#i think i would like whiskey regular [on the rocks as they call it]

[the-physicality]

not the goat drink being an old fashioned 💀x

[eddiemunsonw]

None of your business | PART 1

PART 1 - PART 2

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

Summary: It's none of your business what Gator's doing at the bar you work at. But at the same time, it is.

CW/Disclaimer: Alcohol consumption, smut (handjob)

Words: 2346

On Wednesdays it was rarely crowded in the bar you worked at. There were always some regulars, those that fled from their wives (more commonly known as waste aways who should have never married nor had children) and those that loved alcohol more than life. Sometimes you can't blame them. 

This also meant that you spent most of your time with people, usually men, twice your age. You had built up quite some strength against their sexist remarks, their misogyny and the way they often tried to undress you with their eyes. Every now and then one would even actually lay a hand on you but by now your boss knew you needed no help taking care of those. 

Often, a glare would do. Sometimes they needed to be spoken to very clearly to get the message. Other times, you simply stabbed their hand with a fork. Painful, not lethal, easy solution.

Looking around the bar now, you noticed it was far busier than your usual Wednesday. There were more couples, surprisingly, as it was a rare sight at your bar. Also some new faces. Maybe there was something to do nearby? A festival, a concert? You no longer had any time to dwell on it when Brutal Bob called you over for a refill. You still didn’t know what he had done to earn that nickname.

“Same as usual?”

“You know it dearie!”

You gave him a friendly smile and took his glass, replacing it with another whiskey. After adding his drink to his tab, you did some dishes until a very obvious “clearing of throat” caught your attention. The polished badge caught your attention before anything else. It was rare to see anyone of “importance” step in here. Those visits were usually reserved for when there was trouble. Warily, you made your way over to the deputy sheriff.

“What can I get you, Deputy?” you asked, trying to read his expression to figure out whether he was here for business or pleasure.

“Anything strong will do,” he mumbled, not really looking at you as he was focused on cleaning off some specks of dust from his badge.

“How’s whiskey on the rocks sound?”

“Alright.”

“Coming right up.”

By the time you returned with his drink, his attention had shifted to his left hand that rested on the bar. Other than noticing he had big hands and long, quite slender fingers, you didn’t see why a hand would be so much more interesting to look at than the person serving you a drink.

“There you go,” you sighed before naming the price. Absentmindedly, he reached into his breast pocket and fished a couple dollar bills out. Normally you wouldn’t go out of your way to talk to customers, but his deep sighs made it impossible not to.

“What’s on your mind? You look like you don’t even wanna be here sipping expensive whiskey.”

Gator looked up, barely moving his head so it was more of a glare in your direction under his dark brows.

“None of your business.”

“Ooookay, sorry to step on your toes, sir.”

You tried to fight it but your eyes rolled back into their sockets anyway as you turned away from him. The noise that came out of him as a reaction to that was almost funny.

“Who do you think you’re rolling your eyes at?”

As you gave yourself a moment to think, you slowly turned back around again. His eyes narrowingly followed you as you approached him, leaning over the bar before you softly told him;

“None of your business.”

His eyes were almost slits as he narrowed them further and you quipped a quick smile.

“Not so fun, is it? Being on the other end?”

Gator mumbled something incoherent to your ears and turned his gaze down into his glass. You were surprised at his defeated nature, knowing he’d normally go out of his way to demand an answer, as unfair as it would be. He seemed to have lost his attitude a little lately. It was impossible to guess what was going on in your town. It felt like everyone carried big, heavy secrets around. Everyone had their secrets of course, but with the way some people were looking… it sometimes felt there was a lot at stake.

You left him alone after that, only walked back to give him another drink, and another. After a few of them you started giving him water alongside it and surprisingly he took it with no snide remarks and actually drank it. Many people came and went, yet Gator seemed to be very stuck on his stool holding his drink or vape (which smelled disgustingly sweet, by the way), occasionally taking a break for the bathroom. The crowd slowly started to thin out, which wasn’t very surprising at this late hour. You were just busying yourself with doing some dishes when you heard Gator curse and slam his fist on the bar. Slowly, you made your way over with a new glass of water.

“Might not wanna do that too often, you know. Unless you want both your arms in a cast,” you tried to joke lightly. He maintained his frown which he had kept for most of the night. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was already suffering from a headache. When he didn’t respond, you hummed softly in thought.

“You left or right handed?”

“Right.”

“Oof. That’s a bummer. Must be frustrating, y’know, during…”

You had no idea what came over you to even move into that direction, but it surely caught Gator’s attention at last. His eyes flicked up at you, waiting.

“I mean,” you continued airily, “unless you like using your left for the pretense that it’s someone else doing it.”

It was impossible to miss how his eyes shifted down to your hands and a smile crept on your lips. You waited for his eyes to shift back to you, making sure he would realize you caught him. This must have been the first time you had seen Gator Tillman blush since… ever. He didn’t say anything however, which gave you the feeling it was your que to leave.

“I can’t. Doesn’t work for me.”

Oh. Oh. Maybe that’s why he was so grumpy. You cocked your head and fought to mockingly pout a little. But god was it tempting. As you took a sip of your coke, you watched him squirm with the nervous anticipation of your response.

“No wonder you’re in such a bad mood. No one to help you out a little?”

Gator shook his head and took a sip of his water before catching your gaze.

“Is that a hint?”

Hmm… was it a hint? Maybe. It all depended on his behavior, really. He was cute when his father wasn’t breathing down his neck. Made him seem a little more human rather than a shell chasing some unattractive ideals. You knew he was all talk and how whatever came out of his mouth was rarely true. That didn’t mean you weren’t cautious.

“Do you wish it’s a hint?”

Gator’s hand tightened around his glass, lips pressed tightly together as he seemed to be fighting some inner demons. Whatever they were telling him, you weren’t sure. Eventually, he nodded, a defeated sigh leaving him.

“Yeah…”

As you looked around the bar, you noticed that the last two people were gathering their stuff, knowing well enough you were about to close the bar. You nodded your head at them.

“If you wait ‘till they’re gone, I’ll see what I can do.”

Gator turned his head followed by a wordless nod. Even under the dim light, it was impossible to hide his rosy cheeks. He excused himself for the bathroom, as if he wanted to make sure you knew he wasn’t leaving. By the time he came back, the last customers were gone and you had already locked the door.

“So…” he started unsurely. “How do we do this?”

“Uh… you know, how it usually goes?”

“I-I haven’t, uh. I’ve never—”

Ah. That explained a lot as well.

“Had sex?”

“Not so loud!” he huffed and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t you worry, no one can hear us. A virgin huh, who would’ve thought.”

“I just haven’t found anyone- anyone worthy.”

“And a random girl serving you some drinks at the bar is?”

Gator shrugged.

“If she’s hot.”

“I have a hard time believing it’s about my looks here. I’m sure you’d say yes to just about anyone at this point.”

“Are you gonna jerk me off or are you just gonna keep making fun of me?!” Gator retorted, his patience thinning rapidly. You sighed and tapped on the bar.

“Hands.”

“What are you…” he started, confusion etching in his brows.

“Hands.”

Gator put his hands on the bar and almost swallowed audibly as you moved behind him, pulling his hips slightly backwards. You wasted no time undoing his belt and dropped his pants down. One glance downwards confirmed his erection was outlined perfectly in his boxer briefs.

“Luckily you didn’t drink so much to the point that you couldn’t get it up anymore, hm?”

He was ready to comment on it when he felt your hand grope him lightly. A shaky moan left his lips instantly and you could see how the knuckles of his left hand whitened as he tightened his grip on the bar.

“Good?” you asked softly, mouth close to his ear. He nodded rapidly, a whimper leaving him as you moved your hand up and down along the fabric. A damp spot was already forming on the dark green fabric and you figured it would be cruel to make him wait any longer. His moan was ushered out painfully when you exposed him to the airy room temperature and wrapped your hand around him. You were about to move when you thought of something. With your front pressed up against his back you lifted your hand to his mouth.

“Spit.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never spit on your hand before to make it glide easier?”

“You want me to uh… Why don’t you do it?”

You smiled and leaned closer to his ear again.

“Cause this is a team effort, Gator.”

With some reluctance he swirled his tongue around to gather some saliva in his mouth before he spat it onto your hand. Before the generous amount could slide off your palm you brought it down to his cock, immediately feeling the ease with which your hand moved up and down.

“Oh shit,” he hissed, hips bucking into your hand until you stilled him with your other hand. You pumped him faster and relished in the sounds of his desperate whimpers.

“F-Fuck I can feel your tits— Can I, can I touch them?”

You ignored the request in favor of jerking him off faster and he didn’t ask again. His breath quickened and although you could tell he tried not to, his hips bucked forward again. He let his head hang down and you didn’t have the heart to tell him that that might be a dangerous position to have his head in as he seemed so lost in the pleasure your hand was giving him. His voice cracked, the octave of his voice rising as thick white ropes came out of his reddened cock, one effectively landing on his face. He flinched, but he was too lost in the high to let it distract him fully.

As soon as he turned around you were met with the most love sick puppy eyes you had seen on a man in a long while. He leaned in closer with a dazed expression as if to kiss you, but you quickly stopped him by putting a clean dish rag in between you two to wipe his face off.

“Oh uh, thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly, glancing back at the bar which definitely needed a thorough cleaning again. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No worries. So… feeling better now?” you asked as you noticed his frown had gone. He nodded and let go of a big sigh he didn’t seem to know he was holding.

“Yeah… much.”

“Good. Well then, I gotta clean this up and close off so—”

“Wait. What about you?” he asked, the surprise in his voice genuine.

“Oh honey that’s sweet, but you and I both know you won’t get me there on the first try.”

You didn’t mean to sound condescending, it was just… men, right?

“I could try,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it when I’m home.”

Gator’s expression was an open book on what these words did to his brain.

“Fine. Can we uh, do this again sometime?” he asked eventually, finally able to look at you again. You glanced at him, considering.

“Maybe. But no more “none of your business” bullshit. You could have stopped moping around a lot sooner if you had just told me what was up,” you mumbled.

“What was I supposed to say? I’m horny but I can’t jerk myself off?”

Judging by his expression, that was definitely not all that had made his mood turn so sour, but you decided not to press it and smiled softly instead.

“Something like that, yeah. Honesty goes a long way. You should try it sometime.”

“I really like your tits,” he said earnestly, putting your advice to work. A helpless chuckle left you. God he was hopeless.

“Okay, maybe not like that. With a bit more nuance, maybe. We can work on that.”

“Okay… sure.”

“Sure?”

“Yes. We can. Ma’am.”

“Good. Lose the ma’am.”

“Alright…” he checked your name tag, just to make sure, “Y/N.”

“I’ve got the closing shift again on Saturday. Do with that what you want.”

Gator nodded and hastily put his pants back on as you ushered him to the exit. He seemed to have a lot more to say, but since you knew it was guaranteed that he’d be back on Saturday and you were extremely tired from work, it could wait.

If you enjoyed reading this, please know that comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) Likes are lovely but sadly do nothing to spread the fics around! Help your favorite writers (not saying me - in general) out like that so you can continue to enjoy consuming the free work they put out, it's a win-win.

[yeor-yeona]

the whiskey teaser

pairing: stray kids han jisung x gn!reader

warnings: alcohol use, implied drinking and driving (nothing bad happens), 3rd person, reader is bi/pan, spelling/grammar issues

word count: 1463

a/n: this is just a teaser for now but it's been sitting unfinished in my google docs for months lol if anyone likes it i might complete it!! the plan was around 15-20k so its gonna be a bit of a slow burn,,, not much is happening rn but feel free to comment any suggestions pls be constructive tho :)

Looking around the establishment for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour, you swirled around your glass, relishing in the clinks made when the hard rock of ice met the delicate glass containing it. You’d come here looking for a distraction, anything to pique your interest for even an instant; to bring anything else to the forefront of your mind just long enough to ease the load of your thoughts. And to no avail. A few people had come up to you, trying to spark a conversation, with and without ulterior motives. You’d indulge them, albeit speaking only a few words at a time before they had lost your interest and you let them know that. 

The first was a man, slicked-back hair and a get-up far too fancy for the environment. He called you beautiful, offered you a drink, and you obliged him. Asking for the most expensive thing sold there just to see his expression. Before you could even get a sip in he was on a tirade about his oh-so-important job as a CEO or CFO or some other acronym with a ‘C’. As hard as you tried to engage in the conversation, he never gave you the opportunity, ending every story he had about his “terrible employees” with a ‘right?’ or ‘you know?’ and then continuing on without leaving you a second to even nod in agreement. 

It got old fast and soon you were right back in your head, thoughts moving a mile a minute toward the one thing you wanted to avoid thinking about. Then he asked, “Are you even listening to me?” You responded with a blunt, “No.” Earning a scowl from him as you now became the object of his scornful speech. He called you a “gold-digging bitch” and a slew of other things that people tend to find offensive. But you didn’t care, why should you? He was a stuck-up asshole who doesn’t know how to have a decent conversation. The only thing you’d gained from the exchange was an overpriced drink, which you continued to drink as he kept yelling, bringing unwanted attention to the two of you. By then you couldn’t even make out what names he was calling you as his voice faded into the background. You couldn’t tell how long it had continued either until he finally stormed off, ushered away by the staff, still muttering under his breath. 

You were a little glad for being a regular at this point, getting kicked out of the bar would have been a terrible way to end your night. 

Maybe 10, 15 minutes passed before another person came up, trying to get your attention. This time a woman, in a lacey black dress and racing jacket. The way she looked at you with those bright blue contacts, made you somewhat uncomfortable, but she was decent enough conversation. She mentioned she was from out of town, visiting for a funeral, here looking to have a little fun before heading back home. You almost would have taken her up on her many offers to do so, if not for the way she spoke to the bartender after he supposedly made her drink wrong. When she turned back to you, you made some excuse about being busy later that night, the first thing that popped into your head and she got the memo. Leaving you without another word. 

The others that came and went weren’t as interesting, quickly repulsing you in one way or another, but you’d determined yourself to stay a little while longer. In hopes that you’d find someone, something to do. Though it was in vain. 

You downed the rest of your drink, delighting in the warmth it brought to your core. You gathered your things, giving a final nod to the bartender before leaving the building. 

Seeing the patter of raindrops hitting the glass doors, you pulled an umbrella out of your bag, opening it as you stepped out. It was a short stroll to your car, only two or three blocks away, but long enough to shake away any last remnants of alcohol that may be clouding your judgment. 

You walked slowly, basking in the sights around you, people running into buildings, failing to prevent themselves from getting soaked, cars zooming by, splashing puddles that had been created in potholes, storm drains sucking in as much water as they could, making tiny whirlpools. You remembered loving these sights as a child, loving the feeling of jumping around in said puddles, not loving the wet socks you ended up with after. But you kept walking, brushing off the nostalgic feelings growing in your heart, you didn’t deserve to enjoy it. 

You reached a crosswalk, the light was red and the speed of the vehicles before you, even in this weather, was enough to discourage you from continuing anyway. As you waited, you heard a sound, it was a sniffle, you weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if it was you yourself. 

You turned your head towards the origin and there stood, well sat really, a man. His head was rested in his arms, held up by his knees. His wavy brown hair glistened under the street lamps, clinging to the sides of his face. He was decidedly underdressed for the weather, with an oversized white t-shirt, that too clung to him from the rain, and a pair of light-wash ripped jeans. 

For some reason, you couldn’t turn away from the sight. You wanted to know why. Why he was sitting out here in the rain, weeping so hard his body shook. So hard it shook even the furthest reaches of your heart. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see the light change and the cars come to a stop. You should have minded your business, you should have walked across the street and went home to wallow in misery, you should have, but you didn’t. Instead, taking cautious steps toward the man, until you were right before him. You stuck out your arm, shielding him from the downpour with your umbrella, unflinching as the cool droplets now soaked into your attire. 

You stood there for a few seconds, not uttering a word. You hadn’t even known why you’d done this to begin with. No, you knew. 

You couldn’t convince yourself you did it out of the kindness of your heart. This was selfish, an indulgent way to prove you weren’t like the people you’d seen earlier today, like the people who hurt him. It wasn't entirely true, but excuses exist for a reason. 

He looked up at you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Even through his questioning stare, his eyes were bloodshot. He must have been here for a while. 

You held the umbrella closer to him, a wordless offering. Still obviously confused, he took it. And you took your opportunity to swiftly leave, walking with more purpose now as you crossed the busy street seconds before the light switched back to green and the engines of the cars, now behind you, roared to life. 

You could feel eyes on you as you walked steadily up the street, probably his, but you didn't turn around to check.

Finally reaching your car, you pulled your keys out of your bag, unlocking the door with a beep. You got in quickly, putting the key in the ignition and turning the heat to max. Maybe giving your umbrella to a stranger in the middle of what was basically a monsoon, wasn't the best idea. You sat there warming up for a few minutes before clicking on your seatbelt and taking off. 

The ride back home was calm, rather than turning on music to drown out your thoughts like you normally would, you embraced the sound of raindrops hitting against the windshield and the hum of the engine. The brake lights before you reflecting off the ground creating a sea of red. The distraction usually bothered you, but now, all you could do was revel in its beauty. 

Even when someone cut you off, you weren't all that angry. Rather than honking or muttering curses under your breath, you simply made space for them and went on as if it never happened. 

Would it be overdramatic to describe this feeling as euphoric? You were soaked down to your underwear, fans blowing at max speed, making your eyes water so that you had to blink them back, lights reflecting off the wet surfaces almost blinding you. But you weren't mad at it.

It felt easier to embrace the negative knowing that even though your day failed, you may have made someone else's a little better. “Should I start doing stuff like this more often?” you whispered to yourself.

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[imgeekgirlfan]

el paraiso de las pandillas.

Pairings:   Pacho Herrera(Narcos : TV Series)x f!reader

Warnings: No Warnings, Just a Family Drama

Synopsis: Y/N  meet the man whom you save his life two months ago, only to find out that he is the godfather of Colombia and he knows all the secrets you've been trying to keep hidden for two years.

AN: I was greatly inspired by The Sopranos series (about the Moltisanti family). I hope you'll like it. // And the bad news is, I may have to postpone updating the new episode of el paraiso de las pandillas for a while because I still don't know what to write next. But I have a plan to translate my other fic (Amado x Reader) soon. I hope you'll wait for me. luvvvv u <3

Previous : Next (Soon)

Part Two :

That man left in the morning when the sun rose. What was left in front was a mess of blood that made you spend a long time cleaning. And beyond that was a deep-seated suspicion that was difficult to eliminate. 

Everywhere in Colombia, which used to be beautiful and charming in the midst of bright sunlight, whether it was the clear blue sea, various coffee shops, markets, churches, it turned out to be hidden in darkness that cannot be seen. Anything could happen, Anything like gunshots and strange men who come with blood all over their bodies.

You did not inform the police about what had happened, not just because you wanted to keep the words you had said before, but because of your own anxiety. If you spoke up, that man and his gun might come back to deal with you at any time. You knew very well since you met that he could easily kill you without you realizing it, and the only reason you were still alive was because he chose to spare your life. 

It was as if everything in life was beyond control, as if there was nothing you could do anymore. You did not want to encounter such a crazy situation again, especially with that man. Meeting him once was more than enough. 

You desperately wanted your life to be normal again without even realizing that it was just the beginning of a nightmare.

"Wow, what a strong wind! Did it blow this Chica here?" 

a playful remark made by a bartender at a local nightclub called "Copa Cabana"  which always happens on any night you choose to go out for a drink outside.

You didn't respond anything except for raising your middle finger before sitting down on the wooden bar stool next to the third bar seat, your regular spot. Before you could even order, the bartender behind the wooden bar had already placed a glass of whiskey with ice cubes in front of you.

"Whiskey on the Rock" Manny spoke warmly to the American customers who came here often until they became friends. "You've been missing for a while , stuck with work at the school or something?" 

Two months, you thought, Two months since that night when you had to sit and pick bullets out of a stranger's man who was shot.You took a long breath before downing the whiskey in one shot, the bitter taste burning your throat slightly.  You raised the glass for a refill, and Manny laughed before filling it up immediately. "You don't have to drink that fast. You'll get drunk quickly. Take it easy," he added.

You ignored his warning because your desire tonight was to drink until you were drunk as quickly as possible, then stumble back home to sleep without having to worry about anyone else showing up to ask for help. "If I can't make it, will you carry me back?"

Manny grinned with a smile before picking up a nearby empty glass and wiping it clean with a napkin. "If I didn't know you before, I would think you were hitting on me," he joked.

He played it off, but you didn't feel like laughing with him. You are still thinking about what happened two months ago. Doing good deeds will always bring good rewards; that's what your mother always taught you when you were still a child. However, you weren't sure if the decision to do good that night would bring you any good rewards in return.

You were lost in your own thoughts and didn't notice the changing atmosphere in the nightclub. until you noticed that many people's eyes were turned towards the same direction, including Manny, who muttered to himself, "Oh no," before looking at you as if to warn you–not to turn around.

But curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn't resist glancing back at the newcomer. At that moment, you feel a deep sadness that you didn't believe Manny at first.

A group of at least five big men were standing by the door, all armed with guns holstered on their hips. But the most striking one was the handsome young man in the middle, with a strong and confident demeanor, dressed in a smooth and well-fitted black leather jacket. His intense gaze swept through the club, scrutinizing everyone, before locking onto you and revealing a look of surprise when he saw you.

You quickly turned away from his gaze, even though you knew you had already caught his attention.

You would never forget his face, just as he would never forget yours, especially since he was the same person you saved two months ago.

Manny noticed everything, but he was a good employee who was smart enough to know when to speak and when to remain silent. Everything around you seemed to be quiet and tense, so quiet that you could hear footsteps behind you, followed by the smell of expensive cologne and the sharp scent of cigarettes when another person moved to sit in the chair next to you. You pursed your lips and drank your whisky until your glass was empty, allowing the alcohol to flow into your bloodstream before turning to face this man.

His deep brown eyes looked at you without blinking, his perfectly trimmed beard under his thin lips just barely lifting into a small smile when he greeted you, making it seem as if he knew you well.

"We haven't seen each other in a while."

You glanced at Manny, noticing him bowing his head and lowering his eyes. Although you were a foreigner who had not been here long, you were smart enough to guess that everyone knew and feared this man.

"I didn't expect to see you again." You crafted a friendly smile for the person next to you. "What brings you here?"

"Just taking care of some personal business that was delayed two months ago," he said casually, as if talking about unimportant things in life. But for you, who might know the details of what happened two months ago, it wouldn't be difficult to guess why he appeared here and why there were a few drops of blood on his shoes and pants.

It's better not to doubt. You carefully avert your gaze before pretending to drink your own whisky. The dull colors start to flush on the side of your cheek in proportion to the strong alcohol in your body. 

"Oh, I haven't introduced myself yet." The man said it politely, extending his hand to you. "Pacho Herrera."

Pacho Herrera That was the name he told you that day. And if you could choose, you wouldn't want to know this man at all.

"Y/N"

You grasp his hand, the strong pressure of Pacho's hand adding to the effect of the whisky you had just consumed, making your pulse slightly higher than before. You quickly released his hand, as it felt hot to the touch. It seemed rude, but Pacho didn't hold it against you. He turned to the bartender behind the counter and ordered what he wanted.

"I'll have a Daiquiri for me and whatever Monada wants."

The cash thrown on the table was enough to buy all kinds of liquor sold in the nightclub, and the glasses were filled with whiskey almost immediately after Pacho ordered, followed by the Daiquiri placed next to it. He grabbed his own glass and raised it to you, sending a small smile that blended charm and danger. 

You wanted to get up and leave this place too much, but the only thing you could do right now was to pick up the glass of whisky and clink it with his before taking another sip while realizing in fear that you had no way of going home anytime soon.

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When the morning sunlight shines into the eyes, it slowly wakes up a sleeping girl amidst a throbbing headache from hangover. You try to stay calm and take a deep breath until you realize that the place you're in right now is not your own home, but somewhere unfamiliar to you.

The spacious bedroom is covered in soft, light-colored silk sheets, and the room is illuminated by white and gold-dotted curtains from floor to ceiling. When you decide to step outside, everything is more extravagant than before. You walk slowly, confused, and dazed by the remnants of the drunken stupor that lingers in your head.

What crazy thing happened last night?

Suddenly, you hear someone talking loudly from ahead. You choose to quietly follow the sound until you reach a room that looks like a large kitchen. You are startled to see several armed men standing guard. They all turn to look at you with stern eyes, except for one man who is sitting drinking black coffee and reading the news comfortably in a white bathrobe.

It's Pacho Herrera, the man you met at the nightclub last night.

Memories are starting to come back a little bit. You only remember drinking with him last night, but the rest was empty, like a blank piece of paper without any letters. Pacho raised his eyebrows as if he knew that you were staring at him. A slight smile appeared on his face before he gestured to the chair opposite him.

"Come sit here. I think you might be hungry, so I had someone make breakfast for us."

You still stood there, refusing to follow his invitation. "What happened last night?" you asked.

"You really can't remember anything? That's too bad" Pacho took another sip of coffee before continuing, "It's not a big deal. You were very drunk last night, so I took you to my home. Then we had sex, that's all."

The answer you heard made your body stiffen. Your pale face became even paler than before, and Pacho chuckled lightly at the shock written all over your face. "I'm kidding. But are you going to keep standing there? Have a seat."

Pacho's demeanor changed as he placed his hands under his chin  and stared straight at you with eyes that seemed to be peering into your soul. as if he could see every dark secret of yours with just one glance. You were silent for a moment before taking a deep breath and finally walking over to sit across from him, trying not to show any signs of being startled for him to see.

When Pacho waved his hand, everyone in the room left, leaving only you and him alone. He slid a plate of sandwiches and hot coffee towards you, but you didn't want to touch it. The increasing pressure was getting to you, making you lose your appetite.

"Do you know I also have a business in New York? So, I get to hear a lot of news from that side as well. And when you told me that you were American, it reminded me of some news I had heard before," he said.

It didn't sound like good news at all, and you could feel it in your gut from the moment you laid eyes on him.

"Do you familiar with the Moltisanti family? They're an Italian mafia that holds power in New York. We had the opportunity to do business together often. It seems like they're looking for a certain woman. She is the daughter of Christopher, the big boss of the Moltisanti family, who disappeared two years ago. And you've been here in Colombia for two years now. What a coincidence, don't you think?"

Your anxiety came rushing back. You realized that you weren't prepared enough for this situation, you just didn't think it would happen so soon.

"You're right. I am the missing daughter," you said, clenching your trembling hands tightly and looking up resolutely. "But I am just an illegitimate daughter who is insignificant. Everything about Moltisanti has nothing to do with me. I suggest that you and your 'Los Caballeros de Cali' should not take any interest in me."

Gentlemen of Cali  is one of the nicknames for the Cali Cartel, the criminal group of godfathers in Colombia, who produce and export cocaine almost worldwide. Consisting of four main founders: Gilberto Rodríguez, Miguel Rodríguez,José Santacruz and the last person is sitting right in front of you, Pacho, who is the most notorious in terms of cruelty, intelligence, and charm, making him the main face and brain of the gang.

He is not the only one who is determined to investigate your history after meeting you that night. You are also determined to investigate his history.

"We don't have any problems with the Moltisanti, at least not right now," Pacho move forward, creating an uncomfortably close proximity with clear intention to press on. "I just have a question. Will you not be a problem for us in the future?" 

Pacho wanted to see a hint of fear or unease in your eyes, like anyone else would when caught with a secret they didn't want to reveal. But what he received in return was a cold, intimidating gaze. 

"You may have forgotten that two months ago, I saved your life. Without me, you wouldn't be sitting here," your voice was harsher than usual and you didn't look away even for a second. "You promised me that you won't do anything to me, and you won't let anyone else do anything to me. I hope a gentleman from Columbia like you will keep his promise for life."

Your words made Pacho pause for a moment before his old smile slowly returned, now with a hint of surprise and satisfaction.

"I really like you a lot, Chingona." That's not a fake or deceitful word to please you, and it's uncommon for someone like Pacho to be so straightforward with others. At a moment when his complex emotions were projected through the dark tint of his eyes, he looked at you and said, "Maybe I can help you escape from your family drama."

You paused and furrowed your brows slightly "You already know?"

"It's not hard to guess. Christopher is seriously ill, and right now Tommy, your older brother, is taking over as the head of the gang. I guess he doesn't like having a young sister around much, and Colombia is a good place to hide from the influence of American mafia. Am I right?"

There was something in his brown eyes that you didn't like at all. It was a very gentle emotion, almost sympathy or empathy. "Well, That's close, but not entirely" you slowed down, seeing no benefit in concealing anything from this man. 

"If you were mine, you wouldn't have to worry about the Moltisanti family interfering with you again."

"Are you saying you want me to be your whore?"

Pacho shrugged nonchalantly. "I haven't really thought about that, but it's okay if you want to be." Pacho laughed again, not sure how many times the woman in front of him had made him laugh today. "Speaking bluntly, I'm quite impressed with many things about you. Plus, our main market is already in America. It would be great if we had some beautiful Americans helping us out. I can send you back home and guarantee your safety. What do you think?"

"I remember you said that you didn't like gringos."

"And I also remember that I make an exception for you." 

This is not like a negotiation proposal at all,  but more like a heated argument between two people who know each other well. Although you two only met twice. 

"Thank you for the offer, but I still insist that it's best for both of us to stay apart." You took a deep breath and let out a small smile before picking up your cold coffee cup and taking a sip. The bitter taste at least helped to sober you up a little. You stood up to your full height and reached out to him. "I hope we can put this behind us."

Pacho didn't immediately take your hand. He just looks at you with an unreadable eyes before standing up as well and finally accepting your hand in the end. "I'll walk you out," he said.

"In this outfit?" You looked at the bathrobe on his body with a strange face, but Pacho didn't answer. He arranged his hand on your back before pushing you forward at a steady pace, not too slow and not too fast. Passing through the shady garden with blooming flowers and a large pond decorated with strange animal sculptures until you reached the menacing-looking bodyguards who eyed the two of you without blinking.

When you arrived at the imposing gate of the house, he kissed you lightly on the cheek and said, "See you later."

There's absolutely no way. You're thinking but not speaking. You just smile politely at him before hurrying out of here without looking back even once. despite feeling his sharp gaze following you until it's out of sight.

At that moment, you didn't think much about it, except feeling a great sense of relief that you had escaped from that crazy situation. But if you ponder a little bit about his last sentence, you might need to be more cautious

Because no one can avoid the godfather. That's the truth that you'll deeply understand later.

[doxrose]

I’ve decided to write it!

Here’s a little teaser/trailer for what I’ve got so far. I don’t know if I’ll end up doing a one shot built of this or a multi chapter.

The Long Road

It was a rare occasion that Huggie had a need to cut someone off on a Tuesday night. In fact, he could count on one hand the amount of times he’s had to do it. Leave it to the man who speaks in no more than little grunts and his order, whiskey on the rocks, to up that tallie for him the first time he comes in.

Hughie has assumed he was going to be trouble from the moment he had walked in. Half laced boots, dark jeans, long leather coat that looked like it had seen better days, a god-awful Hawaiian print shirt half buttoned (did this man not know how to do up his clothes entirely?), an unkempt beard, a case of bed head, and bags under his eyes that would impress an Ivy League law student. If anyone ever asked, that was the reason the man somehow held his attention the whole night. Because he just screamed trouble.

Hughie didn’t even realize he was in need of cutting the man off until he had stood up to go to the restroom and barely caught himself before he stumbled to the floor. He seemed like a man who was handling his liquor ridiculously well. And he had. It was… enough that even any of his regulars would be drank under the table. But everyone has their limits.

When the man came back from the restroom, downed the rest of his drink, and gestured for another, Hughie shook his head and took the glass. “Sorry, man. Can’t see your own feet, you don’t get another drink.”

The man glared at him and leaned closer to Hughie over the counter. “And who are you to tell me when I’ve had enough?”

As much as that voice and accent, which he was finally able to place when the man strung more than four words together, made Hughie want to go weak at the knees, he stood his ground. “The man who doesn’t particularly want to see your face on the news tomorrow when you wash up in some alley. Go home, man.”

The man went a little rigid at that. Barely enough to be noticeable, but Hughie had become a bit of an expert in his time here. You know how many people actually treat their bartender as a therapist? Too many. Way too many.

“I ain’t got nowhere to be, son, so pour me another,” the man grunted out.

Hughie sighed and dropped his head. “Look, man. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I need to start closing up.”

The man at the bar frowned and looked around, seeming to realize for the first time that they were the last two in the bar. “Huh… would you look at that.”

Hughie fidgeted with the rag he had on the counter. “Is there someone I can call for you? A cab, maybe?”

The man just grunted again and stood, seeming to stabilize a lot quicker this time. “I don’t need you to do nothin’. I can manage just fine.” He said before walking out.

When Hughed heard a car door shut and an engine start shortly after, he rushed outside to watch the man speed off. All he could think was “I think I just signed someone’s death warrant…”

I had an idea for a bartender!Hughie/grieving widower!Butcher fic where it starts off as a one night stand but then Butcher keeps coming back to the bar and then Hughie slowly gets dragged into Butcher’s life (he’s a PI because of course he is) and would anyone be interested?

[barakittens517]

PT. I: The Lost

Summary: You've been alive on this planet far longer than you should have; you cannot die, cannot dream, cannot stay in one place for too long. And you're okay with that.

Until you meet the blonde stranger in rounded sunglasses. Until the people around you start dying. Until something shifts in the universe, and you find yourself drawn to where it all began, and who it all began with.

PT II: The Finding

Words: 1,442

Warnings: mentions of alcohol use, minor (slightly graphic) character death

Pairing: Morpheus x gender neutral reader

Note: this is the first fic I've written in... 900 years?? meant to be a one shot and now ive got carried away with multiple chapters, so we'll see (:

The universe is vast. Some might even say endless. 

You had always known this. You had been lost in it seemingly forever. Always running, always one step ahead of everyone else. You didn’t know why you hadn’t died. Why you didn’t have a family, or a home. It seems, one day, that you just appeared on the planet. 

There were a handful of truths you had come to accept as fact, and everything else was up for interpretation. You knew, for example, that you could not die. And you knew that staying in one place for too long would end in catastrophe. You knew that the world didn’t necessarily want you, or need you. 

You just existed. 

And that was fine. 

You had settled for quite some time in the Midwest, in small towns far apart from one another. You stayed away from most of civilization, choosing to spend your time underneath the stars in various parks and out in the country. Dive bars were easy pickpocket targets, and no one had caught you in decades. Ha. People did not know you, but they always underestimated you.

The night you met a tall, blonde man in circular shades, however, changed this. You were drinking, casually, towards the back of the bar. It was your last day in town- too many people had given you that look, and you knew it was time to move on. You’d already packed your single bag- a black backpack that carried a handful of clothes and wads of cash you’d collected over the last couple of months. It was resting against your boot. One last drink, and you’d step out to follow the misted gravel roads to anywhere else. 

You were heading up to the bar when he stepped in. None of the regulars noticed a damn thing, but something twisted in your stomach. You motioned to the bartender for another vodka lemonade. 

The tall stranger headed straight for you, and you silently cursed the bartender for taking his sweet time with your drink. The stranger grinned.

“Hi,” he started, “How are ya?” 

You smiled back politely, but the pit in your stomach grew. “Just fine, thanks.”

He flagged the bartender down and ordered a whiskey sour, on the rocks. You wanted to go back to your table, to get the hell away from whoever he was, but you didn’t. You stayed at the bar and sipped your drink. 

He turned to look at you and absent-mindedly spun the straw in his glass. He hadn’t taken his glasses off. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked. 

You shook your head. As long as you’d been alive, you’d certainly remember someone like him. “No, I don’t think so. Sorry.” 

He nodded. “You live here?” 

You shook your head again. “Just passing through.” 

“Ah.” He clicked his tongue. “I was hoping you might be able to help me out. I’m looking for someone.”

You shrug. “Not a lot of people around here,” you commented. 

He casted a glance around the room, noticing the raucous group of older guys crowding the pool table. It was painfully obvious the stranger did not fit in there- the regulars were dressed in worn out t-shirts and ripped jeans, with work boots covered in muck.

The stranger next to you was impeccably dressed in a cream-colored suit jacket. You wanted to say something, but you didn’t. 

The stranger turned back to you. “I can see that. What’s your name?” 

You panicked internally, instantly forgetting what you’d been calling yourself these past couple of years. “What’s yours?” 

He cracked a smile. “Most people call me Rin.” 

“I’m Ellis,” you said, giving the name you'd kept for over a century. It was about time for a new one.

“Well, Ellis, this shithole looks like a dead end to me. It’s been a pleasure.” He set his glass down on the counter and walked out the back door. You finished your drink and grabbed your backpack to leave. 

The guys at the pool table whistled as you walked by. You ignored them for the sake of your own sanity and quickly stepped out into the night air. It was colder than usual. 

You set off towards the edge of town, sticking to more of the side streets and back alleys. Part of you worried about the guys from the bar, but they seemed preoccupied with settling whatever bets they had placed on their game. 

You had just reached the gravel roads extending west when you heard it. A scream, emanating from the farm fields in front of you. You ducked low into the ditch and held your breath. Someone- a man, was pleading for his life. 

“I barely know her, I swear! We graduated together… years ago, please! Please don’t do this.” He was sobbing now. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact direction, but you felt pulled towards the field closest to you. 

“I need more than that,” a voice responded. A voice you recognized. A voice you’d met just minutes earlier. 

“S-she was at our reunion…um, here, I think we’re friends o-on here, I can find her loca-” His sentence was cut off by the sound of gurgling, and then silence. 

A small river of blood cascaded down the ditch you were crouched in, soaking your boot. You were much closer than you’d thought. Too close. 

You couldn’t help it, you gagged immediately. Your boots squished as you stood up, gasping. A tall, blonde man in a cream-colored suit appeared from the corn stalks, wiping a bloody dagger with a white kerchief.

“Ellis! What a surprise.” He tucked the knife back into his jacket and grinned. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon.” 

You felt the bile rise in your throat again. “Did you just…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him,” Rin scoffed, “He was just helping me find someone. You, however,”

“D-didn’t see anything,” you stuttered. “I was just leaving.” 

Rin shook his head. “I don’t think you were.”

JesusChristI’mgoingtodieHolyshitholyshitholyshit-

“I think you might be able to help me, actually.” 

“Please don’t fucking kill me,” you whispered, digging your nails into your palms to avoid passing out. 

Rin laughed. “No, I’m not gonna kill you. Here.” He tossed a smartphone at you. “This was his.”

The lock screen image made your blood run cold. It was a selfie of a guy you’d seen around town, standing next to what you assumed was his girlfriend. 

“Now, I need you to get into that. Someone said he was friends with who I’m looking for, and he has her location somewhere,” Rin said. 

You slid the screen up and realized the passcode was six numbers. What fucking passcode is six numbers? And how were you supposed to know the answer?

You wracked your brain for a moment. You had just seen this guy- granted, you couldn’t remember his name. He had come into the bar a while ago, buying shots to celebrate his birthday. That was… seven days ago. And he looked about your age, so…

Your fingers nervously typed in the six digits you assumed were his birthday. Voila. “I got it,” you said. 

“Perfect,” he replied, “Now I need you to find where the girl is. Her name’s Rose. Rose Walker.” You didn���t ask why, just nodded and got to work scrolling through his apps. You couldn’t help but notice he already had six missed calls from Andrea- probably the girl from the lock screen. You ignored the incoming call and clicked on Facebook. 

An ominous text message popped up on the screen. 

Andrea &lt;3

You know you shared your location with me, right? I’m on my way. 

Your stomach dropped. “We should probably… I think we need to get out of here,” you said, showing Rin the message. “If she finds the… you know.”

“Smart idea, kiddo. C’mon, I parked down the road.” You blindly followed Rin, quickly turning off Location Services on the phone. 

You found Rin’s car parked just off the road. It’s a light blue convertible, some vintage model that suits him entirely. You buckled up without thinking. Rin sped down the gravel roads, headlights off. You could almost swear you heard sirens already. You’d be scared shitless if you weren’t already numb. 

Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat were all dead ends.

Instagram was the last app you opened. You found Rose Walker’s profile and scrolled through her photos. All of them have been geotagged, the most recent from a town in Georgia. You relayed this information to Rin. 

He grinned from ear to ear, and the sight made you want to throw up again.

“Are you gonna let me go, now?” you asked. The grin fell. 

“I wouldn’t think so,” he replied. “I got a feeling you’re gonna be useful.”

[leatherednlace]

Jolene

Dean Winchester x Male reader

Tags - Drinking, Tipsy, Sad, Phone calls, Mentions of Sam x Male reader, Revenge, Kissing, Dean Winchester puts the P in A, Riding, Hickies, Dirty talk, Praise, Slow sex, Aftercare

You watch as the man of your dreams, sam winchester fall in love with a women...you out of your mind, angry, upset for him leading you on, you call Dean to take you home...by telling Dean, now’s your chance to get back at sam...

A/N - Thank the “slowed” version of Jolene for this...

Taglist - @flamencodiva @wonder-cole @superfanficnatural @that-one-gay-girl

——————————————————————————

You took the last swig of your drink, the glass slightly cold in your hand, but the feeling was so comforting...the numbness.

“Another”

You slurred. Your eyes set on the pair in the far corner, you could already feel your blood boil, stomach turning, mouth twisting in disgusting.

There he was, hands on the strangers hips, moving there bodies to the music, he was heavily intoxicated clearly by the empty sets of glasses on the table they were once sat at.

You sigh...music filling the void, the drink making your head fuzzy with each beat. You continued watching them closely. Sam was never like this with you, his hands never travelled up your back, never wound up in your hair, lips never met yours...

Shaking your head...you had enough, you wanted more, anything.

You heard the regular knock of the glass being placed infront of you, the whiskey sat at the bottom, the brown liquor making your mouth water, you needed it.

You bring the glass to your lips, taking a swig, you feel the burn which was very addictive, your throat already revelling in the contact, but you wanted to go home, to feel those soft blankets wrap around your body keeping you warm.

Sam wasn’t paying any attention to you at all, as if you were invisible, non-existent. You could feel the usual pang in your chest, the hurt, the empty feeling, everytime you thought of him.

One of your hands steadily dove into your left trouser pocket, you pulled it out, as soon as the phone screen turned on, your eyes flicked over the 2 missed calls from Dean...why Dean?

Your eyebrows furrowed, without thinking, presumably letting the alcohol take over, you tap call. A wave of nervousness travelled across your body, hands standing up on your arm, why were you having this reaction?

“Hello?”

The deep, gruff, slightly soothing voice echoed in your ears, you couldn’t help the groan that left your lips, not only was it Dean...but his voice...

“D-Dean...”

He could already tell, a sigh sounded from the speaker, you don’t blame him, you had told him you wouldn’t get drunk, but he can thank Sam for that.

“Are you drunk?”

You nodded, but blurted out a sloppy “y-yeh”. You couldn’t help think why Dean hadn’t hung up yet, but you were glad he hadn’t, nothing ever compared to how...horrible you felt right now...

“You want something?”

You paused, to regain a somewhat “sober” state.

“D-Dean can y-you come p-pick me up...Sammy left me alone f-for some woman.”

You awaited an answer, clearly he was annoyed, not at you, but at his brother. He felt kind of sorry for you, Sam had been leading you on for all these months...it’s not right...he would treat you so much better.

“Hold on...”

————————

Silence.

The silence was like a heavy weight, both you and Dean keeping your eyes on the road. You tried mustering up some kind of plan to forget about Sam and what he was doing...what his deal was with kissing that woman.

But you couldn’t, every touch, every kiss, they were like memories imprinted into the back of your head, everytime you closed your eyes, you saw the way Sam was with her...he was never like that with you.

You could feel the tears brim at your bottom lids. You could feel anger course it’s way through your veins, taking over your body.

“What Sam did...” Dean paused, correcting himself “is doing...it’s not right, it’s not fair” Dean kept his eyes on the road, glancing back at you and forth to see if you were okay.

“It isn’t...D-Dean nothing’s fair...not in this life, we are hunters, we hel-“

You were cut off by Dean pulling off the road into a lay by, he couldn’t handle seeing you like this, the guilt he saw in your eyes every time he looked at you, Sam has broken you.

Parking the car he switched the engine off, twisting the keys and sliding them into his pocket. Placing a warm, comforting hand on your thigh he shook his head.

“Listen...I can’t control my brother or his actions, what he did tonight shouldn’t really be any of my concern but I can’t bare to see you like...”

His voice had you shivering, it was a comfort at this point, deep, quiet, much like a whisper but loud enough to not be. You looked to his hand rubbing up and down your thigh, smiling weakly to yourself.

You look up into his green orbs, everything stilled as if time itself switched off, if only for mere seconds. “It’s nice to know i have someone fighting in my corner...”

Your words were rather breathy, both of you close...too close to be friends. Dean’s hand squeezed your thigh, his eyes asking if this was okay...there was a slight pause as you watch Dean closely, hungry tongue lapping over his dry bottom lip.

“I-Is this okay?”

Removing his slightly warm hand from your thigh, he brought it up to cusp your cheek, pulling your face towards his own, nothing could prepare you for the way his lips crashed against your own, this wasn’t needy...this was want.

This kiss was wet, deep, everything you had dreamed of...with Sam. But what was this feeling? Butterflies? Maybe...Maybe Dean was the problem solver here, What if it was Dean all along?

Dean sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, slightly tugging on it. A whimper escapes you as Dean took charge, his tongue sliding against yours in a fight for dominance, clearly he’s won.

Soft grunts left his lips at the sounds of your whimpers, they sounded oh so heavenly. You move closer wanting to feel more, his hands pulling you into his lap. You were now situated on his lap, knees at either side of Dean’s thighs, his tongue still in your mouth.

He pulled away, eye’s now getting a good look of you, your features. “God your more beautiful then I remember”. Dean already managed to make you feel good with just words…you wonder how else he could do that.

You feel yourself blush underneath the street light, Dean chuckled deeply, clothed cock brushing against your ass. “D-Dean please make me f-feel good” you moan sloppily, hoping he would take charge of the situation and make you forget.

His hands pushed down your rather loose bottoms past your hips, your bare ass on show. You hiss at the cold air now surrounding you, hands clinging onto his shoulders as he manoeuvres your trousers and boxers.

Your cock sprung free and rested against his clothed stomach. Dean smirked knowing it was him doing this to you, making you hard under his touch.

“I’ve always wanted to make you feel good…fuck” he groans into your ear, his deep gruff voice forcing a shiver out of you. Your hands wonder down to his belt, unlooping it from it’s confines, finding it easier to unzip his trousers.

He buries his face between the crook of your neck, hiding away as he nibbles on the soft skin. One of your hands dive into his now open trousers, grazing the plump hard on he was sporting.

You pull him out, now feeling the heavy weight of it in your hands. Dean moans at the slight friction your hand gives his aching member…god he was a mess.

“I-I need to feel y-you”

You place his aching tip at your wanting entrance, plunging into you.

The low rumbling moans that leave his lips make you clench around him, squeezing him tighter, “oh my God.” Dean can’t even find the words. 

You whimper in pain, the feeling of his thickness stretching you to accommodate his size.

Chanting your name over and over, whimpering as he sinks further into your warmth, as deep as he can possibly go. He grips onto you for dear life, as if he’d loose you.

His lips circle the shell of your ear, nibbling the soft area, breath fanning against it. “So fucking tight” he groans, using his hands to force your hips up and down, bouncing away in his lap.

Holding each other, you stay connected for a little while, enjoying the moment as Dean continues his harsh thrusts, rocking his hips into your tight heat, whimpers sounded out into the now fogged-up car.

“So much better then Sammy” you groan, this only had Dean slowing his hips, now pointing his aim at your sweet spot. “Love feeling myself deep in you…balls pressed to this ass” he gives it a smack, watching your face twist with pain and pleasure.

“Thought about this for years…’bout plunging my cock deep inside your little boy pussy…”

That’s all it takes for the coil to snap, you cling to Dean, hands squeezing his skin tightly as you scream his name, your cock twitched as you released your load onto his flannel, vision turning white.

“That’s it…squeeze around me, milk m- shit” Dean cums deep within you, load after load filling you making sure you knew who you belonged too. His eyes closed tightly…you could hear him pant, hardly able to catch his own breath.

He chuckles, half blissed. His eyes watched you closely, one of his hands coming up to cup your left cheek, taking in your features.

“How was it…” he mutters.

Your too fucked out and slightly tipsy to even open your mouth, instead you kiss him to show how much this actually means to you. Dean held you against his chest, kissing back with the same amount of passion.

Sammy was now a distant thought, everywhere you looked there was Dean…this felt right.

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (2/?)

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Warning: Sexual assault, mention of an anxiety attack.

Word Count: 1641

It turns out you definitely can't do this. Working in retail sucks, majorly. Customers are so awful to you and other employees as well. You didn't make the products, you don't control the prices, then why should you listen to them rant about it all day?

This job was from 9 am to 4 pm, which reminded you a lot of your previous job. By the time you got home, you were exhausted mentally and physically. Your current schedule was eerily similar to your previous lifestyle, which left you with no time to work on your book.

You felt like you were stuck in an insufferable loop that you just can't seem to escape no matter how hard you try. You thought about Mr. Barnes a lot, too. If only you weren't so egoistic and been a little nicer, then maybe you could have had that job.

With each passing day, you were becoming desperate. The only reason why you didn't run to Mr. Barnes a week ago was your pride. A pride that would not let you bow down to that rude, egoistic asshole.

It's like the universe could hear your thoughts and the devil himself walked through the doors of the store. Fuck, he can't see you here. He's going to think you're some nut job who's chasing stupid dreams after having an excellent degree. At least that's what your parents think.

You were about to run and hide behind an aisle when the voice you knew too well called out for you.

"Hey, do you know where I could find-"

"You," He said, without an emotion. "What are you doing here?"

You pointed towards the badge with the name tag on your shirt and mouthed working.

"Why?"

"Why?" You pretended to think, "I don't know, I interviewed for this other job about a week ago, but the boss was an ass."

"You lied to me," he stated as if it wasn't the most obvious thing.

"Gee, sorry, dad."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what again?" You questioned.

" Diverging a question with a joke," He answered with an unaffected tone like he was studying you and your reaction.

"You know who I am." he stated. It should have been a question, but both of you were aware of what he meant.

"A vampire?" You mocked. He didn't look like one though, but hey, neither did Edward nor Stefan. But God, those steel-blue eyes could drink you up and you wouldn't complain. Focus.

For the first time you saw an emotion on his face that wasn't unaffected or bored, he was confused. Of course, he was confused, you were referencing twilight to a mob boss (you think, you weren't sure, but that's all you could gather from all the articles you found about him online).

"I need that job," you confessed. " I know it's not very convincing, but I need you to trust me-"

He raised a brow at that and his lips turned into a smirk. God, you wished you could swipe off that smirk from his stupidly handsome face.

"But you don't trust me, " you stated dejectedly and started turning around. "You wanted something? "

In an instant, his hand wrapped around your wrist gently, stopping you in your tracks. You ignored the involuntary shudder that ran through you and immediately yanked your hand out of his grasp.

You turned around and were about to give him a piece of your mind about how he shouldn't just come to your place of work and touch you without consent. He clearly guessed your thoughts and cut in.

"Clint Barton, the manager, he will tell you everything you need to know about bartending and handling the customers."

Did he just hire you? What changed between this and your previous meeting with him?

And just like that, he left. There was a part of you that wanted to say fuck off I don't need your help, but you knew better, so you went to that club later that evening. You found the Manager, Clint. He told you he was expecting your arrival and that made you feel weird because Mr. Barnes was totally opposite the day you met.

Your new job required you to be at work from 8 pm to 3 am, which was ideal for you. You usually reach home and pass out till 4 in the morning and wake up around noon. This schedule gave you a lot of time to work on your book.

You ended up making friends with some other people that work there as well. Wanda was the smart, sarcastic one that you'd have died to have as a friend in high school. Pietro, her twin brother, was also nice, a bit fast and impatient, but he was nice to you. Peter looked very young, but he knew what he was doing and he'd help you out a lot. That kid had a lot of energy and adrenaline, which surprised you every time he'd be done with work way before you.

You didn't see Mr. Barnes frequently. You saw him one time entering the club, and you tried to give him a smile which he ignored and went straight to his office upstairs. And then you decided to ignore him as well. It wasn't like you to be petty, okay, maybe you were being petty, but in your defense, he started it.

You were finishing up cleaning the table and were about to call it a day when a man you didn't recognize, probably wasn't a regular, came in asking for a drink.

"I'm sorry, sir. We're closed." You told him politely.

"Whiskey on the rocks."

You wanted to refuse him again, but you stopped yourself when he came into your sight. He didn't look like the kind of man who'd take your no seriously. He looked just as intimidating as Mr. Barnes, even more, but Mr. Barnes knew his boundaries, whereas this man in front of you evidently didn't. You could tell this by the way his gaze was slowly taking your body in and stopping a little longer at your cleavage.

You wanted to cringe and curse yourself for choosing to wear a top like that in a place filled with drunk men. The smarter part of your brain told you that he can go fuck himself, and you shouldn't think about men when you dress up. Women are entitled to wear whatever they want to and fuck men and people who tell them otherwise.

Carefully, you made his drink and handed it to him. His hand lingered on yours while taking the glass from you, and you wanted to just throw the drink across his face. His gaze remained on your chest even when you fixed your top and coughed twice to call his behavior out.

"What time do you get off?" he asked, eyes still on your chest.

Is this guy for real? , you thought.

"Um, this is highly inappropriate and I think you should leave now because I have to call it a night." you rejected politely, raising your hand towards the door, hoping he'd leave.

He chuckled darkly, his stare still drinking in your body as if you were a piece of meat, and it made you very, very uncomfortable. He obviously wasn't taking no for an answer, and you had no clue what to do. You were the only person left, and you didn't even know who to ask for help.

"Come on, baby girl," he said, walking towards you and forcefully snaking his hands around your waist to settle on your hips. " Don't make this harder than it should be. "

"No!" you yelled, pushing him away and creating some distance between you.

"Hard way it is then," he decided, walking towards you and forcefully holding the hem of your shirt in his hands to remove it. You struggled, yelled, and pushed him off you again. He furiously lunged forward towards you and hit you hard across the face. "Fucking bitch."

"Rumlow!" a voice boomed from behind you, and you hated yourself for being in such a vulnerable state. As much as you tried not to, tears welled up in your eyes and you hated being the helpless damsel in distress.

"Get the fuck out of here." the familiar voice ordered.

"Chill, Barnes. We were just having a little fun," the man known as Rumlow reasoned nonchalantly. "Besides, it's not my fault if she wears clothes like this."

You were all about feminism and how women should be treated equally with respect despite their attire, but at that moment you hated yourself for choosing that deep-neck shirt this morning.

"I'm not going to chill while you sexually harass my employees, so get the fuck out of here," Mr. Barnes warned again.

You closed your eyes and hoped that maybe this was a shitty dream and you'd wake up in your bed and have an anxiety attack because of the nightmare. You hoped that maybe the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you, so you could just not think about this ever.

You heard two sets of footsteps faintly in the background, one dragging its way away from you and the other rushing towards you. Furthermore, you didn't have it in you to open your eyes and meet the ocean blue ones that you knew were waiting for you.

In your head, you had already taken up the blame. The verdict came out the moment his gaze landed on your chest that it was your fault that you wore this shirt. Of course, if you were thinking right, you would have realized that you were undoubtedly the victim here and Rumlow was an asshole who assaulted you, but in your helpless state, your mind decided you were at fault here.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams​

[disney-android-foundation]

Hey if you’re still taking requests/asks…(and I think u might like this one ;) ) Can I get a Yandere Alemeda Slim???? Robot AU and regular please.

;)

Normal

- There are two possible ways you could’ve met Slim, him up front or him as Yancy O’Del.

- Meeting Slim up front would be rare considering that he only ever comes out at night without his disguise, he can only go out in the day time with his disguise. So you’d have to be the owner of some land and Bulls to even have a chance of encountering the real Slim. Now normally he doesn’t take anything but the cattle, so you’d have to be pretty darn special in order for him to take you.

- When he does take you, he keeps you in a makeshift cell. It would most likely be a ransom kinda holding where he requests money from your family or maybe the town you sold to. Since you’re already there, he talks to you, just basic things, nothing that seems obsessive. As time goes on, maybe a week (he works quick), the questions he asks and topics he brings up kinda sound like he’s planning something more than just a ransom. He starts sitting closer to your cell now, obviously believing that you can’t do anything. Now he even lets you out of the cell from time to time, but you have to be by his side at all times.

- When asking why he’s suddenly wanting to get close to you now, he puts an arm around your waist and pulls you close, he confesses his feelings for you and how you’re the only person to ever make him feel this way. Even though he poured his heart out to you, you refused him, saying you can’t be with a criminal. Slim is just, stunned. How could you possibly refuse him?! You two have spent so much time together (You’ve known them for a week Slim calm down-) how could you not like him?…… Well the thing is, he’s not taking no for an answer. You’re gonna be with him no matter what, if he has to break a few bones, so be it.

- If you met him as Yancy O’Del, perhaps you’re an innocent shop keeper for a general goods store. You’ve had a regular customer come in to buy either mustache oil, hair gel, beef jerky, whiskey, or rope. He was always kind and gentleman like to you when making his purchases, always making conversation with you. It becomes clear that he buys from you constantly just so talk to you, so you inform him that he doesn’t have to buy anything just to talk to you, you have no clue how happy that made ‘Yancy’.

- You two started talking outside of your work schedule, and then you started to date 2 months later. At this point you still have no idea that it’s Alameda Slim under the glasses and coat (bith is you dumb??? JK), but ‘Yancy’ believes it’s time you knew. So he brings you to a secluded location away from society, to you it’s a possible marriage proposal, to Slim it’s something else. Once he mustered up his courage, he went behind a rock, he was there for awhile before emerging as not Yancy O’Del, but as Alameda Slim.

- You were absolutely shattered by the news, how dare he lie to you for so long?! He was shattered as you were, you really can’t like him for being a wanted criminal, after all you two have been through? Of course, he makes it seem like he’s letting you go as long as you don’t go spewing off the town like tweety bird about how famous land owner Yancy O’Del is actually the notorious Alameda Slim. You agree, not actually knowing what Slim was planning.

- In the dead of night, you were woken up by the smell of smoke. The inhalation of smoke caused you to start choking on it. You run out of your now on fire house, wondering if maybe you’d have left a candle burning, your thoughts are quickly interrupted by the sudden hog tie you have been put in. Through your daze of confusion, you see familiar gloved hands forcefully shove a drenched rag on your nose and mouth, conciseness slowly fading. The last thing you hear is, “You don’t get to decide that this relationship is over. That’s up to me, and I sure as hell don’t plan on letting you go.”

Android

- Slim was bought to help you on your chicken farm. Yeah it seems silly having such a big man help handle such small birds, but he hasn’t complained much.

- You’ve had a Mcleach droid before Slim. He mostly kept predators away from the coops. Plus it was mentioned in reviews that Mcleach’s and Slim’s are best friends so it would be great for the two to have each other while you were busy elsewhere. So you can imagine how shocking it was to arrive home to see Slim nearly beating the life out of Mcleach.

- You had to pull Slim off of him, asking what the hell was going on. Slim didn’t answer you, just stared at you weirdly before picking up some notebook and calmly walking out of the house. You couldn’t be bothered to follow him, you had to get Mcleach to a repair shop immediately.

- Upon arrival, bystanders and the repair team were just staring in awe. “Wha, What happened to your Mcleach?!” “My Slim droid went berserk on him! Aren’t they supposed to be friends?” “Well yeah usually, let’s work out his voice box first so that we can get the full story.” They fix his voice box and the whole story spills out.

- On the second day of Slims arrival, Mcleach noticed that Slim would stare at you for a long time without your knowing. Way longer than what should be necessary. Mcleach asked him why he kept staring at you, but was only given a “mind your damn business” they weren’t exactly friends at this time so it was understandable that Slim would want to keep to himself rather than just spill everything there is to know about him. So weeks go by and he still catches Slim staring at you, now he’s been writing in a journal. Mcleach would try to peek at what’s inside, but Slim seemed very protective of it so it was hard to even glance at it without Slim noticing. So he waited until the day Slim finally let his guard down enough to where he would leave the journal behind or just plain forget about it. You had left to go to the market and Slim heard some of the roosters fighting so he had to go sort that out, leaving the journal defenseless on the table. Mcleach had to be fast, so he quickly but quietly darted for the table. He didn’t even care to start from the beginning, he just opened a random page and started reading. The entries were all about you. Everything you have done while Slim has lived here, everything you like and love, every shower, everything you’ve eaten, what time you usually go to bed at, how you look when you slept. There were some entries on Mcleach, mostly on how he’s nothing but an obstacle and must be dealt with as soon as possible. Mcleach was so caught up in the reading, he didn’t even notice the cowboy, right behind him. That’s when the fight started.

- Everyone in the repair shop was horrified by Mcleach’s story, an employee immediately called a task force to retrieve the Slim droid immediately. They had you stay in the repair shop until they gave the ok.

- The task force definitely saw the damage that Slim made in the house but couldn’t find him there. So they had to start checking the surrounding area.

- You requested to go home after 3 hours of searching, saying that your chickens need to be cared for. The task force was reluctant but agreed so long as an 2 officers were at home with you.

- Even with the officers, you were on edge and jumpy about every little thing that went bump. The officers tried their best to calm you down, but how can you be calm knowing a deranged robot that you thought you could trust could be stalking you at this very moment?

- Despite the worry, you still needed to go to bed. One officer stayed in the house while the other would guard the outside. Not matter how strong Slim may be, he isn’t resistant to bullets.

- You woke up early in the morning like usual, you had to feed the chickens or else they’ll wake up the neighbors. You put on a bathrobe and work boots, strange, shouldn’t at least one of the officers be heard?

- You open you door, only to be met with an all familiar cowboy. You tried to scream, but your mouth was quickly gagged. “I don’t need you makin so much noise, not when I’m tryna bring you home!” Bring you home?! What was he talking about?!

- Slim bound your hands and feet together and slung you over his shoulder. He started to walk out with you, that when you saw the mess that he made, the officers weren’t moving, they didn’t even look like they were breathing. You quietly started to cry as Slim made his way into the woods, where he promises your new home will be better than your old one.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

cardigan

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence

a/n: this is a limited three part series based on three of my favourite songs from taylor swift’s 2020 life saving albums; cardigan, willow and invisible string. this one is cardigan, hope you enjoy xx

WILLOW

She clutched onto her worn out brown leather bag as she stepped inside the her father’s precinct. There wasn’t much that looked different from when she was a little girl, the tables still stood on the same messy layout which made no sense, the officers still didn’t look up whenever someone came in and the whole room smelled like stale coffee and burnt bread. The only difference was that the once endless room now felt small, nauseating, confining, a place where she didn’t want to be. 

      - Y/N. - her father’s voice rang through the small room, making her look up to where he was standing. Captain William, or dad if she was lucky enough to call him as such, was an intimidating presence even after all these years yet after her mother’s death it was him who was left of her family. - Come in. 

Her shoes felt heavy as she stepped inside his office, two more officers standing inside as she walked with her father. He closed the door, nodding his head which was a tell tale for everyone to sit down. She sat at the end of the dark green couch, away from the other two officers who were looking her up and down as if she were a prey.

       - I told you she would be perfect. Inconspicuous, he wouldn’t even think she’s undercover.

       - She’s not the type of woman Barnes go for.

       - She doesn’t need to be the type of woman he goes for, she needs to be the one who works in his bar and listens to their plans. 

Her father had told her about James Barnes. They had been trying to get him in for minor offences yet nothing seemed to pan out. The force knew they could never apprehend him for the crimes he knew he had committed but if they could get him in for something small: weapon charge, drug charge, something. For that to happen they needed someone to be in their circle and unluckily for them, Barnes and his men knew everyone who worked in the force but they didn’t know her. In return for her working in his bar, the force would pay her tuition fees as well as any books she needed. 

“It won’t be hard” was what her father had told her but as they dropped her at the bar she couldn’t help but freeze at the door. They were expecting her, she had gotten the job yet she couldn’t find herself walking inside. In any other situation she would’ve rushed past it, it wasn’t the place she would like to be in. Her hand grasped the bar of the door, pushing it open. The nightclub looked vastly desert with squeaky clean floors and bright lighting which showed the dark aesthetic of every single owned Barnes club in town. She didn’t know the man but she knew his style, dark, sleek, leather, sensual even, enough to make people feel sexual whenever they walked into his club. Yet, in broad daylight it was merely an abandoned establishment with one a table with a few hangover men still nursing a bottle of beer each, waiting for 7 PM for the club to come back to life. 

She stood out like a sore thumb, dressed in brown tones. A loose gingham black dress over a brown turtle neck covered and low black Mary Janes. Her eyes roamed the room, looking for someone to speak to but someone found her first. A tall man, probably pushing fifty, toothpick hanging from his lips and dirty rag on his left hand. She felt short, cowering under the gaze of the man.

     - You're the new girl, or what? - he questioned, thick Brooklyn accent yet Y/N didn’t dare reply, instead nodding at him. - Do you have a name?

     - Y/N.

     - Y/N, that’s nice. I’m Bobby, I’m the bar supervisor. You wanna talk to anyone? You talk only to me and you’ll do well.

She nodded her head quickly, almost like a bobble head figure, following him behind to bar. Now Y/N knew about bars or at least what they did in them, she just wasn’t expecting to see the huge amount of spirits, wines, and beers behind her. She was almost sure if someone robbed the club, they’d be better off with the booze than the money in the cash register.  The man, Bobby, ran through the basics, showing here with the cleaning products were, where some more complicated cocktail mixtures were written, how the washing machine worked and how crucial it was to constantly collect glasses from the bar and put them in there. She held a small reporter notepad, pen scribbling down messy wiggles which she wouldn’t be able to understand later on but it was still worth it. She could memorise it, she was a university student after all hence her memory for cocktails shouldn’t be hard. Everything was so polished, meticulously placed, almost too organised for a bar; the bottles placed onto glass shelves which light from under, placed almost the same measure apart in a sea of expensive beverages. 

     - Don’t serve any drinks to people who haven’t presented a payment form. If the boss comes in, serve him whiskey on the rocks. Glenlivet, no other brands. 

     - I’ve never seen the boss.

     - You’ll know. 

She was left there watching as more staff came in, the sun going down at the same time. “Just breathe, Y/N” she remembered her father’s words, she could do it, she could do it. How hard could it possible be to be a bartender? Just breathe, Y/N. She can do it, she can help his father, she can do this and then no longer have to worry about how many hours she would have to do at that little mean shop which had taken more of her than she gave them. She could be a regular university student, she just needed to breathe.

The purple, blue lights started to light the sunlight coloured bar as people started to queue up outside for a chance to get inside one of the most famous bars in town. She could faintly remember hearing her friends talking about how exclusive it was but as she looked out the window and at the queue she could finally understand it. As the doors opened and people started flocking in, suddenly she was serving drinks left and write, vodka and other shoots drenching her dress and apron as she messily tried to serve everyone at the bar screaming at her to hurry up. She kept running around like a crazy person, dragging bottles and bottles and pouring drinks which kept overfilling and dropping onto the floor. People kept yelling at her “hey sugar, how long does it take you to bring me some vodka?” but one man who was sitting still, gaze glued onto her while a cigarette hanged from the middle of his lips. She cowered under his gaze returning to hand a tray of jello shots to some girls. 

She continued to work until the last person was out of the bar but the man remained calmly leaned against the bar, the flame of his cigarette dying down. She tried to avoid him, pretending to clean the spot over and over again but the man merely scoffed, rubbing the butt of the cigarette against the ash tray.

      - You’re terrible. - he spoke out, voice raspy. - Who hired you?

      - That’s nothing to do with you. - Y/N turned around to place back the bottles onto the shelves.

      - Are you the owner?

      - No. - she placed the bottles on the shelf, hands shaking. 

      - Then it is something to do with me. - the air seemed to be punched out of her lungs, as her grip tightened around the neck of the bottle she was holding. She refused to turn around and look at him, understanding what it implied. Instead she just looked at herself in the glass wall. Just breathe, Y/N. - Can I get a ...

      - Glenlivet. - she rose herself on her tippy toes, interrupting him mid sentence. Grabbing from ice from under the bar, she added it to the glass, topping it with the expensive whiskey before placing it under a black square napkin. She continued to wipe down the counter until Bobby came back from the storage unit with more alcohol. 

     - You can go now, Y/N. I’ll see you at 7. - Bobby dismissed her and almost like thunder, she bolted off, not even stopping and allowing him to question why their boss was sitting at the bar.

Clutching her bag against her chest she started walking up to campus. She had done it, or at least managed to do something yet get no information her father wanted. That is unless her father wanted to know James Barnes’ drink of choice which she was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. Reaching her flat, she turned the key around, opening the door to see her friend Wanda waiting in the couch. 

    - You’re alive. - she mocked, turning the TV on. - Once again, tell me why you said yes to working in a mob bar ...

    - It’s not a mob bar, Wanda.

    - It is a bar owned by a mob boss who has been blamed on several murders. It is a mob bar. 

    - I’m just a bartender, nothing is gonna happen.

    - Can you tell me again why you’re doing this? Your father is the reason why you were raised by John Hughes’ movies. 

    - Okay, Wanda, you made your point. - Y/N took her jacket off, hanging it onto one of the hooks in the door.

    - I’m buying you pepper spray.

    - Pepper spray is illegal, Wan. 

    - So is the bar you’re working.

    - Okay. I’ll be careful, don’t worry. I’ll go to sleep now.

Wanda continued to ramble about her working where she was but there was really nothing she could do other than continue. All she had to do was breathe and listen and the department would pay for her tuition for the rest of her degree. Small price to pay for a much bigger price. 

As another day started, the routine started once again with her awaking up and running into class with Wanda complained about her brother followed by spending the rest of her free time until her shift began. Walking back to the bar she was telling herself once more that she would be just fine and that Wanda slipping a knife inside her bag was only her overreacting. Stepping inside the same building, Bobby was setting some shoot glasses on the counter.

    - Y/N. - he acknowledged her. - Glad to see you’re still here.

    - Wouldn’t be anywhere else. - she placed her bag and jacket under the bar and tied her apron around her waist. - Busy day?

    - Fridays are the busiest. All the university kids. Let me know if you need a hand.

    - I’m sure I’ll be okay.

Once again, wrong. She was not okay and as everyone found themselves flocking to the bar she was already running around like a crazy person, holding two bottles on each hand as people. The lights were blinding, shining on her as she served and slide more drinks onto the bar counter and to the waitresses who’d give her snide remarks whenever she took too long. Her hands were numb from the ice already yet her face was warm from moving side to side. At least, Mr. Barnes wasn’t around and that was already something she could be thankful for. She knew she had to eventually speak to him if she wanted to ever hear anything or maybe she wouldn’t have; she was good at being invisible, maybe she could just overhear something without having to ever speak with him.

   - Hey, sugar, where’s my drink? - a sluggish voice came from the bar and Y/N ignored it. Bobby told her, if anyone sounds or looks drunk to cut them off that “Mr. Barnes doesn’t need drunk people being roudy in his bar”. She continued to serve the group of girls celebrating passing an exam until the man moved over to them. - Hey, I asked where is my drink?

   - Sorry, you’re cut off. - she shrugged, grabbing some glass onto a plastic bucket so Bobby could put them in the washing machine.

   - What the fuck? C’mon give me my drink.

   - No. - Y/N just ignored it, turning around to put the bottles back onto the shelves.

   - Well then be useful and show me your tits. - the man scoffed as if it was the best joke in the world. Y/N turned around, speechless at what he had said before grabbing an half empty drink from the bar and throwing it at him which surprised the man just as much. - You bitch!

   - What’s the problem here? - fuck. Of course he had to show up. Mr. Barnes made his way towards them, holding that same powerful yet frightening stance as the strobing lights painted his face. His eyes were on her, waiting for her to say something but Y/N was mostly frozen. That was it, she was about to get shot, or worse, lose a finger or a leg or an arm. Oh god, how could she take exams without an arm? 

   - Your bartender isn’t serving me. - he pointed at her as if he were a 5 year old. 

   - Really? - Barnes stood slightly behind him and all she could see in a glimpse second was his metal arm, reflecting the strobing lights, come up to the nape of the man’s neck before he slammed his face against the glass topping of the bar counter. Y/N was startled by this, jumping back against the wall of drinks. - Get the fuck out of my bar. 

The man ran off, bloody nose, like a scared wounded animal leaving Y/N only to stare at him. Her mind rushed miles an hour, wondering if he had done that to someone what he would do to her. She should’ve taken the pepper spray from Wanda. 

   - Get back to work. - he left her with that, turning around and getting lost in the sea of people dancing. 

   - Hey ... - Bobby touched her arm, waking her from her own mind. She looked at her hands; good she still had both hands. - Go take a break, wash the glasses, I’ll do the bartending for a while.

   - I’m fine, Bobby.

   - I know. I just want you to go do something else. - Y/N nodded, not wanting to disobey anyone yet she couldn’t help but be glad she would be in the back where the big washing machine was for most of the pint glasses and other oddly shaped cups. After all, Mr. Barnes wouldn’t be hanging in the kitchen.

She pushed her hair away from her face and put on the big pink gloves and started to wash the glasses and plates from some small appetisers they sold until closing time started to near. Once the bar was cut off, she joined Bobby to clean the always messy bar and make it look as precise as it looked every single day. Another day survived, no limbs lost. 

   - That was a good one, Y/N. See you tomorrow. - Bobby bid her farewell as he exited through the door. Y/N stayed behind, moping the floor behind the mar which was mostly a pool of mixed drinks that she always somehow managed to overfill and drop onto the floor on her way to serve them. As she continued to mop, the person who she didn’t want to see sat at the bar and without much thinking, she served him his drink of choice. 

   - I ... hm ... I have to go, I have to walk home and my flatmate is waiting for me.

   - You’re walking home with your flatmate?

   - No, she’s waiting for me at the flat. - Y/N grabbed her cardigan, putting it on which immediately brought her a nostalgic warmth. 

   - I’ll drive you. 

   - Oh .. no, Mr. Barnes. It is not necessary, I’ve walked home before, I know the way. 

   - And I know the type of men who walk around my bar. - he downed the whiskey as if it were water. - Come on. 

Oh god, I’m going to sleep with the fishes. He’s gonna kill me in his car. Y/N thought to herself as she followed him to the back of the bar where he had parked his car. Of course it was a good car, a new model black Audi with sleek matte black leathered seats which looked more expensive than everything together at the bar. She wondered how much money he made. Her father hadn’t told her much about him and all she knew was merely gossip. He opened the door for her which she took as a sign to get inside the car. Once in, she noticed how awfully warm it was, he probably had the heating on so she took off her cardigan, shoving it in front of her feet as he entered the car. 

   - Where am I dropping you?

   - The student campus, south building

   - You’re a student? - he asked as the motor roared, signalling the start of the car. - Why you working here then?

   - It pays well. My mother paid for my first years but I still have my third one and a possible masters. 

   - Why not ask mum for the rest of the money then?

   - Well she’s dead. - she said, not taking the eyes off the road. - Her inheritance lasted as long as it could but tuition is expensive.

   - I’m sorry. - he tried to sneak a look at her but gave up, instead keeping his eyes on the road. - You’re a terrible bartender.

   - You’ve said that one time already, I’ve heard it. If I’m so terrible why don’t you fire me?

   - Bobby likes you. Says you’re a quick learner. Yet again, he likes every single wide eyed Disney Princess girl who works behind the bar. I give you a month or two before you quit or get knocked up.

   - I’m not gonna quit and I’m not gonna get knocked up either. 

   - Got a boyfriend?

   - No.

   - Husband? Friends with benefits?

   - I don’t have the time so if you want to get rid of me you’ll have to fire me.

   - I don’t fire people. - she saw her building come closer and closer from the car window. - Is it that one?

   - Yes. - she grabbed her bag, eager to leave the car before anything could happen. 

   - Hey, you got a black dress? - he asked as she exited the car and she nodded yes. - Good, bring it to work tomorrow. 

She mumbled an okay as the car drove away. God, she was alive. Good.  All she wanted now was to return to her home and in a few minutes she was back in her living room where Wanda and her twin brother Pietro were waiting for her. Of course waiting meant watching Shark Tank and discussing how bad all the inventions were. 

   - How was work in hell? - Wanda didn’t even look at her, eyes glued to the TV while she stuffed popcorn in her mouth.

   - I didn’t need to use the knife you snuck into my bag, thank you.

   - You snuck a knife onto her back? - Pietro looked dumbfound at his sister who immediately snapped back with a response. 

   - She’s working for James Barnes, she needs to carry a knife block and she’s lucky I only put a steak knife. - Wanda turned around in the couch. - Hey where’s your cardigan? I swear you left with it. 

   - Shit. - Y/N looked around. - Fuck, I’ve left it in his car.

   - Whose car? 

   - Mr. Barnes’. He gave me a ride and I took my cardigan off because the car was so warm. Fuck. I’ll never see it again.

   - Why were you in his car, are you crazy? - now Wanda was interested. Clearly her best friend’s lack of judgment was more interesting than the poor soul trying to pitch a tuna can opener shaped like a tuna to a bunch of executives.

   - He gave me a ride ... oh and do you have a black dress?

   - I do. - Pietro said gaining an odd look from the two girls. - What? Girls love me and I love them. Stuff get’s left behind. What can I say?

   - You’re disgusting. - Wanda rolled her eyes. 

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically​

[whisperlullaby]

Just Say It and I’m Yours- Ch. 6

o

Banner by @dreamslikeaheartbeat

Summary: Steve’s POV. Steve and Bucky attend a dinner party you and Connor are throwing and Steve get’s a bad feeling about your boyfriend.

Words: 1990

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, controlling behavior, explicit language, angst

A/N: Thank you as always to @river-soul for her wonderful beta work. Minors please DNI. Please let me know if I missed any warnings!

Tags: @bestofbucky @syntheticavenger @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @libbymouse @sweeterthanthis @purselover2 @loveyou5everr @freyagreyson​

////////////

“I can’t believe she’s still dating that defense attorney,” Steve grumbled to Bucky as they walked to your apartment. “It’s been three months; She’s way too good for him.”

Bucky sighed. “Well, Stevie, you could have told her not to when she asked.”

Steve looked at Bucky with his eyebrows pinched. “I couldn’t put her in danger like that Buck. If she was with me she would never be safe. She has a whole life ahead of her and I’m just a man out of time.”

Bucky clapped his shoulder. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he said, knocking on your apartment door.

Before Steve could say another word, you swung open the door and his breath caught in his throat. You were stunning, he could look at you all day. 

“Hey, guys! I’m so glad you could make it. Come in, everyone else is already here!” You stepped aside to let them in.

Bucky gave you a quick peck on the cheek after he hung up his coat. Steve pulled you close and breathed you in. He always thought you melted perfectly into his arms and he could hold you forever if these were different circumstances. 

At the sound of a voice clearing, you pulled away and Steve immediately missed your warmth. He looked over your shoulder and saw Connor. His clothes all perfectly pressed and he chuckled at the thought. You swatted at him and walked over to Connor pressing a soft kiss to his lips, Steve’s heart stopped beating until you pulled away. He didn’t miss the way Connor gripped your hip and you tried to push his hand away. He gave you an intense look and your gaze shifted to the floor.

“Hey, Connor, how’s it going?” Steve stuck out his hand and waited for Connor to return the gesture.

Connor let go of you to shake Steve's hand and he saw you sigh in relief. 

“Glad Captain America could make it to our little dinner party,” Connor gestured to you. “This one has been excited about it all week.”

You huffed, straightening when Connor sent you a glare. “Well, honey I haven’t seen Steve in a month. Between his missions and our plans, it’s been hard to carve out time.”

You pulled Connor in close and whispered, “Please, he’s my best friend, be nice.”

“I don’t trust the guy,” Connor looked over at Steve and narrowed his eyes. “Go finish dinner.”

Steve was grateful and furious for his super hearing. He searched the crowd for Bucky, and when he spotted him he could tell he heard the way Connor spoke to you too. With a swift pat on your butt, you made your way to the kitchen to fulfill Connors request as he led Steve into the dining room. There were a few of your co-workers sitting around talking and Connor introduced Steve and Bucky to everyone. It was a few minutes before you returned with tears in your eyes, Steve started making his way to you.

“Hey, doll is everything okay?” Steve rubbed your shoulders voice laced with concern.

You took a shaky breath. “I, um, I ruined the roast and it just, it is one of Connor’s favorites and it’s ruined.”

Steve hated that you looked like you were going to burst into tears over a ruined roast. Why were you so nervous over a simple mistake? Before he could ask, Connor made his way over with Bucky close on his heels. 

“Is everything okay over here?” Connor looked pointedly at you.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I ruined the roast. I have some pasta I can make with a simple sauce,” You offered.

“But sweetheart, everyone was really excited about the roast. Is there anything we can do to fix it?” Connor asked exasperatedly. 

Bucky placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder and he realized he was clenching his fists and moving forward to intervene. You were clearly upset, how couldn’t Connor see that? 

“I don’t think I can fix it Connor, please, can I just make the pasta?” You looked at the ground and stiffened when Connor pulled you into a hug. 

You didn’t melt into him like you did with Steve. You seemed stiff, but you let him place a kiss on your lips and lead you back into the kitchen.

“Easy, Steve. Just because he’s curt doesn’t mean you can act like a hero. She isn’t a damsel in distress.” Bucky gently warned.

Steve shook his head. “She’s the strongest person I know, Buck. Something’s not right here.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Let her tell us that Steve. Just be her friend.”

Steve clenched his jaw and took in a deep breath. When Connor returned to the dining room Steve craned his neck to look into the kitchen where he saw you crying chopping an onion.

“There’s been a slight change in the menu tonight, we had a little snafu with the stove so how does Pasta Primavera sound?” Connor asked, clapping his hands together.

“If Sparky is making it, then I’m sure it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever had,” Bucky grinned.

The rest of the group clapped and Connor made his way over to the bar to pour himself a drink.

“Hey Buck, can you keep Connor busy? I want to check on-” Bucky cut Steve off.

“Go, I’ll handle him,” Bucky cracked his neck and walked over to Connor.

You were sauteing vegetables when Steve came up next to you.

“Is everything okay, doll?” 

Steve placed a gentle hand on your back and you jumped.

“Jesus, Steve, I didn’t hear you. Can I get you something?” You gave a short chuckle.

“I’m worried about you. Is Connor treating you right?” 

Your eyes snapped to his and he saw anger flare in your eyes. He took a step back as you pointed a wooden spoon at him.

“Connor takes care of me just fine Steve. He loves me and he shows me as much. He’s not afraid to tell me what he wants.” Tears fell from your eyes and you angrily wiped at them.

“Doll I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry Steve. I am happy. Just a little stressed, and you would know that if you were around more.”

Steve felt his heart fall into his stomach. He reached out and pulled you into a hug, rocking you back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He felt you grab a fistful of his shirt and breathe in his cologne. Your body relaxed into his touch and soon you were pulling away smiling.

“Well, Cap. I have vegetables to sautee so get out of my kitchen and let me work.” You smiled at him. A real one that reached your eyes.

“Alright, alright. I can’t wait to taste it, smells delicious.” Steve kissed your forehead.

He walked back into the dining room and saw Bucky’s vibranium death grip on Connor’s shoulders as he told a story. Steve made his way over to the two and grabbed a tumbler off the bar cart.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?” Steve poured whiskey into his glass.

“I was just telling Connor about our Howling Commando’s days. Remember when I took out that guard from 100 meters away? In the rain?” Bucky forced a laugh.

“Yeah, no one ever did see you coming,” Steve added.

Connor gulped down the rest of his drink and stood up. “Well that’s fascinating but I should go check on my girlfriend.”

Connor gave Steve a pointed look before walking away.

“Were you spending that time scaring him?” Steve laughed.

“I wanted to make sure he knew what we were capable of,” Bucky stated. 

Dinner went off without any more issues. Steve swore pasta Primavera was his new favorite dish. After dinner people started filtering out until it was just the four of them enjoying cocktails. Steve and Bucky were sitting on the couch while Connor sat in his chair with you on the arm. The more you drank the louder you got. Steve thought it was so cute how animated your face became while you were trying to tell a story through tears of laughter. After restarting the story for the third time Steve saw Connor tap your thigh while keeping a steady gaze on you. When you brushed him off, continuing with your story he did it again, hard enough that you jumped. Your drink dribbling down the side of the glass.

“Darling, you’ve had a bit too much to drink, why don’t we call it a night?” Connor urged.

Your smile dropped and you stood quickly. “You’re right honey I’m sorry. You have court in the morning.”

You placed your drink on the table while Steve and Bucky stood. You started moving to the door on unsteady feet. Steve watched as Connor remained seated, finishing his drink as you grabbed Steve and Bucky’s coats.

“You didn’t have to do that doll, we could have gotten them ourselves,” Steve said, grabbing his coat from your hands.

“Don’t worry about it Steve, what kind of host would I be if I wasn’t accommodating,” your words almost sounded rehearsed.

Steve took in a breath to speak when Connor walked up to you and put his arm over your shoulders pulling you close.

“Like she said, I do have court pretty early tomorrow. Thanks for coming, always a treat to have real Avengers slumming it with us regular folk.”

“Connor enough,” you stated pointedly.

Steve watched Connor squeeze your shoulder causing you to look down. Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm before he could react.

“Thanks for the delicious meal Sparky. It was one of the best I’ve ever had,” Bucky praised as his gaze shifted to Connor. “I hope we get a chance to continue our conversation. I have a few stories that I’m sure you’re dying to hear.”

Connor visibly gulped. 

“You’re an amazing cook doll, we are very happy we came. It’s like we got to see a whole different side of you,” Steve stated sadly.

Bucky and Steve left your apartment and started walking home.

“Steve I know what you’re gonna say and don’t,” Bucky warned.

“Buck, he's not treating her right. She should be with someone who knows her worth and makes sure she remembers it. Not him,” Steve fumed.

“You can’t make these decisions for her. She’s smart, she wouldn’t do something that makes her unhappy,” Bucky reasoned.

“I’m going to talk to her again,” Steve resolved as Bucky sighed. “When I can spend some time alone with her.”

“Steve. You are my best friend and I love you but you are also the dumbest person on the planet.” Bucky lamented.

Steve scoffed and stopped walking. “I’m dumb because I want to make sure she’s happy? Being treated right?”

Bucky shook his head and sighed. “No, you’re dumb because you could have been her reason to be happy and you threw it away. Now you’re going to confront her, again, for dating someone you don’t like.”

“I can’t stand around and do nothing. He’s not right for her Buck.”

“I know. You do what you think you need to do, but I’m warning you. It’s not going to go how you expect it to.” Bucky continued walking.

Steve caught up to Bucky and continued walking in silence. He knew what he needed to say to you. Bucky didn’t see you in the kitchen, he didn’t catch the way you flinched at Connor’s touch. He didn’t hear the way you said you were stressed as if you had been this whole time. He knew you better than anyone else and could see through you. He couldn’t just sit back and watch the fiery person you are being replaced with this someone he barely recognized. He was going to talk to you again when it was just the two of you. You were his best friend, you’d listen to him.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 3

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 3

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2344

Summary: It’s Christmas in Wisconsin for Sam and the reader.

Warnings: angst (sensing a theme here), alcohol, slow burn

           Christmas Eve was a Thursday, which meant you were working. You’d predicted it would be slow, but there were big chunks of time where no one was in the bar at all. Christmas carols on the radio helped pass the time, and you drank a little more of the almost-coquito you’d thrown together in the back at the beginning of the shift than you needed to. It reminded you of your aunt and the way she’d smell of coconut through Boxing Day every year when you were growing up; welcome nostalgia you could tolerate like pressing a thumb into a bruise and distracted you from the evisceration of thinking of Dean. The day shift had left the bar understocked, so Sam spent a good amount of time going up and down the stairs refilling refrigerators and cutting fruit for drinks. Around 10 or 11 the people who didn’t want to wrap up the night when their in-laws went home straggled in, a handful of regulars that you generally liked but had a tendency to get a little rowdy when left alone together. It didn’t help that they showed up a few drinks in.

           The merriment was infectious, and it was sweet to hear grown men proud of the gifts they’d gotten their loved ones. One even brought a few bottles of homemade maple syrup to give to the others, sliding one sheepishly across the bar to you. You were pouring out a round of coquito when Sam came up from the basement with a towel tossed over his shoulder.

           “Everything should be good,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in months and the ends fell gracefully around his shoulders. A piece fell oddly across his forehead and you reflexively fixed it for him.

           “What did you two get each other?” a regular, Steve, asked with a relaxed finger pointing between you and Sam. His cheeks were ruddy with whiskey and winter air.

           “Oh. I—uh, we don’t really do gifts,” Sam offered placatingly.

           “Man, where did you find this girl? Listens to classic rock, drives a stick shift, and doesn’t ‘do gifts’?” another, Joe, added.

           “You better be buying her some presents or someone else will.” Jake, a customer you’d always felt safe around since he tossed out a rude guy for you a month back, chimed in.

           You and Sam had never explicitly said that you were together. People just assumed, and it was easier to go along with it than explain the truth, especially because you didn’t look similar enough to be siblings and you still couldn’t shake your need to cling to him from time to time. It was almost never an issue aside from periodic mild teasing. This Christmas talk was a departure from the non-explanations you and Sam usually gave and you found yourself waiting for a cue on where to go. Sam seemed to be having the same thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

           You spoke before the moment had a chance to become too pregnant. “You know how hard it is to buy presents for a guy who doesn’t like having stuff? If he buys me something, I’ll have to get him something too!” You hoped it sounded smooth, your lying out of practice in the months since you’d had a cover on a hunt. Sam smirked gratefully at you.  

           Joe shook his head wistfully. “Seriously, where did you find her?”

           “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice sounded sort of soft around the edges, almost like he was tired but not quite. When you looked up at him, that pebble of self-consciousness you’d felt at the hardware flipped in your stomach again and you glanced away in favor of a one-armed hug you intended to look affectionate. Sam did the same, encompassing your entire shoulder with his hand.

           When you drove home that night, warm and full of coquito, Sam played Christmas carols.

           “I think we should do gifts.”

           It was the first thing you thought when you woke up, and you said it into Sam’s chest as you laid there before you opened your eyes. You could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t all the way asleep.

           “Hmm?”

           “I think we should do gifts. We should really do Christmas if we’re going to do it, and that means presents. What do you think?”

           You felt as much as you saw out of the corner of your drowsy eyes that Sam raised his unpinned arm to rub the sleep out of his. “Mmm, okay? I mean if that’s what you want.”

           “Thank you,” you said as you nestled deeper into him.

           “‘S already Christmas though.” Sleep pulled Sam’s words together like taffy.

           “It can be goofy stuff; I just think we should open presents under a tree and everything. Seems like the kind of thing we should do, you know? Like trying to be normal.” You couldn’t bear saying out loud what you meant, that Dean would’ve wanted presents and stockings and eggnog and Santa hats and a big roast if he could’ve, to fall asleep after watching the stars glitter off of falling snow.

           Sam heard anyway.

           “You’re right,” Sam murmured. He rubbed your upper arm absentmindedly.

           “I’ll wake you back up when the bathroom’s free,” you offered, carefully rolling over him to get out of the bed. He nodded with closed eyes and flopped over onto his stomach.

           About an hour later, a wet haired Sam slid into the Impala’s driver side and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. You could tell from the puffiness around his eyes and his overcompensating casual tone that he’d been crying. He set his phone to pipe Your Inner Fish through the stereo and backed down the driveway over snow tamped down over the last week.

           It had been years since you’d gone Christmas shopping, as much as this could be considered Christmas shopping. The town you’d settled in had exactly 7 businesses on a tiny main street, including 1 small inn, a grocery store, the hardware store, a coffee shop (the most reliable internet in town, much faster than your place) and 3 different places to get a burger. You met Sam in the grocery store after grabbing what you wanted from next door in hardware, catching him just as he came out carrying a bag with a long pipe of wrapping paper stretching far past the top. When you left, there were only two other cars in the parking lot grabbing their own last-minute things.

           You wrapped your presents on the bed. It wasn’t like riding a bike as you’d hoped it would be, and your sloppy corners started you down a mental spiral. What a completely asinine thing, wrapping hardware store presents to put under a stolen tree. This wasn’t the Rockwell painting you wanted to present as sacrifice to Dean’s memory. It was cheap and stupid, a sloppy high school production when Dean deserved Broadway. He always had. As much as the three of you had never really done Christmas, Dean knew how to make something special while maintaining the air of not caring. You remembered waking up on his made-up anniversaries: six months from the first time you kissed, three years since he realized he loved you (three years minus 53 days before he said anything), 14 months since you’d figured out how to put a gun back together in the dark. Even in the most podunk little towns he’d find gorgeous bouquets and put together great meals in tiny kitchenettes; drive miles away to pick up a cake for Sam’s birthday or pepper motel rooms with festive streamers and silly string. Two quick, hard breaths through your nose to collect yourself and you finished the wrapping. That would have to be good enough.

           Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with a bellows, a plucky little fire kicking into gear with his help. “All yours,” you called out, grateful your voice didn’t crack.

           “Thanks. It’ll only be a second.”

           He was right, and came back to you on the couch in only a few minutes with two wrapped bundles. You shyly handed him what you’d wrapped and took his.

           “Uh, Merry Christmas I guess,” Sam said. You noticed the edge of discomfort in his voice and were sickly grateful not to be alone in your tentativeness as you popped open the scotch tape holding the paper on the rectangular package. Before you’d uncovered it, Sam had his first gift unwrapped.

           “Nice! They had these at the hardware store?” he asked, snapping open the clamshell package on the cheap purple noise-cancelling earbuds you’d picked up.

           “I’m sure they’ll sound like they were made underwater, but I figured you could hide them pretty easily if you wanted to wear them at work, listen to your podcasts while you restock or whatever.”

           “That’s a really good idea.” He looked down at the headphones considerately for a beat.

           You pulled the paper off your present to reveal a notebook and two ballpoint pens. It had a leatherette flexible plastic cover that felt smooth under your fingertips and was about the size of a standard hardcover novel. You opened it to see inside, and a few photos dropped out.

           “I just—you didn’t have any—I can take them back if you want,” Sam stammered, but you heard him as if through those checkout-aisle headphones while your eyes blurred. These were pictures you hadn’t seen for years. The one on top of the loose stack in your lap was outside Bobby’s house. It felt like a lifetime ago, leaning over the railing of the small porch to kiss Dean as he stood on the ground in a sweaty t-shirt covered in engine grease. Under that was one you remembered used to be the background of an old phone, where you, Sam, and Dean huddled together in a booth at some bar you’d forgotten the name of in Montana that had girls dressed up as mermaids swim around in big tanks, part of the same theme that explained the blue fishbowl drink partly out of frame in Dean’s hands. There was one you didn’t recall with you and Dean stretched out on a nondescript motel couch, his arm protectively covering you as you coiled up into his side, both clearly asleep from the closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The last was a picture you hadn’t seen since the last time you went to Jody’s house; it had touched you then to see it hanging up on the wall, you carrying Dean piggyback while Sam clutched his knees laughing. It was the same day Claire had turned 16 and you had no idea why you’d needed to convince Dean you could carry him, but the whole thing had ended up with everyone rolling on the ground, grabbing at laugh-opened rib pains for what felt like blissful hours.

           You weren’t surprised at the silent tears that were pouring gently down your face, but wiped at them harshly with your sleeve so they wouldn’t drip. “Sam—” you croaked. “I don’t…I didn’t—thank you. How did you find these?”

           “They had an instant photo printer at the grocery store. I’ve had a flash drive with some stuff on it for a while.”

           You passed through each picture again, studying them like the gospel. It was almost hard to match the photos to the memories, memories having been replayed and multiplied and color-saturated in your mind over and over again, too big to fit into these little pieces of cardstock. But Dean was so beautiful, and you all looked so happy.

           “It’s supposed to help to write about how you’re feeling, so I thought…” Sam trailed off.

           “It’s perfect. I—thank you, Sam.” You met his eyes, stormy blue-green and taking on an amber reflection off of the fire. He looked nervous and almost guilty, like he had miscalculated and hurt you. Carefully slipping the photos back into the notebook, you set it on the table like it was made of crystal and threw your arms around Sam to tuck into him, knowing you were crying through his shirt but unable to stop. You realized you were murmuring thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou into the crook of his neck at the same time you felt the wetness of his tears onto your shoulder. Pulling him in tighter, you slunk back into the arm of the couch behind you. Sam slotted into the curve of your body, wrapping around your torso with powerful, gentle arms. His hair was silken when you began to stroke it, feeling his wracking sobs against your chest. It was impossible to gauge the amount of time it took for both of you to stop crying, skin slick and hot against each other on the old couch as your bodies hardened together like a mold. You felt dried out and sore and wouldn’t have pulled away from Sam if you’d had a gun to your head.

           “Man, and we were doing so well,” you hummed into Sam’s hair.

           “Were we?” Sam asked, and it was all you could do to laugh. Sam laughed too, the emotional and physical fatigue of it blending between you in the air. He adjusted his arm and you could feel the span of his hand across your lower back. The two of you sat there for a few more moments before you gathered up enough courage to let go of him.

           “Want to open the other one?”

           Sam nodded against your chest and slowly extricated himself, running a hand through his messed-up hair and rubbing his neck as he reached for the other present you’d gotten him. He tore through the paper unceremoniously and smiled down at the shoe repair glue and new boot laces. “You saw they split, didn’t you?”

           You smiled back at him. “Would’ve just gotten you a new pair of boots but, you know, late notice. Maybe this’ll buy you some time.”

           He handed you his second gift from the coffee table. Inside the foil-adorned wrapping paper were three bags of gummy worms.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 4

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass , @anxiousbarnes , @deanwinchesterswitch , @akshi8278 , @itsjensenanddean , @flannellover67 , @weepingwillowphoenix , @tj-drinks-tea​ , @whatareyousearchingfordean , @winchestergirl2 , @winchest09​ , @samwisethegr8​ , @fawnxng​ , @nurse-sarahrn​ , @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love​ , @deanwanddamons​ , @stressedoutkitten​ , @winchestershiresauce​ , @tatted-trina6​ , @percico-heronstairs​ , @downanddirtydean​ , @mamitoqueens , @queenoftheunderdark​ , @lyarr24​ , @waywardwifey​ , @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ , @wonder-cole​ , @sergeantsea​

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 11: The Call”

We’re picking up right where we left off with Theo barging into the gallery to surprise the reader. We also find out who that special someone is that Sonny has his eye 👀

Thanks to everyone for their comments and feedback on this series! It means the world to me ❤️Also a huge thanks to @sass-and-suspenders for being my writing buddy and giving me the idea for the title. 

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains an assault scene and mention of rape.

“Theo, how did you get in?” you sputtered. “You shouldn’t be here! We’re closed.”

Theo scoffed, “Please, that ditzy coworker of yours always forgets to lock the door when she leaves.” He milled around the tiny studio, picking up a handcrafted ceramic vase. “And besides you never cared before.” He set the vase down and winked. 

You could tell that he was drunk. Apart from his disheveled appearance, the aroma of cheap whiskey radiated off his body and hit you like a brick wall. But there was something more, his presence filled you with a sense of foreboding. Nevertheless, you swallowed down your fear and held your ground. “That was then, this is now,” you sneered.

“Why can’t you forgive me? I made a mistake. I’m--”

“You broke us!” you interrupted. “My brother may have invited you to lunch, but I thought I made myself clear when we broke up that I never wanted to see you again.”

Theo’s face hardened. “It’s that older guy, isn’t it?” He looked you over from head to toe, like a predator studying its prey before it attacks. “Never took ya’ for a gold digger, but maybe being a starving artist all these years has made ya’ hard up for cash.” 

“Rafael is twice the man you’ll ever be,” you snarled.

“You sure about that? Ya’ know you and I had some hot times together.” He arched a brow and crudely licked his lips. “Can’t deny there was some definite sexual chemistry between us.”

As he stalked towards you closer and closer, you stepped back, blindly bumping into chairs and easels until you were pushed up against the wall. You were trapped. A chill rippled down your spine and your mouth went dry, panic rising in your throat.

Theo grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer to him. The acrid smell of alcohol combined with his cologne stung your nostrils. “Let go of me.” You struggled to free yourself from Theo’s grasp, but he only tightened his hold on you.

“Don’t be like that,” he cooed in a teasing manner. “How about a kiss for old times sake?” As he leaned in closer with his lips pursed, you finally wrenched free and slapped him hard. Your hand throbbed in pain. Between Theo and Sonny, you were getting tired of smacking people for disrespecting you.

Theo cruelly laughed, completely unphased by your attack. “You stupid bitch,” he growled and backhanded you across the face. The force of his slap caused you to stumble a few steps and run into a nearby table. 

In an instant, he was on top of you with a wild look in his eye. “I always get what I want,” he snarled. Theo hiked up your skirt with one hand while undoing his pants with the other. Bottles of paint toppled over in your struggle, saturating your clothes and the floor. Colors swirling together--angry reds, moody blues until they combined to a murky brown.

All of your self defense classes. All of the lectures your brother gave you about defending yourself-- hammer strike, heel palm strike. It all left your mind in that frantic, terrifying moment. Nevertheless, you fought back as hard you could, clumsily kicking and screaming. 

Luckily, your foot had fantastic aim and connected straight with his groin. Hard. Theo howled in pain and grabbed his crotch, giving you a chance to escape. You scrambled out from under him and collided into Phoebe who had just come back from the coffee shop when she heard you screaming. Coffee and pastries spilled onto the floor. 

Upon seeing your coworker, Theo pushed past you both and ran out of the gallery. But you could care less, you just clung to Phoebe, trembling. “Y/N? What happened? Are you alright?” 

You couldn’t speak. You could hardly catch your breath, on the brink of becoming hysterical. Phoebe took your hand and led you to a nearby chair. “I’m calling 911.” She reached into her purse for her phone when she stopped. “Do you want me to call your brother?”

“No!” you said in a panic. “Can you call his partner instead?” You gave Phoebe Rollins’ cell number. “Please tell her not to tell Sonny.” She nodded and dialed the number. 

While your coworker talked to Amanda, you stood up and walked around the studio. Paints, brushes, easels all covered the floor. And then you saw it. The painting you had been working on for Rafael, in a crumpled head, completely destroyed. Just like everything else in the room. In a matter of minutes, your sanctuary had become a crime scene.

*****

Sonny scaled the steps of One Hogan Place, balancing two cups of coffee in his hands. He took his familiar route, mumbling to himself. Passerbys assumed he was on bluetooth, but in reality he was deep in concentration, trying to come up with the perfect opening line. Unfortunately, the only thing he could come up with was “Hi.” 

After the disastrous lunch on Sunday, Sonny couldn’t stop thinking about what Bella had said. Maybe it was time to let go and take a chance. To put himself out there. As much as he hated to admit, you were happy with Barba. Maybe it was time for him to find his own happiness. 

He stood in front of Barba’s office door, taking a moment to collect himself. His heart hammered in his chest. His palms were clammy. Although he had been to Barba’s office countless times, this time was for a completely different reason.

From the moment Sonny met Carmen, he was hooked. She was beautiful, smart, and unbelievably kind. Not to mention, she knew how to handle Barba. She made him feel at ease. 

He never forgot when SVU had lost a big case, a rapist had been set free on a technicality. The squad and Barba had just broken the news to the survivor. She was only 14 and yet she had lived a lifetime. He would never forget the look on her face. In a way he felt completely responsible. If he had just tried harder, then they would have caught this monster.

That day Sonny was the last one to leave Barba’s office, feeling completely dejected. He thought of his sisters and his mother and how easily any of you could be a victim. He wondered if he was even cut out for this job. How many rapists would be set free during his career? How many victims would he have to disappoint? 

It was then that Carmen approached him. “Hang in there.” She patted him on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile. “They need you, Sonny. You’re one of the good guys.” In that moment, Carmen made Sonny feel safe and comforted. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. 

Now all he had to do was work up the nerve to ask her out on a date. “It’s now or never, Carisi,” he thought before opening the door. There she was. The woman of his dreams, sitting at her desk, furiously typing and completely oblivious to the fact that Sonny was right in front of her. 

After several seconds, he cleared his throat and shouted, “Hey you!” Carmen jumped a mile high. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare ya’.” Being a ball of nervous energy, it was not his intention to scream at the poor woman. 

“It’s ok. I wasn’t paying attention.” Sonny nodded and rocked back on his heels, awkwardly standing in front of her. “Um, Mr. Barba is free, if you’d like to see him.”

“Actually. I’m here for you.” He handed over one of the cups of coffee in his hand. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Carmen graciously accepted the cup and took a sip. “I’ve been so busy working on these briefs that I haven’t had a chance to get any.”

Sonny beamed and began taking out of his pockets handfuls of assorted coffee creamers and sugar packets. “I...uh...I didn’t know how ya’ took your coffee so I got ya’ half n half, hazelnut, vanilla, soy milk, almond milk. I got sweet n’ low, regular sugar, sugar in the--”

“Thank you,” Carmen politely interrupted him and pushed all of the creamers and sugars now littering her desk off to the side. “That’s very sweet.”

Sonny turned beet red and took a sip of his coffee. Having been out of the dating game for so long, he was definitely rusty at this. “So...uh...I was just wonderin’ if maybe sometime--”

Just then Rafael burst out of his office. “Carmen, something’s come up and I have to leave. Please hold my calls and cancel all my meetings for today.” Before she could even reply, he brusquely walked past, bumping into Sonny and causing him to spill his coffee. Rafael shot daggers at him. 

Sonny furrowed his brow in confusion, watching Rafael walk out the door. Although Rafael had certainly glared at him before, this time was different. If looks could kill, Sonny would be dead on the floor. “Wonder what that was about?” he mused.

Carmen shook her head. “Don’t know. But it must be bad. I hope everything’s ok.” She then noticed the spilled coffee on Sonny’s shirt and opened her drawer, pulling out a stain removing pen for clothes. “May I?”  She walked over to Sonny and began to clean the coffee stain before it began to set. 

Being that close to Carmen, Sonny felt weak in the knees. He lost himself in her warm brown eyes and the honeyed sweet scent of her orange blossom perfume. “Thanks,” he managed to squeak out.

“It’s no problem,” she said with a shy smile. “With the amount of coffee Mr. Barba drinks, I keep a stash of these at my desk. Just in case of an emergency.” 

“So like I was saying earlier, I thought if you were free sometime that maybe you’d like to--”

Suddenly, a loud ring coming from his coat pocket cut him off. The universe was not working in his favor today. He pulled his phone out and saw Bella’s name flash across his screen. “Excuse me,” he told Carmen before answering the phone. “Hey Bella. Can I call ya’ back?” 

Bella let out a sob in response and Sonny felt his stomach drop. “Bella? What’s wrong?”

“Sonny,” she managed to say through her tears. “You need to get to the precinct. Now. Something’s happened with Y/N.”

Tag List:

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @mgarner1227 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarletsoldierrr @youreverycolor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @imagine-all-the-imagines @mysterioustrashadventures @that-girl-named-alex @scapricciatello @mrsrafaelbarba @zizzlekwum @katierpblogg @crowleysqueenofhell @caked-crusader​ @garturbo @rachelxwayne @averyhotchner @sarcastically-defensive17 @permanentlydizzy @beccabarba @infiniteoddball

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

Bartender

Clyde Logan x Reader (Oneshot)

My first Clyde fic!

Summary: Heavily inspired by the song Bartender by Lana Del Rey, it’s the one year anniversary since you first set eyes on Clyde Logan. 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of food/eating, mentions of family tensions

Word count: 3.2k

You felt the warm sun stroking your skin as it filtered through the window, it was rising over the mountains to greet your bleary eyes as you gently blinked them open. You were encompassed by a soft warmth all around your body from the blankets on your bed, the heat of the day not yet stifling enough to become uncomfortable. There was, of course, another source of heat in the bed with you, the thought made a sleepy smile curl across your lips. Clyde. 

You could feel his monumental body stretched out under yours, his long frame making use of the entire length of the bed. You could see his feet, coming dangerously close to dangling off the edge of the mattress, as you looked down from the position your head occupied on his sturdy chest. His steady heartbeat thrummed gently under your ear, almost lulling you back to sleep, it was the most beautiful sound in the world to you, the strong beat of that big old heart. 

You allowed yourself a moment to memorise the texture of his worn t-shirt underneath your fingertips, and the rhythmic puffs of his breaths across the crown of your head. He smelled like sleep, pine, and sandalwood, the familiar scent made your head fuzzy in the most comforting way. Your big bear. 

As much as you wanted to stay in this cocoon with your sleepy bear all day, you roused yourself to delicately slip out of his secure embrace, smiling as you heard his grumble. You made sure he was back in the depths of sleep, jet black waves sticking out every which way across the pillows, arm without its prosthesis slung across his belly, his other splayed out where your body had just been. Your eyes lingered on him for just a moment, committing the way the morning sun chased the shadows from his face to memory, before making your way quietly to the kitchen. 

The sight of your little kitchen bathed in gentle creamy sunlight warmed your entire body, which had already started to cool from the absence of Clyde’s arms. You’d gotten up early today to make Clyde his favourite breakfast, burnt bacon and eggs, because it was a special day today. It was a year ago today that you had first walked into Duck Tape, it was a year ago today that your life changed forever.

***

Your eyes blinked wearily as you scanned each passing road sign, desperate for a place to pull in for the night. You’d been driving for hours, so many hours you’d lost count, and now you were in the middle of Boone County, wherever the hell that was, with no idea of what to do. 

Up ahead you noticed a wooden structure set off to the side of the road, with red and green lights illuminated outside. A motel? You could only hope. You decided you really had no choice but to pull in and check it out, whatever it was there was probably someone there to ask for direction to the nearest hotel. 

You pulled your truck into the modest parking lot and surveyed the building in front of you, the lights lit up a sign that proudly declared this place to be ‘Duck Tape’, and it was evidently a bar. Your stomach tightened slightly, not exactly what you had in mind, and you weren’t sure that going into some backwater bar in the middle of some random county in West Virginia at 11pm on a Friday night was a good idea. But you sort of didn’t have a choice really, did you?

You took a deep breath and gathered your nerves as you exited the truck, stumbling a little as you stepped out, tired and completely unused to the vehicle you were driving. You walked up to the wooden door of the bar and pushed it open, praying that this wasn’t a bar full of inebriated creeps. 

The bar was warmly lit inside, and rock music filtered through the air from the jukebox you spotted against one of the walls. The bar wasn’t packed out, but there were a few patrons scattered around the bar and in the booths, talking and laughing and just making merry with one another. It didn’t escape your notice that many eyes shot towards you as you entered, perhaps this was a bar that usually welcomed locals, and here you were, a completely new face. 

You pushed your fluttering nerves down as you edged over to the bar, locating a seat to slide yourself onto. Behind the bar you could see the bartender, but only his back as he was serving a man on the other side of the bar. He was a big guy, tall, his shoulders were wide under his dark blue shirt. His hair was long too, and sort of shaggy, brushing across those broad shoulders as he poured his customer a sizeable glass of what looked to be whiskey. 

“On the house Earl, for helpin’ me fix the sign last week.” You heard the bartender say, his voice was deep and slow, the twang of his accent warmed his words in a cadence that shivered up and down your spine in a pleasant way. 

“Yer a good man Clyde.” The customer, Earl, said as he took a pull from his glass. Earl’s eyes caught sight of you as he placed his glass back down on the polished wood of the bar, and he said something to the bartender, Clyde, that you didn’t quite catch.

It must have been about you though, as the huge bartender turned to you as Earl had finished speaking. You were greeted with the sight of the warmest brown puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen in your life. He was beautiful, that was your first thought upon seeing his soft face. 

His big brown eyes sat alight in his handsome face, his nose was strong and prominent. But his lips captured attention most notably, plump lips, set into a neutral pout. You’d never seen someone look so pretty and so masuline at the same time, he looked like a big grizzly bear with the profile of a soft little pup. Quite stunning. 

“Evenin’ miss.” He said, his voice was just loud to carry over the noise of the bar to your ears. He stepped across to stand in front of you, and you sat up a little straighter, giving him your warmest smile despite your tension. 

“Evening to you too! I don’t want to bother you for too long, I can see you’ve got a lot on your hands, I was just wondering if there was a motel around here somewhere?” You asked, somewhat in a rush to get the words out. One of his eyebrows quirked up minutely as he placed his hands on the bar, and it was only then that you noticed that he had a prosthetic hand strapped to his left arm, naturally you began to wonder the circumstances behind the missing limb. 

“It ain’t no bother at all ma’am, there’s a motel a few miles down the road from here.” He told you, your tension began to ease at his kind reassurance, and you were instantly relieved to hear that you wouldn’t have to sleep in the truck tonight. 

“That’s great, thank you so much for your help!” You smiled at him, moving to get up off your seat so you could go in search of this motel.

“Why don’t you let me call ahead fer ya, make sure they have a room spare?” Clyde asks, making you still your movements. You hadn’t even considered that the motel might not be able to accommodate you, how thoughtful of him.

“Oh, actually yeah that’d be really helpful. My phone’s kinda dead.” You said with an awkward laugh at the end, you saw his soft eyes crease up slightly as he gave you a small smile. 

“Can I get a drink for ya, while ya wait?” He asked, and you were glad he did because you’d barely had anything to drink since you set off driving in the early hours of the morning, and you were now suddenly aware of how parched you were.

“Yes please, just a soft drink if you have any, I’m driving.” You explained and he nodded, crouching down to see into the fridge below the bar. 

“I’m all outta regular cola but I got a few cans of cherry flavour?” He asked, still obscured by the bar. 

“That’s perfect, thanks.” You responded, watching as he stood again. He placed the bright red can on the bar, the metal frosty due to the chilled temperature of the drink. “Would ya like a glass miss?” He asked, gosh he was just so polite, you thought idly, he spoke like a gentleman. 

“Oh no, don’t worry about it.” You said, cracking the can open and taking a long sip, relishing the cool liquid sliding down your dry throat. Clyde seemed to be deep in thought, looking at you as you did so with those curious eyes, he then seemed to snap back to reality. 

“I’ll just go give ‘em a call, Earl will ya watch the bar a sec?” He calls over his shoulder to Earl who grunts his consent, Clyde flashes you another pretty smile before disappearing through a door to what you assume was some kind of office. 

You preoccupied yourself with your drink, the sweet taste waking you up a little, but also making you aware of the hunger in your stomach. 

Clyde wasn’t gone long, he appeared back behind the bar and immediately came over to where you were seated with your almost empty drink.

“They’re getting a room ready for ya miss, the lady that runs the place is real sweet, you’ll get a good night's sleep there.” He told you, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink, almost like he was blushing. 

“I really can’t thank you enough, also you don’t have to call me miss” You laughed, proceeding to give him your name. The beginnings of the blush flared to an unmistakable rosy pink on the apples of his cheeks, you found your heart fluttering at the sight of this big, shy man.

“That’s a real pretty name.” He said quietly, still giving you eye contact. It was your turn to blush when the sound of your stomach rumbling interrupted the little moment between you and the bear in front of you.

“Pardon me I didn’t even think to ask if ya wanted somethin’ to eat. I can get ya some fries if you’d like?” He asked, his eyes widening as if he’d just committed an atrocious offence against you. You couldn’t deny that your mouth watered at the offering of food. 

“Please, if it’s not too much trouble.” You said, still embarrassed at your stomach's loud rumbling. 

“Ain’t no trouble at all.” He reassured yet again, disappearing through another door this time. He was gone for a little while, and when he came back he had a basket full of thin cut french fries in one hand, and bottles of a few different sauces tucked under his other arm, all of which he placed down in front of you. 

You thanked him again before tucking into the food, thoroughly enjoying every mouthful, your stomach happy to be filled. The bar was quietening down now, just a few people dotted around, the noise levels dropping significantly. 

Clyde edged back over to you as you finished your meal, another cherry Coke ready in his hand which he set down in front of you, you smiled at the action. 

“So, yer not from round here?” He asked, wiping down the stretch of bar next to you that had recently been vacated. 

“No I’m not local, just found myself here.” You told him, unsure of how to explain why you’d found yourself in such an unfamiliar neck of the woods. 

“Come to see family?” He enquired politely, clearly not wishing to probe too deeply, but just trying to make conversation with you. It was nice, someone just wanting to have a simple conversation with you. 

“Quite the opposite actually I’d say.” You mumbled, looking down at the bar as you toyed with the ring-pull on your drink. You felt his eyes searching your face, he must have noticed your suddenly morose expression.

“I don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable or nothin’ but, if ya wanna get anythin’ off yer chest, there’s no better person to talk to than a bartender.” He said quietly, his voice taking on a soft light tone at the end as he joked. Suddenly, there was no person on this earth you wanted to talk to more than this kind stranger, and there was no place you wanted to be more than this wood panelled bar. 

“Oh you know how it is with family…” You started, and then you just talked to him. You told him about how up until this morning, you’d found yourself completely trapped. You were trapped in a family that expected so much of you, impossible expectations that seemed to crush you under their weight. You were trapped in a job that demanded so much more than it gave back, you were miserable, and no one was listening to you, they just kept telling you to try harder, to do more. 

So you left, you bought a shitty truck from a second hand car lot last night with some of your savings, loaded your essentials into the trunk and had set off driving this morning. You’d delivered a letter to your parents house, explaining that you’d call them when you’d found somewhere to stay, you’d called work and told them you quit, and just drove. That’s how you’d found yourself at Duck Tape, talking to Clyde, feeling more relaxed than you had in months. 

He was an active participant in the conversation, asking you questions where the opportunity arose, telling you about himself in return. You learned that he owned the bar, and that he had a brother and sister who also lived in Boone County. The pair of you talked for hours, until the bar emptied out completely, you learned how he’d lost his hand while serving in Iraq, and your heart seized to think of him in danger and in pain. 

It was 1am before you realised how long you’d been talking for, Clyde had abandoned his post behind the bar after his last patron left and the pair of you had relocated to a booth where the seats were cushioned and comfortable. 

“Oh my God Clyde, why didn’t you say how late it was! I’m sorry for talking your ear off for so long!” You exclaimed, finally noticing the time. Clyde hadn’t appeared to notice how late it was either as he checked his watch, eyebrows raising when he saw the time. 

“Listen here it was my pleasure, you must be dead beat.” He said as he stood up in sync with you and began collecting the empty Coke cans from the table. 

“Let me settle my bill and then I’ll get out of your hair.” You told him, moving back over to the bar where the cash register was, pulling your purse out of your bag. 

“On the house.” He said simply, placing the cans on the bar at the side of you, you turned to look at him and found him smiling gently down at you. 

“Clyde I’ve had so many drinks, not to mention the fries, I can’t just not pay-” You began to protest but he cut you off.

“Hey, just don’t go telling my boss.” He said, a handsome smirk on his full lips, he winked at you after his little joke and you couldn’t help but smile back at him, heart swelling. 

“You’re just too kind Clyde Logan.” You told him, watching that rosy colour paint his cheeks again, you took in every little mole and freckle that decorated his face, desperate to memorise everything about this night. 

“Let me walk ya to your car, it’s dark out.” He said, very gently placing his hand on the small of your back and exiting the bar, crossing the lot to your truck. His hand was warm against you, even through the fabric of your shirt. It was a welcome sensation, it made you feel safe and secure, you’d quite forgotten what that felt like until you met Clyde. 

As you unlocked the truck he opened the door for you, and before you got in you turned to look up at him, his height eclipsing yours. 

“Thank you so much for Clyde, for everything tonight. I’ve had a really good time.” You tell him, making sure he knew you meant every word. You could see the delight touch his face as he overcame his bashfulness to reply. 

“Well, like I said, it was my pleasure. Swing by anytime ya like. If yer around that is- not that I expect a bright girl like you to hang around here- what I mean is that- if ever yer passin’ through-” You could see Clyde stumbling around, trying to find the words he wanted to stay but clearly getting flustered. You placed your hand on his bicep, noting how big it was, and his eyes snapped back to yours.

“I’ll definitely be back Clyde.” You told him, and you meant it. 

You parted ways and he watched your truck leave the lot, he watched it all the way down the road, until he couldn’t see it anymore. He even called the motel half an hour later to make sure you’d gotten there safe, not that you knew he’d done that, but he needed to know you were safe for the night.

***

You heard heavy footsteps treading towards the kitchen as you finished up frying the bacon, placing the burned slices onto a plate with the fluffy scrambled eggs and the pancakes you’d decided on. It wasn’t long before you felt two gigantic arms wind around your waist from behind, a warm face pressing soft kisses into your neck, and shaggy black hair tickling your cheek, your big bear. 

“Mornin’ cherry pie.” He said in a husky voice, right next to your ear. It warmed you from deep inside your belly, radiating out to all your extremities. You leaned back into him and turned your head to kiss his cheek. 

“Mornin’ handsome.” He smiled before swooping down to kiss you squarely on the lips, it was chaste and understated, but it made your tummy do backflips. 

“Somethin’ smells good, angel.” He noted, his eyes travelling to the plates of food, you could tell his was ready to absolutely devour his breakfast, and then probably devour you shortly after, randy big thing that he was. 

“Nothing but the best for today.” You told him sweetly, moving out of the circle of his arms and taking the plates to the little kitchen table. Clyde hung back for a second and observed you, just enjoying watching you exist. He was the luckiest man alive, he was absolutely sure of it. 

“One year since the best day of my life.” He said softly, coming to sit down with you, taking your hand in his and stroking his large thumb across your knuckles.

You never did leave Boone County after that night. Your parents didn’t approve of your choice, and you didn’t have a big fancy-pants job here. But you worked in a flower shop, something you’d always dreamed of, and you had the man of your dreams by your side. You were happy, you were finally happy, you and your bartender. 

[tchallasbabymama]

Potential Breakup Fic

Yes, this is inspired by the re-release of the classic “Potential Breakup Song” by legends Aly & AJ. Check out the rest of my Masterlist HERE. Enjoy!

Word count: 2223

CW: Niggas aint shit. Kiana sat on her couch and tried not to cry into her glass of merlot. She took off her heels and got up to unzip her dress and take off her bra since she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. She checked her phone again and was met with an empty screen. No notifications, no missed calls. She threw her phone down in anger, and was thankful when she noticed the screen didn’t crack.

“I can't believe this nigga.”

She looked at the clock and shook her head. It was 12:07am, and her 25th birthday was officially over without so much as a word from her boyfriend. Just last night he had told her to be ready by 7, and she hadn't heard from him since.

They had been together, on and off, for three years. They met their junior year at Howard, but didn’t hit it off right away. He was too slick for her liking, but over time he eventually weaseled his way into her heart. His smile lit up the whole room and his big brown eyes could seduce anyone just like that. And he did, constantly. T’Challa was a huge flirt, and it was cute when they were still single and just getting to know each other, but even now T’Challa turns his charm on for every pretty face he sees. Kiana had brought it up to him many times, letting him know how disrespected she felt. He would always say the same thing.

“But entle, I’m just being nice. You know I only have eyes for you.”

She did know that once, but that ended about a year and a half ago when she was casually scrolling through twitter on his phone and caught him cheating.

“T’Challa!”

“Yes, my love?”

“What the fuck is this?!”

“Why are you on my phone?!”

“Don't fucking raise your voice at me, I’m not in the wrong here. I saw a funny tweet and started scrolling when YOU got a text from some bitch named Jasmine talking bout ‘I miss you daddy’ and sending you pictures of her pussy. Care to explain?”

He reached for the phone and she pulled it away from him.

“Nah-uh, talk.”

He sighed in exasperation. 

“If you give me the phone I can explain, sithan-”

“Don’t you fucking ‘sweetheart’ me, answer the goddamn question. How long, T’Challa?!”

“Just once. Eh, one and a half maybe-”

He was interrupted by a throw pillow to the head.

“How the fuck do you halfway cheat nigga?!”

“She just gave me head the first ti-”

“That’s still cheating!”

“Will you lower your voice? You have neighbors.”

“Fuck! Them! Did you even use a condom?”

“Yes, Kiana I’m not-”

“Stupid? You’re not stupid?” Kiana laughed. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“My love, I-”

“Oh now I’m your love? Where the fuck was that energy when you were balls deep in this other bitch?!”

T’Challa stood there dumbstruck. He had never seen Kiana get this angry and didn’t know what to say. He knew he was wrong when he did it, but seeing the tears streaming down her face made him truly regret what he’d done. She had been so busy with school and work that she barely had time for him anymore. He had needs and just so happened to stumble upon someone more than willing to fulfil them. 

He cursed himself for not locking his phone or at the very least, turning it over. 

“How many, T’Challa...” Kiana sniffled.

“I told you, it was only twice-”

“How many women?!”

He froze, not knowing if he should mention Lisa since that was so much earlier in their relationship.

“Oh my god...oh my god...oh my- are you fucking serious?! I-I have to...I have to go get tested, I-”

“Kia-”

“What?!”

She looked at him with such fierceness that he shrunk under her gaze.

“I-I am sorry, I didn’t do it to hurt you, I was-”

He was stopped by a heavy-handed slap across his cheek that nearly knocked him over.

“Get the fuck out.” She said, barely above a whisper.

Six months later they ran into each other in the grocery store and decided to catch up over a cup of coffee. Kiana had healed and moved on, but T’Challa was still stuck on her. They had spent almost two good years together before he ruined what they had, and he just couldn’t let it go. He loved her, and he was determined to make it work this time.

Or so he really, truly thought before he met Marci...and Tanisha...

T’Challa knew he wasn’t a one-woman man, but he just couldn’t let Kiana go. His dalliances were never serious, just enough to scratch his constant itching. Sometimes they were a one-time thing, but others stuck around if they were good enough and knew how to be discreet. No matter what though, he always came back home to Kiana because despite his trash behavior, he really did love her in his own toxic way.

However, he didn’t love her enough to double check his calendar before leaving work on her birthday, or any day leading up to it. He had forgotten what day it was, and when he told Kiana to be ready at 7 he just meant for a regular date night. 

It had been a long day at the Wakandan Embassy and Kiana’s Prince Charming needed a drink more than anything. He stopped at the first bar he came across that looked halfway decent. T’Challa walked up to the bar and caught the eye of the beautiful barkeep.

“Hiya, what can I do for you?”

T’Challa smiled his panty-dropping smile and she smiled back, revealing her perfect, white teeth. There was nothing he loved more than a pretty smile.

“Well, miss…”

“Tanisha,” she responded while using both arms to mix a shaker full of liquid courage and ice. His eyes avoided her chest, slyly watching in the periphery only. 

“Well, Miss Tanisha, I had a horrible day at work and I am in need of a whiskey on the rocks. Preferably Jack, but truly anything will do.”

“We all have those days honey. Here’s a double on the house,” she said as she slid the drink to him across the bar top with a wink.

T’Challa licked his lips and lifted his glass to her before taking a sip of the warm amber liquid. He let out a sigh and his day seemed to melt away. 

Tanisha kept coming back to check on him and they would chat when the crowd died down. T’Challa was on his third double when she came over with a plate of wings.

“You’re an angel.” He dug into the wings and made a complete mess on his shirt, so he went to the bathroom to try to wash the stain out. On his way back to the bar he noticed a very tall and sweaty man leaning over the bar trying to talk to Tanisha. From what he could see, she wasn’t feeling the conversation, but he kept approaching her anyway. When T’Challa returned to his seat she immediately gravitated towards him. This angered Mr. Tall and Sweaty, who drunkenly attempted to punch T’Challa in the face. T’Challa dodged the lazy punch and knocked him out cold with one hit. Security saw the whole thing go down, and removed Tall and Sweaty from the building once he came to. 

“What you got planned for the night, handsome?”

“Nothing at all, why do you ask?”

“I get off at 9, wanna hang out?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, now here’s a water.”

“Thank you, angel.”

By 10pm he was already halfway inside her, and when his phone started vibrating he was too wrapped up in her to think anything of it. Without looking he quieted the annoying sound and turned the phone off so he could focus on the task at hand.

Two and a half hours later, T’Challa was creeping out of Tanisha’s bed right as Kiana was sliding into hers. She had washed off all her makeup, but she didn’t have the emotional energy to tie up her hair. Normally she would wear one of T’Challa’s t-shirts, but she was too angry with him so she slept in a cute nighty she never wore. She admired herself in the mirror for half a second before bursting into tears and pulling the covers up to her head. She tried to stop crying, but the tears kept coming and she eventually gave herself a headache. How could he miss her birthday?

Kiana got up and threw on her plush maroon robe before she padded to the bathroom to grab some Advil. On the way she noticed her phone getting multiple notifications, the first of which was from her best friend Bebe.

“Have u seen this?! Sis, I’m so sorry. When we slashing his tires? Just 3 tho, this nigga needs to pay $$$.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?”

Kiana clicked the link and saw that it was Bebe’s cousin Darrell’s Instagram Story. Apparently there was a fight at the bar where he was celebrating a coworker’s promotion and he had filmed it for all of Instagram to see. Kayla stared at her phone in shock. There was her aint-shit boyfriend at a goddamn bar on her fucking birthday. She watched him punch a guy in the face on her birthday. At a bar. Without her.

She thought the kicker came when she saw him turn around and flirt with the bartender, but the story after that just about killed her. There he was, leading her out the back door with his hand too far down on her lower back to be simply platonic. Even the caption read “Ooooh someone’s about to get some ‘thank you’ pussy. That damsel in distress pussy hit different!”

Kiana saw red and almost cracked her phone for a second time tonight. 

She grabbed the remaining merlot and downed it before throwing the bottle at the picture of them on the fridge. She watched the glass shatter and cut their faces while the trace bit of deep red wine seeped down the picture like blood. She wanted to trash the whole place, but remembered she would have to clean it later. Kiana started to hyperventilate and felt like she needed to get some air when she heard the lock turn.

“Kiki, what are you doin- are you ok? What happened here?”

Kiana ignored him as she walked towards where she threw her phone, silently pulling up the story and handing it to him. She watched his face go from confused, to shocked, to fearful. No regret, though. 

“Ki-”

“Give me your key.”

“Kiana, please let me-”

“The key. Now,” she said with her voice completely devoid of any emotion.

T’Challa assumed she would be angry and yell or throw things, but this quiet storm terrified him. To him, it felt like she didn’t even care anymore. He was right.

He slowly reached his hand out and she snatched the key ring, removing hers and tossing the rest back to him.

“I’ll have your stuff packed by the morning. It’ll be outside my door by 8am. If it’s still there when I get back from work it’s going in the trash.”

T’Challa couldn’t bear the coldness in her voice. Tears rolled down his face and his knees buckled.

“Kiana, please. I can explain, I didn-”

“I don't give a fuck what you did or didnt do. You know why?”

“W-why?”

“Because it was my birthday, T’Challa. MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY and YOU forgot it. Not only did you forget it, my gift was you fucking some other bitch and leaving me lonely yet again. So no, I don't care if you fucked her or not even though I know your sorry ass did. I know she’s probably not the only one because I saw how easily you slid on in there in that video. You were way too comfortable, so I don't even want to ask you how many because it doesnt fucking matter anymore. Now you can stick your dick in every fine ass Black girl you see without remorse, oh wait...you were already doing that. So fuck you, get out my apartment before I call my brothers.”

“Kiana…”

“5, 4, 3,...” Kiana counted as she dialed her eldest brother Trey’s number, ignoring T'Challa's pathetic excuses. “2, 1… Hey Trey, I’m sorry did I wake you up?...Yeah I have a situat- oh look at that, his bitch ass is leaving-”

“I am sorry, Kiana,” T’Challa said one last time before she slammed the door in his face. He could hear her on the other side of the door explaining the situation to her brother, and when she started to cry it finally hit him. Her wails broke his spirit and more tears fell from his eyes. 

He knew Trey would be over soon to comfort his baby sister and he needed to get the hell out of dodge, so T’Challa left Kiana’s apartment and never came back. Not even for his things, which turned out to be the best thing for Kiana because she and her girls got to burn it all up in Trey’s backyard fire pit and finally release that toxic man from her life.

[wanderinginksplot]

Warriors in Red Armor

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Chapter Two

Hound II

79's was loud, dim, and crowded. There were so many people packed into the building that the air inside felt thick and hard to breathe. Any conversationalists had to shout if they wanted the other party to hear them. The main illumination in the room came from accent lighting, flashing spotlights, and the occasional glowing cybernetic.

It was chaos, and Hound loved every second of it.

He had always been a fan of crowds, of feeling the press of civilization. He and Grizzer were similar in that sense: they both thrived in situations that offered plenty of information to take in.

When the three Coruscant Guard troopers had arrived at 79's, they fell into their traditional pattern. First, Thire had tried a cheesy pick-up line on a beautiful Mirialan female just inside the doors. She had given him a pity-filled smile and turned him down. Thire had been unaffected. His pick-up lines had a 0% success rate, but he kept trying.

Next, Thorn had stopped by the bar on the way in. He ordered a Corellian whisky, light on the ice, and ignored Hound's protests that they would get the first round together in a few minutes. Thorn sipped at his drink as they walked to the Coruscant Guard's standard booth.

The Corrie Guard booth wasn't reserved - as if 79's would allow something like that - but no one else ever sat there. That was one of the benefits of always being planetside with a regular presence in 79's. No trooper from another battalion would ever try to sit at their booth, not without an express invitation.

Before he did anything else, Hound got Thorn and Thire stowed at the booth. The former was drinking while the latter focused on thinking up a new pick-up line. Hound then left to get drinks for the party. This was his favorite part: getting to meet people.

With the warmth of amusement filling him at the antics of his vode and the civvies on the dance floor, Hound made his slow, weaving way to the bar. There, he chatted with brothers and civilians alike while he waited for the drinks he had ordered. Thorn wanted another Corellian whisky on the rocks, Thire requested a hyperdrive, and Hound decided on a surly sarlacc.

As the bartender placed the second drink in front of him, Hound glanced at the people around him. To his right were a Bith and a Sullustan in some kind of embrace. Deciding he didn't want to learn any more, Hound turned to his left side instead. There, he found a pale woman sipping frantically at a cup of what he was sure was a blue bantha.

"Hey, no rush!" he called over the pounding music. "They aren't going to run out of booze."

She smiled wanly at him. "Are you sure? Everyone here is drinking like the bar is closing and they want to be hospitalized by the time it happens."

"Lighten up, Ark!" a pretty girl on the stranger's other side called. She slung an arm around her friend's neck, and Hound caught a whiff of Corellian whisky from her glass. "One night out isn't gonna kill you!"

"It might," the pale woman sulked, taking another swig of her blue bantha.

"Another whiskey, handsome," the louder one said to the bartender, adding a wink that made the infamously slow-moving man pick up the pace.

The wheels in Hound's mind were spinning. The two women might end up being an excellent match for Thorn and Thire. His vode had expressed interest in finding hookups for the night. Who better for a loud trooper and a quiet one than a loud woman and a quiet one?

"Hey, how about I buy this round and both of you help me carry these drinks back to my friends?" Hound asked.

The louder of the two grinned at him. "Two hands, three drinks, and a crowded dance floor? Sounds like a recipe for disaster. It's our civic duty to make sure no one slips in spilled alcohol." The quiet woman simply shrugged, which Hound took as an agreement.

When the bartender came to drop off Thire's hyperdrive, Hound ordered another round for the women. He directed the quieter one to carry her own drink and the hyperdrive while he carried Thorn's Corellian whisky and the surly sarlacc.

"Don't trust me to carry two drinks?" the other woman asked with a faux pout.

Hound smiled and shook his head. "I might need you to clear a path and you seem like you can command attention."

With that, she laughed and struck a dramatic pose that made at least two troopers in the area stare. "Follow me!"

True to Hound's expectations, she led them across the dance floor with ease. When they reached the other side, she paused while Hound took the lead to the Coruscant Guard's booth. When they arrived, the other troopers immediately caught sight of Hound's guests. Thorn glanced away and took another sip of his drink while Thire's entire face lit up with interest.

"Hey, guys this is…" Hound paused, realizing with a guilty pang that he had never gotten their names. "... blue bantha and Corellian whisky. These are my fellow troopers, Thorn and Thire."

The louder woman slid into the booth with a laugh, offering Thorn her hand to shake. "Corellian whisky, also known as Kai. Blue bantha is my friend Ark."

"Ark?" Thire asked, standing so that the quiet, pale woman could sit on the inside of the booth. Hound noticed with interest that Thire was watching Ark closely. He would have bet every credit he owned that Thire would have gone for the bubbly Kai instead.

"Yeah, it's a nickname?" Kai explained, mouth quirking up at one corner. "Her real one is too long for easy use."

"What is your full name, Ark?" Thire murmured. Hound could only just hear him over the music, but he was silently begging his brother not to use one of his pickup lines on the poor woman.

"Arkularia," Ark answered with a grimace. "I know it's a lot."

"I think it's beautiful," Thire said fervently.

Ark's pale cheeks reddened and she gave a single nod in thanks.

Hound's amused look was echoed by those of Thorn and Kai. Thorn, of course, took the chance to egg his brother on.

"What's wrong, Thire? Run out of your famous pick-up lines?"

"Pick-up lines?" Kai asked, sounding intrigued.

Ark's cheeks reddened further. "Do they work often?"

"Ehh…" Thire hedged.

"Never," Hound chimed in.

Thorn took another gulp of whiskey. "Not on the sane ones."

Kai winked at Thorn as she loudly said, "I think Ark wants to hear one of those pick-up lines, Thire. Do you have one for her?"

Thire looked at Ark for direction, but she only lifted a pale brow. Defeated, Thire took a deep breath and put on his cockiest smile. Hound counted Thire as a friend and that smile still made him want to hit the man in the face. "Hey, Ark, I've got a problem. I lost my comlink frequency. Could I have yours?"

The group dissolved into laughter and the proverbial ice between the two groups seemed thoroughly broken.

"So, Corellian whisky, huh?" Thorn asked Kai, who grinned. "You have good taste."

"Back at you," Kai said, inclining her glass to connect lightly with Thorn's. "I don't know how they get away with selling this vintage so cheap here."

Thorn's eyes sharpened and Hound fought back a smirk. The alcohol prices at 79's had been a source of much discussion from Thorn over the years, and Hound was glad his brother had finally found someone to share that interest with. Especially since Hound wouldn't have to be part of the conversation.

"Well, I have to go," Hound said, tipping back the last of his surly sarlacc.

"Wait, what?" Kai asked. The sentiment was backed up by the expression on Thorn's face. Thire and Ark paid exactly no attention to his announcement, their interest clearly captured by each other.

Hound shrugged. "I have to report for an early morning shift in a few hours. I need to rest up if I'm going to make a good impression on the good people of Coruscant."

Thorn frowned. "What are you talking about? Earlier today, you told the commander that you would be fine to stay out late."

Hound pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Why, Thorn! Would I ever be so irresponsible?"

"Always," Thorn said dryly.

"I can't hear you over the music!" Hound shouted, too loud even in the din that was 79's. "See you tomorrow!"

He left before Thorn had a chance to deliver a retort, but he noted with more than a little glee that neither Thire nor Ark had noticed him leaving.

---

Ark I

Thire was charming, there was no doubt about it. He had spent the past two hours asking questions about Ark and actually listening to her answers, as if her every word was fascinating. Most men saw her as an easy way to get to the talkative and flirtatious Kai - at least, if they didn't know anything about who Ark was - but Thire's attention seemed fixed on quiet Ark.

"So, what do you do here on Coruscant?" he asked.

Ark relaxed a fraction. Bars and clubs weren't exactly her scene, but her work? She could talk about that all day.

"Kai and I work as part of an information securities team."

"That sounds… really cool, actually," Thire said, admiration in his voice.

Ark felt an odd urge to preen under the half-compliment before her better sense kicked in and she quashed the temptation. "It pays the bills," she said instead, giving a casual sort of shrug.

"What kind of information securities are we talking about here?" he asked, encouraging her to go on.

For the first time in their conversation, Ark hesitated. Ransom always emphasized how important it was to keep a low profile, but this was Thire. Goofy, pick-up line-using Thire couldn't be anyone of enough importance to get them in trouble.

"Well, we specialize in data recovery," she told him. "Lately, we've been branching out into a new service. Businesses hire us to test security measures and report our findings."

"That's awesome!" Thire enthused, and Ark was relieved to see no hint of deeper understanding or curiosity in his dark eyes. "Do you have, like, a team name?"

"It- It's not exactly a team," she clarified, hoping he wasn't going to get condescending. "It's a business. A thriving one, actually. We're called Red Squad."

Thire frowned and Ark tensed. Would he recognize the name? Instead, he gave a broad grin after a moment had passed. "What a coincidence! We're a red squad!"

"Oh, is red your unit's chosen color?" Ark asked politely.

"Yep, Coruscant Guard crimson," he bragged. "Planetary landing squads will try to make it sound like they have the only important job in the GAR, but keeping Coruscant safe is a lot of work."

"You're permanently stationed on Coruscant?" Ark double-checked, trying to hide the surprise she was feeling. It didn't matter - he saw through her attempt to be subtle.

"You weren't expecting me to be around for very long," Thire summarized. His face went polite and distant rather than being warm and friendly like it had been through their previous conversation.

"Not exactly," she admitted, feeling guilty that her thought process had been almost exactly what he expected. "I mean... I know a lot of troopers have to rotate on and off of Coruscant. Is it nice to stay in one place?"

Thire's eyes thawed slightly. "It is, but sometimes I wish I had the chance to see more places. Actively do more good, you know?"

"I think you do plenty of good here," Ark encouraged softly. She wanted to show him that she wasn't some heartless snob who looked down on the troopers who defended her home. "The war may seem far away from Coruscant, but it's only because you and your brothers work so hard to keep us all safe. Thank you for that."

"Listen, Ark…" Thire said gently, but she had trouble hearing him. Instead, loud cheering from Kai and laughter from Thorn stole her attention as they watched someone on the dance floor.

"I don't believe it - a perfect 30!" Kai shouted while Thorn pounded the table with his fist and roared with laughter.

The idea of seemingly stoic Thorn laughing so hard with cheerful Kai brought a smile to Ark's face, but the sentiment was not shared by Thire. Instead, the trooper scowled across the booth.

"Vod, do you mind?" he asked sharply.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Thorn apologized, waving a hand in Thire's direction.

"Anyway, is it okay if I comm you sometime?" Thire asked, refocusing on Ark. "I'd like to spend time with you somewhere that I can actually hear you."

"Not much to hear, most days," Ark said with a soft smile.

"Still," Thire pressed. "Would that be okay with you?"

Thire smiled at her, the expression lighting up his handsome face, and Ark paused. The evening had been perfect so far, but how would their next encounter go? She worked hard to cultivate the image of a quiet woman whose most interesting traits were tied to her job. Still, Ark had secrets that couldn't come to light, especially around a trooper of the Coruscant Guard. Plus, Thire was a good-looking, charismatic man with skills and interests far exceeding those he needed for his job. He would figure her out - it would only be a matter of time. She should give a polite refusal and keep the memory of this night a perfect one.

Ark opened her mouth, ready to turn him down, but the open nervousness on Thire's face made her pause. She could not reject him. She wasn't strong enough to choose a quick end to their time together.

Instead, she smiled and nodded, fighting a wave of disappointment in herself. She was willing to wring every drop of happiness from their acquaintanceship before the inevitable end. It was dangerous behavior from a woman whose safety relied on secrecy, but she was hopeful that it would be worth it.

---

A/N - So, this story isn't entirely written from Hound's perspective. He just really likes to talk! I promise, the next chapter will feature other narrators, and will introduce the rest of the characters we're missing.

Per request, the chapters will feature individual warnings about potential triggers. If I miss one, please feel free to let me know!

And yes, some of the drink names in this chapter were taken directly from Oga's Cantina in Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge.