#james no longer has a knife kink

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 8

chapter 14:

1. “"Obviously fish have brains. All living beings have brains," Regulus tells him. "Well, except for you."”

ADKDJKSJSKS i’m sure that’s another moment in which regulus wanted to look to sirius as if to say “are you seeing this shit?”

2. 😭😭😭😭 james why are you still figuring out you might have a knife kink?? i been knew since before the arena. plsssss

3. 😭💀 the rocks in jars story

4. 😧 james killed someone for reg. no hesitation. that’s gonna haunt him forever

5. oh god, the tenderness reg uses with james after james murdered someone. he’s so gentle and worried for him. this is gonna haunt them forever

6. in reference to james committing murder: “He has the disjointed thought that his parents must have seen that, as well as Sirius. The last people in the world who would judge him for it, and he still wonders what they're thinking.”

JESUS THAT IS HEARTBREAKING. the people he cares most about isn’t judging him cause they’ve done the same thing. it just hurts

7. god, and now they’re face to face with death eaters. i can’t do this shit anymore

8. 😟😧 oh no.

“James can safely say he doesn't have a knife kink. Blade kink. Sword kink. Any of that—he doesn't have it. No, it's just Regulus he likes, and anything to do with him. When Mulciber has a sword to his throat, it's not sexy at all.”

9. reg’s threats are so scary

10. knowing reg’s loyalty to kill for sirius is fucking wild. he would murder everyone in that arena if it meant keeping sirius safe. and sirius did the same for reg.

11. 😧 shocked. oh my god. jaw dropped. reg is just hacking at mulciber with a hatchet

12. ✨evan✨☺️🩷

13. whoop there it is. in reg’s mind, he mistakingly referred to james as his boyfriend. it’s downhill from here

14. oh god, james is using his “it was self defense and murder is grotesque and not always clean” speech that he used to give to sirius all the time. i wonder how often he’s had to tell that to himself in this arena

15. GOD NOT THE FUCKING BEAR TRAP- JFC CAN THEY HAVE ONE MOMENT IN THIS ARENA???

chapter 15:

1. reg called james baby ☺️🥰💞

2. “"Sirius, you're going send something to fix him, or so help me, when I get out of here, I'm going to rip all of your hair out right from the scalp until you're fucking bald."” LMAOOO REG IS SO PROTECTIVE OF HIS NOT BOYFREIND THATS GONNA HAVE TO DIE ANYWAYS. and he threatened to make sirius bald 😭😭😭

3. “"I like you," James declares cheerfully, and Evan winks at him.” EVAN AND JAMES FRIENDSHIP EVAN AND JAMES FRIENDSHIP EVAN AND JAMES FRIENDSHIP

4. “Sometimes, healing is harder than being hurt.” godDAMMIT he’s right, and that cuts deep into my soul

5. reg and sirius are so like me fr in hating change. for them it’s the needing stability after a childhood of not having it, and for me, it’s autism.

6. reg is absolutely insane sounding and i’m 2000% on board for it

7. reg is willing to kill because they scarred james’ face but still says he hates every breath james takes. bitch. wtf do you mean you hate him? do you not get it yet?

8. 😐 bitch, yet another self indulgent moment that reg calls a parting gift

9. evan and reg team!! 🐈‍⬛🫱🏻‍🫲🏾🐍

10. comparing james to the sun >>>>>>>>>>

11. reg being the best seeker during hide and seek 👀

12. EVANNNN NOOOO

13. 😧 evan says he’s reg’s friend. shit i’m about to sob at one am as i’m writing this. and reg jsut lost the best friend he never got to have

14. god, reading from sirius’ pov now IS making me sob.

15. LMFAOOO I SHOULD NOT BE LAUGHING OVER THE BURNING TREE

16. shame on me for not realizing that the author of crimson rivers also wrote just lovers. i just realized that. like, while reading authors notes. i feel so fucking stupid rn

[allamericanb-tch]

crimson rivers thoughts (7)

@tastetherainbow290 more!! this one is longer

chapter 12

remus pov!!

LILY MENTION i love you lily i hope we see more of her in this

oh no wait what happened

wolfstar is wolfstarring

oh no the games. ugh.

regulus pov <3 i hope he finds evan

snake jump scare

james pov already wow ok

vanity!!! she lives

them boiling the water they’re so smart i love james

taking a break to eat dinner i will be back later.

ok i am back. (i love that im saying this as if my thoughts are being shared in real time)

“you’re going after regulus aren’t you” right as always, pete.

“stop thinking with your cock” PETER you icon

regulus pov again! i hope he finds james

water!!!!! huzzah

what is this spider 😭

james pov again

omg who died

i know it wasn’t regulus but i hope he is okay

wait is the spider like the wolf things?! that’s terrifying actually

omg irene and mathias hi

james interrogating them about regulus 😭

nice one regulus look at you killing avery spider

the lovers have been reunited!!!!

reggie come on don’t kill james

“he’s absolutely gorgeous” james now is not the time 😭

“you’re hesitating, love” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

james “if i have to tie you up and carry you there, you are coming with me” potter

why is james flirting with regulus right now 😭 read the room james

james going with regulus because regulus wont go with james

“what’s it going to be”

chapter 13

another spice warning for this chapter… more jegulus content?! or is it wolfstar. probably wolfstar. although that’s what i said last time and it was jegulus..

young jegulus ❤️‍🩹

“James has always been that infuriating mixture of wonderful and stupid” yeah that’s james.

HELP WHY IS JAMES BEAT BOXING

james. sweetie. i know you don’t want to kill the cute little family of deer but your only other option is to starve to death.

ok but why is this sad

i guess they choose starvation??

james missing sirius ☹️

“we’re a great big tragedy” that is exactly what jegulus is. you summed it up perfectly, thanks regulus

“do you think we would have gotten married” james 😭

REGULUS TRIPPING OVER THAT you know what you did james

“if it was you asking, you know i would have” ahhhhh

of course regulus ate the snake that tried to kill him. icon behavior.

eeeeeeeee jegulus

THE HANDCUFFS james get your mind out of the gutter

“mum dad look away im having impure thoughts” 😭

james doesn’t have his glasses?! how is he seeing right now

me rn: 💔

WHY IS IT ENDING HERE

i can’t even be mad about it because i love dorcas

omg dorcas!!! she’s safe

slow painful death ☹️ gotta be the worst kind

dorlene <333

why is marlene shocked that dorcas enjoyed the games when she was young. she is literally a hallow. and she was a child??

ok they’re flirting now

eeeeeee they’re kissing

ok more than kissing

“eyes up here sweetheart” dorcas im in love with you

i love dorlene this is a nice break from the arena

noooo the moment has been interrupted

fab and gid ☹️ don’t remind me

and its over.

chapter 14

im scared for this one

i really hope evan doesn’t die

“do fish even have brains” 😭 james please

james shamelessly being in love with regulus ugh i love them

of course james has a knife kink

the story <3

yeah sirius would try to eat rocks

“Your gifts at twelve were a lot different than they are at twenty-five” jamesss you

THE PARTING GIFT james you’re teasing the viewers

“everything proceeds to go wrong all at once.” oh no

evan?! i hope that isn’t you

james killed him. oh. my.

regulus is os caring ❤️‍🩹

james having a crisis

they’re holding hands omg

“all james wants is him”

MULCIBER

run joey run (glee cast version)

ouchie that seems like it hurt (wow. great observation from me.)

“when mulciber has a sword to his throat it’s not sexy at all” i would hope not?!

“he looks rather terrifying in a sexy way” james. babe. keep it in your pants you’re about to DIE

ok regulus

this is stressful. i know they both live but it is stressful nonetheless. 

yes james you go girl

HE JUST CHOPPED HIS HAND OFF???!!!!

the spear. i’m getting rue flashbacks.

I KNOW THEY LIVE BUT STILL

EVAN!!!!!!!! he’s alive and here to save the day

i love that evan calls regulus lover boy

evan is going to die and i am not ready

not regulus thinking of james as his boyfriend

“both” ahhhh reggieeeee

jegulus + evan god tier combo

my face when james calls regulus love: 🤭

NO JAMES WHAT

YOU CANT END THE CHAPTER LIKE THIS?! THIS HAS TO BE SOME FORM OF CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT

is james going to go full peeta and lose his leg too

should i read another chapter….

[iloveyou3thousand]

You wanted shameless smut, so here’s shameless smut ;)

CW: explicit sexual content, car sex, unsafe sex, spit as lube, blink and you miss it very mild dub-con

——————————————————————————————

Peter’s close. He’s so very close.

So close he can touch him.

He’s done worse than this before, worse than pretending to be someone else in order to get close enough to an already difficult target to kill them and get his job over with. He wants to go home and feed his cats and watch some television. It feels like it’s been days since he’s been home for anything but to get a quick few hours of sleep, maybe a meal if he was lucky and felt like he had enough time for it.

James Buchanan Barnes is a tough son of a bitch to get close to. It’s not what Peter expected when he first took the job. He expected a pretty easy target, just another guy who’s done something wrong to someone, which was none of Peter’s business in the slightest, but as he got closer to the target he realized that there was probably more to him than meets the eye.

And there is. And it’s infuriating.

Peter has come to terms with the fact that he’s after someone who owns what is probably one of the biggest drug cartels in New York City, if not the biggest, because he’s found an easy way in.

It turns out that James Buchanan Barnes has a soft spot for men. Specifically somewhat younger, eager men.

And Peter sometimes thinks he still has to grow out of some of the baby fat on his cheeks. Right now, it might even work in his favor.

He’s agreed to meet James (Please, darling, Bucky) for dinner, and once they get past the whole ‘I’ve never seen you around before’ spiel, he feels safe enough thinking that Bucky is buying his lies.

They have dinner which Bucky pays for, he forces conversation and the occasional hand down Bucky’s thigh, and Peter can’t help but think that if this had been any other situation he might have actually enjoyed it too.

But this is a man he’s planning on killing and leaving dead in the back of his own car before the end of the night. Hopefully it won’t get traced back to him because Peter’s been very careful. The dinner was a last-minute type of thing after they ‘accidentally’ ran into each other in the street that morning, which had sent Peter’s cup of coffee flying and oh, James was adamant to make up for it once Peter had fluttered his lashes at him a couple of times.

Things should never be that easy.

When their dinner is over with and they move out, Bucky sees Peter shiver and drapes his jacket over the younger man’s shoulders. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Peter was about to kill him, he might have thought that was sweet.

Bucky is far more chivalrous than he could have expected of a man like him. He smiles soft, his touches gentle, his words encouraging. Peter can see how many must have fallen for him before he came along. But it’s not important.

What is important, is that he now has Bucky’s jacket. Protection. He zips it up all the way and wraps his hands around Bucky’s offered arm as they start to walk back to the car. He doesn’t doubt that Bucky thinks he’s coming home with him, that he’s going to let Bucky take him to bed and explore whatever filthy kinks he might have up his sleeve with a young thing such as himself.

Peter briefly wonders what must have happened to his predecessors. The boys who came before him. He hasn’t looked into it, so for all he knows he has a whole harem at home and is planning on adding Peter to his collection of little sex slaves. He doesn’t think a man like James can afford to let boys like Peter go after a night together – although he’s been discreet about what he really does for a living so far. The men before Peter probably walked right into Bucky’s trap of money and good looks.

Maybe he’s a good kisser, too. He looks like he would be.

They get into the backseat of the car and, as expected, when Peter glances faux nervously through the open partition at the back of the driver’s head, Bucky just smiles at him reassuringly and reaches over to slide the partition shut.

“There,” he says, a large, warm hand landing on Peter’s knee, “Some privacy.”

Some privacy indeed. Peter slowly climbs into Bucky’s lap, which as the man’s brows rise in a pleased but surprised way, his own hands settling on the man’s shoulders while Bucky’s settle on his hips. Their new position allows him to be able to reach for the razor sharp knife holstered along his ankle with which he plans to cut his target’s throat.

If he does it right, this can be over in under a minute.

Bucky’s hands smooth up his hips and to his waist and then down again to pull him closer into his lap. If Peter wasn’t so focused he might have enjoyed those kinds of touches. He is always working, always on the job, and rarely has time for things outside of that. Relationships, friends, the like. He’s chosen that lifestyle because it’s made him the best damn assassin around. His dedication is unmatched, and he’s perfected his level of skill in a much shorter time than others might have. He’s good at what he does and he’s proud of it.

But he does allow himself to indulge in a kiss.

He doesn’t stop Bucky when he leans forward and captures his lips with his own, pulling at his hips until their bodies are flush together. Like this, Peter can’t get in between them well enough to finish the job, but it will probably be over soon anyway, right?

Incorrect.

Bucky kisses like he’s willing to make Peter suffocate for it.

He holds him tightly in his lap and nips at his lower lip and traces the seam of his mouth until Peter can’t do anything other than gasp into the kiss and allow Bucky’s tongue entrance to his mouth.

It’s slick and it’s warm and Bucky tastes like the chocolate dessert they shared and Peter can’t stop the soft sound that bubbles up in his throat at a particularly delicious swipe of the other man’s tongue.

But he reminds himself he has a mission. He can’t think with his dick. Especially not right now.

So he reaches for the holster and moans to disguise the sound of the sheath opening, one hand wrapping firmly around the handle of the knife while the other one fists into Bucky’s hair, and he pulls his head back at the same moment as he brings the knife up—

And he feels something cold press into his stomach, just under his shirt.

Peter’s eyes focus on Bucky’s face up close and he sees the way he’s watching him.

“Didn’t they ever tell you never to bring a knife to a gun fight, baby boy?”

Bucky’s voice is calm and amused. Peter realizes he’s got the end of the barrel of a gun pressing firmly into his abdomen. Bucky shoves it in a little harder until Peter almost winces, and slowly takes the knife away from where it’s rested against James’ throat.

“You can drop that into the foot hold for me. Go on.”

Peter does as he’s told and drops the knife, knows it probably disappears under the seats somewhere. Even if he manages to get to it, it’s unlikely he’ll grab it in time.

He stubbornly refuses to let go of Bucky’s hair though. He scolds himself. Stupid. So stupid. He was too caught up in the kiss to notice that one of Bucky’s hands had dropped from his waist, too focused on the swipe of Bucky’s tongue and how it felt to be kissed after so long.

How could he let something like this distract him enough to warrant dropping his guard and make a fatal mistake like that?

Peter knows he’s not going to get out of this alive. And if he does, it’s going to be through some sheer force of luck.

Bucky lets out a slow breath and the press of the gun on Peter’s abdomen eases up just a touch, which in turn has Peter’s grip on Bucky’s hair loosen enough that the man can lean forward and brush an unexpected kiss to Peter’s jaw.

“It’s a pity,” he says, “I actually really liked you, too.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Peter huffs back.

The gun shifts, pulls away, and Peter can see from the corner of his eye how it’s lowered, until he feels it press up against his crotch where, until now, he didn’t realize that he’s hard in his jeans.

“I’m doing no such thing, sweetheart.”

Peter tries to inch away, curve his back to get away from the chill pressing up against his cock, but Bucky’s one remaining hand on his hip still keeps him firmly in place.

“Don’t worry. If it’s any consolation, I’m not doing any better myself.”

It’s not a consolation, no, but… At least he’s still got it, Peter thinks. Bucky continues.

“You’re quiet, all of a sudden. Cat got your tongue? I figured you’d at least try to talk yourself out of this one.”

Peter gives a small smile. “I’m just waiting for you to decide whether or not you’re going to pull the trigger. It’s taking you longer than I expected.”

That has Bucky smiling, too, and he kisses Peter’s chin again, knowing that he could do anything he wants to do to him right now. He has the upper hand in the form of a gun. The man seems to consider this for a moment.

“I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth it to put my gun away and continue what we were doing before you tried to kill me.” Peter looks down to Bucky’s neck and sees that he left a little nick, but nothing more. There’s a small drop of blood gathered somewhere in the middle, but it’s the type of cut that isn’t even going to leave a scar. He came close, but not close enough.

Peter licks his lips. “Only one way to find out.”

It takes James a minute to make up his mind before he slowly retreats his gun from Peter’s crotch, switches on the safety, and drops it back into a compartment in the side of the door that Peter hadn’t even noticed before. It’s probably where he keeps it.

The compartment clicks shut, and Bucky forces their lips together again.

With their primary weapons out of the way, clothes start to come off quickly – especially Peter’s. James is clearly eager to get naked, and whether that’s because he wants to make sure he’s not carrying any more weapons or because he can’t wait to sink Peter onto his cock is unclear, but Peter is happy to comply regardless.

He tears at Bucky’s shirt himself when he gets impatient with the buttons on it, and moves his hands over the man’s chest, over old and new scars and through a light dusting of hair over his clavicle while Bucky shoves two fingers into Peter’s mouth. The digits are slightly salty on his tongue but he moves the muscle around them enthusiastically, laving at them until they’re spit-slick and glistening when Bucky pulls them out with a softly muttered word of praise.

Bucky grabs at Peter’s ass and parts his cheeks to bluntly press in one of the slick fingers, and Peter’s breath hitches as he pushes a little farther than his body can handle. He clenches down but Bucky’s mouth on his collarbone helps him relax until he’s rocking back against Bucky’s hand and a second finger is added.

There’s not enough spit to properly ease Bucky’s way, but Peter can’t find it in himself to care, and the more Bucky curls his fingers into a spot that has Peter’s already hard and leaking cock ache some more, the more he loosens up for the intrusion.

Peter takes it upon himself so undo the front of Bucky’s pants and pulls his cock out to stroke it, moaning when Bucky retaliates by forcing his fingers in that little bit deeper.

“I can take it,” Peter breathes. Bucky doesn’t look entirely convinced but also too horny to care.

“If you say so,” he murmurs, and retreats his hand to spit into his palm and give himself a rough few strokes.

He pulls Peter closer until their chests are aligned and Peter can reach behind himself to guide Bucky’s cock to his fluttering hole, sitting back against the large head until he feels his body yield to swallow him down – slowly at first, and then quickly all at once with the help of an impatient roll of Bucky’s hips.

Peter keens when he settles fully into Bucky’s lap, the hand with which he guided Bucky’s cock now braced on the man’s knee, thighs shaking.

He’s big. Feels bigger than he looks. But Peter’s rocking back before he has even adjusted properly.

Bucky’s hands are on his hips helping him move, his eyes on how Peter’s cock, curled against his stomach and blushed red, draws a little line of precome between the head and Peter’s belly every time they touch with another roll of Peter’s hips.

“Fuck, baby boy,” Bucky sighs.

Peter’s eyes close as he concentrates on the feeling of Bucky’s cock inside him, stretching him, pressing into all the spots he never seems to be able to reach when he’s by himself. Even without Bucky touching him he’s not going to last very long, but he keeps up his pace, chasing that feeling of heat swirling just behind his belly button.

When Bucky wraps an unexpected hand around his cock Peter cries out when suddenly he can’t hold back any longer. Bucky curses beneath him and rocks up harshly a few times, undoubtedly taking advantage of how tight Peter’s become, stroking him roughly through his orgasm until he stills with a grunt and Peter can feel how he empties himself inside of him.

They’re both panting as they slow to a stop, Peter’s hole still twitching around Bucky’s cock, milking him for everything he’s got. Bucky mouths at Peter’s neck and shoulder like he just can’t get enough of him, and Peter’s too fucked out to even consider pushing him away.

It feels too good, anyway.

He doesn’t move from Bucky’s lap, and Bucky doesn’t make him.

The car has stopped moving, Peter notices absently, they’ve probably arrived at their destination – wherever that may be – and might have already been there for God knows how long.

Killing Bucky has long since left the forefront of his mind. He’s not thinking about his mission anymore. He’s thinking about how good it feels to be filled, how he can’t believe it’s taken him this long to give in to something like this again.

Bucky pulls back to look at him and it draws Peter’s attention.

“Ready to go inside?” Bucky asks. Peter looks skeptical for a moment.

“Depends,” he muses, “What’s going to happen inside?”

The way Bucky’s hand tightens its grip on his hip and effectively pushes Bucky’s still half-hard cock deeper into him, gives Peter enough of an indication.

He doesn’t have to think hard about it, which probably isn’t a good sign.

To hell with his mission anyway.

“Fine. But only if you carry me.”

[a-splash-of-stucky]

(my love will) keep you warm

Read this on AO3 Square Filled: Cock Warming Ship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: E Major Tags: Dom Steve, Sub Bucky, Exhibitionism, Public sex, Criminal AU Word Count: 5238 Summary:

Bucky is the best cock warmer that Steve could ever ask for — and the entire criminal world of Brooklyn knows it.

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Notes: Day 3 of my Steve’s 100th bday celebration. If you’ve seen Chris Evans’ tweet to Octavia Spencer on his bday, then you’ll know why I chose that particular word when you see it.

Full disclosure: idk how criminal organisations work, y’all. This is just some kinky AU were Steve’s a bad guy, but he’s also That Guy™, the one that you can always go to when you need a favour to be done.

Lastly: COCK WARMING IS MY KINK JAM. MY LOVE FOR IT IS THROUGH THE ROOF (in other words, prepare yourselves for some filth)

Stucky Masterlist

Steve is starting to lose his patience.

“I can get ‘em for you Tony, just buy me some time,” Steve says, for perhaps the tenth time in as many minutes. Tony’s put-upon chivalry is starting to grate on his nerves.

“Well I don’t have, time, Cap, I need that Chitauri tech now,” Tony snaps, waving his cigarette around as he paces the length of Steve’s office, his designer shoes practically carving a groove into Steve’s rug.

“Look, y’know I hate to spring this on you, Cap,” Tony sighs, pressing his fingers to his temple, “I appreciate you talkin’ to me at all, but—help a guy out here, Cap. I’m a dead man walking right now, you know that.”

Steve sighs in frustration, raking his fingers through his hair.

The tension between them is so thick that it’s almost palpable; if he tried, Steve could probably slice through it with a knife. He and Tony have been (barely) civil towards each other for the meeting thus far

– Steve’s hoping that things’ll stay that way for a while longer.

He and Tony are not on the best of terms. A job gone wrong two years ago had culminated in a particularly gruesome shoot-out, with both Steve and Tony’s crews taking heavy losses. The botched job had resulted in Tony suffering a chest wound which had put him out of action for several months, whilst Steve had been forced to go deep underground, so as to not get caught by the Feds.

This is the first time that he’s seeing Tony in person since the events of that fateful night; the fact that Tony is here at all is a pretty significant development in their relationship. Whilst Steve and Tony may never be as close as they once were, Steve doesn’t hold a grudge against him. He’s got bigger things to worry about, anyway.

“I know, Stark,” Steve says finally. “I said I’d help you when you needed it, and I will, just—you gotta admit, this is pretty tight.”

Tony huffs, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Look, okay – two weeks, that’s the best that I can give you, Cap.”

Steve growls in frustration, his fingers tightening their grip on the armrests of his office chair. Between his legs, perhaps sensing his growing irritation, Bucky taps his tongue against the underside of Steve’s cock, teasing the vein there.

The brief sensation eases the tension in Steve’s chest. His attention turns to Bucky, who is naked and kneeling between Steve’s thighs. There is a soft cushion underneath his knees to protect them from the cold wooden floor. Bucky’s wrists are crossed at the small of his back, one hand clasped in the other. He holds Steve’s semi-hard cock between his lips.

Steve’s little cock warmer.

Steve threads the fingers of his right hand through Bucky’s hair. Bucky huffs, his breath ghosting over Steve’s dick. His eyelids flutter as Steve gently scratches his scalp.

“That’s the best you can give me?” Steve asks, dragging his gaze away from his sweet boy, back to Tony. He’s a little calmer now – Bucky has helped to re-focus his attention.

Tony shrugs apologetically. “Any more’n that and people’ll start gettin’ suspicious.”

Steve nods slowly, as he mulls over the problem in his head. “I know a guy. I’ll talk to ‘im, see if we can’t get ‘em to you within a week.”

“You do that, and I’ll get Pep to send you a gift basket,” Tony drawls, as he turns on his heel and strides to the door. He pauses with his fingers on the handle, body turned slightly towards Steve.

“I—do wish that things hadn’t happened the way they did,” he says tersely.

It’s the best apology that Steve’s going to get from him. “Me too, Stark. I don’t hold it against you, just…double-check the facts next time, yeah?”

Tony nods curtly, before pulling the door open and slipping out.

Steve stretches his arms above his head and groans quietly, rolling his head to work out the cricks in his neck. It’s meeting day, which means that Steve Rogers, known as ‘The Captain’ to all but his closest associates, is cooped up in his tastefully-decorated office. He’s seeing a whole range of people that have reached out to him with favours they need doing.

Steve’s not your average criminal.

Sure, he’s pulled off a couple of heists and stolen his fair share of things that should’ve been impossible to steal, but he grew out of that particular criminal phase pretty quickly. Orchestrating and masterminding his own grand schemes is exhausting – he much prefers helping others fulfil their own evil dreams.

As such, he’s earned himself a reputation as the guy to turn to when you need some cash, or some new weapons, or even some spy-work to be done. Steve and his team – consisting of Natasha and Sam – pool their combined resources and expertise to help people out. It’s a pretty neat business, if a little out of the ordinary.

Though Steve knows that he’s got a couple more people waiting to see him, he decides to give some attention to his little boy, who has been doing such a good job at keeping Steve’s cock warm. With a smile on his lips, Steve leans forward to grab the glass of water on his desk.

“Bucky,” he coos, stroking the knuckles of his free hand over his sweet boy’s cheek to get his attention. “Sweet boy, you’ve been so good, can you take a sip of water for me?”

Steve threads his fingers through Bucky’s dark hair and gently eases him off his cock. It slips out of Bucky’s mouth with a wet plop. Bucky’s lips are glistening, slick with spit. Steve brings the glass to his boy’s lips and coaxes him to take a few sips, murmuring quiet words of praise all the while.

“Can you check in with me, baby? What’s your colour?” Steve asks, as he sets the glass back onto the desk.

“Green, sir,” Bucky whispers.

“Thank you, sweet boy,” Steve replies, his fingers stroking over Bucky’s neck, just above the thick leather collar he wears. Bucky sighs at the touch, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Feelin’ sore anywhere?” Steve prompts, “Your knees, your back – wanna take a break, walk around for a sec?”

Bucky shakes his head no. “M’good, sir,” he breathes, tipping his head back slightly. Steve chuckles, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to Bucky’s lips.

Steve knows that their relationship is a little unorthodox.

Not in the fact that Bucky is Steve’s little boy, no, just in the fact that they are both so open about it. Steve knows that plenty of people are involved in this sort of relationship, but he’s never heard of any couple who are as public as he and Bucky are.

Those who are new to Steve’s method of operation tend to be a little unsettled by it. It’s one thing to have a kept boy, it’s a different thing entirely to have him naked and sucking on your cock like a goddamn pacifier when you’re having a meeting. Any qualms they might have are soon pushed aside, however, as people quickly learn that it’s something that they need to get used to if they want to do business with Steve. This is how things roll in his corner of Brooklyn.

The premise for Bucky being around during Steve’s meetings is simple: Steve hates spending a moment apart from his sweet boy. Plus, a few too many kidnapping scares in the past have taught Steve that the best way to keep Bucky safe is to keep him close.

Bucky loves being useful, and what better way to put him to use than to make him Steve’s little cock warmer? It’s an activity that keeps Bucky occupied, within Steve’s line of sight and most importantly, puts them both at ease. There is also the added bonus of Bucky’s presence tempering Steve’s notoriously short temper; Steve tends to be more lenient, more magnanimous when he’s got his boy wrapped around his dick.

“Please sir, can I have it back?” Bucky asks quietly, looking at Steve with big, pleading eyes.

Steve chuckles. “Have what back, precious?”

“Your cock, sir,” Bucky says breathily, a hint of a smile curling on his lips.

“Mmm, you want in your mouth, Buck? Need it to fill you up again?” Steve asks, his voice turning dark and gravelly.

Bucky jerks his head in a nod. “Uh-huh, please, sir.”

A sharp rap on the door causes Steve’s attention to be drawn away from Bucky momentarily. Natasha enters the office, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. She’s dressed in a crisp black suit, the jacket tailored to her petite shoulders and the trousers emphasising the curve of her hips. Natasha has worked with Steve for over ten years – there’s no one else he’d trust as his second in command.

Because she’s been working with Steve for so long, she doesn’t bat an eyelash at Bucky’s nude state, nor does she give a second glance at Steve’s dick, which is hanging out of his fly. Natasha’s learned to live with the fact that Bucky and Steve are about as kinky as people get.

A quick glance at her face tells Steve that she means business; her lips are set in a grim, determined line. He straightens in his chair.

“What’ve we got next?” he asks her.

The corners of her mouth pull into a frown. “You’re not gonna like it. It’s Rumlow.”

Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust. “What’s he want?”

“Says he’s got a favour he needs to ask. Something about borrowing some boys for a job.”

“Again?” Steve groans, “After what happened last time?”

A few months back, Steve had sent a team of his guys out to Seattle with Rumlow’s squad, providing him with extra manpower on a smuggling job. The whole thing had gone south pretty fast, costing Steve a couple of his best guys.

“Fuckin’ asshole put a bullet in my thigh, d’you think I’ve forgiven him?” Nat grumbles. She’d been one of the people who had volunteered to go to Seattle.

Steve clicks his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head. “Did he say what he wanted to do with ‘em, at least?”

Natasha shrugs indifferently. “Nah, not really, y’know how he is. Said some shit about tryna pull off another raid.”

“Pull off another?” Steve snorts, “To do that he’d need to pull off one first.”

Natasha smirks. “So. Do I get him in?”

Steve sighs. “Gimme a sec,” he mutters, holding up a finger.

To deal with Rumlow and his merry band of knuckleheads, Steve’s going to need a sedative that’s a little stronger than Bucky’s mouth. He turns his attention back to his sweet boy, who has been waiting so patiently between Steve’s legs.

“Bucky?” Steve murmurs, stroking his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Little boy, look at me please, I need you to listen.”

Bucky does as he’s told, his gaze soft and trusting.

“Baby boy, m’gonna need you to move,” Steve says. Bucky whimpers in distress, lips pressed into an unhappy line.

“Hush now, let me finish,” Steve says, combing his fingers through Bucky’s hair soothingly. “Pretty boy, m’gonna need you to get me nice and hard with your mouth, and then m’gonna need you to come up here and sit on my cock, ‘kay?”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he nods fervently. “Yes, sir, I can do that,” he rasps, already craning his head forward.

Steve keeps his fingers twined in Bucky’s long hair – reminding him of who’s in charge – but otherwise, lets his sweet boy do as he pleases. Steve’s already a little hard from being kept warm in Bucky’s mouth, so it won’t take much for him to fatten up completely.

Bucky starts off with tiny, kitten-licks around the head of Steve’s dick, brief flutters of sensation that have Steve sighing with pleasure. Because he knows that he’s on a time crunch, Bucky wastes no time opening his lips wide and swallowing Steve down nearly all the way. Steve grunts, his hips making a jerky, aborted thrust into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky sucks him off wet and sloppy, spit drooling out of the corner of his mouth as he chokes himself on Steve’s cock. A pleasant warmth spreads through Steve, arousal pooling in his groin as the blood in his body rushes to fill his dick. Bucky’s eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed over as he huffs and moans around Steve’s cock.  

“Fuck, sweet boy, you’re so good, that’s it,” Steve praises, as he tightens his fingers in Bucky’s hair. He uses his grip to hold Bucky still.

Bucky gets the message, relaxing his jaw and opening his lips wide. Steve fucks his cock into Bucky’s mouth with short, sharp thrusts, grunting in ecstasy as he uses his beautiful, sweet boy the way he wants to. Bucky hums happily, eyelids drooping shut as Steve shoves his cock down his throat.

Though Steve would like to keep at it for longer, he has business to attend to. Gently, he eases Bucky off his cock, the head popping free of Bucky’s lips with a lewd squelch. A thin gossamer of spit connects Bucky’s bottom lip to the head of Steve’s dick.

“Stand up, my pretty boy,” Steve orders, his voice quiet, but brooking no protests.

Bucky does as he’s told, a little unsteady on his legs from kneeling on the ground for so long. Steve places his hands on Bucky’s hips to help steady him. Bucky’s little cock is inches from Steve’s face, hard and curving towards his belly, the tip covered in pre-come. Steve chooses to ignore it as he strokes his hands over Bucky’s pelvis, stopping when he reaches Bucky’s inner thighs. He taps his fingers twice, prompting Bucky to spread his legs.

Steve uses his right hand to reach behind Bucky’s balls, his fingers seeking out the princess plug that he had put in earlier. He uses the tip of his index finger to trace his baby’s stretched rim, causing Bucky’s entire body shivers in anticipation.

“M’gonna take it out, okay sweetheart?” Steve says softly.

“Yes, sir,” Bucky whispers.

Steve grabs hold of the base and slips the plug out gently, in one smooth motion. Bucky whines at the emptiness. Steve shushes him, using his free had to pet Bucky’s hip as he reaches over to snag the bottle of lube that’s on the edge of his desk.

He slicks up his fingers before pressing them into Bucky’s hole, twisting them around to re-coat Bucky’s walls. Bucky gasps at the intrusion, his muscles twitching involuntarily. Steve groans as his fingers are engulfed by Bucky’s tight heat, his cock throbbing in anticipation of sliding into that indescribable warmth. His little boy is already slick and stretched out from their play earlier this morning, but Steve can never be too cautious.

Steve withdraws his fingers from Bucky’s hole and squirts some more lube into his hand. Bucky is watching him intently, his gaze lust-darkened and hungry. He parts his lips on a quiet moan as he watches Steve slick up his own cock, jerking himself with a loose wrist and languid motions. After wiping his hand on a handkerchief that he pulls out of his breast pocket, Steve takes hold of Bucky’s elbow to pull him closer.

“You’ve been a good boy, haven’t you?” Steve asks, as he presses a kiss to the centre of Bucky’s chest.

Bucky ducks his head shyly. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs.

Steve hums in agreement. “Mm, I know y’have. You know what good boys get as their reward?”

Bucky’s breath hitches. “Your cock, sir?”

Steve growls, nipping Bucky’s pec with his teeth. “Yeah, that’s right, sweet thing. D’you want my cock, baby boy?”

“Yes, sir—please, sir,” Bucky says fervently.

“C’mon then, in my lap,” Steve says, leaning back in his chair.

Bucky grips onto Steve’s shoulders and swings his legs over Steve’s thighs, moving with the poise and elegance of a dancer. As he hovers over Steve’s lap, Steve grasps his cock and guides the head to Bucky’s entrance. Bucky shudders when he feels the pressure of the tip pressing against his hole. He drops his weight slowly, sinking onto Steve’s cock in one controlled movement. Steve throws his head back and groans as the tight warmth of Bucky’s channel envelops his dick. Bucky’s got his bottom lip between his teeth to hold back his cries of pleasure.

When he’s fully seated on Steve’s cock, with Steve’s balls pressed tight to his ass, Bucky drops his forehead onto Steve’s shoulder and groans quietly.

“Okay, baby boy?” Steve asks, “Get comfy, we could be here for a while.”

Bucky nods weakly, before shifting his legs until they’re folded neatly, his calves bracketing Steve’s thighs. Steve inhales sharply when Bucky’s muscles clench and ripple around his dick. Once Bucky’s found a position he’s happy with, Steve pets his back and peppers Bucky’s temple with kisses, helping to settle him down.

Steve gives the tip of his ear a final kiss when he feels that Bucky has stilled completely, before turning his attention back to matters of business. He looks to Natasha, who until now has been sitting on a chair at the side of the room, fiddling with her phone, politely ignoring Steve and Bucky. Sensing his eyes on her, Natasha looks up, an expectant expression on her face.

“Done?”

Steve nods. “Go bring ‘em in.”

“D’you want me to stay?” she asks, as she walks to the door.

“Please,” Steve replies. “I can’t bear to deal with those idiots alone.”

Natasha snorts as she throws the door open. She pokes her head out and yells at Sam, who’s been tasked with managing the waiting room.

“Sammy! Send the next one in, would you?”

Steve hears the thump of heavy boots on the wooden floor. Natasha steps to the side, pushing the door open wider so that Rumlow can come in. He is flanked by two of his guys – Sitwell and someone that Steve hasn’t seen before. The new guy’s eyes widen, jaw dropping open in shock when he sees Bucky in Steve’s lap.

“What the fuck?” he hisses, mostly to himself.

Rumlow rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Rollins,” he snaps. He tips his head to Steve in greeting.

“Hey Cap, nice set-up you got there.”

Steve quirks his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

The stark contrast between him and Bucky is a little strange, so he can’t blame the new guy – Rollins – for his shock. Bucky wears nothing besides the collar around his neck that marks him as Steve’s. Steve, on the other hand, is fully clothed, wearing a charcoal grey suit, a white shirt and a blue tie that complements his eyes. The only thing that shatters his composed exterior is the fact that his cock is currently buried to the hilt in Bucky’s ass.  

“So, what d’you need this time, Rumlow?” Steve asks.

Rumlow rolls his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest. “Me and the boys got word of a shipment of precious cargo leaving the docks tomorrow,” he says cryptically. “We’re gonna raid it.”

Steve cocks his head to the left. “Okay, that’s what you’re plannin’ to do, what d’you need from me?”

“It’s a big job, my crew ain’t big enough,” Rumlow says, “Was wondering if you could loan me a couple of your boys.”

Steve snorts. “After last time?” he retorts, pointedly eyeing the ugly scarring on Rumlow’s left arm, a remnant of the Seattle job that had gone wrong. Rumlow shifts uncomfortably, moving his arm to hide it from Steve’s accusing gaze.

“It was a freak job, Cap,” Rumlow grits out. “No one could’ve saw it happenin’ like that!”

“Rumlow, m’sorry, I ain’t gonna give my guys to you,” Steve says firmly.

Rumlow grinds his teeth together in anger. “Fine. Then what’re you willin’ to give me?”

“I dunno, what’re you willin’ to trade?” Steve asks dryly.

Rumlow pauses to think. Sitwell leans forward and whispers something in his ear.

“You need some mules, Cap?” Rumlow asks, “I got a couple’a greens that could use some breakin’ in from you. Or maybe you need someone with more experience? I can give you that…”

Rumlow continues to list potential repayments as his voice fades to background noise in Steve’s head. He’s trying to pay attention, but Bucky wiggling and shifting restlessly in his lap is stealing all of his focus. Steve holds a hand up, interrupting Rumlow mid-sentence.

“Hang on a sec, fellas, I’ll get back to you in a minute,” Steve mutters.

Steve presses his lips to the shell of Bucky’s ear. “Precious, what’s wrong, what’s your colour?” he asks urgently.

“Green, sir,” Bucky whispers.

“Good boy, Bucky,” Steve praises, stroking his hands down Bucky’s back. “I know you need some attention, baby boy, but I need you to wait a little, yeah?”

Bucky whimpers in distress.

“Shh, now,” Steve soothes, “You’re bein’ so good for me, little one, I just need you to be good for a bit longer, ‘kay? Almost done.”

“S-sir,” Bucky breathes, lifting his head a little, turning to look at Steve with enormous, pleading eyes. There’s wetness pooling in the corners. “Sir, I-I can’t—can you—please, I need—”

Unable to voice his thoughts, Bucky shifts back a little. His eyes flick to his dick, before meeting Steve’s again, the desire apparent in his gaze.

Steve clucks his tongue sympathetically. “Oh, you poor thing, you need me to touch you a little, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh, please, sir,” Bucky says desperately.

Steve presses his lips to Bucky’s hair as he takes Bucky’s dick in his hand. It’s small enough for Steve’s large fist to engulf it entirely. He gives Bucky a few quick, rough strokes, flicking his thumb over the sensitive tip on every upstroke. Bucky mouths weakly at the side of Steve’s neck, trying to fight back his moans. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, the tension bleeding out of his body as his lungs empty. Steve takes his hand away and Bucky groans, slumping forward and resting his forehead against Steve’s neck.

“There you go, sweet thing, you okay now?” Steve asks, squeezing Bucky’s hip affectionately.

“Uh-huh, thank you, sir,” Bucky breathes, nodding his head.

“My pleasure, baby boy,” Steve says, “Be good for me, okay?”

Having taken care of Bucky, Steve turns his attention to the rest of the room. Rumlow and his goons are looking on with flabbergasted expressions on their faces; behind them, from her position by the door, Natasha is fighting to suppress her laughter. When Steve meets her gaze, she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.

Show-off, she mouths.

Steve smirks. “So, what d’you think, Romanoff?” he asks loudly, “How’re we dealing with this?”

“We’ll provide you with some tech that should make the job easier, Rumlow.” Natasha replies smoothly, schooling her face into a serious expression. “In return, you’ll give us a 7 percent cut.”

Rumlow growls quietly, a disgruntled expression on his face. It’s clear that he’s unhappy with the deal, but also recognises that it’s the best they’re going to get from Steve. “Fine,” he bites out, before turning on his heel and stalking out the door, Rollins and Sitwell hot on his heels.

Steve snorts. “Not even a thank you,” he grouses.

“Savages,” Nat agrees.

“S’ that it, then?” Steve asks hopefully. “No more?”

Natasha shakes her head. “We’ve got one left. Loki.”

Steve brightens immediately. “Aw, we like Loki, don’t we Buck?”

Bucky nods quickly. Loki has helped Steve secure some special presents for Bucky in the past.

“C’mon, let’s give Loki a lil’ show, huh?” Steve purrs, nipping Bucky’s ear for emphasis.

“Seriously, Rogers?” Nat grumbles.

“Shut up, Nat, just gimme a sec,” Steve mutters. To Bucky, he says, “Sweet boy, can you stand up for me? We need to turn you around.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky says easily. He lifts himself onto his knees, wincing as Steve’s cock drags over his prostate. When it slips out of his ass, Bucky whines, unhappy at the emptiness. Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s waist and guides him to turn around. Bucky grabs onto the arms of Steve’s office chair, his legs spread wide over Steve’s thighs, feet planted on the floor.

“Go slow, baby boy, make it count,” Steve tells him, as he grasps the base of his cock to steady it. “Spread that ass for me, Buck, lemme see you take my cock.”

Bucky’s back muscles ripple as a shudder runs through him. He grabs a handful of his ass in both hands, spreading his cheeks wide, exposing his hole to Steve’s hungry gaze. His little hole is pink and puffy and swollen, glistening with lube. Steve presses his hand on the small of Bucky’s back, forcing him to arch it further, rounding his ass out.

“’Kay, baby, fill that ass up,” Steve rasps.

Bucky lowers himself onto Steve’s cock at a painfully slow pace. Steve moans as he watches Bucky’s stubborn rim struggle to stretch over the head of his dick, then grunts when he finally breaches Bucky’s hole. Little huffs of pleasure escape Bucky’s mouth as he works himself onto Steve’s cock, his muscles trembling with the effort of going slow. Steve too has to fight his own urges, resisting the temptation to grab hold of Bucky’s hips and slam his cock deep into Bucky’s ass.

“Goddamn, baby boy, fuck,” Steve hisses, “Takin’ me so good, oh m’god, wish you could see, baby.”

“Sir,” Bucky whispers, “Sir, you feel so big, oh.”

“Oh, Jesus, look’it you, sweet boy,” Steve murmurs, palming Bucky’s ass cheeks, spreading them further apart. “Takin’ me so good, baby, m’so proud of you.”

“Sir, sir,” Bucky says helplessly, chanting the word under his breath like a prayer.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet boy, all the way, c’mon,” Steve says, his hands roaming over Bucky’s back as his boy takes the last couple of inches into his channel, dropping his full weight into Steve’s lap.

Steve wraps both his arms around Bucky’s waist and sits back, coaxing Bucky to lean against his chest. His legs are draped over Steve’s lap, body soft and pliant. Bucky purrs contentedly as Steve runs his palms down his torso, stopping briefly to paw at his pecs. Bucky’s head is lolling against Steve’s shoulder, a blissed-out expression on his face.

His breathing hitches when Steve curls his hand around Bucky’s little dick possessively – not stroking, just holding, in a show of ownership. Steve imagines what Bucky must look like, all soft and fucked-out, his hole clearly visible, stretched out over Steve’s girth.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath when Steve kisses his cheek. “Okay, little one?” he asks.

“Yes, sir—thank you, sir,” Bucky says breathlessly.

With his little cock warmer in place, Steve turns his attention to Natasha, a silent request in his eyes. She nods and throws open the door.

“Sammy! Tell him to come through!” she yells.

A few moments later, a pale man wearing an emerald suit walks through the door, his jet-black hair slicked away from his face. He moves with a feline grace, dropping into the chair in front of Steve’s desk in one fluid motion.

“Loki.”

“Captain. You look well,” Loki says, tipping his head forward.

“Thank you,” Steve replies.

Loki casts his gaze over Bucky, his eyes lingering on the leather collar and on Steve’s hand wrapped around Bucky’s hard dick.

“My best wishes to your boy,” he says softly. “I hear your anniversary was a couple of weeks ago?”

“Thank you—yes, it was,” Steve says, running his free hand down Bucky’s flank. He can feel Bucky’s ribs shudder as he exhales. “Now, I’m sure you’re not here to make small talk with me.”

“That assumption would be correct.”

Steve huffs. “Well, why are you here, then?”

Loki sighs. “It’s about my brother.”

“Thor? What happened to him?”

“He’s…missing,” Loki says. Steve gets the impression that he’s purposefully being cryptic.

“Missing,” Steve echoes. “We’re gonna need more detail than that if you want us to help.”

“Yes, of course,” Loki says. “I haven’t seen him in six, going on seven days. No contact whatsoever, which is completely unlike him.”

Steve hums, brows knitting in concern. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“At my house,” Loki replies. “We had dinner together.”

“D’you know who took ‘im?” Steve asks.

Loki rolls his eyes. “If I knew, Captain, then I assure you that I wouldn’t be here, grovelling for your help,” he snaps.

Bucky stirs in Steve’s arms, squirming listlessly. Steve tightens his grip around Bucky’s cock and jerks him quickly, which immediately makes Bucky still.

“What’s wrong, baby boy?” Steve breathes, his lips next to Bucky’s ear so that Loki won’t catch their conversation.

“He sounds kinda angry at you, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, barely moving his lips.

“Oh, sweet thing, are you worried for me?” Steve asks. Bucky nods in reply.

“S’alright, Buck,” Steve soothes, rubbing his free hand in gentle circles on Bucky’s chest. “S’just how he is.”

Bucky nods, settling down again. Steve turns his attention back to Loki, who is watching them with curiosity written on his features.

“Quite the pet you have there, Captain,” Loki comments.

“I know,” Steve says proudly. “He’s the best little boy I could ever want.”

Bucky ducks his head shyly, equal parts embarrassed and pleased by the praise.

“Alright then, Loki,” Steve says, dragging everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand. “What d’you need me to do?”

“Valkyrie, you remember her, yes?”

Steve nods; he’s seen her with Loki before, with her dark hair and sharp eyes.

“She has reason to suspect that Thor has been taken by the Guardians,” Loki tells him.

Steve’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. “Who, Quill and all? Those nutjobs? How’d they get a hold of ‘im?”

Loki spreads his hands wide. “Your guess is as good as mine, Captain.”

“Alright then, what d’you need?”

“I know you have connections to their group,” Loki says. “Use them. Find out if he’s there – I’ll handle the rest.”

Steve can do that. He’ll talk to Strange, see if he can get the man to pay Quill a visit in the next few days.

“Consider it done,” Steve says. “I’ll mobilise my guy, extract what intel we can – we’ll meet again in a couple’a days. Romanoff can send you the coordinates for where.”

“Your help is much appreciated, Captain,” Loki says, as he rises smoothly.

“Nat, show him out, would you?” Steve calls.

Natasha nods as she pulls the door open and gestures for Loki to walk ahead. “Have fun, boys,” she says, winking cheekily as she closes the door behind her.

Left alone, with his business finally done for the day, Steve can finally devote all of his focus to his sweet boy, who has been so good for him. Steve wraps his free hand around Bucky’s neck possessively, fingers pressing over his collar. Bucky’s breath hitches in response.

“You’ve been such a good little cock warmer for me, darling boy,” Steve whispers, as he traces his lips over Bucky’s shoulder. “So patient, listenin’ to my instructions. M’so proud of you.”

“D-do I get a reward, sir?” Bucky asks breathily.

Steve chuckles darkly, turning to catch Bucky’s earlobe between his teeth. “You’ll be gettin’ lots of treats from me tonight, my sweet one.”

[neganisking]

Sometimes bad things happen

A/N: Here it is! It’s taken a couple of months but the sequel for surprise gift is here! You could probably read this as a stand alone fic but there are a few references that might not ake sense. MASSIVE thank you to everyone who has left me comments likes and reblogs, you all fuel my motivation and I was completely blown away by the respose to the first part of this series. Special thanks to @noodlecupcakes @fatbutstillrad @i-am-negan-trash and @andillica who have either beta’d parts of this fic away and/or listened to me whine about it now and this now and then too.

Read surprise gift here! - Masterlist

Wordcount:9,500

Tags/ warnings: D/s , light smut, nudity, sexual content, hurt/comfort, fluff, canon typical graohic descriptions of violence and gore, injury, minor character death, blood, walkers, panic attack, praise kink, service kink, cuddles, hair stroking I’m being a bit generous with the tags but if I miss anything let me know.

—————-

“Open the fucking gate!”

The horn of the truck blares out into the air as the Saviors on guard duty rush to pull back the metal chain link fence. Your ears are still ringing with the screams of the man slumped on the floor in front of you that had now, to your horror, fallen into faint whimpers. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

The sweat was pouring from your brow, your breath coming out in harsh rags. Using what energy you had left, you clamp your hands down on the bloodied stump, using your own bodyweight to try and stem the flow of blood. God there was so much blood.

You hear Travis holler out the window. His tone sharp and irritated. “Get Carson to haul ass down here proto! Jimmy got bit.”

Your stomach lurches as the man stops whimpering, his eyes rolling back into his head. Cussing loudly you grab his shoulders and shake him hard, anything to get him to come to. It doesn’t work.

Your voice touches on hysteria as you call through the metal sheet to the front cab. “Travis I can’t keep him awake! Jim! Jim c’mon buddy wake up! We’re here now. C’mon!”

It wasn’t fair. He had gone through all that shit just to die when you finally get him back? No. He was strong. He would make it. You just had to keep him going long enough for Carson to get him.

Alderman’s voice answers, sounding just as panicked as yours does. “James motherfucking Bates if you don’t wake up right now I’ll get Negan to put your ass on the fence so help me-“

Travis interrupts his empty threat. “-Fucking drive up to the door already he’s running out of time.”

“I’m going! Move out of the fucking way!” A few more blasts of the horn later and the truck lurches forward before finally grinding to a halt. You were home.

Your body ached in relief, trembling from the exertion of the last few long hours. “Jim c’mon we made it. Don’t go giving up on me now.”

The slamming of the truck door and the muffled voices tell you that the two men are making their way around to the back with some of the others. Good. You were about to fall on your ass from exhaustion.

“Carson’s on his way.”

“He’d better fucking hustle or it’ll be too late. Someone call Negan. He’ll want to know about this shit show.”

Your body sags at the mention of Negan’s name. He’ll set things right. It would all be okay. You adjust your position slightly muscles begging for a break from your crouched stance beside him. It was almost over.

A breathy groan erupts from the man. Still pushing down on his wound you flick your eyes to his face to see if he had managed to regain consciousness only to see his eyes taking on a haunting yellow glaze, drowning out the blue that had once been there. He was gone. “Aw shit!”

As you spur yourself into action, Jim’s lifeless body lurches forward, snarling as it spots it’s first meal. It stumbles, missing you as you reel back out of the way and clumsily shuffles towards you with a sickening snarl.

You could end it. It wouldn’t take much more effort to take your knife and halt the remnants of your friend forever. It would almost be a kindness really, no one wanted to end up like that after all. The reality of it, however, was that that kindness wasn’t an option – especially on the doorstep of the sanctuary. There weren’t many things that were wasted in the new order and the wall outside the factory needed new corpses to replace those that had become rotten beyond recognition. Jim still had a purpose. Even in death he belonged to Negan.

Rapidly crossing the suddenly far too small space of the truck bed, you hammer desperately against the door. “He’s turned! Open the fucking door!”

In an instant the bolt holding the doors locked slides open and daylight streams into the space. Throwing yourself out of the truck, you quickly slam the doors shut behind you as your two companions can only look on in shock horror.

You slide the bolt across just in time as the walker throws himself against the metal, the force of the impact making your slick hands slip against the door leaving a trail of crimson in their wake.

Alderman balls his fists into his hair, turning from the truck with gritted teeth. “Oh fuck. Fucking fuck. No Jim! C’mon man!”

Travis swears loudly, kicking the truck door making the walker inside ram the opening again. You glare at your friend, blood still pounding in your ears as you struggle to hold the door closed. The world around you began to tilt as you became dizzy. When would today end? “A little help?”

Weary from exhaustion himself, Travis takes his place beside you, leaning against the truck door while snapping at the few saviours who were just standing there watching everything go down. “Could you assholes make yourself useful and take it to the fence before anyone else gets fucking bit? We’re fucking done today.”

As the saviours come to life, Travis takes you over to the side and sits you down on one of the large stone barriers. Gulping in lungfuls of air that isn’t suffocated with the stench of blood and death, you try to relax your body. Sparing Travis a look you wonder if he’s alright. He looks worried for some reason. Before you have the chance to ask he beats you to it. “You okay?”

Were you? You were still alive obviously so that was a plus. Better than Jim at least. You felt like you were about to throw up whatever was left in your stomach but that wasn’t exactly surprising. Now that the immediate danger was gone and there was no one to try to save, things were catching up to you rather quickly.

Carson’s arrival saves you from having to answer. He runs through the door, his large medical bag in hand, looking rightfully flustered as his eyes lock onto you. “Who was bitten?”

Travis sighs, easing to his feet with a little difficulty. “It’s too late doc. It was a long shot anyway, we cut his arm off but he bled out in the truck on the way back.”

The doctor frowned, looking genuinely distraught. He was a good man, or at least he was from what you had seen of him. “Is anyone else hurt?”

Sparing a glance behind him to where you were sitting and another to where Alderman was pacing on his own in an empty corner of the lot, he rubbed the back of his neck. You cast your eyes to the floor, the blood on your skin and covering your clothes doing nothing to help your nausea. “Yeah, nothing life threatening though I just think-“

You don’t find out what Travis thinks because in that moment the main fire door opens with such force that it hits the outside wall with a resounding bang. Heavy footsteps approached you as the familiar voice that belonged to them demanded attention. “What in the ever loving fuck happened?”

“Negan.” At the sound of Travis’ voice you squint up at the men in front of you from your place on the stone bench, blinking slowly. Travis had nervously fixed his posture to stand upright and the doctor still had that same look of concern etched into his features.

Unsatisfied with his answer, Negan narrowed his eyes, sparing a beat to frown in your direction. “I repeat. What in the ever loving fuck happened?”

Travis adopted a professional tone, speaking as quickly and matter-of-factly as possible. It was the best way to deal with Negan when he was pissed. “Pretty sure it was the Wolves. We were checking out sector 7 again and we must have set off one of their old traps. It was bad. Jimmy got bit. We cut off his arm and tried to get him back to the doc but he didn’t make it.”

You supress a shudder, remembering the way the rotters poured in from every exit, the way your stomach had dropped through the floor, how hopeless you felt. It was a miracle you made it out alive. Jim of course, hadn’t been so lucky.

Negan growled. “I thought we fucking cleared those shit eating psychos out last month.”

Travis sighed. He shrugged as he tried to work it out for himself. “As far as I can tell we did sir. It was just an active trap. None of them came to check it after the alarm went off. It took us long enough to get out, they would have been there.

“Motherfuckers.” The venom in Negan’s voice is palatable and for good reason. The vigilante group had picked off a serious amount of saviours until you had all went out together to hunt them all down. Even now after they were long gone they were still managing to cause shit. You couldn’t help but share Negan’s sentiment.

For a long moment, Negan looks about ready to take Lucile to some poor asshole’s melon out of sheer frustration. No one says anything, you and Travis being too exhausted to offer any kind of support and Carson, who most likely didn’t have a clue, opting for the safety of silence instead. A couple of long moments later, Negan runs a gloved hand down his face with a sigh. “Anyone else hurt?”

Travis shrugs, having given up on hiding just how tired he was. “Nothing serious.”

Negan nods to himself. “Good. Check ‘em all out anyway Carson. Y’all look like shit.”

You hear the dismissal in his tone and you imagine him strutting away back to whatever he had been doing. It had been a few weeks since your encounter with him in the privacy of your room and true to his word he hadn’t held it over you. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned it at all. You had mixed feelings on the matter really, though right now you were in no state to examine them.

You wonder how long it would take to get to bed. You supposed you would need to clean yourself up before Carson could check you over. And the man was thorough so it would probably take a while. Shit. Maybe you could just nap for a bit first.

Suddenly you become aware of someone snapping their fingers in front of your face. Furrowing your brow you blink at the hand, the realisation slowly dawning on you that it belongs to Negan. Didn’t he leave?

You squint at the man who seems to have been saying something if his perplexed expression is anything to go by. “What?”

Negan huffs, no trace of amusement in his unreadable face. “I said are you fucking hurt?”

You frown slightly, trying to catalogue anything that could be considered and injury. Mostly you were just tired. “I – I don’t think so.”

“So this shit isn’t your blood?” He clarifies, gesturing to the sticky mess that was beginning to harden pretty much everywhere on your body making you want to itch.

“No.” You grumble flippantly, completely exhausted. Didn’t not being hurt give that away already? Negan was a smart guy he could figure it out.

Negan purses his lips together, a stern look on his face. You wonder what his problem is, just wanting to be alone. Apparently Negan doesn’t get the hint as in one swooping motion, he takes you by the crook of your arm and hoists you to your feet, leaving no room for argument. “Right. C’mon.”

It’s mostly out of surprise that you let yourself be pulled along the corridors and up the stairwells. His grip was firm but it wouldn’t be difficult to get out of it, you just didn’t have enough fight in you to make a fuss. Besides, Negan usually got what he wanted anyway. The sooner he did what he wanted the sooner you could sleep.

Along the way people dropped to their knees as they caught sight of the tall man. Seeing it from his perspective made it seem even more bizarre. Like he was some kind of god, parting the ocean or some shit like that.

It’s then that you realise where he’s leading you to. Slowing your pace you pull gently at the hand wrapped around your wrist. You didn’t want to go up to his room, you just wanted to sleep. “Negan-“

Negan looks at you with an almost pained expression. “Don’t fight me on this doll face. Just don’t.”

When the only reply he gets is a withering sigh, Negan continues onward, not stopping even after he leads you through the doorway to his room going instead straight to the bathroom.

As bathrooms go, the room was hardly the dream that they used to sell you in commercials or in fancy catalogues with payment plans and polished marble surfaces. That being said, the fact that the man had a working bathroom at all was a luxury that was almost unheard of in this day and age. The small, clean room had probably once only been equipped with a toilet and a sink but now it had a mismatched bath with an overhead shower too, the yellow duck patterned shower curtain drawing your amusement as it catches your eye.

Flipping the lid of the toilet seat down he finally lets go of your wrist, your skin feeling noticeably colder as his hand leaves you. He inclines his head to the porcelain. “Take a seat.”

Not needing to be told twice you sit down, all too aware that you’re most likely getting blood on everything but you can’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t like Negan was particularly squeamish anyway.

Running a basin full of water Negan shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. It crosses your mind that maybe you ought to do something, say something even but you have no idea what. Instead you just watch him move about in the space, your face slack and weary as he dampens a cloth with the water.

Turning to you, Negan picks your hand up from your lap and begins to wipe your arm down. He frowns at the offending limb in concentration, something clearly working it’s way through his mind. “Is what Travis said true? Is that what happened?”

You blink slowly, trying to remember exactly what Travis had said. Negan wrings the cloth out in the basin and has almost completely cleaned your arm by the time you reply. His answer had been vague, but unfortunately it was all true. “Yeah.”

Negan grunts in reply, he doesn’t say anything else which is more than okay with you. Methodically, he moves onto your other arm, rinsing the cloth out again and again until it’s clean. At some point in the process, his movements begin to soothe your frazzled nerves, it would feel almost comforting if it wasn’t for how overwhelmed you were.

Once your arms are done he pauses, taking in your face with a grimace. Rude. You didn’t look that bad. Besides if he was so offended by your face then why had he been trying so hard to get into your pants all this time?

He rinses out the cloth once again before squatting down in front of you. Wetting his lips, Negan presses the material to your face and you hiss at the uncomfortable feeling, the cold water irritating you much more than before. Negan pulls the corner of his mouth down in the closest thing you’ve ever seen to an apology from the man and for a moment your irritable mood subsides. He is trying to help after all.

That is until he opens his mouth. “Think you can manage a shower?”

Your eyes roll as you huff in exasperation. You had just been through hell and lived to tell the tale, a mere shower in comparison was a walk in the park. Unable to keep the annoyance from your voice you grumble, too wired to give a damn. “I think I’m capable of taking a fucking shower Negan. Honestly you don’t need to make such a fuss.”

Negan presses his lips into a thin line, his antagonised persona darkening the already strange atmosphere in the small room. “Yeah well seeing as you rolled up here covered in fucking blood and shaking so fucking bad it looked like you were going to go join old Jimbo on the motherfucking fence I’ve decided that I’m more than entitled to give a shit if you can make it through a good damn shower without keeling over. Thank you very fucking much.”

You’re taken aback by his biting tone, not used to your words having that affect on the man. Usually he bounced off your bickering and griping with a gleeful smile and a sarcastic remark. You hadn’t really given much thought to how you must have looked to other people. It explained why Travis had looked to worried too. The last thing you wanted to do was to get into an argument so in the hope it would diffuse the situation you decide to back down. “Sorry.”

Negan shakes his head, exasperated. “Don’t be sorry just quit busting my god damn balls. You’re in shock. You can’t even fucking tell that you’ve got a fucking gash on the side of your god damn face.”

“What?” You squawk indignantly, not entirely sure he isn’t fucking with you as you quickly stand up and turn to the mirror on the wall. Ignoring how the sudden movement makes your head spin you squint to examine your apparent injury.

Most of your face is clean now, with the odd bit of blood in the creases of your nose and your eyebrows. What catches most of your attention however is the long graze around your left temple that was still steadily oozing a small amount of blood. It looked worse than it probably was, and you were almost certain it wasn’t serious but the fact that you hadn’t even realised made your chest tighten. You couldn’t even remember banging your head but then given how chaotic it had all been it was hardly surprising. What else had you missed? No wonder Negan was concerned.

Noting the way your face falls and your breathing picks up, Negan moves to stand behind you so you can see his face in the mirror. He gently rests his hand on your shoulder his voice a little strained but much more comforting. “Exactly my fucking point. Take a deep breath for me now. Nice and slow.”

Taking in a shaky breath you fill your lungs with air before turning around to face the man behind you and leaning back against the counter, not wanting to look at your face anymore. Now that you were aware of your injury it suddenly comes to life, making your head throb painfully.

Negan slips one hand around your waist this time to steady you, watching you closely in concern. “Easy does it butternut.”

For a few long moment you just focus on breathing. Your eyes close and you try to relax your body, letting Negan’s close proximity make you feel safer than you had all day – not that that was difficult. Relaxing doesn’t exactly work, you’re too tired, too sore and your mind just won’t stop reeling with white noise. You suppose at least you’re not alone.

When you open your eyes you meet Negan’s soft gaze. You quirk your lip in acknowledgement trying to reassure him somehow. He doesn’t wait for you to speak gesturing instead to your stained clothes. “Can I help you out of these? No funny business I swear.”

You huff a laugh, finding it amusing that Negan was so bold and so ridiculous to try and get your clothes off. Your initial thought was that no, you were capable of dealing with the rest yourself and that you were in no mood to allow yourself to be naked in front of him. The more you thought about it though the more you realised that it wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t already seen. You doubted that he would try anything while you were in a state anyway. Between that and how heavy your limbs feel a little help didn’t seem like such a bad idea but you didn’t want to make it that easy for him.

With a sly quirk of your eyebrow you ask him. “Scouts honour?”

He blinks, not expecting you to be making a joke in this particular situation and scrunches his face in amusement before falling into right into your trap. “Scouts honour.”

Narrowing your eyes in mock scrutiny, you wag a finger in his direction, recalling a previous conversation. “I thought we already established that you weren’t a boy scout.”

Apparently your joke falls flat although you still think it’s pretty funny. Negan blinks a couple of times before pinching the bridge of his nose as though he’s the one with a hole in the side of his head. “Fucking – honestly butternut. You’re killing me here. Would you just me help you already?”

Rolling your eyes you concede to him and gesture for him to do his thing. With a nod Negan’s hand leaves your side and his fingers find the hem of your tank top. To your surprise, Negan systematically strips you of your clothes without a single remark and even without the faintest trace of a suggestive taunt on his face. He’s all business, not even letting his eyes linger as he unclips your bra and your bare skin meets the cool air. You can’t help but feel out of sorts with how uncharacteristic Negan is acting. If you’re honest you’re not sure how to handle him when he isn’t being crude.

It’s after you toe off your boots and you unbutton your jeans that you decide to break the silence. As Negan stoops down, fingers hooking into the belt loops to ease the fabric down your legs you tease him lightly. “This wasn’t exactly how I envisioned you getting my clothes off again.”

It does the trick. With a low chuckle Negan grins, looking up from his crouched position at your feet with a gleam in his eyes that starts a certain kind of churning in your stomach. This you were familiar with. It must show somehow because Negan let’s out a satisfied hum and reaches to pull your panties down so you can step out of both at the same time.

Stark naked now you’re all too aware of just how exposed you are and just how close his face is to your nether region. In different circumstances you would be more than willing to push those invisible boundaries to see what might happen but you knew yourself well enough to know it wasn’t a good idea right now. He did look positively sinful though. Unable to help yourself you press your thighs together and of course Negan notices.

With a sigh, Negan gathers up your dirty clothes and eases to his feet smiling softly. “There’s always next time sugar. It’s nice to know you’ve been thinking about it though.”

His added afterthought makes you frown. You thought it would be obvious that he had been on your mind especially after the display you had made of yourself for him. It was hard not to think of it all really. You weren’t about to tell him anytime soon but nothing you had done to yourself since had felt half as good as the day he had watched you unravel and beg for him. “Of course I have.”

Negan scoffs bitterly. Turning from you to dump the clothes in the hamper. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The beginnings of what could have been a good mood instantly vanish as a scowl takes over your features. What the fuck did he expect? You were pretty sure you had made it clear you weren’t about to compromise your place amongst the saviours for him. That should have spelled out to him that public declarations vying for his attention not to mention his dick were off the table. Did the fact that you had already gone as far as you had with him – the fact that you were currently standing in front of the man butt fucking naked for crying out loud – mean nothing?

Narrowing your eyes, a flare of anger comes over you. Without even considering the consequences you open your mouth with a scathing tone. “Oh I’m so very sorry Negan. I’ll remember to swoon and faint every time you walk into the god damn room from now on – make it real fucking easy for you to tell.”

Negan’s nostrils flare, not one for being spoken to like that. It sometimes amused you how he could always give it out but whenever it came to taking it he spat out his dummy. Today however, you didn’t give a shit. He was out of line and you didn’t have enough fucks left to give to cater to his ego – and you weren’t done yet either.

Looking him square in the eye you launch into another tirade. “I get that you’re so used to having multiple women waiting on your beck and call who you can fuck or do whatever the fuck you want with so maybe you didn’t manage to catch on but what happened the other week was a pretty big fucking deal for me. So don’t go acting all butt hurt just because I’m not fucking grovelling for your attention. You’ve already had a metric fuck ton of mine.”

So much for not getting into an argument. The silence surrounding you both in the aftermath of your outburst feels deafening and you struggle to hold your composure feeling far to vulnerable and strung out to stay still.

A different kind of fear begins to trickle through your mind as you process exactly what you just said and exactly who you just said it to. Without a doubt you meant every word but Negan commanded a certain amount of respect and you couldn’t say for sure exactly where your boundary was. He wouldn’t hurt you, you knew that for a fact but it didn’t stop you from worrying that maybe you had gone too far this time. Your horrid mood wasn’t completely his fault after all.

Negan breaks the silence with a huff, shaking his head as he narrows his gaze on you. “Don’t be a bitch for fuck’s sake. It doesn’t fucking suit you.”

At his anti climatic reaction, you mirror his expression. You’re not sure exactly what he’s playing at but you really can’t muster up the mental capacity to deal to his mood swings too - your own were difficult enough. “I’m not in the mood for games Negan.”

Negan considers you for a moment before deciding on a reply, pressing his lips together in frustration. “What the fuck happened out there huh?”

The question hangs in the air and as soon as you open your mouth to tell him exactly what happened you close it again. The words vanish from your mind as the white noise of fear, death and blood distract your train of thought. There were so many of them. It was so loud. So much blood.

“Stay here.”

You register Negan leaving the room, the door still slightly ajar and you find yourself immediately wishing he hadn’t left. Was he mad? Was he coming back? He wouldn’t have just left you to stay in his bathroom that was for sure so you reason that he can’t be that mad. Jesus you need to get a grip.

You manage to compose yourself in the short amount of time it takes Negan to return. Without a word he all but thrusts a pile of fabric into your hands, scowling. Oh that’s right. You were mad at him.

“Take a fucking shower. Whatever you do don’t pass out. Yell if you need me I’ll just be outside.” He doesn’t wait for you to reply turning on his heel and marching out of the small room. The door slams shut behind him and you can’t help but think how absolutely ridiculous he’s being.

‘I’ll manage.” You grumble out loud, out of spite more than anything.

Looking down at the fabric in your hand you realise Negan had given you a change of clothes to wear. For a sickening moment you think he’s completely lost it and left you a set of old prisoner’s clothes but on closer inspection you realise that these clothes belong to Negan himself.

You’ve never seen him dressed in anything other than his signature jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket combination but with the soft grey sweatpants in your hand you can’t help but imagine some scenario of him indulging in comfort on a rainy day. It’s ridiculous you know but it diffuses the anger that had been steadily building in your stomach and you realise that maybe that isn’t the only thing that is ridiculous about the whole thing.

Stepping into the tub, you draw the duck patterned curtain around you and begin to systematically scrub every ounce of blood and grime from your body, helping yourself to Negan’s shampoo as you go. You supposed that letting your mind go blank would be the hardest thing to do after today but focusing on the trivial tasks at hand allows you to do exactly that. By the time you step out onto the cool floor and reach for the towel on the counter, you feel lighter in more ways than one.

You ignore the way your head throbs as you quickly towel dry your skin before pulling the sweatpants over your legs and pulling the drawstring until it rests comfortably around your waist. It’s a little long in the leg so you easily roll the cuffs up, deciding that you need to catch Negan wearing these at some point in the future, for science. Forgoing your bra, because honestly if it wasn’t one of the last in your size you would gladly burn it rather than try to clean it, you pull his black t-shirt over your head and start to towel dry your hair, psyching yourself up to face the man waiting for you behind the door.

You were hoping that he wasn’t still mad at you. Quite frankly you were more than ready to sleep the rest of the week away if you could get away with it. Another argument was the last thing you wanted to get into. Besides, even though he was an asshole about it, he still seemed to have been genuinely worried.

The last of the adrenaline seemed to have washed away in the shower, leaving you feeling empty and heavy. With another sigh, you pull open the door and hesitantly make your way through the threshold.

Having probably heard the door open, you find Negan standing by his desk watching you carefully. It was practically impossible to decipher his mood from that alone so you decide to offer an olive branch and be the bigger person. “I’m sorry for snapping. But it- I was just-“

Your explanation gets stuck in your mouth, words failing you as you try to express exactly how you feel. Cutting you off with a firm tone, much softer than before, he gestures to the chair beside him. “Come over here.”

Unable to help feeling like a chastised child, you nervously pad your way over the rug on the floor to him. Eventually meeting his gaze he gently takes your elbow and guides you to sit in the leather chair. Hopefully you could sleep soon.

Watching him in silence, you look on as Negan opens a small wooden box to reveal some kind of first aid kit. He breaks the silence as he takes out cotton swabs and another couple of bits. “Travis said you were the one who lobbed off Jim’s arm.”

For a moment you just blink at the man. How did he know that? You were absolutely certain that Travis hadn’t mentioned it earlier. Unless it was when you were in the shower? How long were you in there for?

Your eyes land on the radio sitting on the desk beside you and suddenly it all makes sense. There’s no sense in denying it and clearly you weren’t allowed to ignore it so instead you reply in a cautious huff of breath. “Yeah.”

“You did the right thing.” He states it so matter-of-factly that he might has well have been passing comment on the weather rather than the fact that a man died. He gently dabs some antiseptic concoction on your cut and you forget to supress the hiss of pain that follows. He carries on regardless determined to clean out your cut.

“But he died.” It wasn’t so obvious to you. If you hadn’t have cut his arm off then he would still be alive. Not for long sure but at least he would have gotten to spend his last moments doing something other than screaming in agony.

Negan shrugs, sizing up a couple if different band aids before deciding on one to use. “He would have died anyway.”

You shake your head lightly unconvinced. It wasn’t the point. He didn’t get it.

Negan sighs, having finished whatever he had been doing to your head and cleans up the used and discarded bits from the table before putting the box away. Maybe he senses it’s a lost cause but he draws himself up and changes the subject. “I need to go over some paperwork. You, are gonna sit right here.”

Taking you gently by the elbow he firmly guides you up out of the chair and swaps sides with you before inclining to the spot on the floor. It takes you a moment to realise that you did in fact hear him correctly before squawking indignantly. “What? I’m not sitting at your feet like a dog Negan.”

As though expecting your reaction, an amused smirk pulls at his lip, his eyebrow raised in a challenge. “Oh I’m sorry. Do you have somewhere else you’d rather fucking be?”

You gape at him for a moment. Yes was your immediate spiteful answer. You would much rather be in bed asleep. Sleeping felt like such a good idea but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to voice it. His unusual request had piqued your curiosity and if you were honest you didn’t really want to leave just yet. Something about his presence comforted you and given he wasn’t mad at you anymore you felt reluctant to rob yourself it just to prove a point.

Negan scoffs, taking your stunned silence as an answer. “Thought not. Now sit Fido.”

“Woof.” You pout, taking a seat on the threadbare rug beside the drawers of the desk, ignoring the way that being put in this position at his feet sends a certain shiver of excitement through you. You’d come back to that later.

Making himself comfortable in the chair beside you Negan barks a laugh. “Very fucking funny.”

You wait, watching Negan as he pulls a pair of glasses out of the drawer by your head and true to his word starts going through what looks like the outpost reports. The gently flicking of paper is the only noise in the room for a few long moments and while it isn’t an uncomfortable silence, you still feel the need to ask. “Why am I sitting on the floor?”

Negan pauses, pulling the glasses off his face and setting them down on the desk. He regards you for a moment, something softening in his expression before reaching out to take the tip of your chin in his fingers, stroking his thumb along your jaw gently. “Because princess you need a time out.”

Brows furrowing, you squint up at the man despite the way his touch warms you. It didn’t make any sense. “I thought you said I did the right thing?”

Negan smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and you wonder if it’s sadness or pity you see in his expression. “You did. Now shush.” He adds as an afterthought, returning back to his task.

His confirmation only managed to confuse you even more. If you did the right thing then – was this a punishment? Why would it be if you didn’t do anything wrong? God you were tired. You wondered if you could nap on the floor. Sure Negan would probably be telling dog jokes for the rest of the month at least but at this point you didn’t give a shit. You were so strung out that it wasn’t difficult for you to consider resting your head against Negan’s leg instead. It was right there after all and touching him felt so comforting before. Would he mind? Maybe you could doze off too.

You don’t worry yourself for long, taking the initiative you shuffle slightly over and gently wind your arm around his calf, hugging it before slowly slumping against his leg, resting your cheek against the top of his knee. For a moment as Negan stills, you wonder if maybe he didn’t want you to but as he drops a hand down and gently scratches against your scalp you let out a soft sigh of relief.

Half lidded, your gaze wanders along the patterns of the rug beneath you and along the creases and folds of his sweatpants. In your boredom you focus on your own breathing and slowly start to relax, forcing your muscles to unlock one by one as you slump further into his leg.

That is until you see it.

It’s only blood. You’ve spent more time covered in blood than you have clean at this point but the small amount under the corner of your nail, somehow missed by both you and Negan reminds you of exactly why you’re here - exactly who’s blood it is.

The sound of the shutter blocking your only exit was secondary to the snarl of a small army of roamers that seemed to pour in from the cracks in the walls. You’re still not entirely sure how you managed to escape, killing rotter after rotter seemed endless until you found yourself being dragged towards the fresh air.

It almost didn’t end the way it did. A few more yards and it would have been a different story, but the walker that lunged for you at the last second had other plans. There wasn’t many times in the past few years that you had genuinely thought you were going to die but today was most certainly one of them.

It would have been, if it hadn’t been for Jim. Knocking you out of harms way just in time left no time for the man to save himself. He yelped as the monster tried to knock him down, kicking it away before swiftly stabbing it in the head but the damage had been done. It was only after you had put enough distance between you and the dead that he revealed exactly what had happened.

You hardly had to deliberate it. He saved your life so you had to save his.

Cutting someone’s arm off was nothing like they had made it look in the horror movies. There were no clean cuts or smooth follow through. Bringing your machete down against his arm hardly made a dent in the scheme of it all. You had wanted to stop then, to run and cry and beg him for forgiveness but your decision had been made and you forced yourself to carry on.

You knew you would never forget the look of sickening horror on their faces, the blood curdling scream that erupted from Jim as you hacked away at his arm. Over and over. God it never seemed to end. There was so much blood.

Maybe it was a bad call.

Maybe Carson could have done something else.

You should have probably used a belt. Or asked the guy first at least. Something.

Anything.

Maybe he would still be alive.

“It’s okay honey.”

His voice brings you out of your own thoughts and you’re surprised to find your breath catching in your throat and hot tears tracking down your face. God it was so fucked up. It wasn’t for the first time but you wished the world could go back to the way it was where you could just worry about getting the rent paid on time instead of getting mixed up in the ethics of cutting someone’s arm off.

You hastily unwind yourself from Negan’s leg to scrub the tears away from your face, trying to suck in a breath to steady yourself with. You needed to get a grip.

Smoothing his hand over your shoulder blade he gently coaxes you up into his arms. “C’mere kitten.”

This wasn’t how you wanted the next time you sat in his lap to go either but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to take the support he was so willingly offering you. Slipping up onto his lap he gently rearranges your legs as you bury your face against the crook of his neck, ignoring an irritated throb from the graze on your head.

A deep breath. Then another. You needed to calm down. He smelled good. How did he always manage to smell good? You focused on it to try and distract your own mind and chase away the crushing guilt.

Negan however had a different idea. Pulling you closer against him he methodically began to rub the lines of your back with a smooth palm. “Just let go darlin’ I got you.”

Like a damn breaking inside of you an uncontrollable surge of grief overwhelmed your mind and with Negan holding the pieces of you together you sobbed against him.

It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t.

God you were so afraid.

He died saving your life.

Your friend was dead because of you and maybe you could have stopped it from happening.

You cling to him, mortified somewhere in the back of your mind at the state you’re in but the need for the comfort and safety that was Negan outweighed it all. If he was at all bothered by it he didn’t show it in the slightest. He keeps a tight hold on you, stroking along your back as he lightly rocks you back and forth, letting you get everything out. It’s cathartic in a way.

He stays like that with you for as long as it takes your crying to subside and the tremor in your frame to ease. Pulling in steadying breaths you start to calm down and come back to reality. It strikes you as odd just how much you needed that just as it dawns on you that Negan knew you needed it too. No one had ever done anything like that for you before and it makes you swell with admiration for the man. He really did care.

Pushing away from him lightly you lean back grimacing at the wet patch on his shirt but you know he doesn’t care about that given the soft smile on his face. You’re not sure how to let him know that you know he knew and that you’re grateful – even thinking it is confusing enough after all but in the end you decide to lighten the mood a little.

With a light huff and a small grin, you tease him. “Now I’m a cat? C’mon dude. Make up your mind.”

His face splitting into a wide smile, Negan ruffles your hair playfully. “Always such a smart ass.”

You sniff, still recovering but manage to scrunch your nose at him in good humour. “You love it when I sass you.”

“Indeed I fucking do butternut.” His voice drops to something more intimate and as he swipes his thumbs underneath your eyes you can’t help but lean into his touch.

Both of you revel in the quiet moment until Negan draws a breath clearly having something to say. “You listening?”

He waits until you nod before beginning, his tone making you avoid interrupting. “You did the right thing. Sure it sucks that he fucking died. But you gave him a chance. A good one. It isn’t your fault alright? There’s a million maybes and what if’s but the fact is you did something that could have saved his life instead of waiting around for him to keel over anyway. He would be fucking grateful. And shit, now that I know there are still active traps out there I can make sure we’re more fucking careful so this shit doesn’t happen again. You want to blame someone for this today you blame those dead fucking mongrels who set the traps in the first place. Not yourself. You did the right thing.”

You listen with furrowed brow, turning yourself to rest your head against his chest. Negan’s arms circle around you again and with a shuddering sigh you let his words sink in. It just wasn’t fair.

“It was just awful.” You decide to say, hearing the slight waver in your voice. Awful was an understatement.

“You’re safe now alright? It’s okay butternut.”

Fighting against your own stubborn pride, you let him make you feel safe and warm inside. It wasn’t okay really but what else could you do about it? You couldn’t bring him back now. At least you had tried right? For a long while you just sink into his warm embrace but eventually you feel yourself start to droop and you know it’s time to go.

Sitting up again Negan’s hands fall to your hips. The words get stuck in your mouth again but you power through your nerves anyway. “Thank you. For helping me. I mean – I could have dealt with this on my own – you didn’t have to – y’know – but thanks.”

Huffing a laugh, Negan raises a sceptical eyebrow at you. “You think I don’t know that I didn’t have to? Honey I didn’t bring you up here because I didn’t think you could cope without me or some shit. You’re a motherfucking badass – I know that better than anyone. You don’t need me. Hell, most of the time I don’t think you even want me.”

You could tell by the way his voice drops to a low mumble that he didn’t really mean to say that last part. He pauses frowning at something before continuing, guarded, almost nervous.

“I did it because I wanted to fucking help you. I did it because I didn’t want you to have to deal with it alone. I did it because all anyone fucking told me was that some fucker got bit and the first thing I see is you fucking drenched in blood and I fucking thought – I though I was going to fucking lose you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and before he can pull away you gently catch his wrist holding him in place and lean intro his touch. If he really did mean that, and you couldn’t fathom a reason why he would have said it otherwise, then it would explain why he was being so stubborn and persistent. It explained a lot actually. You realise it was no small thing for him to tell you that either, hopefully conveying the sentiment of how much you appreciate it in your expression.

He smiles, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “I also did it because you were acting like such a stubborn bitch when I know how much of a good girl you can be for me.”

Just like that the mood shifts again to something a lot less innocent. If you weren’t so tired you would totally try something. You wanted this man. An undercurrent of lust washes over you and you find yourself wishing the circumstances were different. Maybe next time.

Stroking your thumb over the bare skin of his wrist you try again to make amends for earlier. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Negan nods. “I know you are it’s okay princess. As it happens you were right about a couple of things though.”

You sit a little straighter then out of curiosity. “Oh?”

He drops his hand and draws in a breath to explain. “I owe you an apology too doll. It would seem that I’ve made some pretty fucking big assumptions about you and – well it isn’t fair. I want you to know that I’m man enough to know when I fuck up. So I’m sorry.”

He’s talking of course about that offhanded comment that got you so riled up. You had thought that maybe you had overreacted but there was a lot of truth to his words. He had asked you to be a wife at one point, it makes sense to you that he expected you to behave a certain way. Not that that was your problem really. In fact, if it wasn’t for your rapidly evolving feelings that seemed to be erupting for the man you know you would tell him exactly where he could shove those ideas. He was right to apologise.

But does that mean you’re not good enough? You didn’t want to be a wife but there was something nagging at you that wondered if you had disappointed him somehow. It would be easier to be unapologetic about it all but your insecurities get the better of you. “I guess you have some expectations when it comes to certain women. So it makes sense that when I don’t meet them-“

He cuts you off with a resolute shake of his head, concern etching his features. “-Fuck no. Sweetheart please don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to them. That was my mistake.”

“Well they are your wives.” You shrug, dropping your gaze into your lap. It’s not as though those women were some unobtainable goal. You didn’t even know them in all honesty to pass comment. It was that subtle part of you that wanted to please him that made it difficult for you not to wonder how you measured up to them.

He covers your hand with one of his own. Making you look up to see the sincerity in his expression. “You’re nothing like them butternut. I wouldn’t fucking like you nearly as much if you were trust me. I’m just glad you called me out on it.”

That was a pretty loaded statement to make, one you were sure you would spend a while dissecting later but for now, you just let his reassurance comfort you and reaffirm that you shouldn’t change who you are, even if Negan didn’t like it. Damn you needed a nap.

Not wanting the conversation to get too serious – or more serious than it already had, you squeeze his hand lightly and smirk. “You realise you just said sorry, please and told me you were glad I cussed you out all in one conversation?”

Negan snorts with laughter. “Must be coming down with something.

You chuckle, both knowing that you really ought to go but neither one of you willing to call it quits just yet. It’s your turn to break the comfortable silence when you recall something Negan had said in his rather uncharacteristic outburst.

“I do y’know.”

“What?” With the smile still lingering on his face Negan looks puzzled.

You choose your words carefully, speaking slowly so they don’t get caught in your mouth. “You said before that you didn’t know if I even want you. I just wanted to let you know that I do. Want you that is.”

Slowly, Negan lights up into one of those proud and private smiles that makes you feel a sense of accomplishment. He picks your hand up, turning it to softly kiss your palm in what is somehow the most intimate thing he’s done to date. His drawl is light and playful as he teases you. “Shit princess that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

With a roll of your eyes you gently shove at his chest. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“Well I must be doing something right because if I heard correctly you just said that you fucking want me.” He boops your nose for added effect making you giggle.

“Can I kiss you?” The words rush out of your mouth in a hushed whisper, surprising even yourself. He catches it though, eyebrows raising lightly in surprise. Wetting his lips as though to start on some new line of teasing or taunting he pauses for a moment just looking at you. Time seems to slow down when he just nods softly instead, his persona as steady and comfortable as ever.

Your stomach churns pleasurably in anticipation. How long have you fantasised about touching him the way that you want to? Sliding one palm around his neck and the other slowly up his chest you try not to rush yourself as arousal begins to build somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

Negan on the other hand seems content to let you go at your own pace, curious to see what you might do. His eyes never stray from you, not missing the way you swallow thickly or the quirk of your lip in a nervous grin. His grip slowly tightens on your hip pulling you in closer as your eyes flutter shut and you lean up to meet him.

A small whimper of relief escapes you as you press your lips against his. For some reason you just knew he’d be good at this and he doesn’t disappoint. With a low groan of his own that does a whole bunch of things to your insides, he pulls you in closer by the small of your back, effortlessly rearranging you to straddle his lap all whilst taking control and moving his mouth against yours in a way that you can only describe as full of raw desire.

Your stomach flips of its own accord, your fingers moving up to rake against his scalp pulling Negan closer and your body presses flush against him flooded with a sudden warmth that takes your breath away. Want and need take over and all pretence is thrown aside as you moan into his mouth, keeping up with Negan’s enthusiasm.

Apparently that’s Negan cue to pull away from you, gently holding you in place when you try to follow him in a lust filled daze. Your brow furrows as you blink at the man wondering why he stopped. Why on earth would he stop? Wasn’t this what you both wanted?

With an appreciative sigh Negan brushes his thumb against your lip, answering your unspoken question with a nod towards your head. “You need to get that bump checked out butternut.”

“Tis but a scratch.” You protest, already feeling the desire beginning to give way to exhaustion. He was right of course but you didn’t want to stop.

With a dejected grumble you slump, rest your head on his shoulder “Fine.”

Negan snorts a laugh, kissing the top of your head. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated kitten.”

“Uh huh.” You grumble about ready to cuss him out.

“Breathe doll face.”

Taking in a deep, shaky breath you try to calm your hormone-addled nerves, lightly fisting the fabric of his t-shirt. If the deep chuckle coming from the man is anything to go by he seems quite amused by the whole thing. Asshole.

“Good girl.” His words send a shiver of satisfaction through you, happy to please him.Tapping your thigh Negan motions for you to stand up, helping you up. You’re not sure if it’s the excitement or the exhaustion or the way you feel dizzy all of a sudden but your stiff and slightly unsteady on your feet at first. Probably another telling sign that it’s not a good time to be over exerting yourself.

You run your fingers through your damp hair not being able to bring yourself to feel disappointed – especially with the way Negan looks at you with pride and admiration, like you’re something precious.

Reaching out to squeeze your hand one final time Negan gives you your marching orders, the dismissal clear from his tone. “Now you’re gonna go and walk that sweet Lil ass to Doc Carson and get checked out then you’re gonna get to bed and have a good long nap. Don’t worry about work for the rest of the week I’ll take care of it okay?”

A full week? For a bump on the head he was being more than generous but then again maybe he was bringing other factors into consideration. With a grin you nod in acknowledgement before turning to go. It occurs to you that you should probably put on some shoes but you don’t feel like salvaging the pair in the bathroom just yet and besides, you have another in your room. The walk to the good doctor isn’t too far anyway. “Thanks Negan.”

“Feel free to stop by anytime butternut.” He adds as you reach the door, leaving an opening for a ‘next time’ wide open once again.

Glancing behind you to see him still sitting in the chair, you nod silently, the smile still evident on your face. It lingers all the way to Carson’s office and warms your insides long after too. For a day filled with horror and pain, you were glad that Negan had been there to keep you company through the aftermath.

[fandom-imagines]

Concussion: Misha Collins X Reader

Okay but like, dedicating this to @journeyrose because your reply made me smile so much, I’m still smiling, ahhhhh <3

“Morning, guys” I smiled, sipping my cup of coffee, carrying three others as I walked onto the supernatural set.

“How are you so awake this morning?” Jensen groaned, looking up at me.

Misha, Jensen, Jared and I had decided to go out for drinks last night to celebrate our friendship anniversary.

It had officially been six years since I met the trio.

My character had been introduced just after the apocalypse. Ally, my character, had met Dean a few months after Sam had jumped into the pit and they became close friends. But after Sam came back and Dean left Lisa, the two had begun dating.

We had gone out for a few rounds of drinks, but had accidentally stayed out until around 4am, giving us only an hour sleep before we began filming.

“Coffee, it works wonders” I chuckled, placing the drinks on the table in front of them.

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re an angel” Jared smiled, making me laugh.

“Excuse me, I am the angel here” Misha said with mock offence, making us all laugh.

“Of course, you are” I laughed, patting my best friend on the cheek.

As soon as I had met Misha, we instantly clicked and became best friends. We often got jokes about us being together and all our fans shipping us together.

And I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a crush on him. But he didn’t need to know that.

“We’ve got a scene in about ten, don’t forget” I laughed, referring to the time Jensen has forgot we had a scene and went home.

“It was one time!” He said, dramatically raising his hands making the four of us laugh.

“I’m needed at wardrobe so I’ll see you later” I smiled, patting the trio on the back as I headed to wardrobe.

-X-

It had taken around ten minutes for wardrobe to fix up my hair and makeup, making the injuries covering my body seem realistic as possible.

Jensen and I were about to film a fight scene between the two of us and a rouge demon. Ally was going to try and protect Dean and get herself injured in the process which would then lead to an argument between the couple.

“You’re all set” The girls smiled.

Thanking them, I headed out to the set.

“Hey, good to see you didn’t forget” I teased, walking up to Jensen, Jared and Misha who were stood off to the side.

“Shut up” Jensen chuckled, playfully punching me in the shoulder.

“Okay guys, so what we’re going to do is have Damian throw Ally into the wall nearby. Y/N you will then land on the mat down there, okay?” One of the crew explained, pointing over towards the mat on the floor.

Nodding, I headed to my marker and prepared myself.

“You Winchesters are honestly a pain in my ass” The demon snarled, facing Ally and Dean.

“Especially you, Dean Winchester” He said, pointing a knife he had picked up at him.

“Maybe I would be doing everyone a favour by ending your life” He smirked, twisting the knife in his hand.

“Yes, I’ll be sure to make it nice and painful” He chuckled, his eyes flashing black for a moment.

“Is this a kink or something?” My Ally asked, making the demon face her.

He chuckled plainly, before turning back to Dean.

Aiming the knife at Dean, he prepared to charge. As soon as he raised the knife, Ally tackled him, the knife flying across the room.

The demon pushed her off him, the two of them standing up and beginning to brawl.

A few moments into the fight, the demon had managed to grab Ally’s waist, flinging her into a nearby wall, knocking her unconscious.

“Ally!” Dean yelled, noticing his girlfriend’s unmoving form.

“Oh no you don’t” Dean spat, driving Ruby’s knife up into his chest.

“Great one-taker guys! Y/N you did great!” The director yelled, as everyone gathered around to check the footage.

“Hey, Y/N. Need a hand?” Jensen chuckled, walking up to the girl who laid on the ground, unmoving.

“Y/N? Hey get up.” Jensen said, bending down, waiting to be tackled by the girl.

By now Misha and Jared had walked up, confused as to why she wasn’t up yet.

“Y/N?” Jensen asked, poking the girl, moving a strand of her hair out of the way, only to see blood dripping down her face.

“She’s unconscious! Someone call an ambulance!” Jensen yelled, checking her pulse while Misha rushed towards the two and Jared called an ambulance.

“Hey, Y/N. Come on, wake up” Misha said frantically, hitting her cheeks lightly in an attempt to wake her up.

“An ambulance is on the way!” Jared called, looking around, spotting the actor who played the demon looking worried.

“Hey, man. It’s alright” Jared said, hoping to comfort him.

“I did this” He breathed shakily, bunching his hands into fists.

“She’ll be alright” He said, patting him on the back.

Seconds later, sirens were heard and two paramedics climbed out of the back of an ambulance.

Everything was a blur as they rushed towards the girl, gently lifting her into the ambulance.

“Who’s coming with her?” One asked, looking towards Misha, Jensen and Jared crowded around the ambulance.

“Me” Misha immediately said, stepping forward.

“What’s your relationship to the patient?”

Misha winced at the word, patient knowing that her injuries could be serious.

“I’m her boyfriend” He lied, climbing into the ambulance after the paramedic gave him a stern nod.

-X-

Beeping was the first thing I heard when I woke up.

Opening my eyes, I was immediately blinded by the lights above my head.

Confused, I turned on my side to be met with a worried Misha gripping my hand.

“What happened?” I asked groggily, watching as his head immediately snapped up.

“Y/N!” He said, a small smile on his face, quickly letting go of my hand, blushing as if he was embarrassed to be caught doing this.

“That’s me” I joked, attempting to clear my throat.

“Oh, here” He said, grabbing a bottle of water from the ground.

“So…” I began, taking a sip, helping clear my throat.

“What happened?” I questioned, placing the water on the small table beside me.

“You hit your head real hard, then landed on your wrist” He sighed, a sad look on his face.

“Well, at least I made it look realistic” I laughed, earning a small smile from Misha.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking over at me.

“Well, my head hurts like a bitch and my arm aches. But other than that, I’m fine” I shrugged, taking Misha’s hand in mine.

“Thanks, Mish” I smiled, gently squeezing his hand.

“You had me worried” He sighed, rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand.

I laughed, earning a confused look from him.

“What?” He asked, looking at me confused.

“Nothing, but Jared is stood outside making heart symbols and kissy faces” I laughed, pointing out of the window to Jared who was doing just that.

“Fuck sake” Misha muttered, smiling.

“What” I asked. Now it was my turn to be confused.

“I should never have told him” He laughed, a light pink dusting his cheeks.

“Told him what?”

Before I could either of us could say anything else, Misha’s lips were on mine. My eyes widened for a moment, before I realised what was happening and kissed back.

A few cheers were heard once Misha and I pulled away, presumably from Jared.

“Finally, I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted.” Jensen sighed, tossing me a small box of chocolates, some eaten.

“Sorry, I got hungry” He chuckled, making me laugh.

“So, are you two together now?” Jared asked, smirking as he took a seat at the end of the hospital bed.

A blush quickly made its way onto my cheeks, as I looked over at Misha who was staring at me.

He shot me a small smile, wordlessly asking me, to which I nodded.

“OTP!” Jared cheered, patting me on the leg.

“Happy for you guys” Jensen smiled, taking a seat on the chair opposite Misha, who was still holding my hand.

“See, all it took was one injury and Misha grows some balls” Jared chuckled, grabbing a chocolate from the box.

“Hey!” Misha yelled, laughing.

“I always have balls, I am the ball master” He smirked, before the four of us burst into laughter.

“Of course, you are” I chuckled, patting him on the cheek.

“Hey, uh are you okay?” I heard a timid voice ask from the door.

Looking up I spotted James, the actor who played the latest demon.

“Hey, yeah I’m great” I smiled, signalling for him to come in.

“I’m sorry” He sighed, awkwardly shifting his weight between feet.

“It’s fine, no worries” I said, laughing at the guilty look on his face.

“To be honest, I’m glad it happened” I said, looking over at Misha who was smiling at me.

“You are?” James asked, looking at me then spotting Misha and I’s hands.

“So, it finally happened, huh?” He chuckled, pointing at our interlaced hands.

“How did you- “Misha began, before being cut off.

“It’s obvious. The way you look at her, like she’s your world. It’s not hard to see” He chuckled, smiling at us.

He apologised again, before leaving the room to go get a doctor to check on me to see if I could leave.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Jared asked, jokingly.

“Jared, I love you but I swear to god” I laughed, kicking him.

“You love me? You better not tell Misha” He gasped, placing his hand on his heart.

“Stop!” I smiled, placing a hand on my blushing face.

“You’re still holding hands, are you super glued again?” Jensen chuckled, making me blush even harder.

“Stop attacking me!”

“It’s revenge” Jensen chuckled, patting me on the knee.

“No, but for real. We’re happy for you two” Jared smiled, as Jensen nodded in agreement.

“Thanks guys” Misha and I said in sync, making us laugh.

“See, OTP!”

[jesusvasser]

By Design: Lancia Stratos Zero

True concept cars from mainstream manufacturers—as opposed to one-off, individually commissioned designs on commercially available chassis, as was common practice in the ’20s and ’30s—are a relatively rare phenomenon. Starting with Harley Earl’s Buick Y-Job in 1939 and Chrysler’s Alex Tremulis’ Thunderbolt soon after, nothing much more happened until 1951, when Earl’s Le Sabre and the Buick XP-300 that shared its chassis and mechanical elements appeared. Since then, a veritable flood of such cars have appeared, but those “concepts” have primarily been means to suggest near-future production models, nothing more, and certainly, most have been essentially rather conventional.

To my mind, there have been only a few truly conceptual, absolutely extraordinary concept cars, in particular one from General Motors and two from Carrozzeria Bertone. Of course, principal credit for their creation goes to the design bosses, Harley Earl at the end of his career and Nuccio Bertone. But in fact the shapes of the three vehicles were the brainchildren of their brilliant subordinates: Norman James for the Firebird III gas-turbine two-seater, Franco Scaglione for the Alfa Romeo BAT 7 aerodynamic study, and Marcello Gandini for the most extreme of all, the Lancia Stratos Zero. Of the three concepts, the latter is by far the most extreme, the most improbable, and the most interesting morphologically and in terms of its consequences.

Hundreds of significant designs have come from the hand and mind of Gandini, whose spirit of creation seems to have been liberated by his free rein on the Stratos Zero. To be sure, he had already created the most beautiful supercar of the ’60s when he shaped the body of the Lamborghini Miura, but others determined its architecture; he was simply the stylist. His Lamborghini Marzal mid-engine four-seater—the first ever—showed what he could do when he could influence the mechanicals. The Marzal was simply a lengthened Miura with the front bank of its transverse V-12 removed, but that work was done by Lamborghini engineers Gian Paolo Dallara and Paolo Stanzani. Stratos Zero was all Gandini, using the existing Lancia Fulvia front-drive V-4 but in the rear end instead.

Although the production Stratos packed a 2.4-liter V-6 from the Ferrari Dino, the Zero made use of a 1.6-liter V-4 from the Lancia Fulvia.

Ridiculously low, totally impractical, and utterly fascinating in its tantalizing absurdity, the Zero is one of the most extraordinary cars ever made. Its name is perfectly appropriate in that it has zero practicality, zero utility, and almost zero visibility. One of my friends actually drove this car back in the early ’70s in Los Angeles, and only for about 100 feet or so inside a building and at extremely low speed in first gear. But that brief episode was enough for him to recall the experience clearly 45 years later and to know full well he would not like to repeat it now that he’s no longer a young man. Assuming, of course, he could still get in the car in the first place. He remembers it as extremely claustrophobic, pulling the windshield/door down over his head all too much like closing the lid of a coffin. It was an exercise in pushing a concept to extremes, so it was valid for Bertone in 1970. It also led, happily, to the wonderful Lancia Stratos that had nothing more than its name—slightly modified at that—in common. Well, Gandini was a common link as well, in that he was responsible for the entire package of the incredibly successful polyvalent rally car, able to handle the extremes of the Monte Carlo winter event (three outright wins) and the East African Safari.

Throughout the ’70s and ’80s, wedge-shaped designs influenced by the Zero proliferated, including show examples from mainstream manufacturers like Mercedes-Benz and GM, and of course limited-production cars from Lotus, Maserati, and even the lowly Triumph TR-7. Many were beautiful, striking, and impressive, but no concept or production car has ever been as extreme as this one.

1. There are 10 tiny headlights in the full-width rectangular opening in the car’s chisel-blade nose. It really is a pure wedge shape from the front-wheel centerline forward.

2. The mirrors are a joke. To actually drive the car, one was stuck up top where it could be seen through the upper edge of the windshield.

3. To some extent the lower side windows are a joke as well. There is nothing but pavement to be seen through them.

4. This very strong rising line is dead straight in pure profile, but in plan view it has a notable kink, bending inward notably toward the rear corners of the body, which are well outboard of the front ones.

5. The dramatic engine cover, made up of five superposed metal triangles that scoop air into the engine compartment, is hinged on the right and provides more than adequate access.

6. This is the first expression of the rear wheel opening that became a personal hallmark for Gandini—very successfully on the Lamborghini Countach LP400 but spectacularly ugly on the Stola S86 Diamante seen at the 2005 Geneva show. Airplane manufacturers, before jet speeds made all vertical tails virtually identical, used the shape of the vertical fin as a mark of identity; perhaps Gandini’s love of aviation led him in this direction.

7. Letting the very handsome mechanical elements hang out without even the slightest attempt to hide them lets the wedge-shaped body be psychologically divorced from what racers like to call “the oily bits.”

1. What appears in this view to be a sharp right-angle bend from the horizontal body plane to the sides is in fact a pair of lines with a subtly concave section between them, this outer line leading to the upper corner of the triangular mirror cove.

2. The black section is a rubber mat with very fine transverse ribs on which the driver and passenger step to gain access to the cockpit. The steering wheel folds forward and down out of the way as the rear-hinged windshield is lifted.

3. The big, round Lancia badge on the nose also serves as the latch for the door-cum-windshield, which is one and a half times wider at the rear edge than in front.

4. The front edge is not quite knife-sharp, as it seems in profile. It houses 10 separate headlamp elements, the slimmest then in existence, sourced in France.

5. There is a lot of careful, subtle surface modulation going on in the apparently simplistic front end. A slight rib at the edge of the welcome mat flows up into the roof, with a twisting panel framing the windshield, almost horizontal in front and becoming a near-vertical fence at the rear of the glass.

6. A kind of fence starts from the lower front corners of the windshield and reaches maximum height at the high point of the car’s profile.

7. The filler panel between the lower outer body surface and the inset panel is perforated with five holes to ingest air …

8. … whereas the upper inset panel flows into the engine compartment, constituting a scoop for cooling air.

1. It’s late-’60s Apollo-era technology perhaps, but it really does seem more like a spaceship cabin than a car’s cockpit even now.

2. There were no automotive airbags in 1970, but this padded sphere might have offered a little bit of protection. Notice the absence of safety belts.

1. Each of these sharp fender-edge hard lines derives from the upper edge of the front fenders. The upper one flows into the triangular mirror aperture that ends the fender. The other flows around the wheel opening and into the rib on the body sides.

2. Nearly mirror-image holes are cut into the body’s side surfaces. Each is framed by a hard line with a tight radius at the end of the principal inset surface. The upper indented surface becomes a scoop to bring air into the engine compartment.

3. The incised and depressed surface below the rib is less inclined toward the interior of the volume.

4. The gearbox, itself a handsome, functional ribbed surface, is allowed to be completely seen below the translucent red plastic taillight framing for the rear body aperture. Bright mechanical fastener heads are spaced around the perimeter, one of them perfectly centered on the axis of the crankshaft. The megaphone-shaped exhaust tips are asymmetrically placed entirely to the left.

[eddiejpoplar]

By Design: Lancia Stratos Zero

True concept cars from mainstream manufacturers—as opposed to one-off, individually commissioned designs on commercially available chassis, as was common practice in the ’20s and ’30s—are a relatively rare phenomenon. Starting with Harley Earl’s Buick Y-Job in 1939 and Chrysler’s Alex Tremulis’ Thunderbolt soon after, nothing much more happened until 1951, when Earl’s Le Sabre and the Buick XP-300 that shared its chassis and mechanical elements appeared. Since then, a veritable flood of such cars have appeared, but those “concepts” have primarily been means to suggest near-future production models, nothing more, and certainly, most have been essentially rather conventional.

To my mind, there have been only a few truly conceptual, absolutely extraordinary concept cars, in particular one from General Motors and two from Carrozzeria Bertone. Of course, principal credit for their creation goes to the design bosses, Harley Earl at the end of his career and Nuccio Bertone. But in fact the shapes of the three vehicles were the brainchildren of their brilliant subordinates: Norman James for the Firebird III gas-turbine two-seater, Franco Scaglione for the Alfa Romeo BAT 7 aerodynamic study, and Marcello Gandini for the most extreme of all, the Lancia Stratos Zero. Of the three concepts, the latter is by far the most extreme, the most improbable, and the most interesting morphologically and in terms of its consequences.

Hundreds of significant designs have come from the hand and mind of Gandini, whose spirit of creation seems to have been liberated by his free rein on the Stratos Zero. To be sure, he had already created the most beautiful supercar of the ’60s when he shaped the body of the Lamborghini Miura, but others determined its architecture; he was simply the stylist. His Lamborghini Marzal mid-engine four-seater—the first ever—showed what he could do when he could influence the mechanicals. The Marzal was simply a lengthened Miura with the front bank of its transverse V-12 removed, but that work was done by Lamborghini engineers Gian Paolo Dallara and Paolo Stanzani. Stratos Zero was all Gandini, using the existing Lancia Fulvia front-drive V-4 but in the rear end instead.

Although the production Stratos packed a 2.4-liter V-6 from the Ferrari Dino, the Zero made use of a 1.6-liter V-4 from the Lancia Fulvia.

Ridiculously low, totally impractical, and utterly fascinating in its tantalizing absurdity, the Zero is one of the most extraordinary cars ever made. Its name is perfectly appropriate in that it has zero practicality, zero utility, and almost zero visibility. One of my friends actually drove this car back in the early ’70s in Los Angeles, and only for about 100 feet or so inside a building and at extremely low speed in first gear. But that brief episode was enough for him to recall the experience clearly 45 years later and to know full well he would not like to repeat it now that he’s no longer a young man. Assuming, of course, he could still get in the car in the first place. He remembers it as extremely claustrophobic, pulling the windshield/door down over his head all too much like closing the lid of a coffin. It was an exercise in pushing a concept to extremes, so it was valid for Bertone in 1970. It also led, happily, to the wonderful Lancia Stratos that had nothing more than its name—slightly modified at that—in common. Well, Gandini was a common link as well, in that he was responsible for the entire package of the incredibly successful polyvalent rally car, able to handle the extremes of the Monte Carlo winter event (three outright wins) and the East African Safari.

Throughout the ’70s and ’80s, wedge-shaped designs influenced by the Zero proliferated, including show examples from mainstream manufacturers like Mercedes-Benz and GM, and of course limited-production cars from Lotus, Maserati, and even the lowly Triumph TR-7. Many were beautiful, striking, and impressive, but no concept or production car has ever been as extreme as this one.

1. There are 10 tiny headlights in the full-width rectangular opening in the car’s chisel-blade nose. It really is a pure wedge shape from the front-wheel centerline forward.

2. The mirrors are a joke. To actually drive the car, one was stuck up top where it could be seen through the upper edge of the windshield.

3. To some extent the lower side windows are a joke as well. There is nothing but pavement to be seen through them.

4. This very strong rising line is dead straight in pure profile, but in plan view it has a notable kink, bending inward notably toward the rear corners of the body, which are well outboard of the front ones.

5. The dramatic engine cover, made up of five superposed metal triangles that scoop air into the engine compartment, is hinged on the right and provides more than adequate access.

6. This is the first expression of the rear wheel opening that became a personal hallmark for Gandini—very successfully on the Lamborghini Countach LP400 but spectacularly ugly on the Stola S86 Diamante seen at the 2005 Geneva show. Airplane manufacturers, before jet speeds made all vertical tails virtually identical, used the shape of the vertical fin as a mark of identity; perhaps Gandini’s love of aviation led him in this direction.

7. Letting the very handsome mechanical elements hang out without even the slightest attempt to hide them lets the wedge-shaped body be psychologically divorced from what racers like to call “the oily bits.”

1. What appears in this view to be a sharp right-angle bend from the horizontal body plane to the sides is in fact a pair of lines with a subtly concave section between them, this outer line leading to the upper corner of the triangular mirror cove.

2. The black section is a rubber mat with very fine transverse ribs on which the driver and passenger step to gain access to the cockpit. The steering wheel folds forward and down out of the way as the rear-hinged windshield is lifted.

3. The big, round Lancia badge on the nose also serves as the latch for the door-cum-windshield, which is one and a half times wider at the rear edge than in front.

4. The front edge is not quite knife-sharp, as it seems in profile. It houses 10 separate headlamp elements, the slimmest then in existence, sourced in France.

5. There is a lot of careful, subtle surface modulation going on in the apparently simplistic front end. A slight rib at the edge of the welcome mat flows up into the roof, with a twisting panel framing the windshield, almost horizontal in front and becoming a near-vertical fence at the rear of the glass.

6. A kind of fence starts from the lower front corners of the windshield and reaches maximum height at the high point of the car’s profile.

7. The filler panel between the lower outer body surface and the inset panel is perforated with five holes to ingest air …

8. … whereas the upper inset panel flows into the engine compartment, constituting a scoop for cooling air.

1. It’s late-’60s Apollo-era technology perhaps, but it really does seem more like a spaceship cabin than a car’s cockpit even now.

2. There were no automotive airbags in 1970, but this padded sphere might have offered a little bit of protection. Notice the absence of safety belts.

1. Each of these sharp fender-edge hard lines derives from the upper edge of the front fenders. The upper one flows into the triangular mirror aperture that ends the fender. The other flows around the wheel opening and into the rib on the body sides.

2. Nearly mirror-image holes are cut into the body’s side surfaces. Each is framed by a hard line with a tight radius at the end of the principal inset surface. The upper indented surface becomes a scoop to bring air into the engine compartment.

3. The incised and depressed surface below the rib is less inclined toward the interior of the volume.

4. The gearbox, itself a handsome, functional ribbed surface, is allowed to be completely seen below the translucent red plastic taillight framing for the rear body aperture. Bright mechanical fastener heads are spaced around the perimeter, one of them perfectly centered on the axis of the crankshaft. The megaphone-shaped exhaust tips are asymmetrically placed entirely to the left.

[ceciliatan]

WATCH POINT blog tour & giveaway wrapup!

It’s been a blast launching WATCH POINT, my gay Navy SEAL abduction romance, and I would like to thank all the blogs and sites that featured the book, reviewed it, hosted my essays, and participated in the giveaway! All told 154 comments were entered the drawing for a Cecilia Tan gay fiction prize pack, including some Daron’s Guitar Chronicles swag, The Prince’s Boy, and such!

Scroll to the bottom to see the ultimate winner! :-)

Some highlights from the tour:

I did a “Down and Dirty” interview for USA Today’s “Happy Ever After” column, in which I reveal my love of Sour Patch Kids, Yuri!!! On Ice!, Queen + Adam Lambert, and Peter Tork of the Monkees.

At Heroes & Heartbreakers, I blogged about how everything I learned about wilderness survival, which is put to good use in Watch Point, I learned not on the Internet, but in the Girl Scouts:

“At first, I resisted [my mother’s attempts to get me into Girl Scouts]. I resisted anything that was associated with the word ‘girl.’ I got the Handbook with all the merit badges in it and was mildly disgusted how many of the badges were for things like cooking and sewing. (I’d already learned to sew.) But I stuck it out because there was talk of going on a camping trip. Real camping! Staying overnight in a tent in the woods! I couldn’t wait for that. The Girl Scout motto is ‘Be Prepared.’ I brought my own camping kit (including canteen, frying pan, etc), Swiss army knife, and other tools…”

At Love Bytes Reviews I posted a list of Eight Things I Learned About Navy Seals:

“The average man trying to qualify to be a SEAL can do 79 situps in two minutes. The best of the recruits can do 100. They may be the only romance heroes who actually have the abs pictured on the book’s cover.”

At Bayou Book Junkie I wrote about why I had to write our hero, Eric, in not just the first person but in present tense, something I don’t normally do, but which just worked perfectly for him:

“In the case of Eric the puzzle I needed to solve was how to let the reader see what’s going on in Eric’s head even though Eric himself avoids introspection? It was important to give the reader a deep look inside because so much of what Eric does– like kidnapping Chase–looks villainous from the outside. But inside we know he’s deeply concerned with honor and justice. This parallels Eric’s sexuality, which includes role playing and BDSM which may look abusive from the outside, but from the inside we experience as deeply caring, careful, and loving.”

At The Novel Approach I wrote about explicitly giving Eric half-Asian/half-white ethnicity and why that choice was important thematically to me:

“I am a mixed-race person, and being ‘mixed-race’ has been the ‘hip fad’ three or four different times in my life. Like bisexuality, it is a trait that is easily appropriated by authors as an easy ‘outsider’ marker, a metaphorical symbol of their character’s uniqueness.”

At OMG Reads I blogged about “Military Romance as Guilty Pleasure“:

“I am against using the term ‘guilty pleasure,’ because it is so often applied against things that we shouldn’t be guilty about [especially liking romance]. But I do have a wee bit of guilt over one corner of romance, and that’s military romance. My conscience nags me: how can you enjoy reading and writing Navy SEALs when you don’t agree with American military might being abused around the world?”

I write about the paradox of loving military heroes, but not the way our government abuses them. In Watch Point we get into the subject of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell as the reason why Eric is no longer in the military. In future Wayward Warrior books I’m planning to also touch on other ways our government has failed to serve those who serve us, including budget cuts to veterans programs and so on.

Reviews

Dog-Eared Daydreams reviewed the book, saying:

“If you think Watch Point is your usual falling-for-your-captor story, you’ve got another thing coming. This is my first Cecilia Tan read and I was more than impressed with how she made this such an original tale of vengeance, freedom, and kink.”

The Novel Approach loved it, as well:

“I’ve always loved miscalculation as a romantic catalyst, and Eric falls into the trap of underestimating Chase from the start … and watching Eric’s respect for Chase grow was the lit match to the short fuse you know damn well is going to blow up before the happy ending.”

The one negative review (if I can call it that?) was from Boy Meets Boy Reviews, who were disappointed that the dubious consent was not dubious enough. Riptide Publishing is pretty serious about making sure content warnings are used, and Watch Point is tagged with dubious consent, BDSM, military, enemies to lovers, and hate sex. As the review states: “Most of those tags (IMO) should come with a “lite” disclaimer,” and “All the people who do not do dub or non-con, this is the dub-con for you. This might be the fluffiest dub-con I’ve ever read.”

I don’t disagree at all. Compared to my dub-con fanfic–or even to what goes on in The Prince’s Boy—Watch Point is *relatively* lighter on the transgression. 100% valid review! I still support the content warnings, though, since this is still a kidnapper/kidnappee setup, so for those who find dubious consent triggering or problematic, this is not an allergen-free book. People who are sensitive to those issues should still proceed with caution.

The Winner!

To pick the winner I compiled all 154 comments left throughout the tour in a spreadsheet, assigned by row number, and then I used the website Random.org to pick the winning number. People who left comments on multiple blogs were entered multiple times; each comment counted as an additional entry into the drawing. The number that came up was 94 and so therefore the winner is Lisa for a comment left at the Erotica for All blog!

I truly appreciate all the comments, thoughts, and enthusiasm from everyone on the tour. I’m emailing all of you a little something in thanks for making it a really fun and memorable week. :-) So thank you HB, Paul, James, Didi, Joanne, Nancy, Christina, Timitra, Jennifer, Ginger, Lee, Debby, Trix, Shirley, Jennie, Lee, Tanya, Diane, Jodi, Lennis, Brian, and everyone else whose names may not have come through. :-)

Here’s the full itinerary of giveaway stops: 1. November 6, 2017 – OMG Reads Essay on Military Romance 2. November 6, 2017 – Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents 3. November 6, 2017 – La Crimson Femme 4. November 6, 2017 – Diverse Reader – Excerpt from Ch. 1 5. November 7, 2017 – My Fiction Nook 6. November 7, 2017 – Bayou Book Junkie – Essay on the First-Person Present-Tense Narrator 7. November 7, 2017 – Creative Deeds 8. November 7, 2017 – Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews 9. November 8, 2017 – The Day Before You Came 10. November 8, 2017 – MM Good Book Reviews – Excerpt from Ch. 2 11. November 8, 2017 – Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words 12. November 8, 2017 – TTC Books and More 13. November 8, 2017 – Erotica for All 14. November 9, 2017 – Jessie G Books 15. November 9, 2017 – Dog-Eared Daydreams – Review 16. November 9, 2017 – Book Reviews and More by Kathy 17. November 9, 2017 – The Novel Approach 18. November 10, 2017 – We Three Queens 19. November 10, 2017 – Love Bytes Reviews 20. November 10, 2017 – Open Skye 21. November 10, 2017 – Unquietly Me

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