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kit-williams · 3 days

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Hoof Care

Yes I was really thinking of Baldamort's voice for Drar (Watch his video on the Master of Executions and well you can probably figure out where I got Drar's voice from)

Husbandry tag list: @egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

thank you @squishyowl for the 40k themed dividers

It was that time of the month again where you'd get a call to go to them they paid you quiet a bit and of course you weren't the only person going... it was always a big big event. You head to the Iron Warrior's base near the city... most Chaos Space Marines' don't have bases but their loyalist counterparts do... though Iron Warriors are an exception not a norm. Though you weren't sure as the Iron Warriors didn't have too much friction with their "traitor" selves? You didn't understand nor really bother too.

The norm would be the fact that there is a Night Lord base being built somewhere given that there were now enough loyalist night lords demanding it. But you made sure your tools were sharp and everything was ready... you knew the only downside of the Iron Warriors was the fact that both loyalist and traitor elements kept pushing and vying for power within their own... faction?

As you backed your truck in and got out you could hear his crooning... he was old had that slightly withered lit to his voice as it croaked out of him as if he had ruined his vocal cords time and time again. "Missy so nice of you to join us." Drar the Warpcutter spoke and if you remembered he said he was the leader of a warband known as the Malefactors of Sin.

"Lord Drar... and hello Helios." You politely said as his Master of Executions followed. The big man behind him looked at you and you swallowed... you didn't get the feel good vibes everyone else got. Your eyes flicked to their weapons... to the skulls up their belt... and you had a feeling Drar enjoyed the fact you were afraid of them. "Where is Vasso..." You ask for the current "chapter master" and you watch Drar wave his hand.

"Busy. The child is going to work himself to death at this rate and I... took the liberty of playing host for him." He says with a grin, "But enough pleasantries... you're the final one to arrive." You flinch as his massive hand pushes against your back and you move into the hanger.

Chaos Space Marines of countless chapters and warbands were here all highly mutated. Heavy hooves clipped and clopped against the floor as centaurs made their way to the designated zone. You headed over to the other ferriers as Drar trilled his goodbye and Helios just gave a nod. You could see where other space marines were watching and learning how to take care of their mutated brothers and cousins as in the far corner you could see iron warriors guarding feral marines that took the offer for maintained care but do not want humans touching them. You could understand as it took you a long time to get over the wrongness of your clients.

At least they behaved better than horses, the massive hooves were clipped and trimmed even polished if they wanted too. The utterly massive Black Legionary stallion... Troc was his name, he would have been such a pretty black horse, brought his own shoes... shiny brass things. He liked his hooves painted a nice solid black.

You could hear Adamatar bellowing as the white minotaur had hurt one of his hooves and so trying to get him to behave enough to put a block on his hoof was feeling like an impossible task. You could spy long tails wagging as fur coats were being brushed... a canine centaur of a Night Lord was half asleep as he was getting his jet black fur coat groomed and nails trimmed on his paws. You trimmed the frog of Troc's hooves just shaping his hoof as he was currently gushing about his bonded... a little girl who had a habit of calling him "pony" or "horsey" when she got overly excited and also calling him "Truck".

The shiny iron horseshoes of a bulky draft of an Iron warrior caught your eye. They certainly liked to feel pretty.... you shiver as a heavily mutated space marine lumbers past... organized chaos of it all and you're getting paid enough that it makes you not have to worry about the slower times of the year.

You could see someone with their body leaning into a massive stomach maw just cleaning the teeth of the marine. You stop looking as you hammer in his shoe and work on cutting the nails and then applying the black hoof polish.... rinse and repeat.

Sure they cooperated more then an actual animal but it was still a lot of hard work. "Hey!" You snapped at someone's apprentice. "Don't just walk behind them!" You said pointing out the fact that they were just walking right behind the centaurs. Which if he was working with actual horses was bad practice.

"They won't kick." They countered back.

"Yeah but they still can't see you and when you work with an actual horse they will kick if you walk right behind you. Give them the same berth as you would an actual horse because if one of these boy's kicks you're going to die." You huff as you resume working on the hooves of the Iron Warrior as someone was working on his horns... it was sometimes easier to do multiple tasks on the same marine as they kept still.

Lunch was provided and it was nice... it felt normal to have that lull in working as you grabbed a coffee as you worked in shifts... went around inspecting other's techniques... watching how some of them were teaching their apprentices, in various fields, or how they were teaching the Astartes on how to take care of their own. Sometimes a feral marine would be brave and try to get taken care of by one of us "mortals" but you never volunteered you had plenty of Astartes asking for you to work on them personally.

But the day blurred on by till you were getting handed a stack of cash of a few thousand dollars with the hope that you would come back same time next month and as well as the cavate that if something changed they would inform you. Again you see Drar as you head back to your trunk and a cup of coffee, that looks so small in his hands, is given to you. "What's this for?"

"Job well done?" He croons.

"Ah yes the usual hush coffee so I don't tattle on Vasso of you playing chapter master huh?" You say ignoring the scowl on his face as you sip the coffee, "or... is it hush coffee to keep me from tattling again to Vasso because you enjoy scaring people?"

"Mouthy little mortal aren't you." He hisses as you cow slightly, far too tired to not be filled with dread as he moves far too smoothly for something so big. He spat to the side, "But something like that."

"And like usual I'm going to be the last one to leave because you like chatting." You say tiredly as you drink the hot brew that made you feel tired. You had enough for a hotel in the city for tonight though... beds were always available here at the fortress. "I have a feeling you're going to chat me up so long I might just have to spend the night."

Drar laughed, it was hardly a pleasant sounding thing... it was dark and ominous... it was downright an evil sounding thing that ended rolling in his chest till it quieted. "You look exhausted."

You just drank the coffee to prevent yourself from making a 'captain obvious' joke, "I might stay tonight or at least get a few hours of shut eye."

"Then let me play the good host once more." He crooned and you just locked your car after placing your tools inside... just a few hours of sleep then you'd make the drive home.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #tales from the barn #Missy the farrier #Master of Executions Helios #Lord Drar the Warpcutter #I didn't know how to end this #I think this is fine #No bond #Missy is not warp blind

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sidewalk-cracks · 1 year

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Rebog please?

#personally I prefer headphones/earphones/earbuds with a cord #I'd lose wireless ones #plus wireless ones just seem like. pointless #who cares if there's a cord (as long as it's long enough)#wireless headphones just seem like some sort of dumb rich person flex #polls #poll #tech #electronic #technology #headphones #earphones #earbuds #airpods #apple #wireless headset #tumblr polls #tumblr culture

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fairy-hub · 5 months

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𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐝! 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy fluff, light angst, reader is giving birth, kento is worried about being a dad and supportive husband, you easily reassure him, twin baby girls, praise, kento is in awe of you as he should be, you're amazing, you breast feed the baby and kento bottle feeds the other baby

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: I love your works! Could you write kento fluff, him stressing out about becoming a dad for the first time and reader is just really chill about it all!! Please and thank you🙏🙏

Oreo: I’m sick with my period at the same damn time eating chicken noodle soup, my hubby has been spoiling me so much. Brought me some Christmas themed flowers, the cutest wreath that has the house smelling like pine. Then there was running me a warm bath, making my soup this man is the best. Giving that nanami energy, cause you know he would take such good care of you. I haven’t had to lift a finger, and nanami wouldn’t let you lift one either.

Your painful contractions, rushing to the hospital, and the epidural to ensure a painless birth. Tightly squeezing his hand, pushing out the first baby girl. It’s a blur that doesn't slow down till he hears the first beautiful cry.

Letting go of your hand long enough to cut the umbilical cord. Grasping your hand between his own, kissing the back. “You’re doing wonderful love, she’s healthy and adorable.” Kissing your cheek, weakly you smile momentarily. Gritting your jaw focusing on pushing out your second baby girl. You're sweaty and beautiful.

The second baby girl is louder, her cries quieting her minutes older sister. This time the nurse brings her close to you, offering you the back the handle. Kento gently guides your hand helping you cut the cord.

"After we clean them both of you can hold one of your beautiful little joys. So chonky, healthy with a powerful set of lungs already.” The doctor gently cleans and checks you over.

One of the nurses brings his eldest baby to him. “Congratulations on such healthy wonderful baby girls.” Gently cradling his eldest babygirl in his hands, swaddled in a soft blanket. Kento supports her hand and head with one hand. She’s so small yet chunky at the same time. Swaddled in a yellow blanket.

Her beautiful chunky face scrunched up in confusion that melts away at the sight of his face. More tears trickle down his face at the soft adoring warm love in his baby girl’s eyes. Lifting her small hand, he leads down helping her touch his cheek.

Kento’s eyes widen tears trickling down his face, dripping onto the girl he names “ He’s a dad to two amazing baby girls who he wants to give the world to along side his beautiful wife.

What if he fails to be a good father?

Grinning Docter Annie announces, “Wonderful there is no hemorrhaging, you’re bleeding normally. We will keep you overnight for observation and discharge you in the morning. When you need to go to the restroom press the call button for a nurse. You will need to eat soon and get plenty of rest.”

Two nurses on either side carefully lift you for the doctor to put a diaper on you. Laying you back down, raising the upper half of the bed for you to comfortably sit up.

You're the nurse lift your baby girl out of the bath, drying her off. “Can I try to calm her down?” Kento looks up at you in pure awe. You have always been an amazing woman. He’s lucky for you to be the mother of his children.

What if he fails to be a supportive husband?

The nurse softly smiles, “You should be able to skin-to-skin and settle her, maybe help her latch.” Lying your baby on your chest. Cradling her, resting her head on your chest. Her loud cries softening to whines.

Admiring your little girl with tired eyes and a soft smile. It's a different type of beautiful to see you cradling the delicate adorable life in your hands. It's wonderful sight like the one of other baby girl in his hands.

Warm, healthy, and finally here after nine months. Here to thrive, grow, and develop interests. Kento wants to be there for them, with you by his side, every step of the way.

Her whines quiet down when you help her latch. Letting her get mouthfuls of milk. Softly breathing, “Of course, our lil Hana is hungry after all that hard work.” Kento didn't think he could fall more in love with you until this moment.

"She will need to latch and get skin with mom soon but for now getting fed by dad and doing some bonding is good too." A nurse hands Kento a bottle of formula. "We will get the overnight room and some food ready for the mom ready." Remembering the various videos and books he nudges Himari's lips with the bottle.

It takes a moment for her to latch, once she does, she's taking large mouthfuls. Failing her hand in her attempt to grab Kento's. A feat she takes moments to accomplish. Her small warm hand on the back of his, the sleepy loving looking in her eyes. "Hana and Himari are perfect, thank you my love for working so hard bringing them into this world."

The nurse and doctor trickle out of the room, taking some of the equipment with them. Leaving Kento and You along with your newborns.

"My love I know that look in your eyes and tension in your jaw. We got each other, and I couldn't have a better man by my side to raise our babies and grow old with. You're going to be everything these girls need in a father and more, trust me darling." The confidence in your beautiful face, soothing voice and tired eyes easing the weight on his shoulders.

He takes a deep breath, shoving his worries aside. Reaffirming your comforting words, "We have each other, there isn't anything we can't do to give these girls a wonderful life, don't worry about me love relax and rest." Standing up, carefully leaning down making sure not to disturb Himari drinking, kiss you gently. "I'm so grateful to get the privilege to be your husband and father to these adorable girls."

Oreo creampie’s m.list

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clockwayswrites · 3 months

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Not So Imaginary

Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6Parts 7-8 WC: 1177

“I brought you some more books to read,” Jason said as he entered the room.

After Danny had shown that they were clearly a person (a kid at that) and answered a few questions, they had been moved to an actual room on the Watchtower. Jason was pretty sure part of it was how he refused to leave the cell until Danny was moved, but he didn’t really care as long as it got his friend safe.

Danny looked up with a grin. They were pretty solid today, sitting cross-leg on the bed with feet and everything.

“You’re back,” the artificial voice spoke out from the tablet like device in Danny’s hands. It was a version of something called a SGD, Bruce had said, and was used by people who had trouble with verbal sounds. They didn’t know if Danny would always need it or if they’re vocal cords would come back as they continued to solidify.

“I am. B said I could stay a whole three hours today too as long as I ate a snack while I was here,” Jason said, holding up one of the bags he had.

Three hours still wasn’t a lot, but it was better than the one it had been the rest of the week. It took a lot of begging, but B finally agreed that Jason was well enough for a test to see how it went. Danny was still draining life force from Jason, and only Jason, which made certain Leaguers nervous about letting the two of them close. Jason had done everything he could to let it happen: he’d begged and argued, he’d eating everything Alfie wanted him to, he rested whenever Bruce wanted him too which was all the time, and he even agreed to stay benched for as long as it took.

That last one had really helped convince Bruce and Dick that Jason wouldn’t back down from helping his friend.

“Good. I am happy. What do you have?”

“You liked the Hardy Boys, right? I have a few more of those and I found you some science mags you might like,” Jason said as he flopped onto the bed next to Danny. He could feel the odd tingle travel up his arm as he leaned into Danny.

“Thank you,” Danny said with a wide smile. The tone of the electronic voice didn’t match the brightness of that smile, but it was alright. Jason could also feel how happy Danny was.

“You’re doing okay?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause as Danny found the right words. They were pretty quick already with preset phrases, but odder things still took longer than regular talking would. “WW took me to observation deck. We watched stars. She told me stories of stars from her home.”

“Yeah?” Jason asked, trying to keep his voice from hitching around the word. He couldn’t bug Danny with that yet. “You like her? Wonder Woman?”

“Yes.” The reply was quick, but Danny was watching Jason with furrowed brows. They pushed a sense of question through their bond.

“I’m fine. Just thinking through some shit,” Jason said with a wave of his hand. “But Wonder Woman is really cool. She’s my favorite too.”

Danny set the tablet aside so that they could run their fingers through Jason’s hair. It felt odd, what with not all of the fingers always being all of the way solid, but a good sort of odd. It seems Jason couldn’t just Danny’s concern aside.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

Danny let out what for anyone else would have been a sigh and gave a little nod. They shorted through the bag of books Jason had brought and found a Hardy Boy’s to hand over to Jason.

“What me to read to you?” Jason waited for the nod. Apparently it was really important to let Danny choose things right then, or so the adults said. “Okay, move over a bit, yeah? You’re hogging all the bed.”

Danny placed their hand to their chest, face screwing up in an affronted expression. It didn’t work though when Jason could feel the amusement through their bond.

“Yeah yeah, I’m a brute, now shove over,” Jason said with a laugh. He worked his way up until he was lounging against the head of the bed.

Danny didn’t move.

“You’re a brat,” Jason accused.

Danny gave a silent laugh, humor bumbling up in their bond, before they flopped over right onto Jason’s chest. Jason let a huff of a sigh, but ran his fingers through Danny’s hair like he knew they liked before he opened the book to start read about another adventure of the Hardy Boys.

It was easier to feel the drain like this, when they were so close to each other and touching. Jason had tried to avoid spelling that out too much to Bruce. He got that his dad was just worried, but he was afraid if B knew he’d tried to keep Danny away.

As it was Bruce was trying to send Danny away.

Jason brushed the thought aside, focusing on doing his best to give the characters good voices for Danny. At least it was a distraction from all the rest of Jason’s thoughts. Two chapters later the stopped to ask, “Want a break or do you want another chapter?”

Danny rolled over and off Jason’s chest to flop onto the pillow next to him and Jason froze. His shock must have been clear because Danny scrambled up off the bed until they were floating above Jason.

“No! It’s a good thing. Just… you’re getting some of your color back,” Jason explained. He should really stop staring. He should take Danny to a mirror to see or something, but it was just that… Danny was beautiful right then. He found himself reaching up to brush his finger tips of the bright freckles that were scattered across Danny’s cheeks and nose like a galaxy of stars.

Bright teal eyes blinked back at him.

Jason cleared his throat. “Right, sorry, let’s go let you look.”

Danny floated to the side, landing on their feet as Jason stood, and followed behind behind to the small attached bathroom. Jason guided Danny in front of the mirror. White was spreading into their hair now.

For a moment Jason was worried that Danny was frozen in shock, then the other leaned in close to the mirror, touching the surface before bringing their hand up to their own face. Suddenly Danny was moving, spinning weightlessly around Jason as they gave a soundless whoop.

“I know,” Jason said with a grin of his own. “Look at you! You’re really coming together now! I knew you could do it. I knew that you could come back.”

Slowly, Danny drifted back down so that the tips of their toes brushed against the floor. They rested their forehead against Jason’s.

He didn’t need words to understand what Danny was trying to say.

“Don’t have to thank me, stardust. I’ll always come for you just like you’ll always come for me.”

--- AN: Oh ho, is Jason starting to realize he has a crush? And what isn't he telling Danny? Hopefully this part is good, the weather is giving me such a migraine/making me super dizzy so my eyes are crossing some! (Yes, I'm resting, on the couch with a cat!)

I really should have made an update post for this... this supposed ficlet just keeps going! 7K now! Aaaah well. Anywho, stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #dead on main #not so imaginary

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honestsycrets · 8 months

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playing house | single parent au: mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader

❛ pairing | mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader; single parents au

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | gabi's on a hunt to get a mami. miguel doesn't really need help with it. or, Miguel trades mechanic work for love.

❛ tags | explicit, mechanic!miguel, first grade teacher!reader, some mention of hurt, heavy themes of voyeurism (both ways), single parents, unhygienic sxconditions, Spanish not translated, very domestic fic, f!reader, protective miguel, very light mutual jealousy.

❛ request fulfilled | Miguel is a single dad, Reader is his daughter's kindergarten teacher, and he is both very obviously crushing on her and very reluctant to say it. Fortunately, his daughter isn't! "Did you know my papi likes you?" Cue flustered Miguel. + BROOOO mechanic!miguel is hot please tell

❛ sy's notes | flashback to that one time a car fell on my tio. 😅

The job was a simple part replacement. A fizzled-out chunk of metal that would cost any single mother more in labor and puff costs at any mechanic shop. But not with Miguel, who was known around the barrio for his begrudging care. He’d do any job Lyla brought to him for any madre around who needed him.

He wrung his hands out on his stained top and lifted his head out of the hood of an old but faithful car. After a click and a lock, he turned his eyes toward the dusty cover. Syncopated beats trill from a radio ring background static that he’s long since zoned out to focus on his work. He wiped his forehead and looked at the trampled grass underneath a cheap plastic pool.

“Gabriella, bring me the manguera,” he called out to his little girl, who looked at the hose in her little pool bobbing with poppy bright toys. The older she got, the worse her loneliness became. Not due to any ill-doing of Miguel who always tried his best to be present. For some reason, Miguel couldn’t bring himself to date in anything but short bursts.

“Papi, look across the street. New neighbors!” Gabriella cooed delightfully. She splashed out of the pool with the long emerald green hose in hand, bobbing over on her long skinny legs. “It’s a girl. A pretty girl! And she’s looking right at you!”

Like that was a new occurrence. Miguel turned his hand over his sun-bright daughter’s short, sodden braids that whipped just over her shoulder. She stood in place, bouncing delightfully over newcomers. There were many viejitos in the cul-de-sac, but not enough kids.

“¿Y qué, mi vida?” he asked her. His hand shipped free from her hair. “She’s probably taking in the barrio.”

“I think she is! You!”

He threw a glance over his shoulder only to find your prying eyes eating him up from across the street. You speak to a pair of movers-- but your eyes slipped away from theirs, where he stood with his little girl. The hose dumped water onto the street. Water that he’d usually be extra concerned about wasting. Today, he was more interested in a game.

His dirty white t-shirt is matted to his back, soaked in the sweat of the day. He gripped the bottom of his t-shirt on either side and tugged it over his head. It pulls on his well-corded arms, protesting its release from his body. Miguel slipped it over his shoulder and proceeded to release bits of sweat from his thick hair. An adorable gasp fell free from your lips, replaced by your hand over your lush lips, snapping back to attention.

“You’re right, Gabi.”

He took the sputtering hose from her and cracked a begrudging smile. Gabriella waved eagerly-- and to his surprise, you waved back. If it wasn’t the hot sun beating down your face, it was the embarrassment on your face. You settled the sunglasses on the cute crook of your nose. With that, Gabriella helps him wash the car until her most hated part, drying it with old towels and bits of Miguel’s ripped old shirts.

“Hola!”

“Coño,” Miguel cursed in surprise, turning around to face you. In your hand was a clear plastic bag stuffed full of the filled corn husks, warmth steamed its sides. Miguel glanced down at the bag in your comparatively soft hands, drawing his sweaty shirt over his cut muscles to wipe away the sweat that slicked his dusky skin.

“I brought you and your lindita tamales.”

“Tamales!” Gabriella cooed, her hands cradling a limonada. They made it together, like clockwork every Sunday. “I love tamales!”

“Don’t old neighbors bring new one’s food?” Miguel bit out, a bit annoyed. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate food, it would save him countless bright-ass early meals dragging himself out of bed to make Gabriella something with school right around the corner. He’s annoyed at that star-bright smile you have whipped across your face. It stirred excitement he thought he killed a long time ago. “Or are you just a show-off?”

“I teach first grade at the school across the street,” you ignored his snark and looked none the more bothered by it. There’s some magic in a woman that didn’t feed into his shit. You provided Miguel with a name that felt familiar to all the orientation packets he received just this week. “Ya tú sabes, umm, at Carillo’s.”

Of course.

“That’s where I go!” Gabriella beams. “I’m Gabriella O’Hara and I’m going to be in first grade, right papi? This is my papi. His name is Miguel.”

Damn it all. Miguel slaps his sweaty shirt on the top of the car. You kneel down, offering her up the tamales instead of Miguel. He blinks through his sudden irritation, realizing that he’s fucked now. Gabriella grabs the plastic bag, giggling delightfully over them.

“Then maybe you’ll be in my class, Miss O’Hara.”

When he checks her orientation paperwork-- there it is. He suddenly felt the pressure of the ordeal, of the pretty next-door neighbor who wore flowy dresses and apparently, loved muscles. His eye darted out to the window, the movers zipping off in a whir of color, leaving you just there, spinning around in the driveway of your new home, nearly too sun-bright.

Maybe it’s tied to being a father, but Miguel notices little things you do. Some are ineffectual. Others are dangerous. You leave your bedroom window wide open as you change. Miguel sat outside on Gabriella’s swing on his second cup of coffee for the day when he noticed it for the first time.

You come in from your shower and scurry about your room nearly naked. Then, cupping your breasts between your hands, you whirled around for a set of underwear. From this far, he can’t quite make out the color. It might be red. Not a poppy red, but a deep, soothing red he recognizes from his dead wife’s wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t just change in the bathroom, but in any case, it was… dangerous. Any freak walking by could see you changing. Mimi’s room had very well-used blinds and yours did not. He turns his attention back to the newspaper on his lap. Nueva York stalker confesses to stabbing murder in five-year-old cold case. He scrunched his nose at the news and drank a coffee that had long since gone cold.

Sometime later, your front door swung open. Mimi busted through, a little girl with long black twists and black eyes that held a similar excitement for the weekend. It was her papi time. Gabriella doesn’t have that luxury, two homes full of warmth. Just one, with a papi who loved her more than life itself. Miguel hopes it’s enough. He left his newspaper on the bench as you settled her in the car, making his jog across the street.

“You should buy blinds,” Miguel said the second you shut the door. You jumped, your hand on the locket on your chest.

“Ay dios, it’s just you. You shouldn’t walk up on a woman like that, Miguel,” you laughed. “Especially not a single mother.”

“You’re painfully oblivious. Buy some blinds for your room. It isn’t safe.”

Dry as his tone was, it was laced with concern. If there was no one in your life to tell you what he thought was obvious, he would. “You saw me? How much did you... see?”

He responds with a dull stare, his gaze falling to the red strap of your bra that set slightly off-kilter along your slight shoulders. You sucked in a breath to calm yourself, your heart beating at a rapid pace behind your modest shirt. You reached up to hide the strap. A frown marred his contrite features.

“You look beautiful in red,” he found himself muttering, pushing off of the back of the car without another word. He beat himself up for that-- stupid, stupid response. Because of course you know you look gorgeous. He didn’t need to say it out loud.

“Gracias, papi,” you called after him.

He hoped he was not flung into the creep category after that winning display.

You bought blinds for your window and a swing for Mimi’s new, sturdy tree. Its long arms offer some reprieve from the heat, casting a shadow on the small house. It wasn't long before you spent days on heaps of homework from the kids and a glitter-bright pen to grade spelling tests.

It's nice to have a little bit of company as he works on cars and yard work, even if you watch him like a voyeur, blushing if he notices, gasping if he plays into this new little game. At some point, he voided his shirts altogether. It’s not long before Gabriella has a game of her own to play.

“Psst, Lyla. Vente, Lyla.”

Gabriella sits boredly in the shop after school. Sometimes in his office, other times in the shop during breaks. One of his technicians, Lyla, sat on an upside-down bucket by Miguel’s side as he worked on a car. This time, it was a stupid simple fix. The idiot ripped off their bumper parking too far on a curb. Lyla sat in gold coveralls, undoubtedly grinning behind that black mask slapped across her face. He didn’t need to look away from the clips he was applying to know they were both up to shit.

“Yeah?”

“Papi has a crush on my teacher. I think she could be my new mami. If--”

“Miguel has a crush?” His other tech, Peter chirped up with a hunk of sandwich in his fingertips. How was he always slacking off and eating? Miguel didn't know, but he was. “I can't believe it. He hasn’t had a crush since Tem--”

“I don’t have a crush,” Miguel responded. “Less scheming, more homework, kid. She told me you’re behind on schoolwork.”

She does so well on spelling tests, Miguel, you told him at parent-teacher conferences. But she never turns in homework.

Gabriella was not behind because she was stupid. She was behind because she was a stubborn little child who, Miguel knew, was trying to set him up. Lyla abandoned the bucket to walk over near Gabriella’s unicorn table, pulling out a microsized table and looking down at the stupid simple homework. Single-digit numbers were a painful waste of time to a kid who loved math.

“She’s single?”

“Yup,” Gabi chirped, scratching away at her coloring page with a fat purple crayon. “Mimi told me.”

“No boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend. I double-checked. And get this, she said she would come help me with homework.”

“Lyla.” Miguel shoved the opposite end of the bumper in place, securing it carefully. Lyla was bent down by Gabriella. So Papi has more time to see her! Gabriella whispered. He may not know what you’re saying, but he knows it’s bad by the way she looks at him. As though she were a cat might with a glass it was about to shatter on the floor. “You can go home now.”

His daughter doesn’t need any more of her devilish attributes.

“You fucked it alright, mujer. What did you hit?”

Miguel twisted a bit of the sidewall between his fingers to gauge the depth of the hole. Never mind that the back passenger wheel whistled away until it ran flat. It wasn’t the first time someone brought him a car that was fucked. It was the first time you had.

You never asked him for anything, not at the price of your pride. You simply… made it work. Just like Miguel made childcare work by leaving his shop to pick Gabriella up and leaving her bored as fuck every weekday until he could close up shop.

Today, Mimi and Gabriella were inside, playing with dolls after a warm dinner of arroz blanco and fatty pork chops. He wasn’t much a fan of your sickly sweet platano, but he tried it tonight after Gabriella hounded him. Don’t be rude, papi! He’s gotten used to coming home on Wednesday to dinner. It’s something that he realizes he’s missed: having someone to come home to.

“A pothole,” you murmured shyly. His forehead rippled into wrinkles, holding the chunk of broken-off rubber between his fingertips. He rubbed the exhaustion out of his dark eyes, minding the nervous twiddling of your fingers.

“A pothole,” he repeated after you. No matter how many times he considered it, it did not fit. His body was ripe with aggravated energy. He’s too tired for this. The shit he’d seen in his shop and you expected him to believe that you hit-- a pothole? “Qué mierda.”

Miguel set his hands on his hip, rolled on his heel, and stepped back to inspect his future work. His body thrummed, a tightness pulling with the sight of your shy smile. The truth tittered on your luscious little lips.

“I may or may not have hit those rocks by Doña Díaz’s casita.” One look around the street revealed the chunky, pointy rocks you referenced. Miguel flicked the bit of rubber onto the top of the car and looked at you. You were guilty as the day was long. “They weren’t that far off the curb before! I know that it’s bad. Do you think you could-- fix it?”

“You’re going to have to replace those two,” Miguel gestured. “What, did you not see the massive rocks on the side of the road? What were you doing? Eres una mama, you have to pay attention, por dios. You could have been hurt.”

Your eyes darted to the wheels. The nervousness was strong, nearly all-consuming, bidding you to shut up. Though it was a good question, the shame that flecked your eyes was enough to cause Miguel to move on. He knew you were likely inattentive, your mind hovering somewhere else than the quiet cul-de-sac.

“I… had a bad date, Miguel. I was upset and dizzy and… Don’t tell anyone, please.”

The pain of being a woman. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his large hand warm on your slight shoulder. A pulse of warmth rushed through his hand as you leaned in, your cheek plastered to his stained top. He smelled of oil and sweat, but somehow, you find it comforting. Your hands come over his back, tugging on the dark coveralls.

“It’s alright,” Miguel sighed. He'd tell you not to pick shit men-- but sometimes, as he knew, that didn't matter at all. “I’ll have it fixed.”

“I don’t have that much money, Miguel,” you began. “I have to take care of the kids, my house, Mimi. I…”

“No te preocupes. You can do something else for me.”

You drew in a small, choked breath. The type that settled in your chest and did not leave. Not until Miguel’s arms wound over your waist to soothe you through the pain and pressed a kiss that lasted entirely too long to the top of your head. It’s the first time he wants another.

“She is dating,” Peter said. “You know what that means? It means you’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one!”

"I'm not concerned about it."

The one, Miguel shook his head as he paced past the car he was propping up. He never heard anything more ludicrous. There was no such thing as the one. There was only a range of possibilities to pick from. At any point, life can happen. Then your one is gone-- and you’re left with only the memories and a body to bury. Still, as he clambered underneath the car, he found that he quite didn’t like the thought of you out with anyone else... especially not men who may or may not spike your drink.

“You should ask her to a date. Like, more than playing house with sticky kids and lasagna.”

“She’s never made me lasagna.”

Peter sloppily suckled on his fingers, the juice running down his thin wrists. “Then what was lunch?”

“Pastelón,” he answers bitterly. “It’s… plantain lasagna.”

“Okay, I thought you didn’t like--”

“I don't-- I eat it because she spends time on it.”

Peter sucked in a breath, eyes wide. He’s about to say something terribly unuseful, something like how Miguel has it bad. Miguel knows he does, half-formed images of what a family could be every day he went to pick Gabriella up, homework done, and happily fed. A feat in itself.

In place of that, though, were the car’s melded, mechanical squeals. He has but a moment and a half-formed plan that goes up in smoke the next second that it falls on his arm. He hears Peter’s half-formed, panicked shout to Lyla and recalls the flurry of steps and medical attention sometime later.

Admittedly, he did tell you to be careful.

When he wakes up, so does everyone else. Lyla chastizes him with her hands balled up on her hips, Peter sobs almost twice as much as Gabriella does until the two are dead asleep against his bed. Miguel’s eyes have rolled way too far.

“Is he finally asleep?” you peep into his heavy hospital door with a ginger knock of your knuckles. Miguel throws a look at Peter’s squishy face, half slumped over.

“Hermosa, I thought he’d never stop,” he grumbled.

“You scared him.”

Tch. Miguel watched you pick up Gabriella, settling her on the stiff pull-out bed. He foggily asked you what time it was, close to the end of visiting hours. He’d need to arrange something for Gabi with Lyla taking care of the shop. It itched at his throat.

“Gabi too. Should I…”

“Take her home for me,” he grumbled. “I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s just a broken arm.”

“You coughed up blood, Miggy. You could have died if Peter wasn’t there.”

Miggy. You finally used the nickname somewhere between Wednesday dinner dates and a car slumping on him. Miguel throws a growl to the side, using his non-fucked hand to pet the top of Peter’s head. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you were right.

“What happens if… something happens to you?”

“With Gabi?” he asks.

"Sí. With everything."

You nod, looking idly at his little daughter, still in her school clothes. You brought her as soon as school was over, soothed the panic in her voice, the thought of becoming an orphan just because the car had cracked his arm. She wouldn’t have remembered her mother’s death, it was far too long ago now.

“Lyla. Why the face? If you’re jealous, know that was the agreement with my wife before she was murdered.”

You hadn’t known you were making a face, but you were to the trained eye. Some small pout of your lip, tears welling at the corner of your eyes. Miguel shoves himself up on the bed, straining sore muscles. It was going to be a long night. A longer month or two until he was up and running again.

“I’m not making a face. It's just... You were reckless when you're usually so careful. I'm wondering why. I'm sorry.”

"It's fine," Miguel urged you to come closer. "Come here."

You slid into his chair, tentatively sneaking your hand on top of his. Miguel wanted to tell you more. There was not another friend nearly so close, one that would take care of everything and anything he needed. He's suddenly aware of his situation. It would be difficult to make a woman secure that he'd not tied down yet. You clearly care-- based on the insecurity in your eyes.

You’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one.

He doesn't want to miss his shot. He brought your hand to his lips, straining with a pained little grunt. You stood up to help him, allowing his lips to flutter over the back of your hand in a small kiss at his urging.

“Trust me. She’s not a threat,” he said. “You’ll take Gabi with you?”

“Of course, Miggy. Anything you need.”

Securing a relationship would just have to wait.

The first day back, Miguel sent Gabriella off with Lyla. Mimi is off with her papa, leaving you with nothing but time. He finally saw his projects through without Peter loitering over his shoulder, revitalizing cars with bad radiators and fizzled-out air compressors. As if Peter was the boss and he were the employee. The grease under his fingers feels more like Miguel than any squeaky clean shower you’ve helped him take. Yes, you’ve helped him take. He could have asked Lyla or Peter, but why over-extend their lives when you lived in his home for the past month to take care of Gabriella anyway?

He wonders what you thought, stripping him down to nothing, seeing his naked thighs, watching him clean sensitive bits that, as you lied, you were not looking at. He finds it cute, the way you tried to look away, but of course-- you always snuck a look. You’re nosy by nature. He’s never been ashamed of his body, though. For all the work you did, he thinks you deserve a look.

“Miggy,” you slipped through the side door, your heels clicking over a greased-up floor. He hopes you don’t fall, arms deep in the hood of a shiny dark blue convertible. It’s nearly perfect. “I got your message. You said we need to talk?”

“Don’t slip.”

Miguel whirled a wrench into its place, slammed the hood shut, and rubbed the grease on his hands together. Like it will come off his callouses. Miguel meets you half way, offering you his greased up hand. You look down at his hand, then up to Miguel again. He half thinks you won’t take it, but you do, allowing him to whirl you in a spin before lifting you on top od the hood of the car.

“Ay Miggy--” you cursed, looking down at the car. It shone bright, its smooth metal cold under your bare thighs. He pins you in place as you attempt to wiggle off, nearly jiggling your way onto his lap. “The owner will be mad--”

“It’s mine and I’m not.” He explains. “I know what I want.”

“You want…?”

“For the work on your car.” It’s cute how clueless you act, holding your breath as his fingers course past your bare thighs. You barely manage to choke the words out, your hands inching on his. He replaces himself between your thighs. You both know that you more than made up for the few hundred dollars in repairs with the work you’d done for him in a month. Holding your breath, you nod.

“Tell me.”

“I want a night with you.”

You didn’t know what to say, leaning your trembling fingers up to the bits of dark brown hair that accentuated the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes. You met his eyes, trained on your own, challenging you to respond. Words formed in a mishmash of nonsense on your tongue. You take the chance to press your lips on his, your hand suddenly cradling the side of his face for some stability. You were hardly comfortable on his car, but Miguel didn’t seem to care, biding your lower lip to open and let him in. You relinquish, savoring the distant taste of roasted coffee on his tongue, his fingers teasing along your thighs.

“That’s not an answer,” Miguel pulled back from your lips for an instant. He graces your neck with soft kisses, leaving the occasional bite and tug just in case-- he doesn’t need another man thinking he has so much as a chance. Your big man pins you down onto the car like you were weightless, any willingness to inch away tempered by his mass.

“Depends,” you answered. “I want this to be an every night kind of thing.”

“Consider it a trade.” He chuckled against your neck, the heat from his lips traveled across the valley of your breasts. You complied with his desire and let him slip your breasts free from your romper. His mouth closed his mouth over your nipple. His greasy hands melded your breasts between his desperate hands, tongue prodding your nipple fat. Your legs met his hungry performance by pulling him forward, his scratchy belt against your clothed cunt.

“Careful,” he teased. His hand fell to his bulge, unbuttoning his stained pants. You watched him pull himself free, pulling panties and romper alike to the side of your lips. Your lips parted, much like that very first day you met him, sundered by the sight of his cock. This time, fully hard. He doesn’t enter your cunt-- no, he’s patient, slotting himself between your folds for a teasing grind. His dick twitched in response, eager to finally fuck you. “You’ll fall off.”

“It’s your fault. You could have asked over dinner.” He greets your complaint with a nod, flicking your other breast. He envelops the other nipple between his mouth, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin. You take a long breath, hips leaning up against his firm length.

“Like that would be anything new. We always have dinner,” Miguel murmured in protest. “A far better use of our time is soaking your pretty cunt with my cum on this car before dinner.”

He felt your cunt clench at nothing. His hips, thrusting against your mound, nudged over your wet little folds, knocked against your greedy clit. Before you could respond, Miguel popped off your nipple again, “You like that thought? Going to dinner leaking?”

“Miggy, por dios,” you complained. “Stop dry humping and give it to me.”

He huffed darkly, snatching one of your thighs and leaning back. He spreads your lips, inspecting his work. You were wet, but not just wet, soaking his car. Miguel brought his other palm to wipe your wetness away, jerking himself with the fluid. He tests your reaction by nudging the head of his cock against your unprepared hole.

“Miguel,” you bit out, this time a warning.

“Ya te oigo,” Miguel loomed over you, pinning your shoulder back to his glistening car. You don’t debate him on that, allowing him to say whatever he wants if it would just get him inside. Miguel relinquishes control, pushing inside of your tightness. He bit back a groan, pushing past your body’s resistance, throbbing against your core. Your hands fisted his dirty shirt, cunt split wide on his cock, and glad for it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands securing themselves on your hips. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before he pulls nearly free, slamming forth just a moment later. Breath punched out of your throat, his cock rocking your cunt nice and full. You loved this-- looking beautiful and full just for him. He knew it too, “Hermosa.”

Miguel held his arm tight around your thigh, holding you flush against his rutting hips. His balls slapped your ass, pulling tight. You were distantly aware of his thumb at your clit, leaning your hips into his thrusts the best you could. You could only squirm to keep yourself upright on his car despite feeling your body sliding into his. His thumb worked in insistent, tight circles, forcing the pleasure to burrow in your low belly, tightening over him. It’s no marker of your performance, you think, hoping he’d give you another chance to be anything but a toy on his cock.

“No, no puedo--” you whined, your hands dipping under his shirt to scratch at his finely cut muscles, knowing you were about to gush.

“Do it,” Miguel grunts in response, his thumb more insistent. You’re not entirely proud of the way you came, creaming his cock desperately. He held strong, smothering his own groans if only for the pleasure of hearing your passionate cries. You come to moments after, Miguel’s thrusts now intent on his own pleasure.

“Come on, papi,” you worshipped. “Cum in me.”

“Fuck,” Miguel complied, his dirty nails causing sharp indentions on your thigh and hip. His sticky cum fills you in a few deep thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and he’s spent. If he was dirty before, he was filthy now. Miguel catches your lips in a lingering kiss, going soft in your body. He knew the second he pulled out your cum was soaking his now-dented car.

His eyes peeled open to find your gaze on him, tracing fresh superficial scratches on his belly. Of course, you are-- you’re a hungry addict. Miguel pulled himself free and looked for a cloth that wasn’t grease soaked to clean your cunt with. You piece yourself together and slide off his car.

“Let’s go.”

“¿Qué?” he zips himself back into his pants.

“You promised me dinner.”

He sighs-- just as long as it wasn’t lasagna.

There’s something attractive about your love of children.

He thinks it’s likely because he’s never had that himself. His mother was a beast of a woman. Never affectionate. At least, not with him. After his wife’s subsequent death, life proceeded in a vacuum. The years passed: first one. Then six. Then he was here, holding a bundle of jewel-bright roses against an uncharacteristically clean button-up, walking down the dull blue carpet of the beige hallway to the pod that usually held the kids. For all the days you tolerated him smeared and slathered, you deserved a good display.

They were usually alight with noise, rambling on about their latest toy or prattling on about a mommy that Gabriella just did not have. The more she grew, the more important it became to have that for her-- maybe it was more for himself. Today, that hall was dead of life.

“Gabi, I hear your papi,” you called from somewhere inside. He hears her subsequent pitter-patter of feet across the carpet, popping out with Mimi from the door before he can open it. Miguel cocked his head, a sigh working on his lips. They whirled the door shut. Gabi bolted to your would-be desk and slapped her tanned palms on the tabletop.

“Maestra, maestra!”

Ah, damn it all. Miguel’s hand hovers around the knob, chewing on the next thought. He couldn’t really blame the kid for what she was about to say, because he knew exactly what she was about to do.

“¿Mande?”

“I have something to tell you, it’s really important. Papi likes you, did you know my papi really, really likes you?”

There’s a pause. Then a slight, amused giggle from Mimi. It’s short-lived as he pulls open the door, loathing this dumb thing called Teacher’s Week that leaves him with a bundle of flowers and instant regret.

“Sí, Gabriella. I know he does. I like him too. He’s so cute.”

If he weren’t so dark, he’d worry about the flush in his face with the embarrassment of being outed by his little girl. He stares at your hands on Gabriella’s, then at the small sea of desks and colorful name tags to break some of the tension, hardening his face to shield it from the embarrassment. Was he really so obvious?

“Hola Miggy.”

You scoot out of your chair.

“Hola,” he sighs, remembering he was holding flowers. He slides them into your hands, hooking his hands on his slender hips. “This is… Gabi wanted to give you flowers.”

“I never said that,” she chirped, bouncing his way. “You said--”

“Gabriella.” Miguel hisses, his tone sharp at her interjection. She goes dead silent by Mimi's side, staring up at him with watery eyes. He jerks his head in the direction of the quartet of desks she sits at. “Go get your things.”

“I think Papi is embarrassed,” you whisper, crouching down to rub her little back, soothing down her milky white top. “I’ll talk to him and make it better, okay? Go with Mimi.”

“Okay.”

Mimi bounded off behind Gabi, stuffing her bag with her colorful work and chunky crayons. Miguel exhaled air, staring at her powdery blue backpack for something other than the complete and utter embarrassment that yet someone else had called him out. If it wasn't Peter, it was his daughter.

Had he been this obvious the whole time?

“Don’t be too hard on her tonight,” He peered down at you, small in the grand scheme of his height and musculature. You pecked a small kiss on his lips, stroking his week-old stubble, just enough to cool Miguel’s teetering nerves. “It’ll be better when she finds out.”

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #miguel o'hara smut #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #miguel/reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel fic #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse imagine #across the spiderverse fic #spider 2099 x reader

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ultralightpoe · 5 months

Text

Strangers - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Please don't hate me. I was reading a Midsummer nights dream when I wrote this.

Warning: Fighting, ptsd

Word Count: 3151

Part One : Avoidance

Part Two: Chaos

My main Masterlist

Enjoy!

((Please don't hate me. I was reading a Midsummer nights dream when I wrote this. ))

“You mean to tell me that you’ve combed through every inch of that footage? That you have tried tracking her suit and you’ve-”

“YES BARNES! YES!” The surveillance employee snaps, snatching the glasses off his face and rubbing the point between his eyebrows. Never, not once, had Eric Micheals raised his voice at a higher man. Let alone the Winter Fucking Soldier.

But he didn’t know how else to say it. They combed through every piece of evidence, every second of footage and all the villages nearby. They. Found. Nothing.

“How does someone just disappear? Are there any blindspots in the-”

“Even if there were blindspots in the footage we would have seen her somewhere.” Eric snaps, and Bucky feels his fists clench, an unnatural anger pounding in his chest. Rationally he knew that the kid was just doing his job, but he felt like he couldn’t breathe without you. “If she left that building then we would have seen her.”

“We combed through the building to find her-”

“Enough.” Steve sighs, stepping between Bucky and his target. “We know Y/n got out. But she apparently didn’t take a natural exit.”

“Then how did she-” Nat begins but Steve cuts her a quick glance to silence her, turning back to Bucky. “We’ll figure it out, Buck. She’s out there-”

“I know she’s out there.” Bucky snaps, rolling his eyes as his flesh hand travels to the ache in his chest. “I can feel her, she’s right here.”

“You can feel her?” Tony scoffs, shooting everyone else a ‘can you believe this?’ look as Sam steps forward.

“Then we keep looking, keep brainstorming ways to find her.” Finally Bucky lets out a breath, walking to his pal with a calm expression. At least someone here was in his corner.

There was a thick feeling in your chest, one that you could not quite explain, but you knew it was there. Like a cord was wrapped to your ribcage and pulling, and no matter which way you turned or walked you just couldn’t seem to shake it.

The woman you were staying with often watched you closely, watching as you shuffled around her home in an attempt to ease the pressure, if she thought it weird she didn’t say anything on it. But then again it was already weird enough that she had someone in her house making plants grow at the speed of light and not have a clue as to who she was.

But that didn’t stop her from taking care of you. She fed you a hot meal morning and night, gave you a warm bed to sleep in and often carted you around town to help with her work.

She sold flowers, and ever since you had gotten involved she had never ending line out the door to buy your once in a lifetime flowers.

You felt powerful and endless, and though you had no clue who you were you knew you had never felt this kind of power before. And even with all that you still felt…. Empty. Like you were missing something very important.

Never ending, the pressure in your ribcage only tightening more.

Like today, walking behind the strange woman with a hand on your side, following her around the market as people all stopped to turn to you with shocked expressions. You understood their expressions, and had been shocked yourself when you saw how long your hair had been and the vines growing around your arms that you just couldn’t seem to shake.

You looked like a goddess.

You just wish you remembered who you were.

It was not long before the people around you figured out that just a touch from you was a healing spell, and soon enough everyone was desperate to touch you. People calling for you as you pass, screaming out a name you didn’t know as the stranger who saved you snatches your wrist, jolting back when the gray of her hair darkens back to the original color and some of the wrinkles along her face disappear.

You can only stare, blinking slowly as she snatches her hand away quickly. And though you had no memories you knew what you had just done was wrong. A wave of panic fills you and you find yourself yearning for something. The smell of black coffee and spearmint filling your senses as she mumbles an apology.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” She mumbles, the russian accent heavier from the adrenaline. “Come. Come. We go before they find us.”

“I want to heal.” You croak out, showing your hands before gesturing to the groups you had left behind you. “I can help-”

“Okay. Okay.” She mumbles, slowly leading you back to them, this time careful not to touch you.

You try not to be stung by that, and that heavy feeling in your chest dampens more. You were missing something.

He had to find you, he knew something was wrong.

If anyone were to hear him talk about it they would think he was crazy, but he felt it. The lack of energy and the heavy feeling in his chest. It was like he could feel your pain even while he was away.

“Buck.” Someone calls and he has to turn to find Sam walking to him, a small smile on his face. That was another reason Bucky knew something was wrong, he had NEVER seen Sam so sprightly.

It was like you had completely healed every single thing. Something he had never seen you do before, sure you helped in the med bay sometimes but even that was simple stuff that took most of your energy. He remembers all the times he had come in himself needing stitches.

“You know I heal fast, right doll?” He laughs, watching as you blush and not make eye contact while you continue stitching him up.

“This will help heal you faster, and I would very much appreciate it if you would stop getting shot so much.” You try to smile, eyes widening as he gasps out to scare you, realizing what he had done a second later. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” He laughs, reaching his flesh hand up to swipe at your cheek. “I had to, you know it. You’re so anxious and I’m not gonna die on ya dollface.”

“I’m not your dollface right now Barnes”

“You’re always my dollface, even when you’re mad at me.” He smiles from ear to ear. “What time is your shift over, we can head over to the diner later.”

“Oh, I’m just helping out right now.” You smile and he blinks.

“You’re helping out? Doing all this and not getting paid?”

“I’ll let you buy me dinner as payment.” You smile, giving him a wink and then walking off for your next client.

It still amazed him how you convinced Stark to take public patients to allow better access to medicine and tech that the Avengers could provide.

“Buck? You hear me?” Sam calls, snapping his fingers.

“What?” The soldier asks, blinking slowly as he tries to snap you out of his thoughts for a second.

“I asked if you wanted help watering Y/ns plants.” Sam repeats himself, moving to grab another water canister as Bucky thanks him and gets back to working. His thoughts go back to the clinic you had been running, something he checked on everyday to make sure it was still running-

“Y/n.” He gasps, snapping to Sam.

“What?”

“Y/n. I know how to find her. I know how to find my girl.” Bucky laughs, dropping the water canister and splitting from the room with Sam hot on his heels. He dashes to the surveillance room, shocking Clint and Natasha on their shift.

“What now Bucky?” Clint groans, turning on his hearing aid as Nat slaps his arm.

“I know how to find Y/n-”

“Barnes, we have been through this. We’ve check-”

“Check the news for towns near the compound we rushed. Check for any healing activity.”

“Healing activity?” An intern laughs. “Like ibuprofen sales?”

His metal arm is reaching out quickly to snatch the shirt of the intern, pulling him up. “You about to make fun of the one person in this building who made you a specialized medicine for your mothers chemo therapy?”

“N-No man-”

“Sir.”

“NO SIR!” The kid cries out and Bucky releases him, rolling his eyes as the kid dashes past. “The Y/n I know would find a way to help anyone near her. And if she can heal Sam down to the lungs then she has enough energy to perform some miracles.”

“You don’t even know if she ma-”

“My girl made it out. And my girl is definitely out there making a change so let’s go.”

There were a lot of sick people here, from asthma to cancer to allergies. And they all wanted your help, which you were more than happy to give.

Child to mother to stranger to another child. Over and over they all kept coming.

You did what you could, touching their forehead or hands, some of them asked for a kiss on their head.

You did as much as you could, and hadn’t even realized when you started bleeding from your nose until the strange woman ushers you away, still not touching you herself.

“Melina.” Someone calls, and a younger woman with blonde hair appears before you, eyes wild as she taked you in. “Is it true.”

“Yelena.” The brunette stranger warns, and just like that you had two names but there was only one stuck on your tongue.

“Bucky.” You blurt and both women snap their attention to you.

“She is a god.” Yelena blurts and Melina shakes her head.

“A curse.”

“I’m lost.” You murmur, but they don’t seem to hear you, too busy arguing over each other.

“She went through the earth.” Bucky smiles, looking at the basement where they had lost you. Now unflooded and easier to search it was clear how you had managed to get out. You had quite literally gone through the earth.

It was like you had sunk through like a soft mattress, in a moment of panic you drew from the earth.

“Barnes.” Nat calls, red hair appearing quickly. “We got a hit.”

“We did?”

“You won’t believe what town we found her in.”

There was a heavy commotion, the sound of heavy wind and the next thing you knew everyone was dashing to hide, which made your instincts snap out.

Turning to look you see some of the dust rising up before you blink and see Cornell there, a silent scream tears through you as you dash for shelter as well, bare feet scraping against the concrete.

You had lost Melina and Yelena that morning, and now you wish you hadn’t strayed as you make a mad dash through the area, hearing footsteps follow you.

A small thud is heard to your right, a soft curse of a man, and when you look back to see you find a taller male with metal bird winds dodging from rocks being thrown by children. He ducks from their rocks, calling for them to calm down before the kids all yell out and run, when he removes his arm you spot a look of shock over his face.

Before you can even realize what you had done you see vines grow quickly, snatching him by the ankles and throwing him up before he could retaliate.

He searches around for the source, spotting you with a shocked look. “Y/n, IT’S SAM!”

But you were already dashing, the bottom of your foot scraping before it heals in a flash as you dash up a fallen post before a blur of red hair fills your vision and you are lashing out once more to protect yourself.

Cornell had come back for you, you knew it. This was the end of it all.

The female is blocked by a tree and another figure with a bow and arrow is pulled into the dirt as you dash up the post and climb into an abandoned building, moving to find a space to hide.

“Jesus, she’s gone wild.” Clint gasps, trying to take his foot out of the quicksand you had formed under him while Nat moves around the tree to help him.

“This is my fault.”

“You know I love you, but right now I’m gonna have to agree.” The deaf man gasps as Steve and Bucky speed to them.

“Which direction?” Steve asks, but Bucky is already passing, almost like he could already sense where you had gone. Steve follows close and Nat gives one more look to Clint before he shakes her off and turns to Sam for help.

“We should have brought the witch.” Clint snaps, allowing Sam to coach him out.

Steve and Bucky take cover by the wall, looking to the post you had climbed as Nat takes the lead, being the first to climb up.

“Never thought we would be hiding from Y/n.” Steve whispers through the comns.

“It’s not Y/n, she was panicked and scared and mumbled something about Cornell.” Sam grunts.

“She said Cornell?” Bucky blurts, a little louder than intended .

“No. I just gave you misinformation for fun-”

“Shut. Up.” He snaps, using his metal arm as leverage up the beam to get to you faster. “Y/n!”

The ground beneath the building shakes a bit, and he hits the floor of the building to hold himself stable, taking a moment to review his surroundings. No gun in sight, and no weapons shown. You were an enemy but you were also still attacking.

“Y/n!” He calls again, the ground shakes more.

“Barnes!” Nat calls, lunging in with Steve.

“Y/N!” Cornell calls, but you couldn’t stop, you were running. You were free and there was nothing that was going to stop you now.

You were no longer his pet.

A shot rings out as the forest branches tear at your skin, and you don’t recognize the pain until you step on the leg that had been shot and a scream tears through your throat as you hit the floor, pain filling your body.

You try to silence yourself, you really do but there is nothing that could stop the sobs as you try to pick yourself back up, you had to do this. You had to save yourself.

There is a blur in the corner of your eye and you were sure Cornell had caught up, so you pull the strength to stand and keep running.

Once you hear that name, the name you recognize as your own, you can do nothing but run.

There are people running behind you, but you don’t risk a look back, and you don’t have enough energy to fight them so you focus on running.

This was something you knew, you were going to be free.

There is a blur to your right, and you realize that you are running against people with superspeed and can’t really fight that. So you turn to the left, only to be tackled by a figure you hadn’t even seen.

“Dollface.” Someone gasps out, the feeling of metal and flesh wraps around you in a soft embrace as they try to slow you down. “Cornell is not here. Dollface I swear it.”

The blur had caught up, holding out his hands to you in a calming manner, doing his best to ease you down from the very tightrope you had formed.

“Cornell is not here, okay? I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya.” The stranger hushes you, getting closer and closer.

You recognized it now, you knew him. This was your closest companion. He had saved you from Cornell and he had come for you.

So you take a deep breath, turning to him with tears in your eyes as you try to calm down, trying to remember how you had ended up here in the first place.

“You came for me…” You whisper, a sob escaping your lips. “I’m sorry I ran.”

“It’s okay.” The man holding you eases, letting go of you slowly. “We’re here for you dollface.”

“Thank you….” You cry, missing the confusion on his face when you turn away from him. “Thank you for coming back for me Stevie.”

“I’m Steve.” The blonde stranger smiles, rubbing your shoulders. “But my friends call me Stevie.”

“Stevie…”

Bucky is at an absolute loss of words, feeling you rush from his grasp to jump into Steve’s arms quickly, a pang of jealousy crossing through him when he sees Steve wrap his arms around you and kiss your head.

This can’t be real.

He doesn’t know what to think, he doesn’t know what to do.

Everything in him is screaming to grab your attention and bring you into his arms, apologize for ever ignoring you and taking what he had for granted. To promise that he will never leave you again and beg you to forgive him.

But you are sobbing into Steve’s chest and before he can act on his thoughts he catches Nat’s eyes. But when he was expecting a warning from his friend he was mistaken, instead he saw a devastating jealousy written over her face as she watches Steve hug you.

There is another sinking feeling as he realizes, finally, why Natasha had been so firm on protecting him in this situation.

“You both are so wrapped up in each other that you forget to breathe without each other. Codependency hurts more when it’s forcefully torn rather than willingly.”

Natasha had gotten attached…. To Steve.

Tony is waiting at the landing pad when the quinjet arrives, nerves in his stomach rumbling. He hadn’t received a confirmation from anyone, and that was never a good sign. So he was the first out, watching as the ramp door opened and his team was revealed.

A relieved gasp escapes him when he sees you, curled into a blanket with vines covering your arms and legs, a bit of green smudging your cheek and the tips of your fingers. He takes a couple quick steps forward, ready to greet you, until he sees Natasha storm down.

“What’s going on Widow?” He asks, only for her to rush past with Clint on her heels. Sam follows, rubbing the back of his neck with a saddened expression.

Bucky walks up next, jaw tight and his fists tense as Tony looks at him.

“Why aren’t you with Y/n?” He hated Bucky, but even he knew this was unsettling.

“Ask. Stevie.” Bucky snaps, shouldering past Tony as he finally looks back to where you are holding on to Steve’s hand, just like you had the first time he brought you here.

“This is a mess.” Steve whispers, leading you to the door. “A mess I don’t know how to fix.”

(Next and FINAL PART here )

TAGLIST:::: (this was alottttt and I hope they all worked. Love you all and I hope you enjoyed this part!)

@m00n5t0n3 @hizzielover @ozwriterchick @ordelixx @millercontracting @aboobie @sandyruston @paankhaleyaar @bisexualnikkisixx @kaitlin013106 @mich1551-blog @fandomsfeminismandme @kandis-mom @sadieurlady @aesthetic0cherryblossom @louxbloom @casa-boiardi @scorpiosaintt @mrsbarnes-avenger @sapphirebarnes @cjand10 @officialnighttime @violetwinterwidow01 @redbloodedgurl @wasalreadyhere @hereforfun-31 @scott-loki-barnes @lexi-anastasia @just-henny @traderjoesmints @buggy14 @stoner420things69 @mereptt @differenttyphoonwerewolf @abcdestinyyyy @lokislady82 @spookyparadisesheep @minaxcarter @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @whatishappeninghere81 @vicmc624 @elite4cekalyma @unaxv @scott-loki-barnes @zephyrmonkey @classyunknownlover @luciaexcorvus @littlewhiterose @cyberficlya @m00n5t0n3 @donttalktosposts @magnificentsvn @jenniferpendragon @ozwriterchick @calwitch

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uhhidkkenny · 6 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒁𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒋𝒊 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕.

“That’s it. Take it like the good easy slut you are.” You know exactly what prompted those words. As well as why Zoro dragged you into the kitchen at 3A.M. While the rest of the crew was asleep. Your mouth was agape and all you could do was try and breath as Zoro while he had you face down ass up on the kitchen counter.

It’s been 13 hours since the incident. And that incident was the way you smiled at Sanji and said the food was delicious after he brought you a snack. In your perspective, this was a normal and appropriate conversation for a single woman to have, but Zoro the man you’ve been fucking on the low who “didn’t want anything serious” disagreed. So in his perspective, waking you up and dragging you to the kitchen table to fuck you over Sanjis spot was the most reasonable reaction.

The way Zoro was pistoning his cock into your wet hole as a way to “punish” you. He was jealous but would never out right say how he feels. That’s why he keeps saying “Who’s pussy is this?” and “Look at it cream for me” or even “Your mine slut. Don’t forget it this time.” And all you can do is just allow him to express his emotions through his actions.

You were crying over his cock, and Zoro was eating it up. Placing his foot by your head to get a better angle, he finds a slightly slower but deeper pace and you feel like you see stars. “That’s it baby. You gonna cum for me soon?” He cooed as he left a harsh smack on your ass cheek. Your pussy fluttering around him was enough of an answer for him to reach around your waist and you with your clit.

You were so close to cumming. Your moans were muffled by the hand you’ve been keeping over your mouth, careful as to not wake your cremated up. You were so close until Zoro took his cock out of your bop sopping hole. You gasp and turn to look back at him but he is already assisting you onto your back. Once he has you layed on the table properly, he says “I bet that shitty cook could never please you like this.” You nod while looking at his eye before his lips attach to yours while he slips back in.

The cord doesn’t take long to snap as he fucks you harder and harder on the kitchen table. Your moan was half ass hidden by the deep kiss you were sharing with the green haired man as you came on his cock but he couldn’t care less. Letting out deep groans as he releases himself into your womb while you claw at his back to feel grounded.

You then woke up in your own bed with the swordsman’s shirt on. Confused you walk out of the room and into the kitchen where you see everyone enjoying breakfast. There’s a seat saved for you though, next to a very handsome green haired man who is already admiring the marks he left on you in the same room only hours ago.

#꧂𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒈 #one piece #one piece x y/n #zoro smut #jealous zoro #zoro x reader #one piece smut #opla #op zoro #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece sanji #one piece luffy

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hybbart · 1 year

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Day 672: After pushing themselves a bit too far, both ranchers get simultaneously hit with a bad day...

Short story below

The ceiling fan spun at a meandering pace above, barely loud enough to hear and barely strong enough for the breeze to reach down. Jimmy watched it dully, the uneven sway of the lamp cord making it hard to focus on the blades’ rhythm. Or maybe it was how deep his breaths had become. He could feel it, how little his gasps pulled in, almost entirely supported by the tube forcefully pumping air through his nose. It felt as though his lungs had forgotten how to breathe despite how hard they tried.

It was a really bad day. They didn’t happen often – Jimmy could hardly remember one that had ever been quite this bad – but they didn’t have to. If he took his tubes out right now he would simply suffocate to death no matter how hard he tried. Part of his mind resigned to it, as if he would wake up every day after this way, completely irreversible. It was more like gas prices, he knew. It would get worse than it had ever been before going back down, but not quite as far down as it was before, just that little bit worse, creeping up like he wouldn’t notice. Not just the struggle to breathe, but the awareness.

Besides him Tango whimpered. For a brief moment instinct chased away his thoughts, replacing them with concern for his rancher who was rolling onto his side to curl up. He grasped at his shoulder in agony, and Jimmy’s heart was overwhelmed with the weight of guilt. It’d been him who had hacked off Tango’s limb with a fire axe, after all. Maybe if he’d held out just a little longer someone with more medical knowledge could have done it far cleaner or saved his arm. As it was now, Tango’s shocked nerves flared at a wound that had long since healed. It always ached, just a little bit. Today it was visibly swollen, and Tango himself agreed to take some of their precious little medication to ease it. A bad day.

His heart constricted painfully.

“Tango?” Jimmy whispered, as if the sound might hurt his companion. Tango struggled to roll over and look at him, eyes distant and teeth gritted. If he weren’t a blazeborn he’d be sweating, Jimmy was sure.

Careful not to disturb the pained limb or pull on his mask, Jimmy scooted closer. Revy whimpered where he lay between their legs, ears pinned. He could smell both their bad days, but there was nothing else that could be done about them.

Tango strained to put on a smile for Jimmy, but it was more of a grimace. “What’s up, buttercup?” He teased, voice nearly too raspy to understand.

Jimmy stared at him and let his face fall. “I don’t know.” He admitted. His own breath came in heavy puffs, unable to reconcile his muscles with the air being forced into his lungs. They couldn’t even hold each other for comfort.

“Pearl’s taking care of the animals and crops.” Assured Tango.

“And when she’s gone?”

“She won’t leave us before we’re back on our feet.”

“But what about next time?” He pressed, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

Tango’s face softened and turned full towards Jimmy despite his pain. “Jim, it’s okay. We just pushed ourselves a little too hard this month and it caught up with us. We’ll be more careful.”

“What’ll we do when just finishing the chores is too much?”

“That’s not something we have to worry about yet.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Jimmy warbled, taking in a deeper breath. “It feels like we’re losing.”

“We aren’t losing.” Claws reached out to brush back Jimmy’s bangs which were damped with cold sweat. It continued past his ear, and repeated. Jimmy leaned into Tango’s hand, searching for any comfort he could attain. “We have each other, we’ll take care of each other.”

Jimmy frowned. “Except today.”

Those words finally seemed to give Tango pause. Jimmy took the opportunity to continue. “You’ve thought about it too. I can’t take care of myself if something happens to you. If any of my machines break down or the power goes out, or when it gets worse. I know I stopped breathing last night.” He paused to even his breathing. “And what’ll you do, if you can’t get out of bed and you’re all alone? If the pain gets worse and we’re out of medication?”

“Don’t talk like that.” Tango tried to sound firm, but Jimmy just shook his head.

“We’re out here pretending nothing is wrong, playing ranchers. There’s no ambulance if something happens, and they have as few supplies as the rest of us. We’re always fighting just to keep the power on to keep me alive. What’ll we do if a storm comes in the winter? We’d just waste away in our bed.”

There was a shuffling beside him – when had the world become so blurry? – and an arm wrapped its way across Jimmy’s shoulders. Instinctively his hand went up to cling to it. Tango’s forehead pressed into Jimmy’s shoulder. His breaths came out as shaky as Jimmy’s own, and immediately the avian wanted to apologize. Everything he said they already knew, there was no reason to let it all spill out. What was wrong with him?

But Tango pressed himself as close as he could through his pain. “Let’s think about it when we’re feeling better, okay?”

Jimmy knew what he was doing. They’d done it before. It won’t make a difference this time. His brain assured him. It’s just facts it doesn’t matter what mood we’re in if it’s facts. If we do it’s just because we forgot how bad it was. That’s why he can’t come up with a counter. Even while another part of his mind knew Tango was right. His miserable thoughts were sure they were true.

Silence fell across the room, filled only by the whirring of Jimmy’s machines and the distant clucking of chickens mixed with wild bird song. Light streamed through the windows, accompanied by a soft breeze. It was a shame it was such a nice day.

He could feel Tango relax against him, nudging his whole body just a bit closer until he was half-slumped onto the avian as he let his arm slip down to Jimmy’s ribs into a more comfortable hold. Jimmy let his head fall to the side, resting it atop Tango’s. Uneven heat radiated from the blazeborn still. He kicked himself for putting those thoughts in Tango’s mind too when, for once, it seemed like they hadn’t been.

“I’m sorry.” Whispered the avian. “I’m just scared.”

“I know.” Tango cooed. “I know, So’m I.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

But Tango shook his head. “We’ll think about it when we’re feeling better. We’ll talk to the others.”

“Okay.”

#tango tek #solidaritygaming #team rancher #rancher's revenge #rancher apocalypse au #fanart #biopunk #cottagecore #character #background #scene #writing #art #sketch #colour #Hybbart

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cranberrymoons · 5 months

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i'll be home for christmas

prompt: no upside down au (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: t word count: 909 words tags: flirting, bartender eddie, college student steve

welcome to Day 9 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

Nancy dumps him a few months after he moves away for school, and so he doesn’t come home that summer or the one after that, until a couple years have gone by and he ends up stuck back at his parents’ house during Christmas break.

He hasn’t seen them in a while, but truth be told, he’d kind of rather just be back in South Bend hiding out in his dorm or maybe at the bar with Robin, the only other person from Hawkins who’d ended up at Notre Dame. He hadn’t even known her before they were there, and she’s a year below him, but – whatever. When you leave a small town, you sort of tend to find each other after a while.

She’s not there right now, though, so it’s not like it really even makes a difference. She’s off on some trip with her own parents, one that they take every other year, back to visit her mom’s old hippie friends in Berkeley, because Robin has the sort of parents who have old hippie friends back in Berkeley. Maybe Steve could just get adopted by them, and then he'd never have to come back here at all.

Anyway.

He’s here now. That’s the problem.

And of course he got into a fight with his dad on the first night back. Of course he did. I wasn't even over anything worthwhile, just – Whatever. It doesn’t even matter. He doesn’t even care, just. He really does hate his dad sometimes.

He clenches his jaw in rhythm to the song that’s playing from the tape deck in his room, turns his head on the pillow to squint at the glowing red alarm clock in the corner.

8:50 PM

It’s barely even nighttime. He can’t just sit here like this, like he’s waiting for his parents to leave, because they’re not going to fucking leave, so maybe – maybe he should –

He catapults himself off the bed and reaches for his keys on the dresser, shoving them in his back pocket before he can overthink it. Down the stairs, slipping into his shoes by the door, shrugging into his coat. Calling over his shoulder that he’s going out, don’t wait up, and –

He doesn’t actually know where he’s going, but he gets in his car and starts driving. Just drives until he ends up parked in front of the Hideout, the run-down little dive bar on the complete opposite side of town.

It’s open, and there are a few people hanging around out front, so he turns off the car and goes inside.

It’s dark in here, the ceiling low and the music kind of weird and more guitar-y than he’s used to, but it’s medium-crowded in a way that makes him feel like he can probably just grab a seat at the bar and blend in and not have to worry about anyone trying to talk to him about –

“Harrington?”

Fuck.

He turns with a big fake smile on his face, prepared to deal with Tommy, who he hasn’t seen in at least a year, or maybe even Billy, who he hasn’t seen in about as long. Worst of all would be the Byers kid, the one he got dumped for, but Jonathan’s probably not bold enough to actually say anything to his face, but still. The last person he expects to find is –

“Munson?”

Eddie gives a little jerk of his head and drops a dish towel over his shoulder. He braces his hands on the opposite side of the bar, arms spread wide, and Steve’s eyes flicker down, just for a beat, to the way the thin cords of muscle flex under his skin where it’s lined with a twisting pattern of black tattoos.

Eddie clears his throat, and Steve sucks in a breath, blinking back up to his face. Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“What’ll it be?”

“Um. Just a – beer, whatever,” Steve says as he tugs his coat off and slides onto a stool. “You work here?”

“No, I’m just a really creative burglar,” Eddie says. He reaches for a glass and pulls the tap as he eyes Steve up and down. “Playing the long game. If I stand back here long enough, they’ll stop noticing me, and that’s when I strike.”

He sets down the drink and slides it across the bar, and Steve grins as he accepts it, letting out a surprised laugh.

“Well now you’ve given it away,” he says, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip. “Your plan is ruined.”

“You’re going to turn me in?” Eddie asks. He folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the countertop behind him, and Steve’s eyes drop down again like he can’t help it. “What if I cut you in? Ten percent?”

Steve feels a pleased little flush wash over him as he looks back up to Eddie’s face, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip of his beer. Eddie’s smile is slow and a little sweet, and it makes something in Steve’s stomach do a weird little flip. He tears the corner off a bar napkin to distract his hands from fidgeting too much, and leans forward across the bar. He narrows his eyes.

“Twenty.”

Eddie’s smile grows. He lifts his chin. “Fifteen, and your next beer’s on me.”

Steve laughs, feeling a warm glow settle in his chest. “Sounds like a deal.”

[also on ao3]

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #my fic

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ghouljams · 6 days

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What Once Was

A perspective shift, a pause, a brief respite before doubt takes hold again. Android!Ghost feels his heart beat.

You grew up in Manchester, or at least you had a job out there. You don’t like thinking about “growing up.” As far as you’re concerned you’ve been doing this your whole life. Fixing things. You had a job, an apprenticeship, with a bot mechanic at one of the industrial plants. You’d taught yourself coding, but at risk of electrocution you’d found someone to teach you the rest. It was hard, but the work was rewarding. You were young, but unlike people, bots care more about the results than how long a doctor has been a doctor. They didn’t ask questions, they didn’t know they should have.

The area was rough, you always liked the industrial parts of town, but even you could admit the place had seen better days. There was this old butcher shop. Real old school, but people like that. Meat tastes better when it’s cut by human hands, you’d heard someone say once. And there was this kid working there, Simon, he couldn’t have been much older than you. You saw him on your lunch breaks sometimes. You shared your sandwich with him.

He smiled sometimes, more than you would have thought given everything you knew about him. He liked working with his hands, you got that. He liked being away from home, you got that too. He never called you crazy when you talked about bots like they were people. He was sweet, you liked that about him.

He disappeared one day, without saying goodbye. You figured that was just what happened to people who lived like you two did. You didn’t even bother with a police report. Maybe you should have.

You still sit with your knees pulled up to your chest when you’re working on small parts. Your brows still furrow the way they did when you were a teenager. Ghost watches you flip down your magnifier over your eyes and remembers teasing you about needing glasses from squinting too much. You still blow the dust out of old cartridges and stick them into your arsenal of wires just to listen to the technicolor drone of ancient video games while you work.

“Just the music,” you’d told him years and years ago, “it helps me focus.”

You’re exactly the same, and yet you’re so unfathomably different. Or maybe he’s different. Different in the ways that matter most, in the ways that mean you’ll never recognize him. It’s better like this. He’s been through too much to be the sort of man you deserve. Barely a man at all, really.

That doesn’t stop him from circling you, like a moth to a flame, or a weary soldier to the comfort of home. He finds himself in your workshop with repairs that aren’t repairs, with injuries that he’s never been bothered by before. Ghost sits and lets you run diagnostics, lets you poke and prod at his gears, and he never says a word. Never mentions that you still look beautiful in work lights, that you shouldn’t hold your tweezers in your mouth because you always pinch your lip, that you’re still you even when he isn’t sure he’s still himself. He never mentions that he has a million things he’s never told you, that he wanted to tell you but never got the chance to.

He thinks them sometimes: when he’s watching you work, when you smile up at a bot warmly, when you ask him what’s wrong, when you start walking towards him before you even know what he needs, when you lay your hands on him and he flips every sensor to try and feel your warmth. He thinks that he loves you, that no matter how little of him is left he’ll always love you. He could love you with nothing, with bare circuits and white matter, and that would be enough to keep him going.

It was enough to keep him going. It isn’t anymore. Not when you’re here, so close and still a thousand miles away. Not when you don’t recognize him, when you don’t see the scrawny kid from Manchester in the corded steel and dense circuitry.

Did you think of him when he left? Did you worry? It always felt melancholic, said as a joke that neither of you laughed at: it’s gonna kill me one day, this world’s gonna kill me. Was that what you thought happened? When you knew about his father, when he sat down for lunch with fresh bruises and a split lip, did you think that’s what happened when he didn’t show up the next day? Did you mourn him?

He should have taken you with him. Sixteen. Young enough to kill for a living, but still too young to save you. He couldn’t save anyone, couldn’t even save himself.

They shouldn’t have put him back together.

Not if it meant he’d see you again.

Not if it meant you’d look at him like this,

Like nothing.

Repairs that aren’t repairs. Injuries that never bothered him before. Diagnostics. Circling. He knows it will burn him, he can feel the heat, but he can’t stop. Androids aren’t supposed to feel. Men aren’t supposed to be metal. And you don’t love him.

Not anymore.

(If you ever did.)

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #android!ghost #cyberpunk au #gn!reader

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celabi · 1 year

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Scummy Scaramouche and his nurse gf! ☆彡 1.2k — nsfw

Errrr re uploading this bcs someone told me the format glitched out and was doubling paragraphs, sorry! 🙏

Pfft, he’s picking fights with groups of bigger guys that he knows overpower him tremendously— taunting and mocking them with that snarky smile of his until they’ve finally had enough of his cocky little attitude and decide to beat him blue. But even then, as he’s pathetically crouched down to the ground, his slender, bruised arms up and covering his head to avoid injury to the face, does he laugh at their sorry excuse of punches and hits. When his voice is hoarse and shallow as he deems them weak— it was not meant for his ears only, or because he was scared, it was simply because one of those kicks made direct contact with his rib cage and did something to his vocal cords, he likes to believe that he is not the weak one here.

God does he hate how they laugh back at him, for it is he who should be the one with power, but… he just can’t find the strength to stand up. Instead, he can do nothing but curl into his body to try and suppress the growing ache in his chest, and stare with half lidded eyes as they dump everything out of his bag and onto the floor, with all of his belongings rolling across the dirty, campus tiles. ‘… how irritating.’ He thinks, watching one of the ‘bullies’ bring their foot down to harshly stomp the assignment that Scaramouche had asked you to help him with. Huh, whatever, yet another reason to spend time with you.

He’s not sure how long he had sat back against some random locker before his tormentors left and he had finally caught his breath— maybe ten minutes? thirteen if he counts how long it took to muster up his remaining strength and sit up— before he’s back on his two feet and wobbling towards the nurses office, one hand pressed firmly against the growing bruise on his stomach— and the other clutching the wall so he doesn’t topple over. Of course, no one that passed Scaramouche bothered to ask if he’s okay, or if he needed any help, for not even a single glance is spared towards his battered figure that limped down the hallway. He thinks he doesn’t care— but still, he has to admit that it’s pretty humiliating when even his professor doesn’t want to question his wounded state when rounding the hallway.

But does he have to care when his hand finally grips the door handle to his destination? No, he doesn’t— so he wastes not a second longer and pushes through, accidentally with too much excitement it seems— seeing that he sent the door banging against the wall and almost off the hinges. He flinches at his display of eagerness— while you jump up in surprise from the loud thud that bounces around the room. Oh no, he didn’t mean to frighten you! That’s the last thing he wanted, so (even though its limited due to the wounded state he’s in) he slightly leans his body downward in a shallow bow and opens his mouth to apologise for his rudeness— only for his hand to be pulled and his body jerked forward, out of the doorway and into the room, the door closing shut behind him.

Since when did you get so close to him? Maybe his heart rate didn’t fully return to nor— No, it doesn’t matter, you’re close to him. And he knows that’s all that matters. He follows closely behind and allows you to pull him along towards one of the clinic beds with no complaints whatsoever— and even though his eyes start to blur, and his head starts to spin from the strong reek of antiseptic, he sits down on the seat which you had silently gestured him towards. ‘She’s so professional when she’s on the clock… that’s fucking adorable.’

“Again? Kuni… do you get into fights you can’t win because you like the pain, or something? With the trouble you manage to find yourself in lately, you’ll see your ‘fatal demise’ sooner then you think.” Even though your words are what he thinks are to be taken in a joking manner— he’s a bit confused when a disappointed sigh, roll of the eyes, and a slight head shake of disapproval is what he receives in return. He blinks once ‘So strict’ and slightly lowers his eyes from your own and onto your glossy and plump lips— so soft looking that he can’t help but to glide his tongue across his dry ones out of excitement. ‘So stern’ his eyes lower down again to stare at the white coat that wraps snugly around your elegant figure, one that makes you look very high class. ‘So harsh’ they lower once again, just enough until they can subtly lock onto the plush thighs that faintly peak through the thin pantyhose covering your legs. ‘… god, she’s fucking perfect, like my own personal nurse.’

At this point— he’s not even embarrassed that his cock had started to erect in his pants, because he’s sure any sane man with a functioning brain would pop a boner at the sight above him. To be looked down upon with a face so fetching, a stare so proper, and words so sharp— it intoxicated him more then it probably should have. Scaramouche let’s out an unbalanced exhale, and goes to re-adjust his position to try and suppress the growing ache in his cock, only to grunt out in pain when he accidentally puts all of his weight onto one of his recently acquired contusions. “Jesus, fuck!” That’s what he gets for letting his enthusiasm get the better of him I suppose.

Over the sounds of him kissing his teeth and the discomfort he expresses through pained groans— he is just able to make out how you start to teasingly ‘tsk’ at the state of his suffering, before your feet pad across the tiles as you approach. It hurts, but not as much as his cock does when your face nears his own— and god did you smell good, so good that it overpowers the intense lodo foam scent that flows around the air. He is so entranced by your sweet aroma that the thought of trying to hide away his erection never even crosses his mind— you however, just so happened to notice it.

From gazing longingly into your glimmering eyes to, reaching out and grasping his hand around a chunk of the fabric to your coat— he’s brought back into reality when a light weight presses somewhat softly against his clothed boner, and his chest is being pushed backwards against the wall behind him inadvertently. Another groan falls from his mouth— this time however, it’s one of relief— so through lidded eyes and open senses, Scaramouche is met with a teasing grin, and the feeling of you palming away at his cock.

“Aw, poor thing. You’re in pain… I can help with that, it’s what i’m here for, after all.” Yep, you’re are just so generous, he thinks— and does nothing but nod with his little remaining strength, sit anxiously still as the zipper to his pants slowly starts to glide down, and flutter his eyes shut when your hand finally wraps around the base to his cock.

“Hahh… y-yes please. Do whatever you want to me…”

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juunebuggy · 7 days

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I've been reading Dungeon Meshi and the cover for chapter 52 really stood out to me:

I think this cover so perfectly demonstrates the core themes that have been set up throughout the series thus far and also represents the characters really interestingly. Specifically the differences in their upbringings through the act of eating.

(Analysis under the cut ^_^)

First off, Laios and Falin are eating alone because they left home early in life and only have had eachother. They've had other party members but they've never enjoyed the toudens company like the two think they do, especially Laios. The two are alone because often times their party members don't actually care for them or see them as friends.

Marcille is eating in a cafeteria at her magic school, the composition is symmetrical to show the rigid lifestyle of the school and show how routine it is. It was a core time in marcilles life because she was happy and because it was structured. Often times, structure is the most comfortable thing someone can have, even if it is ultimately fleeting. School will end eventually and most of the connections you make are temporary but still effect us.

Chilchuck is eating with his family, showing the importance of his family to him. I really like this one in particular because even if his family is important to him, he'll always keep them at an arms length. His face is the only one shown, showing this about him. His face is also being cleaned by another person, showing the need for vulnerability and letting your gaurd down around people you care for, but also how Chilchuck is unwilling to do that.

Senshi is eating alone, he doesn't have a table either, showing how he lived in the dungeon for a long time and how he didn't have anyone to feed or care for even if it was something he deeply longed for. He's alone because he doesn't have anyone that could be there for him anymore, no family, no friends. I'm crying actually.

Finally, with Izutsumi she's eating with another person. Her table maners are poor, she can't hold chop sticks correctly and she's giving away the food she doesn't enjoy. We've seen this about her countless times but it's really amplified by this because it shows that she's always been like this, it's ingrained in her behaviour because no one either cared enough to try to teach her to be polite or never properly made an effort to. I'm sure Maizuru would try to fix her maners, but wouldn't do it in a thoughtful caring way that'd be actually helpful for izutsumi. She'd probably try to "whip her into shape" rather than treat her with compassion and patience.

All of these really accurately show how important connections are, how you need people. You need someone that will never treat you poorly, someone that will stick with you through thick and thin because they genuinely love you. You need the simplicity of routine, you need people that gravitate in and out of your life, those connections are important and often temporary but mean the most in the time you knew them. You need family, people you can let your gaurd down around and be truly happy with, even if it's hard to. You need people to care for, people you can feed and love in the simplest terms of helping them. And finally, you need people who teach you, people who will be there for you with kindness and treat you with compassion even when you are doing what they deem as bad.

I'm still not finished with this series but I genuinely love it so much so far. I'm barely halfway through and it's developed emotionally impactful and deeply honest themes and ideas that really strike a cord with me. It's so interesting and I can't wait to finish the series and better understand these characters ^_^

Thank you for reading all the way through!! Feel free to add your own bits of analysis or additional food for thought :33 (no spoilers tho please since I've still not finished the series)

#dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #falin touden #falin dungeon meshi #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #marcille donato #marcille dungeon meshi #senshi of izganda #senshi dungeon meshi #chilchuk tims #chilchuck dungeon meshi #izutsumi dungeon meshi #izutsumi #long post #text post #analysis #dungeon meshi analysis

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static-radio-ao3 · 4 months

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@jegulus-microfic // january 14 // prompt: massage // words: 808

“Long night?” The bartender asks, towel slung over his shoulder as he pours Regulus another glass of whiskey.

“Long month,” he sighs. He massages his temples for a moment, but it doesn’t do anything to alleviate the headache that’s building up.

“Yeah? Wanna tell me about it?” The bartender busies himself with cleaning the counter. There’s no one else to tend to, after all. He looks up at Regulus over the rim of his glasses.

Regulus snorts out a laugh. Perhaps somewhat unattractively, but he doesn’t care. There’s no one left to impress, after all. “I don’t think you get paid enough for that.”

“I get paid plenty. Come on, I’m all ears.”

Regulus considers for a moment, glass loosely held between his fingertips. He swirls the liquid around. Tilts his head. “Well, at least tell me your name before I unload all my issues.”

The bartender moves so he’s standing right in front of him. He leans down, arms coming to rest on the counter. He has nice arms, Regulus notices. Strong. Corded. Veiny.

“James,” the bartender says. He tips his head as if to say nice to meet you.

“Well, James,” Regulus starts, “I’ve been dating.”

“Ah.”

“And it’s not going well.”

“Ah.”

“See, my first date was with a guy who was definitely in love with his roommate and asked me to drive him home an hour into the date because the roommate called. There was an emergency, apparently. I don’t know what type of emergency requires me to stop for condoms first, but I digress.”

Barty hadn’t even been apologetic about it. Told Regulus point-blank that he needed to pass by the store. Bought ribbed condoms and flavored lube. Directed Regulus to their apartment. For a brief moment, Barty had seemed to consider inviting him up.

“They’re nice though,” he continues with a shrug. “We hang out sometimes.” James chuckles in amusement, soft and low. “Second date was with a guy whose hair was so greasy, I swear you could deep fry something in that mess. And he kept talking about his childhood best friend, which was giving me stalker vibes, to be honest.”

James watches, rapt, as Regulus brings his glass to his mouth and tips it back, the whiskey burning through his system. It leaves him feeling warm and fuzzy around the edges. He’s not sure if it’s the whiskey, though, or James’ attentive gaze.

“And tonight?” James asks. “Date number three?”

“This was four, actually,” he sighs. “Three was a double date with my brother and his boyfriend and their friend, but the friend stood me up.”

“He did not,” James gasps, appropriately scandalized.

“Right?” Regulus sniffs. He stares into the bottom of his glass, amber liquid long gone, just to avoid the pity he knows he’ll find in James’ eyes. “Tonight was a miss, too. I don’t know, maybe I’m the problem. The undateable Regulus Black. The least eligible bachelor in all of England.” Regulus can’t help the derisive snort that escapes him.

“What did you just say?” James straightens. The movement is so sudden that Regulus startles with it.

There is a bitter twist of his mouth as he repeats his words. It feels a bit cruel to be asked for an encore of his self-deprecation, but Regulus has always had a hard time saying no to a pretty face. “The least eligible bachelor in all of England?”

“No, no, before that.”

He rolls his eyes. “The undateable Regulus Black?”

James takes a step back behind the bar, as if to get a better look at Regulus. He’s sure he’s quite the spectacle. Hair mussed, eyes bleary, tie undone because he’s been tugging at the knot all night.

“Shit, you’re Sirius’ brother. I— I had an unexpected shift last week, Peter got sick.” James cards a hand through his hair, tugging on some strands as he goes. “That’s why I couldn’t make it.”

Regulus jolts in his chair, leaning closer to James, eyes narrowed and lip curled up in a sneer. “Wait, you stood me up?”

“I didn’t know!” Two hands held up in surrender. Regulus thinks they’re nice hands. Skilled, too, because he saw James twirl bottles earlier. He wonders what those hands might feel like on his throat. No. He blinks harshly to clear his head. James is still standing there, hands raised. When Regulus leans back into his chair, he lowers them.

He turns to the shelves where the liquor is stocked, grabs the bottle of whiskey. Regulus forces himself not to think indecent thoughts about the man's back.

“Well then,” James says, pouring himself a drink after topping off Regulus’ glass. He shucks the towel off his shoulder, unbothered when it lands in a heap on the counter behind him. Shoots Regulus a wry grin, glass lifted mid-air as if toasting. “Fifth time’s the charm?”

#it's barely the 14th for me but posting it already for kay <33 #rosekiller accidentally had an entire subplot #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #jegulus microfic #mil's microfics #mil's writing #my writing

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ozzgin · 4 months

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Ozzgibz my lord may we have just one more crumb of pickle content pls pls pls🙏🙏🙏

Like I have an idea, reader as pickles mother🧐 like like like U wake up together after many many years

Not just a crumb, but an entire loaf! :D I will use this chance to finally finish all of the Pickle related requests I currently have. (At least I hope I haven’t omitted anything). So you may consider this a Pickle megathread, containing multiple requests put together.

Pickle Headcanons: A collection

Featuring Pickle and Reader: Pickle’s Mother! Reader, Pickle trying modern treats, Pickle and his newborn, Pickle x Student! Reader and Pickle x OP! Reader.

Pickle’s Mother! Reader

You wake up surrounded by heavy, intricate machinery and at a certain point it occurs to you just how long your slumber has been. Ah, that explains the peaceful, uninterrupted rest. You can’t recall the last time you slept this well. And, like clockwork, you hear the humans scream mere seconds after you stretch your rusted bones. A familiar growl jolts you back into action. Being frozen for millennia sadly doesn’t strip you of your motherly role.

With a groan, you rip the medical cords away from your body, indifferent to the frightened stares of the scientists currently unsure of your intentions. They needn’t be afraid for long. With the calculated movements of someone that has been doing this one too many times, you walk towards the source of ruckus and return with Pickle under your arm. It’s almost as if you’re wearing an invisible hero cape: the research team can finally relax knowing Pickle’s fearsome mother is here to keep him under control.

This arrangement now poses an interesting dilemma: how will the fights unfold under the watchful gaze of a protective, Jurassic mom? Should the fighters be worried about a vengeful counterattack if they’re too hasty with your son? The first one to test the waters is Retsu, and before he enters the arena you place a heavy hand on his shoulder, briefly guiding him aside. He nervously watches your gestures as you pretend to beat up an invisible opponent. Are you showing him potential punishments? Then you give him a friendly nudge and point to Pickle. Realization sinks in and he stares at you, wide eyed. You’re giving him advice on how to give Pickle a proper beating. Well, obviously. If they’re going to challenge your menace of a son, they should at least make it worthwhile. Rough him up a little. At the end of the day, it’s less work for you.

Pickle tries modern treats

Pickle would probably lose his mind with any carbonated drink or sweet flavor. He never had access to this amount of sugar, so I’m wondering if he’d think it’s poisonous once he becomes agitated from the abrupt intake. Nice, exquisite smell and a vibrant color that tempts him enough to give it a try. Next thing you know, the liquid sizzles in his mouth and he panics, but eventually settles down. Then his heartbeat increases and he’s squirming under the confused stares of the fighters (who initially offered him the drink), until Professor Payne points out his body might not be accustomed to our levels of sugar. The real trouble starts once he can handle the unhealthy snacks, because someone will have to stop him from overeating. (To be fair I’ve also never had a Baja Blast, seems less popular/available in Europe but it looks nice.)

Pickle unable to care for his baby

They say your life flashes before your eyes as you die and you certainly gazed upon a delectable bunch of recollections when the prehistoric man swung his massive body towards you, growling threateningly. They were hoping the fighters could keep him entertained long enough for you to feed the baby, but it seems his fatherly instincts (that he’s otherwise lacking) trumped his need for battle. Thankfully, he stops right before his clawed hand touches your frightened face. For the first time he sees his newborn eating, the puffy cheeks expanding with each gulp of the mysterious bottled liquid you’re providing.

Well, if all you’re doing is feeding his child, he might as well keep you around. You certainly don’t look like a threat, even less so than the men he just faced in the Arena. To the relief of everyone witnessing the spectacle, you get to live and handle the baby. Not like you have significantly more experience when it comes to taking care of infants, but with the help of the scientists you manage to ease Pickle into his parenting role.

All this time spent together has reminded Pickle just how much he misses the presence of a second parent. The baby likes you, you seem to be rather knowledgeable about these matters, and you’re extremely cute if he is to be fully honest with himself. The Jurassic man can’t help the faint smile gracing his features whenever he pictures it: you make a nice family, wouldn’t you agree?

Pickle x Student! Female Reader

You’ve learned to ignore the bewildered stares. Thankfully, this time, the only unusual sight consists of Pickle’s gargantuan size and nothing else. He’s dressed in modern attire and has since learned to behave better in public. You recall the first encounters, where an almost naked Jurassic creature kept following you around and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It took you several weeks to figure out he’s interested in you, and you eventually relented. Naturally you couldn’t have gone outside with a wild jungle beast donning a fundoshi and nothing else. So you did your best to instill modern customs into your new boyfriend.

And, for the most part, it worked. He’s sitting with you on a campus bench, politely waiting for you to finish your rough sketch. He enjoys watching your drawing process, especially if he’s the subject of the piece. A giddy feeling overwhelms him, almost as if he’s being physically touched with each stroke of the pencil. The fact that you observe him so carefully, and then somehow reproduce the image so accurately on paper…It entertains him greatly. Sadly he can’t return the favor. You’ve offered him drawing tools before in case he wanted to join your creative hobby, but there was no dormant Botticelli in his soul waiting to be awakened.

While he may not share your artistic inclination, you can at least be assured that no threat will ever reach your proximity again. His hands were built for battle and he makes sure you witness this truth on every occasion. No fight begins without your presence in the Underground Arena. As much as you feel for his battered opponents, the whole ordeal results in very neat action frames. You leave the matches with brand new batches of doodles. Who would’ve thought you’d find your muse in a prehistoric man? Additionally, if you ever need some extra cash, there’s always the option of delving into erotic art. After all, you have access to any reference you could ever need and Pickle would be most eager to help you.

Pickle x OP! Reader

@mariahvilla569

So this was a little difficult because I wasn’t sure whether Reader is overpowered in relation to someone in particular or just the whole Bakiverse. I went for a Reader who’s stronger than everyone else.

Pickle was very confused when he met you for the first time, standing in the audience of the Underground Arena to observe his match with Retsu. He was instantly smitten and was about to discard any intention of a fight to immediately pursue you instead, but he was stopped by multiple men forming a barrier before you and an angered Retsu demanding his undivided attention. He assumed you must be someone’s partner and therefore he’ll have to win his way to you. He couldn’t have guessed in a million years that you were politely allowing everyone else to have their fun before you swiftly cashed in your victory.

You did have enough grace to take your time with the prehistoric man. He doesn’t doubt that if you so desired, you could’ve ended the battle within mere moments; but just like the rest of the men, you wanted your fair share of entertainment. This way Pickle was also offered a sample of your exquisite skills, which made all the fighters before you fade into nothingness. Truly astonishing that a human half his size would tower above him in terms of raw power. He was left beyond impressed and his initial crush has avalanched into a full blown obsession.

Just because you’re stronger doesn’t mean he can’t fulfill the duties of a protective partner. Consider it a way to efficiently save time, as whoever isn’t strong enough to get past him isn’t worth your precious time. Not to mention that Pickle has come to view your sparring sessions as a special form of intimacy reserved for him and you only. If you need to train, he should suffice as an opponent. There’s no one else as sturdy as him, and you’re always in a great mood after a proper fight, so he’d be an utter fool not to take advantage of it.

#baki #baki the grappler #baki hanma #baki headcanons #pickle baki #pickle x reader #baki x reader

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 17 all chapters

WARNINGS: THE MOST YANDERE CHAPTER OF THIS YANDERE FIC YET. POSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT. PLZ TAKE CARE. I LUV U ALL.😘

-In the haze between sleep and waking, you are vaguely aware of strong arms wrapped around you, a lean and long body spooned at your back. You feel warm, and safe, and by some signal of scent or touch or cosmic connection from your hindbrain, somehow you just know that it’s Mr. Wick who has you folded up in his embrace. How perfectly you fit, with the curve of your backside tucked against his hips, your legs tangled under the covers.

Your Half Asleep Brain is totally fine with this cozy arrangement. You don’t really remember how you got here, but maybe something for once actually went right.

You let yourself doze.

But then he shifts against you, (that inevitable male hardness poking against your backside), and you wake up a little more, your faculties returning to you as the dreamy curtain of slumber slips away. You start to remember what happened before—the chase, and the murder—and Awake Brain is suddenly not ok with your current arrangement at all.

Awake Brain is ready to freak the fuck out.

You stiffen in his arms, trying to sit up, but that inexorable grip tightens around you.

“Easy.”

You struggle, but he effortlessly pins you, wrapping a long leg around yours. Between his greater strength and solid weight pressing you down into the mattress, you are stuck.

“Let me go,” you growl.

“Not until we have a little talk.”

Under different circumstances this position could have been interesting. The hard line of his lean body is pressed against you…the length of him against the curve of your bottom.

At least someone is having a good time.

Even like this from behind, you can tell it’s something to be reckoned with. The thought fills you with an inconvenient bloom of heat, your body betraying you while skipping into the darkness with a song. Your own reaction to him almost makes you angrier than his own actions.

“What the fuck, John?” You strain against him again, naturally, to no avail. He doesn't taunt you, just holds you immobile, and you are a butterfly against a hurricane.

“Calm down.”

“Then let me go.”

You feel him breathe in the scent of your hair behind your ear, before releasing a shuddering sigh.

“We’re in a predicament, y/n.”

“No shit.”

“I think after what you saw...you know I can't let you go.”

Oh, what's a little quadruple homicide between friends?

You have the sense to keep this to yourself, at least.

“I won't say anything.”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn't say anything about the guys in the van.”

“Well, you didn't have any real evidence then. Just suspicion.”

“But...you so killed those guys in the van.”

There’s a long pause before he finally admits, “Yeah.”

You’re not sure why that makes you try to struggle again. It’s just as fruitless as before.

“Who were those guys you killed?”

You are met with silence. “In Venice?”

Jesus, do you actually have to clarify with this man?

“They were not nice people, y/n.”

“I gathered that. But... who were they?”

John sighs against you, and you take some heart as you feel his grip loosen slightly so he’s not absolutely crushing you. “They were enforcers for the Camorra crime syndicate.”

“And...why did they have such a problem with you?”

“Bad blood, from an old job I did in Rome.”

A job. You’ve seen enough movies to know what that means. He really was a hitman. Jesus H Christ.

“You thought they wouldn't want revenge, if you went back to Italy?”

“I had to risk it.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You’re baiting him, but you just can’t help it. You’re angry, and you’re sore, and he’s pinning you down like you’re just a feather and you do not fucking like it.

You feel him growl behind you, and fuck you if the low vibration does not strike some primal cord in your body, something left over from the time when your ancestors still lived in caves.

He moves so fast you have no chance to take advantage, turning you so that you are laying chest to chest. His erection presses into your hip, and he pins you with those beautiful dark eyes boring down into yours. It takes every iota of self-control you possess not to spread your legs so that he can settle into the cradle of your hips, where you fear he would fit so very well.

He traps your small hands above your head with just one of his, using the other to hold the side of your face, keeping your attention on him. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t, but you are finding you like it when he touches you like this, like he is your master and you are his pretty little doll to manipulate how he pleases.

Your eyes close, just for a moment, before you force yourself to keep them open. Keep your eye on the danger, a voice in your head tells you.

A less helpful voice suggests that you just give in and let him fuck you silly.

You ignore that one, for now.

“Because,” he grouses with a scowl. “I was afraid you’d meet some handsome dipshit your own age, and…move to fucking Argentina!”

You don’t know where you get the pluck to frown back up at him. This poor, dear, deranged man.

“John…”

Do you know how crazy you sound?

You don't dare say it out loud.

Maybe it would have been smart to try to win points by assuring him you were coming back to him. It was even 100 percent the truth at the time. But something spiteful in you doesn’t want to offer him that declaration now. You feel like he lost his right to it.

That laser-like stare shifts from your eyes to your mouth, a moment before descending to press his lips to yours. His lips are soft, but the kiss is nothing less than possessive. Even so, you have to fight not to let him lull you with his clever mouth and the tantalizing slide of his tongue.

A fresh wave of anger hits you, because you want this. You want him, and he could have had you so easily, without having to…what? Stalk you? Take you?

You realize you don't even know where you are.

All this accumulates in you in the matter of a second, and you express this frustration by clamping his lip between your teeth. It's more a warning, than anything. You do not draw blood, but you bite hard enough to make him pause.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” It’s almost funny, the way he sounds talking around his lip in your teeth. Yet somehow, he still manages to sound absolutely menacing.

“Or what?” you challenge. “Are you going to hurt me, John?”

Yes, taunt the man you saw kill four people easy as pouring a bowl of cereal.

“No. But I will punish you. Remember that, as we go forward.”

You let him go, thinking on that.

It makes a chill run down your spine.

He tries to kiss you again, but you turn your face away.

“Please let me up.”

He is silent and still as the mountain, for long enough that you don’t think he will. You imagine he’s weighing his options, and you know as well as he does that he holds all the cards in his oh-so-capable hands. He could finally take you, like this, and you couldn’t stop him. As fucked up as it is…you’re not even sure you wouldn’t enjoy it, and you battle with yourself not to squirm beneath him in this fucked up stew of fear, desire, and anticipation.

That will not help your cause, you know.

He surprises the hell out of you when finally he agrees, ��I will, if you promise to be calm.”

“I’m cool as a fucking cucumber.”

He ducks to huff a laugh into the bend of your neck. You feel it stir your hair more than hear it. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse that makes you flush, a spear of longing jetting through you, and you barely manage not to wrap your legs around his narrow hips.

This man. It’s just not fucking fair.

Then he sucks, hard enough to hurt, and you know there will be a bruise.

He’s fucking marking you.

“I’m serious.”

You breathe in as deeply as you can with his solid, delicious weight piled on you, and let it out slow. “I’m good. Please, let me up.”

Though you can tell he’s reluctant to do it, very slowly he shifts his weight from you, rolling onto his back at your side. You sit up, pushing off the covers, and find the room is spinning slightly.

What the fuck did he drug you with?

You look around. The room is painted in dark shades, the ceiling vaulted high. Bookshelves take up the wall behind the bed. A bank of windows affords a view of the woods beyond. You are up high, the second story, at least.

You recognize these woods, and the feeling of this interior.

“Are we back in fucking Clear Forks?”

“Yes. We’re safe here.”

You blink down at him. He sounds almost reasonable now, and maybe the fact that he let you up makes you think you can reason with him.

“John…you have to let me go.”

“Can't.”

“You have to.”

He just shakes his head.

“So...what? You're going to keep me locked up here forever?”

He licks his lips, pressing them in thought as he choses his next words. “Until... we've reached an understanding. That might take a while.”

You stare down at him, open mouthed.

“John...you can't just keep me here.”

“I can, actually.” He just looks at you with his hands behind his head, resembling for all the world a lazy lion on the plain, deadly but at ease like it's not your entire life he's casually high jacking for his own gratification. Then strangely he looks away, as though he actually is embarrassed about something, letting out a slow breath. “And...I want to.”

“What?”

His gaze returns to yours, his glittering black eyes sharp and as obsidian. “I. Want. You. To stay here with me. I need you.”

God damn if hearing him say those words doesn't make your traitor of a heart go pitter pat pat.

Keeping your eyes on him as though you are in bed with a tiger, you slide off the edge, your legs jelly beneath you. How long have you been out? What did he drug you with? Your mouth is so dry. Maybe you should be grateful he didn’t hit you to knock you out, at least. That’s never so nice and neat as it is in the movies.

You're still wearing your same little pink sundress from Italy, which maybe is a little heartening, not that it provides much protection.

Your heart in your throat, you want to run mad circles around the room yelling, banging on the windows and rattling the doors. Instead you make yourself stay calm as you look around, checking your options, not caring if John is watching.

You don't care, because deep down, you already know it's hopeless. He's not a stupid man. You inspect the door, finding no door handle, no lock that could be picked. There is simply a keypad and what looks like a fingerprint scanner. You notice it is mounted high over your head, so it would be hard for you to access even if somehow you managed to render him unconscious.

You knock on the window with your fist, just for the hell of it.

“Ballistic grade, bullet proof. Good luck.”

He sounds so bored about it, like it's not a big deal that his armored glass stands between you and your freedom. Yet, you doubt the glass was originally for your benefit.

“Bulletproof, in case the Camorra come for you?”

“Them, or others. I’ve made a few enemies over the years.”

You’re not proud that this freaks you out a little.

“And you really think you’re safe here?”

“So far, so good…”

You glare at him over your shoulder, and damn him for looking utterly scrumptious while being such an asshole.

He's wearing a black henley and sweatpants, and he's still the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You could write sonnets about the little strip of pale flesh exposed between his hem and his waistband.

Despite how fit he is, you notice his tummy is just a little soft. It's endlessly endearing, and in different circumstances you would have delighted in pressing your lips to that line of dark hair, and pulling down his sweatpants with your teeth…

You realize you are staring, and with cheeks aflame you avert your gaze. You notice he’s smirking at you, and it makes you mad all over again, your fists clenching at your sides.

He seems to find this amusing as hell.

“You don’t have to look away,” he coaxes, surprisingly gentle. “I like it, that you like my body.”

You huff indignantly, inevitably remembering how adamantly he’d prevented you from undressing him, what feels like a lifetime ago now. “Then why wouldn’t you let me see you?”

“That was…different.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think you were ready. I didn’t want to scare you.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “Gee, are your guns that big, Mr. Wick?”

This wins you a small laugh, and only belatedly do you realize how sick it is that you’re joking around with him again.

This is not normal. This is not normal. This is not normal.

You have a feeling it’s going to have to become your new mantra.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he says enigmatically. It makes the hairs stand up all over your body, even as your idiotic nether regions clench with desire at the thought.

You have got to get out of here.

“Aren’t they going to think it’s weird I just disappeared without a trace from the hostel?” you pose.

“Probably not. You collected your things, and you paid in full.”

Of course he’d taken care of that.

Then the scope of this coup really dawns on you.

“You clever motherfucker. No one will even look for me here, because they think I'm in Europe for weeks more.”

He lifts an eyebrow at you.

“You have a filthy fucking mouth, my dear. I'd watch that, if I were you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but don't push your luck just yet.

“But no, no one will be looking for you. Your family and your friends are so busy...”

You close your eyes against his cruel—but perfectly accurate—words. My, how the truth cuts deep.

His tone softens as he tells you, “You don't need them, y/n. You have me. And I promise I'll take care of you.”

You don’t bother to argue again that you don’t need taking care of. You’re beginning to anticipate his answers, and it’s like arguing with a stone wall.

You’ll need a different tack, you think.

Agitated, you stalk to the next door in the room, flinging it open. It’s a walk-in closet, filled with his clothes, and you realize, clothes for you as well. They’re cute, and to your taste, the bright colors an almost comical contrast to his monochromatic wardrobe. But they’re more expensive than anything you can usually afford. They’re all your size.

Your heart sinks to your feet as you realize this means he’s actually been planning this for a while.

The next door is half cracked. You push it all the way open.

To say that it's a bathroom seems like an understatement. All dark marble and black cabinetry, there are two sinks and a long countertop, a walk-in rain shower that could fit 6, and a tub that could be mistaken for a small swimming pool. The corners are accented with lush houseplants, ferns and philodendron. It looks wonderful, and you’re furious all over again, because you can't fucking enjoy it like this.

“Why?” you spit, whirling. Only to start when you find him standing right there behind you. You didn't hear a thing. “Why did you have to do it this way?” With him standing so close, you find your words lose some of their intended venom.

He crowds you against the doorjamb, lifting a hand to your face again.

“Because I was afraid you wouldn't come back to me.”

This tall, powerful man sounds ridiculously vulnerable just then.

But like flipping a switch, he frowns, his long fingers resting lightly around your throat. A chill runs down your spine, and you're sure he can feel your pulse in your neck speeding against his fingers. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t hurt you. Just…holds you, and you are ever so aware that you are at his mercy.

“You ran away from me,” he accuses.

Maybe your sense of self-preservation is a little broken.

“I can't imagine why.” You punctuate it with an eyeroll, and suddenly you find yourself pushed into the wall with a hand spread over your chest, the ridges of the jamb biting into your spine. His thumb presses over your lips, preventing you from speaking further.

“That fucking mouth of yours.”

Before you can blink he is on you, pressing his lips to yours in a punishing kiss that leaves you weak in the knees. Maybe you start to slump down the wall, but he wraps you up in his arms, holding you up effortlessly.

“This is how it's going to be,” he pants, his forehead pressed to yours. You get the sense that he is on the verge of losing control, and you are on pins and needles, wanting to know what that would be like, and fearing it too.

You fear it a lot.

“You can run that sassy mouth of yours all you want, but I will enjoy disciplining you for it every time. You might want to start thinking before you speak.”

“You want to hurt me.”

Tears fill your eyes at the thought of it. Maybe you’re a little broken yourself, after seeing him kill people, but this is the thing that really makes you cry. Of course he probably has some kind of fucking red room around here filled with restraints and whips and toys you've never even fucking heard of…

“No, baby. I never want to hurt you.”

You don't believe him in the slightest.

With a big hand on your jaw he turns your face up to look at him. “Please don't cry.”

“Then don't do...whatever the fuck this is! You fucking kidnapped me, John!”

“I took what's mine,” he insists in a dark tone that makes inexplicable heat flood between your legs. “You forced my hand.”

It’s all your fault, of course.

“Did you really think I was just going to follow you after all that?”

He cants his head as he looks down at you, his dark hair swinging into his eyes. Your fingers itch to brush it away, and you hate the way the sight pangs deep in your chest. You shouldn’t feel anything for him, after what he’s done—your heart has not gotten the memo, it seems.

“You asked me not to let you go.”

Motherfucker took that literally, it seems.

The ironic thing is, you’d 300 percent meant what you said, at the time.

“I did not sign up for this,” you insist anyway.

“I’ve tried to warn you…since the moment we met,” he tells you. “But you just kept coming back. And now…I need you, y/n. I love you, and I’m never going to let you go.”

What a ridiculous creature you are, that hearing this moves you to the marrow of your bones, makes you almost sick with a medley of triumph and remorse, desire and fear. You’d so determinedly pried open the lid of this Pandora’s box with the dogged insistence of your affection; look at what a marvelous horror you unleashed. Mr. Wick: your very own monster made of dark need and twisted devotion.

This is all so…crazy.

Yet...he doesn't seem like he's crazy. Just absolutely, unmovingly, resolute in his conviction. And right now, that conviction involves his possession of you.

You close your eyes against his gaze boring a hole through you. Your voice barely lifts above a whisper, your strength suddenly sapped. “I could have loved you.”

It’s a lie, of course.

A lie, because you are already hopelessly, totally in love with this man, despite what he’s done to you, and despite everything you’ve seen him do.

You’ve seen the other side of his coin, you know how sweet and wonderful he can be. Where is that man when you need him? Once upon a time, he absolutely was your safe space, your protector, someone you could turn to when you truly had no one else.

Now, who would protect you, from him?

It breaks your heart, because you fear the answer is that no one can.

“You will love me, y/n,” he insists without a hint of doubt. To be so certain...of anything. He brushes your hair behind your ear with such tenderness you could weep.

A single tear does escape from the corner of your eye. He catches it on the pad of his finger, bringing it to his lips.

“It will be alright, y/n. I've got you.”

That is exactly what you're afraid of.

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