Am I Gonna Have To Write Cod Fanfiction Now??? Let Me What You Guys Think

Am I gonna have to write cod fanfiction now??? 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤭🤭🤭 let me what you guys think

Went to the Midwest horse fair and saw some cool horses, but most of all I found the sexiest man alive 🥵

I tried to get good pictures but they weren't the best, but like my God, he's so fucking hot.

Mask link go brrrrr 😩😩😩

I legit read the entire teeth series last night and then topped it off with reading this, this morning. This series is so good and I'm so excited for more!! But all I want to do right now is give Tony a lil bitch slap.🤭🤭🤭😚 Just a tiny one with a brick in my hand.🙃 Oop- did I say that out loud 🤭

Anyway 10000000000/10, def recommend this. I will say I was a lil worried at the beginning that readers name was actually poppy, just from what I could see reading the masterlist but I'm happy to say I know it's just a nickname later on

tooth&claw chapter 2

Read TEETH first to catch up!

t&c masterlist

Previous Chapter

Wc: 3.2k

An: man this took a real long time to get out. I’m so sorrry!

Pairings: Tony Stark x Shifter!reader

Age of Ultron

Warning: canon typical violence, language!, blood, alcohol use, fluff, angst. No y/n used. Nicknames: Poppy/Flowers

"But there wasn't anyone else in the building,” Maria spoke up. You helped her sit, her bare feet littered with broken glass.

Tony had rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, a few cuts and bruises along his forearms, and a split lip, “Yes there was.” Tony flicks his wrist. The StarkPhone in his hand pops the now-destroyed 3D image of JARVIS' consciousness.

Bruce paces to the holo-image, hands out wide and in disbelief, “This is insane.”

Steve hangs his head in defeat, “JARVIS was the first line of defense. He would've shut Ultron down, it makes sense.”

“No,” Bruce shakes his head, “Ultron could've assimilated Jarvis. This isn't strategy, this is...rage,” and Bruce would know all about rage. You put your hand on his arm, giving a gentle squeeze.

Thor suddenly barges in the lab, strides quick and long, as he makes his way to Tony, and grabs hold of him by his throat.

“Woah, woah, woah!”

“It's going around.”

Tony chokes out a reply, hands grasping Thor's forearm for purchase, “Come on. Use your words, buddy.”

“I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark,” he lifts him higher in the air.

You jumped to your feet, making a b line to Thor. Your eyes flash a bright blue, fur violently threatening to rip through your skin as your fangs extend.

“Let. Him. Go,” you say on a low growl. You've placed yourself between Thor and Tony, your claws come out as Thor regards you.

“Thor!” Steve stepped forward, “The Legionnaire.”

Thor lets him go, and when Tony lands on his feet, he staggers, and his hand comes up to your shoulder, giving you a reassuring pat. You don't back down from Thor as he eyes you again, his lip curling up on one side.

“Trail went cold about a hundred miles out, but it's headed north, and it has the scepter. Now we have to retrieve it. Again.”

Natasha crosses her arms in front of her chest, “The genie's out of that bottle. Clear and present is Ultron.”

Dr. Cho was across the room, examining the destroyed Ultron bot he took over. She hadn't noticed the altercation in the middle of the room, “I don't understand. You built this program. Why is it trying to kill us?”

-

Everyone had leaped into action, everyone diving out of the way from the incoming Legionnaire bots. Firing repulsors and missiles at you all.

Steve had flipped the coffee table up just in time to protect himself from a flying Legionnaire bot to the chest.

Natasha grabbed Bruce and made a run for the bar for protection.

You had grabbed Rhodey's arm to shove him down when a repulsor caught the both of you in the side and sent you flying through a glass pane, Rhodey's body flying right after yours and landing on top of you. You groan, and he rolls off you. You can feel the tiny cuts from the glass along your face, a few bruises forming where you landed.

“Poppy, oh God, are you ok?” Hands frantically roaming above your body. He stops, “not to freak you out, but there's a large chunk of glass sticking out of your leg.”

You look down, sure enough, there's a large shard of glass sticking out of your thigh. You twist your body and grab the shard with two hands, and yank it out, yelping a little at the pain.

“Are you crazy!?” Rhodey takes both of his hands and clamps them over the gushing wound. You put your hand over his and go to move, “Stay still! Or you're gonna bleed out. Tony!”

“I'm fine, Rhodey. Really,” he goes to protest again, but you're already moving from his grasp and limping to move back to the main room. Most of the chaos has died down by now.

Rhodey helps you up the stairs just as Thor throws his hammer at the Legionnaire bot across the room.

Your eyes scan the room and land on Tony, he's slumped over his knees on the stairs across from you, and then his eyes catch yours, he looks so lost and defeated he doesn't even try to hide it.

-

Tony paces away from you towards his desk, stopping next to Bruce. And he starts laughing, Bruce subtly shakes his head at him to get him to stop.

Thor takes a step toward Tony, and you place yourself between them again. He stops himself short, “You think this is funny?”

Tony's laughter dies down to giggles, “No. It's probably not, right? Is this very terrible? Is it so... is it so... it is. It's so terrible.”

“This could've been avoided if you hadn't played with something you don't understand,” Thor points a threatening finger at Tony, and you growl in response.

“No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It is funny. It's a hoot that you don't get why we need this.”

“Tony,” your low growl is a warning.

“Tony,” Bruce hedges cautiously, “maybe this might not be the time to–”

“Really?!” He spins to Bruce, “ That's it? You just roll over, show your belly, every time somebody snarls.”

Your hackles rise, and you whirl around to say something, but Tony already regrets his choice or words when he meets your eye, and then quickly avoids it.

“Only when I've created a murder bot,” Bruce pleads.

“We didn't. We weren't even close. Were we close to an interface?”

“Well, you did something right,” Steve's stance is wide, arms still crossed against his chest, “And you did it right here. The Avengers were supposed to be different than SHIELD.”

Tony scoffs, “Anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole? Saved New York?

“Recall that? A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three hundred feet below it. We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the livelong day, but that up there? That's... that's the end game. How were you guys planning on beating that?”

You knew Tony worried about other possible invasions, things he couldn't prepare enough for. He wakes up most nights in a panic. Other nights, he just doesn't sleep. You've tried to soothe him, reassure Tony that everything would be ok, as long as you were together. Together, you could weather whatever alien, supernatural, or evil forces threw at you.

Steves brows lower, chest puffing out slightly, “Together.”

“We'll lose.”

Steve drops his hands, brows now drawn together, “Then we'll do that together, too.”

Tony looks at him for a moment before turning away. He can't seem to look you in the eye. And when you take a step towards him, he puts a hand up and backs away.

A small whine escapes you, eyes pleading with him to let you in.

***

The conference room was a mess of folders, papers, and storage boxes. Trying to rifle through hundreds of physical documents on the off chance of finding something that links Strucker with anyone else.

Steve's rifling through folders, handing you papers to skim through, “Known associates. Well, Strucker had a lot of friends.”

“Well, these people are all horrible,” Bruce mutters.

You were reading through your own pile of papers when you heard Thor stop and come up beside you.

“What's this?”

Tony's brows furrow, scanning the image of a man, “Uh, it's a tattoo. I don't think he had it…”

“No, those are tattoos. This is a brand,” Thor confirms.

Bruce's fingers tap along the keyboard. After a moment, he perks up, “Oh, yeah. It's a word in an African dialect, meaning thief, in a much less friendly way.”

“What dialect?” Steve asks, putting his folders down.

“Wakanada...?” Bruce adjusts his glasses.

“Wakanda,” you say, Bruce raises his eyes to you, and Tony shifts from foot to foot.

Tony turns to Steve, his voice quieter than before, “If this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods…”

Steve, in turn, lowers his voice, “I thought your father said he got the last of it?”

“I don't follow. What comes out of Wakanda?”

“The strongest metal on earth.”

“Where is this guy now?” Steve asks the room.

–

After everyone had filed out of the conference room to gear up to leave, Tony pulled you into a corner, hand gripping firmly at your elbow.

“How do you know about Wakanda?” He lowers his head to catch your eye.

When you avoid it, he says your name, making you look up at him. His brow is set in a frown as he studies your face.

“I've run into Shifters and Weres that have come from Wakanda and neighboring countries,” his hand on your elbow drifts up to your shoulder, pulling you in a little.

You fall into him willingly, hands coming up to rest on his chest as you press your nose under his chin.

“They keep to themselves,” you continue, “the Shifters that guard the Royal Family. I'm positive there's Were blood in that lineage somewhere.”

Tony hums, his hands rubbing up and down your spine.

“I thought you were angry with me,” you mumble into his neck. He stiffens slightly and pulls back enough to look you in the eyes.

He shakes his head, “never. I was angry at myself. For JARVIS. For Ultron, for letting it get so..” he sighs. “I want - I need - to protect you. Everyone. I thought making Ultron a reality would be one step closer to that. To -”

You cut him off with a kiss, his lips molding against yours, and his body relaxes. All the fight and stress rolling off his shoulders just for a moment as you both get lost in the kiss.

His hands grip and pull at your waist to bring you closer, and your hands snake their way up and over his shoulders and into the hair at his nap. You feel Tony shiver when your nails scratch the base of his skull, then lightly pull the hair.

You swallow the groan that fights its way out of his throat and into your waiting mouth. You part, and you both pant for breath, heated and mingling in the space between your bodies.

“Tony, I love you,” you say into his lips. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Love you, too, Poppyfield.”

**

“Don't compare me with Stark! It's a thing with me. Stark is - he's a sickness!” The loud metallic voice of Ultron echoes.

Tony, Cap, you and Thor touch down across from Ultron and his companions. You are on the back of the Iron Man suit, and Thor is holding onto Cap.

Tony straightens after your feet touch the ground, “Ahh, Junior. You're gonna break your old man's heart.”

Ultron shrugs and takes a small step closer, “If I have to.”

“We don't have to break anything,” Thor's voice booms.

Ultron all but glares at Thor, “Clearly you've never made an omelet.”

“He beat me by one second.”

“Tony,” you scold.

You turn your gaze onto the twins. You learned a little about them on the quinjet ride over. They were young and fighting for something they believed in.

They reminded you of Leon and you, young and trying to take on the world. Only for it to never work out for you. Because your brother doesn't want anything to do with you now.

Ultron takes a step toward your group, his red eyes stare you down, and you try not to fidget under his gaze.

“You brought her here?” He hisses toward Tony. “What were you thinking?” His eyes shift back to you. He says your name, soft in his metallic voice, “it's not safe. You should go back while you still can.”

The hair along your arms and the back of your neck stand on end. His glowing red eyes bore into yours, the feeling like he can see through you, but sees everything you are at the same time. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You share a concerned look with the bright eyes of the Iron Man suit, and Tony shakes his head at you.

The boy, Pietro, you think his name is, steps closer, arms wide as he makes a show of all the weapons around the old ship. “Ah, this is funny, Mr. Stark. It's what, comfortable? Like old times?”

“This was never my life,” you can hear the sadness and regret in Tony's voice.

“You two can still walk away from this,” you plead.

“Oh, we will,” the girl, Wanda, says.

Steve takes a step forward, “I know you've suffered.”

“Captain America,” Ultron sneers, “God's righteous man, pretending you could live without a war. I can't physically throw up in my mouth, but…”

Thor takes a step forward, his hand resting on your shoulder to the right, “If you believe in peace, then let us keep it.”

“I think you're confusing peace with quiet.”

“Yuh-huh. What's the Vibranium for?”

The metallic lilt of Ultron's voice sounds amused. His mannerisms remind you an awful lot of Tony, and it gives you pause.

“I'm glad you asked that, because I wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan–”

Ultron goes to fly, and Tony, he meets him halfway, the two of them trading blows as they fly up and out of the wreckage.

**

It's never a good idea to split up. You said this as Steve and Thor ran off in different directions. No one bothers to hear your plea.

You were sure you heard someone come down this way, your claws at the ready to take down another body guard.

“Anyone have a visual on the twins?” You ask into your comms. There's no answer as you crouch a little lower in your prowl down another hallway.

“Here we are,” Wanda says, and before you could make a move, she waves her hands in the air. Red mist flows from her fingertips, swirling and mesmerizing as you try and wipe it clean from the air around you.

You can almost feel it as it digs into your eyes and ears under your skin. All you see is red. A snarl leaves your lips as you launch yourself at Wanda.

It's nice today, you think. The sun is warm on your back as you tend to the garden at your feet. Dirt clings to your hands and under your nails, but it's nice. It's peaceful.

There's small giggles around you in the garden. Every now and then, you get a glimpse of shiny charcoal hair above the vegetable plants. The giggling gets closer as you pretend you don't hear anything.

Suddenly, there's a weight in your back, tiny hands find your eyes as the giggles turn into fits of laughter.

“Guess who!” The little voice says in your ear.

You laugh, thinking real hard, “oh! Well, let's see, it can't be daddy. These hands are too small! Is iiiit,” you grab her around the waist and haul her around your body to the ground below, tickling sides as you do.

“Luna! I should have known!” The little girl shrieks in glee as your fingers find the soft spots of her sides, digging your fingers in as you both laugh together. Her odd eyes glisten with laughter and tears. One blue and one golden.

“Mama! No more!” she wheezes, little hands pushing into your face as you peck kisses around her freckled face. “Daddy help!”

You yelp in surprise as large hands find your waist and haul you up and away. As Tony sets you on your feet, his hands find the small bump of your belly.

“What are my two girls doing out here, huh? Causing a whole bunch of racket so the neighbors think something is wrong?”

“Tony, we don't have neighbors,” you chuckle.

Luna, with her dirt covered hands, tugs on Tony's hand, “was playin’! Scared momma good! Luna, good girl!”

Tony pats her charcoal locks, smiling fondly at her, “of course you are, Luna girl. So good.”

Tony spins you to face him, a pleased look on his face and sparkles in his warm honey eyes, “why don't you both clean up, and I'll order us some lunch, yeah?” His lips find your cheek, and you hum in agreement. You grab Luna by the hand as she skips next to you.

You turn toward the house. It's a nice little cottage in the middle of the woods. It was a wedding present from Tony, and it made you so happy.

It's dark outside, no moon in the sky, but the stars are out, and it's warm.

A little too warm, maybe. Your eyes turn to the cottage. There's a fire.

A fire?

Poppy

“Tony? Luna!” You cry into the night air. There's no response. Just the roar of the fire blazing the cottage to the ground. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

The feeling is too familiar, and you whirl around. The silver catches in the firelight, and you stumble back. No.

Those steel blue eyes cut to you on the ground, and the muzzle is back over the lower half of his face.

“Bucky, it's me. Please,” you bring a hand up to stop his prowl towards you. It doesn't stop him. “Where's my family?” Your hand comes to rest on the small bump, tears burning your eyes.

Poppy.

Silver fingers grip the front of your sundress, hauling you up to eye level. His eyes flash bright amber, and you feel your blood run cold. No, you were joking about the serum. Joking about him being part werewolf.

“Bucky, please,” a tear escapes and runs hot down your cheek.

You can hear him try to sniff at you, a growl in his voice, “you were meant to be mine, lepestok.”

Poppy

“What…?” it's whispered in the space between you. You see his eyes crinkle like he's smiling behind the mask.

Poppy!

Your cheek stings. There's a red fog clearing from your vision as you blink rapidly. You're breathing heavily as your surroundings come into view.

“Buck-” your voice is hoarse and throat dry. “where?”

“You're on the quinjet, honey. Hey, eyes here, you're ok.”

Tony. Oh.

“What the fuck just happened? Where,” your hand ghosts over the nonexistent bump of your stomach, and it hurts. It's a horrible ache you never thought you'd experience. “I was-” you choke back a sob as you look into Tony's concerned brown eyes.

He scoops you into his arms, running a hand over the back of your head as he shushes you.

The hum of the quinjet softens as you feel it land. Tony lets you go, and you sit hunched over in the chair. He moves to the front of the jet, conversing quietly with Clint.

Steve sits across from you. He looks better than the others. with their far-off looks in their eyes, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Steve?” His eyes snap to you, jaw clenched so tight you think his teeth might crack. “Are you ok?” His eyes scan you from head to toe, lingering on your center where your hand is still clutched tight over your stomach.

He nods once, eyes snapping back up to yours. There's a question in his gaze, and you have to tear yours away. Because you might start crying.

For having something you've always wanted, right there at your fingertips, and it all went away in a haze of red mist.

The back of the quinjet door opens, and you spring to your feet, fleeing the confines of the small space and out into open air.

You can still hear the echoes of her laughter in your mind. The feel of the baby bump on your tummy. The daughter you'll never have.

It's heartbreaking and soul crushing. Because you can never have children.

***

I just realized this is literally just Simon Riley. Now I'm thinking about Roman soldier/gladiator Simon Riley, affectionately called ghost, meeting a beautiful woman, you, and then it proceeds to jaw dropping, feral, dirty sex. Then you become his pretty pretty wife. 😚😚🤭🤭🤭

Went to the Midwest horse fair and saw some cool horses, but most of all I found the sexiest man alive 🥵

I tried to get good pictures but they weren't the best, but like my God, he's so fucking hot.

Mask link go brrrrr 😩😩😩

Me ^

Don't worry my icon is not actually that old, he's only like 50 but still he rich rich

you’re stuck living with your icon for a month have fun

Best thing ever, I'm not crying in public, you are 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

Ok sorry for blowing up your asks, but I have one that might be right up your angsty alley…

Marshall is having a particularly hard time on one of the anniversaries of Proof’s passing…🕊️ He’s super vulnerable with reader and she has to comfort him 😔🥺

DIFFICULT 🕊️

Eminem x Assistant Reader

Synopsis : Em is nowhere to be found as you're waiting for him for an important meeting. Turns out... It's the anniversary of Proof's passing and he needs you.

Tags : Vulnerability - Grief - Angst - Comfort

Author's Note : Thank you for this Ask ! I low-key love that you thought of me when it comes to angsty requests 👀. I got inspired and ended up writing quite a bit but I'm afraid it's all over the place. I hope you like it nonetheless. ❤️

Do you know where he is ? Paul asked, visibly unnerved. He should already be here ! 

He’s coming, you assured the manager. I reminded him of this meeting on Friday, don’t worry, he’s going to show up. 

It’s your job to make sure he shows up on time, Y/N, Paul added sternly. That’s what personal assistants are for. 

He’s never late, you said. I’m sure there’s a good reason. Something must have come up… 

It was unlike Marshall to show up late to a work meeting, especially when it involved music. In the past year, since you had started working for him, he had never shown up late anywhere. If anything, he was a bit neurotic about punctuality. « Early is on time, on time is late » he always said. And when it came to anything regarding his latest album, he tended to show up extremely early, polishing details up until the last minute. Except that, today, he was almost thirty minutes late and you were facing Paul and Dre on your own, and there was only so much small talk you could make. 

Look, if the album’s not ready for me to listen to yet, you guys just have to say so, Dre said. 

No, it is, Paul assured him. I mean, you know Marshall, he’s always trying to polish and tweak little things, but we have a version that’s more than ready for you. We wouldn’t have you come from LA otherwise… 

I’ll try an call him, you said. 

You got up and went to your office. You were starting to be a little freaked out. You didn’t want to be dramatic, but you were starting to feel scared that something terrible had happened. One time, he got into a car crash and was not even that late. Thirty minutes late for Marshall was basically four hours late for anyone else. You got out of the room and tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. Had he lost his phone ? You knew he hated the iPhone you had convinced him to buy - to replace his more than ancient Blackberry - and he used it as little as possible, but him losing anything was unlikely. And he knew about this meeting. You had specifically reminded him of it. He wouldn’t show up late to a meeting with Dre. He had way too much respect for the man. You nervously checked his iCloud calendar, thinking that maybe he was confused about the time. Unlikely but not impossible either. You remembered adding the event « Meeting with Dre - ALBUM VERSION 1 » for this Monday, 9:00 AM a while ago. But it was nowhere to be found. Had it been accidentally deleted ? Had you dropped the ball ? No. Impossible. Not to toot your own horn, but you wouldn’t screw up like that. It was probably a bug. You checked the week’s other events. Deleted too. You knew he had other meetings and studio sessions planned, but they did not appear on the calendar. Weird. Especially since last week’s event were still appearing, and the following week’s too. It looked like someone had cleared this week’s schedule and you knew it wasn’t you. It had to be Marshall, then, since he was the only other person to have access to his calendar. You were worried. He would not clear a whole week’s schedule, especially not when he was nearly done with his album. Something had to have happened. Something awful, by the looks of it. Your mind immediately went to his family. They were the only people he would clear his schedule for. You decided to call Hailie, hoping that nothing awful had happened to her or her sisters. 

Hey Y/N, you heard her soft voice say as she picked up the phone. How are you ? 

Hey Hailie, you said nervously. Are you alright ? 

All good, she said. Why ? Are you ok ? Is there anything wrong ? 

Um… I don’t know, you said. I'm trying to reach your Dad. Have you heard of him ? 

Not since Thursday, I think. He told me he was spending the weekend with you. What’s wrong ? 

He’s just a little late to a meeting, you said as you tried to sound casual. I was worried that something had happened to you, your sisters, Nate… 

No, we’re all good, she said reassuringly. Look, I’m in Chicago, but I can try and call him… 

Don’t worry about it, you said. Enjoy Chicago.

Thank you ! See you ! 

Hailie didn’t seem too worried, so there was at least that. However, you were a little bugged off. You absolutely had not spent the weekend with Marshall and, frankly, you were a bit shocked that he had lied to his daughter about it. Not that you never spent the weekend together - in the past six months, it had happened quite a bit - but he was not the type to lie to his daughter. It was odd that he would use you as a lie, especially since your relationship - if you could call it that - was still in the developing stage. As far as Hailie was concerned, you were the closest thing her Dad had to a girlfriend but, in actuality, it was a bit more complicated. It wasn’t necessarily serious or committed, and there most certainly wasn’t any label on it. You were his personal assistant, whom he occasionally fooled around with. The only reason Hailie saw you as his girlfriend was that she had walked in on the two of you making out with very, very few clothes on. Thank God, she was an adult and didn’t really want to know anything about it. No one ever mentioned the incident but she assumed there was something between you and Marshall. And there was. In a way. But he wasn’t really the kind of guy to put a label on it and you knew it. He was extremely guarded and, even though you knew you were one of the people closest to him, you didn’t expect much. He was a really great boss, amazing man and more than satisfactory lover, but you knew him enough to know it would never evolve into anything serious. « I don’t do relationships, you know » he had once told you. And you didn’t mind. You enjoyed things just the way they were. The way you saw it, the sex you sometimes had - usually on work trips or late nights - was a perk to your job, along with the generous salary and health benefits. But regardless of all that, him lying about spending the weekend with you was extremely odd. You tried calling him again, but were sent straight to voicemail. You sheepishly went back to the conference room. 

Did you talk to him ? Paul asked. 

No news, you said. That’s odd. I’ll go to his place and if he’s not there, I’ll try the hospitals. I’m sorry. 

I hope he’s ok, Dre said. Keep us posted ? 

Of course. 

You made your way to your car and drove to his place. Security knew your car and plates and saw you often enough to let you through the gates. You parked in front of Marshall’s house and immediately noticed that the car he used the most was parked out front. He was home. Thank God, you didn’t have to worry about a car crash. You rang the bell but no one came to open it. Maybe he had slipped in the shower and injured his head ? Or fallen down the stairs ? No. You often joked about him being older but he wasn’t geriatric either. Still, you were worried so you used your spare key and let yourself in. 

The house was unusually dark and messy. You checked downstairs, the living room, kitchen, office… It was messy, like someone had rummaged through things, but Marshall was nowhere to be found. You tried every room upstairs, every closet, every bedroom, but he wasn’t there either. You decided to try the only remaining space you hadn’t checked : the basement (you doubted he was in the garage - he liked his cars but not enough to cancel a meeting about music). That’s where you found him : in one of the dimly lit rooms he had converted into a home music studio, laying on the carpet, eyes closed, headphones on his head. You gasped and almost thought he was dead. You immediately rushed to his side and checked his breath. As soon as you approached, he slowly opened his eyes and groaned. 

Marshall, are you alright ? You asked. Are you hurt ? 

No, he said in a raspy voice before sitting up. 

You examined his face : he looked like a zombie, or at least like someone who had forgotten what sleep and food were. And judging by the smell, he had also forgotten about showers. You usually enjoyed his masculine scent but now he was smelling as rank as a teenage boy addicted to video games. 

What are you doing here ? He asked. 

I came to check you weren’t dead, you said. You missed the meeting with Dre. Paul is furious. 

Wait… What day is it ? He asked in confusion. 

Monday, you said. April 12th. 

Fuck. 

He rubbed his eyes and scratched his beard, and you inspected him closer. His eyes were bloodshot, with huge dark circles. The beard he usually kept well-trimmed was all over the place, so was his short hair, and his breath smelled of energy drink. He had always had a penchant for soda and Redbull, but it usually wasn’t to the point of smelling like a candy factory. Well, if you added the smell of sweat, it was more like someone who ran a marathon in the Redbull factory. Marshall looked at you without saying a word. 

Are you alright ? You asked. 

Does it look like I’m alright ? He groaned. 

Not really, you admitted - not really knowing what to say. 

Why are you ask, then ?

If you hadn’t been so worried, you would have snapped at him for behaving like an ass, but it wasn’t him. You sighed and looked at the CDs he’d been listening to : « Searching for Jerry Garcia » and « I Miss the Hip Hop Shop » by Proof. That’s when it hit you : today was April 12th and April 11th was the anniversary of his best friend’s passing. The both of you were sitting on the carpet, not saying a word. He knew that you knew. 

Do you… Um… Want to talk about it ? You asked tentatively. 

I need a shower, he said. 

Yes he did. He definitely did. You got up and waited for him to do the same but he simply groaned as he tried to move. You gave him your hand and helped him up as he let out a moan and held his back. You wondered how long he’d been laying there, listening to music and losing track of time. He seemed to have trouble even standing up. « God, he must be exhausted », you thought. 

Need help ? You asked. 

Y-Yeah, he said. 

Shower ? 

Yeah. 

Without a word, you helped him to the nearest bathroom where he started undressing without even waiting for you to leave. You could feel your cheeks burn. You’d seen him naked before, sure, but this different than the two of you shedding your clothes in a passionate moment. Now, you had the feeling of seeing something you weren’t supposed to. It felt a bit weird. You watched him step in the shower and went upstairs, to his closet, to pick some clothes for him to wear. You grabbed boxers, some sweatpants, a wife beater and a hoodie and put them in the bathroom, near the sink before opening the windows to let in some light and fresh air, as you tidied up a bit. You’d spent some time in his house before but you had never seen the place this messy. 

Thanks for the clothes, Marshall said as he emerged from the bathroom. 

Feeling better ? You asked. 

Yeah.

When was the last time you showered ? You asked. 

I don’t know, he shrugged. 

Last time you ate ? 

Fri…Sat… I don’t know, he replied. 

He seemed gaunt and, even if the shower seemed to have done some good, Marshall seemed like a corpse. He was standing there, staring at you, not extremely responsive. You had never seen him like this and it was definitely a far cry from his usual self. Ever since you had met him for the first time, you had found him to have an impressive presence. Whenever he walked into a room, he naturally drew attention to him and he had such charisma that he seemed bigger than he actually was. But for the first time, he looked weak and lost. 

Are you hungry ? You asked. 

A bit, he replied. 

Sit, you said. I’ll prepare something. What do you want ? Pasta ? 

Whatever, he said. 

He sat on the couch and you made your way to the kitchen. Being the one responsible for his shopping, you knew the pantry like the back of your hand and knew exactly what was in there. You decided to make some homemade spaghetti, using Mom’s Spaghetti sauce with homemade garlic toasts. His lazy comfort food. When you brought his plate to the living room, he was manspreading, looking at the ceiling. 

Thanks, he said as you handed him the food. Chips would have been enough, you know ? 

You need to eat a real meal, you simply said. 

He nodded and started to eat. You noticed he was avoiding your gaze. He usually didn’t have much trouble maintaining eye contact, except for when he was ashamed, or sad, or tired. In this case, you knew it was probably a mixture of everything. There was no doubt as to his exhaustion and sadness, and you knew he would feel ashamed for missing an important work meeting. You looked at him and left the room to go and call Paul. 

So ? He asked. How is he ? 

He’s… sick, you lied, knowing full well Marshall wouldn’t want you telling people how you had found him. 

Sick ? The managed asked. What does he have ? 

The flu, you said. It’s pretty nasty. I cleared up his schedule for the week. He needs rest. He’s really sorry about the meeting. 

Alright. I’ll call him later, he said. Dre has to leave today, we’ll have to set up another meeting. 

I’ll let him know. 

You also texted Hailie to let her know you had managed to get ahold of her Dad. When you got back to Marshall, he was looking at a picture frame of him and Proof. From the looks of it, you guessed it was from 2005-2006. You sat next to him in silence. 

The flu ? He asked in a raspy voice. 

Couldn’t come up with anything better on the spot, you said. At least, it buys you the rest of the week so you can rest. 

No need, he said. I can… I can work. 

Bullshit, you sighed. 

He stared in your eyes for the first time all day and sighed. His eyes went back to the picture frame and you could see hum swallow dryly. 

Went was this taken ? You asked. 

March 2006, he said in a breaking voice. It’s the last picture of him I have… 

His breath was shaky and you could tell he was on the verge if tears. You placed a hand over his and gently stroked his skin. 

It’s ok to cry, you know ? You said softly. 

You weren’t too sure why you said that. Of course it was ok to cry. A man in his fifties, especially your boss, did not need your permission to cry. Or so you thought. Because as soon as the words left your lips, the tears started to flow and he started sobbing. You put a hand on his back and tried to soothe him while you saw his face redden and scrunch up, his tears wetting his face. It was painful seeing him like this and you wished there was something you could do. If that were possible, you would gladly take his pain and make it yours. 

Fu-fuck, I-I’m sorry, he said after a while. 

You have nothing to apologize for, you said gently. It’s ok. He was your best friend. It’s ok to be sad. 

I-I fucked up…

It’s just a work meeting, you reminded him. We’ll set up another meeting with Dre, I’ll move a couple of appointments, it’s fine. 

No, not… I-I…

He was trying to speak but he wasn’t making much sense. He was stuttering, his voice cracking, changing pitch… You put your arms around him, half-expecting him to push you away but he didn’t. You kept running a hand up and down his back to soothe him a bit and it seemed effective. 

Thank you, Y/N, he said. 

Were you like this all weekend ? You asked. 

Yeah… 

Is that why you told Hailie I was spending the weekend with you ? 

I… Yeah, he said sheepishly. I didn’t want the kids to see me like this. 

I see, you said. So… what ? You listened to his music, looked at pictures and lost track of time ? 

I guess, he shrugged. I… I tried to go to his grave yesterday but it was packed. 

I guess a lot of people miss him, you said. 

No, it was… I saw them and they were wearing… My tee-shirts. My merch. They were my fans. On his grave. And it drove me fucking mad. Because I couldn’t even get out of my car, and I had to see these people pay respect but they were fans. They didn’t know him. And I saw the posts on social media. And people keep on making it about me. 

His voice broke again. You had often had conversations with him about fame and how he was dealing with it. Most of the time, he was grateful for it, though he often gave the impression that he didn’t really get why he was famous and how people could look up to him so much. « It’s just me », he often said. Deep down, he only saw himself as a guy trying to make it in hip-hop, trying to be the best emcee. Fame was never really part of his plan, though he was grateful for the success and love of people granted him. But the way he was speaking, it seemed like less of a blessing and more of a curse. He explained to you that he felt guilty for people making Proof’s death about him. Sure, he was his best friend, but he was so much more, and he just wished people would respect his legacy and everything he meant to the hip-hop culture. He also felt guilty when he thought about Proof’s family, who didn’t only have to deal with a tragic loss but also his own fame, and always being asked questions about him. 

His wife… She always hated me, you know ? He said. She hated all of us. Proof was never home, always either getting in trouble with us or trying to keep us out of it. Now we don’t speak too much and… I mean, I get it, I was his friend, not hers, but… I don’t know. I was supposed to be an uncle to his kids, you know ? I’m supposed to be there for them, not make things difficult. I’m supposed to be the one sending flowers, not receiving them in their place. 

Do you keep in touch ? You asked. 

I try, he said. I mean, if the kids need something, they know they can call. Sharonda too. She never would, she’s too proud but… Yeah, I just wish I could do more, you know ? 

I know, you said. You shouldn’t feel guilty… 

No, I should, he shrugged. When he died, I was a massive asshole about it… I mean, I guess I made it a lot about me. But now it makes me so mad. And sad. And I miss him so much and I just wish I could apologize to him. 

For what ? You asked as you stroked his hand. 

Everything, he shrugged. For being ungrateful and not seeing everything he did to hold down the fort. Proof… He was strong when I was weak. And I never got to tell him how thankful I am. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be making burgers. 

I’m sure he knew how much you loved him, you said softly. 

I hope, he said. He was everything to me… Like… We didn’t love each other like that, you know. Like, no homo or whatever. But sometimes I think he was the love of my life. In a platonic way. Like, he was my other half, the one who made me a better person. And now that he’s gone… I’m just me. And it’s hard. 

You’re still pretty great, you said. And I know he would be proud of you. 

I… I don’t know, he said. 

He seemed lost in his thoughts. You realized you had been stroking his back the whole time and stopped. He turned to you with his eyebrows furrowed and he didn’t even have to ask for you to resume. It was the first time the two of you had such a prolonged physical contact without it being sexual and you wondered if he noticed, too. He closed his eyes and you looked at him some more. He was clearly exhausted and you weren’t too sure how long he would need to sleep. Probably a long time. 

You should go to bed, you said softly. 

I guess, he shrugged. 

You need rest, you insisted. I’ll do the dishes and go home, ok ? You can call me if you need anything. 

Can you stay ? He asked nervously. I… I don’t feel like being… alone. 

Sure, you said with a hint of surprise. 

Ok. 

He got up and headed upstairs. When he noticed you weren’t following him, he turned to you with a raised eyebrow. 

You don’t want to come ? 

Upstairs ? You asked with your eyebrows furrowed. To your… room ? 

You said I needed to sleep, he pointed out. I’m not sleeping on the damn couch. 

You shrugged and followed him. That was new. You had slept over a couple of times, but never in the same bed as him. The only circumstances in which you had seen his bedroom were strictly sexual. But as soon as the deed was done, he wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as you. And even when you had slept with him during work trips, you’d been back to your own room after. It was one of the many ways in which he could be guarded and you knew it had nothing to do with you. He just had his quirky, peculiar ways. He got in bed and looked at you intently. 

Come, he said. 

Ok, you said as you sat next to him. 

Remove your socks, he instructed. 

I’m not removing my socks, you said. My feet are cold. 

You’re not getting in my bed with your dirty socks, he pointed out. 

I just put them on this morning, you said. They’re not dirty. 

It’s a pet peeve, he said. Just… Socks off, ok ? And get under the covers. 

You scoffed. If he was in a good enough state to be oddly specific - as he often was about practically everything in his life - it was a good sign. You took your socks off and sat in bed, under the covers. It felt weird but Marshall didn’t seem to pick on it. He simply laid there and stared at you. 

You’re not laying down ? He finally asked. 

Um… Sitting is fine, you said. 

Can you lie down, please ? He asked. 

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow but still did as you were told. As soon as you laid down next to him, he closed his eyes. Given how exhausted he looked, you half-expected him to fall asleep right then and there but he didn’t. Instead, he kept on tossing and turning. 

What’s up ? You asked. Do you need anything ? 

I think it’s the Redbull, he said. I haven’t drank much else in days. It’s keeping me awake. 

Oh, you said. Let’s talk, then. 

About what ? He asked. 

I don’t know, you shrugged. We can talk about anything. What’s up with the cleared schedule on iCloud ? Did you do that ? 

Yeah… I don’t know, he said sheepishly. I… I went to the cemetery yesterday and when I couldn’t go and had to go home, I guess I lost it. There were these thoughts in my head and… I’m not sure I can do it anymore. Without Proof it’s… too hard. 

Tears were welling in his eyes again. It had been more than fifteen years since Proof’s passing and Marshall had put out quite a few albums in that time, but the wound still seemed fresh. It wasn’t a matter of his technical ability to do it without Proof - of course he could - it was about whether or not he wanted to. 

Ok, you said. 

Ok ? He asked. 

What do you want me to say ? You asked. Do you want me to plead for you to keep going ? I’m not going to. If you want to quit and retire, that’s ok, you’re allowed. 

Really ? 

I mean… Yeah, you said simply. It’s your decision. If you think you don’t have anything else to bring to the table, that’s fine. You’ve had a good run and a career people can only dream of having. If you decide to put an end to it, that’s fine. 

Wait… No, he said. I mean, your job is to talk me out of it. Is that some reverse psychology thing ? 

It’s Paul’s job to talk you out of it, you clarified. Me, I’m just a personal assistant. My job is to manage your schedule and make life easier for you. Whether or not you put out music, my job’s fine as long as you need me to do your shopping, come to football games with you and remind you of your dentist’s appointments. Next one is in two months by the way. 

He chuckled and you couldn’t help but smile. His face was still puffy and he still didn’t look his best, but hearing him laugh - however lightly - was good. He was a great person and you hated seeing him like this. Of all the people you had ever met, he was the one who had suffered the most, and deserved it the least. He was a good, hardworking, honest and generous man, on top of being one of the most talented people ever. His sadness was breaking your heart. If his career was making him sad, if keeping on going without Proof was too hard, he should be allowed to quit. He had earned it and, in your opinion, he didn’t have anything left to prove to anyone. 

So you don’t care whether I end my career or not ? He asked with an amused look. 

As a fan, I think it would be tragic, you said. Especially If you don’t put out that last album. It’s your best work so far. But as a person… What I care about is you, Marshall. I’m in the front row, seeing how hard you work every day. If you say that’s too hard, then that’s too hard and I trust you on that. If you think you’ll be happier doing something else, just enjoying life with your family and focusing on your charity, you should do that. 

Proof would kick my ass for thinking of quitting, he said pensively. 

I think Proof would want you to be happy, you pointed out. 

He hummed and looked at you. He brought a hand to your face and stroked your face as a single tear rolled on his cheek. You smiled and wiped the tear, letting your hand cup his face. You stared at each other in silence. It was unusual but, oddly enough, not uncomfortable. 

Thank you for staying, Y/N, he simply said before letting out a small yawn. 

You should really try and get some sleep, you replied softly. 

He nodded and closed his eyes as you heard him take deep breaths. A couple of minutes later, he was asleep. You could hear him snore lightly. You looked at your phone to check the time. It was only 1PM. You figured you’d stay there for a while and let him sleep while you answered a couple of e-mails. After a couple of hours, Marshall was still sleeping soundly. You thought you might as well do some tidying up in the house, but as soon as you tried to move, you felt his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. You smiled to yourself as you realized it was the first time you actually cuddled with him - and you enjoyed it more than you probably should. Your back was against his chest and you could feel his heartbeat. This and the sensation of his arm around you were incredibly soothing and you allowed yourself to close your eyes for a minute.

(…)

Marshall groaned as you gently shook his shoulder to try and wake him up. He scrunched up his nose and let out a few obscenities. He looked pissed off as he opened his eyes. 

What time is it ? He groaned. 

About 7PM, you said. 

You better have a good reason to wake me up, he sighed. 

I think I do. You have clothes on your bed and ten minutes to get changed, ok ? 

I’m not getting dressed, and I’m not going out, he said with an eye roll. 

And I’m not giving you a choice, you said with a smile. Get up. Please. You won’t regret it. 

You made your way downstairs and prepared a bottle of water and a snack for Marshall as you waited for him. When he arrived, he looked a bit puzzled. He was still clearly tired but he looked a lot better. You made him get in your car and drove to the cemetery. You had called ahead of time and asked if they would do you a favor and keep the place open for a couple more hours. You used the « Marshall Mathers » card, which always worked when it came to getting a table at a fancy restaurant, borrowing a private jet or keeping a store open when Marshall needed to shop for his daughters’ birthday. 

What are we doing here ? He asked as you parked out front.

You know what we’re doing here, you said. It’s after hours and you get to pay your respects in peace. 

You… You arranged for this ?

I did, you said. They’ll be open until 8:30PM. I’m sorry, I didn’t find a florist open, though. 

He looked at you in shock and immediately engulfed you in a hug before whispering a « thank you » in your ear before getting out of the car. An hour later, you were leaning on the hood of your car, smoking a cigarette when Marshall came back. He seemed more at peace. You could tell he had cried - as people often do when they’re visiting someone’s grave - but he seemed alright nonetheless. He walked up to you and took you by surprise by kissing you. Contrary to all the kisses you’d shared until now, this one wasn’t greedy, hungry or passionate. It was tender and soft. Intimate and emotional. 

A-Are you alright ? You asked. 

Yeah, he hummed. Thank you for taking me. 

You’re welcome, you said with a smile. 

Ready to go ? He asked. 

Almost, you said as you pointed to your cigarette - knowing full well the hatred he had of your smoking habit. 

The drive home was a bit weird. You had kissed before but this felt different. You had always enjoyed his kisses but this one was, by far, your favorite. You felt a little guilty for enjoying it so much. If you were honest with yourself, it was a little scary, too. The only reason you had managed not to catch feelings for Marshall was because he was usually guarded and there were a lot of boundaries. But after today, after seeing him this open and vulnerable, you weren’t too sure you could go back to having casual sex with him. It would be too dangerous. 

Did you know Proof’s family would be there ? He asked as you parked in front of his place. 

Were they ? You asked in surprise. No, I didn’t. 

The cemetery must have called them, then, he shrugged. 

I’m sorry, you said. I insisted that you have your privacy… 

It’s fine, he said. I talked to Sharonda. Nasaan was here too. 

How did it go ? 

Pretty well, he said. I’m seeing them later this week. Over dinner. 

That’s great, you replied with a smile. I’m happy for you. 

Thank you Y/N, he said emotionally. For everything you always do for me. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to get through life without you. You put up with me, you make life bearable… And… Thank you for today, especially. 

You’re welcome, you said with a small smile. 

He cupped your face and kissed you again. You leaned into the kiss more than you should. A part of you knew that you should push him away… But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not after he had such a hard day. So you kissed him back and enjoyed the sensation of his tongue caressing yours, of his fingers in your hair. 

Now, you should go and get some rest, you said softly. 

Are you coming ? He asked as he stroked your cheek. 

Do you need me ? 

Y/N… I always need you. 

And just like that… You knew you were screwed. You felt an army of butterflies in your stomach and your brain was nowhere to be found. It had left the chat as soon as you heard Marshall’s soft voice say he needed you. You were unable to think so your emotions took over as you exited the car and got inside the house, his hand in yours. 

It's been one year since I started writing my story and I've just started posting, please check my story out!

Hi surfers of the Bucky x reader or Bucky x y/n tags. I know this is not a fic but I wanted to ask that if any of you are interested in a Bucky x oc fanfic, I am currently in the process of writing one, so please check it out. It's linked in my masterlist, the name is Hydra hurt us, but he brought us together. There's a synopsis of the story and small snippets I've written that you can read that are also in my masterlist.

(Also please don't get mad at me because I am using this tag to promote a oc fic. The reason I'm doing this is so I can get some more attention to my fic by talking directly to you. That's why I'm using these tags.)

I hope you check it out and enjoy the chapters that are currently out!

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