will not be mentioned.)

Regardless of that position, almost every boy on base had flirted with you, or at least tried their hand in your game.

Oh, come on, who wouldn't have done?

It was practically something of an initiation tactic.

You were quite the catch, nothing but a stunner in a crowd of muppets, and in such a testosterone-filled environment, there was no doubt that a chaste moment of eye candy - whether it be the round of your arse bent over to inspect one of the wheels before take-off, to ensure that the tread hadn't been scuffed flat, or the occasional hair-flip-turned-impromptu-ponytail that had every man above the age of twenty-two drooling over the sight of your neck and stretched temples - was enough to cement your presence as belle of the ball.

To the untrained ear, that might seem to dilute the prowess of your hand in the field. It must be a curse being admirable and capable, right? Unbelievable, almost? People must think you an imbecile. It would be all too easy to show them otherwise. Forget about continuous sine waves, spark coils, and electrons and their existence in magnetic fields within a simple transmitter circuit, and the effect this might have on directional compasses. But... if you said anything of that nature to them, it would have sent a rush of adrenaline to their - don't you dare - heads, and the poor things might have fainted from shame.

That wasn't to say that every man on base was worth less than a nickel of your time and dime, though. Not by a long shot. You were willing to cash in your attention for comraderie. Four of them were worth something, definitely, and a lot of something meant that they were immeasurably lucky to share the same field with you, and you; them.

Even if John "Soap" MacTavish was a bit of a knob.

Oh, MacTavish.

Sweet Scottish MacTavish.

He had a bit of a sore spot on his arse that day, probably too busy kissing others', as he was desperate for a friendly game of scarpering - something of another initiation tactic that he'd forced you to compete in when you first arrived. First to find, fix, or create a device (whether it be explosive, acted upon as a weapon, or communicational in utility) would be crowned winner of the field. He'd even made origami hats - they were boats, actually, but nobody, not even Simon, was going to dispel his excitement so dreadfully - for the finishing ceremonies, as something of a distraction after a mission.

Hell, it was not only exhilarating but made for a stunning pad to your resume of competencies. Beating a Scottish man with tendencies of vile language when bested at his own game? It would put you miles ahead of the crowd.

And, during a moment of downtime - as you monitored a rather grimy tower of flats in the boondocks of North Macedonia, wherein you had been stationed outside the premises beside an adjoining building for hours, until word from Laswell confirmed that a convoy of suspected Iraqi arms dealers were all, in fact, returned to the premises and therefore present, at which point you could enact an ambush on the occupants - did Soap carefully suggest something of a game.

"Absolutely not." Price grumbled over comms.

That was evident enough. He would never sign off on it - and he never had, even when the occurrence was all but inevitable, but it surely happened time and time again.

"Oh, come on, Cap. I'm gettin' a dead arse crouched in this doorway." Soap tutted. "Just one game. It'll be good for team-buildin', an' all tha'."

There was no residual need for team building, and Soap knew that.

Price huffed a breath through his nostrils - it came out more of a growl as it expelled beyond his throat. He wished to speak of keeping one's focus on the job, one's eye on the ball, one's head in the game, and any other turn of phrase that came to mind to convince Soap not to be a prick. But it was futile. Soap had the pester-power of a toddler on the brink of a meltdown in a Sainsbury's (and he was a prick) and - frankly, if he was to be honest with himself and the current state of his withering patience - he would have liked nothing more than to be relinquished from his irksome voice over comms. The man hadn't shut up since he woke from his cot that very morning - and there was no end in sight!

It might have been the only reason that he'd given in to Soap's pleas.

By the time the evening sun had caught the windowsill of the barn you were positioned behind - of which you were crouched below - and spread along the lower half of your body, the game was surely afoot.

It took mere moments to gather a metal file - repurposed from the lid of a tanker of oil beside the corrugated rear of the barn (which you’d surely inform Price of, if not for its disturbing presence in an otherwise residential neighbourhood) - something from which to fashion a receiver and a transmitter through an attributing pile of wires - likely from a previous building that had been scrapped - copper coil and electronic scraps.

Negating the smarmy replies of Soap throughout - versions that hassled over your ability to do well and your affiliation toward losing, in degreeing intensities of Gaelic (and the occasional profanity) - you fashioned something of a radio, in its most basic form, and settled it beside you at the window ledge. With the size of its battery, and the strength of one silver coin - which was weak, to say the least - it could only pick through the static near a radio, never mind transmitting or receiving audio streams.

Hence, why, after a spot of bartering with Price and the odd word of caution from Simon (in which you convinced them both that it would, in fact, be useful to create, from scratch of a working radio, in case the one on your vest spontaneously ceased working and you became stranded from the boys in rural Southern Europe, a terrible plight, indeed), did you agree to adhere to attentiveness as you rounded the far wall of the barn.

Though it was nary a metre from the wall that you spotted the passing shadow of a person - of a man - cross through the rear property line between a silo and an enclosed warehouse, which were both South of the block of flats. He looked shifty. There wasn’t much to describe how or why he was, certainly not the reason for your suspicion for the matter, save for the singular glance he gave over his shoulder and the way he approached the building with a hunched stature, but you decided to follow nonetheless.

As he swept a wire fence out of his way that snagged at his wrist and pulled fibres from his jacket, you were able to catch the slightest glimpse of his face. No beard. No prominent features, albeit, however, the slimmest of scars running parallel to the curve of his eyelid, situated along his forehead. And that realisation called upon a memory of something Price had said, that morning in briefing. That one of the inferiors to the man you were all there to apprehend had a scar extending from his temple to mid-brow.

And he was right there, ignorant to your presence.

“Time to get back to Dodge, Sergeants.” Price murmured through the comms. “Laswell’s given us the all-green. Everyone has ex-auth., with respect to wanting the poor bastard alive. Ghost, convene at the barn with me. Gaz, you’re solo. Soap–”

“--With me, Scotsman.”

A slurry of solid-copy’s followed in tow, just as you, yourself, neared the wire fence. It was the all clear - the all clear to get your man, via whatever means possible.

And as you had tucked into your vest at your ribs, a silver blade, it seemed there was no other weapon fit for contender to be used towards the man’s demise. And, with no other contender, you snatched the blade, wrung the hand in your palm a few times until you found the right grip, and leapt through the wire fence.

Ten yards soon became two as the man’s gaze fretted through the barren air. He was waiting for someone. Something, if you were lucky. But it wasn’t the time to be waiting around to test it, so you crept forwards, low, lips pinched with apprehension. Don’t turn around, Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

Ten yards became five. And five, three. Three, two, your footsteps crunching in the grass. You were reaching the point beyond no return, with either victory in the death of a man’s gaze, or loss: your body in a ditch beside a silo and a warehouse somewhere in North Macedonia. Two yards became one, and with that, you arched your shoulder in preparation to pounce.

The man went down with the tonnage of a whale, and nothing more than a gargled moan befitting one as you plunged the knife deep within his jugular. He dropped, quick, and only struggled for a moment before you twisted the blade and, like a flicked light switch, his muscles collapsed, any prior semblance of life wept from his eyes, and his mouth fell slack open, jaw untensed. As you stood from his body to assess the damage - and see if there was a flap of fabric to wipe your blade on for the next poor sod - you noticed something in the grass beside the man, at his hip.

It was a USB stick.

There was no doubt about it as you ran your gloved finger along its edge, uncapped it to reveal short teeth and a protruding connector, and stuffed it into your breast pocket as carefully as it required.

In the end, the mission was, by all accounts, a success. Although, collectively, the man you were there for - the kingpin, the big fish, the leader - was not present, MacTavish had collected a fair number of blueprints to what seemed like an underground chasm of tunnels beneath a vast section of forestry between Macedonia and Albania, which would lend itself nicely to a spot of inter-border smuggling of contraband, which could now be intercepted at a later date, through Laswell’s extensive researchers.

Price and Gaz had both uncovered what seemed to be remnants of illegal oil distribution centre - thanks to your tip of the tankard beside the barn which - although minute in stake toward the mission and its efficacy - could be used to inform Laswell to possible trading routes and linkage between adjoining countries to track the movement of the fleet.

Simon (though not Simon and Simon, alone) had done away with his fair share of the Iraqis, contributing to a large number of them dead within the flats, and harboured information from at least three innocent residents, which cemented the notion that the mission was, all in all, worth the peril.

And, you?

You had that flash drive.

“I’ll be darned to see that device ye conjured up, lass. G’on, let’s see how ye’ve fumbled it.” Soap slumped into his seat - yes, his seat in the Condor and nobody else’s as he’d bagsied it months prior - and pulled from a tag on his vest what seemed to be the inner workings of an explosive device, notably unfinished.

“Oh, sweet Soap… fumbled it?” You queried, reaching for the radio you’d stitched together. Sure, its components were a little rusty, and it had nothing of a sleek plastic casing to protect its innards, but it was viable as a communication device, which met the only caveat of his game as it existed.

“It works?” Soap scowled.

“It does. Cross my heart.” You replied, and Simon gave the smallest chuckle from beside you before slinging an arm about the bottom of the seat, catching your hips as you sat back. “Poor MacTavish. Does your bomb not work yet?”

“It’s a rudimentary explosive device.” His lips clamped tight, and you thought for a moment that he would make a brilliant nerd if he lost that arrogance of his. “And it'd work if I had another wire, but the Captain talked us into battle too soon...”

You grinned. “Oh. Like one of these, Sergeant?” And stretched one of the radio’s guts out, not completely as to avoid severing the connection, just for emphasis and emphasis only (nothing of bragging, gloating, triumph…)

"Whatever." Soap frowned. "At least I got those papers. Pretty good, wann't I, sir?" Kinking his head toward Price.

Always the suck-up.

It made you want to wipe that smugness from his face. And there was no better way to do so than carefully fish from your pocket a one, white, succinctly intact USB flash drive.

You dangled it in the air and watched the team's gobs fall slack.

Price didn't look too happy - but it was worth it to hide the drive from him when they were looking at you like that.

And Soap's face... it dropped faster than a ballsack on a hot day.

"Forgot about this. Got it from that... Aboud guy. Whatever his name was."

"Saif Aboud?" Price questioned. His palm was in his beard, and the ire in his eyes could have sparked a fire in the lone wilderness, but you maintained that it was still worth it despite the slight insubordination.

Particularly as Soap, with a horrorified expression, quietly asked;

"Whilst we were playin' the game, lass?"

You tossed the drive to Price, who sighed and added it to the sealed collection of evidence, ready to be taken back to Laswell. "Well, there was nothing else to do. Thought I might as well while my time."

"Shit..." Gaz chuckled - any laugh from him was a sign of deep respect.

And at that, Simon caught your waist more fervently as you leant into him, caressing circles beneath the rib of your vest.

"Steamin' bloody Nora..." Johnny clamped his teeth over his bottom lip.

Simon careened down to your ear to tickle a 'that's my girl' which would later be replaced the whisper of his breath; his lips against your skin, cooing about how gorgeous you were for sticking it to the boys - even if he had quite the soft spot for Soap - without a care for their boyish pride.

There was silence then, and Soap looked sufficiently frazzled.

"Oi. Is - is--" Soap stammered. "Is no-one gonna talk about how she just--"

"--No, mate." Gaz clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Best just to leave it, innit? Come on. I think we all need a drink when we get back."

The team shared a unanimous nod. Nobody looked at you throughout the plane ride back to base quite how Soap looked at you. He spent the remaining journey flitting wary glances between the USB and you, with an expression that only served to boost the more arrogant corners of thought because it was, positively, with no semblance of doubt;

A look of incalculable fear.

| Masterlist |

#ghost x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fanfiction #cod #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #call of duty fandom

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unholyhelbig · 6 months

Note

I have a request as I see they are open! I enjoyed the last Oversight AU! Could I request a one shot of Kate’s imitation / first meeting with Natasha? And maybe go into the specifics of the Eli situation? I love to see the badass protective side of Natasha!

Title: Dig Your Own Shallow Grave [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff (Technically, this is one part of a bigger story)

Summary: Kate Bishop is known as the ex-heiress that was welcomed into Natasha's fold long before you. You learn pieces about her everyday, but never the full story. Not until today.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): physical violence, handcuffs, thunderstorms, threats, mentions of death, mentions of jail, incarceration, cheating, toxic relationship dynamic, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, horrible grammar

[a/n: This one is different! I don't know anything about the Elijah that's portrayed in the MCU, just the Young Avengers Eli and I can't stand the dude.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

The large leaden handcuffs seemed like an unnecessary and overzealous precaution to Natasha Romanoff. They rattled as if the young girl was nothing more than a ghost of Christmas past. They were sinched at her waist, both hands balled into fists until her knuckles were a sickly shade of white.

There was red around her eyes, making a charcoal gray hiss into something muddy and sad. There was a flash of confusion and then disgust that fell over her features when she caught a glimpse of herself in the large two-way mirror that stood parallel.

Natasha turned in her seat, made eye contact with the guard. They had a silent understanding. The cameras that were situated at the corners of the room had been shut off- technical difficulties, they would say.

She collapsed into the chair adjacent to Natasha, never taking her eyes away from the only other distraction in the room. The chain connecting her cuffs were bolted to a hook in the table, but her feet were left free. Unless she was an Olympic swimmer, which she wasn’t, that would be no problem.

The guard nodded before he left them in the room and locked the door behind him. The mechanism in the metal door was loud and sighed with age when turned. The light above them swung back and forth within its cage. A circle of yellow enveloped them both.

Her hair was unkempt, nearly feral. They must have kept her separate from the other prisoners but that didn’t ease her tossing and turning under the fluorescent lights. Natasha had been in holding cells, she’d been stripped of her clothes for testing, and her dignity for much less. Something inside of her broke for this girl. This heiress.

“Who are you?”

It was clear that her voice had gone unused for at least a day, maybe more. She shivered and shrunk into herself at the sound of it. Natasha’s features softened ,that break in her soul cracking just a little further. Her file said she was twenty-two, but the girl in front of her was nothing more than a scared child.

“The woman who is getting you out of here.”

“Please don’t talk in riddles,” She moved to press her fingers against her temples. Her hands were pulled back viciously by her binds. “That’s all my mother does. Did. She talks in circles until I’m too confused to find the start.”

“I suppose that’s fair. You’re Eleanors daughter. Katherine?”

“Kate, but yeah. I’m her daughter.”

It was said with so much bitterness. They weren’t being held at the same facility. Kate was in a deep blue shirt made out of something that was less like fabric and more like paper. She wore the pants to match, her clothes being tested for gunpowder residue.

Eleanor was in a large brick jail in an orange jumpsuit. Natasha had considered going to her but found much more interest in her daughter; the one brave enough to stand up against Wilson Fisk and his incredible size. Bishop took King and destroyed a good amount of property in her district in the process. She’d have to pay thousands to get the folded storefront fixed.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff.”

The sentence was simple and conjured fear. She could see the look in Kate’s face. The girl threw her back against the metal chair, and it screeched from the force. “Why are you here?”

“You smashed my window, and a few displays, and I’m pretty sure you set off an explosive.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“With what, Kate?”

She paled at this. It was apparent that not only had her assets been frozen, but her mother’s as well. They barely had enough to cover legal fees, much less cosmetics that suffered the aftershock of the blow. She sighed and stared at the cold metal table. It was too scratched to show her reflection.

“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad, Kate. Calling law enforcement on your own mother is a ballsy thing to do. It also makes you a snitch. If you get charged, if you get locked up, it’s not something you’ll make it out of.”

“I know that.” She whipped her head up, eyes hard with anger. They softened after just a moment, to something scared. “I know.”

A silence fell over them both, one that Natasha let settle heavily on her chest. Kate was a spitfire, she was a spoiled girl who had a moment of clarity and turned her mother into law enforcement. She was regretting that now, shivering into herself, having to wait until after the holidays until anything could move from the stone it was trapped in.

Natasha had influence with the guards, and with the chief of police in this district. They had an understanding, and she fully intended to walk out of here with Kate Bishop under her wing. Not for free, of course. Natasha was charitable, but even her good deeds stretched so far.

“I’ve already paid your bail and they’re more than happy to release you into my custody.”

She scoffed “Your custody? I’m an adult.”

“You might be an adult, but you’re one without money, without a home, and I’m guessing everyone that’s still alive and free in your life isn’t too keen on taking you in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay,” Natasha said in a breath, staring hard at the girl across from her. She looked so washed out under the harsh lights of the room. Despite her anger, her poisonous words, she reminded Natasha of a dog that broke free from her leash and had almost too much freedom to handle.

The woman stood, her chair sliding elegantly compared to the horrid noise that Kate’s had produced. Natasha moved to pull on her coat, covering the deceivingly hard muscles in her arms. Kate had pretended not to stare; but it was fruitless. All she could think about was what those hands had done, what they could do.

Of course, she felt some veil of safety with the cameras being here. Surely, someone would come in and pull Natasha back the second she started to advance on her, if she started to advance. The distance between them was closed and she sat on the edge of the table. Kate pushed herself flat against the back of the chair.

Natasha didn’t do well with being told ‘no’. She also didn’t do well with expletives directed towards her instead of because of her. Natasha’s slender hand wrapped around the cold chain attached to Kate’s wrists, she pulled forward and Kate’s sore ribs collided with the edge of the table. She let out a dissatisfied grunt.

She grabbed the back of Kate’s head and slammed her cheek against the cold surface with a dull thud. Natasha didn’t’ let up on her weight, instead, she held her in the perfect position to maintain control.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Natasha knelt down, making eye contact with Kate. She pushed against the hold, but Natasha had the leverage. Kate flexed her fingers, still in chains. “You destroyed my storefront, and while I toyed with the idea of killing you for that alone, you’ve impressed me.”

“I’ve impressed you?”

Her words were smushed, drool pooling from her lips. It was almost comical, but Natasha pushed harder on the back of her neck, making her cry out. “I’m talking. When I’m talking, you’re not.”

She was met with silence and figured that was as good as she was going to get with this one. Her spit-fire reminded her a bit of Clint when he was younger. It made Natasha gravitate towards him, but this girl had a lot more to learn than her closest friend.

“You’re a spoiled little brat who crumbled one of the oldest clocktowers in the city. The habit didn’t’ seem to improve when your mother cut off your credit cards and that’s a dangerous thing. Getting the shit kicked out of you in jail might serve you well. So, by all means, you can try your luck, or you can follow me out of here so I can correct your behavior.”

Kate swallowed hard, but she didn’t’ say anything. Natasha’s first lesson seemed to be sinking in. After a few moments, she released the girl who sprang up like a jack in the box. She was giving Natasha the same look that she was used to, one of absolute fear. Her face was red and when she moved to wipe her chin of drool, she was stopped once again by her chains.

Natasha took pity on her, for just a moment, and used her thumb to ebb away the line of spit. Kate knew better than to pull back, instead she looked up at Natasha like a kicked puppy, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

“Anyone who stands up to Wilson Fisk is too valuable to kill for some property damage. But let me be clear, Kate, this is not a get-out of jail free card. You work for me. You belong to me. And we’re going to fix that attitude of yours.”

He had moved to the city during Kate’s senior year and wasn’t much for talking. Eli Bradley was as mysterious as they came. He was lanky and had deep brown eyes that were so dark they were nearly black in color. Eli wore a gold hoop in one ear, and while Kate would usually find something like that off-putting, it worked on Eli.

She played cello in the orchestra, first chair with pride, and he was modest with a viola. She made a point to make eye contact with him at least once a day, and eventually he started to return her small smiles. She thought the subtle way his lip quirked up at the corner was nothing but endearing.

In early October of that year, when the air was still crisp but not exactly cold, Kate had sat in the courtyard until the sun threatened to dip behind the horizon. She was avoiding going home to get ready for a party her mother was hosting and had worked it out so she could take the last bus uptown.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous for a pretty girl like you to be out here all alone? It’s getting dark.”

Kate frowned, but quickly retracted the expression when she made out the form of Eli Bradley and the silhouette of his viola case. It hung at his side like a briefcase filled with important papers. Instead, she hiked herself forward and leaned her elbows against her knees. He’d never spoken to her before.

“I’m a 9th degree red belt in Jiu Jitsu, and I have pepper spray. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Impressive,” Eli grinned “I guess it would be pointless to walk you home then, Kate Bishop.”

“I think I can make an exception, Eli Bradley.”

Kate did find herself making exceptions for Eli Bradley over the next few months. She would let him order for her, even if she didn’t find the dish he chose at all appetizing. She had to gently remind him that she was, in fact, allergic to shellfish and if she ate the pasta he insisted on she’d need an epi-pen.

He made up for it by being a gentleman and opening the car door for her when they pulled up to said restaurant.

Kate stepped behind Eli one winter evening when it was the type of dark outside that breeds bad behavior. A woman in a hoodie stepped out from an alleyway, twitching and with a wild look in her eyes. Kate could have easily disarmed her, could have gotten her someplace warm. Eli had delivered a hit to the stomach and pulled Kate along. It was a blur. But she’d never felt fear- just regret.

He made up for it by holding her tight that night, his warmth and sturdiness eventually lulled her to sleep and convinced her that maybe she could live with herself. Maybe she could live with Eli.

Clint Barton glowered at her over his bowl of cereal. Natasha didn’t know if it was some sort of interrogation technique, but it even made her uncomfortable. It was much too early in the morning and Kate’s wrists were still an ugly purple from how tight her cuffs had been. Natasha may have pulled a bit too hard, aggravating the already raw area.

“Your cheerios are going to get soggy,” Yelena entered the kitchen in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, scratching the exposed skin of her stomach with a stifled yawn. She stopped for just a moment to regard Kate, who sat up with a rim-rod quickness. “You always dump them down the sink and it makes the drain smell.”

Clint looked towards Natasha for help. She shrugged, adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had pulled the paper in this morning and was very careful to remove the front page story of Kate’s mother and her set trial date. She may be cruel in some aspects, but psychological torture was Yelena’s department.

“Who is this?” Yelena asked, voice muffled by the chill of the refrigerator.

“This is Kate. She’ll be here for a while, and if she behaves well enough, she’ll be here longer than that. I expect both of you to regard her well and teach her everything you know.” Natasha took a sip of her steaming black coffee. “Hand to hand combat should not be an issue, isn’t that right, Kate?”

Kate waited a moment, remembering the sting of the table against her cheek. Natasha had asked her a question so it was okay to answer, right? It must be. She had a tendency to not stop talking once she started but it was clear from the prying eyes in the room that she was expected to reply.

“Yes,” She found her voice easier than she had in the jail. “I’m advanced in Jiu Jitsu, hand-to-hand combat, fencing, sword fighting, archery, kick-boxing. Once I used a set of staves from this really nice woman named Bobbi…”

She trailed off when she realized Clint had stopped fishing for the last cheerio and Yelena had cracked open a bottle of juice like she was snapping the neck of a small animal. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and she averted her gaze.

Natasha smiled softly and took another long sip of her drink. The blonde woman, the one with the chiseled jaw and the striking green eyes, let out a hum. Her stare raked up and down Kate’s form, even while she was shrinking into herself.

“I will train her.”

“That’s not an option, Yel. I want to utilize her, not kill her.”

Kate’s head shot up at the word. She caught Clint’s stare, and he gave her a dejected shrug before pushing the little life-raft of a cheerio under the milk once more. He had no interest in eating it, just drowning it.

Yelena was smiling wolfishly, lilting her head to the side like it was the most innocent thing in the world. “Kill her? Sister, I would never. She’s clearly an asset. If you let Clint train her then she’ll be regressing.”

Kate watched the tension bounce back and forth between the two like a sadistic game of ping-pong. Yelena had just hit the little orange ball with enough force and trajectory to burn a hole directly through Natasha’s paddle.

She’d never dream of pushing Natasha in the slightest, much-less the way that Yelena did right now. Her body language was relaxed and quiet. The two of them stared at each other, and the newspaper was folded, discarded in favor of the stand-off.

“I will not kill her,” Yelena reassured, yet somehow, Kate hadn’t been assured the first time, nor the second time. “Give me a chance.”

Susan Bishop had a harder stare than Eleanor. She had inherited it from her, Kate was sure, but knew how to work it like a double-edged blade. Rarely would she look at Kate. Even rarer so was the two of them being in the same place for more than six minutes at a time.

Kate had her eyes downcast, pretending to read the same paragraph of the same book over and over again. Once she felt the sharp stare of her older sister on the side of her face, it shown brighter than the sun above them.

She’d been stretched out on a poolside chair, just enjoying the pungent scent of chlorine and the occasional low hum of a car passing their large home. It was too chilly for her to actually swim, but she had a fuchsia bathing suit under her long-sleeve shirt and jeans nonetheless.

Susan had settled into the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh as she typed quickly on her cellphone. Kate had cast her a sidelong glance, but quickly pretended to lose interest. They were going back and forth like this for a long, pregnant moment.

Eventually, Susan sighed and softly closed the book in Kate’s hand, not regarding the page that she was on. Kate didn’t mind much. Her older sister never did anything softly. Kate’s heart thrummed in her chest when their eyes met.

“Hi?” Kate cautioned.

“Hi. We need to talk.”

“What do you want?” There wasn’t anything Kate had that Susan didn’t. Hell- she could ask Eleanor for anything and would instantly get it. There were no rules for the eldest, responsible, child. All of that strangling focus was on Kate.

“I don’t want anything. I just want to talk. Sister to sister.”

“Right… sister to sister.”

“You need to break up with Eli.”

The statement through Kate back. It was like Susan had kicked her directly in the diaphragm. The oxygen in her lungs deflated and she stared at her sister in disbelief. Then in startled rage. What did right did Susan have to meddle in her relationship like this?

Kate wanted to tell her just that, but nothing came out except for the last squeeze of air that could be interpreted as a noise of discontent, but Susan never was good at reading signals and Kate needed a fleeting second to catch her train of thought after it had been so violently derailed.

“I get the appeal of the student athlete, I’ve had plenty of them myself, but Eli is not the man for you. You can do better.”

“Seriously? Is this mom speaking or you?”

“This is all me, sweetie.” She didn’t’ say it in a condescending way. In fact- Susan actually reached out and gently touched Kate’s bare arm. She tensed under her, but the hand wasn’t removed. Not even when dark grey eyes looked at her incredulously. “I don’t like the way he changes you.”

“Changes me? You think Eli changes me?”

“I think he makes you shrink and Bishop women are never meant to shrink.”

“That’s all mom has ever done.” Kate bit back venomously.

“Wrong. Mother has full control over Father, she just makes him think that he doesn’t. She’s the decision maker and if she has to keep a hand on his shoulder to do that, then so be it. The world listens to men, and looks at women. It’s how society is. But Eli? He’s binding your hands, not taking them.”

Kate shoved Susan’s hand from her arm and placed both feet on the ground. She didn’t have to listen to this… this practical stranger. Susan didn’t’ know what she was talking about, and neither did Eleanor. They were both ignorant to the way she felt about Eli and the way Eli felt about her. He wanted to the best for her.

Sometimes- she just had to remind him that she was allergic to shellfish.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” She gritted before standing. She disregarded her book, not that interested anyway, and began walking to the patio doors. Tears had started to sting her eyes. First out of sadness, and then maybe a mix of malice.

“He’s cheating on you.”

Susan said it so softly that could pretend she hadn’t heard it. The water filter for the pool was loud enough to drown out the statement. But she’d stopped with one foot on the bottom step of the patio and the other planted firmly on solid cement. Her nails dug stinging half-crescents into palm.

“You’re wrong.”

“Ask him.”

“I won’t,” She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Because I trust Eli. Maybe you could grant the same to me.”

Her childhood home held onto the darkness like a vice. A place that was once so maintained and bright was past falling into lawn decay. The pristine shrubbery had springing curls of foliage and the grass hadn’t been painted like her father insisted upon each year.

The structure stood strong, only a few months and some change abandoned. A small strip of tape on the mahogany door was the only indication that this had been an active crime scene at one point. The FBI had taped an order against it before they shattered the wood with a battering ram and raided the home.

Kate hadn’t been back since. She’d been living out of her Aunt Mira’s apartment and wearing her eccentric clothing. But the elder woman would be back soon and eventually she would need to get her own belongings back. If she didn’t, then squatters would when they realized just how vacant the home really was.

Yelena let out a low whistle as she peered up at the home, as if they didn’t live in one with the same amount of wealth. Even the tone she produced sent shivers down Kate’s spine. It had been four months since that day in the precinct.

Each day was spent from dawn to dusk in Yelena’s presence, and it never became easier for Kate. She was a bumbling and incompetent mess around the woman but had grown some kind of comfort in her presence. Kate no longer believed she was in danger at her hand specifically.

That didn’t’ mean that her body didn’t ache from the constant hell that Yelena had been putting her through to put her in ‘the peak performance state- Kate Bishop’. Yelena only said her first name and barked it at her if her pace lessened on one of their multiple-mile runs, or grueling weight training sessions.

Kate didn’t want to admit that she was entranced by the tone of Yelena’s muscles. She chalked it up to admiration, because that’s all it was. Admiration. And a bit of resentment. But Kate’s chest puffed out proudly when she noticed the way her own body began to change under Yelena’s tutelage. Enough that she was ready to go back to her old home for some closure, for some clothes.

Natasha shoved her keys into her pocket and fell in line on Kate’s right side. She peered up at the expertly crafted wood. It had begun to chip. Kate thought that was ironic; it had always been so pristine, but the more she thought about it, she’d often duck under a ladder to step into the foyer.

Bad luck all around, and a simple patch job that would crumble if not properly cared for.

“We can just buy you new clothes,” Natasha urged in that flittingly careful way that made Kate know she really did give a damn, but not if you asked. “You don’t have to go in there.”

“And add to the debt I already owe you for busting me out of jail?”

“I think she has to do this.” Yelena said firmly.

She was right. Kate had to do this. She was always handed everything in life so easily and it made her reckless, but far from undisciplined. It just took Natasha slamming her face against the cold metal of an unclean table for her to get some sense knocked back into her.

Kate had called the police on her mother. She’d done it after the knowledge of crimes committed festered and grew in her mind. It bred resentment in her mind until she came face to face with the fact that she wasn’t putting her mom away, she was putting a monster away.

Stepping through these doors would humanize her and it would cut Kate deep enough to draw blood. But then, she felt Yelena’s fingers on the small of her back. A light touch that was telling Kate that she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.

The door let out a whine of protest when she pushed it open. They were met with a stale scent and a soft glow that ruminated from what Kate knew best as the living area. There was a grand piano that was mostly untouched, and large oak bookshelves that had multiple editions of old encyclopedias bound in leather.

She and Susan used to flip through them and try to pronounce the words by phonic spelling. They’d trace their little fingers over the inked illustrations and giggle if they had found something even remotely obscene. She remembers the word ‘Dam’ making them laugh until they couldn’t breathe.

Natasha’s hand darted out and pressed against Kate’s mid-section. Her other one grabbed the gun from the back of her pants. She shot the girl a sideways glance. “You left that on?” she mouthed.

Kate shook her head, her fingers itching for her own weapon. She didn’t have one. While Kate was an expert at professional archery and her aim wasn’t in question by anyone in the room- her familiarity with handguns with the serial number scratched off was minute. Yelena had pulled her own weapon, jaw firm.

Maybe squatters had broken in, and if they had, she’d gladly allow them to have the place. She just needed to stuff a duffel bag full of items and the small sentimental necklace she had gotten from her father as a child, and then she would be on her merry way.

Natasha stepped around the corner and raised her gun, screaming something that was drowned out by the startled yells of another. Kate recognized that yell, that rasp. She frowned, letting the tension in her shoulders drop before she got a good look at the living room herself.

It was incredibly lived in and lit by a single lamp that had it’s shade discarded. It was blinding and left spots in her eyes, but not enough to disregard the box of white sticky rice that had spilled all over the floor like maggots.

There was a makeshift bed on the couch and a few of those encyclopedias strewn about as if they were bedtime reading. In the center of it all; Eli Bradley with his hands up and a fork between his lips. His mouth dropped open and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

He was shirtless, in a pair of boxers that Kate was pretty sure was her fathers. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten before this because the simple fact was enough to make her gag.

“Elijah?” She exclaimed.

“You know this guy?” Yelena asked, voice tight. She lowered her weapon, but Natasha kept hers in the same position it was before, trained right at his genitals and ready to shoot at a moments notice.

Kate wished with her entire body that she didn’t. His boxers held his athletic thighs, his deep brown eyes flashing to the guns aimed at him. Yelena was never a patient woman but somehow, in this moment, Kate knew deep down that she would be patient here. Her mouth was dry and her throat like sandpaper. It was incredibly hard to swallow.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Eli sounded out, his fingers twitching “I have a key.”

Yelena looked at Kate with pleading eyes, to which she received a nod in return. Kate supposed she hadn’t officially broken up with the man in front of her. The aimed weapons were lowered to the floor, but Natasha kept her hold. One false move and she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through his bare foot.

“Yel, idi soberi yey sumku.”

Kate didn’t understand a lick of Russian, but she knew that Natasha’s tone was not to be questioned. Yelena holstered her weapon and slinked up the stairs. She’d be able to guess which room was Kate’s. The trophies and medals and photos tacked up to bulletin boards. It was the only room Kate was allowed to personalize, and even then, it was meant to be spotless.

Natasha must have caught onto the tension in Kate’s stance. She shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched and eyes submissive. It wasn’t something she wanted to see in her young trainee.

It wasn’t at all the woman that sat across from her in an interrogation room. Not even with her face her neck in Natasha’s grip. Something was wrong, and it was something stronger than Kate being back in her childhood home. That warranted sadness. But compliance? Absolutely not.

“Katie, baby. Who is this?” Eli asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

When Kate opened her mouth to speak, Natasha held up a hand, instantly silencing her. The woman lilted her head to the side, unripe eyes taking in the scene in front of her; the discarded take-out containers, the balled-up socks in the corner of the room. The rain that had begun to pound against the roof and slather itself across windowpanes.

Natasha’s voice came out as a snarl “I’d love to introduce myself, but first, could you ask your little friend to come out from behind the curtains?”

Kate’s stare hardened and she whipped her head up accusingly. Still, she didn’t say a word. The wine-red Versailles fabric shifted; the view blocked by the grand piano but not enough for Natasha to ignore. Kate’s mother had spent hours looking over Swatches that would fit the room, and eventually chose the option that brought the room into a gothic elegance.

Kate didn’t need to wait to know who it was. Cassie Lang. Best friend, confidant, and exactly who Kate caught in bed with Elijah weeks before. But this was different. This was her home. It had already been violated by law enforcement. Torn apart just for two of her friends, people she trusted and loved, to take advantage of its vacancy.

“That’s better,” Natasha purred. Cassie was shaking because of the cold, wearing only a silk robe that belonged to Kate’s sister. “Now, let’s all have a chat.”

“Kate, Katie, it’s not what it looks like. Just… tell your friends to leave and I’ll explain everything.”

Eli attempted to step towards her, hands no longer raised in caution but reaching towards Kate. Natasha felt a surge of anger lick against her skin. She stepped between them, splaying her hand out on his chest before shoving him recklessly onto the center of the couch.

He sprung back onto his feet, voice dripping in venom “Back off lady! I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend here!”

Natasha let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest before turning her gaze to Kate. Something about this situation was juvenile, but so important. Though she only had the girl under her care for a few weeks now, she felt nothing but warmth towards her.

She’d mislabeled her as a rich, undisciplined trust fund baby. Natasha didn’t’ often admit her mistakes but that had been one that weighed heavily on her. Sure, Katherine Bishop had a bit of an incorrigible sass to her, but it wasn’t unwarranted. Her boasting was backed up by actions true to her words. Strong, determined, actions.

Natasha hated how she was shrinking. Hated how this man had chipped away at her until she was hugging her mid-section to stop the thrumming pain of betrayal. She couldn’t’ find the words, they were lodged in her throat. There was the strong suspicion that if she hadn’t sent Yelena away, they’d be scrubbing blood from an imported carpet.

Something tole Natasha that Kate never got a choice in this relationship, and she wasn’t about to continue the toxic pattern that had led to her demure state.

“Ketrin,” Natasha’s voice was soaked with her native tongue “Would you like me to take care of this?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, almost like a fish. Words escaped her. Natasha’s soft exhale brought her back to the room. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and reminded her of the first time she had pushed herself too hard in competition. She never lost consciousness but came close to it.

Yelena had successfully pilfered a duffel bag, having removed the sabers that resided there and filled it with whatever clothes she could find. Kate felt her stomach flip at the naive idea that the Russian woman had gone through her underwear drawer.

She flicked her eyes back to Eli, his chest heaving up and down as he eyed the gun still in Natasha’s grasp. Cassie was still like a statue, rubbing her palms on the silk fabric of her robe. She had the decency to look guilty.

“Take care of it.”

The words were barely more than a hurt whisper. She didn’t trust herself right now, not with the sharp pain that coursed through her veins. Tears had stung her eyes in the back of the detective’s car, but she didn’t know if that was on account of Eli or Eleanor.

Kate silently excused herself as the silence that settled over the room became thicker, palpable. Yelena’s deep stare was on Kate in a way that made her squirm. But she remained at the head of the stairs, even stepping to the side when Kate began to trek to a room that had already been rifled through. There was an unspoken agreement. Natasha would take care of it.

“What’s your name?” she asked, directing the question towards the girl.

“Cassie.” Elijah answered.

Natasha held her hand up to him again, fingers barely ghosting his shoulder. He shivered at the near touch but snapped his mouth shut. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her. Sweetie?”

“It’s Cassie… Cassie Lang.”

“Okay, Cassie.” She kept her voice soft, cajoling. “I want you to go home and get some rest. And under no circumstance are you going to call law enforcement. I’ll be informed immediately if you do so. Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically, keeping her head down as she moved to smooth past Natasha. The woman grabbed her sleeve, holding her in place for just a moment. She was so close she could smell the sex on her, see the sweat against her brow and the fear in her stare.

“Sweetheart. I suggest you learn to keep better company.”

Cassie let out a squeak that almost bled into a whine before taking advantage of Natasha’s loose hold. She darted with a quickness unseen, the door slamming behind her, the roar of the rain hissing to a muffled stop.

“And you?”

“What about me?” Elijah asked in a nauseatingly confident way.

Natasha let out a long sigh and studied him. Everything from the way he stood to the faux dog tags that hung against his chest bled fury. This was exactly the type of man that would attract someone like Kate with a level of badger-like charm before clamping his jaw down on her throat.

Thankfully, Kate’s mother had fantastic taste in artwork. A bronze Clyde Ball piece lingered by the entryway. While he was known for his extensive statue work and abstract designs, Natasha liked that he used a heavier metal, one with a base that was easily grasped.

With a sly swing of the hand she connected the corner of the object with Eli’s temple. A flash of blood instantly stained his skin and splayed against the floor when he collapsed. Natasha dropped the artwork next to him. She let out a hum, figuring that a Clyde Ball may be worth purchasing after all.

His truck had kicked up a rut in the normally spotless lawn. Eli had barely missed the mailbox with his erratic driving- which was bold considering the amount of unmarked and marked police vehicles that encircled Kate’s property.

Kate was sitting on the front steps, the concrete cold and unwelcome against the small of her back. They’d handcuffed her and her fingers were numb. Still, she flexed them when the commotion caught her attention. They didn’t’ bother with police tape, but a man in a wrinkled suit stopped Eli.

It took her a few long moments to realize that Cassie was in the passenger seat of the truck. She made eye contact with Kate, a look of sorrow forcing her to glance away. She was wearing Eli’s lettered jacket and naively, Kate convinced herself for a fleeting moment it had something to do with the busted heating vents in the old vehicle.

She knew better.

She’d smelled Eli’s specific spicy brand of cologne and deodorant on Cassie the last time they embraced. His lips tasted of the bubblegum ChapStick that Cassie had worn everyday since the six grade when Kate landed on her during a game of spin the bottle. Admittedly, she felt more during that kiss than anything she’d ever shared with Eli.

Kate adjusted her shoulder against the hold of the cuffs. They were uncomfortable, digging into her wrists. Even if she wanted to break out of them, she couldn’t. She was a nervous fidgeter and Elijah was using some degree of charm to weasel his way past the officer blocking him. Just as he’d weaseled his way into Cassie’s pants.

“Oh my god, Katie.” He rushed out when he got to her, kneeling down on the damp sidewalk. It was unnaturally cold and they hadn’t let Kate pull on a jacket over the tank top she wore for her morning run. His hands ran down her thighs and squeezed her knees. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kate’s stare brushed past Elijah blankly and to the fogging up window of his truck. If Cassie hadn’t already been wearing his jacket, she was sure he’d offer it to her, an offer she would vehemently deny. All of his charm, his commanding power, had been washed away with her mothers as she ducked her head and settled into the back of a squad car. One that probably had heat.

“Jesus, I heard that this place was swarming with cops. What did you do?”

“What did you?”

“I don’t… Katie, babe, come on.” He glanced back at the car and when he turned to face Kate once more, their eyes locked. He didn’t’ need to say anything and neither did she. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Kate felt the warmth of Detective Brigid O’Reilly behind her. She wasn’t a stranger to Kate, but she acted like one when she tightened the cuffs around her wrists. Temporary informant or not, Kate was still a Bishop and they weren’t trusted in this town.

“Miss Bishop. It’s time to go.”

Her forearm was gripped and she was pulled to her feet with a grunt. Her legs were numb, needles rushing through them. Part of her was grateful for being dragged away. The other part was terrified, sad, hurt and angry. They’d all betrayed her.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Fifteenth precinct. Don’t waste your breath, kid. She’ll be indisposed for a few hours. Take your little girlfriend home.”

He winced at the detective’s words and averted his stare to the ground. Kate let herself get let to the unmarked Lincoln town car. At least she’d save the humiliation as the whole lights and sirens routine.

Most of the time, they didn’t wake up screaming, but Elijah did. His senses were overwhelmed, and his body instantly registered the cold and the slickness of muck beneath him. Even over the brutal beating of falling rain, he could hear the cars that swept past on the highway.

His head was pounding, and the headlights of vehicles passing over the highpoint of evergreens only served as something more disorienting. It was only when a crack of lightening flashed across the sky did he notice the woman standing over him, a shovel slung over her shoulder.

So, he screamed, and he swore she smiled at the sound.

He turned over on his stomach and coughed into the mud, his toes not finding purchase in the mud. Natasha’s boot came down on the center of his back and he found himself sprawling, tasting a mix of metal and dirt. He realized that he underestimated the situation Kate had gotten herself into.

“Good morning, Elijah.” She crowed, dropping the shovel next to his face, barely missing his brow. He flinched and shrunk into himself. “I have a job for you.”

She used the tip of her shoe to flip him over onto his back. The falling rain that had gotten through the pine needles above him hit his face in a cooling effect. He saw another set of headlights, eyes darting towards the road. Maybe if he yelled loud enough, all of this would be over.

“I need you to dig a hole.”

“What?” He panted out, his breath leaking out in puffs of condensation. “a hole?”

“Mm, glad I didn’t rupture an eardrum. It needs to be a big hole. How tall are you?”

“I don’t… What?”

Natasha knelt next to him, a sadistic smile falling from her lips. Instead, it was replaced with something darker. Almost as if a flip was switched. Her deep red hair was adhered to her forehead from the rain, her jaw clenched and unclenched.

“I don’t know you, Elijah. But, I know Kate and that girl has been through hell and back. She’s guarded and hides behind her humor to deflect the pain that she’s experiencing. And to me… it seems like you’re a big catalyst here.”

His breathing had become shuddered. Natasha grabbed the shovel before standing and delivering a swift kick to his side. His ribs instantly ached and a cry escaped him. She wanted him to right himself and to safe another deadly spark of pain, he complied.

She had, in fact, started a small divot where she expected him to dig. Tears were running down his face, small sobs muffled by his determination to put on a front. She didn’t’ find any admiration in his sniveling. Instead, she let him scoop out three frothy loads of dirt before she continued, circling like a lion.

His hands had started to bleed.

“She believed in you enough to trust you and you turn around and fuck her best friend?” Natasha got close, yelled over the rain. He stuttered in his movements, clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t stop digging! Was she not enough for you?”

Elijah stuck the tip of the shovel back into the soup of rainwater and mud. It was a black slush at this point, something he could drown in if he laid facedown for long enough. “She was… she was.”

“Then why did you do it, huh? You took everything she was and whittled her down to nothing before discarding her for someone else you could break. Is that it? Did that make you feel more like a man?”

He didn’t’ respond, instead, moving another round of slop to the side of a hole that was starting to look more and more like a grave. He was up to his knees in cold, unforgiving water. His toes flexed in the icy earth.

“Answer me!” She yelled with enough anger to split earth. However, Natasha didn’t give him the chance. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and shoved him forward into the muck. He could taste dirt, words bubbling.

Elijah groaned and brought himself to his knees. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding in his throat. He was crying loudly now, sitting back on his heels. Natasha was above him, standing on the edge of the grave he had just dug. Headlights flashed over her cold stare.

“If you’re feeling helpless, Elijah, so was she. Kate needed you, and you weren’t there for her. She was suffocating, and everyone could see it, but you kept her just out of reach, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes,” He groaned out, digging his fingers into the soft earth. “Fuck, yes. I hurt her, I know that.”

“Lay down.”

“What?” His voice broke.

“You’re going to lay here until morning.” She knelt down “You’re not going to move a muscle.”

“I’ll drown,”

“You might.” She growled, taking account of the heaviness of the rain, the way the tires of passing vehicles sloshed around in the collected puddles. “But at least you’d understand how Kate felt.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x reader #Mafia au #Yelena Belova #Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Reader insert #request #natasha romonova #Bishlova #kate bishop x yelena belova

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scekrex · 7 months

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It's me, yes it's me! I know you were all waiting for me! :DD

Yes, yes, it's an another crack fic, yippeecayay, mfers 🤠 Adam and reader arguing about something, might be something stupid or something serious, obviously they still love each other but both of them are insanely stubborn so neither wants to admit they are wrong. The reader goes to cool off, he meets up with a friend and start to just vent his frustration to them when lo and behold, Adam shows up to... Well "apologise" in his own unique way and it's basically him just seeing the location where reader is (They're sharing their locations, Adam's heart cannot handle anymore stress with reader going missing even if for a few minutes), showing up with his badass axe guitar and strumming it, going "I love you bitch... I ain't ever gon' stop loving you... Biiitch", reader's friend just looks at him with the biggest "Really? You actually LOVE him?" and reader just looks back at them with the goofiest grin: "We'll, he's dumb and overly stupid, but he's my dumb and overly stupid man" shrugging his shoulders and goes to Adam to kiss him, just to then smack him and then kiss him again 👀

Babes, I once again have to say that I love your crack prompts, at this point these r the air that keeps me alive bc holy fuck they make me laugh every fucking time.

Do you even

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, fighting (not physically but verbally), slightly cracky

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Adam, just shut the fuck up for a second, would you?” you exclaimed harshly as you massaged your temples in order to try and keep calm.

He had been ranting about his bitchy band mate who had ditched him last minute before an important gig and you had enough of it. Ever since the both of you had woken up in the morning all Adam had been talking about was ‘how fucking done he is with that bastard’ and ‘how fucking dare that whore to ditch him last minute because he was the fucking Adam and the fucking Adam wasn't someone you'd ditch to fuck some random - and ugly, his words not yours - bbl bitch'. “Just shut the fuck up for a couple seconds okay? I get it, that fucker ditched ya, it was shitty of him, but for the love of God, stop acting like a motherfucking child and get the fuck over it.”

The brunette's hands were on his hips as he shot you a venomous look, “Well, if you would care you wouldn't mind me bitching about something that meant a whole fucking lot to me.” You couldn't help the huff that escaped you as you closed the gap between the both of you, your index finger aggressively tapping his chest as you looked up at him. Because what the actual fuck? You cared, you cared a lot and usually you didn't mind it when he was bitching about something, but you've had a headache all day and Adam wasn't being helpful with his constant talking. You couldn't even bring yourself to feel sorry for snapping at him, you had told him that you weren't feeling well today and yet he had strictly ignored that just for his own benefit. “You know what? Fuck you, Adam. You can suck my fucking dick for saying that. I fucking care, okay? Any ordinary bitch would've left you by now but I fucking didn't because I love you, for heaven's sake. So quit the motherfucking attitude already,” there was truly no way for you to swallow all the anger that was seething inside of you and you really couldn't care less. “I’m out of here, fucking call me when you decided to quit acting like a goddamn manchild,” and with that you grabbed your phones and keys and rushed out the apartment.

Once the door was shut you broke down entirely. Yes, you and Adam had different options on some things, nothing major though, but fighting like that? That was a thing that had never happened before, not when you started dating and especially not after you married him. Fighting with Adam felt exhausting, you hated how your heart hurt - it almost felt like physical pain. So you did the only logical thing and unlocked your phone to call your best friend.

Arlo was someone you could always count on and that was proven one more time when the man had pulled up to the park in no time - that's where you had asked him to meet you - and he came in company of milkshakes. He handed you the cup as he sat down on the bench next to you. “So, you finally figured out that Adam is a huge bitch huh?” that earned Arlo a glare. Yes, you were mad at your husband, but that was no reason to insult the man you loved so dearly. “Quit it, I'm not breaking up with him because of one single fight,” you mumbled as you took a sip of your milkshake, realizing Arlo had managed to get you your favorite flavor. That brightened the mood at least a little. “Look Y/N, I'm all for love ‘n’ shit, but Adam, seriously? I mean you of all people should know how big his ego is and he just proved this by ignoring your well-being,” the blonde continued to rant about your husband and while Adam's ego was huge, his love for you was bigger.

He didn't let outsiders notice the ways he looked at you during gigs, he made it seem casual when his wing wrapped around your shoulder when you two walked through the streets like it was a thing people casually did - they didn't. Touching the wings of another angel, let alone use your wings to shield someone was a big deal due to the wings being hypersensitive. He always remembered what you liked and what you disliked, no matter what you were talking about. He knew and respected a lot of things when it came to you, things he didn't even tolerate when it came to others. He loved you and while for strangers eyes it wasn't visible, it was everything to you.

“Arlo, I didn't fucking call you so that you can tell me what a shitty husband I have, he loves me and I love him, he cares and just because we had one fight in six thousand years won't make me throw this relationship away so you either shut it or you leave, that's up to you,” you snapped at the blonde angel next to you and it seemed to do the job because Arlo closed his lips around the straw of his own milkshake and seemingly swallowed all the hatred he hold for Adam. You knew Arlo was trying to cheer you up, but he was doing a shitty job at that. Down talking your husband wasn't something you would let slide wordlessly. Because when Adam wanted, he was very much able and willing to serve you the world on a golden platter. He had risked a lot for you already and you were aware he would do it all again.

In the meantime Adam was still at your apartment. The second you had slammed the door shut behind you he realized how badly he had fucked up. There had always been different options on certain things, that was fine though. Usually you guys were able to talk it out and find a solution that made both of you happy, you never had a fucking fight in over six thousand years and now the fight had been intense enough to result in you leaving.

He had fucked up badly and he knew it.

But he couldn't just wait for you to come back. In the name of the almighty lord above, Adam wasn't even sure if you'd come home for the night. What if you were to stay with a friend until tomorrow, maybe even longer? No, he needed to solve this now. So he did the first thing that came to his mind and checked your location.

When you two had just started dating he had been losing you a lot, mainly because whenever you saw something that you liked or that you thought he might like you were running off to get that thing. So the two of you had agreed to constantly share your location with each other and ever since then that had never changed, these days it was a simple habit. The little icon on the map was pinned on the park. Good, that wasn't too far.

So the man grabbed his guitar and left to apologize.

Arlo’s eyes scanned the park for a moment, then he groaned quietly, “Speaking of the devil.” You turned your head to look over to where your blonde homie was looking at and couldn't help but roll your eyes.

Adam was walking straight towards you.

He had his guitar in his hand as he confidently walked across the park just to stop in front of the bench you and Arlo were sitting on. You weren't the only one annoyed by Adam's presence, the blonde angel next to you was just as pleased to see the leader of the exorcists as you were and he let Adam feel that they didn't want him there. “The fuck you think you're doing?” Arlo hissed at the brunette who was simply ignoring that they were even there. He sighed as you looked at you, something in his mimic told you he was sorry but you weren't able to see the guilt in his eyes due to his stupid mask. Fuck, he really couldn't leave that thing at home for just one day, could he?

Adam adjusted the guitar in his hands, made sure his fingers were placed on the right strings and then he started to play a kinda shitty sounding tune - knowing Adam it was shitty on purpose, there was no way he'd accidentally play bad. “I love you, bitch,” he spoke the words more than he sang them but it definitely made your lips twitch up in a grin. Arlo shot you a critical look, they were having none of it. “I ain't ever gon’ stop loving you,” there was a pause, then he finished, “Bitch.”

And that made you full on chuckle, the glimpse of hope that was suddenly visible through Adam's expression showed you that he knew he had fucked up, that he was sorry. And maybe he would apologize properly once the two of you were back at your apartment. “You’re not gonna simply forgive him with that sad excuse of an apology, right?” Arlo asked in shock as you got up and took a step forward to be able to wrap your arms around the first man's waist. “You ain't ever gonna stop loving me, huh?” you asked teasingly as your finger poked him in his side which made him flinch a little. “Dude, Y/N, he fucking overstepped boundaries and you just gonna forget and forgive because he pulled out his shitty guitar and played two chords?” Arlo complained and stepped up to the both of you, they seemed genuinely furious about it. “The fuck’s your problem man, this ain't your fight, this is our thing to deal with,” the brunette growled at them but they didn't care. To be honest, they never cared about anything Adam said or did to them, no matter if it was something positive or negative. “You’re seriously telling me you love that guy?”

You weren't giving Arlo the satisfaction of attention, instead you pulled Adam's mask up so that the LED face was resting on top of his head and the horns of it were near his neck. “I want a proper apology once we get home, if I don't get that, I'll find some other place to crash at for the night, am I clear?” you explained how it would go, all the playfulness was gone, there wasn't a smirk on your lips anymore and your eyes told Adam that you were serious about it, “And then I'd like to talk it out so that we can find a solution in case that shit should ever happen again.” The leader of the exorcists was quick to nod, followed by a loud and clear, “Yes, sir.” And for the moment that was enough. Enough to lean in and kiss him. Adam melted against your lips immediately, a small moan managed to slip past his lips. But the kiss ended as abrupt as it had started and Adam felt your hand on the back of his head, the mask caught most of the hit but he still felt it, “You fucking idiot.” That made said idiot grin one of his stupidly cocky grins, “Maybe, but at least I'm your idiot.” This time it was him who started the kiss, his wing quickly came up to block the view for Arlo, who was watching the two of you a little too intensive for Adam's liking.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

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