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tenthcrowley · 20 days ago

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Skittish | Bucky Barnes x ftm!reader | english version

summary: After a long battle and especially hard research, the Avengers finally found the Winter Soldier. To keep everyone safe, they keep him locked in their HQ. In semi-freedom but especially in a trance, Bucky Barnes attracts the attention of the young boy in charge of taking care of him during his stay here.

notes: I prefer to specify it, the temporality is not exactly respected. Let's say that all this takes place just after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

⚠︎ warnings: mentions of heavy trauma related to the war and the Hydra projects, a form of depressed!Bucky, violence, weapons, incomprehension of transidentity without transphobia, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

English isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes <3

- 2nd person description

- 5 371 words

french version here

You were the little protégé of the group, he had quickly noticed. Even if Natasha didn't have superpowers or a robotic suit either, she was part of the team. She and Clint were kind of the superhumans of the group, with superhuman abilities but nothing that surpassed Thor's lightning or Hulk's muscles. Then, there was you, a fairly normal little human with no particular specificities. High intelligence, extreme kindness and an adorable smile. But no mastery of martial arts. You knew the basics of fighting, Nat had taught you the main thing. You had ended up understanding Bruce's extravagant chemical formulas, and you understood the most important things Tony said in his intense nerd phases. But once again, you were nothing special, and that made Bucky wonder. Why was a basic human here? What were you doing in the middle of the Avengers? Even though he had missed a few decisive years from a social point of view, he didn't understand.

As he stared from his cell, he saw scenes he didn't know how to interpret. You assisting Tony Stark and Jarvis, you laughing with Bruce Banner, you helping Natasha Romanoff train, you carrying Steve Rogers' shield to him, you sorting Clint Barton's arrows, you redoing Thor's braids.

What were you doing there?

You had cheerfully introduced yourself to him. With a friendly smile on your lips, you had stated your name, first name and pronouns – he hadn't really understood this last point –. You had surely been informed of his situation. Don't be offended, he'll need a little time, someone must have whispered to you. He hadn't answered you, and you hadn't seemed offended. You had then left, and he had remained perplexed. If you already knew everything about him, why come and introduce yourself? You must have read his files, you must have all read his files. Steve had to slip away to get some air, Natasha inspected everything in detail, Bruce muttered "it’s awful". You had to read his files. See his life laid out on a large table, foreign hands going over the medical reports. You had to read with anguish the endless list of victims he had killed during his missions, observe the modifications that had been made to him, the treatments inflicted, the pains endured. You had seen all that. Then, why come see him?

"Let's just say I don't really like you hanging around this guy," Tony's voice had been saying for several minutes, "Jarvis copy this plan for me and make a 3D reconstruction with train stations, airports and all the stuff."

The holograms moved before your eyes, but you hadn't paid attention to them. Back then, the first time you saw this virtual world being modeled in Tony's office, you were like a kid. Stars in your eyes, you asked a thousand questions per second, making the creator of this program smile. But now you knew yourself how most of the "Jarvis" system worked, and you weren't so impressed anymore, or at least you weren't with every move Stark made.

"I don't see what's bothering you," you replied, innocently swinging your legs in the air.

Tony turned around with his ever-so-dramatic gestures, making a vague movement with his hand he tried to make you understand things without having to speak. Unfortunately for him telekinesis was not part of your abilities.

"Okay," he admitted to himself, defeated, "to start with his sophisticated robotic arm that could crush you before you could scream," he mimed disinterestedly, “did you look at him? Unstable and completely high."

A non-hidden smile drew a curve across your lips.

"We're still talking about Bucky Barnes?” you had fun, “because I rather have the impression that you're looking at yourself in a mirror"

You glanced at Jarvis, who was finishing your friend's request. Then, your attention went back to the billionaire who was visibly desperate to have this discussion with you – you were getting used to it, a demonstration of love coming from Tony –.

"I prefer to cut you off right now," your voice continued, "I forbid you to give me the traditional excuses like he's dangerous or armed or he's a murderer”. You got down from the table where you were sitting and gestured around the room, “look around Tony, only weapons or future weapons,” you got closer to him and pointed at his forehead, “you have the greatest weapon that humanity has ever known in this skull. Natasha and Clint are professional killers, Steve is a traumatized soldier who makes a denial, Thor is an alien with supernatural powers and Bruce is a scientist haunted by a destructive alter-ego”. You pause to admire the still indecipherable facial expression of the man in front of you, “you are all murderers and dangers to Mankind, the only difference between you and Barnes is that you chose to devote your talents to a cause, and he had no choice".

Tony remained motionless for a few long seconds, a whirlwind surely vibrating his neurons. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and quickly bowed his head in defeat.

"You're right," he declared, "I’ve no more arguments and yours are solid”, he turned and went back to Jarvis, “well done kid"

A year ago you would have been perplexed by this reaction, but time had taught you that you had to take Tony Stark with a grain of salt and observe him as you would with a foreign mushroom. All you could remember from this interaction was that you were tired, that you had won against the great megalomaniac Iron Man and above all that you had to talk to Barnes again.

No one had really agreed with Steve on the idea of bringing a Hydra mercenary back to Avengers HQ. It's the equivalent of serving him our secrets on a silver platter, Clint had rightly said. You had been surprised to see Nat defend Barnes, alongside you and Steve – of course –. There was Bruce who couldn't deliver a distinct judgment, then Tony and Clint who were against. Thor having left, you didn't know where in space, the votes had therefore been closed with a majority of for.

You had helped Captain set up a room that was at least habitable in a protective cell, a bit like the one that had sheltered Loki. While the tall blond carried the fold-out bed, you had taken care of a bag of clothes – approximately Barnes' size – and another with water and sweets, this idea had come from you. You found it unfair to call this man a simple murderer, he had been manipulated and controlled. As you put the cereal bars on a small iron table, you tried not to think about the chaos that must be going on in the Winter Soldier's head at the same time. He must have been just as traumatized as his victims, maybe even more so. And finding himself in such a particular environment overnight must have been disturbing. So a chocolate bar and a soda couldn't hurt him.

Thank you, Steve had murmured, for understanding. You had given him a touching smile, holding back the urge to ask him how he felt. He had just found his best friend, who was supposed to have disappeared for several decades, and on top of that, this friend had suffered inhumane treatment for most of his life now. It was obvious that he didn't feel well, that he was helpless in the face of this situation. Bruce had advised you to give him time, and that if he needed it, he would end up talking to one of you. You had listened to his advice, and focused more on Barnes instead.

You had introduced yourself first, starting with a simple acquaintance. You had then made sure to take care of his needs, slipping in a new bottle of fresh water when the previous one was empty, opening his prison only when night fell so that he could go shower without running into a contemptuous Tony or a depressed Steve.

On this subject, rules had been established to guarantee everyone's safety. If Bucky left his cell it was always in the company of one of you – you were the only ones with the passes –, if he asked for something – which he never did – the object had to pass through several control portals before being given to him, and finally no matter where he went, toilets or showers, someone had to watch over him within the limits of privacy. Bruce had offered to take turns, but judging by the faces of the others you had volunteered to ensure most of his outings. Natasha was supposed to replace you when you weren't available, then Tony if neither of you were present. This way you had avoided conflicts but also and above all Steve wouldn't have to go there.

You didn't know him, Bucky, having only seen the videos in his file, and yet every time you went to visit him your stomach knotted. There was no question of fear, since his robotic arm had been censored to the maximum thanks to a Stark gadget, leaving him only the freedom to use it as a normal limb, without super-strength or integrated weapons. He remains a super soldier, Bruce had warned, his physical faculties are superior to Nat's and he has a serum similar to Steve's in his veins. But you weren't afraid. Unfortunately a goat would have made you shiver more than Barnes when you went to see him. He was always on pause. Never spoke, barely moving his gaze from the ground. You had been reassured to see that he ate the bare minimum, and he had even tasted a chocolate bar one day. But aside from these details, it was as if you were seeing the same robot in the same position, day after day. Your stomach knotted for these reasons, because when you brought him clean sheets he had nothing of the man you had seen on video. The rage that haunted his eyes had disappeared, there was only a nameless emptiness left, and you had never seen anything so sad. You didn't feel like you had a hundred-year-old Hydra soldier in front of you, but a broken orphan.

You spent a lot of time rereading his file, his reports, his exams. You tried to understand him through these papers. Steve was lost, he no longer saw Buck in those eyes, and you were trying to understand what he had become, Buck. According to his personal file, he had been found at the age of twenty-six before undergoing Hydra’s experiments. A photo of him, in 1943, was stuck to the paper. A shy smile on his lips, his infantry hat slightly tilted on his head and his uniform without a crease sitting proudly on his chest. A tear had seriously rolled down your cheek, ending its path in a Russian handwriting: Зимний Солдат, in other words Winter Soldier. Bruce had carried out a complete tradition of all the documents, later corrected by Natasha. Maybe rereading these texts was not good for you, but you needed it. You were the only one here who was interested in Barnes. Steve felt so guilty that he was in a kind of denial, Nat was only coldly studying the soldier’s file and let’s not even talk about the others. Bucky needed time, understanding and gentleness to at least not make his after-effects worse. You most certainly had to make mistakes, not being a psychologist by profession, but you were already doing better than your comrades and than Hydra.

"Nice evening, huh?" Your voice echoed in a leaden silence.

The sun had set for over three hours, most of the Avengers were in their rooms or gone outside, which meant that it was the perfect time for Barnes to take a shower. You had gathered your strength and went to the soldier's cell. When you had passed by, about two hours ago, he had not wanted to eat his meal so you had taken it back and heated it up again for later. With the hot dish in one hand, you carefully closed the armored glass door behind you. As you expected, Barnes had hardly moved since your last visit. Still sitting cross-legged in his bed, he seemed vaguely to notice your presence.

"I know you didn't want to eat earlier," you began, putting the meal down next to him, "but I thought that maybe your appetite had returned in the meantime."

Sometimes you were entitled to a small, hoarse "hum" from the back of his throat as a response, but you wondered if it was intentional since his gestures didn't match this slight sign of life. Unfortunately, tonight wasn't part of that "sometimes." No noise, barely a breath. But you didn't get discouraged.

The first few times you came to talk to him, his complete lack of reaction had made you wonder about his possible understanding of your language. Yet you had read that he read and spoke at least two languages, including yours. You might not understand what I'm telling you, you had mumbled while picking up his used clothes. Your biggest interaction with him had been when he had looked you straight in the eye and said in a pleasantly deep voice: I understand.

“Other than that you can-”

You were surprised to see him stand up on his own, studiously heading towards the exit door while waiting for you to open it. You were usually the one who went first to the exit, waiting two or three seconds for him to get up and join you. But this was a nice surprise, maybe it meant that his condition was improving.

Your electromagnetic pass stuck to the dashboard, a small beep sounded before you pushed the heavy door and let Barnes go first. These security questions were mandatory for you to approach the Winter Soldier. Always making him walk in front of you, making your pass inaccessible – hidden in your sleeve most of the time as Bruce had advised you –, a bladed weapon concealed against your ankle in case of trouble, and you weren't supposed to talk to him about yourself or the team. Clint had wanted to add an additional rule: not to speak to him unless necessary, to prevent any risk of manipulation. Did you look at him carefully? Had you imposed yourself in the discussion, he didn't utter any opposition during the whole process to bring him back here, and then remember his mission reports, he wasn't a spy but a mass murderer, he was programmed to speak as little as possible to his victims. Tony had agreed with you on the subject, recalling the case of Loki – once again – who was very different from Barnes.

Stupid rules, you thought as you watched the silhouette of the man in front of you advance in the long corridor. If the others saw him for more than five minutes, they would realize that he was nothing more than a victim in this cell. They all found you a little naive and they appreciated you for that, a ray of hope in the midst of chaos. Yet you were by far the one with the best perception of the others. Each villain had arguments, good or bad, you listened to them all. You reasoned with the team, making them come out of their superhero bubble to show them the possibility of a little levity.

You did not doubt the abilities of Barnes, you wanted to find yourself face to face with him even less than with Nat – and that was already a lot –. You sometimes looked again at the surveillance videos taken the day Natasha and Steve fought him for the first time. He was hypnotizing, in the way all his movements seemed to come together with such fluidity and speed, the way his body thought for him and acted accordingly. You were dizzy from a roll in comparison, so seeing it all was astounding. Of course, there were horrible explanations behind these gifts, just like most people who could reproduce all this, but you still couldn't help but analyze these videos. And then, there in that hallway, you looked at Barnes' back, his arm gleaming, the red star enthroned there, and you wondered what was going on in his mind. What he could do was inhuman, and seeing it in image reinforced that feeling.Then you had to realize that he was a human being, who had once been like you. His way of functioning had to have been completely disrupted, distorted and destroyed. We had to reduce to crumbs what had been to build what was now, that was how it worked. To adapt to a new environment we were always advised to forget everything we thought we knew, all the movies said it. In the same way that flat-earthers were convinced that the Earth was flat, Barnes no longer saw the world the way you did.

As the rules said, you discreetly put your pass in a pants pocket as you reached the bathroom. Simple locks served as security, and it was more than enough. No one except you had ever mentioned the possibility that Bucky was trying to end his life. If he did, the bathroom was the best place, which is why a simple lock would do the trick so that you or someone else could break down the door if necessary. But you avoided thinking too much about this exit, because through the few interactions you had had with him and the thoughts you had about him, you had become truly attached to him.

You opened the shower curtain, under Barnes' intrigued gaze. Each Avengers had a bathroom with the bare minimum in their room, but there were also three larger bathrooms on the second floor. These were the rooms to clean yourself in an emergency when you came back covered in blood, or Bruce went there in the event of a green alert for example. They were more accessible than the bedrooms, which explained this function. But what made Bucky curious was not that. You always gave him room number two, with a basic shower, a sink and a toilet. But there you were in number one, with a bathtub. He quickly detailed the room, slightly larger and apart from the bathtub there was nothing that differentiated it from number 2. As always, you had previously removed all objects that could be used as weapons. The pile of two clean towels overhung by harsh soap and shampoo – to avoid the risk of swallowing or too aggressive eye attacks – and the washcloth, were still carefully placed on the edge of the sink. So why a bathtub?

As if you were reading his mind, you turned around in a fluid movement. You took the time to appreciate Barnes' expressive gaze – it was so rare – before answering his questions.

"I assumed it must have been years since you had a real bath, you tried to avoid the Hydra subject, so I thought it could be a good idea?”

A good number of emotions passed through the blue of his eyes, only accentuating your apprehension about his reaction. No one had been even friendly to him for a long time, which meant that he was going to take a while before properly reacting. But as you had imagined, his gaze scanned the bathtub behind you at breakneck speed in search of a trap. I'm not like them, you thought with a pang of heart.

"I know what you must be telling yourself, but there is no trap Bucky,” his name resonated more than you would have imagined, “it's going to be long but believe me I'm not trying to kill you or hurt you"

A heavy doubt seemed to weigh, and you could only understand. This kind of sentence, he must have heard far too many before ending up electrocuted or worse. To help his process, you moved away and let him fully observe the place. His eyes locked on the shower head longer than expected, and once again, you felt nauseous as you imagined the traumas that must be replaying in his head. In that moment, you thought back to the first time you had led him into a bathroom. He had refused to get into the shower, his jaw clenched to the point that his teeth must have hurt, he had stared at you with a cocktail of indecipherable emotions in his eyes. You had ended up remembering the treatment reserved for Jews in the showers during the Second World War, and you had immediately apologized. Sorry, I should have thought of that, you had said guiltily, if you want you can just wash yourself with the washcloth and the faucet water, no need for the shower head today if you don't trust it. And the situation seemed to be happening again tonight, he was afraid that you would want to get rid of him during his shower, or bath in this case. Unfortunately, techniques have evolved since 39-45, especially since he was in the HQ of the greatest engineer in the United States, which meant that you could have found many methods to kill him while he was washing.

But you had to find a way to reassure him, because you had no intention of executing him quietly, and you wanted to be sincerely nice.

"Maybe if it reassures you I can-,” you hesitated before telling yourself that it was for a good cause, “I can stay with you? There's a curtain anyway"

Faced with his expression that swayed from surprise to doubt, you felt obliged to justify.

"If there's gas or an explosion, I'll die with you, which wouldn't be very appreciated by the team”, you paused slightly to gauge his reaction, “and if there's anything else threatening you can kill me yourself since I'll be right next to you”. You then brandish the door’s key between your two fingers, “on top of that I lock us in and leave the key on the edge of the bathtub, so I don't run away and lock you behind me"

You had the strong impression that in another time, Barnes would have smiled, maybe even laughed. Then, to your surprise, you saw a semblance of amusement in his eyes. An almost invisible veil that lasted only a second, just long enough for a distant version of him to take over the Winter Soldier. You couldn't help your smile, waiting despite everything for a more concrete reaction before reacting in return.

Bucky tried to get a dominant emotion out of the hubbub that was playing in his mind. You were definitely different, and he was beginning to understand why you had your place in the middle of a band of superhumans. And even if someone who spoke like you had the perfect profile to manipulate people at a high level, he risked taking his chance.

"Can I have twenty seconds alone to undress"

The shiver that electrocuted your entire body surely did not go unnoticed. His voice, his tone, gave a more directive than questioning turn to his question, and you only nodded slightly. In turn, you became as silent as him, too disturbed by the outburst of reactions on his part in such a short time. You left the bathroom, pushed the door behind you without closing it, because despite your shock, your unconscious valued your safety.

While you waited for some signal authorizing you to enter the room, you wandered on new thoughts. Barnes had not spoken to anyone from what you had been told. The cameras had recorded that during the fight to neutralize him he had spoken, a few Hydra men were with him so you had assumed that he was giving them orders in Russian. Natasha had been too busy trying not to die to pay attention to what he had said, but in hindsight, you wanted to know what had come out of his mouth that day. Tony liked to say that Russian was one of the least welcoming languages in the world, but strangely hearing it from Bucky made you want to. Maybe it was his growling voice, maybe because Russian had been his “native” language for years. Besides Russian, he spoke other languages according to reports, but then again he hadn’t shown off his skills to anyone but you. Besides, I’m pretty much the only one he’s seen since he arrived, you thought. But he had still had the opportunity when Bruce had come with you to visit him to check a wiring on the dashboard. He could have done it from his cell too, since it was completely transparent and he could see the hallway where many people passed, he could have talked. But he hadn’t, and without knowing why you had the feeling that he only wanted to talk to you.

The sound of water almost made you jump. You muttered a curse – hoping Bucky hadn’t heard – before slowly turning towards the door.

“Can I?” You rather ask to avoid a drama.

By the time he answered, you let your mind wander again. What if he was just naked in the middle of the room? Hydra had conditioned him to lose all sense of ownership, to make even his body no longer belong to him, which he meant was that nudity was no longer taboo and that on the contrary – given to the horrors these people had done – they could very well have forced him to stay naked to humiliate him further.

"Yes," his voice echoed vaguely.

Preparing yourself for the worst, you took a deep breath and kept your eyes high to avoid any eye contact in the wrong place. But as you opened the door you were relieved to see the curtain halfway drawn and Bucky already in the water. A feeling, which at the time you compared to a parent proud of their child, warmed your heart. It may not have been much in the eyes of the world, but you imagined the man's feelings when he plunged a body that had become almost unknown into warm water prepared for him, and him alone. Comfort, surprise, relief. A lot must have been going on in the Winter Soldier's head.

You closed the door behind you, locking the exit as planned. But as you moved closer to place the key next to him, a second wave of heat passed through your body as you realized something. He had only drawn the curtain halfway, thus hiding the lower part of his body but leaving you all the pleasure of seeing from his torso. Once again, in other measures you would not have found the situation moving, but rather comical. Except that this is the Winter Soldier, and all his communication was done without voice. He had left his arms and face visible so that you too could see that he wasn't a threat. In the same way that you had found a solution to his anxiety, he was taking a step towards you, showing you that you had no reason to fear him at the moment.

"Thank you," you murmured.

As if you were afraid of breaking the moment, you settled down without a sound. There was no chair here, but the floor suited you. You crossed your legs while resting your back against the small extension of the wall attached to the bathtub. This way, you stayed close enough to him while respecting a necessary distance to avoid seeing the rest of his naked body.

You forgot to check the time, no longer counting the minutes of observation that the man in front of you gave you before asking questions.

Bucky stayed in the water for a whole hour before it started to cool down. You spent all your time detailing his relaxed face, his eyes closed as if he was going to fall asleep from one second to the next. Then when he opened his eyelids again, he looked at you in turn for a few seconds, before asking you if he could get out of the bath. In his sentence, reality hit you again.

You had a mad desire to tell him that he was free, that he no longer had to take orders. You wanted to show him the world, to make him taste vanilla ice cream, to make him smell incense in churches, the greasy of triple burgers. You had the need to see him buy with his own money, help him get up from his first falls. When he looked at you with his big blue eyes, waiting for your permission to get out of a bath, you wanted to ask him for forgiveness, in the name of humanity. To promise him that no one would come and hit him, to promise this little boy that nothing would happen to him, that he could live a peaceful and happy life with his friends and family. But looking at the raw skin on his left shoulder, looking at the weapon that was implanted in his body, you felt your stomach turn. No one had been there to protect this child from Brooklyn, none of the people who had done this to him had even felt sorry for this man. And today he was sleeping in a cell capable of resisting the strength of the Hulk.

"You can get out of the bath," your voice broke.

He obeyed, rolling the superhuman muscles of his body to straighten up. You barely moved, being too far away in your thoughts to even think of looking away from him. A new blow was dealt to your heart as you realized that yes, he no longer had any notion of possession over his body. Two drops of water fell against your calf as he grabbed the largest towel and wiped his skin without emotion. The rough sound of the fabric made you shiver, and then you slowly stood up. He was taller than you, but neither that nor his robotic arm stopped you from grabbing his wet towel. His body failed to react when you passed the white fabric against his arm, his face was frozen in an expression of total incomprehension, faced with the softness with which the towel came into contact with his skin.

You finished your task, as if he were just a tiny puppy to wipe. Then, you took three steps back and fixed your eyes on his. You handed him some clean clothes, before taking the key back and heading towards the door.

“I really need some hot chocolate,” your voice still broken with tears declared, “and I’d love to share it with you, Bucky.”

Your slightly trembling hand wiped the moisture from your cheeks, then gradually turned back to the soldier after unlocking the exit. He had already dressed, the black jogging bottoms falling low on his hips. Bucky examined your face, and his eyebrows met in a half-confused, half-sad expression. He got close enough to you for you to feel the warmth he gave off.

“No cinnamon,” he said, “I don’t think I like it.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, telling yourself that only you could find yourself in these situations.

“No cinnamon.”

There was a first time for everything, and when you saw – later that night – whipped cream on the Winter Soldier’s lips, you thought that after all, the child could not be saved but that you could bring the man back to life.

pictures : Pinterest

dividers : @/strangergraphics, @/pommecita et @/thecutestgrotto

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tenthcrowley · 4 months ago

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i just watch s3ep9 of criminal minds(the one after penelope gets shot called penelope) and TELL ME WHY they gave morgan and garcia sooo much tension and then introduced ugly malewife loser butthead kevin lynch

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tenthcrowley · 7 months ago

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damn

can i request smut if either deadpool or wolverine (or both if you're feeling 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂)

just saw the new movie good god i almost popped a boner watching them fight

😔 I have yet to watch the movie but I love both characters especially my man Logan. I’ll do smut headcanons for both characters.

WOLVERINE & DEADPOOL X MALE READER

⚠️BOTH TOP AND BOTTOM READER— pure smut, both Logan and wade are switches, riding, blowjob, overstimulated, orgasm torture. And more⚠️

— Logan is very serious and like almost brooding type of guy during sex while Wade is probably talking your ear off.

— Wade watches you two fuck and he wont stop making comments and tries to talk you through it.

— Logan eating your hole out while Wade is making out with you touching and pinching your nipples or he’s jerking both of your cocks off.

— Wade and you taking turns fucking Logan, Logan is less but still on his guard and doesn’t have his walls up for you while you’re inside him.

— You and Wade being absolutely horny like rabbits while, Logan swears that he’s dating literal idiots.

— Logan trying not to his annoyance show while you and wade are cracking up jokes and laughing. He thinks to himself as to why the hell he’s here in the first place.

— The two of them having a preference of either sometimes listening to music or pure silence. Wade usually needs the background noise.

— The both of them taking turns on sucking you off, they get so smug seeing you overstimulated. By the end of it you’re a quivering mess.

— Both men can last long in bed so you’re pretty much exhausted after it all.

— Wade and Logan will be arguing and fighting over something stupid while your there fingering Logan prepping him while you sneakily instigate the argument.

— Logan covering Wade’s mouth, holding his mouth shut while your fucking Wade so hard and deep. The sounds of Wade’s muffled moans, and skin slapping against one another fills the room.

— Wade is 100% freaky, he’ll be the type of guy to have Logan’s cum in his mouth and kiss you.

— You and Logan spiltroasting Wade.

— You guys bickering about who’s gonna be the top of bottom for the night. But honestly doesn’t care which one he would be.

— Both are very vocal during bed, Logan will be letting out deep grunts and groans while Wade would be moaning his ear off or just talking way to much.

—Both of them fucking you while they’re still in their hero costumes. They’ll be covered in bruises or dirt and they’ll be relentless with you.

— But if they’re in too much pain you’ll all just jerk one another off.

— Logan would be bitting and marking both of you and wade’s bodies.

— The two still arguing while you’re still riding wade’s cock, they stop arguing hearing you moan and your body starts trembling as you cum. The both of them completely forgetting about the argument and focused on you.

— Both of them taking turns eating your hole out, or sometimes both of them stretching you out with both of their tongues.

— Logan walking in seeing you fucking Wade while wearing his own Deadpool mask and suit.

— The two of them prepping themselves waiting for you to get home.

— Logan holding Wade’s legs open for you could fuck him as fast and hard as you want.

— Both men are a bit impatient when it comes to sex, so you’ll tease and edge them.

— Wade can definitely take the both of you, at the same time.

— Both men being on their knee's licking and sucking your cock off. There tongues going up and down on your cock both flicking their tongues on your cock.

— Logan likes to tear and rip off both of you and Wade clothes off if he’s feeling very needy and impatient.

THE END

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tenthcrowley · 7 months ago

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rereading my own writing is just a constant fluctuation between "damn, girl, you wrote this? (affectionate)" and "damn, girl, you wrote this? (derogatory)"

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tenthcrowley · 8 months ago

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i don't know what language is this (I'm stupid) but I hate not knowing it

"Quatre secondes"

Wolverine x

M/FTMreader

note : mutant!reader

résumé : Logan entend malgré lui des bruits assez dérangeants dans une chambre voisine, il sera surpris de découvrir de qui ils proviennent

! warnings : forme de voyeurisme, violence, langage vulgaire/cru, évocation de sexualité et de guerre, alcool, jalousie

3 805 mots Description à la troisième personne

Il avait une ouïe surdéveloppée, tout le monde le savait. Les élèves qui se disputaient, il les entendait. Les vitres cassées par un ballon, il les entendait. Les rires à deux heures du matin, ça putain ouais il les entendait aussi. En bref, il entendait tout ce qu’il se passait dans le manoir, du moins au deuxième étage. D’habitude, aucun problème à s’endormir avec ces bruits, il avait déjà dormi sous des tirs de fusils alors des gosses n’allaient pas l’empêcher de se reposer. Enfin, c'est ce qu’il pensait. Les rires, les insultes, les chuchotements, d’accord, mais les gémissements c'étaient autre chose encore.

Au deuxième étage il n’y avait que les étudiants ayant dépassé la majorité, pour ceux que l’on pouvait dater, et quelquefois il arrivait que ce genre de choses se produisent mais rien de terrible, c'était léger et rapide, tout l’inverse de ces dernières fois. Parce que oui, “ces” dernières fois. Pas juste une fois, un vendredi soir pour fêter le weekend, non, tous les putains de soirs depuis une semaine. Alors Logan commençait à regretter son ouïe surdéveloppée.

Il n’avait jamais bien dormi, c'était pas son genre, mais ne pas dormir n'était pas son genre non plus. Il avait besoin de sommeil. Son corps avait beau se régénérer, il devait se reposer, pour éviter d'être de mauvaise humeur, encore plus que d’habitude je veux dire.

Mais aller toquer à la porte de cette chambre et demander poliment d'arrêter de baiser tous les soirs n'était pas non plus dans ses options. Malgré son caractère, assez explosif, Logan n’aimait pas ces situations, elles le mettaient toujours très mal à l’aise. Et puis, il devait avouer aussi qu’admettre que depuis une semaine il écoutait sans le vouloir ces bruits était un peu gênant, voire même beaucoup.

Lors de ces nuits blanches, Logan était parvenu à localiser la chambre d’où prévenait tout ce boucan. C'était la dernière, tout au fond du couloir, à environ cinq chambres de la sienne. Si sa mémoire était bonne, Oscar dormait là-dedans. Un mec assez banal et gentillet, le genre à se faire recaler par toutes ses conquêtes amoureuses. Et pourtant il en faisait du bordel. Bien entendu il n'était pas tout seul dans l’histoire, mais Logan ne voyait pas qui pourrait être la deuxième personne. Oscar avait des ami.e.s mais rien de fantastique, pas de petit.e ami.e non plus et en aucun cas une mutation permettant de faire ce genre de choses tout seul. En fait, il pouvait juste manipuler les couleurs, mais pas à un très haut niveau, seulement inverser le jaune d’une banane avec le rouge d’une fraise par exemple. Alors Logan séchait, il ne voyait pas qui ça pouvait bien être. Et même la voix ne l’aidait pas, il entendait davantage Oscar que l’autre. Même si quelquefois il parvenait à capter une voix, très douce, très tremblante, et il devait l'avouer, assez agréable à entendre. Mais ce n'était pas sa faute, il ne pouvait pas ne pas écouter, ses oreilles entendaient pour lui. Et même avec des bouchons il entendait tout, puis de toute manière il ne supportait pas ces trucs en plastique fluorescent.

Au bout de la cinquième fois, il avait eu espoir que ça s’arrête, qu’ils arrêtent. Mais ce n'était pas arrivé.

Honnêtement, il était un peu à cran. Les élèves le remarquaient très clairement, dès le début de la semaine ils avaient vu que Wolverine était d’humeur cinglante, ils se tenaient encore plus à carreaux. Leur soulagement était qu’au moins il n'était pas professeur, parce qu’ils se voyaient mal avoir à endurer ce regard enflammé pendant une voire deux heures de cours. Logan était simplement “invité”, ou peut-être “habitant”, ou “babysitter” aussi parfois. Charles lui avait proposé un poste en tant que professeur d’histoire, mais il avait vite refusé, ne voulant pas avoir à se coltiner des évaluations à corriger et une cravate à porter. Quelquefois il donnait des sortes de cours, ou plutôt des entraînements, dans le combat bien entendu. Et puis un ou deux, ou une petite dizaine d’élèves peut-être, lui demandait fréquemment de les aider à la salle de sport, pour des conseils ou juste un soutien physique. Avec tout ça il avait fini par connaître tout le monde, même s’il n’en avait pas l’air, il aimait plutôt bien ces gosses.

Et puisque officiellement il n’avait rien à faire, il pouvait observer Oscar, ou plutôt avec qui il traînait.

Appuyé contre un encadrement de porte, Logan ne détacha pas son regard du jeune homme. Malicia était passée parler à Oscar, et des sueurs froides avaient parcouru le dos de Logan en imaginant cette possibilité, mais heureusement elle était avec Bobby dans une chambre à l'autre bout du couloir. Katt était aussi passée pour lui donner des livres, mais Logan savait qu’elle avait déjà quelqu’un d’autre dans le viseur, ça ne pouvait donc pas être elle. Quentin, Mark, Sophie et Sasha aussi. En fait, Oscar parlait à beaucoup de monde et n’avait pourtant pas d’amis fixes.

Dix-sept heures et Logan commençait à râler. Pour un samedi, Oscar en voyait du monde, il faisait courir Logan un peu partout. Et dans tout ça, personne ne pouvait correspondre.

« Salut, tu as pu le récupérer ? »

Devant lui, à une quinzaine de mètres, Oscar discutait avec une nouvelle personne encore. Logan leva les yeux au ciel derrière ses lunettes de soleil et s’appuya davantage sur l’arbre dans son dos.

« Mh mh, Tornade a été compréhensive, elle m'a même aidé à le réparer »

Le garçon souriait faiblement, il n'était pas timide, Logan le savait puisqu’il connaissait assez bien ce jeune homme, c'était même lui qui l’avait ramené.

Il y a quatre mois, Logan est parti, sans vraiment savoir pourquoi, pour être honnête, il voulait juste aller près d’un lac et regarder la forêt vivre en face. Mais il a entendu un couinement, humain, ou du moins pas animal. En fait, il a failli couper la tête à ce garçon lors de leur première rencontre, il s'était caché dans un buisson derrière lui. Logan l’a écouté lui expliquer qu’il avait fuit sa maison pour échapper à des personnes qui ne l’appréciaient pas, il disait que sa famille lui manquait beaucoup mais qu’il ne pouvait pas revenir avec eux car c'était dangereux. Puis, sorti de nul part, il lui a dit qu’il était désolé pour tout ce qu’il avait vécu. Logan l’a fixé, pendant un long moment avant de demander : “tu lis dans les pensées ?”. Ce à quoi le garçon a répondu : “j’interprète les signes invisibles”. Il a fallu dix bonnes minutes pour que Logan comprenne, et qu'il se détende un peu par la même occasion. Le garçon lui a demandé pardon, il a dit ne pas avoir voulu être trop brusque mais qu’il n’avait pas pu s'empêcher de le dire, parce qu’il voyait la souffrance sur les traits de Logan. La discussion s'était arrêtée là, Logan s'était levé et avait lentement soufflé, il n'aimait pas parler de sa vie alors savoir que quelqu'un pouvait lire en lui comme dans un livre ouvert l'avait dérangé. Le garçon s'était encore une fois excusé, les larmes aux yeux, et Logan l'avait regardé pendant quatre secondes, quatre longues secondes qui lui avaient fait ressentir plus que quatre années. Il avait pris le garçon dans ses bras, il n’avait pas contrôlé son geste, il voulait juste le prendre dans ses bras pour quelques instants. Après, Logan l'avait emmené au Manoir, et ils s’étaient vite perdus de vue dans la masse de mutants. Mais il le regardait, il ne pouvait pas s'empêcher de le regarder lorsqu'il passait devant une salle de classe et qu’il le voyait en train de prendre des notes, ou lorsqu’il écoutait de la musique dans le jardin. Logan se sentait un peu attaché à ce garçon, enfin, ce jeune homme, puisqu’il avait vingt-trois ans.

« Génial, Oscar sourit gentiment, et..tu peux venir ce soir ? »

Logan ouvrit grand les yeux. Oscar fixait le garçon avec un sourire, un peu trop grand pour n'être qu’une invitation à jouer aux cartes.

« Je sais pas trop, tu sais ça va beaucoup mieux là donc..je veux pas forcer de trop, répondit l'autre avec un regard neutre, contrastant avec la situation »

Bordel, il ne s’attendait pas à ce que ça soit lui. Mais en y repensant, ça semblait presque logique maintenant. La voix faible et tremblante était aussi calme et douce que la sienne, et puis il parlait beaucoup avec Oscar depuis quelque temps.

Logan lâcha son arbre, il retira ses lunettes et passa sa main contre ses yeux. Bordel de merde, il ne s'attendait pas à ça. Il avait besoin d’un peu de calme, et d’une bière accessoirement, alors il alla s’enfermer dans sa chambre.

Dans le jardin, Oscar et le garçon continuaient de parler, mais Logan n'était plus là pour les entendre, malheureusement.

« Aah putain ouais »

Deux jours, ils avaient tenu deux jours avant de recommencer. Et Logan n’allait plus tenir, surtout maintenant qu’il savait à qui parlait Oscar.

Bordel, il n’aimait pas ça, non il n'aimait pas ça du tout. Cette contraction dans sa mâchoire, ses muscles tendus, son cerveau en ébullition. Bordel, ça faisait des années qu'il n'avait pas été jaloux, et il fallait que ça tombe sur ce mec.

Sincèrement, il devrait avoir une médaille pour ne pas déjà avoir lacéré cette foutue porte de chambre, et peut-être au passage un des hommes à l’intérieur. Mais c’était quelque chose de compliqué à contrôler, la colère elle était faite pour sa mutation, elle était compatible. Alors oui, putain oui il avait envie de sortir ses griffes et de défoncer cette porte. Mais il se retenait, parce que concrètement il n’y avait rien, rien que deux types en train de coucher ensemble. Il n’avait aucun droit sur ce garçon, il lui avait à peine parler, et pourtant un truc au fond de lui, au plus profond de sa cage thoracique, lui disait qu’il était sien. Foutu Wolverine, foutu instinct.

Il se leva, arrêtant de massacrer son oreiller avec ses dents. Il ouvrit sa porte de chambre et descendit le plus vite possible au rez-de-chaussée, assez vite pour se retenir de sortir ses griffes. Bien sûr il n’y avait personne, tout le monde était dans sa chambre et dormait, enfin sauf certains. Logan ouvrit le réfrigérateur et y prit un soda, puisque l'alcool était interdit dans l’établissement. Il but la moitié de la bouteille, manquant d’en faire couler sur son menton. Il essaya de se persuader que c'était de la bière, mais le sucre gâchait tout.

Un bâillement le fit sursauter. Par réflexe ses griffes sortirent, prêtes à embrocher.

« Wow range tes couteaux je veux juste de l’eau ! »

Le garçon se tenait devant lui, dans un large t-shirt beaucoup trop grand pour lui. Logan rentra immédiatement ses griffes, posant à l’aveugle son soda sur le comptoir de la cuisine.

« Qu’est-ce que tu fous ici ? »

Sa voix granuleuse, rauque, presque incompréhensible lorsqu’il parlait trop bas. Le garçon déglutit faiblement, il avança et passa derrière l’îlot central pour attraper un verre dans le placard. Logan semblait bouleversé, ok non peut-être pas autant, juste un peu déboussolé alors. Ses yeux étaient plus ouverts que la normale, ses pupilles larges, rondes, et ce n'était pas pour l’obscurité, il y avait au moins deux millimètres en trop pour que ce soit le cas. Et puis sa mâchoire était tendue, pas contractée mais elle l’avait été très récemment ça se voyait, il y avait encore les micros tremblements musculaires sur le masséter. Et sa peau était pigmentée, par du rouge amarante, posé par points s’étirant petit à petit le long de l’os principal.

« Je viens juste chercher de l’eau, pas besoin d'être aussi agressif »

Logan essaya de respirer, vraiment, mais il avait un peu de mal. Est-ce qu’il venait boire pour compenser toute la sueur épuisée, est-ce que ce t-shirt était à Oscar, est-ce que cette odeur était la sienne.

« Cale-toi sur le battement de tes cils, dit le garçon en s’appuyant sur le lavabo, la respiration devient meilleure et régulée lorsque les clignements sont plus lents et contrôlés »

Logan lui lança un regard, entre l’interrogation et la désorientation. Le garçon lui sourit, il but une gorgée de son eau avant de reprendre la parole.

« Les signes invisibles, expliqua-t-il, tu es stressé, énervé et frustré, je dirais que c’est en rapport avec quelqu'un et je pourrais même dire que c’est moi mais j’aime pas être narcissique alors je le dirais pas »

Le jeune émit une courte pause, juste le temps d'interpréter les réactions de l’homme en face de lui.

« J’ai raison, et en plus de tout ça je dirais que tu es totalement paumé, il se rapprocha, regarde moi, dans les yeux, fixe moi et seulement moi, il posa sa main sur la joue droite de Logan, ne crois pas que j’essaie de te draguer, je te calme juste, parce que ça m’embêterait que le Wolverine fasse une crise d’angoisse à cause de moi »

Les spasmes oculaires se calmèrent, Logan l'écoutait et le fixait comme il lui avait dit. Son cœur ralentissait, tout doucement, pas d’un coup sec et c'était bon signe. Sa gorge était toujours serrée, il retenait quelque chose, son air ou sa voix peut-être, ou alors une réaction, oui une réaction.

« Tu peux sourire si tu veux, je vais pas te croquer tu sais, il sourit doucement à Logan pour appuyer ses mots, et puis je sais très bien que c’est toujours amusant comme situation, il retira doucement la main du visage de Logan, je veux dire, que quelqu’un sache exactement ce que tu penses et fais sans qu'il lise dans tes pensées, ça fait flipper, ou rire, ça dépend des personnes »

Sa gorge se desserra très légèrement, et un souffle amusé passa ses lèvres. Le garçon s'écarta de quelques pas, pour avoir une vue d’ensemble, et tout sembla à peu près stable.

« Comment tu peux faire ça »

Il sourit de nouveau à Logan et répondit en montrant de la tête les mains de ce dernier.

« Et toi, comment tu peux faire ça »

Logan reprit sa bouteille dans un sourire amusé, il la finit en quelques gorgées. En face, le garçon fixait la pomme d’Adam monter et descendre dans une lenteur hypnotisante. Il devait l'avouer, Logan lui plaisait beaucoup.

« Je- je vais remonter du coup, dit-il en se redressant »

La bouteille de soda vide fit un bruit aigu en se posant contre le plan de travail. Logan croisa les bras et prit deux secondes pour observer le jeune homme qui le regardait toujours.

« Tu t’entends bien avec Oscar ? »

Ce micro tremblement dans sa voix grave, il soulignait une retenue. Le garçon fronça les sourcils et pencha la tête sur le côté, réfléchissant à ce signe plutôt qu'à la question. La voix de Logan était plus forte, d’environ trois décibels, plus puissante surtout, oui puissante. Son visage était fermé, comme la plupart du temps, mais les muscles de ses joues n'étaient pas contractés contrairement à d’habitude, il était plus détendu à certains endroits de son corps. La bouche, les yeux, les hanches et le ventre. Ok, on touchait au personnel, la question avait un rapport avec son personnel.

« Il est gentil oui, pourquoi ? Tu le connais ? »

Léger mouvement du sourcil droit, ça l'agaçait.

« Non, répondit Logan, pas plus que n’importe quel mec »

Son regard un peu fuyant, qui contournait la silhouette du garçon. Ok, il avait sa réponse.

« Tu es jaloux Logan, expliqua le jeune homme avec un grand sourire, t’es tellement jaloux que le simple fait de parler d’Oscar fait bouger tes griffes »

Il se rapprocha de l’homme, assez pour laisser un mètre entre eux deux. Logan planta son regard dans celui de l’autre, et le garçon su qu'il avait raison.

« Il est à qui ce t-shirt »

Son sourire ne fit que de s’agrandir.

« À un homme, répondit le plus jeune »

« Qui »

Des frissons se mirent à courir contre la peau du garçon, la voix de Logan était encore plus forte, plus grave encore.

« Tu irais déchiqueté l’intestin d’Oscar si je te disais son prénom ? »

Le point de Logan se resserra, non il lui mettrait un coup de poing, et Dieu sait comme de l’adamantium pur dans la mâchoire peut faire des dégâts. Le garçon se rapprocha encore un peu.

« Je pense que Charles ne sera pas très content si tu mets dans le coma un de ses élèves, mh ? »

Doucement, lentement surtout, il posa sa main sur les phalanges de Logan. Ses doigts se refermèrent sur les os solides de l’homme, créant une chaleur diffuse à ce niveau.

« Range ces armes, arrête de serrer des dents, tu vas finir par te les casser et surtout, il caressa de son pouce la peau de Logan, continue de me regarder comme ça si tu veux que je t’embrasse »

Quatre secondes, quatre longues secondes. Logan y vit toute la tendresse du monde, remuant dans les iris du jeune homme en face de lui. Toute la fraîcheur du matin, pigmentant sa peau. Il y vit un courant puissant circuler derrière ces yeux, un courant d’eau et d'électricité, quelque chose de grand et dangereux, tout au fond derrière ces beaux yeux. La mutation de ce garçon était puissante, grande et dangereuse si elle était mal contrôlée, il pouvait tuer en un regard, un souffle ou un toucher. Ces beaux yeux avaient accès aux corps de n’importe quel être vivant, des poumons aux paupières, il pouvait tout voir avec ces beaux yeux. Il pouvait ressentir le clignement ayant qu’il n’arrive juste en un regard dans les iris de quelqu’un, il pouvait l’intercepter ou le supprimer. Un regard sur le cœur humain et il y voyait le rythme, rapide pour Logan, il pouvait le stopper, il pouvait le contrôler. Il pouvait stopper le Wolverine comme le contrôler, comme s’il ne s’agissait que d’un simple être humain, comme s’il n’avait pas ce poison sur les os et que sa peau vieillissait au rythme des années. Il pouvait tuer Logan, comme n’importe quel autre mutant ou humain, il pouvait s’il le voulait le rendre mortel, il avait ce pouvoir. Il le rendait mortel, parce que d’un regard, d’un souffle ou d’un toucher, il pouvait lui ôter la vie. Logan ressentait ça, il voyait ce courant puissant danser dans ces beaux yeux. Et putain, il adorait ça.

Et aussi peut-être que dans ces beaux yeux, dans ce courant chargé d’électricité humide, il pouvait imaginer tout son futur, se gravant à l’encre rouge sur ses lèvres entrouvertes. Parce qu’il avait quelqu’un de dangereux en face de lui, des lèvres dangereuses qui pouvaient lui ôter la vie, comme personne n’en avait jamais eu le pouvoir.

Pour la première fois depuis des années, il pouvait légitimement éprouver de la peur, la peur de la mort qui se cachait sur ces lèvres, ces lèvres qu’il embrassa à pleine bouche.

Le jeune homme ne put s’empêcher de gémir en sentant les lèvres de Logan contre les siennes. Il aurait pensé devoir se battre avec le temps pour pouvoir suivre le rythme d'un baiser avec Wolverine, mais c'était tout l’inverse. Il était doux, ses mouvements lents et contrôlés, sa main tendre contre la joue du garçon. Il prenait son temps, tout son temps. Il caressait de son pouce la peau laiteuse du jeune homme, il souriait faiblement entre deux rencontres buccales, semblant même murmurer des mots que seul lui entendait, mais que le garçon interprétait.

Logan poussa l'autre contre le réfrigérateur, faisant tomber quelques cartes postales et aimants. Il prit le visage du garçon entre ses deux mains et le regarda pendant encore quatre secondes, quatre secondes pour voir tout le courage dont il avait besoin.

« Alors, il est à qui ce t-shirt ? »

Un rire traversa les lèvres rougies du plus jeune, Logan remercia les dieux de lui avoir donné une ouïe surdéveloppée pour entendre mille fois mieux ce joli son.

« À mon frère, il me l'a donné avant que je ne parte et depuis je le porte les soirs où ma famille me manque »

La relaxation musculaire de Logan fut presque impressionnante.

« Donc il est pas à Oscar ? »

« Non, il est pas à Oscar, répondit-il avec un sourire »

La main du plus jeune se posa sur la nuque de Logan, il lui sourit encore une fois, parce qu'il avait un peu toujours envie de sourire en le regardant.

« Tu nous a entendu c’est ça ? En fait je pensais pas qu’il pouvait être aussi bruyant pour être honnête »

« C'était toi ? C'était vraiment toi ? »

Ses muscles se contractèrent de nouveau et le garçon roula des yeux, plus amusé qu'autre chose. Dans sa paume de main il pouvait sentir le trapèze supérieur de Logan se resserrer, ou si l’on voulait traduire, il pouvait sentir les muscles de Logan se contracter sous sa paume de main.

« Oui c'était moi mais de ce que je sache j'ai le droit de coucher avec qui je veux, non ? Demanda-t-il de sa douce voix »

Logan baissa pendant quelques instants ses yeux, le garçon lui pinça faiblement la peau pour les faire remonter vers lui.

« Ma mutation est complexe Logan, et parfois j'ai besoin d’une grande source de relaxation pour calmer tous mes sens, il continua en souriant, tu sais quelle activité produit le plus d’endorphines le plus rapidement ? Le sexe, et Oscar m’a aidé parce que c'était le seul en qui j’avais assez confiance pour faire ça »

Il fit glisser ses mains le long du torse de Logan.

« Du moins, le seul étudiant, il encercla la taille de l’homme au dessus de lui, parce que crois-moi j’aurais adoré te demander, mais tu es..Wolverine tu vois et- je me voyais mal demander à Wolverine de coucher avec moi, parce que t'es un X-Men et moi je suis juste un mutant qui vit dans le même manoir que toi »

Logan posa ses lèvres contre une des pommettes du jeune homme, il embrassa faiblement la peau à cet endroit avant de murmurer dans l’oreille du garçon.

« La prochaine fois, saute moi dessus et arrête d’autant réfléchir »

Cette fois, ce fut Logan qui remarqua des signes sur le corps du jeune homme. Des rougeurs, un sourire un peu retenu, des yeux brillants et une respiration accélérée. En clair, tout ce qu’il aimait voir chez quelqu’un qui lui plaisait.

« Le consentement c'est important alors, le garçon émit une pause, je peux te sauter dessus là maintenant ? »

Le sourire qui éclaira les lèvres du plus âgé fit pulser le cœur du plus jeune.

« Putain ouais »

° x-men masterlist

bannières par @/saradika-graphics

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tenthcrowley · 8 months ago

Text

Carmen Berzatto x Single dad Male!reader

Gif by @heardchef

A/N: had this idea, thought it was cute:) also using mobile and I hate it.

"Richie what the fuck-" Carmy mumbles to himself as he paces around the restaurant frantically.

"Still no Richie?" Syd's voice pierced through the air with the million dollar question on everybody's mind this morning.

Instead of an answer, Carmy threw his phone into the office and took a deep breath. Doors opened in 10 minutes and his star front of houser was no where in sight and not answering his phone. He ran a hand through his messy hair and took post at expo, addressing his staff.

"Ebra, meats- and I mean all fucking meats, you are glued to that stove until I say stop. Syd expo and floating, help Tina finish prep and Marcus- finish the cakes right now or I swear to God. I'll be upfront, running register. Heard?"

Nods followed Carmys rambled speech and a chorus of 'Heard' rang out. With a short nod he moved swiftly to open the front of house. It felt like seconds before customers were already walking through the door, shouting their orders at him.

The anxiety of having to focus on everyone's orders and the pressure to keep up casual conversation was getting to him, his blood pounded in his ears and his mind unfocused. His chest began to ache with that familiar feeling. Running back and forth between front and kitchen felt like a triathlon as sweat steadily dripped down his back.

Once there was some semblance of peace, carmy grabbed his discarded phone and read the messages.

'spending the day with the kid. sry cuz.'

Carmy plopped down into his office chair and put his head in his hands. Today's stress weighed down on him like a ton of bricks and he was exhausted already. The few moments he spent wallowing were interrupted by the familiar 'ding' from the bell above the door.

Once he stood back up, he could feel the ache in his back and knees. Trudging to the register, he began his spiel.

"Welcome to The Beef, what can I get started for ya?"

His eyes naturally stayed on the ground until the silence from his customer caught his attention. When he picked his head up and looked at the man in front of him, his breath hitched in his throat. Hitched in a way he hadn't felt it do in a very long time.

The man in front of carmy was stunning, truly stunning. Carmy was so captivated by the man in front of him that he didn't notice the toddler on his hip until said toddler started gurgling with excitement. The sweet noise made something in his soul warm. The same warmth he felt when he tried a new recipe and nailed it.

The man in front of him had a hand on his chin and was inspecting the menu above Carmys head.

"Haven't been here in a while, what do you like?" The man finally made eye contact with Carmy and that's what did him in. Carmen's face flushed and his childhood stutter made a guest appearance.

"W-well, t-the beef is good- I prefer it h-hot and-" Carmy let out a deep sigh, focusing on the way his chest filled and expanded to ground himself. "Sorry." He cleared his throat and flushed harder, but this time with embarrassment.

"Hey don't worry about it." The man smiled and adjusted the child on his hip.

Something about the man's voice made Carmy relax, his shoulders slouched and his anxious grip on the counter loosened.

"Can I get an Italian hot, dipped?"

Carmy nodded and began ringing up the order. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I heard you guys have cake now right? This little dude was so brave for his shots so I think he deserves a treat." He finished his sentence by ruffling the little boy's hair and blowing a raspberry into his cheek. The child squealed and giggled.

A small smile crept onto Carmys face, showing off his dimples and bright blue eyes.

"We do have cake, best in Chicago if I say so myself."

"Yeah? Does that sound good buddy?" He turned to the boy in his arms and got an enthusiastic nod in return. "We'd love some."

"Ice cream?"

"Well of course."

"Of course, of course."

Carmy actually felt himself giggle. A sweet little noise drawn from his lips. The man smiled wider at the sudden noise, his heart fluttering in his chest at this floppy haired chef.

"I'll get this right out for ya."

"Thank you..?"

"Carmy."

"Y/n, and this is my son Sammy."

Carmy bit his lip as he finished ringing up the order, stepping away into the kitchen. He made a b-line for Marcus and looked over his station with that same smile on his face.

"Slice of cake, chef." His voice was relaxed and sickly sweet, almost worryingly so.

Marcus turned to him with a quirked up brow, Carmen's demeanor was completely foreign to the crew.

"You alright chef?" Syd spoke carefully.

"I'm good, chef. I'm good."

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tenthcrowley · 8 months ago

Text

holy fucking shit read this piece of art RIGHT NOW

I’ll see you in the stars

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pairing -> carmen berzatto x m!oc

trope -> oh so much angst. angst. Devon has a panic attack. hurt/comfort, maybe some ooc Carmen?? but mostly ANGST

word count -> 2,220 (writer’s block kicked my ass on this one)

warnings -> panic attacks

part one -> here

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The Uber from Carmen’s apartment was the longest car ride Devon had ever been on. It wasn't that he didn’t like Carmen, he just didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know what he felt at this point. He didn’t know why he grabbed Carmen’s hands so suddenly. There was just something about the chef that had taken hold of him. He needed to do something. There was something about Carmen that made him feel. The thing was, he had never thought these thoughts, felt these feelings. This mix of colors, this mix of numbers, this constant sound of Carmen making the dinner that had made Devon feel sick. Maybe he should have told him that he was allergic to pecans.

Leaning his dark curls against the window, he silently wished he had asked Carmen to take him home. That would have meant that he could have had more time to pick apart every detail of his face, every detail of his hair, everything about him was fascinating. Everything about him had pulled Devon into loving a man who would never love him back. He had looked so uncomfortable back in his apartment. Maybe he had overstepped? Maybe he had done something wrong. Devon started to play with his fingers as he spiraled. He had taken it too far. He had misread the signs. Maybe Carmen was just being nice. Maybe he had done something completely wrong. Oh god, did Carmen hate him? Was he going to be fired? He couldn’t lose this job. He just couldn’t. He’d call in sick tomorrow, he’d call Sydney, Sydney knew how he felt about the head chef. Sydney would tell him if Carmen was mad at him. He never had the nerve to actually get into confrontations. He shifted in the Uber. Everything smelled like Carmen. Oh no. He ran his thumb along the edge of his coat. Oh no. He had been one hundred percent sure that this was his coat. That’s why everything smelled like the elusive Berzatto. It was his. It was his coat. It was his scraps of paper in the pockets. It was his discarded used tissues at the bottom of the inside pockets. He cringed at the thought but he sunk his head down into the collar of the coat and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the man he wished he could call his lover. Somehow, even with Carmen so intimately close to him, he was even farther. Devon needed to either get away or do something big. As he mulled it over in his brain, he found himself at a problem. He couldn’t take the chance for fear that he might lose the man he had learned to love over the months, that he had learned to care for, that he needed to give his heart and soul for or else he felt he hadn’t done enough. He needed to give his all or else he felt that he was unfulfilled. Somehow, it felt unhealthy but something about it was perfect. Like they needed each other. Devon needed to give his all or else and Carmen was convinced that no one could love him the way he needed to be loved.

Now on opposite sides of town, two men’s minds were one. One was hurriedly cropping vegetables and putting them in sealed containers and one was sketching his lover for the twentieth time. Carmen was trying to get his mind away from the British boy but every whiff of cinnamon reminded him of that laugh, of that chocolate hair, of that soft looking skin. At this point, Devon didn’t know what to think. Carmen didn’t seem like boys, but sometimes people fly under the radar. He hadn’t reacted to any of Devon’s signals so maybe he wasn’t, but he had seemed much more comfortable around him than really anyone else. Devon’s heart soared but like Icarus, flew a little too close to the sun and came crashing down when he realized that Carmen might just see him as a best friend, or worse, family.

Not that being someone’s chosen family was bad, it was just bad for his chances. He had gotten this treatment too many times. Devon was sitting on my kitchen island in his small apartment that he had bought with the money he got because he had gotten a scholarship to culinary school so that meant he had some money left over and that meant splurging on getting a kitchen island. His parents had thought of all of the wonderful things he would cook on that kitchen island but all Devon saw was a really hard, cold place to sit and draw. Perfect. His parents had never wanted him to be an artist, but he was pretty ok at it after practicing in his free time. He was not one of those amazing people you see on the internet but he had gotten good at drawing specifically one thing. Carmen Berzatto. His sketchbook that he had bought with his first paycheck from the Beef was filled up with sketches of the blonde chef. One after another. Pages filling up. By next week he would need a new sketchbook and this one would go in his pile of sketchbooks that held his love. Each devoted to the man who would never love him back.

Somehow this made Devon feel worse. He needed to do something. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, but that could just be propped up to his anxiety induced insomnia. He kept needing to ask someone how one would pick up a prescription in America, but he felt like he’d be a burden to actually ask. He picked at his fingernails as moonlight streamed in through the window of his apartment. He hated the word apartment. It just sounded so janky. It sounded so industrial. Like it was a shipping container that cost too much money. Flat will always be a better word for this box he lived in. He wondered if he would ever start thinking about an apartment as not just, house but home. Maybe that only happens when you’re in love. Being in love sucks. Especially when it’s with a straight boy.

The Beef always smelled good in the mornings. There was a golden zone of time where Devon could slip through the packed area and smell all of the good, savory, delicious food cooking and then he was proverbially locked away in the bakery section with Marcus. Not that he didn’t like Marcus, Marcus was his man. Marcus knew about who Devon was and why Devon never ever called out sick, never showed up late, always went above and beyond, never wanting to be on Carmy’s bad side to the point that the British man would just blend into the wallpaper so well that no one ever noticed that he was leaving the conversation. This particular day, Devon was quieter than he normally is. Holding Carmen’s coat with one hand, he maneuvered like a master. He slipped past everyone and dropped his bag and the coat inside a little nook he had made a while ago. Almost everyone knew how Devon looked at Carmen. Today, Marcus was having none of it.

“Alright. If you’re not going to tell him, I will.” His voice was hard and full of frustration. Everyone had seen how Devon burned his heart alive like a martyr. Putting himself up on a pier for all to see how he felt and the only person not paying attention was Carmen. The only person who ignored the flames. The only person who couldn’t smell the smoke. Somehow oblivious to heat coming off in waves from the blaze that was fueled by seemingly unrequited feelings. Something in Devon wanted to be braver. To actually tell Carmen how he felt.

During his break, he would usually sit and smoke but today he was scaling a fire escape close to the Beef and thinking about Carmy. Today’s spiral was thinking about how Carmen would hold him. He knew that it would never happen if he never said anything and even if he said something, there was still that overwhelming possibility of Carmen not liking him in the same way. Oh but just to dream of waking up to a mess of blonde hair peppering kisses to his body. Oh just to be able to wrap his arms around his lover and hear that laugh that Carmen only gave him. Oh to be the object of Carmen’s desires. He dangled his feet until Sydney hit his foot with a stray orange. No one needed oranges, so this was Sydney’s wake up call for Devon.

That meant that he would have to go back inside. He felt like he was about to crumple. Like something inside him couldn’t go back. Nothing bad would happen but he just couldn’t. His vision started to get darker around the edges. His breath started to quicken. He needed to not be here. Oh god did Carmen hate him? Would their friendship be ruined if Devon told Carmen that he loved him? Devon clutched at the door frame, trying to stay a float as his mind was tugging him ever downwards. He couldn’t drown. He needed to live. He needed to survive. If only just to see Carmen be happy. No matter what it took. He could tell he wasn’t ok but right now all he was focused on was not making a scene. It felt different than usual panic. Like his chest was imploding and his hands were going numb. He was slowly having a panic attack. He hated these. With a burning passion, but there was no way of solving this one. Too risky. If only it was all simpler. If only he could find solace. Right now though, all he needed was solitude. He looked on edge as he slipped past everyone. Every person he passed gave him that look that asked if he was alright and his quickening pace was making it painfully obvious he was not alright in any sense of the word. All the same thoughts kept repeating in his head. It was agony. It needed to stop.

Little did he know, Carmen wasn’t having the best time either. He is pacing and thinking aggressively about where his jacket is. He knew he had it on him when he was with Devon the night before, but he had gotten swept up in Devon’s perfect brown curls and Devon’s perfect amber eyes, all the freckles that smattered across Devon’s face. Everything about him was adorable and Carmen just couldn’t deal with it. Carmen didn’t even know that right now, Devon was curled up in a ball, hiding from every fluorescent light that was just too bright. He hugged Carmen’s jacket close in a moment of weakness. It smelled like Carmen and that’s what he needed. He didn’t even process Carmy’s footsteps that were getting closer and closer. Another thing that Devon hadn’t noticed was that he had started crying. Carmen could hear the small sobs and made a B-line for it. No one else was here but he knew Devon usually promised to clean everything up for a bit more money so he knew who was crying immediately. He found Devon and dropped to his haunches.

“Dev, you ok? What’s goin’ on? What do you need?” Carmen’s voice was soft. Strange but not bad. Carmy let one of his hands tilt Devon’s chin as the other tugged the edge of his apron up to wipe off Devon’s tear stained cheeks. He looks so miserable and scared. Carmen sat on the floor with Devon. They didn’t say a word but Carmy tried something. He let his hand fall, palm up. An open invitation. An invitation for Devon to do something. After Devon laced their fingers together. He started to tear up worse.

Carmen pulled Devon’s head onto his chest and let Devon cry into the white material of Carmen’s white t-shirt. Usually he never let anything stain this but right now, his usual ball of british sunshine was not shining the same, and he cared about that more.

“I- I’m so sorry, mate. I-I’m making a big deal out of ev-everything.”

“You’re not. This is probably a very good reason and I will let you cry into my shirt for-“ He held Devon’s face, catching some of Dev’s tears on his palm.

“-as long as you want.” Devon was close enough for Carmen to kiss Devon’s forehead. He couldn’t. He might be overstepping boundaries. He needed something to break. Something to burst. He took Devon’s face in his hands. His usually rough lips planted a small, gentle kiss on Devon’s forehead.

Their foreheads touched and in an instant. Everything was sweet. Soft and warm. Comforting.

Right.

It was like a flash bang. If anyone asked, neither of them would have known you started it, but after the metaphorical flash of light, their lips were connected. It wasn’t hard and needy like regular lovers who had pined over each other for months on end but no. It was easy. There was no need for extra pressure. It was a kiss of reassurance. There was something calming to it. Something perfect. Something that both of them badly needed right now.

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a/n: holy shit. this took me too long. please reblog and comment and like as it helps me know you like what i’m doin :]

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