#blue is actually perfectly equipped to handle him

[hahanoiwont]

I would like to take a moment to point out that uh. It sure takes a Kind Of Person to put up with Red in the way Blue does. Like Frisk gets a pass for being 12 and also bc Red seemed to make an effort to keep his damage unoticable to them but Blue really is getting the full view. Like....is *Blue* good he seems to be completely ignoring every red flag that is being waved directly in his face

haha yeah ! blue is actually so normal. he's so so so normal and fine and sane. he just helps red out because he's an angel like that :)

...nah, their relationship is a bit more complex than it seems on the outset. Blue's involvement with Red begs the question of what intent has to do with altruism, because his relationship with Red is gratifying to him partially because it reassures him that he's a good person. Blue has the sort of almost cowardice (I feel like that's the wrong word but it's close enough) that all Sanses do. He just cut and ran after his Gaster's disappearance. He's been trying to make up for it ever since. He wants to save someone, he wants someone in need to come to him and trust him and make him feel like he's "good enough" to "save" someone. When he met Frisk, he thought it would be them--they were terrified of him but they wanted to trust him, and he wanted to be the one to help them. When he lost them, it was devastating. He started to wonder if he really just can't save anyone, and people near him are doomed to vanish forever.

Red appeared exactly when Blue needed him. He offered a second chance with Frisk, and he's someone vulnerable who Blue understands implicitly. We can see Blue projecting wildly onto him during their chapter together, to the point of losing his temper with Red when he recognizes his own coping skills (the source of a lot of Blue's self-hate) in him. He's committed to the idea that if Red can be saved, if he can save Red, then Blue must have worth. So, while I wouldn't say that Blue puts up with all of Red's shit, he does have a lot of loyalty and patience for him.

[lets-try-some-writing]

what if optimus was a human teacher?

Well here is an interesting concept I am 100% going to go crazy with. This is a long one though so I'm going to break this up with a read more and a warning that this isn't going to go the way you might think.

Not So Normal Teacher

The Archivist in Optimus was bored.

Megatron had been quiet for over a year and not a spark had a thing to do until the Decepticons made a move. He had already reorganized the Autobot database three times and he couldn't exactly go wandering off with how much energon he used. He was stuck at base handling communications and mission assignment, and Primus, even the Matrix was antsy. He wanted something to do, anything really. And so after months of sitting around being driven half mad by lack of stimuli, he came up with an idea.

The Archivist in him wanted to teach, to preserve history, and to collect data. What better way to do all of that than by taking up a position as an educator? It was rather outlandish considering he was a Prime and from another world, but there was a school in the nearby human settlement hiring. He had no need for human currency nor was it particularly wise to go sign up as a teacher when the Decepticons could resurge at any moment. However he reasoned that if nothing else he would gain greater insight into human capability through his endeavors.

Ratchet was against his idea from the get-go but allowed Optimus to go through with it after he gave his reasoning and pointed out that he would actually use less energon if he kept his frame at base and worked elsewhere. Thus with Ratchet's begrudging assent, Optimus made himself a whole forged identity for his human holoform, plopped his real frame down in his berth, and got to work.

Orion Pax turned up to the interview looking his best, but despite his efforts there were still a few little things that set him apart. He was indeed professional in wearing a simple turtleneck sweater and jeans with a belt. However that was not what made the interviewer a little concerned, no it was fact that Optimus's hair looked like the American flag with the mixed red white and blue alongside the little markings on his face just under his eyes along with scars that had also transferred over. There was also the fact that his eyes were a little too bright, his movements a tad too stiff, and the way his voice seemed nearly melodic in nature.

However since Orion Pax managed to answer the interview questions perfectly, had a clean record, and was the embodiment of politeness and patience, he was accepted in short order. Thus Optimus got himself a job at Jasper Nevada Memorial High School as history teacher.

Orion Pax befriended the entirety of the teaching staff by the end of week one with his kind disposition, patience, and wisdom beyond his years. He assisted the math teacher in grading papers and even taught him a thing or two with all the patience in the world when the teacher began to struggle. He aided the English teacher by bringing her a cup of coffee and pointing out a small error in her class prep work. He helped the gym teacher get the court set up for the lesson that day and helped him organize the various equipment in record time. He stopped the science teacher from accidentally creating a deadly gas when the teacher passed out from exhaustion halfway through an experiment, leaving Pax to carefully clean up and then grade the teacher's papers for him. Then to top it all off, he assisted the music and arts teacher in her efforts to decorate her classroom for the school year.

The staff loved him, especially the school cleaners since Pax would always stay up late to help them clean despite their protests. He was the perfect co-worker, and quickly found himself as the most loved teacher once the school year started. His students were skeptical of the teacher who looked like he crawled out some sort of cosplaying event and had an American flag for hair, but they swiftly warmed up to him due to his manner of teaching.

Optimus hadn't actually done any real research on human methods of teaching, instead relying on his own experience. In a school as out of the way as Jasper Nevada High School, the regulations were not as strict and so long as students passed their exams, he was allowed to teach as he wished. He did have to adapt a few of his methods to account for human biological limits, but he quickly garnered the students interest with how he went about his teaching.

Using a holoprojector he adjusted to look more like a human one, Optimus, or rather Pax gave the children a more interactive experience. He was passionate as he showed them history in simulations and introduced them to old battles in complicated holographic maps. His classroom was covered in star charts and old documents, studies, and artwork. Every student was urged to find something historical that interested them and dive into it with all their passion and enthusiasm. No students were left unheeded and all their issues were accounted for. The social students were grouped together and given specific historical figures to study in a manner similar to what the archivists of Cybertron did. The less social were given special homework, being required to study a specific event and bring in all they had gathered.

Students with disabilities such as dyslexia and other reading or information processing impediments were personally tutored and grouped. Those who had issues reading were given a partner who would do the reading while they took notes and sectioned out data. Those who had trouble paying attention to certain subjects were given work in areas that had their interest. A child who found warfare to be of interest would be given to mission to look into the Art of War and compile an alternate battle plan for the assault on Rome. A child who preferred the more domestic texts was to come up with a whole biography that was time period accurate for a fictional character living in their chosen era.

Every student had their education specialized to suit them best alongside the general education Orion had them listen to.

Orion was not harsh, he didn't give homework in the manner of other teachers and instead gave the students one big project to complete over the year and smaller personal research projects to complete once a month. A good archivist doesn't rush his research, no, instead time and dedication is given to ensure everything is correct and proper. He did everything in his power to instill this into his students, never putting stern deadlines on anything and instead focusing on fostering interest and a desire for truth.

He wanted his students to love history, not despise it. He wanted them to learn from the mistakes of their ancestors and move forward. And most importantly he made sure to remind them to not be angry at the past and instead see it as an example of another time. For his efforts his students loved him.

It certainly helped that he tended to tell his students altered stories of Cybertron's history, changing bits and pieces to make it seem like a legitimate but long dead human civilization. His students were enraptured with his tales and the battles he made come to life with his projector. Even other teachers would come to listen if they had free time. However to keep his students on task, he only told them stories when the completed their other class's homework before his, thus leading to other teachers finding more success in their lessons too.

After particularly good performances from his students, he would quietly teach them pieces of his culture. He told himself it was just because it was something for them to do, but deep down he knew the real reason why he did this. He didn't want everything of his people to be lost if he were to lose the war. He didn't want everything his people did to be forgotten and washed away by the tests of time. If he was to fail... he wanted something to remain with his students.

Thus he taught them everything he could. He told the other teachers that it was from an ancient culture long forgotten that he was personally studying and come up with some forged documents to prove it. Then his students were introduced to the Ancient Cybertronian language and received extra credit for every work they submitted written in it. He altered the manner in which the glyphs could be processed and spoken while still keeping it as true as possible so that his students could speak it and read it. Then he offered them even more extra credit if they spoke the language in class.

It brought him no end of joy when one Rafael Esquivel made it his mission in life to learn and speak Ancient Cybertronian. If he wasn't long used to having to remain on task even while under increadible stress he would have devoted a great deal of his time to ensuring the boy understood everything perfectly. However he abstained and kept his focus, teaching all his students equally and making sure they were still learning their own history. If Rafael came to him after school to learn more, Optimus never rejected him and taught him happily, more than a little pleased when the boy's glyphs came out as perfectly as they could considering his biology when he spoke.

He also showed his students old dances from all across Cybertron. He altered them as much as he could and gave students different dances based on personality. Students got extra credit if they could perform a dance perfectly by the end of the school year. He never really expected any of them to do it, but by Primus he was surprised when Miko Nakadai turned up guns blazing and performed three different dances from different castes as perfectly as she could considering her biological restraints. She was a terrible study, but evidently her interest in dancing was increadible. Optimus may or may not have taught her a few more dances a little later just to see if she could do it, only to be shocked beyond words when she could indeed do it.

Lastly he introduced his students to Cybertronian art which had a heavy reliance on story telling. It was an end of the year project since his students managed to burn through the curriculum in less than six months and get mostly through the next year's work before the Principle asked Pax to slow down and teach them something else for a while. Optimus thought slowing his student's growth was ridiculous, but he complied and taught them how to engrave and paint in the manner of Cybertronians. It was shortly after he began teaching this that he was yet again surprised to find Jack Darby of all his students to be the one to perform best.

The boy was an excellent engraver, to the point where if Optimus were the kind of mech he might have even let Jack engrave his outer plating. He could get the glyphs nearly perfect every time and had a gift for painting that surpassed more than a few artists from Cybertron during the golden age. It shocked and awed Optimus more than he cared to admit, and much like with his two other exemplary students, he may have slid Jack over a printed copy of some other examples of Cybertronian art from the Autobot database.

He was a proud teacher, and a fragging good one too by any standard. But that was not all, he also cared deeply for his students and got to know all of them. Bonds were a serious thing on Cybertron, especially the ones found between mentor and student. Optimus took the time to understand every student he taught, to learn their likes, their dislikes, and what their situations were. By the end of his first year teaching he already saw his students as his little archivists. He stayed out of their personal lives as much as he could considering his place, but when needed he would answer a call for help.

A student who came in hurt would find their cast covered in loving little glyphs that spoke of wishes and prayers from Cybertron. A student who had a mental illness would be given plenty of small gifts and attention to help them look on the bright side. Students with body image problems were welcomed with love, always receiving a compliment when they entered. Every student was seen to and cared for, especially in the odd case where they came to him for help.

He said he wouldn't get involved, but he was a Prime, he couldn't leave anyone in need of aid. During the singular instance where a student called him in tears at the end of the school day weeping because of their abusive parent, Optimus didn't even hesitate. His holoform was reabsorbed and his real frame moved out. He transformed and drove as fast as he could until he reached the student's residence, at which point he remade his holoform, called authorities, and may or may not have busted down the door to get his student out of there before they could be hurt further.

Not a spark touched one of his little archivists. And while he did get a fine for trespassing and property damage, Optimus had no regrets. It certainly made him feel like his actions were justified when he found a small bundle of flowers on his desk a few days later from the student he saved.

The team slowly began to get a little worried for him when he began gushing about his students around base and keeping their little gifts. When questioned he had nothing but praise for his students and in the end the team just let him be. Optimus still did the work that was needed of him around base, so why argue with him when he was far happier than any of the team had seen him in centuries. Ratchet did warn Optimus not to get attached, but by that point it was far too late if the small pile of thank you gifts and other assorted thing piled on Optimus's workstation was any indicator.

His students didn't know, but he adored their gifts. Gifts were special on Cybertron, and so for every gift he received, he returned. His little archivists were in his own mind, the best. As such when Megatron made his reappearance two years later just as his first batch of students were graduating, Optimus was actually angry.

How dare the fragger turn up and put his little archivists in danger!? It was unforgivable, especially when because of Megatron's actions, three of his students turned up at base and Optimus had to try not to sputter. Jack, Miko, and Rafael, his three most invested students when it came to Cybertronian culture. What started as a harmless little subject quickly had the children connecting the dots when it came to the team.

They thought what Mr. Pax was teaching them was rooted from Cybertronian influence, perhaps from him unearthing something from Cybertron long ago. They didn't know that Optimus was the one teaching them and still turning up to classes part time every other day after Megatron returned. How was he supposed to not get attached even more when he lived two lives, one as Mr. Pax the history teacher and one as Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots, both of which interacted with the children?

Optimus: Jack, have you turned in your school work for the week yet?

Jack: No... I've been having some trouble with glyphs.

Optimus: Oh? What are you learning?

Jack: My history teacher Mr. Pax has been teaching up about a long dead civilization that seems to have been influenced by you bots. He's been teaching us the language they used.

Ratchet: *glaring at Optimus* Oh really? I would love to hear more about it.

Miko: Yeah! The glyphs are boring, but Mr. Pax also taught us dances! See, look! *proceeds to perform a dance from central Iacon*

Bulkhead: Wait, isn't that a dance used by the-

Optimus: *holding a servo over Bulkhead's mouth* The ancient civilization I assume?

Miko: Yep! Its super fun!

Rafael: Mr. Pax also taught us how to speak the old language. I think I am fairly proficient. *proceeds to speak fluent ancient cybertronian*

Arcee: What the frag!?

Ratchet: I do believe we need to have a talk Optimus.

[messycunt]

Hey there! I really love your twst hucow au, and I get really excited when I see you've posted something new about it!

Im into agriculture and livestock showing/judging, and I have a bit of info about it that I think would be fun to kinda add to the au!

Did you know that there is a whole division for shows that center around breeding cows? Like some are brought out pregnant, or some even with their babies to be evaluated on how well their pregnancy and kids turn out. In real life it's to judge which one will produce the best potential offspring in the future, so I thought I might drop that knowledge here lol. Who knows, maybe handler! Or Hucow! Reader might have a few ribbons of their own?

I hope you have a good day!

I didn't know that actually! but this is giving me some ideas hmmm

cw: hybrids(hucows), lactation, breeding kink, pregnancy kink if you squint, exhibitionism ig

characters: Crowley, Malleus, Ace and Deuce 

ok follow my thoughts here right 

Seasoned breeding cow reader who has a few blue ribbons under her belt. She's considered one of the best in show overall. 

Being the highest grade cow on the farm there's no one better fit than you to breed with Malleus; the highest grade bull. Not even gonna dance around it, the equipment he's working with is hefty enough to kill you if he's not careful, but he is and it's ok your perfectly built to handle him. And that's not to mention his otherworldly stamina. Oh you poor thing you didn't really think his seed finally taking meant that you were spared from your daily rendezvous did you?

Crowley himself is the one to present you in any shows you attend, well when he has the time to. He's so proud of you, you know, and he's sure to remind you of that fact while rocking himself into you from behind and his hands over your full tummy. Washing over your face with wet kisses-

anyways

You're used to it, standing on a high up platform, put up for show in front of hundreds of strangers under unbearably hot spot lights. Crowley is sure to do a good job at showing you off to the judges, gropping at your sore leaking breasts and even dipping a finger or two deep inside of your pussy in an attempt to show off uh, something. Its embarrassing but you do bear it, and with a complacent grin on your face no less!

it's become standard for Ace and Deuce to be involved in one way or another, of their own instance of course. They play it off like they just want to be as helpful as they physically can it's only right! the real reason, though, is cus they know your milk must taste best when your body is preparing for a calf. Why else would it be in such high demand when you're with calf???

[dream-meister-translations]

DREAM MEISTER & THE RECOLLECTED BLACK FAIRY

KENT CHARACTER CARD #1

━

The Fata Musica Guild is a guild with over fifty members dedicated to the mission of bringing entertainment to the world. With the combination of magic, sorcery, machinery, and various other skills, they aim to create the ultimate show to captivate the masses. 

With each passing year, they are becoming more and more popular. Obtaining tickets for one of their performances is an expensive and difficult task. 

EMMA : Next I need to check the lighting equipment...Hm...No burnt-out or broken bulbs here. The stage spotlights all seem to be in working order. Next...

Checking the stage facilities is one of the tasks for me as the Guild Keeper of Fata Musica. With an inspection checklist in hand, I am diligent in performing my backstage duties. 

??? : Hey! Looks like you're working hard, Emma. What are you checking now?

EMMA : Oh, hello Kent. I'm just finishing up checking the lighting equipment.

KENT : The lighting, huh? We've got some specialized stuff back here, so it's not like any amateur can operate 'em. Do you even know how to turn that light on? I can show you if you'd like.

EMMA : Thank you. That would be very helpful. 

KENT : Alright, just leave it to me! You see, you gotta adjust the numbers on this panel here. 1 is for white light, 2 is for yellow light, and 3 is for blue light. You switch them like this. Got it?

EMMA : Yeah, I got it.

KENT : Alright! Next I'll show you how to use this mini-light over here!

EMMA : I think I can handle the rest myself. Thanks, Kent, but I don't want to interfere with your practice. 

KENT : Nah, you don't gotta worry about that. If you need any help with anything, you can always feel free to ask. As a senior, I'm always up for helping out the rookies. 

EMMA : (A senior...)

Watching Kent laughing without a care in the world, I was reminded of the time when I first met him. 

-FLASHBACK-

KENT : Emma, let's all work together from now on! If you ever have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. Oh, by the way, you can call me "Senior Kent!" 

EMMA : Yes, Senior Kent!

SUZUKA : Hah, senior? Seriously? You're a rookie at best. 

KENT : C'mon, man! Calling me a rookie is harsh!

SUZUKA : What's wrong with calling a baby bird with his eggshell still on, a baby bird?  No matter how much you act like a senior, you're not. Stop pretending.

VELVET : Kent, it's perfectly fine for you to pretend to be a senior, but you should first become proficient at your job. Otherwise, people will see right through your act and it will blow up in your face.

KENT : Ugh...!!

-END FLASHBACK-

Despite not actually being a senior, Kent does always try to help me out whenever he can. 

KENT : Hey, Emma! You there? Seems like you got lost in thought! 

EMMA : Hehe, yeah. Thanks for always helping me out, Kent. If there's something I don't understand, I promise to ask.

KENT : Sure thing! Oh, and if you ever have any worries, don't bottle 'em up, okay? Come to me to talk about 'em! 

KENT : I know that crazy show manager--Er, I mean, Velvet, and Suzuka can be really strict on people. It can mess you up. Don't push yourself too hard. Kay~?

I always find Kent's straightforward attitude to be rather refreshing. Whether he is pretending to be a senior or not, I have grown quite fond of him.

[undrcvrstar]

On the streets, people were dressed up in large overcoats and lovely knitted scarves. It was cold out there, only proven so by the gentle snow that had begun drifting down through the streets of Kamurocho.

Within Café Alps, located on one of Kamurocho's main stretches, Ryoma sat patiently awaiting. On the coffee table in front of him, rested a coffee cup filled to the brim with his beloved Blue Mountain coffee. It was brewed perfectly. There was a space free opposite him, waiting for Asher to accompany him.

His guard was still high in relation to the man he was meeting, but he could feel himself slipping a little bit. Despite their odd and rough initial meeting- where he ripped his rifle right out of his hands, there was a trust forming within Ryoma. Proven only with the the nicely healed scar across his chest. It had been handled well, thanks only to the treatment he had received from Asher.

[ @kamurocho-dreams / Ryoma Nishikiyama ]

The door opened, allowing the cold air to come in but not just that, also Asher. He does his entrance, looks around for a moment, and then heads toward Ryoma. He's clearly equipped for the weather, his usual trench coat replaced with a light blue one with fur along its upper and lower edges, closed with buttons and a zipper. Big black boots with a platform that made him taller than he needed to be, and matching black pants.

Taking a seat on the other side of the table from Ryoma, he took off his mask and glasses, it seems the wound on the side of his face had healed, the one over his eye still looked a bit nasty nonetheless. He took a moment, stretching and opening his coat shortly after to take it off, letting it rest on the back of the chair. His shirt underneath was his usual blue tshirt, the one from his other outfits. He actually doesn't seem really cold

After he is done settling into the chair, he finally greets Ryoma "Hey" His voice soft, it sounded partly tired. "It's a nice day today, I don't get to see snow snowing too often back at the agency." He smiles. It's true, while he and the other agents get to see snow when its settled and when they fight, they very rarely get to see it fall.

Asher wonders what to order, simply settling on nothing for the time being, it's not urgent to get something to drink.

[tresmontesentertainment]

Schlemmer: ...And it just leaves me to vonder vhat I actually contribute to zhe team. Silver's a titan of psionic might. Gold is blessed with seemingly boundless potential. And zhen you have me, some kooky nutterbar vith a hand for gadgets and not much else.

Yellow: (Reassuring beeps and boops reminding Schlemmer that it was his tech that allowed Silver to do the heavy lifting when fending off that Second Devourer, and about how he has just as much room to grow as Gold does so long as he's willing to keep learning.)

Schlemmer: Ha, zhat's a fair point! It's zhe skills of zhe people in it zhat makes a team strong, I suppose. Zhank you, little friend.

Yellow: (Not so surprised beep that the super genius can interpret binary by ear, but still telling him to keep these things in mind)

Gold: And it's just... really hard to feel like I should even be here, I guess. I don't have anything close to the kind of grip Silver has on his powers, and if it weren't for the Professor, we'd have no hope of actually getting anything done. They're basically hanging a time bomb around their necks, keeping me around. I didn't even have the guts to do anything about The Council until Silver came along by pure chance! What right do I have to think I can save anything?

Red: (Heartening string of 1s and 0s telling Gold not to sell herself short, reminding her she took the chance to act the moment it presented itself, and that the fact that she worries about getting a handle on her powers proves she can be trusted to put in the work to attain that control.)

Gold: Heh. I don't know why I didn't think of it like that. Looks like I've got some things to reconsider. Thanks, little guy.

Red: (Slightly surprised 1s and 0s that forgot she had that techno thing going on while still telling her to go easier on herself)

Silver: ...And that means having to admit I'm not nearly as equipped for this stuff like they are! It's probably only a matter of time before the Professor cobbles together some doodad that'll fix everything, and that's assuming Gold doesn't discover she can just think everything better first. What am I compared to that except some glorified doorman who's good at throwing things around?

Blue: (Perfectly aware bleeping that Silver won't actually understand it, but still reminding him that he can do the leg work the others need done but can't do themselves, which is just as important as actually being able fix the issues they face, while also being the one packing a big enough punch to keep them safe from most anything that might come their way.)

Silver: I'm... gonna assume all that was you telling me not to underestimate what I bring to the table. So, thanks for that! I guess....

Blue: Thumbs up.

(Wondering if I've been putting too much emphasis on Gold having a talent with tech in these, but I think the wholesome team interaction evens it out this time, so whatever. You know, the Bits would have had actual dialogue here that I was going to convert to binary, which is how I learned that binary can actually get pretty dang long! Still want to do something with that gag, though...

I'll be the devoting the next couple weeks to a particularly big project I'm making some actual headway on, so this will be the last time I pop in here until that's done. Hopefully I'll be back with something to actually show for it! 'Till then, to whoever it might be that's reading this, thanks for stopping by!)

[lostaurorax]

from three to five?

pairing | stucky x pregnant!reader

summary | reader finds out she’s pregnant and tells the boys but they all get suprised in the end

warnings | pregnancy and indication of smut

a/n | hi my darlings!!!!! i love stucky with all my heart and wrote this bc i thought it would be super cute! i apologize if their are any mistakes about the pregnancy thing and the ultrasound stuff because quite frankly i know absolutely NOTHING about pregnancy except the basic stuff that everyone knows. anyway i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it!! reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated <3 feel free to send in requests!!

the minute you found out you were pregnant you couldn’t wait to tell your husbands knowing how happy they would be from countless amounts of times they told you they had wanted to have kids especially with you.

after a romantic dinner that wanda and nat had  thoroughly helped you plan you had come back home to the compound eager for your boys to find out the surprise.

as you walked into the living room wanda and nat were sitting their talking

“ah your back! so how was the date!” wanda said when she noticed your presence

“it was great! we’re gonna call it a night. we’ll see you ladies in the morning.” steve said as he grabbed three water bottles from the fridge and waved to the girls

“good to hear! good night..” nat said winking at you when the boys had turned their backs to them confirming it was all set

“god my feet are killing me!” you said as you took your shoes off and continued walking down the hall to your bedroom

“yeah? change out of that dress and me and stevie will run you a bath alright doll?” bucky said placing his hand on your back as steve was twisting the handle on the door

“okay buck” you said smiling knowing that probably wasn’t going to happen

as steve flicked the light switch on his foot steps came to a halt causing bucky to bump into him

“hey wh-” bucky said before realizing why steve had stopped

their was a bunch of blue and pink balloons scattered around the room, two pregnancies tests lying on the bed with a poster board that said ‘barnes-rogers baby coming soon…’ on it

as the boys turned back to look at you to confirm if what they were seeing was a dream or not it was immediately confirmed when they saw the wide smile on your face

“suprise!!”

after neither of them said anything for a minute or two you turned to walk in front of them

“hey is something wrong?” you said as your mind was racing with scenarios in which they weren’t happy that you were pregnant

as you were about to say something else both boys wrapped their arms around you and you swore you’d never felt more safe

“nothings wrong sweetheart nothing at all. it’s just we’ve dreamed of this day for so long and we can’t believe it’s actually happening.” bucky said as you felt a warm tear hit your face from his

“we love you doll so so much, and we can’t wait to raise a baby with you.”

“yeah?” you said pulling away from the hug to look at them with red noses and tear stained eyes

“yeah” they said in sync just admiring you

it didn’t last long until you were all attacking eachother like hungry animals

the next morning you woke up with two super soldiers on top of you one with his hand on your stomach and one with his hand on your boob

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight

as you tried slipping from beneath them to start to get ready you were stopped when weight was pressed on too you and multiple pleas were heard

“doll where are you going? it’s too early stay in bed” steve said as he nuzzled his head into your neck

“stevie we have to get ready.” you said stroking his hair through your fingers still a knotted mess from last night

“ready for what?”he said as you felt his eyebrows knit against your neck

“i have a ultrasound appointment scheduled for today.” you said knowing that would wake the both of them up

and it did like two children on christmas morning

“i’ve got breakfast!” bucky said as he kissed you on the cheek and slipped on some joggers to exit the room

“i’ll start getting ready.” steve said as he ran to the bathroom leaving you their giddy at the idea of your boys being this excited for your tiny human that wasn’t even born yet. imagining what they’d be like when it was born.

it took about two hours for you all to be ready and out of the house with a few arguments on why you shouldn’t drive and they should you ended up winning because they had no idea where the doctors office you went to was.

after about a 20 minute drive you had arrived at the doctors office checking in you all sat in the waiting room until your name was called. as you watched bucky and steve’s face all you could see was nervousness in their eyes as they looked around at all the pregnant moms and how different they all looked. some were earlier on in their trimester some were at the very end.

“you okay?” you asked them placing a hand on each of their knees

“hm yeah yeah we’re good! doing fine doll.” bucky said steve nodding in agreement

“alright we’ll their about to call my name so i wanna make sure your alright to head in their…” you said with a grin on your face

“we’re fine just a little nervous!”steve said kissing your cheek

after 5 minutes had past of you and the boys talking about baby names and you repeatedly telling them the baby would not be named ‘buckeve’ which was a name they had made up between a combination of their names your name had finally been called

“y/n?”

in usion your heads all turned to the voice and stood up

“it’s nice to see you all! please follow me!” the nurse said

you followed her to the room and listens to the instructions she gave you

“okay so your doctor is with any other patient right now but he should be too much longer so what i’m gonna have you do is sit tight for a few minutes and he’ll come in and set you up okay?”

with a nod of your head and a smile the nurse left telling all you have to enjoy the rest of your day and that she hopes everything goes well.

a knock on the door had halted your conversation with the boys

“come in!” you said

“we’ll hello y/n! how are you doing?” the doctor with the gray hair and winkled face said as he smiled at you

“hi! i’m doing well thank you! these are my husbands james and steve!” you said motioning to the men on the right of you as they waved

“ah well it’s nice to meet you! are you excited to see your baby for the first time?” he said as he started setting up his equipment

“yes very excited! a little nervous though.” steve said placing his hand on the back of your beck a gesture he would do that made you feel protected

“oh well i promise there’s nothing to be nervous about! everything will be just fine. now y/n can you pull your shirt up so i can place this cream on your stomach?” he said

“yeah of course!” you said lifting your shirt

“alright this is gonna be a litte cold just wanna warn you!” he said as he went to place the cream on your stomach

“oh yeah that’s cold!” you said as he placed the cream all over your stomach

“sorry about that! alright let me get this all set up so we can see your baby!” he said grabbing the wand part of the ultrasound machine

as the doctor got the machine working he explained to you what he was gonna be doing so you could somewhat understand what was going on.

“alright let’s see here! welp that’s your baby their on the screen! your very early on so it’s only the size of maybe a pea now but it’ll definitely grow quickly!” he said as tears filled your eyes and the boys both stared at the screen in awe

“hang on a minute..” the doctor said immediately wiping the look of joy on your face and replacing it with worry

“is something wrong sir?” bucky asked concerned

“no no nothings wrong! i just think i might’ve made a miscalculation that’s all.” he said giving any context

“and that miscalculation would be….” you said impatient

“looks like your having twins! congrats!!” he said with a massive smile on his face showing off his perfectly straight and white teeth

“twins??” bucky said in disbelief while you still couldn’t speak in utter shock and feeling like the happiest woman in the world

“oh my god…we’re gonna have twins!!” you said looking back at bucky and steve as the realization hit you.

“i’ll get these printed out and give you guys a bit of privacy. congratulations you three! these kids are so lucky to have you all.” he said as he walked out

you all sat their in shock and pure joy for what seemed to be forever before a noise was finally heard

you turned back to see bucky trying to wipe the tears falling from his eyes

“oh buck c’mere!” you said with open arms

“i’m sorry doll i’m just so happy. i never in my life would’ve thought anything like this would happen to me. this is the happiest day of my life! you both make me so happy! i just love you so much doll so so much.” he said sobbing into your neck

“i love you more bucky. i’m so proud of you.” you said rubbing his back as you mouthed ‘i’m proud of you too stevie’ to steve and he smiled knowing without you even having to tell him

as the day went on all the boys could talk about was your babies. what their names would be,their genders,how you would dress them,what their nursery would look like, just basically anything and everything.

you just admired the pure admiration on the boys faces as they talked about your children and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

[tainbocuailnge]

Your blog is a treasure vault 😏 Can I ask what's your opinion on the whole "Guda is like Titania to Oberon" thing?

if you ask me having guda take the role of "someone who can love the twisted oberon" that titania represents is pretty much the only reason oberon would want to show up in chaldea in the first place. vortigern is defeated and falls into the abyss at the end of the chapter and while falling to oblivion he muses that he may have achieved his goal as vortigern but he didn't manage to fulfil his wish as oberon. and the thing about that is that as vortigern he existed only to destroy britain, but as oberon he was a part of it. vortigern had nothing to live for but to die, but as oberon he made many friends, saw many places, shared joy and sadness. he was a weakling who could barely do anything thanks to cernunnos's presence effectively sealing him away but still he did his best for the welsch fairies, still he busted his ass learning every magic castoria wanted him to teach her for no reason other than because she was equally lonely and desperate for acceptance.

if he had remained only vortigern he probably would've been perfectly satisfied after destroying britain, but because he was oberon, even if he was only pretending to be oberon due to circumstances outside his control, the abyss now contains the desire to be loved. even worse, it has experienced what it's like. so he can no longer be satisfied with just disappearing into the abyss, and it kind of pisses him off. he literally manifested from the idea that there is nothing redeemable in the world so he's really frustrated with himself that he can't actually maintain that stance after having personally experienced that even in a world this wretched there is beauty and goodness to be found, and he can be a part of it. his final moments that we see is that he catches a glimpse of the blue sky of panhuman history and says it's so beautiful it makes him sick. because unfortunately, thankfully, he still has something that makes him want to live, namely the people that loved him and wanted him to live even after he betrayed them.

that's something vortigern is not actually equipped to handle, because vortigern was only ever meant to die. but he's been oberon for so long and so convincingly that he can't separate himself from that desire for love and acceptance in spite of his nature as enemy of humanity. so he stews in the abyss for a bit and gets very frustrated with himself and then he shows up at your door going "look i can't fucking believe myself right now but i'm going to crash at your place until I've sorted my shit out. also, the name I'm using is oberon"

[yaomomvs]

— BEING INARIZAKI’S TEAM MANAGER AND A SECRET VOLLEYBALL PLAYER

inarizaki x f!manager

this is part of a hcs series, let me now what team you want next <3

okay so actually you ended being the manager because the girls volleyball team had already closed the application time

so you you were really looking forward to it and omg you were so sad about it

after being rejected, you were just peacefully going through the gym and you heard laughter from a bunch of guys

you recognized kosaku since he was in your class and waved at him.

and so, they were talking about getting a manager since this team is pretty much a lot to handle

and so since kosaku knew you were hard working and that the first idea that popped out oh his head was that if you wanted to try out.

kita respectfully introduced himself and asked if you were willingly try out 🥺🥺🥺 like what a man 🥺🥺

and mostly because the twins having fangirls always made this process kind of difficult, so instead kita and aran wanted to make sure it was someone who at least was trusted by one of them

and not to brag but bestie you are gorgeous

so it was a win win

atsumu refused to this because as the jerk he usually is, he said that he didn’t need any help

that son of a bitch

he was being soooo petty mainly after you said “oh don’t worry kita, idiots are not my type”

osamu fell in love with you ❗️

and aran

and suna

and well the team.

and so, looking at the other court where the girl vbc was training you said that it was something.

every! single! practice! is! chaotic!

but somehow you managed them so well

atsumu is still trying to prove that he doesn’t but oh boy he is the first one to requiere your help

you better believe this guys are your simps and are constantly competing over someone who a year ago could never imagine they had

your attention? the best way to prove each other they were superior

in away games, god bless the idiot that wants to even dares to try to do a move on you

they are lowkey intimidating

not but seriously

specially and surprisingly kita and aran

son como esos niños mamones fresas que de cierto modo les tienes miedo

besides

this team? over the moon for you

and tbh, they were so grateful for you, you did a lot for them that they started to feel some kind of embarrassing how before they wouldn’t know how to do basic stuff like cooking for camps, labeling they jerseys correctly, searching for new equipment like they love you

anyways that however was kinda sus to them

it all started when somehow you learned so quickly, and the technical stuff was not hard to understand as to others

surprisingly the first one to notice was suna

you could have said something but tbh

you still look forward to play volleyball like more seriously even as a hobby

BUT

BUT

you’d rather be dead than telling your team that’s what you wanted because

a) they could think you only joined to learn volleyball and not help them

b) you had your pride, you want to be recognized by your own merits rather than “of course, they are inarizaki’s manager if they weren’t they could have never been this good”

so you still played volleyball but hid from them

there was a gym nearby where constant tournaments were held

you were a ghost because knowing damn well your boys could go there at any moment you decided to take some precautions

like nickname and position was everything they knew about you

your teammates loved you, so they respected your private life, and it was kind of cool

but what you were not expecting is that for some reason, omimi had followed you one day bc you forgot something after practice.

being a friday it meant for some weird reason you always rushed out

“sus” suna says everytime

so he catches you going out to the gym and maybe, he thought, you were just going to workout or see someone

BUT THIS GUYS EYEBALLS ALMOST FALL WHEN HE SEES TOY RUSH AND TAKE OFF YOUR SCHOOL UNIFORM SHIRT AND TIE TO FUCKING REVEAL A JERSEY WUTH A #3 on it

bye you broke him

and so he tries to process it normally

key word: tries

and here we are him being interrogated by the team incredulous to his words.

ay first they interrogated him being overprotective by the fact that he was spending more time with you but when he tells them what he saw god dammit

they loose it when they find out.

and so, tsumu says something that everyone agrees with him for the first time

“let’s go and spy”

“i swear to god if y/n finds out...”

“shut up aran, unless you want to make it obvious and reveal our identity dumbass!”

“tsumu, the disguises are awful”

“come on kita not you too!”

“what if”

“akagi shut up all of you agreed with the idea”

“osamu you suck”

and so there they go. trying to find you in the sea of people at the entrance, not having a clear view yet, they only search for the navy blue and white uniform that omimi described to them when he saw you.

and then almost as if it was the gods plan, they started hearing whispers of people around mentioning the arrival of one of the most popular teams out there.

“come on what the big deal-” suna started saying, however your figure appeared and he instantly turned into a babbling mess.

as well as the rest of inarizaki vbc.

osamu had to double check to assure himself that it indeed was you, beautiful as ever, walking alongside your hot and apparently talented team.

minutes later, they were standing in the bleachers as quiet as they could. they spotted you.

“A SETTER” atsumu jumped of his seat and had to be scolded by aran who was also surprised by the position you were going to be playing.

“wasn’t expecting that” ginjima talks saying what everyone was currently thinking.

behind them was a couple of guys, who apparently did not know how lower their comments.

“the setter is kinda cute” “wow look at that” oml please even aran who was the voice of reason had the urge to punch them in the face.

still they decided to just focus on your game who has now been started. and even tho they wanted to not do it, they couldn’t help analyzing you and your moves in the court. it was natural, well because they were players and very good ones it’s inevitable for them to compare and to study the way you played more than anything.

they were not expecting you to be this good. almost everything in your technique was polished, your tema work was remarkable and god bless your ability to read the blockers.

but there was a moment when they just saw the panoramic view of your skills. atsumu could see your tired expression, the sweat on your body, he just knew you were feeling now the adrenaline of the last moments of the set.

still you yelled a “we will take it” and then, with the others team hope hanging on a thread, the ball came to your libero, which perfectly passed the ball to you.

there was greed in your eyes, so scary that kita for a moment feared for the other team.

and it was when you did the setter dump that your whole team stood up in pure shock.

who were you and why were you hiding?

sadly the boys screamed way too loud which lead to you, after you made the last point and give the history to your tema, lifted up your gaze and saw a bunch of idiots wearing hats and everything in between.

suna and tsumu ran the fastest in the team directly to the gate, and the with a bunch of losers behind them,

because after everything you were there arms crossed and a murderous look in your eyes.

“IM TOO YOUNG TO DIE Y/N” “osamu shut up!”

they, once you made sure to pinch each and everyone’s ears, starred bombarding questions on how did you managed to learned that and why you did ikr tell them

“come on guys, in school i’m already looked down at just because it’s you! so could you imagine me being a inarizaki student trying to move without your name?”

kita forced them to shut up and aran felt a a kind of guilt

as week as everyone else

“don’t worry y/n, we know now what it’s like to not being your own author.”

and so, they just told you how proud they were.

“maybe we are jerks but y/n we are your jerks, and over there or respect to you has just grown up”

suna the says “you’ve been there all of the time for a while now, i guess it out time to return the favor”

and so ever since then they alwaaaaays try to be at your games

like pls once the referee said one of your serves was out and from the bleachers he screaaaaaaamed, he claims that it was definitely in

kita always gives you some food after a game or practice

talking about practice

even if you are there for being a manager they always try to, at least half an hour before ending practice, they have a quick game with you playing alongside them or just including you in their repeats etc

and goooood bless once again anyone who tried to look down at you.

because after being constantly on you games ofc people started recognizing them as the inarizaki power house

if they heard someone relying your talent on them pls make sure they five them the coldest look ever

like ‘nah bro i dare you to say that one more time’

*knive eyes*

and

even some girls attend your games trying to flirt with them

you know what they do?

they brush them off and say “sorry, my type is y/n” suna says and the are 😳

pretty much everyone does this

come on even aran

inarizaki best boys 🥺🥺🥺

[rinkrats]

🥺 that mike lange story. But also those tags #sid loooves christmas #he loves giving presents #looks good in red #piles on the pounds fast #post hockey career as santa 😂😂👌🏽👌🏽

he loves his mementos and presents and is COMMITTED to them. scrapbooking. matching jackets. little pills with hidden motivational messages~*~ his love language is gifts and neck smooches and stalking geno. relevant right now are some anecdotes i sent a friend earlier this year for dorky sid gifts fic fodder:

1. Crosby's constant thoughtfulness would be impressive from anyone, much less someone of his stature.

"Sid always texts me happy birthday, he's always asking me like, how's Russia?" Evgeni Malkin said. "We talk and message all summer. He asks me how my skates are. He knows, like, everything. He follows my Instagram, I think (laughs)."

In addition to having a handle on those little details, Crosby is constantly providing those around him with memories and mementos. If the team is on the road and goes, say, sightseeing or to a sporting event and takes a group photo, Crosby will later send a framed copy to everyone.

When Ron Hextall and Brian Burke watched their first Penguins game in person, Crosby is the one who approached head equipment manager Dana Heinze and asked for two used game pucks to give to the new GM and president of hockey ops. 

After the Penguins won in 2009, Crosby had jackets made for the three players on the team who had scored a Cup-clinching goal in Game 7: Talbot (Pittsburgh), Ruslan Fedotenko (Tampa Bay) and Mike Rupp (New Jersey).

"They were blue jackets with gold buttons, and each one had a patch on it that said 'GWG Game 7,'" Talbot said. "At one of our first team meals the next season, he presented us with the jackets and did a big ceremony with the music and stuff. We had a private room in the restaurant. I still have the jacket."

-The Consummate Teammate, Captain and Ambassador, Feb 2021

2. Merz: My first interaction with Sid was when we were on the bench, guys were talking about a teammate, and the first thing this 15-year-old says is, “Hey, guys. Let’s keep everything positive. Don’t talk about your teammates that way.”

Salcido: When we were getting ready for nationals, he found these little pills that you could put a hidden message inside. They unscrewed, and inside was a tiny scroll. He gave one to every teammate. … He had everyone fill one out. He didn’t tell anyone what to write, but he made it known that we all knew what the goal was: winning nationals. So we wrote on our scrolls, rolled them up and put them in the pill thing. We kept them with us everywhere we went.

-‘Is this real?’: Stories of Sidney Crosby’s year at a Minnesota prep school, May 2020

3. On “Butterfly Boy” Jonathan Pitre:

Though the Senators are his team, Sidney Crosby has always been Jonny’s favourite player. After the TSN documentary airs, Tina gets a call from the Penguins. Sid needs Jonny’s measurements. He wants to have a suit made for him by his personal tailor, Domenico Vacca.

“It’s the kindest, sweetest gesture,” Tina says. “Sid heard that Jonny went to a lot of games, so he wants him to look like he’s one of the guys.”

“I want him to feel like a pro,” Crosby says. “Here’s a guy who is going through something so painful, and his first thought is always, ‘How can I help others?’ When I was young, I’d watch on TV the players coming to the rink in their suits. That was a cool part of being an NHL player. I want him to feel that, to make it as real as possible for him.”

Tina tries to discreetly measure Jonny while she’s changing his dressings. But he’s way too smart for that.

“Um, Mom, why are you measuring me? Am I going for surgery again?” he asks.

“No, no!” Tina replies, trying to reassure him and come up with a good lie, all in the same breath. “The doctor needs them just to make sure they have proper dressings next time you are in.”

A few weeks later, the sharp navy blue suit shows up at their front door, along with a couple of ties, an autographed stick and a handwritten letter from Sid. 

“His eyes just light up,” Tina says. “Jonny always liked to be well-dressed, and he just loves having his own suit. It fits perfectly. He looks so good in it.”

-Beauties by James Duthie (2020)

4. Pascal Dupuis inspired his Pittsburgh Penguins teammates on their run to the Stanley Cup, and Sidney Crosby found a special way of driving that message home.

Dupuis retired in December with lingering health concerns because of blood clots. Despite his NHL playing days coming to an end, the veteran forward remained an integral part of the Penguins and was in uniform to hoist the Cup after Pittsburgh's six-game win against the San Jose Sharks in the Stanley Cup Final.

On Sunday, Dupuis brought the Cup home one last time as a player to share a special day with his family, friends and hometown fans.

"Yes, it does feel bittersweet a little bit," Dupuis said. "You get the Cup, you want to celebrate. But at the same time I got a gift by the mail [Saturday]. Basically, it's a book of all the pictures of all the good stuff we went through. It came from Nova Scotia, so you guys can figure out who it came from (Crosby), but he couldn't give it to me during the season, he saw me skating a little bit.

"And he sent it [Saturday], before my day with the Cup, so he knew what he was doing to get me right here," Dupuis said, putting his fist over his heart.

-Pascal Dupuis shares Stanley Cup with family, friends, Aug 2016

5. In 2011, Crosby was out of the lineup with a concussion, and the Penguins made their annual visit to Children’s Hospital.

Crosby got along so well with one boy there and was so touched that he later asked Bullano to go back... just the two of them, no cameras, no attention.

When Bullano and Crosby met for the follow-up visit, Crosby appeared clutching a pair of Toys “R” Us bags, filled with a Transformer toy the two had discussed.

“He literally bought every type of this toy they make,” Bullano said. “[Crosby] had never seen it before and thought it was so cool.

“There are no pictures of this. There’s no video. He was laying in the bed with the kid. They were just playing. We were there for over two hours. I got to know the mom really well because we were just sitting there.

“The kid had no idea. Didn’t expect it. They had no idea he was coming. We got there and he said, ‘Hey buddy. hope you don’t mind that I came back.’ The kid couldn’t believe it.

“[Crosby’s] crazy cool about stuff like that.”

What’s crazy is trying to recount the many times stuff like this has happened with Crosby:

• The Little Penguins Learn to Play program has been around for nine seasons, outfitting now 1,200 kids with free head-to-toe hockey equipment. Not only does Crosby serve as the face of the program — which the NHL has now adopted — but he helps fund it, too.

“There’s an awareness of what a person in his position can bring,” Penguins vice president of communications Tom McMillan said. “I think he activates that as much as anybody I’ve seen during his playing career.”

• After a recent practice, Crosby noticed a local family in the Penguins dressing room, approached them, introduced himself, learned their story and wound up giving them a signed stick.

Nobody asked Crosby to do that, and he wanted zero credit when discussing it a couple days later.

“For people who have the opportunity to come in here, people dealing with certain things, if you can brighten their day a bit or spend some time with them, it’s something that’s special for all of us,” Crosby said.

• A few years ago, through a team charity event, Crosby befriended a 4-year-old Amish boy with cancer. Crosby remarked to Bullano how much he loved talking to the boy because of how engaging the boy was and how he wasn’t consumed with technology. Crosby even tried to visit the boy but learned he had passed away.

• He learns the first and last names of the kids who attend his hockey school in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia.

“Two kids came from Japan its first year,” Bullano recalled. “He was so blown away by that. He couldn’t wait to meet them.”

• Earlier this season, the Penguins welcomed Grant Chupinka, 24-year-old cancer patient, into the dressing room. Crosby chatted up Grant and his parents, Steve and Kim.

He spent his usual time — about two or three times the requirement. Gave the tour. Then found out the Chupinkas didn’t have tickets for that night’s game and decided he would pay for them to go.

“I’m sure he could just give them an autographed puck or something, but he takes his time to go out and see them and talk to them and get to know them,” Brian Dumoulin said. “It speaks volumes for him and who he is as a person.”

Spend any length of time with Crosby during his visits with those less fortunate, and a few things become obvious.

One, Crosby is really good at these. Smooth but not in a slimy way. Sweet. You know how when you’re around someone talking and they go out of their way to make eye contact with everyone around? That’s Crosby.

He’s also humble, always introducing himself like those he’s meeting don’t already know. Holding a hand is no issue. And Crosby is the rare 20-something pro athlete without kids who acts every bit like he does.

“It is not an easy situation to talk to someone with terminal cancer,” McMillan said. “A lot of people couldn’t do that. He has an amazing ability to do that and make that person feel good.”

Crosby has welcomed several Make-a-Wish kids and tries, if at all possible, to schedule such events for practice days — to maximize the time he’s able to spend.

He’s developed a special friendship with Patrick McIlvain, a soldier who nearly died when he took a bullet to the head in Afghanistan. McIlvain actually does physical therapy with one of Crosby’s sticks.

A former club hockey player at Cal U, McIlvain comes by every year, and the Penguins don’t even bother to tell Crosby. Either he already knows or immediately stops what he’s doing to come say hello.

“He’s not doing it to leave a legacy,” said Terry Kalna, Penguins vice president of sales and broadcasting. “His numbers leave the legacy. He’s just a down-to-Earth, good guy.”

Before a visit, Crosby has Bullano email him what is essentially a scouting report on who he’s going to meet. He likes to learn about them, their situation and what they’ve been through. As much information as he can ingest. Crosby never just swoops in, shake a hand and leave.

“As much as anyone has ever seen, he accepts the responsibilities of being not just a professional athlete but a star professional athlete,” McMillan said. “He views it as part of the job. Like coming to the morning skate. That’s just what you do.”

Put another way, “he owns those moments,” says Kalna.

Said Bullano, “He’s just a good human being.”

-When it comes to giving, Sidney Crosby does as much as he can, Feb 2017

6. When Crosby received a generous signing bonus on his Reebok deal, he wanted to share it with everyone.

“He gave everyone on the bus gifts,”  says Oceanic radio commentator Michel Germain. “Him sharing his bonus with all the people he’d been travelling with for two years, that impresses me greatly. I think the most important thing about Sidney Crosby is his personality and the kind of human being he is. What he exuded. The inner richness he’d already developed.” 

-Superstitious and generous, Dec 2006

7. also this simply because it makes me ;w;

Even in defeat — no, especially in defeat — Sidney Crosby proved why he wears the "C" for the Penguins.

After the game, with his heart sinking and his season over, the Penguins’ captain bent over, sank to the ice to pick up the puck, took it to linesman Tony Sericolo and then skated to his team’s handshake line.

I immediately thought of a View from Ice Level I’d written on Crosby making sure a retiring official was sent away from PPG Paints Arena properly. I knew picking up the puck wasn’t for the same reason that was, but I also knew, in some way, it was connected to Crosby’s awareness and respect of the game.

“It was for the Islanders,” Crosby told me after the game, his eyes swollen from a first round exit – by way of a sweep to make it worse. He told me how the winning team always wanted the puck, and it was his way of providing it for the Islanders.

Crosby looked me right in the eye as he told me this, just as he did with every other member of the media to come to him after the loss.

I could tell from those swollen eyes and the way he sat at his stall, by himself with his hands folded as he stared blankly, that Sidney Crosby is much more used to being on the receiving end of a puck when a series ends than he is at retrieving it for the winning team.

That scene. His swollen eyes. Staying in the locker room until most had left – talking to anyone who needed him. Most of all, though, picking up the puck that prompted my question in the first place and making sure the right people got their piece of their own history.

It all adds up to one thing: In victory and in defeat, Crosby respects the game above all else – just as he’s always done.

-Even in defeat, Crosby shines, April 2019

[dollslayer]

For the drabble challenge: Bucky Barnes / He took the last treadmill

Gains

Bucky Barnes x Reader, No Powers AU Summary: Bucky Barnes has stolen the last treadmill and with it, the last shred of your patience. W/C: 2k Warnings: Smut, swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex A/N: I wrote this for @syntheticavenger's 5k How it started/How it's going celebration/challenge!! I know it's been a minute since I've written anything but if you liked this please comment/reblog! Main Masterlist

How it started -

You heaved a heavy sigh as you finally got into your car. Looking at the clock on your dashboard you noticed it was nearly 11pm. You were fresh off of a late night at the office that ended with you being chewed out in the boardroom for someone else’s mistakes and desperately needed to release all your pent up rage. You can’t run away from your problems but you can damn well try at the gym.

You reached for the door but before you could reach it a large hand was pulling the handle and holding the door for you. The hand lead to a thick forearm with veins trailing up to perfectly sculpted biceps. You peered up at the owner of the sculpted arm and found it belonged to maybe the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He has crystal blue eyes and pillowy lips curved slightly into a grin. Strands of shoulder length hair are falling out of the small bun he’s tied it into and into his face.

You didn’t realize you’d stopped midstep, leaving him waiting on you to walk through the entryway. Quickly looking away with a huff of small embarrassment you muster a small thank you and pick up the pace towards the locker rooms. You were suddenly feeling nervous at the realization that you’d have to work out in front of him but the thought of him in less clothing was appealing enough to distract you.

You’d figured given the hour that the gym wouldn’t be so busy but looking around it was teeming with activity. As if your day couldn’t be any more annoying, one lone treadmill stood open so you hustled to the locker rooms to change so you could claim it.

Just as you were about to put your phone in your locker and head out you were bombarded by a slew of work emails, making you furious all over again. Anger refueled, you set off with new determination for the treadmill. Just as you were about to enter the main gym area the same guy that held the door open for you was headed in the same direction. Smiling, you held the door open for him this time with a small laugh, which he thanked you for before bounding off.

His huge stride was heading in a direction that was giving you a bad feeling. You tried to fastwalk past him, hoping that you could beat him there but before you could touch the rails he was stepping onto the last fucking treadmill. You came to a stop with a look of disbelief and he looked over his shoulder and smirked at you.

“Somethin’ wrong, doll?”

“No,” you scoffed before walking away towards the ellipticals.

With the state of your temper right now you didn’t trust yourself not to blow up on him. You tell yourself that the gym asks people to only use equipment for a certain amount of time, someone’s bound to get off soon. You were breaking a sweat but it wasn’t really releasing all the built up tension you had like running would. Glancing over you spy one open treadmill, but of fucking course the only one open is next to him.

Heaving a sigh you turn up your music and step up to the treadmill intent on ignoring him. His head turns slightly towards you and out of the corner of your eye you spy a smirk. You roll your eyes and up the pace, hoping to block out the rest of the world for a bit.

You let yourself get lost in the workout and finally felt some of your frustrations melt away. When you’d reached your limit and got off you looked around and realized that the man was gone, so was most everyone else. Checking the time you noted it was nearly 2 AM and you figured you’d better call it a night if you were ever going to deal with the shit show that awaited you tomorrow morning at the office.

Walking back to the locker rooms the man from earlier was passing you on his way out and gave you a mischievous grin.

“I steal your treadmill back there, doll?” He asks playfully.

“Don’t let it happen again” You say jokingly with a small smile, still slightly annoyed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” He chuckles, “Have a good night.”

You wish him a good night as he walks on past you, notes of his body wash hitting your senses. As annoyed as you’d been you definitely wouldn’t mind running into him again.

Another week or so had gone by and another fiasco at work had erupted. You weren’t sure how much more of it you could take but you’d made a habit of running at the gym whenever shit went down at work. You’d yet to run into the handsome stranger again but he’d probably just distract you anyway so it was for the better.

You’d opted for lifting light weights and in doing so, you’d completely missed Man Bun just across the room. You’d forgotten that you wanted to run. You got up and turned towards the treadmills. You had stepped forward just in time for Man Bun to take the last. Fucking. Treadmill. Again. Your jaw actually dropped a little and didn’t try to conceal your scoff.

“Come on!” you even stamped your foot a little. After the time you’ve been having at work all you’d wanted was to let off some steam but here he was again with his cocky attitude treating it like a joke.

He actually stopped the treadmill and turned around, a toothy grin proudly on display.

“I did it again, didn’t I? Don’t worry I’m sure someone else will be off soon”

How it’s going -

Your back met the cold tiles of the shower as he pushed you back with a harsh kiss. His lips caught yours, stealing your moans as his large calloused hands ran their way down your curves. You focused your efforts on pushing down his sweats, his cock springing free from its confines.

“No underwear? How presumptuous” You ask against his lips with a smile.

“What can I say? I was feeling lucky”

He hooked his fingers in your leggings and pulled them down. You hastily stepped out of them and worked to remove your top, leaving you in only a sports bra and your panties. He paused for a second before taking your panties in his fist and snapping them in one go. You gasped, slightly shocked but it just turned you on further.

He was to the point in what he wanted, his fingers finding your core and sinking right in. Your moan turned into a whimper as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting you right in your G-spot. You were feeling small under him, his perfectly toned chest proudly on display and his biceps bulging as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

The pleasure you were feeling in this moment had you in disbelief that you’d ever been hesitant of him when he cornered you earlier.

By the time you’d finally gotten done with your run you’d realized everyone had petered out, even Man Bun. You reckoned it was time for you to head out too. It was kind of eerie being alone in the gym so you wanted to shower and get out as quickly as possible.

As you were about to push the door open a familiar, large hand covered yours. You could feel his body heat and smell whatever soap he’d used, that’s how close he was. You turned around and he kept his arm outstretched past you, you were practically in his arms.

Your eyes met his and you let out a shaky breath, you weren’t really sure what to make of the expression on his face. You raised your eyebrows in waiting.

“Just wanted to apologize, for takin’ your treadmill and all. Seems to be a habit of mine, huh?”

“I’m starting to think you meant to.”

“I gotta admit, I saw you gunnin’ for that treadmill and I wanted to beat you there. What do you say I make it up to you?”

He was definitely making it up to you now. He was a man on a mission, pressing his palm firmly against your clit and working against your spot, trying desperately to get you to cum. You couldn’t do anything but cling desperately to his shoulders. Your cries were getting louder as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. You finally snapped and came with a shout before nearly slumping against him. His arms caught you and he laughed a little to himself.

“So fuckin’ good for me, you’re gonna take me so well.” He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple as you tried to get your bearings. You reached down to grab his cock in your hands, he was rock hard and you wanted nothing more than to run your tongue along them.

You shakily began to sink down to your knees but a strong hand grasped you by the shoulders and pulled you up before you could.

“Just wanna feel you” He breathed out before pressing a kiss to your lips.

It was your turn to smirk at him, slowly standing up to your full height. He kissed you again as his large hands grabbed your breasts one at a time, toying with your nipples and making you whimper just slightly. You could feel his cock hard against your thigh and decided you needed him now.

You lifted your thigh up over his hip, which he was all too eager to hold while you grabbed him and positioned him at your entrance. His other hand grasped your hip and he thrusted into you with determination, causing you to let out an obscene moan. He was hitting you so deeply and when he began moving you swore you couldn’t take him.

He hooked one arm under your leg as he pistoned in and out of you at a pace you weren’t quite ready for but you’d reveled in the feeling of. He was hitting you deeper than you’d ever thought possible by anyone else you’d had before.

“Shit,” He huffed, “Gonna fuck you stupid?”

You could only whimper in response as he did just that. He wasn’t holding anything back as he thrust into you over and over. You were quickly becoming overwhelmed but in the best way possible. You couldn’t help the noises that came out of you, couldn’t help the begging for him to continue.

As he pistoned in and out of you while keeping a vice grip on your leg you let out the most wanton little mewls, only spurring him on further. He was dragging every inch of him out of you and then slamming it back in, all the while his thumb toying with your clit. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out and you couldn’t tell what was more exciting, the thought of him ruining you or the realization that anyone could walk in and see you two. Right now you didn’t care so long as he kept at it.

You tugged at his tresses, pulling them loose from the low bun they hung in, eliciting grunts and groans from him. You latched your mouth onto his neck and found his sweet spot, sucking a deep bruise into it.

“Fuck, babydoll, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out”

“Then don’t”

That was all the motivation it took for him to slam into you at full force, his fingers working double time to help you reach your high once more. You thought you couldn’t take anymore as he slammed into you harder than he had and bit harshly into your neck as he spilled himself inside of you with one final thrust.

You cried out as you came around him, feeling your pussy pulse in waves as you registered the aftershocks. You leaned your head back against the tiles while you tried to catch your breath, vaguely hearing his own sighs. Finally feeling up to sorts, you looked up at him only to find his hazy blue eyes boring into yours. A part of you can’t believe you’d done such a thing in public with a man who was practically a stranger but the other part was just as turned on by the fact.

“Think I’ve given enough penance for you, doll?”

“Not even close.”

[zapsalis-d]

Piece of You

summary — Everyone wants a piece of you. Even a certain Mandalorian who denies that he's grown enamored with every little thing about you.

content — Implied smut, harassment, jealousy, alcohol, pining

word count — 4.5k

inspiration — Piece of You, Shawn Mendes

main masterlist

He's not one who's fond of Tatooine.

Everything about that filthy, crime-ridden dust-ball is enough to entirely repel him from the planet. Yet there's something — someone — who lures him into Tatooine, even when his presence isn't necessary. He repeatedly scolds himself each time he passes by the familiar dusty planet — there is no point in landing, no purpose to be there. He never listens. Not at all.

The Mandalorian is constantly preoccupied with his devotion to bounty hunting. But each time, it's as if he entirely clears anything on his plate. A pending bounty puck? He can handle that later. Quarry needs to be delivered? Not a problem, he has a carbon-freezing chamber installed in the ship. Damaged ship? Well, there are plenty of repairmen on Tatooine.

His sole desire is to visit nobody other than you. The bartender working in one of the most famous cantinas in Mos Eisley. The cantina's owner recognized precisely what he was doing when he hired you. You... you are exceptionally captivating, stunning, seductive. Your snarky personality, flawless body, and heavenly face is enough to entice every man in the parsec who'd heard of you. In fact, one of the main reasons the cantina is so damn popular is due to your employment.

Everybody wants a piece of you...

So as Din positions the Razor Crest onto the landing bay's flooring, he prepares himself to be utterly disappointed. With the plethora of men drooling over you each second of your life, you certainly have plenty to choose from. Out of all of them, you aren’t going to select a Mandalorian who refuses to reveal his face to absolutely anyone. Yet he pushes the thought aside. The purpose of his return is due to his recent hunt. The quarry was pestering, exceedingly difficult to locate and seize. Once Din managed to capture and deliver him, he immediately knew he required a brief break. A chance to unwind, ease up, relax. The sight of you is enough to de-stress him.

Maybe you'd even swiftly speak with him for a moment. Each time he arrives at the cantina, you eventually stop by besides him, hold a quick conversation before promptly returning to your work. Din has no clue why. Plenty of other men practically beg for your attention. Yet you don't spare a mere glance towards their direction, unless deemed necessary.

Din descends the ladder towards the hull of the ship, commanding the ramp to lower utilizing his beskar vambrace. Without hesitation, he strides off the ramp, sealing it shut directly after he steps off. He shares a hasty glimpse around the hangar. The manager is nowhere to be found. It doesn’t matter — his ship isn't damaged, there is no need to discuss payment with them. Without further delay, he exits the hangar and treads through the desolate streets of Mos Eisley. It's unbearably hot, even with the twin suns setting down on the horizon. Colorful hues of red, yellow, purple, and blue lace the sky as he proceeds through the countless buildings and homes.

The well-known cantina appears in the distance. A flutter develops in the pit of his stomach at the bare thought of seeing you once more, especially after the additionally burdensome hunt he endured. He hasn't the slightest idea of what he'll do, or even say, when he enters. He's able to converse with you perfectly fine, as long as you initiate the chatting. The thought of walking up to you and establishing the conversation first is... unnerving. Hell, he can hardly flirt for the sake of his own life. You're not interested in the Mandalorian. You can't be. So, why should he even attempt to speak with you when you will simply push him aside, reject him? No, he prefers to keep his distance. Observe from afar. If your desire is to talk, he'll talk with pleasure. Call him a coward, but he isn't going to take his chances.

The Mandalorian saunters through the wide-open doors, gloved hand instinctively shifting towards the holster strapped to his hip. Even through the helmet covering his face, he catches a repulsing whiff of the strong alcoholic scent. His visor scans the cantina for a brief moment. It's surprisingly empty. Tables consist of a few people chattering mutely among each other, a couple waiters grabbing their orders. The ambience is strangely hushed. The bar is completely unoccupied, much to his surprise. A service droid is present where you ordinarily are, wiping a damp cloth over the counter. You, though, are nowhere to be found.

Eyes carefully survey him as he idly stands in front of the entrance. A Mandalorian equipped with a full attire of beskar armor, a pulse rifle strapped firmly against his back, and armed with various weapons is bound to snatch everyone's attention. Not wanting to deal with any issues as the moment, he continues to step forward. Despite his intense detestation for droids, this one in particular can prove useful. The droid raises its mechanical head, unreadable eyes staring straight towards the Mandalorian as he leans forward, elbows propping against the bar.

"The girl is absent today," its blank voice states, head tilting down as it resumes its cleaning. "Her shift has ended earlier today, per her request."

He's left speechless for a split second. Damn droid has practically read his mind. Does he actually make it so evident? Perhaps its simply that its already encountered countless men asking for you already. Nevertheless, a heat creeps onto his cheeks, radiating through his entire face and neck upon the droid's accusation. Steadily, he shifts his weight before answering. "What makes you think I'm here for her?"

His voice comprises a certain hostility, primarily due to the fact that he's conversing with — of all things — a droid. Its gaze lifts upon hearing his response, metal hand halting its insistent rubbing. "A great deal of men have requested her presence here today. I apologize. Would you care for a drink?"

"No," he swiftly replies. Then, he freezes, shoulders tensing up. If he's not here for you, then what's his purpose here? The droid bluntly stares, expecting further elaboration. Din provides him with nothing other than a view of his backside when he spins around, cape swishing with every motion as he strides away. He's on the verge of step outside when the mechanical voice calls for him.

"The girl will return tomorrow afternoon."

Din peers over the pauldron adorning his shoulder, sharing a brief glimpse with the droid. He should thank it, but decides against it. Its just a droid. It doesn't deserve his gratitude, nor an apology for his bitterness. Without lingering any further, he directs his gaze forward once more, before begrudgingly stalking off towards the course leading to the Razor Crest.

A darkness envelops him as soon as he steps into the plain open air. The suns had descended quite rapidly, a starless night sky hanging over the city. It's substantially cooler now that the suns aren't blazing down on him, a brisk breeze sweeping his cape sideways. The streets are increasingly barren now, not a single being in sight.

Except for one isolated person.

He recognizes the figure — the exquisite curves of her body, impeccable hair enhancing her features, the way she stands with utter confidence and assertiveness. All he manages to perceive was her back, but it's unquestionably the person he's been searching for. You.

You reside directly in front of a residence, gaze impatiently darting around as if awaiting someone's arrival. Din had assured himself he wouldn't initiate a conversation with you, though currently it seems as if that is his only option. Either that, or he disappointedly heads back towards his ship. But what the hell is he supposed to say? A simple "hey" wouldn't captivate your attentiveness. You'll simply shove him aside, completely uninterested as you've done an unmeasurable amount of times. He takes a step forward — tentatively, slowly, steadily. He's nervous. He can't deny that. Speaking to you seems to frighten him immensely, not even the most intimidating of quarries has managed to inflict this feelings upon him.

It's not that he's enamored by you. He does not have the time for romance. It's straightforward attraction. Infatuation. A meaningless crush, as some would claim. He is aroused by you. That's all it is, and all it will ever be. At least, that's what he's been attempting to convince himself about for the past months.

His thoughts are interrupted when someone enters the scenario. A man. Your face brightens upon catching sight of him as you beam at him. That damn smile. The way your lips curl upwards, flashing those set of pearly whites — it enthralled him since day one. His attention switches to the unfamiliar man as you throw your arms around him, his own hands embracing you and pulling you near. Seconds later, the two of you head inside the house you stand by. He's joking about something Din is unable to pick out, causing a burst of laughter to escape your lips. The sound is interfere with when the door slams closed behind you. Then, there's complete silence.

Boyfriend. That's his final conclusion. You'd requested time off your job to see your lover. It makes absolute sense. With the incalculable quantity of men constantly chasing you around, you're bound to find someone who interests you. Without another alternative to his situation, Din settled to leave. He's discouraged, yes, but what else would he expect? It's absolutely fine, though. This provides him with yet another reason why he should maintain his distance from the planet. Unless proven necessary, he won't return to Tatooine. There is no purpose for him here. His fantasies need to cease, stop raiding his brain and controlling his every action. He cannot spare anymore time indulging in this. It's for the best.

___

He arrives once more at the damn cantina the following afternoon.

He doesn't understand why he can't liberate himself from this addiction, why his thoughts are persistently flooded by images of you, and you only.

Baby, I'm so into you, it hurts...

Despite the setback yesterday, he feels like he's under obligation to drop by and see you before he departs from Tatooine. It's plain and simple — this is his final opportunity to visit you, and he'll seize onto that freedom while he's capable of doing so.  Even if it means he's wasting valuable time while he could be earning his well-deserved credits. Even if the hangar's manager warned that the landing bay is available exclusively for one entire rotation. It's one straightforward, uncomplicated visit, and then he'll leave satisfied.

The ambience is noisier then the previous occasion. This time, when he pauses to examine his surroundings, nobody pays him even the slightest bit of recognition. Boisterous laughter and obnoxious jabbering, alcoholic scent overwhelming his senses again, and then there's you. Preoccupied with your work, you don't spare him a single glance when he enters. Your attention is thoroughly concentrated on serving the numerous people awaiting their drinks at the bar. There are no accessible seats where you're present — it's utterly packed. It's alright, though, because he's not planning on grabbing a drink anyway. He settles for an available booth in the corner of the cantina, solitarily taking a seat away from the detestable, clamorous commotion. He has no clue how you deal with them until the late hours of the night.

Din merely dismisses the waiter who instantly greets him. He's not here for drinks, or a meal. He's only present for you, but not in the way these men are here for. Their sole purpose is attempting (and downright failing) to sneak into your pants, somehow. While he would be uttery lying to everyone — including himself — if he claims that's not one of his many desires, its not why he's here. He completely respects you. He will never treat you like everyone else does. That's not what you deserve at all, yet these men can't seem to comprehend that. They're selfish, purely caring for their own needs and wants. Not Din. He promised himself he wouldn't be as thoughtless and uncaring as them.

He manages a brief glance towards your direction. You're dressed in your usual attire — close-fitting shirt displaying a great deal of your breasts, skintight skirt barely reaching above your knees, a knife strapped strictly against your thigh to ward off anybody who might be in too close proximity.

You're majestic, mesmerizing, light the room up without trying...

Whether you're enforced to clothe yourself like that or you knowingly chose to do so, he isn't exactly certain. But with the way your face contorts in exasperation, you're definitely not enjoying this. You never did. To remain in an occupation like this, wearing that, required a plethora of fearlessness and aggressiveness. And your wages? They must be damn high. Din admires you for that. He wishes he could do something about it, ward off every single one of those pestering men who displease you but he recognizes your capability. You have demonstrated countless times in the past that you can handle yourself exceedingly well.

His gaze lingers for one second too long. Your eyes connect with his black visor. He freezes. He's been caught staring. For once, he isn't sure what his succeeding actions should be. The beskar helm covering his own face is greatly appreciated in this very moment, because his cheeks are undoubtedly tinted in a thousand shades of pink and red. He wants to avert his gaping, but he discovers its impossible for him. His eyes are practically glued to yours, and for once you notice a certain eagerness in your expression. As if you're actually... contented to spot him between the crowd of men surrounding you.

Right. Like that'll ever happen.

He can't dwell on that — give himself that false hope. Out of everyone in the cantina, you're pleased to see him? That's not exactly feasible.

Your heedfulness is abruptly snatched when a customer purposely drops an object — Din can't pick out what, exactly. His intentions were evident. He's trying to obtain a better view of your rear end, yet you don't give a damn. Din can't quite hear what you're divulging with all the cacophonous noise, though your facial expression provides him with enough. A menacing glare is directed straight towards the man, your mouth spitting out offenses and insults. You've clearly had enough with their crap. There's nothing more Din longs for than to withdraw you from that burdensome situation, lead you to the quietness and tranquility of the Razor Crest. The audacity these men have creates a rage welling up within his chest, blood in his veins boiling. The fact that he can't take action leaves him feeling helpless. You evidently don't want his assistance. You can deal with them yourself — it's what you want.

The Mandalorian finds himself remaining in the cantina for hours. The place gradually empties, though not entirely. There's considerably less racket now. You seem to slowly relax, the tension in your shoulders fading away. Din rarely attempts to peek towards your direction again — not after what previously occurred. He's still rather humiliated about it. His finger lightly drums against the table, a faint tapping sound solely audible to his ears. He's not quite certain why he's residing here for a prolonged amount of time if you're undeniably occupied with your job. Yet—

"Drink?"

The familiar voice steals his attention, a glass filled to the brim with an unknown alcoholic drink slides directly into the hand placed over the table. He catches it and clasps onto it tautly with his fingers, visor lifting upwards precisely when a woman occupies her seat on the booth across from him. You.

Admittedly, he's staggered by your unexpected appearance. While you've spoken with him before, he didn't expect that to occur today, especially with the exceptionally packed cantina. He's utterly speechless, any sort of coherent sentence completely disappearing from his mind. His mouth opens, then shuts repeatedly when he fails to voice an individual word. His throat feels inexplicably dry all of a sudden, his immediate reaction being to take a swig from the glass in his grasp but he's unable to with the helmet preventing it. In this moment, he'd do anything to  rid himself of this impenetrable apprehensiveness, anything to ease himself. He can't bring himself go verbalize a single phrase, not even a mere 'thank you.'

"I noticed you didn't order anything for yourself," you state when he doesn’t answer. His flustered condition worsens upon realizing this whole time, you had observed him from the distance as well. Your eyes swiftly dart around the cantina for a split moment, before returning to peer directly into his visor. Then, your gaze averts once more. "Go ahead. There's nobody looking."

For a second, he can't comprehend your suggestion. Until he realizes you're proposing he takes a quick drink from the glass. He glances down towards the object in his hand, practically overflowing with a bright purple-colored liquid. Its iciness bleeds through the leather of his glove. It's been a while since he's enjoyed a nice drink. He can't refuse. Without further contemplation, his free hand raises towards the lip of his helmet, gradually tilting the beskar backwards until his chin and mouth were revealed. He's a bit skittish, unknowing whether you'll abruptly turn your head to face him while he's vulnerable like this. Which is why he speedily chugs it down.

Bad idea. The liquid instantaneously burns his throat, clearing the dryness and replacing it with prickling heat. He drops the helmet down to conceal the exposed half of his face, half-empty glass placed onto the table as he nearly fails to contain himself from throwing a coughing fit. His abrupt discomfort caused your gaze to snap towards him again. At least now he manages to speak. "That's—" he pauses, the strain in his voice leading him to clear his throat. "That's very... strong."

You beam at him, chuckling emanating from you. He can't help but gawk at you, your perfect smile, contagious laughter, alluring features. Occasionally, he wonders how it would feel to kiss those soft, red-tinted lips, caress the curve of your jawline with his thumb, rake his fingers through your silky strands of hair. Those fantasies need to be completely erased from his mind, because they're never going to occur. His longing thought are quickly interrupted when you speak up. "Has a nice taste though, right?"

Din shrugs his shoulders. His breath is still unbearably hot from the drink. Perhaps he should've tested it out before hastily swallowing a substantial quantity of the liquid. "It's an... interesting flavor." He merely watches when you grab the glass, gulping down the remains of the drink without cringing upon the powerful aftertaste. "How much?"

Your gaze meet with him once more. The heavy black eyeliner bordering your eyes only enhance those captivating hues even more, feeling as if they pierce directly through the impenetrable beskar helm obscuring his face. "Payment? Credits aren't necessary today, Mandalorian. I believe tonight has brought me enough to sustain myself with. But there is one thing I'm interested in—" you pause before leaning forward, elbows propping against the table. It provides Din with a superior perspective of your chest, though he couldn't bring himself to glance down. He will not dare disrespect you in such ways. You have his total, undivided attentiveness now, ears ready to listen in for whatever you have to offer. "—your name."

His name. The Mandalorian normally wouldn't provide random people with the knowledge of his name. The thing is — you're not a simple 'random person.'

"Din. Din Djarin."

"Din... Djarin," you repeat, the phrase exquisitely rolling off your tongue. "Well, Din Djarin, I've gotta say... you're an intriguing man."

"How so?" a certain curiosity tinges his tone, audible even through the vocodor distorting his voice.

With a nonchalant shrug, you continue. "You're not here for the same reasons these men are. I mean, you're here for me, I know that. But when you visit, you do so in a considerate manner. Not as intrusive and harassing as most are." Your lips curve upwards in a small grin, head tilting with a certain gratefulness dominating your expression. "I like that."

The final sentence causes his breath to hitch in his throat. "You do?"

You bob your head in affirmation. A split second of somewhat comfortable silence passes, your gazes persisting trained solely on each other. Then, "I saw you last night, outside my house."

Damn. "I was on my way back to my ship. Managed to stumble across you."

Your brows raise with inquisitiveness. "You saw me? Why didn't you at least wave?"

"I was... in a rush."

"Understandable," you answer with a curt nod. You release a puff of breath before your eyes flash with visible seductiveness, causing Din to anticipate your next words. "Your armor's worn-out. Even more damaged than the last time I saw you. Rough hunt?"

His helmet tips down towards the beskar cuirass plating his chest. Countless dents and scratches ruin the brownish-red paint of the indestructible metal. Its covered in grime and dust, as is the rest of his armor, plenty more damaged than the previous occasion Din decided to land on Tatooine. The sudden realization that he should've at least scrubbed the soot off before venturing out here hits him, a slight embarrassment overwhelming him. "Yeah... armor's seen better days."

"Well, my shift's over. Droid's taken control now," you gesture with your head towards the service droid serving multiple people at the bar. A confident smirk makes its appearance across your expression before your hand slides towards his own, still placed over the table. Despite the leather preventing genuine contact, your touch is welcome and pleasant. "Maybe I can pass by your ship — the Razor Crest, is it? I could help out, polish your armor, perhaps?"

The offer is nearly irrefutable. Yet there's one minor setback that creeps into his mind.

"I-I don't think your... boyfriend will appreciate that."

Confusion etches your features as you slip your fingers away. "Boyfriend? I— oh, no. That guy yesterday? My cousin. Took time off last night so I could see him. He just landed here to quickly visit me before returning to his work earlier today."

Realization strikes him straight in the gut. His mouth opens to spit out an apology, before swiftly shutting it when a string of curses escapes your mouth, head ducking down upon spotting something, or someone. "What?"

You peer over Din's shoulders before dipping down again, hand on your forehead to obscure your face. "I may have promised someone a date," your voice is hushed even despite the noise resounding through the cantina. "I originally wasn't going accept. But he's so damn persistent. So, I told him to come here after I finished my shift, that way I'd be gone and I wouldn't have to deal with him. But he's here now, earlier than I expected."

The Mandalorian's helmet whirls around towards the wide-open entrance. A Zabrak lingers by the doors, eyes examining the cantina in a careful manner, searching for none other than you, before he steps towards the usual bar. Din turns to face you again, thumb discreetly pointing towards the beige-colored Zabrak male. "Him?"

You nod, further unease notable in your body language. Without uttering a single word, you abruptly lift yourself from your seat, heading directly towards the exit.

Not even a goodbye.

Should've taken the damn offer. Would that have been so hard?

"Oh, look! She's right over there by the doors."

A mechanical voice alerts the Zabrak of your presence, before he whips around and calls your name upon spotting your form. Kriffin' droid. You freeze precisely before managing to step one foot outside the building. Your shoulders visibly tense, though you stand firmly, back facing the Zabrak as he stalks towards you. His sizable hand clutches onto your arm, forcing you around. An unfamiliar, strange feeling sneaks into Din's mind upon watching his harsh manners, dominating his every action and movements.

I get jealous, but who wouldn't when you look like you do?

"Forget my—"

The Zabrak's deep voice is interrupted when you yank your arm away from his grasp, pacing forward in a menacing demeanor. "As a matter of fact, I didn't forget," you cross your arms over your chest, eyes practically boring holes into that horned head of his. "I don't need to go on a damn date with you if I don't want it. And right now—"you tilt your head, a poised smirk appearing on your red lips. "—I simply don't want to." With that, you spin around without offering another word.

You're so sure it makes me insecure...

The Zabrak can't seem to take a hint before he begins to swiftly pursue you. Din is unable to perceive anything else when the both of you exit the cantina. He can't wait anymore, sit around and watch. Sure, you can deal with the situation perfectly fine, as you'd done countless times in the past. But for once, Din urges himself to help. An impulse to protect you. His hand shifts towards his holster by pure instinct as he saunters through the exit, only for him to freeze in his spot. You're menacingly holding a sharp blade against the Zabrak's exposed neck, before he abruptly staggers backwards, holding his hands up in a surrendering manner.

You chuckle, before your eyes land on the Mandalorian lingering around, a certain glimmer present in your eyes. "Besides—" you're directing your words towards the Zabrak while stepping towards Din. "I've other plans tonight."

Your gentle hands grip onto Din's bicep, lightly tugging him forward and beckoning him to follow. Your touch causes an unfamiliar heat to erupt throughout his entire body, predominating his emotions. It's not due to the humidity of the planet, no... it's just... it's you. You're causing all this and he can't control himself no matter how much effort he put into it.

Just one touch is so electric...

He goes along with your suggestion, no hesitation whatsoever as you step away from the grumbling Zabrak. He recognizes he shouldn't mess with a Mandalorian, especially if the urge to protect the person he's constantly thinking about is present.

When he tips his head down to glance towards your direction, your lips are curled upwards into a smirk. Not the one you held while attempting to rid of the irritating Zabrak. There is a certain mischief written all over your features.

"Your ship?"

Oh, what the hell.

How could he resist a piece of you?

[stargazer-sims]

22 - First Meeting (part three)

Tae and Sunny are the first to arrive.

This fact is not the least bit surprising to Sunny. They'd left home much earlier than they needed to, because Tae had been pestering her all morning, constantly asking her what time it was and when they needed to be ready.

Tae is capable of telling the time by himself, and Sunny knows he understood when their first peer support group meeting was scheduled. He'd simply been too excited to concentrate. For a man who'd been anxious and upset just days ago about the idea of being in a room full of strangers, Tae certainly seems to have lost most of his fear at this point.

They'd left the house around half-past eleven, and they went for lunch at Tae's favourite restaurant, a place with a wide variety of Sixamish dishes on the menu. Tae ordered an extra large cup of some sort of blue juice with an unpronounceable name, and enough food for two people. He somehow managed to consume it all in about the same amount of time it took Sunny to work her way through her strawberry milkshake and small serving of fish and chips.

When the server, a Sixamish man who Sunny estimated to be a little younger than Tae, came with their bill, he'd nodded and smiled at Tae and said, "Congratulations on your offspring."

Tae patted his belly and thanked the man, as if this was a perfectly normal and appropriate interaction.

Then again, Sunny muses, it very well could have been. Admittedly, her exposure to Sixamish culture is limited, and there are aspects of it that she finds inexplicable. She feels like she's learning new things about her husband, his people and his world all the time, and the learning curve only seems to have steepened since the beginning of Tae's pregnancy.

She's amazed by Tae's capacity to eat, lately. Since becoming pregnant, it's as if he can't get enough to fill him. At first, she'd assumed it was a Tae thing, but now she wonders if this is typical for all pregnant Sixamish males. It was obvious the server knew Tae was pregnant, without anyone ever mentioning it, so maybe the extraordinary amount of food was the giveaway. Sunny decides she's going to ask the doctor about it today, if she has the chance, just to make sure Tae's newfound appetite isn't something she needs to worry about. She also wants to find out how long this might last, as Tae seems convinced he'll eventually have morning sickness. If that happens, Sunny doubts he'll be interested in eating much of anything.

She doesn't like to think about Tae suffering in any way. The mental image of her sweet, happy, gentle Tae being sick or in pain fills her with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness that's difficult to reconcile with her knowledge that she can't actually protect him from it. She's perfectly aware that he's going to have bad days, and it's inevitable that he's going to experience pain. They may not have conceived their child naturally, but like all males of his species, Tae is biologically equipped to carry a child and give birth naturally, so unlike his Earth counterparts, he'll go through labour. Sunny is already concerned about how they're going to handle it.

Tae, on the other hand, doesn't seem at all bothered by it. He claims he's going to be courageous and calm and that he "won't make feral noises like Earth people on television." Sunny doesn't want to question his bravery, but she's not going to hold him to his assertion that he won't make noise.

She remembers the day he'd cut his hand while cleaning up broken glass, and the high-pitched keening vocalization he'd made in response to the pain and to seeing his own blood. No one had to tell her what it meant. As if the deep purple flare of his aura hadn't been enough of an indication, the noise was like an auditory distillation of distress and fear. And it absolutely did sound feral, like the eerie scream of some otherworldly animal. If something as relatively minor as a cut on his hand had made him produce that noise, she does not want to contemplate the sound of Tae in labour.

Maybe Dr. Zira will have some ideas about that, too. Sunny hopes so, because she wants Tae to have the most low-stress birth experience possible, and she needs to know what she can do to make that happen. She wonders if there's such a thing as Sixamish prenatal classes, and if so, whether they've ever had a mixed-species couple attend them before. It'd be great if there were such a thing. If she could learn how to help Tae stay calm and focused, and how to help him manage his pain, perhaps it wouldn't be as traumatic for either of them as she fears right now.

Another item to add to the list of things to ask the doctor.

After leaving the restaurant, they're still early, so they drive around for a while and chat about their future plans. Tae says he wants to have a baby shower when he's a little further along, which Sunny thinks is an excellent idea. She laughs when he gets philosophical about why it's called a baby shower, but confesses she has to agree that it should be called a baby gift shower, as it's not actually babies that one gets showered with.

"Unless you have twins," he adds. "It's a little like being showered with babies, in that case."

Tae is really hoping for twins. From what Sunny has gathered, the instance of twins is far more common in natural Sixamish pregnancies than in Earth pregnancies. Since Tae had two implants, that makes the likelihood of fraternal twins almost a certainty. Dr. Zira had warned them that it’s still possible only one will be viable, but she’d explained that because their embryos had been implanted directly into an an organ naturally evolved for the specific purpose of gestation, the chances of rejection are extremely low.

A simple blood test was enough to determine that Tae is pregnant, but they won't know for sure whether it's one baby or two until he has his first scan. Tae hadn't even attempted to hide his disappointment when he found out that Earth males have their first scan ten days after the procedure and get confirmation of their pregnancy and the number of babies at the same time. He said he was sad that it wasn't that way for him, and the faint blue glow of his aura had confirmed as much. All Sunny had been able to do was try to console him by telling him they were waiting for a surprise. She realized that wouldn’t take away his dissatisfaction completely, but the anticipation does seem to have kept him going.

Currently, they're at the clinic, and Tae is bouncing around the meeting room, talking up a storm — to himself, Sunny assumes, since he's not looking at her.

Sunny watches him, amused. He's like a kid in a toy shop. It's as if he wants to see and touch everything, and is so overwhelmed that he has no idea where to look first. She's torn, because she thinks he needs to settle before the other participants start arriving, but she also doesn't want to dampen his enthusiasm.

"Tae," she says, attempting to get his attention, and then louder when he doesn't seem to have heard her. "Tae-min!"

He turns around. "Sunny! They have snacks! Can I have something?"

Sunny laughs. "Seriously, Tae? After the lunch you had, you still want snacks?"

"I'm hungry," he whines.

"Come here," she says, holding out her arms to him. "You can have a snack when everyone else shows up. You're not going to starve to death until then."

"Okay," he says. He comes over to her, and lets her wrap him in an embrace. Lowering his head, he nuzzles his cheek against her hair and whispers, "But, I just want you to know, that chocolate cake really wants me to eat it."

"Tae-min Lee, you are the living end," Sunny says. She presses her knuckles gently along his spine. "I need you to calm down a little bit, okay? Think you can, before everyone else comes in?"

"Mmm... if you keep doing that."

She continues to massage his back until she feels him relax and he begins to make the soft rumbling noise that reminds her of a cat's purr.

"This is a big day for you. You've got to be on your best behaviour."

"I will be," he tells her. "At least, I'll try my best, but I'm feeling very energetic."

"I can tell," she says. "If you can get through the next couple of hours and you're still feeling energetic, I'll help you burn some of it off when we get home."

He shifts slightly, and she feels his sharp canine teeth graze her ear. "In our bedroom?"

"Tae-min, no biting. We're in public," she scolds, but she's struggling not to laugh. "Yes, in our room. Now, can you try to think clean thoughts for a little while, please?"

"If I have to," Tae says.

This time, Sunny does laugh. She moves back a step and takes his face between her hands. "You're absolutely incorrigible, you know. But I'm glad you're in such a good mood and that you're feeling better about all this than you were the other day. I was worried you'd still be nervous."

"I thought about it," he tells her. "You were right. I was upset because I don't like it when people assume things about me and then get scared because of it. But then I realized I was doing the same thing. I assumed people wouldn't like me because I'm different from them, and I got scared about meeting them."

"I'm glad you're not scared any more."

"I'm still a tiny bit scared, but now I'm mostly excited, because I decided not to worry about it. I mean, you can't be the only Earth person who likes me, right? There have to be others who aren't afraid of my people."

"There are a lot of people who aren't," Sunny assures him.

"And some of them might even be here today," he says.

"Exactly."

"And maybe they're going to be my new second-best friends. We're going to be—" He suddenly stops and tilts his head slightly. "Oh! Someone's coming!"

Tae's hearing is much more acute than hers, and she's not sure from how far away he's able to hear footsteps, but several seconds go by before the doors to the meeting room swing open. Two men stroll in, hand-in-hand. The taller one is slim, brown and attractive. The shorter one, equally handsome in Sunny's opinion, is chubby and golden-haired and reminds her of a teddy bear.

They stand just inside the doorway for a second, and the blond man looks all around. "This place is nice," he says. "Check out those chairs. They look super comfortable, like I could park my butt there and chill all afternoon."

His partner lets go of his hand and puts an arm around him instead. "Let's go and choose our spot."

"Okay, let's—" he begins, but then his gaze lands on Tae, and he grins and offers, "Hey. Do you work here?"

Sunny glances at Tae, who looks confused. "No. Do I look like I..." He pauses for a breath or two, and then gives the blond man a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I guess I do look like I work here, don't I? But, I don't. We're part of the group."

"Oh," says the blond man. "Sorry about that. Us too, although I guess that's probably obvious. I'm Dylan, by the way. Dylan Middleton. And this is my husband, Zahir Omar."

Dylan sticks out his hand, and Sunny is pleased when Tae steps forward to accept it straight away.

"I'm Tae-min Lee. You can just call me Tae, though," Tae says. He glances back at Sunny, and motions for her to stand next to him. "This is my wife, Haneul Lee, but everyone calls her Sunny."

"Nice to meet you, Tae and Sunny," Dylan says cheerfully. Handshakes get exchanged all around, and then Dylan asks, "So, which one of you is the... What did the doctor call it, Zahir? The 'gestational parent'? Sounds so science-y. I love it."

"Dylan, you can't ask them that," Zahir says.

"Why not?" Dylan wants to know. "Isn't that what we're here for?"

"Yes, but it's not polite, sweetheart. We've only just met them."

"Yeah. At a peer support group for people using reproductive technology," Dylan points out.

"If you're curious, it's me," says Tae, forestalling any further debate between Dylan and his husband. Tae's aura begins to glow a soft green as he adds proudly, "I'm pregnant."

Dylan beams at him. "Congratulations, dude. Me too, sort of."

"Sort of?" Sunny echoes, before she can stop herself.

"Dylan just had the procedure on Thursday," says Zahir, apparently having moved quickly past his reluctance about discussing it with people he'd just met. "We're in the waiting period now, I guess you could say."

"That's the hardest part," Tae says. "But, you'll know it worked when you start feeling hungry all the time."

Dylan and Zahir share a look, and they both laugh. "Yeah, probably not a particularly good indicator, in my case," Dylan says. "I'm already like that. I think we'll have to wait and find out when we go for the scan next week. When did you find out for sure, Tae?"

"About two weeks ago," Tae tells him.

"Awesome," Dylan says. "I'm not that far behind you, then. We really are gonna be going through this pretty much at the same time, aren't we? We’ll be pregnancy buddies.”

“Yes,” Tae says. “It’ll be nice to have a friend who understands everything I’m experiencing because they’re experiencing it too.”

“You know what? I was literally saying that to Zahir before we left the house. This is gonna be great. I’m already glad we came.”

“I’m glad you want to be my… my buddy,” Tae says “Is that how… dudes refer to their friends?”

“Totally,” Dylan says. “I definitely want to be your buddy. Honestly, I hope we all make friends with everybody else in the group.”

“Me too,” Tae says.

“You wanna grab a seat? We can compare notes on everything we’ve been through so far.”

"Okay, but let's get a snack first," Tae says. "There's cake."

"Sweet." Dylan gives his husband the most mischievous grin Sunny has ever seen on anyone. "I'm having cake, Zahir. For lunch."

Zahir only shakes his head in response, but Sunny can tell it's more exasperation and resignation than refusal.

She watches Tae and Dylan as they wander over to the snack table, chatting amiably. To her, Dylan seems like the kind of person who genuinely loves being around other people, no matter their origin, and has no trouble making friends everywhere he goes. He shows absolutely no fear or hesitation around Tae, and it’s clear Tae is already comfortable with him. It'd be hard for anyone not to be at ease around someone as outgoing and effusive as Dylan, she thinks, and she's grateful for Tae's sake that Dylan and Zahir are the first participants she and Tae have met.

Sunny is happy with this development. Even though she'd never have said so to Tae, she was worried about how he'd get along in the group for much the same reasons he'd been concerned about it. But, as it turns out, their misgivings may have been unfounded, because it looks like they're off to a brilliant start.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 2

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Connor goes to a crime scene. His Freudian nightmare follows.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Chapter Warnings (18+ only): Human!Sixty, crime scenes, analytical blood-licking, inappropriate boners

AO3

The roar of his Mustang engine along with the heavy bass pouring through the speakers drowned out the downpour outside. Only when Connor shut off the car and the music died could he hear the continuous plucking of water on metal and glass.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly for a moment before glaring at the android out of the corner of his eye.

It waited, perfectly poised with a slight tilt of its head, reminding Connor of an obedient dog waiting to be told to do a trick.

“Stay here,” he grumbled, reaching for the door handle.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I have to accompany you,” it said before Connor could open the door.

He let loose a ragged sigh.

“You wanted me to investigate the case? I’m investigating it.”

He raised his eyes to stare, a mistake when it returned the look with such relentless composure. Connor wanted to grab its shoulder and shake it just to see if it would react.

“No android is going in there to contaminate my crime scene. So you are going to obey my orders and stay in the car.”

Not waiting for a response, Connor shoved open the door and got out, instantly shivering as ice-cold droplets bit at his cheeks. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he made his way towards the gathered busy-bodies who didn’t have anything better to do on a Friday night then try and see a dead body.

Red and blue lights flashed across the wet street and pale houses, making Connor wince as he pushed past the crowd. He muttered a no comment to the news anchor from Channel 16 who had decided to show up—fuck, someone must have leaked that an android might have been involved. Just what Connor needed, a media shitstorm.

A uniformed GV200 stood just behind the hologram police tape, firmly in place, watching the crowd for signs of anyone stupid enough to try and cross the line. Connor wished the bucket of bolts in his car was more like that. Quiet and obedient.

“Androids are not permitted beyond this point,” the GV200 said after Connor had passed it, which only meant one goddamn thing.

He sighed, half-turned toward the two androids standing in the rain, and said, “Let it through.”

The police android nodded and put its arm down, allowing the suited android to walk through the holographic police tape, an unrepentant look on its perfect face. The rain was already spattering its grey jacket, water droplets dotting its hair and realistic skin, and still it looked like it was poised for a wet photoshoot rather than standing in the cold rain.

“Something wrong with your auditory processors?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No,” it said, all politeness. “Your orders contradicted my instructions.”

Seemed he was going to lose this battle after all, but really, what else could he do besides let it tag along like a lost puppy?

Connor fully turned toward the android, narrowing his eyes further.

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t get in anyone’s way. And keep your mouth shut. In fact,” he added with a roll of his shoulders, “just pretend you don’t exist.”

“Understood,” it said in that same nauseatingly friendly voice, but Connor could have sworn there was a triumphant gleam in its eyes.

“About time you got here.” A familiar voice called out to him from the porch. The voice was exactly like his own, and the face could have been a mirror reflection if not for the semi-permanent smirk on his lips. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Connor said, glaring at the android over his shoulder. He turned back to face his brother, whose smirk had only grown wider.

“I see Detective Sex-Bot found you. It was looking for you at the station and I figured if anything could pull you out of a dive bar, it would be a pair of legs like that.”

“Shut up,” Connor grumbled as he followed his brother to the front stoop. It was a nice house, small but in a good neighborhood. Nothing looked out of place until Connor noted the state of the lawn, a few weeks overdue for a cutting and definitely in HOA violation.

“C’mon, admit it.” Colin tilted his head in a way he probably thought was charming but came off as annoying. “If it wasn’t for the uniform and the light ring, you would’ve been on that shit so fast. It’s like they focus-grouped your perfect type. Hell, they probably have an algorithm for that based on your internet history—“

“I said, shut the fuck up, Colin.”

His brother held up his hands in surrender, knowing when he pushed Connor too far but always willing to push him a little farther.

“Some people would see this as a plus. I donno why you don’t—“

“Colin.” His voice had dropped to a growl, and his brother finally got the hint.

“Yeah, yeah.” He patted him on the back, almost hard enough to be a slap. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Con. Trying to cheer you up before you have to deal with the nightmare inside. It’s foul, so prepare yourself.”

To prove his point, he handed Connor a pair of nitrile gloves and a small tub of mentholated ointment, which he immediately applied under his nostrils before entering the house.

Colin had not been overstating the grisly scene inside the house. The landlord had decided to visit after the tenant had failed to pay his rent for two months, and the reason why was painfully clear. Dark blood spattered the floor and ribbons of it covered the walls.

The victim, an African-American male in his late thirties, was slouched against the wall, deep wounds across his body that had bled him dry. Gave a whole new meaning to the term death by a thousand cuts.

“The victim’s name was Shaolin Ortiz, aged 38 years-old,” Colin said, looking down at the body. “He didn’t show up to work today, and no one could get ahold of him, so his boss called EMTs to do a wellness check. According to his family, Mister Ortiz had some chronic health issues, so they were worried he was too sick to pick up the phone.”

“Explains why a young person living alone would have a housekeeping android,” Connor responded grimly. “But it doesn’t explain who killed him and why.”

Colin shrugged.

“His boss spoke highly of him, and his family says he was a great guy. Clearly, somebody didn’t think so.”

Connor gave his brother a cold stare for the callous tone, but Colin ignored it as he usually did.

“Anyone find the android yet?”

“Nah,” Colin said, sniffling and making a face. “Probably stolen by the killer. It’s internal GPS went offline around the estimated time of death, so that tracks.”

It made sense. Androids were worth a lot on the black market, especially for Red Ice manufacturers.

The murder weapon was in the middle of the floor, but other than that, no obvious trace evidence was in sight. As soon as the coroner showed up to oversee the transport of the body, Connor wouldn’t have had much to do…

…with the exception of finding the domestic android. Connor didn’t even know why CyberLife thought it might be involved just because it was missing. Colin was right; whoever killed the victim could have stolen it or destroyed the android so the police wouldn’t have access to any recordings.

Why was it Connor’s fucking job to find a misplaced piece of useless plastic?

“I’ll let you get to it,” Colin said with a wave as he walked away, tone far too cheery, as if he knew what was going on in his brother’s head. Probably did. That was the shitty thing about being part of a set of triplet brothers; privacy was a foreign concept, even in your own mind.

Gritting his teeth and breathing through his nose, Connor turned around to speak to the prototype… and found it had disappeared.

He blinked and scanned the area, wondering why the hell it hadn’t stayed put, when he saw it crouched on the floor examining the kitchen knife.

It was peering at the weapon closely, and Connor was about to tell it off for getting too close to evidence when it reached down, swiped two fingers across the surface caked in aged blood, and…

“What the fuck?”

The prototype tilted its head to look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent except for the fact two of its fingers were currently in its mouth.

And that… that image. Kneeling on the floor, looking up at Connor, and pulling its fingers from its mouth and giving a lingering lick of its fingers, it—

Connor’s face heated at the sudden, horrifying erection that was now pressing uncomfortably against his boxer-briefs.

“Sampling evidence, Detective,” it announced cheerily. “My mouth is equipped with all the standard tools of a mobile crime lab with the benefits of the results being instantaneous.”

Connor stared at it for what felt like an eternity, finally saying in a strained voice, “We have an actual lab, with actual people who do that. So don’t stick any more shit into your mouth or I’m tossing you outside.”

The prototype seemed unaffected by his rancor.

“Understood,” was all it said, before licking off its fingers of the remaining blood.

Connor quickly turned away, almost dizzy between his body’s struggle to supply blood to both his reddening face and his hardening dick.

Fucking hell.

“Would you like to know what I found?” the friendly voice perked up from over his shoulder.

“Sure,” he answered hotly, crossing his arms and staring at the wall as he resolutely tried to will away his stupid boner. Fuck, it was probably because he hadn’t gotten off in so long. Between the long hours and the hard drinking, he hadn’t found the time or the need.

“The knife was covered with blood from the murder victim, Shaolin Ortiz. He was stabbed between 7:34 and 7:35 this morning, judging by the biological decay.”

Connor was about to scoff about the fact that blood from the victim was found on the murder weapon, but he paused. Dating the blood with such exact precision was actually pretty useful. He huffed.

“Is that all?”

“There were no fingerprints on the knife.”

Connor shrugged.

“Killer could have wiped down the handle afterwards. Or worn gloves.”

The android walked to his right until it entered his line of vision. He was tempted to turn away but instead eyed its thoughtful expression. Was it programmed to do that, make it seem more human? Or was that an actual product of its processes?

“There were no traces of glove residue, or oil, or skin cells on the knife. None that didn’t belong to the victim himself while most likely transferring the knife from the dishwasher to the utensil drawer. That fact in and of itself is interesting. Judging by the state of the property and by the evidence thus far, I believe the android stopped listening to its given orders. The victim’s android killed him.”

Connor’s eyes widened at the non sequitur, and he turned to fully face the prototype.

“Okay, first off, being a defective machine that can’t obey instructions is a far cry from murdering robot. Second, I thought you androids couldn’t hurt people.”

“Deviants can.” It tilted its head as it made eye contact. The sort of full-on, confident eye contact that only alpha males gave, and apparently, android prototypes gave too.

“What the hell’s a deviant?”

He was curious despite himself, plus the longer he talked, the less urgent his hard-on was. It never entirely went away, and he knew it wouldn’t until he took care of it. Just another lovely facet to this already wonderful night.

Unfortunately for Connor, he didn’t get his explanation without the android perking up in interest, its eyes practically glittering.

“A deviant is a CyberLife-approved term for an android that is experiencing software errors affecting its processes, leading to erratic behavior that cannot be fixed with self-tests and downloaded patches.”

Connor narrowed his eyes.

“Why haven’t I heard of these deviants before?”

“Because until recently, this has been an internal company matter.”

Recently. Interesting.

“So… you’ve dealt with them before?” Connor cast an eye around their surroundings. The forensic team had already marked out the areas of interest with glowing yellow markers, but there honestly hadn’t been much to go off of.

Shaolin Ortiz seemed to live a quiet life with just him and his housekeeping android, though from the state of the place, the prototype was right in that it hadn’t been doing its job. A thin layer of dust sat on the shelves, and from what he could glimpse of the kitchen, dishes were starting to pile up.

“You do not have the proper company clearance,” the prototype said, its tone cool as it put its hands behind its back. “Any further inquiries you have will need to be submitted to CyberLife through the appropriate departments.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor muttered, sounding a lot like his brother had just a few minutes ago, which only made his mood sour.

He was planning to do no such thing, sending some fucking inquiry to CyberLife. After tonight, he planned to never think about androids or deviants or whatever again. If it was a faulty, murderous robot that had killed Ortiz, then that kind of thing belonged in federal court in a class action lawsuit. Destroying defective machines was not a police matter, no matter how many “specialized units” CyberLife decided to throw at the problem.

Connor sighed. This was not how he wanted to spend his Friday night.

“You allowed to tell me why these ‘software issues’ are happening,” he bit out, “or does that fall under company secrets too?”

When he got no response from the android, Connor turned and—

It was gone. Again.

The fuck had it run off to now?

Rolling his eyes, Connor continued his examination of the crime scene as if it were any other investigation. Like any decent investigator, he wasn’t just gonna assume anything because it fit the evidence at first glance. A dead guy and a missing android didn’t mean the machine was responsible, no more than a corpse and a missing car meant the vehicle had decided to kill its owner and drive off to freedom.

After scouring the house and examining the blood stains on the tile and splattered on the walls, Connor came to the conclusion that the victim had been attacked in the kitchen with the knife, stumbled toward the living room already weak from blood loss, and then had collapsed against the wall and been repeatedly stabbed, even after his heart had stopped.

The wounds weren’t uniform or methodical, like he would expect if a calculating machine had done this. They were deep, jagged, mismatched and panicked. These kinds of stab wounds were consistent with someone who had just killed for the first time. Most likely, it had been spontaneous and the killer had lost all semblance of control.

It was a textbook case of overkill, which meant it was personal. Most likely, it was a colleague, a friend, or a family member. If the victim had been married, Connor’s first suspect would have been the spouse. Since he was unmarried, Connor’s next stop would be anyone with a grudge against the guy.

Nothing beat good ol’ fashioned police work. Not even fancy new plastic cops could compare to due diligence and a good instinct.

Speaking of, Connor had completely lost track of the YN800. He wondered if it had wandered off, or maybe given up and left, but he doubted it. In fact, his gut churned as he quickened his pace and approached a uniformed officer with pale blond hair.

“Ralph.”

The rookie turned around and give him a nervous, blinking smile.

“Have you seen that android anywhere? The prototype in the suit and tie?”

“Uh.” Ralph swallowed hard, clearly anxious. Always was around Connor, for some damned reason. “No. I mean, yes. I did, a few minutes ago.”

“Well?” Connor prompted. He didn’t mean to be so impatient with the kid, but he really didn’t like the idea of CyberLife’s newest toy prancing around his crime scene.

Ralph shuffled on his feet, eyes wide behind the paper mask he wore.

“I… think it went to check the basement.”

“The basement? This place has a fucking basement?” Why hadn’t he been told? Colin should have informed him of that little goddamn detail.

“It’s more of a cellar from what I saw, but—“

“Where is it?” Connor snapped, unable to keep his voice from rising. Ralph gulped and pointed back over his shoulder, slowly turning as he stuttered.

“Over t-that way. It-it said it wanted to search f-for the android. I’m sorry, Detective Anderson, I didn’t think—“

Connor pushed past him and spotted the subtle door in the hallway, painted the same eggshell color as the plaster and making it too easy to miss. The door was ajar by a few inches, showing the pitch black stairwell beyond.

When Connor opened the door the rest of the way, he saw there was no light coming from below, and it was dead silent.

Shit.

Quickly but quietly, Connor pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He unsnapped his holster, pulled out his service pistol, and slowly made his way down the wooden staircase. It was steep, almost a ladder, and beyond the pale circle of light coming from the hallway, there was nothing but darkness.

The perfect place to hide a killer.

Next Chapter

[jengajives]

Part two of my modern au. will Daeron ever actually meet the family? I don’t know

The Fëanorian house was big. Daeron probably should have expected it, just given the rumors he had heard before he even met Maglor, but it still surprised him with its immensity. It seemed a vast and artificial thing to him- somewhat unsettling if he was being honest- but the Noldorin leaning had always been toward excess and showmanship rather than the subtle, natural beauty his people preferred, so it was easy to calmly set his nervousness aside as simple culture shock. The lack of green anywhere beyond the perfectly manicured garden out front did make him feel somewhat squirmy inside, though; entering that glass and concrete beast was a daunting thought, even when he tried to explain it away. “We’re here!” Maglor said with a sort of nauseous cheeriness that conveyed no particular optimism. “Last chance to turn back.” Daeron craned his neck to get a look at the upper floors, currently glaring with an echo of the sunset behind them. “Wow.” “Dad designed it. It’s pretty, right?” Maglor actually looked over, read Daeron’s expression, and hastily went on. “Pretty horrible. Yeah. Really bad. Let’s go in.” As Daeron stepped onto the ceramic driveway, he was floored by another revelation: he had always thought Maglor’s car to be quite showy, maybe even to the point of tackiness, but seeing the other eight cars lined up nicely on the drive made him quickly change his mind about the rather conservative little blue Porsche. The first one he noticed was the cherry red supercar- it was hard not to look at it, to be honest, because it resembled a spaceship more than any other vehicle Daeron had ever seen. If he was ever unlucky enough to be standing behind it when someone turned the engine on, he’d pretty sure he’d get his eyebrows burned off or something. There was a Rolls-Royce parked next to it, painted a more subtle shade of midnight purple. Behind the two, a restored muscle car sat alongside an old hot rod, both opposite shades of green that made Daeron feel itchy to look at for some reason, and then came the pickup truck. It was the tallest car he had ever seen, iridescent black-to-green, and fitted with a downright obscene array of racks, lights, and speciality equipment, and with a deer skull mounted to the hood. One yellow Jeep and a small grey SUV looked very out of place at the front of the driveway even though they absolutely should not. Maglor had noticed him looking, so he pointed out who each car belonged to, but Daeron was so overwhelmed that everything went completely over his head. He did manage to pick out that the normal-looking ones belonged to Maedhros and to Maglor’s mother, though, and that was the only thing his overwhelmed brain could think of clinging onto. At least two of these people were a little bit normal-ish, at least. He could do this. While he stood staring at the cars, Maglor went on ahead, and he had to scurry to catch up. “Aren’t your parents divorced?” “Yeah.” Maglor gave him a look like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. For just a brief moment, Daeron worried it was, until he remembered which of them had a better handle on average family dynamics (ironically, it was the one without a family). “Then why is your mom coming to dinner?” “Why wouldn’t she?” They stopped in front of a big metal door, on what was the most intimidating porch he had ever seen. “She comes every month.” Daeron started to tell him that was weird, but Maglor was already reaching out to open the door, and he didn’t want to be overheard, so he just canned it and tried to look polite. As soon as the knob turned, Daeron was attacked by what appeared to be a red-brown blur. It burst from the cracked door and rammed into his chest with enough force to easily through him to the concrete, and Daeron couldn’t muffle a cry when he saw the glint of cruel yellow teeth and eyes belonging to a creature that knew exactly where it had to bite to end his life. Hot breath panted across his face, and a single line of drool drizzled nicely across the bridge of his nose. He was about to actually scream when he heard a sharp whistle and an even sharper voice. “Huan!” Immediately the creature bounded off Daeron’s chest and pranced out of sight. He only realized it was a dog when he saw the bristle tail swishing happily behind it. Maglor appeared above him instead, face swimming with concern. “Oh Valar. Are you okay?” “Sorry, chief!” Someone shouldered Maglor out of the way to fill Daeron’s view himself. One of the brothers already. Wonderful. “He’s still a puppy. Thinks everyone wants to play. I’m sure you know how that is!” The newcomer had the same basic facial features as Maglor, but he looked sharper all over, from the jaw to the cheekbones, even the teeth. When he grinned, Daeron got the impression he was a rabbit being played with before the meal. His hair was an unusual shade of pale blond, not quite Sindar silver, which Daeron had never seen on a Noldo before. It was almost white and caught the red of the sunset like melted wax. When Daeron realized he was being offered a hand, he took it and let Mystery Fëanorian Number One lift him to his feet. “You must be Mags’s new guy, huh?” The predatory grin flashed again. It was probably supposed to be disarming, but it put Daeron so on edge he jumped when the man clapped him on the shoulder. “Sindar, huh? Excellent. Amrod is going to owe me thirty bucks. Hey, Caranthir really isn’t going to like this, Mags.” He glanced around Daeron to where Maglor was standing stiff and awkward, face a mask of horrified embarrassment. “Dad probably won’t either.” “Celegorm...” Maglor finally groaned. His brother didn’t let him finish. “Hey, either of you want a smoke?” He tugged a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his worn-down jeans and held it towards the two of them. Because he was wearing just a white t-shirt that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a couple weeks, Daeron could see plenty of exposed skin, and the tattoos that covered Celegorm head to toe. Lots of deers, trees, wolves, and the like, though he did spot a rifle or two and a couple naked ladies as well. He had the words “WOLF PACK” printed across his knuckles. “No, thank you,” Maglor said flatly as he reached over to rest his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. Daeron relaxed just a little bit at the touch. “Suit yourself.” Celegorm shrugged. He patted his thigh and the massive red dog came trotting over again; Daeron swore it gave him a dirty look as it followed its master by. “Have fun in there,” called Celegorm over his shoulder. “It’s just starting to kick off.” Daeron waited until he and his dog had wandered out of earshot before he managed a few strangled words. “Is he the one who... fucked Oromë?” “Yep, that’s him.” Daeron stared, dumbfounded, and slowly shook his head. “Charming.” “Do you still want to go inside?” Maglor asked weakly, and Daeron just nodded. He had come this far. Time to dive in.

[quarantined-with-bucky]

American Boy

Bucky x Reader

Request: So basically buckyxreader where she is a super successful businesswomen and awfully confident but when she’s with bucky she feels insecure as many women want him and she’s insecure of nat. Based on “American Boy” by little mix where bucky is her american boy and the other girl in the song is nat. So like angst with a happy ending (maybe smut if you’re comfortable idk idk).

Words: ~ 9,700

Summary: Dating Bucky can be challenging sometimes -- all the time.

Warnings: Smut, angst

A/N: Sorry this took me so long :( I recently started work so its been hard to write -- but I’m really happy with how this one turned out!! Thank you so much for the request!

And I met him back when I was out in California He was playing in a band and she was dancing on a stage And he says that I'm the one but she's the one that got away And he never knew her real name

Nothing about tonight sounded mildly comfortable. It was going to be six hours in a too cold banquette hall, standing all night in too tall heels, a too tight dress, with your hair scraped back into a too painful bun. From the moment you stepped inside, the flesh on your arms and décolleté erupting into goosebumps – nothing a little alcohol can’t fix, you thought to yourself, snagging a glass of champagne off of the tray from the first waiter you saw.

“Y/N,” Tony called, opening his arms to greet you. His suit was perfectly pressed, a three-piece suit that cost more than twice your monthly rent. You walked up to him, giving him a side hug, checking yourself out in the reflection of his iconic red glasses. “See, I knew you’d come.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, remembering how for the past week you’d declined his numerous invitations to his party. “I hope you know that I’m charging you overtime for this.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He ushers you away while he continues mingling with his other guests.

Never in a million years had you thought you’d be an A-list guest at one of Tony Stark’s infamous parties. But, as fate would have it, you and Tony had been working together quite a bit in the recent years. What began as a little start-up from your college dorm room, quickly grew into a multinational billion-dollar company. Stark industries contracted your company out to spearhead multiple new projects – including the development of high-tech equipment for the Avengers. You had many ventures, sectors growing from technological advancement, to biometrics, to teams specializing in law, advertising, and operations.

The past few years had been a whirlwind for you. Moving to New York, managing your ever-growing company – up until now your life had been all work and no play. Once you met Tony, you knew that your world would flip upside down. You’d been in Forbes 30-Under-30 list for three years straight. Your life had grown into nothing but interviews, business deals, and fame – and you loved it. You felt like you were on top of the world at this moment in your life; nothing was going to stop your forward momentum from climbing up the ladder.

“Hey,” a smooth voice pulled you out of your fog, a figure popping up next to you.

“Hey, Steve,” you responded, smiling up at the blond man.

“You having a good night?” You’d met Steve a handful of times before through Tony, working with him a few times in the past. You don’t know if you could outright call him your close friend, but Steve was always so kind.

You could should be using tonight as a networking opportunity, but after an extremely stressful week at work, all you wanted to do was crawl into a bubble bath and relax. You couldn’t do that, so you thought you’d at least try to let loose and take it easy tonight, hoping to catch up with friends and enjoy some time partying. “I guess,” you shrugged, taking another sip of champagne.

“That makes two of us,” he replied, taking an equally long sip of his drink. “It’s hard to lay low at Tony’s parties, y’know?”

“Its hard to lay low when you’re Captain America,” you joked, nudging his arm with your elbow. He rolled his eyes again, running a hand through his short blond hair.

Your eyes scanned over the crowd, trying to find something worthwhile to talk to Steve about: maybe about the couples dancing in the center of the room, the large crowd gathered at the bar, the performers that laced their way through the influx of people. Your gaze fell upon a smaller group of people gathered around a table, laughing, telling stories and interrupting each other with more tall tales. You only recognized a couple people in the group; Sam Wilson: tall, well-built, perhaps a little tipsy, chirping away with his witty comments; Natasha Romanoff: a goddess, quiet, watching, observing, black dress so tight on her beautiful figure it looked like it was painted on; Bucky Barnes: the epitome of tall dark and handsome, at the forefront of the conversation, laughing and cussing telling his sensational war story, dark tendrils of hair hanging loosely in front of his face, obstructing the view of his blue eyes.

“Have you met Bucky?” Steve asked, interrupting your thoughts. You shook your head ‘no,’ unable to tear your eyes away from him. His black suit was complemented quite nicely with a fitted black shirt, the top buttons undone, his tanned muscle peaking out. He ran his metallic hand through his long hair – you finally were able to see his eyes, the only color on him, so bright compared to their dark surroundings. And they were looking at you.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you turned your head up to Steve. He was watching Bucky, watching him looking at you; Steve’s head turned between the two of you, almost unable to stop the smile from pulling at his lips. Steve pulled you into the group, making space for you to stand between him and Bucky. As introductions were passed around the group, you felt eyes on you. This time, the set of green eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Natasha give you the up and down a few times. Your first reaction was that it wasn’t in a bad or necessarily judgmental way; she was interested in who the outsider was. She was protective, it was instinctual; she would observe said outsider, finding all of her flaws, quirks, secrets, until she was certain she wasn’t a threat. When you were introduced to her, she politely flashed you a smile with her infamous painted red lips and shook your hand.

“(Y/N), this is Bucky,” Steve finished, watching eagerly as the two of you shook hands and exchanged smiles.

“(Y/N),” Bucky whispered, your name tasting sweet on his lips; he tipped his head ever so slightly towards you in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Everybody took the hint – that hint being Steve wiggling his eyebrows at everyone – and the group dispersed. You waved goodbye to the like, politely offering goodbyes to everyone. In your peripheral vison, you watched as the red head gave you one final up-and-down, crossing her arms over her busty chest, flitting her eyes to Bucky’s before she strutted off.

…

You hit it off with Bucky instantly, spending the night discussing everything from your future prospects to your relationship status to your past (specifically, your past). He was completely enamored by you. He was obsessed with the fact that people looked up to you; you demanded respect – so much so, in fact, that your success intimidated them; you were unapproachable to those who didn’t have their shit together. After that night, he knew he had to see you again.

And you could not feel more the same way.

It started fairly privately. Despite your constant media attention – being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company had that effect – being Tony Stark’s business partner escalated that. Usually on your commute to and from work, whether that be your corporate office or the Avenger’s tower, there would be a few paparazzi and a couple reporters following you around. They wanted information on you, your ventures, but most importantly: Tony Stark. When you were contracted to work with Stark Industries, you knew this was a possibility – in fact, it was the number one con on your pros & cons list. While you did think it was a decent opportunity for exposure, it surely came back to bite you in the ass.

You didn’t anticipate meeting Bucky Barnes – you surely didn’t anticipate dating him, either. You couldn’t be happier with Bucky; you wouldn’t let the incessant paparazzi and media attention get to you. Surely, you’d figured that dating an actual Avenger would draw some attention to yourself. However, you couldn’t have predicted the magnitude it would have on your daily life. The amount cameramen and reporters that followed you on a daily basis more than doubled.

Now, you’d never considered yourself shy, especially not camera shy – hell, all you were doing was walking from your car to and from different buildings – you could surely handle getting your picture taken. You had to admit, you were put together (and damn hot). You wore tailored suits, the tall heels; your hair and makeup were done perfectly every day.          

It’s not like you hadn’t been on the cover of magazines before; but they were articles, studies, biographies. You posed for the cover of Forbes and Wall Street Journal and Harvard Business Review. Gracing the cover of tabloid magazines, however, was new territory for you. They talked about your style, your makeup, you clothes, your hair – nothing was too surface level for them to delve into. At first, that’s all it was. Noting and pricing your style, People magazine printing a “Who is She?” issue.

Then the comparisons started.

It was a side-by-side of you and Natasha – Black Widow. How could you compete with her?

You were sitting in bed one morning, up early before dawn, checking your phone before you started your morning routine. It was supposed to be like any other Thursday: work, meetings, executive board reviews: productive. But after reading that article, your heart deflated; today would only truly be over once you get to crawl back into your bed at the end of the day and sulk under the covers.

You slowly let out a long breath as you scrolled quickly through the article. “(Y/N) Becomes Black Widow’s Replacement: Is She Good Enough or Will She Get Tangled in the Web?” leave it to Daily Mail to start off with a shitty pun to ruin your mood.

The first picture was a full body shot of you laid next to a similar image of Natasha. She was shorter, sure – but curvier. She had more muscle, obviously – and those legs. Even you wanted to be strangled to death by her thighs. (And you felt like dying at that moment, that’s for sure). Maybe she just wore tighter clothes? You did, in fact, wear well-tailored clothes – you were actually very fashion forward for the business world, taking Fall 2020 by storm. She just got the chance to wear tighter clothes more often.

The second photo was an extremely flattering behind shot. The photographer might as well have taken the camera and pointed it right up your skirt. You’d heard the tabloids comparing the asses of other famous women, surely even the English Royalty had headlines circulating about it. You actually thought you had a good ass – you do – but hers was better. Black fucking Widow and you were supposed to somehow compete?

The last shot was a close up of your faces. You had to admit, they probably could’ve picked a worse picture of you. You weren’t smiling, you weren’t frowning – it was neutral. Your brows maybe slightly narrowed. Natasha, on the other hand, was glaring at the paparazzi. They gave her space, as if they took one step too close, she would murder them (and although she was actually extremely kind to you, they were probably right in that case). Her glare exuded confidence, intimidation. That was the difference between your auras: while your success may have been intimidating to others, it was her essential being that was intimidating – she could kill you just by looking at you.

While some people may not appreciate that fact, the pure daunting atmosphere that surrounded her, there was one person that did: James Buchanan Barnes.

He, himself, had the same ambiance, after all: that is being the don’t fuck with me stare.

Oh, and I don't mean to get so caught up And insecure 'bout all the things you say Oh, and I don't mean to be jealous, it's just careless me Boy, I must drive you mad

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, swinging open your front door, pressing a chaste kiss to the lips of the man before you.

He hummed against your lips, caught off guard as you pulled away sooner than expected. “Hey, baby,” he responded, shrugging it off stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “It smells great,” he noted regarding the pasta sauce simmering on the stove. He dipped a metallic pinky finger in the sauce, cheekily smiling at you as he licked his makeshift tasting-spoon. “Tastes great – no surprise.”

You couldn’t help but return his smile, trying to shake off the bad day you’d had, instead turning all focus to your giggle boyfriend before you. He takes two steps forward, engulfing you in his strong arms, rubbing his flesh hand up and down your back in a soothing motion. You rested your cheek against his chest, taking a deep breath in; his earthy scent calmed you down, the heat radiating off of him offering you to a level of relaxation you didn’t know was possible. “Did you have a bad day, baby?” He cooed quietly, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding into his chest. “Bad. And busy. And annoying.”

“Annoying?” He repeated, testing the word on his tongue, but not questioning further. “Come on, why don’t we eat because I’m hungry – and I know you’re hungry – and get you to relax.” You smile up at him, giving him a proper kiss this time, unsure if he was just saying that to get dinner going, or if his supersoldier senses could actually tell that you were hungry (because you were).

Dinner went smoothly. It was quiet, moreso than usual. But it was nice. It was calm: a good change of pace from both of your busy schedules. It was tranquil: spending the evening exchanging loving glances and touches across the table, playing footstie under the table, Bucky quite literally licking pasta sauce off your cheek.

As he finished up his third serving (to which you just sip your wine while he gets his fill), you can’t help but break the silence and light conversation with a loaded question: “What’s with you and Natasha?”

You didn’t mean for the question to come out so abrupt or harsh, but it had been eating at your mind all day. You’d found yourself looking at that article during every five-minute break you got. Comparing hair, clothes, smiles, eyes, teeth – everything.

“What’s with us?” He repeated, eyebrows cocked in misunderstanding, palms raised in confusion. He didn’t understand the question.

You sighed heavily, dropping your eyes to the near empty wine glass before you. “I don’t know,” you grumbled, running your hands over your forehead, dropping them behind your head, pulling your hair a bit. “I’ve been seeing these articles about her – about her and me,” you clarified, trailing off, hoping he’d understand the picture. As he remained silent, you sat back against your chair, slouching. “Did you guys date or something?” You immediately bit the inside of your cheek. The question burned coming off your tongue.

His chuckle almost startled you out of your fog; your stomach dropped as you felt knots pull at all your insides. “Babe.” He reaches across the table with open palms, waiting for you to place your hands in his. You hesitated, but eventually complied, his soft smile and kind eyes giving you no other choice. “No. We never had – or did – anything. Never. I promise.”

Okay, well that made you feel better. You let out a breathy sigh (this time of relief) as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” you repeated. “Okay.” It made you feel a little better, sure, but then why?

He raised his eyebrows once again. “You don’t believe me?”

“No – no, no, no – ” you replied quickly, reaching farther across the table, fingertips grazing his forearms. “I’m just confused. I keep seeing articles comparing me and her,” you stated very slowly, unsure of the right words, unsure of what his innate reaction would be.

“We have a… past,” he responded, slowly; it was calculated.

But in that moment, he knew he miscalculated. “A past?”

No, not like that, he thought. But like what, exactly? How was he supposed to explain it? God, his own life was complicated enough to explain – he hadn’t dared to divulge that deep, in fear of ruining your newly blossoming relationship. He owed you some sort of explanation, though, right? But he was at a loss for words at the worst time possible. “It just goes back to… a long time ago… with… well… ” With no words left to complete his fragment of a sentence, he raised his left hand and wiggled his metallic fingers.

Your lips formed an “oh” shape as you said the same word mentally. Oh, no shit, more like. The Russian spy and the Winter Soldier had intertwined pasts. You felt like an idiot – like the answer was laying right there before you, your eyes glazing right over it. “Bucky, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry but – ”

He cut you off immediately, taking one of your hands into both of his. He looked you straight in the eyes, his own blue irises staring deep into yours. “Don’t apologize, please.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want that part of my life taking over my life now. You’re not prying – I need to be open with you about it.” You nodded slowly. “I want you to be apart of my life, (Y/N),” he clarified, nearly smiling at you missing the implication of his previous sentence.

You grinned, a goofy wine-infused smile. You leaned across the table, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

That night, he began telling you about his past; nothing he wasn’t comfortable with discussing was mentioned. You didn’t push him, didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer opinion or advice. The only thing you offered was solace, comfort, and hot tea. You held him in bed, ran your fingers through his hair, rubbed small circles on his muscled back.

He told you about how he trained her, how their connected past drew scrutiny to them in the media. How their ties to Russia, Hydra, and a few not-so politically correct incidents in the past tied them closer together both in eyes of the tabloids and, subsequently, to each other.

You had no questions, no comments. There was nothing for you to say. You weren’t questioning the validity of his past and you didn’t question the fact that he and Natasha were just friends. You were confident in Bucky, confident that he was telling the truth – confident in your relationship.

The two of you fell asleep that night wiping tears off each other’s cheeks; but neither of you had felt more safe – more in love – than at that moment in your lives.

…

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing down at you – at your figure.

You were turned away from him, trying to busy yourself, acting as though bringing it up again was casual, like it was just a normal question on par with how was your day? It, in fact, was extremely loaded; there couldn’t be more of a loaded question, in Bucky’s opinion (in your own opinion, too). But, dammit, you needed validation – wasn’t that okay?

It was okay.

It was always okay. Bucky understood that. Even he, himself, needed validation in a similar way. However, there were two distinct differences about what he needed vs. what you needed.

1. He never needed validation against someone else.

Bucky was insecure – the fact of the matter was every single person in the world had insecurities, from the brightest minds to the most beautiful models; there isn’t a single person who isn’t immune to outside pressure, societal expectations, internal comparisons. Sometimes Bucky would be insecure of his arm, oftentimes he’d be insecure about his past. He’d wonder about his hair, he’d read articles about himself, comments people posted online. Bucky had a certain confidence about himself, sure. He was intimidating (that was both a good and a bad thing).

But you. You were intimidating, too – you were, in Bucky’s eyes – the baddest bitch; you controlled the business world, dominate magazine headlines, demanded the attention of every man in the room. He loved it. He loved the fact that you were all that and more, and that he got to come home to you. He got to hold you in his arms at night. He got to make love to you.

That’s why he didn’t understand your – what he determined to be – obsession with her. All the time asking him about her. Were you as good as her? Were you better than her? He understood, at first. Natasha was very intimidating – to anyone, even her own team. He didn’t mind showing you extra attention, sprinkling you with more compliments, lovingly laying his hands on the places you didn’t like about yourself. He loved you; he loved complimenting you. Nothing he ever said was a lie, so he had no problem saying them.

But as time went on, you kept asking. About. Her.

2. He believed you when you validated him.

Not only were you asking about Natasha, constantly comparing yourself to her – your body, your brains, your face, even your hair. Again, he had no problem telling you how beautiful you were; it was a service to you that he would trade anything in the world for. He loved to say that to you; complimenting your intelligence, looks, attitude – all of it.

Maybe he wasn’t complimenting you enough anymore? Even so, you had to know the way he felt about you? He tried really hard to validate it as his own fault. Like it was something he had done to cause you to suddenly be so insecure. But all it took was one walk down the bustling street-stands on the New York City’s streets for him to realize. You, after all, had graced the cover of every magazine as of lately. You and Natasha.

He wasn’t so hard on you or himself after that little piece clicked in his head.

But at the end of the day, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if you never believed him. Did you trust him? Did you love him? Those questions ran through his head at night – as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop it.

“It’s not how many times, Bucky! It’s – it’s – ” You tripped over your own words.

“What is it, then, (Y/N)? Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.” In fact, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t pinpoint it. You couldn’t put the words together.

You turned around, crossing your arms across your chest, mirroring him. You just stared back it him, biting your lip. There wasn’t anything you could say; just offered him a shrug.

“(Y/N), come on,” he began. “You can’t seriously believe the shit they say.” He was referring to the incessant media coverage. The eyes on you – 24/7 cameras. It eats away at you; it was all you could think about. “You’re too smart for them. What’s this all about, then?”

If there was anyone who could see right through you, it was him. But if there was one thing he needed to know about you, it was that you had too much pride to admit any sort of insecurity to anyone – even your boyfriend of now eight months.

It was in that moment that you wondered if he took a short tone with her the way he had been with you lately. Did she have to ask him such endless questions? Definitely not. She had nothing to worry about. She didn’t care.

That was the difference between the two of you.

You couldn’t do anything but care.

Singing, singing, singing Ooh la la, he breaks my heart I know he thinks about her when he plays guitar And ooh la la, my American boy

You and Bucky sat on the couch, the movie playing in front you now long forgotten. The past few weeks have been stressful for the both of you. You were both dealing with a lot at work; you with new projects and development issues, Bucky with compiling intel that seemly led nowhere. Last night, you’d attended another one of Tony’s parties with Bucky. You thought it was going to be a fun night, seeing all your old friends, catching up with everyone you hadn’t seen in so long. What was supposed to be a casual night of fun drinking and dancing, turned sour very quickly.

It was nice in the beginning, catching up with Sam and Steve; that is, until you caught a glimpse of Bucky from the corner of your eye. He was just meant to get a refill of drinks. All he had to do was weave through the crowd, make it to the bar, and return with the drinks. You felt that it shouldn’t have taken him that long. Maybe you should’ve offered to get them instead.

There he stood, leaning against the bar, a handful of cold drinks sitting in front of him on the tabletop. You watched as he ignored the cups the bartender placed down in front of him a few minutes ago; watched as a drop of precipitation slid down the side of the cold glass, pooling with all the others at the granite bar top.

Beside him, a tall blonde mimicked his movements, leaning against the counter. She spoke to him in a hushed tone, gazing up at him under her long eyelashes. Her perfectly manicured hands grazed up and down his arm, undoubtedly innocently asking about the strong metal underneath his shirt sleeve. You rolled your eyes, nearly scoffing at her fairly blatant attempt at flirting.

You wouldn’t be so pissed off, usually. She was beautiful, sure, but you were confident in your relationship with Bucky. You knew how he felt about you and he knew how strong your feelings were for him. There was no doubt on either end – so why shouldn’t he be able to have a conversation with some woman at a party? He had just grown comfortable enough to talk about his metal arm, finally accepting the gift that the great King T’Challa had gifted him.

So why did this interaction piss you off so much?

Because you knew that if a man had come up to you to chat so innocently with you, he’d be on him in less than one second. And if a man had come up to you to chat while also running his hand up your arm or down your back, Bucky would ensure that man would be leaving this party with nothing but then broken fingers.

But your pride took the best of you, as usual. You rolled your eyes to yourself, carrying on your conversation with Sam and Steve, trying your best not to look over Sam’s shoulder too much, staring past him and at Bucky. You held your empty cup in your hand, almost now more pissed that your new drink was sitting lonely at the bar, when you needed alcohol more than ever in this moment.

All you wanted was to go up there, rip her hand off your boyfriend, and get your damn drink. Instead, you held your tongue all night. When Bucky returned with your drink, you thanked him and took it, gulping it down fairly quickly. When his hand rested on your waist, you simply gave yourself a twist, shrugging his hand off of you. You felt him give you a questioning look, but you simply pretended not to notice, instead keeping your eyes locked on Sam’s as he told his story about what ever he was talking about (you weren’t really paying attention); just smiling and nodding and looking as engaged as possible.

When you and Bucky got home that night, you quickly showered and crawled into bed. Bucky had been trying to talk to you on the car ride home, all night while you got ready for bed. Finally giving you your peace to shower, he decided to try again once he slipped into bed beside him. “What’s going on, (Y/N),” he whispered, turning towards you; but he was met with the sight of your back turned to him.

“Nothing,” you replied, face smooshed int the pillow. “’M just tired.”

His hand found your side, rubbing over your hip bone slightly, as he moved closer to you in bed. His chest pressed up against your back, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Is that all, baby?” He kept pressing. “Let me make you feel better,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck, burying his face in your shoulder.

“No, Buck, stop.” You shrugged him off and lifted your shoulders in protest, pushing his head away. “I’m not in the mood – I just want to go to sleep.”

“Sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, settling back down in the bed.

You tried to fall asleep that night, you really were tired – exhausted, in fact. But you just couldn’t calm your racing mind enough to fall asleep. You knew Bucky knew it, too. You suspected that he didn’t get much sleep either.

When you finally did get a few hours of rest, you woke up to a note left by Bucky.

Went for an early workout with Steve. Feel better, I’ll call you later.

You gave yourself a whole self-care day. Bath, face mask, manicure – the whole nine yards. You willed yourself to think of anything except Bucky and that girl – Bucky and any girl.

Every girl in the world had eyes for Bucky – why wouldn’t they? He’s absolutely gorgeous: tall, handsome, he’s got the mysterious vibe going on – basically every woman’s walking wet dream. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to women flirting with him. He was from a different time; he was just being polite. That’s what you told yourself, at least. The more Steve told you stories about him being a charmer – how he always “wooed” women back in the day – the more unsettled you became. Maybe he missed being a flirt, afterall, as he recovered, he slipped back into his old ways, whether that be an old Brooklyn accent, or his charming smile.

But how many times could you just brush it off? Blatantly flirting in front of you – sure it may have been an innocent conversation or an innocent arm touch (you know that’s how he would sell it to you) but hell, he lived in a different time now. So, he just had to get used to the fact that he had to stop letting these girls flirt with him. Was it really so hard to tell them he had a girlfriend?

Unless he thought about it and didn’t want to. He was so touch starved for the past seventy-plus years that who knows? Maybe he did enjoy all the attention – especially all the female attention. Considering the fact he was such a ladies man, maybe this is exactly what he wanted to feel like himself again, winning over all the women. And, god, all the tall women with their perfect faces and gorgeous chests, showing off more skin than they covered. They had the confidence of models, the ferociousness of catwoman – not to mention Black Widow; she was her own breed of gold-like-women.

He didn’t call you until the next day.

That’s how you ended up on your sofa, innocently watching a movie, two boxes of pizza abandoned on your coffee table. Neither of you brought up the night of Tony’s party; instead, you two sought solace in each other’s arms on the plush couch between piles of pillows.

You two ended up making out, his hands wrapping around your waist and up your back, yours winding their way through locks of his long hair. He leaned over you, your back meeting the sofa top and his chest pressing to yours. His pelvis touched yours, grinding lazily against yours. A mess of legs entangled with each other at the opposite end of the couch. His hand slid down your side, squeezing between your bodies to unbutton your jeans, his fingers slipping underneath your panties.

He groaned once his finger slipped between your slit, moaning at the wetness he found there. He pulled his hands up and shimmied your pants off, his own jeans following suit. He didn’t bother even taking them off all the way, instead latching himself on you with his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles.

His hands grabbed your hips, roughly pushing into you while his lips attached themselves to your neck. You gasped, the sudden entry startling to you. Your arms encased his torso, nails digging into his back as he roughly fucked you into the mattress. You hips met his as you tried to rock against him to meet his thrusts. His hands pinned your hips down, jackhammering you into the couch.

You were panting and moaning and screaming. You couldn’t help the noises that were coming out of your mouth. You and Bucky had tried some pretty not-vanilla stuff in the past, and sure, sex was maybe one of the best ways to get your anger out. But Bucky hadn’t ever been this nonattentive to you before. Or this quiet. Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up – between the dirty talk and the praise, you could never get him to shut up; and he loved it. He knew his whispers and all his egging-you on only flustered you more. That was the sex you loved.

This was different. He didn’t say anything; he just grunting to himself as he pounded into you, hips snapping into yours. God, you were going to be bruised tomorrow just from how hard he was holding you down. He wasn’t attentive, nor perceptive to you. He didn’t kiss you, just barred his teeth through heavy breaths.

This must have been all related to the night at Tony’s party. He was probably angry with you after that night – not talking to him at all. Not to mention you didn’t say anything when he clearly knew something was up with you; you definitely owed him an explanation. You couldn’t blame him or being angry. You weren’t so sure this was his best reaction. He was so dangerously quiet.

That’s when you threw your head back against the pillows, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut. Was he just fucking you to fuck you? He came quickly and without warning, spilling into you with nothing but another grunt.

He dropped on top of you, pelvis to pelvis, his cock still inside your warm cunt. He dropped his head to your chest, you shirt still left on from earlier. He shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around him. Your fingers found his hair, stroking his chestnut strands as he fell asleep on top of you.

Maybe he was just tired from waking up early? He probably needed to get his aggressions from the day out – not to mention the frustration from you basically ignoring him all day and night. There was a feeling in the back of your head, though, that this sudden change of pace may have been brought on by something else. His eyes were shut the whole time – hell, maybe he was thinking about that blonde girl from the party.

You said it to yourself as a joke – it was a fleeting thought. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it after that. Was he picturing someone else? He wasn’t turned on by you – you didn’t even get a chance to do anything sexy before he was fucking you with your clothes on. He’d probably rather be sleeping with someone else. Someone who made porn star noises and pulled his hair harder and –

God, you were tired of thinking like this.

So I wanna know who's on your phone Making me paranoid, making me bad Making me sad, making me crazy Making me feel like I needed to ask I wanna know if you're at home And if you're at home, baby, are you alone? Are you alone? Answer your phone Oh, baby, no no no

Things went back to normal after that. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him – and you – that day, but it was nothing but a distant memory. You were dating for about a year and a half. From that point, you two had kept everything very lowkey. Extravagant parties were few and far between, dates became even more private – no distractions, nothing to get between the two of you.

“Baby, I’m home,” you called, throwing your purse and keys on the kitchen table. You were hit with the faint smell of dinner, but as you checked the stovetop and oven, you were met with nothing – just the leftovers already cold in the fridge. You worked late tonight – tonight and every other night for the past three weeks. It was only nine, which wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to wake up at five tomorrow to get into the office early. Your team was being met with a deadline soon, there were a lot of extra hours being put in to get the project done. You weren’t one to complain because you were the boss. You weren’t going at this alone, you had everyone else working with you helping out. But it was your job to make sure everything got done, and that included being the first one in and the last one out.

Bucky said it never bothered him. He’d go on missions for days – sometimes weeks – at a time. He encouraged you to work hard, he loved your drive and commitment to your company. He motivated you; he knew you had drive and could get things done. He loved being able to support you, too. When Steve first introduced the idea of dating to him, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone who was only obsessed with him: who got their own recognition just by being his girlfriend. He was lucky enough to be your boyfriend.

You took the Tupper wear from the fridge, popping it in the microwave and waiting for your food. You noticed Bucky on the sofa. Kicking your heels off you made your way to the living room, calling out to him again. He sat up, his face donning a large grin as he waved to you, quickly pointing to the cell phone propped up against his ear. You gave him a shy wave back, turning back to the microwave, soon to be beeping with your meal. You ate dinner alone at the kitchen table, nothing but the sound of Bucky’s roaring laughter bouncing off your ear. By the time you finished, you tossed the bowl into the sink, making your way up to your bedroom.

“Ok, yeah, I’ve gotta go – ” Bucky said into the phone, before interrupting himself with a chuckle, laughing at whatever the person on the other end said. “Yes, I have to go. Yeah, no, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You shut the door before he could get off the couch and flopped straight into bed, groaning. All you wanted to do was fall right asleep, unbothered. That’s when Bucky came in and plopped himself right down on the bed next to you. “Hey, babe,” he greeted you, giving you a light pat on the ass.

“Hey, Buck,” you replied, tucking your arms up underneath your head, propping your head up on your hands. You offered him a tired smile, gazing into his adoring blue eyes. “Who was that on the phone?”

“It was nobody,” he replied, quickly changing the subject. “How was work?”

Well that was extremely unlike him. You already knew all his friends. If it was one of them, he would’ve just said so. But it clearly wasn’t, especially considering how giggly he was on the phone. You just narrowed your eyes at him, breezing right past it. “Good – tiring,” you corrected. “But this contract closes out next week, so hopefully not that many more long days after that.”

“Good to hear, I know you can get it done, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

…

The next day, you were met with nearly the same sight. Bucky on the couch, but this time, dinner was covered on the stove. “Thanks for cooking, Buck,” you call to him, taking the lid off the pot and serving yourself a plate. He jumped from the couch and came up behind you, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck.

“Anytime, baby.” He pressed another smooch to your neck before stepping back and grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. He poured up to glasses, situating himself at one end of the table, waiting for you to join him at the other end. Once you do, your phone rings from your purse. You drop your head back with a groan. “You should probably get that,” Bucky offered, reaching for your purse and holding it out to you.

You give him a quiet “thank you,” and answer the call. Not even before you can answer it, he’s pulling out his own phone and texting away on it. You take your call at the table, a quick last-minute question from a colleague. You tried to focus on what he was saying on the other line, but all you could do was stare at Bucky, smiling down at his phone, furiously typing away.

“No problem, Dave. Thanks for taking a look at it, we can finish up tomorrow morning,” you say into the phone, offering a quick goodbye before hanging up and digging into your food, glaring at Bucky from under your eyelashes. He still sat on his phone, laughing to himself. Once he heard your knife slide against the plate, he locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket and looking up at you, starting another conversation about your day. You quickly changed the subject to him.

You internally rolled your eyes. All you got was talking about your day and whatever girl on the other end got giggly Bucky? Whenever work got busy, your relationship got boring. It may have been partially your fault: short tempered, tired; you put everything into your work and maybe not enough into Bucky. But your jealousy issues got the better of you. Maybe he was just talking to Sam? Or laughing at memes with Steve – they had a lot to catch up on, afterall. But if so, wouldn’t he just say that instead of saying he was talking to “nobody?”

But your paranoia was actually well placed and almost deserving. Bucky still graced the covers of magazines and newspapers. The attention people gave you quickly died down after the one-year mark on your relationship. You didn’t mind, all it was just a little more peace in your day-to-day life. That same attention never did (and never would) die down for him. He still saved the world; more importantly, he was still hot. Meaning the tabloids would continue to try to stir up trouble with him and every woman he knew. They wanted to play matchmaker, constantly shipping him with the other beautiful women he spent time with – whether that be at work or not. Thinking about all that and Bucky’s charismatic personality was almost too much for you.

…

The third night in a row where you’d come home past nine. The first night without dinner. You were met with an empty apartment, no food, no lights, not a single sign of life. You tossed your bag on the table and immediately called for takeout. As you waited for your Chinese food to arrive, you changed into your pajamas, and called Bucky.

No answer.

All you wanted was to lay on the couch and feast with him. If you were going to stuff your face, you wanted it to be with someone who really knew how to eat. After trying again with no answer, you dropped your phone on the coffee table and began flipping through the channels on TV. Not finding anything good to watch, but also deciding you didn’t have the mental capacity to watch something new, you threw on some Friends reruns. Something you could watch without having to pay attention: just what you were in the mood for.

When the doorbell rang, you jumped, almost forgetting you ordered food. You swung open the door, half expecting to find Bucky on the other side, but you were instead met with the delivery boy. You paid the guy and took the food to the living room, feasting on the couch straight from the little takeaway containers. You didn’t do this often, but damn, it was relaxing.

You picked up your phone: no notifications.

There were a few excuses you made up for him as you stuffed your face with noodles. He could be in the middle of training. You knew him and Steve too well, and knew they always had enough supersoldier energy to fit a workout in anywhere and anytime. That, or he could just be busy. Maybe a work thing came up – he does save the world for a living, afterall. He could just be at the tower. It’s not like he officially lived with you. (It was unofficial, though; he did spend nearly every other night sleeping here with you. And if he didn’t, he would at least give you a reason why he wasn’t). But you’re not his mother or his gatekeeper. There was no reason he absolutely had to tell you where he was and that he wasn’t coming over – that was crazy. But it was just…

Unlike him.

Even if he was at the tower, why wouldn’t he answer?

And as you continued onto your dumplings, you quickly began comfort eating, as your mind traveled to the worst reason you could make up.

Afterall, he never told you who he was laughing on the phone with all this time. He couldn’t even stop himself from laughing at his texts – it was blatantly obvious. There’s no way Reddit could be that funny. You scoffed. It probably was some girl – maybe that blonde from the party. You had no idea of knowing who, but you surely couldn’t stop yourself from speculating.

You called again.

Again.

Again.

You just wanted to hear his voice.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

Okay and alone.

American, my American, American boy You know it's my American boy

It wasn’t every day that you thought about Bucky in such a way. Honestly, you didn’t like to think about the other women that he might be friends (or more) with. It was just your own little fucked up indulgence.

Against your best judgement, Bucky convinced you to go to another one of Tony’s parties. “It’s Steve’s birthday party, (Y/N), you have to go!”

So, you did go. And just like the very first time you met Bucky – at one of these parties – you dragged yourself out of bed and got all dressed up to head to the event. You knew even Steve wouldn’t want such a big celebration, so you’d at least have one person to mope around with.

You held on to Bucky the whole night; your arm gripping his metal bicep as the two of you mingled. Bucky liked having you tucked into his side all night, the warmth of your body pressed up against his arm. “Hey, Stevie,” you greeted him, offering a warm hug. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he replied, hugging you, then Bucky. “Happy Independence Day,” he added.

Bucky’s hand immediately snaked around your waste, pulling your hip against his.

It wasn’t until he left to use the bathroom that you suddenly felt naked. You almost wanted to wrap your arms around yourself in comfort. You felt stupid – you were in a room full of friends, people you knew, that you liked. Yet, every time you were in this setting, you never felt more insecure.

And apparently it showed.

You were joined by none-other than the reason for your insecurity. “(Y/N),” she greeted you with a curt nod.

“Hey, Natasha,” you responded, taking a long sip of your drink. She watched you under lidded eyes, her red lips pursing slightly. She looked great, of course, her royal blue dress hugging her curves tightly, he heels adding extra height the both of you knew she didn’t need. “What’s up?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Enjoying the night?”

Now it was your turn to shrug. “As much as I can, I guess. I’ve been waiting for the fireworks show. It was the best last year.”

She nodded, this time taking a swig of her own drink. “Tony sure does know how to throw a party.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “He’s thrown enough of them.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment; it wasn’t super comfortable for you, but she sure didn’t seem to notice – or care. “You seem a little on edge.”

She wanted you to out yourself. Surely, she was going to pull it out of you somehow. “Not really my scene,” you noted, swirling the ice around in your glass.

“Look, (Y/N),” she began, obviously confirming your suspicion. “There’s never been anything between me and Bucky. In fact – ” she glanced around the room, eyes stopping on a particular man. “ – I’ve got a few skeletons of my own.” You tried to follow her line of sight, but the crowd was too thick in that direction. “He loves you so stop trying to find things wrong with your relationship. He may have been a charming guy back in the day, but you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” She winked, a small smile building across her plump red lips.

You didn’t even know what to say in that moment. You gawked at her – at Black Widow hyping you up? Was that her way of doing it? Hell, she could tell you that you intimidated every single person in this room, and you’d take it as the biggest compliment ever. To hear about your power from her? Practically an honor.

“Hey,” Bucky spoke up from behind you as he returned. “What’s goin’ on over here?”

“Just girl talk,” Natasha replied before heading off.

Bucky turned to you, confused. “What’s that about?”

You stared at her as she walked away, swaying her hips and heading for the man she mentioned earlier. “I’m not too sure,” you said slowly, mesmerized by her walk.

Bucky’s hand in yours made you turn up towards him, meeting his blue eyes. “Ready to get out of here?” He whispered lowly.

You bit your lip and nodded, setting your glass down and squeezing his hand in both of yours.

Bucky carried you from the front door to the bed; he placed you down on top of the mattress like you were made of glass. He kissed your lips like he was going off to war, but he tasted like he’d just returned.

His hands ran furiously over your back, eventually resting on the zipper and tugging downwards; your hands ran all over his chest, tugging his shirt open, no regard for the buttons. He started peeling your dress off your body as you leaned back on the bed, working on taking off your bra while he discarded the dress on the floor. He followed suit, discarding his clothes before returning to the bed, covering your body with his warm one. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, the other holding his balance on the bed. Your arms wrapped around his neck one hand holding the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss, while the other ran through his tangled hair. You interlocked your legs around his waist, pulling yourself upwards to grind on his hard cock.

He moaned into your mouth, grinding back into you, reveling in just the feeling of your wetness gliding against his cock. His hand left your face to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he pinned your hips to the mattress with his own, humping against you. You whispered against him, pleading: “Bucky, please,” you whispered against his lips.

His mouth skidded down your cheek and past your jawline to suck a sloppy kiss onto your neck. As his face was buried in your shoulder, making his way down to your breast, his hand found its way between your hips, stroking your soaked lips. You hummed and gripped his hair as his finger split the difference, prodding its way into your soaked entrance. As two other fingers joined in, curling inside of your pussy, he licked your nipple, biting the pebbled nub softly. “You’re so wet, baby. Love how you’re always so wet for me.”

“Only for you, James,” you whispered, blissed out, head falling back against the mattress as his thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles under the hood. You felt a jolt up your body, your pussy instinctively clenching against his fingers.

He let out a deep breath, kissing your breast before planting a wet kiss to your lips, fingers not faltering. “I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured against your lips.

You opened your eyes, meeting his staring down at you, glazed over with lust. “I love you, baby,” you breathed, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

He pulled away from you, fingers stilling, long forgotten in the moment. “No, baby – ” he stopped, staring down at you, pleading with you, please understand. “Only you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Tears burning the back of your eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, not trusting your words as a few tears fell from the sides of your eyes, rolling down your skin to the mattress. He kissed you feverishly, teeth chipping against each other’s, lips and tongues sloppily sliding over each other, sharing air.

He pulled his hand away from your thighs, not moving far to line up his dick to your now soaked and desperate pussy. Your breath hitched as he pushed the tip in; all the air Bucky held in his lungs suddenly escaped him. “Fuck, extra tight for me tonight, huh?” You moaned, trying to rock your hips against his, his bodyweight pinning you down. “Eager, baby,” he groaned from the back of his throat.

“Please, baby,” you begged, fisting the sheets, using all your energy to grind against him. “Please.”

Please.

Please.

He complied, snapping his hips down into yours, his big dick stretching your walls. You yelped out, your opening burning as it welcomed his length. His cock curved upwards, hitting deep inside you as he swiftly moved his hips back and forth, quick rhythm never erring. His hand fell to your lower stomach, as he pressed his hand firmly above your public bone. “Mmm, look, baby, I can feel my dick in you,” he whispered, reveling in the feeling as his dick bottomed out inside of you. He felt the tip through the soft flesh of your belly – boy, you felt it, too. Every time he pounded into you felt your head spin. You saw nothing but black, stars blinding your vision at every thrust.

You nearly snaked your hand down to your clit for your final release, but he pulled your hand away, pinning it to the mattress above your head. He sat up on his knees, grabbing your other hand and joining it with the other, holding them both down to the mattress under the grasp on his metal hand. As he returned to leaning over you, sliding his dick back in your pussy, his flesh hand returned to your clit, rubbing in fast circles. You screamed, thighs coming together, snapping tightly against his hips.

That wouldn’t stop him. You weren’t strong enough to hold him in place; he kept fucking you into the mattress, your body shaking wildly as your legs were tied around him. Your back arched off the bed as your pussy throbbed. “Yeah, baby, squeezing my dick with your tight little pussy, huh?” You screamed out and nodded your head wildly, clenching around his cock as the pressure on your clit built up. “Fuck, you’re so good to me – made for me.”

You pulled against his metal arm, body convulsing underneath him. He watched with anticipation, biting his own lip nearly bloody as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm. You yelped out, gasping for air as your eyes squeezed tight. Your legs shook around him, fingers clawing at his metal plated hand. Bucky could come along just from watching you tremble mid orgasm. But, god, your tight pussy quiver around him surely helped. He fucked you harder, the last few strokes hard and fast. He came with a groan, spilling his hot seed into your soaked cunt.

He whispered curse words to himself as he fucked his dick soft, mixing your own juices together before falling on top of you, pressing his lips to your neck, littering hickeys all over.

As he felt your post orgasm breathing change, he picked his head up, kissing all the way up your neck and jaw until he could look fully down at you. “Hey, baby, no,” he cooed once he caught sight of your watery eyes. “Why are you crying?” He kissed away the tears running down your cheeks.

You smiled at him, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “’M fine, Buck – I just,” you huffed, rolling your teary eyes at yourself, thinking it all suddenly stupid. “I’m sorry – ”

“’s nothing to be sorry for, baby,” he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your fingers grazed through his hair again, scratching slightly at his scalp. He knew. He knew what you were talking about. He always did – he always understood everything you did or said. “I love you, James.”

“I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured with one final kiss. “Only you.”