#I feel like drinking sevens brains would make me a hell of a lot smarter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrstaeminlee · 3 years

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Mission Complete Ch. 5

You had two goals in life. One: Complete your squad training without dying. Two: Fuck Levi Ackerman

Pairings: Levi/f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, eventual smut, lmk if I need to add anything~

You wouldn't consider yourself a believer in God; you always attributed your good luck to just that with a touch of hard work and a stubborn as hell mindset; yet somehow you found yourself thanking whatever higher power existed as you sat down. By some fucking miracle you had convinced Levi to join you at the bar where you were currently nursing your fourth glass of wine. You weren't completely trashed, but you had definitely forgotten the effect that wine had on you and you were feeling bold as fuck.

"So Cap, what's the plan from here?"

Levi rolled his eyes, taking a long swig from his own glass. He'd opted for whiskey, because 'that shit you're drinking tastes like rotten ass'. "I've told you at least three times since we got here you idiot, once your alcoholic ass drags itself to bed we'll wake up at first light and begin the walk back to camp and hope your horse is smarter than you and ran back to camp. If not, we're fucked."

You pouted. "The fuck I am."

He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

You sighed. At this point, you were tired, you were wet -still not in an enjoyable fashion although you had mostly dried off by now-, you were tired, and you were also considerably tipsy next to your captain who also happened to be the subject of each and every one of your graphic sexual fantasies over the past year. In other words, you didn't give one single fuck. "Cap, can I completely honest with you?"

"Aren't you already?"

"Not exactly. Your second in command is in desperate need of a good fucking, and soon."

Levi chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He looked delectable dressed in his casual clothes, he was wearing black pants that fit nice and snug against those juicy ass thighs, and you were certain that the top two buttons of his white shirt had been buttoned when you walked into the bar. "Is that so? What are you, fifteen?"

"I'll have you know that I'm a spritely young twenty eight year old, thank you very much."

The captain scoffed, finishing off his glass and waving to the barmaid for refills for the both of you. "That's even more pitiful. You should consider having some actual priorities instead of spending your time fantasizing about such a filthy activity."

You had just finished taking a long swig from your glass when all of a sudden that vital, precious information Christa had let slip decided to waltz its way back into your brain, and before you could stop it a big, stupid smile spread across your face. Taking another drink as to not alarm the captain, you decided now was as good a time as any to have a little bit of fun. "Aw come on. Even a clean freak like you has to appreciate a good lay every now and then. Sure, things can get a little hot and dirty, but don't you think it's worth it?" Your voice dripped down to almost a purr at the end, and you felt a delicious shiver run up your arms at the way Levi began to look mildly uncomfortable.

His silence only fueled your drunken bravery and you dared to scoot a little bit closer, resting your arm along the table and even being so bold as to make sure your breasts were nice and pushed up against the table. "Don't get shy now, cap, you don't have to keep secrets from me," you cooed, mirth making your body feel weightless as he desperately downed the rest of his drink while waving for yet another refill. How many had he had now, six? Seven? Surely he would be feeling something by now. "You're downing that whiskey like water, you sure the bar has enough stocked to keep you satisfied?"

Levi shrugged, raising his eyebrows in thanks as more drinks were placed in front of you two. "I've told you a million times, you know I hate that name. And it takes a lot more than a few glasses of whiskey to get me drunk. You, on the other hand, look like you've about had enough," he tried to make his voice seem stern, but it was pretty fucking hard looking at that flushed face and those tits just begging to burst out of that shirt. It didn't help that he'd plowed through eight glasses of whiskey trying to distract himself, and they had chosen this precise moment to hit him with their full effects.

"Then what should I call you then? Captain just sounds boooooooring."

You grinned then, downing the last of your wine. "Am I cool enough to call you by just your name? Levi?" You tested his name on your tongue, expecting it to taste different by speaking it in front of him. You licked your lips as if to savor the taste. "Leeeeeviiiii," you repeated slowly, giggling and bringing a hand up to cover your mouth.

Levi visibly straightened the moment you said his name, cursing himself for finishing his drink as he now had nothing to cover the pathetic cough that left his throat. He tried to ignore the flush that warmed its way up his neck, the way your name sounded from your lips curling in his ears and giving him goosebumps. He cleared his throat once more, trying to regain his sense of dignity before he did something that he knew he wouldn't regret, but also probably would.

"Come on, you go cool off outside while I pay the tab, it's getting late and we need to sleep this off before we head back."

You clumsily threw your bag over your shoulder, humming a made up tune as you made your way outside. The air was cold but the alcohol dulled your discomfort. You took a look around the block, it was dark and empty, with almost everyone in bed by now. You had no idea what time it was but based on the fact that the sky was almost pitch black you surmised you two had spent quite a bit of time drinking. You were jolted out of your daydreaming by Levi suddenly appearing beside you, rolling his eyes.

"Tch. You dumbass. Your nose is bright pink, why didn't you bring a jacket? You're going to die if you don't start taking better care of yourself," he chided, sliding off his own black jacket and all but throwing it at you.

You greedily slipped your arms into it, your thirst returning with a vengeance as you reveled in the fact that you were wearing Levi's jacket. His scent filled your nostrils, the warmth from his body that clung to the jacket blanketing your skin and in that moment you really did feel like a fifteen year old girl because you swore your heart had been beating at a normal pace just a second ago. "Well I never took you to be such a gentleman Mr. Ackerman," you quipped, mimicking the way you heard the rich people within the walls talk. Thankful for being able to blame your pink cheeks on the cold, you let the wine control your actions as you linked your arms with his, giggling again at his surprised grunt.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Why, I'm allowing you to escort me to my sleeping quarters of course!" You announced, taking note that he had made no attempt to unlink your arms. You walked in a comfortable silence the short walk to the hotel, giving a hearty salute to the young man at the desk. You begrudgingly pulled away when he stopped in front of your room, pausing for a moment before reaching to slip his jacket off your shoulders.

"Don't."

You halted for a moment, meeting his eyes. "Don't what?"

You were beginning to feel surprisingly sober now.

Levi awkwardly cleared his throat again, and you didn't even have the heart to tease him about it. "Th-The jacket," your eyes widened at his voice. Did the great Captain Levi just stutter? "Just keep it for now. You can wear it on the way back and give it to me when we return to headquarters," he felt another wave of heat creep up his neck and he clenched his jaw. "B-Besides, it's filthy now, don't give it back until you've cleaned it properly." Jesus Christ since when did he fucking stutter all the time?

You stayed quiet, your hands lowering themselves to rest at your sides.

You were drunk.

You felt completely sober.

You took in his eyes, his face, his body.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you reached forward, grabbing his hand in yours, and you both sucked in a breath at the feeling of your skin finally touching.

You kept your eyes trained on his, wondering where you had found the courage to muster up the words about to leave your mouth.

"Come inside, Levi."

tags: @levisbebe, @dannylothbrok, @sueshiishell, @anackermangirl, @ackermanluvr

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fluorescentpipedream · 4 years

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“About 11 years ago,” Mike starts as he scans the room “I attended my last Mensa party, I was pushing 18 and had enough of these kinds of things. It was the night some of you will get to experience tomorrow, the sort of ball where all us nerds get to dress up in nice clothes and pretend for a moment that we’re normal…”

He pauses, taking a drink of water and fixes the rather uncomfortable tie around his neck. He hated attending these gatherings, to him they were just a waste of time. But for some of these kids, they were the only chance to get out and realize they weren’t the only ones who were brilliant beyond measure.

As he looks around the room there’s an interesting cross section of people gathered in the auditorium. There are the ones he refers to as the Sheldon Coopers, the kids who are entirely too intelligent for their own good but not only are they that smart, they’re also holier than thou little pricks who believe that because they’re smarter, somehow they’re better than everyone. The parents of the Sheldons don’t help matters much and are often making it worse than their devil spawn has. Next were the kids who have the overly helicopter parents, the ones who judge everything their child does, and try to force them into molds of what the “gold standard” of geniuses are. These kids end up…well probably like the man he was about to start talking about. They were also the ones he noticed were early onset vegans and have very little amusement in their lives. The others were either the brilliant kids who had the terrible parents, which was his case, or they were…wait.

Are those kids playing Pokemon? He leaned forward slightly over the podium, looking at one of the pools of light on the auditorium floor where there was a small group, maybe eight or nine kids gathered together in a small circle with what looked like bags of chips or fruit slices, sharing like good kids and….yep. They were trading Pokemon cards in serious but hushed voices. Mike chuckled and looked back up at the room again, clearing his throat.

“I’m sure everyone in this room has heard of the tragedy of Dayton Foster.”

The gasp and whispers made him nod, somberly.

“I met him…Eleven years ago at the banquet, and I was with him when he suffered his seizure.”

Dayton wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes, with piercing brown eyes, his hair tousled and had an odd, rugged appeal to him. Mike had been enthralled during his speech, it was eloquent, despite the fact that man delivering it looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed, ran water through his hair and somehow managed to pull off a suit without looking like a complete disaster. Mike had approached him with a question, originally it was supposed to be about his theories on the Utopian like drift the United States was heading towards as he’d discussed but when Dayton had turned his attention to him, Mike forgot all that and had instead leaned into him and said he wondered what his kids tasted like. Dayton had stared at him for a moment with a quixotic expression on his face, almost like he hadn’t heard Mike.

There was only a moment of awkward silence before his response came, telling Mike to come to his hotel room at the Hyatt and he could find out. Considering the man had opened the door fresh out of the shower with a towel around his waist, Mike had assumed he hadn’t expected the boy to come, but he’d taken hold of the front of Mike’s shirt and pulled him into the room without a word, only a smirk. When Dayton had kissed him, he tasted of cloves and whiskey, and Mike had been putty in his strong hands. For a moment, his minds’ eye lingered on the taste on his lips, the stubble and the hair in the man’s eyes and he started to realize why he was drawn to Travis in the first place. Damn he wanted to call him…

“Foster, at the time, had an IQ of over 230, which is impressive, especially for the fact that he was also a known alcoholic.” And a lech. But he left that part out. “He and I met in this very room and we spoke at great length, he was a brilliant mind, getting ready to start work in Washington for the FBI as a criminal investigator and serial profiler, which at the time was a pretty big deal, especially since he had…” Mike looks down at his papers, skimming through them to find his place again. “Four degrees and spoke seven languages by the time he was 12. Despite several people warning a very young and naive me not to take too much of what he said to heart, I found myself drawn to him almost like a moth to the flame. It probably had something to do with his outward appearance, I mean…he was hot.”

He chuckled and heard a few others in the back do the same. Ah…so they did know who he was talking about. Good. Mike leaned back from the podium, taking a few steps to the side and turned on the headset, making sure it worked before he moved. His eyes fall again onto the kids who were sorting energy cards off to the side and he smiled. He always wanted to be one of those kids. While still looking at them, he started again. “During our conversation at the ball the next day, he issued an unusual warning that, at the time, I assumed was just him being a little loose lipped but following his seizure, I realized was actually very true. He told me to be careful the kind of things that I used to distract myself. Distractions can be key, he said. But it’s the vices you choose to use that will either be your saving graces or your worst nightmare.”

That conversation had taken place after they’d had sex, he’d been laying beside Dayton as he smoked. It had been Mike’s first time with anyone and at the time he wasn’t listening that closely for what he was being told. In fact, he’d been more interested in moving back under the blankets.

“For me, I wandered down the same road as Mr. Foster for several years, falling into the pitfalls of being exactly what he said I would. I am, like many in this room, smarter than your average bear and when you’re surrounded by everyone else, you sometimes feel like you would give -anything- to just be normal.”

Mike sighed softly and looked down at where his friend Ali was sitting in front row looking up at him with pride in her eyes. After they left this hell, they were going to England to meet her boyfriend’s parents for the first time and find out exactly what being with the Lord would entail. A little over a week ago he had been dancing in a cage in a gay bar in St. Louis, blown out of his mind on ecstasy and cocaine, anything to not deal with his breakup, revenge fucking his way through St. Louis and attempting to not exist for a while. He let out a sigh, realizing the Pokemon Trainers had tuned into the lecture as well.

“I’m going to come right out and say it. Normal is boring. And trying to be like everyone else isn’t worth anything in the world. You are all here because you aren’t normal, you’re geniuses in some way. You stand above the class because it’s how you are, and you know what? That’s okay. It’s taken me another 11 years to realize that what my mentor was trying to warn me about is inevitably something we all end up going through in some degree. Some of you will be up here in ten years thinking back on something that happened to you that changed your life, and some of you might not be with us again ever again. Either you will have realized that, as reassuring as it is for there to be a whole club of other people just like you, they can’t help you in the real world. Or…you may end up like Mr. Foster.” He took a moment to look at the wide-eyed kids in front of him. “And if that is the case, I want to extend my greatest sympathies to you now.”

Mike sighed. “My message actually isn’t for the young ears out there, but rather the people fueling your genius right now. Aside from being awarded with the MacArthur grant, and solving not one but two of the unsolvable math problems in my 28 years,” He had to pause for a moment as the room erupted in applause. Raising his voice an octave, he started again “I also work as a video director for Revolver Records.” And a gay porn director with his drag queen friends, but he left that out too. “I’m outspoken about my identity as a homosexual man and I don’t feel the need to hide behind anything in order to make everyone else more comfortable with my existence but that is because I’ve lived through my mistakes and my slips have luckily been caught by friends who are willing to keep my head above water. I wasn’t always that brave or that strong. I came from a family that wanted me to be smarter than everyone else but never really step out and stand up for myself. Something changed in me when I met Foster, because I began to see for myself that I have control over my own life. In that vein, my message, is to the parents and guardians.”

Mike’s parents weren’t there for him. They tried, endlessly to use him for their own means because he was smarter than everyone else in the room. The same had been true of Dayton Foster, he was in his 30’s when he suffered a seizure and fell to the ground, striking his head on the ground and the resulting brain damage caused him to lose a lot of what had made him the man everyone had respected. Mike had knelt beside him, helping him to roll on his side so he didn’t asphyxiate and had rhythmically run his hand along the man’s back, attempting to soothe him. He was scared that night and realized that while Dayton was wearing a wedding ring, he never actually spoke of his husband and aside from the boy he’d bedded the night before, he had no one with him. Mike shivered and brought himself back to his speech.

“Your children are different than the rest of the world. Some of them may be in college before they can even drive a car and while that’s okay, you need to remember they are still children and they still need you. I see the look of the parents out there who have already forgotten that they still have a child because of how ‘adult’ they seem. My parents weren’t there for me and for the longest time no one else was either. I found friends later in life that kept me from completely imploding but with everything I’ve told you about Mr. Foster, you can probably guess he didn’t have the same luck. He worked for everything he had but it all fell through his fingers as he drank himself to sleep most nights and spent his days trying to make himself not feel anything. Foster lost everything that made him the man he was known for and I don’t want to see that happen to any of you.”

Mike had been punctuating the words ‘any, of and you’ by pointing at the kids in the audience. “It is so easy to fall into the pitfalls of ‘I’m smarter than all of you and I know it so that makes me better than you’ but what you’re going to find when you get out in the real world is people…all those average people who have bullied you for being too smart, they’re going to look down on you -because- of your intelligence and you acting like you’re better than them now is only going to make it worse going forward. Mensa can help you, it looks great on your college admissions, especially when you’re 12 and going to college. But in the end, you must know how to function with the rest of society, and you need someone in your corner. You parents out there, you must be there for your kids. If you aren’t…” He let the words hang in the air in for a moment and could already see the phones coming on in the back and middle rows, the Karens ultimately mad that he called them out for their shitty parenting practices or the ones who were tweeting about how they do everything to make sure their child succeeds but when they leave here, they won’t go where the child wants, they’re going to make them go back to doing ‘smart people things’. He sighed, picking up a bottle of water from a stool near the back of the stage and took a drink. Turning back around again he made a motion for the house lights to come back on.

“I look around this room…And I see so many different types of people and I’m sure you’re all doing exactly what -you- think you should be doing for your kids. When was the last time one of your kids went for the bike ride with their friends? When was the last time they went to an amusement park or even Chuck E Cheese?” He looked down when he heard an ‘ooh!’ off to the side and smiled, seeing a little girl run over to her mom and excitedly motioned with her hands, probably asking about the same thing. And honestly the mom looked like she was thinking about it.

“Kids need to be kids. You can be brilliant and still be a kid. You can go play with your friends, have sugar or play sports for the fun of it. If you’re not able to find something to enjoy in your life, you may find yourself sitting in a window watching the world go by and wondering why you’re still a part of it.”

This wasn’t the lecture he had written and that had been approved when he’d been invited to speak, but for some reason he had been thinking about Foster for the last few days, unable to really get him out of his head, probably because he’d hit the ground a little too hard and realized he was headed in the same direction. That and he’d been thinking about Travis and the two were…a lot alike. When he and Ali had arrived at the banquet the day before he had seen a lot of kids being kept away from the sweets and the snacks, some of them looking the way he used to, bullied and uncomfortable and then there was the Trainers he’d noticed tonight. These were animated, chatting with adults and other kids, wanting to hang out and talking about going to the museums or go to one of the parks in Washington and spend the day playing. All these different personalities had caused him to change his tone a bit.

As he moved back over to the podium again, Mike picked up his papers and shuffled them a bit. He had notes about Dayton because he was just going to mention him as a cautionary tale and for a moment wondered if the man ever gets on Youtube, because this was inevitably going to be on there.

“You know, I realize, your programming card said I was going to talk about how I solved the world’s most complicated math problems and how focus and determination can win you the biggest prize but honestly…I figured out the first one because a mathematics professor in college was annoyed by an impetuous thirteen year old finishing his whole semester in a week and the other one because I was bored and wanted something to challenge myself with.” He chuckled softly before he started speaking again.

“I have another quote from Mr. Foster for you, and it’s one of my favorites from one of his books. “Boredom is a prerequisite for genius, and sometimes for so many other things. Try new things, you’re always going to be learning but sometimes it’s nice to detach your brain and just…Do something considered trivial. Fun should never be criminalized, especially for us smart people. We sometimes forget what it’s like to do something with no other intention but to do it.”

Mike bowed his head, thanking everyone for having him and stepped off the stage, bending down when he stepped on an abandoned Pokemon card. He put his foot over it for a moment as he was bombarded by several people coming up to talk to him. When they left him, he knelt and picked up the card, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a normal card on the back but turning it over it was holographic. Raising his voice, he noticed the Trainers were all gathering again around a taller boy named Isaac and the littler one he’d seen wanting to go to Chuck E Cheese.

“Who lost a Legendary Mew card?”

The little girl was the one who came up and asked for it and he smiled, handing it down to her. He had met her the day before while she was playing with a Nintendo DS and her mother seemed to be fielding off the glares of the other mothers here who thought those things were less than appropriate for smart children. Her brother, Dakota had been playing what seemed to be a never-ending game of tic-tac-toe with their father. He had inadvertently broken her heart when he’d expressed his surprise that she had good parents.

Beatrice, which was a big name for a such a small girl, swished her little dress as she stood there, patiently waiting her turn to talk to him and rolled on the heels of her sneakers. While she waited for him to be done with the adults she turned to talk to Isaac, Mike only caught a couple of words, something about Pokemon Go, something about the Smithsonian and then something about a...soda stream? Whatever...She said said goodbye to her friend, hugging the older boy around the waist before turning back to him again. Once everyone was gone he knelt in front of her so he could watch her eyes.

“So...how bad was I?”

She giggled and started to speak when a woman very rudely interrupted her. Mike held his hand up to silence the woman, telling her he had no intention of talking to her now that she had interrupted their conversation and widened his eyes, looking at Ali over Bea’s shoulder.

“You did great! But...um...What happened to him?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Foster…what happened to him?”

“Oh…” Right. “When I looked him up last night Google said he’s living in a place called Monroe Manor in New Orleans.” It was a type of adult care facility. Mike had been on the website for a while looking at it, the idea was interesting. There was the main hospital building and then on the property there were duplexes where the patients that wanted to try living on their own could try. He paused for a moment before speaking again. Beatrice was probably five, he wasn’t sure about her internet time but decided to mention Dayton’s blog. It was depressing if you read into it too much but there was still something left of the man in there, you could tell by his very long posts. “He’s staying where people can help him, he’s been there for a couple of years, I think.” He watched her eyes widen and she seemed to be thinking about something very serious. Looking up at her mother, Mike smiled. “Um...Dayton has a blog on Tumblr, I don’t know if she could actually get on it, but it’s kind of interesting.”

A quick Google search would also tell you that Dayton Foster had been in and out of jail several times over the last eleven years, from drunk and disorderly to public intoxication and spitting at a cop during an arrest for public urination and ‘lewd’ behavior, whatever that meant. When Mike had looked him up there was also a report about his attempted suicide a few years ago. Someone had found him sitting in Audubon Park with a gun in his mouth, apparently playing a very dangerous game of roulette.

“He’s doing better now.” The look in her big green eyes told him she didn’t believe him. Mike sighed as she looked at him square in the face and said exactly that.

“We’r/e at a Mensa meeting, I’m very smart...just like you. So...how is he doing?”

Mike wondered for a moment how Dayton would react getting a picture from a little girl that said, ‘Get Well Soon’ but all he could really do was shrug.

“He’s not exactly giving TedTalks, but I guess he’s doing okay...I haven’t actually spoken to him.” And now he felt bad about it. He sighed and looked at Bea, earnestly wondering how he was supposed to explain how he used this man to tell a cautionary tale but knew nothing about his health.

“I don’t think he’d remember me, honestly. Uh...you’ve got my e-mail right? If you want to talk, I’m always around.” Plus they live relatively close...for now. Is it weird for him to be friends with a 5 year old? Probably...at least he’s gay.

Another handful of people came up and started asking him questions about what he was doing now, how he’d solved the problems or what he had done with the money from both the problems and the grant and about 100 other things. Mike sighed and slumped against Ali once they’d all left him alone. None of them had actually paid a lot of attention to his speech, instead they focused on something minute or accused him of not knowing what he was talking about because he wasn’t a parent. His dry comeback with ‘no but I am a genius’ hadn’t gone over well. Looking at his friend he sighed.

“The only one that cared was 5....” He cursed.

“Get me out of here…I think I’ve had enough of these kinds of people for a lifetime.” He’d depressed himself and aside from being hungry and ready to be anywhere other than here, he also now wanted to call Travis and tell him he missed him.

Dammit.

#Ben schnetzer #character

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a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years

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A Messed Up Place | Five

Pairings: Bucky x Reader || Steve x Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to take his mind off you. Things don’t go as planned.

Warnings: Borderline smut (basically just some intense making out). Language, as usual. I think that’s it....?

Notes: For @hellomissmabel’s challenge. I spent two hours or so writing this, instead of writing up my notes. Can you tell that I’ve got my priorities in check?

Also -- we’re a third of the way through the series, more or less!

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky Barnes is very much conscious of the fact that his grave has already been dug. He’s now playing a waiting game, just hanging around, holding onto his will to live by the thinnest of threads. He’ll stick around until the final nail in his coffin is hammered into place and then—well. Then his worries will be gone, won’t they?

The nail-biting suspense consumes his every moment, hovering in the back of his mind like a pesky fly. No matter how hard he tries to shove the fear away, it always comes swirling back, stronger than ever. It’s all he can do to wait.

So he waits.

And waits.

And — goddammit when is Steve going to come and talk to him?!

It’s been nearly two weeks since Bucky decided to drink himself stupid in his bathtub and pour his heart out to Steve Rogers, aka the world’s most clueless best friend. Although a tiny part of Bucky is clinging to the hope — hah, hope. What a far-fetched concept — that Steve did not pay attention to Bucky’s drunken ramblings and has no idea who Bucky was talking about, a significantly larger part of him knows Steve. In fact, Bucky knows Steve better than Steve knows himself, sometimes. And if Bucky knows anything about Steve, it is that the man is smarter than appearances would imply. It’s tough to pull a fast one on him.

Which means that Bucky’s pretty sure that Steve knows that he was talking about you. Oh, who is he kidding? He wasn’t just talking about you, he was fucking professing his love for you. Bucky was essentially laying bare his heart and soul, spilling them all over the bathroom floor in vivid shades of love-struck red.

Bucky remembers the paralysing terror that gripped his muscles when he woke up the next morning and recalled the events of the night before. His memory of those couple of hours are fuzzy at best, tinged with the warm glow of alcohol-induced haziness, but he remembers the general gist of what was said and knows that it’s as convicting a piece of evidence as any. There’s no two ways about it; Bucky was referring to you.

Steve knows that Bucky has feelings for his girl.

What Bucky doesn’t know is why on earth Steve hasn’t approached him about it. It’s been over two weeks since the bathroom incident. In that time, Steve has carried on as normal, acting like nothing’s wrong between them. He’s behaving as if nothing’s changed, like everything’s right in the world. Then again, maybe Bucky’s just reading too much into the situation.

But because Steve has been going on with business-as-usual, he’s been dragging Bucky to the gym and out on runs at any given opportunity, trying to spend time together. Of course, Bucky wants to do anything but spend time with Steve — because really, why would he put himself through the torment of scrutinising every second, wondering when Steve will finally confront him — but he knows that avoiding Steve would come across as overly suspicious. Hence, although Bucky would much prefer hiding out in his room or some other, equally private and Steve-free place, he forces himself to plaster on fake smile after fake smile, laughing and swaggering around the place like nothing’s fucked up about him.

He’s terrified of what might happen if he were to stop pretending.

Maybe Steve wants Bucky to broach the topic. Or maybe, Steve is okay with sweeping the issue under the rug, pretending that it never happened, attributing it all to the looseness of tongue that comes from drinking a tad too much Asgardian mead. Bucky wouldn’t put that past him; in fact, pretending like it never happened in order to preserve Bucky’s pride sounds exactly like the kind of self-sacrificing thing that Steve Rogers would do.

Ah crap. He’s overthinking again.

Bucky is fully aware that he could put himself out of his misery if he just plucked up the courage and actually just talked to Steve, but therein lies the issue. Bucky doesn’t have courage. No matter what people say about him — he’s a coward at heart. Too afraid to tell you that he loved you and now, too afraid to come clean with Steve and potentially lose the trust of the only person who understands him in this strange new world.

Bucky wonders about a lot of things, but a thought that keeps on popping up is how Steve would react. Would he end his relationship with you so that Bucky could take his place? The two of you are pretty serious, so it’s a highly unlikely scenario, but still.

He’d like to think that there’s a chance.

He doesn’t deserve you, but Bucky wants you all the same. He doesn’t deserve you, but he wants to deserve you, wants to work his ass off to show you how much he cares. It’s conflicting, it’s confusing and it’s maddening enough that sometimes, all Bucky wants to do is ram his head against a wall. Several times. At full, no-holding-back, super-strength force. He’d bang his head several times, knock the thoughts of his head — or, y’know, knock himself out. Whichever came first.

It’s these kinds of thoughts that keep him up at night.

Bucky sighs heavily as he rolls onto his side and checks the clock he keeps on his bedside table. Seven minutes past five in the morning is an acceptable time to get up, no? To be fair, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before — three hours, at a stretch — but then again, when does he ever get more than four hours of sleep a night, anyway? Nowadays, thoughts of you, thoughts of Steve and worries about his life in general are enough fodder for his brain to chew over, keeping him tossing and turning well into the quiet hours of the morning.

He needs a distraction.

A distraction of a particular kind. Bucky knows that it’d only be a temporary fix, will only take his mind off the hell that his life has become — take his mind off you — for a couple of hours if he’s lucky, but fuck. He needs it. He needs a break from the raucous cacophony that is the inside of his head.

With a weary sigh, Bucky heaves himself out of bed, pulls on a pair of sweatpants and yesterday’s t-shirt, then trudges out to the into the common area in search of her. If he’s lucky, she’ll be here.

Natasha never was one for sleep.

Sure enough, when Bucky enters the spacious living room that functions as the compound’s main lounge area, he finds Natasha curled up on the plush armchair in the corner, mug of coffee in one hand, legs tucked underneath her body and a book propped up on the armrest of her chair. She’s dressed in slim-fit black jeans and a striped grey hoodie, with a splash of red on her lips to match the fiery redness of her hair. It’s not uncommon for him to find her like this most mornings. The two of them hardly ever sleep through the night — in fact, Bucky’s fairly certain that she sustains herself entirely on power naps throughout the day — so they’ve developed a kind of amiable, if rather silent, morning routine around each other.

Bucky knows that she’s heard him come in, so that fact that she’s chosen to not acknowledge him is entirely on purpose. He flops into the the two-seater sofa directly opposite her and clears his throat.

“Natasha?”

Her gaze flicks up sharply, coming to rest on him. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as she studies him for all of two seconds, makes some sort of judgement in her mind and decides that Bucky is worth her attention. She lifts her mug to her cherry-red lips, poised to take a sip. Before she does, though, she arches an eyebrow inquisitively, as if to say go on, I’m listening.

Bucky licks his lips. “I need a favour,” he admits.

She makes a thoughtful humming noise, sips her coffee, then sets her mug and book down on the decorative side table to her left.

“Tell me more,” she replies.

———————

Amy is nice, by most people’s standards. More then nice, even. She’s got bleached-blonde hair that brushes her shoulders, a charming but not overtly-memorable face and a killer body, highlighted by the skin-tight blue velvet dress she’s wearing. Amy is kind enough to chuckle at Bucky’s half-hearted attempts at humour and is interesting enough to keep the conversation flowing easily.

He doesn’t know much about her background, only the barest details that Natasha thought would be useful to him. Bucky knows that she’s ex-SHIELD, went with Natasha on a couple of missions whilst the two were based in DC. Her skill-set meant that she got snatched up by a private security firm the moment SHIELD ceased to exist and now works as a bodyguard for high-level female clients. To be honest, Bucky doesn’t give a flying fuck about her background. All he cares about is the fact that she’s pretty, she’s sweet and she’s almost enough to take his mind off you.

Almost.

The waiter comes by at that moment, bottle of fancy red wine in one hand. He tops up their glasses and asks if everything’s alright.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Amy says, flashing him a polite smile.

She’s got nice teeth, Bucky notices absentmindedly. Takes care of her oral hygiene, he supposes. Good to know, given the fact that he’s probably going to get up-close-and-personal with her teeth in under an hour.

Sure, a part of him — the last remnants of James Buchanan Barnes, ladies-man of the 1930s — does feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of what tonight means. He’d been explicit with Natasha. He’d told her that he wanted a girl with a nice enough personality that he could stand having dinner with, and a nice enough body for him to fuck his way through his grief. It’s terrible of him, he knows this, but goddammit, how else is he supposed to give himself a break from thoughts of you?

To his credit, Bucky knows that Amy is under no illusions about what this evening is about. They’re going through the notions of dinner at a respectable restaurant just to make Bucky feel a little less terrible about himself; an attempt to pretend that chivalry is still alive and thriving. In reality, he and Amy know exactly where this night is headed: to her apartment. Possibly her bed, although Bucky’s not picky about where they do it. This is a fuck-date, through and through.

Bucky shifts in his seat and readjusts the rolled-up sleeves of his white dress shirt. Amy catches him fidgeting and raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow.

“D’you wanna stay for dessert, or would you rather have something at my place?” she asks, batting her eyelashes suggestively.

Bucky chuckles, decides to play along with her game. “What kinda dessert are you offering, ma’am?”

Amy laughs softly as she pushes around the remains of her pasta with her fork. “Well…I was thinking…something sweet?”

“I like sweet,” Bucky murmurs, spooning the last of his mushroom risotto into his mouth.

“Mmm, maybe we could even have dessert in bed,”.

“Now you’re talking my language,” Bucky chuckles, waggling his eyebrows knowingly. The corner of her lips crooks up into a half-smile. It’s settled, then. Bucky signals to the waiter, pays for the bill, then leads Amy out of the restaurant with a hand resting on the small of her back.

The cab ride to her apartment is blissfully short, no more than ten minutes. Amy drapes her body against Bucky’s side; a pleasant source of warmth. She keeps her hand on his thigh, idly stroking up and down the inner seam of his dark skinny jeans, starting from the inside on his knee and stopping just a fraction short of where his dick is. He knows she’s doing it on purpose, trying to rile him up and boy does it work.

Bucky exits the cab with his leather jacket folded over one arm and strategically held in front of his body, to hide the semi he’s got going on. He catches Amy’s eyes flickering over him, the tiny smirk on her lips; she’s clearly aware of the effect she’s having on him.

She knows what she’s doing when she exists the elevator first, walking a few steps of Bucky so that he can admire the sinuous curve of her back and the gentle swish in her hips as she walks down the corridor to her place. Bucky knows that she knows that he’s watching, knows that she’s probably exaggerating the sway of her hips for his benefit, but damn, she looks good in those heels. His dick presses up a little bit harder against the fly of his jeans.

Her apartment is neat and nondescript, largely devoid of any kind of personalised touches. It’s the home of someone who’s hardly ever home, lacking the decor and finishing touches that give a place a lived-in feel. Bucky kicks the door shut behind him and allows himself to be pressed to the wall. Amy leans in close, but pauses a hair’s breadth away from his lips, giving him one last chance for him to back out.

The room stills. Tension is fraught in the air. She’s close enough that Bucky can feel her hair tickling his stubbled cheek, can feel the warmth of her breath against his lips every time she exhales.

Tonight is not about backing out.

Bucky surges forward, cupping the back of her neck with his flesh hand as he crushes their lips together. Amy responds in kind, immediately catching onto the fact that tonight is not the night for gentle touches and tender caresses. Bucky wants it rough, wants it tinted with the red-hot filter of pain. He nips at her bottom lip and, when she moans heatedly, slips his tongue into her mouth, flicking it around teasingly. Amy huffs in frustration and fists her hands into the front of his shirt, using her grip to bodily yank him over to her sofa.

She pushes Bucky into the cushions and stands between his spread thighs. Bucky runs his hands up the backs of her legs, slipping them underneath her skirt and letting them rest just below the swell of her ass. Her hair is fluffy and slightly disheveled, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown with desire. She kicks her heels off then climbs into Bucky’s lap, shins bracketing the outsides of his thighs.

Amy’s close enough that Bucky can feel the heat radiating off her like a furnace. He leans into her touch as she trails her fingers down his cheek, humming in approval as she scratches her nails against the skin behind his ear. Amy licks her bottom lip coquettishly, cocks her head to the side and comes in close, brushing her lips against Bucky’s own.

Bucky feels like he’s been starved of touch as of late, so he lets his hands roam wherever they may go; kneading her ass, smoothing over her hips and trailing up her back. Amy’s nimble fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt as she presses her lips to his more insistently, deepening the kiss. Bucky closes his eyes and lets her tongue into his mouth, tries to lose himself in the moment, attempts to make the dissonant racket inside his head quieten down to ambient white noise.

As is to be expected, he fails.

Kissing Amy, drinking in her taste, feeling her up is all well and good but it’s not…it’s not you. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong, doing this. Bucky is conflicted. Her smell is wrong. It’s too flowery, too sweet, a far cry from the fresh, crisp scent of your skin. Perhaps that’s a good thing, he tells himself. But as much as Bucky tries to convince his mind that this is what he needs, he knows that in reality, he’s just lying to himself.

He doesn’t need Amy.

It’s not Amy’s laugh that makes his heart thrum a little bit faster. It’s not Amy’s touch that makes Bucky feel complete. It’s not Amy’s eyes that calm the storm that rages inside him.

He doesn’t need Amy. He needs you.

There’s a sinking feeling settling into the pit of his stomach, like someone’s dropped an anchor and is bringing tonight’s events to their premature end. With much reluctance and a heaving sigh, Bucky pushes hard against Amy’s shoulders and forces her to sit back in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” she asks breathlessly, raking her fingers through her hair to push it out of her face.

Bucky sighs again, smiles apologetically and scratches at his chin. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t do…this,” he mutters, using one hand to gesture in vague circles between them. “It’s not you…it’s me,” he says immediately, “Sorry. I—you’ve been great, but I just…can’t. M’sorry,”.

He braces himself internally for the slap. The rejection, disdain and disappointment. He is surprised when it does not come.

“There’s someone else, huh?” Amy murmurs, cocking her head to one side as her understanding dawns on her expression.

Bucky winces. “Um..kind of? I—yeah. It’s…it’s real complicated,”.

Amy exhales a breath of air in a rapid whoosh, nodding her head as she makes a disappointed clucking sound with her tongue. “Well. I kinda knew. I was expecting this, if I’m honest,”.

Bucky’s gaze snaps towards her. “You what?”

Amy shrugs. “Kinda had an inkling the moment I sat down at that table, Barnes. You weren’t in the right headspace for a hookup. Been reading the bad vibes off you this entire night — s’ kinda what I’m paid to do,” she says.

“Damn it,” Bucky grumbles, “I really was making an effort,”.

“Really?” Amy asks, the teasing lilt returning to her voice. “You call that makin’ an effort? You were a terrible kisser,”.

“Hey!” Bucky protests.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Amy chuckles, petting his cheek. “No, it’s fine, I was prepared for this to happen, so I’m not that disappointed, really,”

“Sorry,” Bucky says again; quieter, more sincerely this time.

She smiles gently, rests her hand against the side of his neck. “Don’t be sorry. I get it. I hope things work out for you, Bucky,”.

The right side of his lips twitches in a wan attempt at a smile. “Me too,” he breathes. Amy appraises him for a moment longer, then swings her legs off him and throws herself onto her couch, sprawling ungracefully across the empty space.

She lifts her head up slightly to look at him. “D’you wanna stay, or…?”

Bucky shakes his head ruefully as he does up the top buttons on his shirt and looks around for where his jacket’s been discarded. “I…think I’ll be heading back now, if it’s all the same to you,” he tells her.

Amy waves her hand dismissively, “Eh, the new season of Stranger Things is out, and I need to catch up on that anyway. It’s no big deal, for me,”. Bucky mentally thanks Amy for being so cool with all this. He needs to tell Nat to send her a thank-you present of some sort. Bucky stands up and retrieves his jacket from where it’s been dropped on the floor. He bunches it up in both hands as he chews on his lip and stands awkwardly in her entrance hallway.

“Something wrong?” Amy calls.

“This was…it was nice, Amy,” Bucky says, shooting her a half-smile, “I had fun, I really did. I’m sorry I…yeah. this was fun,”.

“It was,” she agrees, “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to take your mind off whoever this was. Must be one hell of a crush you got there, Barnes; most men find me irresistible when I’m grinding in their laps,”.

“I will admit, you almost had me, at one point,” Bucky laughs, as he shrugs on his jacket.

“Damn. I’m losing my touch,” she mutters.

Bucky chuckles as he turns the handle of her door. “Bye, Amy. Thanks for—everything,”.

“It was a pleasure. Have a good night, Bucky,”.

———————

It’s a clear night, so Bucky decides to get off the train a few stops early and walk the rest of the way to the compound. His rationale is that the crisp, slightly chilly night air will help to clear his mind.

He’ll take anything that has even the slightest chance of clearing his mind, at this stage.

Bucky can’t stop thinking about you. He’s in love and he’s suffering as a result. Every thought he has of you is bittersweet; you are his pleasure and his sole source of pain, his light and the very reason for the darkness threatening to consume him.

Bucky’s mind is a mess of emotions right now. His pissed off with himself, envious of Steve, frustrated with the universe and generally fed-up with how shit his life has become. He knows that the two of you aren’t together — you were never together in the first place — so he has no right to feel like this. Why should he feel protective and jealous and angered in a way that has his hands clenching into tightly-balled fists? Bucky has no right to feel this way, especially not when he factors Steve into the equation, but none of that — none of the rationalising of what is right and wrong and should and shouldn’t be — changes the fact that he does feel.

He feels too much.

Tonight was a bust. Bucky knows that he’s fully entitled to sleep with another woman. There’s no way you could’ve held that against him, what with you being in a committed relationship with Steve, and all. Even so, Bucky can’t help but feel that by sleeping with Amy, he would’ve been cheating on you, in some way. It’s utterly irrational, but fucking Amy would’ve felt dirty and sinful in all the wrong ways, like he’d be betraying your trust, somehow. He knows that that thought is complete nonsense, but it’s one that he can’t ignore.

That seems to be the recurring theme, Bucky notes. He knows. He knows this, he knows that, but the fact is, he knows. And yet, no matter what the logical part of his brain is telling him to do, Bucky never seems to be able to listen to it. It seems that his body is hard-wired to follow the instincts of his love-stricken heart, and look where that’s taken him.

In a way, he’s glad of the way the night’s turned out. Amy doesn’t deserve to be used that way, as if she were a means to an end. She’s more than just a temporary patch-up for a problem that has no solution. Bucky has fucked up a lot in recent weeks; he doesn’t need to go out of his way to make yet another mistake.

His feet have carried him to the gates of the compound without him even realising where he was going. Bucky taps his access code into the panel, lets FRIDAY scan his thumbprint and then makes his way up the gravel drive once the gate lets him through.

It’s just after midnight when he slips through the front door, so Bucky’s pretty surprised when he sees that the hallway light is still on. Most of the lights in the compound are operated via sensors, with FRIDAY automatically turning them off when no one’s in the room. Bucky catches the low thud of footsteps and—

—his breath catches in his throat.

“Heya, Bucky,” you chirp. You’re dressed in a pair of loose flannel pyjama pants and one of Steve’s t-shirts. A glass of water is in your hand.

“Hey,” Bucky croaks. God. How do you manage to make fucking pyjamas look sexy?

“Nat told me you went out tonight. Had fun?” you ask, eyes quickly taking in his outfit.

“Umm…yeah, it was okay, I guess,” Bucky murmurs distractedly, “Not the best night of my life,”.

“Hmm, well…” you let your voice trail off as you glance down the corridor, “I—um..I better…Steve’s waiting, I think,”.

Bucky’s eyes widen a fraction before he catches himself. “Oh. Yeah, yeah, sorry—didn’t mean to keep you,”.

“No, it’s fine!” you assure him, as you shuffle down the corridor, towards your room. “G’night, Bucky,”.

“Night,” Bucky replies.

Bucky doesn’t bother to add the ‘good’ because there’s nothing good about tonight. Not for him, at least.

————————- Tags are open (permanent and for AMUP), but I’m only accepting tag requests from asks or PMs. Replies/comments will be ignored.

#annies2kbirthdaycelebration #bucky x reader #steve x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagines #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #a messed up place #my writing #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut

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nico-meridius · 7 years

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Afternoon Fic - Option 3 (Part 13)

I blame Ernesto entirely for being a week in between updates.

Up next ...y’all know it’s coming! The wedding and possible coda for the honeymoon :)

***

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

***

John knew Harold would be upset if he knew where he was, but this was something brewing. He also knew The Machine backed him on this particular endeavor or Harold would've already have known what John was up to.

The security in the building sucked as bad as it did, that night he had stopped by to see Harold, when they essentially got married. He had walked past the guards without an issue, got in an elevator to the middle floors, then made his way up the back staircase. He only waited for a few moments, before the secretary was distracted enough for him to slip into the corner office.

Nathan Ingram was sitting behind his desk, back to the door staring out the window to the city below. John could easily kill him, and no one would know he was here.

But Harold would know, and he wasn't the killer Stanton claimed him to be.

John sat in the expansive leather chairs, designed to be uncomfortable and make the person squirm while sitting across from the 'boss'. He lounged in a way that made it look as if he had no cares in the world.

Harold had never introduced them, and for a while he wondered if it was because John was just a lowly soldier. In time he began to not really care, he had Harold when he was in town and that was what was important.

When he had been confronted by Stanton about being seen at IFT, he suspected there was more but played dumb. He played dumb a lot with Kara, she enjoyed being smarter than him. She wanted a killer puppy, so he played the role. He mistook camaraderie for partnership and ended up with a bullet as a parting gift.

He had returned to the cheap hotel, their guest still in the bathtub. His gut knew the mission was off books, and likely to go south but he kept his mouth shut. The CIA didn't hire him for his brains, he was pretty and shot straight.

'What were you doing at IFT?' Kara laid in on him the moment the door was closed.

John gave her a slow blink. 'What?'

'You were spotted at IFT.' She stood moving towards him in a menancing maner. It was a small hotel room, there wasn't much room for him to maneuver.

'What the hell is IFT?' He shifted around her, making his way to the window with the table between them.

'The building you were in.' Her tone indicated he shouldn't lie to her.

'The office tower downtown?' John frowned, shaking his head. 'What the hell is that to do with anything? You told me to go out, have some fun.'

'So you decided to break into a corporate building that happens to have a government contract?' She folder her arms over her chest, which mean she wasn't reaching for her gun.

'I had no idea where I was. I picked up some secretary at a bar, she was at least two sheets to the wind. She had a fantasy about having sex at work. Some accounting firm on the seventh floor. I got laid she got her wish.' He shrugged casually, knowing he probably smelled like sex, since he only washed up and not showered. 'If that's a government building it's security sucks. No guard asked me once what I was doing there.'

Kara lowered her arms. 'Well at least you got laid.'

He smirked, giving her a wink. 'Twice. She was good to go. She's not going to be able to set in front of her boss' desk without smirking.'

She chuckled. 'We have the room next door, take a shower you reek, and it's making me horny.'

He gave her a wink, and a slap on the ass on the way out the door.

He had always wondered who saw him, and told the CIA. He had scoped the place out an hour before he got up to Harold's area, to have a cover story just in case. He had seen the secretary on the 7th floor doing her boss on his desk.

A nagging part of his brain, had thought it was Nathan.

After he discovered that he had convinced Harold's machine to remove John from his life, that nagging suspicion had grown.

He barely shifted, when Nathan finally turned to see him sitting there. He gave the older man credit, he flinched but didn't flail or start screaming. The two stared at one another for a few moments.

"Well it's finally good to meet you John." Nathan relaxed when he realized the Agent could've killed him a thousand times before now.

"Nathan." John shifted only enough, so if he needed to move he could in seconds.

"What brings you to IFT?" He went for casual, as if they were old friends.

"You don't seem to shocked that I'm alive." John gave him a pointed look.

"I figured it out, when Harold screamed at me he was already married. So how is poor Grace?" Nathan snarked back.

"Good. She's got a date with a nice doctor this Friday. She's Grace guest at her art showing." John smirked.

One of Nathan's eyebrow rose. "Touché."

"One question and then we can move on." John stood, hands laid flat on the desk surface as he leaned over it. "I know you convinced the machine to declare me dead. I even get it. I really do. My question and answer wisely, Nathan. Did you tell them I was here that night? Did you put Harold at risk for some petty need to be the only man in his life?"

Nathan held his spot and looked John straight in the eyes. He had been enough business deals with government, military and foreign entities to know not to back down.

He also knew that if he was ever to get near Harold again he would need to be honest.

"No."

John nodded and sat back down. "Then who did?"

"I was having an affair with Alicia."

"And you're still alive?" John whistled appreciatively.

"Thanks to Harold and his Machine."

"You were a Number, the Ferry bombing, when Harold was injured." His eyes narrowed, a part of him wanted to hurt Nathan, but he had a feeling his pride and loss of friendship was more punishment than John could dish out.

"She was at my office that night, I'm guessing she saw you leave." Nathan stood and made his way over to the bar. He grabbed the good scotch and two glasses. "Everything I did, it was for Harold."

"I learned early in our relationship that what you think is good for Harold, and what Harold thinks are usually two different things." He stood and took the offered drink and sipped it. "He misses you."

"I miss him." Nathan leaned against the bar. "It was my own fault. When he met Grace, I hoped my guilt would ease for killing you or close enough to killing you. I should've realized he wasn't really happy. The only times I saw him with that true smile, was when he was with you."

"I don't deserve him." John downed the rest of the liquor. "I know that. I'm blessed, thankful, and down right humbled he wanted to be with me, let alone stay with me, even now. And because of that I'll do anything to protect him. I will also see to his happiness, and he won't admit it but fixing this between you two would make him happy."

"I've been stubborn and my ego is a bitch." Nathan smirked, chuckling darkly.

"We're getting married, next weekend." He pulled out the invitation and handed it over to Nathan. "Be there."

He took the heavy grade parchment, smiling softly.

It was so Harold.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Nathan only nodded when John passed him and patted him on the shoulder. He called out just before he got to the door "Thank You."

"It's Black Tie." He added on hand on the knob.

Nathan laughed. "Of course it is." He turned and looked at the CIA Agent, realizing now he was the one meant for Harold, as much as Harold was meant for him. "So where are you registered?"

"The Machine will tell you." He gave him a smirk before leaving.

Nathan poured himself a second glass, sat back at desk, fingers sliding over the hand calligraphy invitation. His computer came to life, internet windows popping up with gift options. He took a glance, laughing when he saw the prices. He was sure The Machine was making him pay, not just emotionally, but also with his wallet.

Continued

#rinch #harold finch #john reese #person of interest #afternoon fic #option 3 #poi husbands #alternate universe

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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New Look Sabres: Amerks Angle - January Edition

The American Hockey League, for how closely associated it is with the NHL and that league’s global reach, feels somewhat claustrophobic at times. I keep a close eye on my hometown Americans of Rochester and it seems like they’ve played all of Utica, Syracuse and Toronto a hundred times by now. Last season when I was watching the Amerks even more than the Sabres because well… you know… there was this nonstop competition within the North Division. This is not unlike the NHL where you also play your divisional opponents most frequently but in the AHL it seems like your division is all that matters. If you’re in the top four of your division you’re in the playoffs and just like in the NHL anything can happen there. Why am I contemplating the nature of the American league season? Before we last got together for Amerks Angle there was a losing streak and fears the Amerks would not be able to maintain their lead atop the North Division. They briefly did fall out of that spot in December but now find themselves there again maintaining that status by any points in the standings they can get: wins, shootout wins and shootout losses have all come into play in the last ten games since we last looked at the Amerks Angle. This tight race isn’t exciting just because last year’s North Division dominator won a Calder Cup Title but because it makes every little move and machination within the team that much more important. There may have been only ten games since we last got together and focused on the Americans but oh so much has happened in the organization to make this Amerks team fascinating as we prepare to head down the stretch run of the season.

For one, up until the recent trade we’re about to talk about, there has been a long jam in terms of roster spots throughout the organization meaning waivers, call-ups and send-downs have needed to be an exact science. That trade we’re about to talk about: Justin Bailey. If you aren’t regular follower of Sabres prospects or the Rochester Americans let me tell you one thing: Bailey was beloved. He was a local boy living his childhood dream of playing for the Buffalo Sabres organization. He signed sticks, sent encouraging messages to children and the whole shebang that you would want any socially responsible athlete to accomplish. He was loved in Rochester more than perhaps anyone who has been moved out in the last two to three years but his dream was becoming a nightmare. When he was drafted in 2013 he was lauded as one of the more skilled future Sabres of that draft and was at the top of the depth chart. He got his NHL chances but for the following six seasons he largely played in Rochester, never being able to crack a consistent spot with the big club. Whether it was mishandling him by the prior General Manager’s regime or his own failure of consistency there seemed to be some writing on the wall after he was sent to the Amerks following Training Camp. When fellow snake-bitten 2013 Draft prospect Nic Baptise was also traded out of town earlier this season it left him as the last domino to fall and last Thursday he was traded to the Philadelphia Flyers organization for Taylor Leier. It’s the end of an era in terms of Tim Murray draft picks who never panned out (glances over at Alex Nylander expectantly) but it’s also the emotional kind of move that when you see the player in another team’s jersey it just feels weird.

Perhaps even more interesting for the Amerks has been call-ups: CJ Smith was probably the most deserving call-up in recent memory and did not disappoint; in Buffalo or when he got back down to Rochester for that matter. It’s hard to not be excited for an undrafted free agent who has developed so well he’s been an AHL All-Star two seasons in a row and anchored center depth in Rochester for just as long. Smith flew under the radar during a training camp we were all obsessing over the hot new toys like Lawrence Pilut and Rasmus Dahlin. He’s more consistent and coachable than Alex Nylander and Rasmus Asplund combined and he’s from Iowa so you know he’s strong and full of corn! We all were busy drooling over Victor Olofsson so much coming out of training camp that we forgot to think about the way more finely tuned machine that is Conor James Smith. He got that narrow heart-stopper of a first NHL goal this month before getting sent back down to only score a game-winning hat trick! Smith is going to be a solid bottom six center on the Sabres soon. Olofsson may see time in Buffalo down the stretch according to prognosticators smarter than me but Smith should frequent Dinosaur BBQ now because this ought to be his last spring in Rochester. I surely hope it ends in a Calder Cup, it would be great to have a few champions on the Sabres for their 50th Anniversary 2019-2020 campaign (hopefully in royal blue)! But lo, this is Amerks Angle, not Prospect watch. I don’t write these to look at the Americans from a strictly Buffalo Sabres angle. This is the angle of the Amerks and I was born and raised in that beautiful city down the thruway! Let’s talk about beautiful silver-colored history: the Calder Cup!

Not only has the sports scene in Rochester hit a bumper-shattering speed bump the last couple years so it could very much use a title, this team can achieve a deep playoff run this postseason on their own merits! Certainly there is a lot of hockey to be played, a little under half a season to be slightly more precise, but unlike the Sabres you can count on the Amerks clinching a playoff spot this April. Last Postseason went over like a deflated balloon for a couple reasons: Linus Ullmark was recovering from concussion symptoms and the entire offense had a bit of brain crunch against Syracuse, all puns intended. The subtractions from that team scarcely removed any meaningful talent except Ullmark who is being competently replaced in Rochester by Adam Wilcox and a Scott Wedgewood who is an NHL starters in 10/31 organizations. The additions only make this team better. I already talked about Olofsson and Smith but Zach Redmond is a dark horse candidate for AHL MVP 2019; that’s not to mention the handful of AHL mercenaries, Danny O’Regan, Jack Dougherty, Yannick Veilleux and others; that Jason Botterill and Randy Sexton added to this team like a couple of mad geniuses just itching for a trophy they can drink out of. Unlike last season’s team this season’s Amerks have consistently held onto the division lead excluding a brief stretch during this regular season and no matchup within the North Division has this roster shaking in their boots… or skates… whatever. They certainly got to lock down the remaining divisional games this season, which is most of the remaining games, but I am confident they can do that at around least a 75% rate. Hell, considering the first half of the season they’ll probably sweep the out-of-division games and split the divisional ones 50%. Even then they hold onto the division lead and get a favorable matchup to start their hunt for the Cup of Calder. I think they can do it, or at least I see few reasons they can’t.

The Rochester Americans have a New Look all their own and I can’t wait to see them carry it into a post-season in which I can drive to most of the likely first and second round opponents! The fun is just beginning for this Americans team and as we endure what will either be a brutal or exuberant next 11-20 games with the Buffalo Sabres, Rochester will always provide solace. That’s Rochester: a City of good community and kick ass soccer and hockey. I would say I miss it but I was home five times the last seven weeks so I’ve had my fill for now. Speaking of having your fill, did you enjoy this blog post? Leave a comment: What are you doing during the Buffalo Sabres bye-week? Drop a like and share this blog, if Amerks Angle is what gets a lot of traffic you bet there can be more of this than just monthly; especially once those playoffs get here. Both the Sabres and Amerks have a couple players going to their respective league All-Star weekends later this week so the hockey fast ought to be over soon.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. If you’re looking for more Rochester Americans blogging then Let’s Go Amerks is well worth your time. That blog is just about NHL SB Nation blog quality and all about the Amerks! Check it out.

#rochester americans #rochester #hockey #ahl #blog

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wrestlewriting · 7 years

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Insolence, Pt. 7 [Adam Cole]

Title: Insolence, Part Seven of ? (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six)

Characters: Adam Cole/OC(Brenna)

Genre: Angst. Fluff.

Length: ~4,700 words

Warnings: Cursing, obviously. A little kissing.

Summary/Inspo: “We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” - Joseph Campbell

@catie-kaboom @libby-rose-2016 @legitlunatic @valeonmars @barbelly28 @danapotterwwe @alexahood21 @rollinstrash @covergirlcollarbones @hiitsmecharlie @tearsropsandtiedye @thedeboniardevistation

If you want to be added to the tag list, just let your girl know! :)

AUTHOR NOTE: So this chapter is structured a little unlike the others. I’ve intermixed some song lyrics, which I think lend a bit to the state of mind going on in this chapter. Also, an Instagram caption. Because we live in as social media/technology world, so it feels fitting in this story.

“Wait, are you sure you can be involved in the match tonight?” Jay Briscoe asked, raising his eyebrows, as you sat backstage at a table in the venue in New York City.

“Uh, yea, I think I’ll be fine,” you brushed his concern away.

“I mean, you’ll have a bandage on it, right?” His worry over your minor involvement in their match that night now made you roll your eyes.

“Yes, father, I will,” you smirked, expecting the glare you got in response. “Relax, dude. It’s been three days. It’s already healing just fine. And as long as no one straight up hits me there, it’ll be OK.”

“It looks good,” he concurred, causing you to smile softly, turning to gaze down at where, beneath your shirt, the new tattoo rested along your shoulder, above your collar bone. It was not too big, simply the word ‘hallelujah’ written in black script.

It was no secret that you had gotten the tattoo, another one in your small-ish collection. You had it done three days ago, on the anniversary of Evan’s death. It was what you were looking at as your closing act to that specific chapter in your life. You were one of those people, who believed that anniversaries and notable occasions needed to be marked.

You had made it to ‘a year’, the point you had set for yourself. You didn’t feel nearly as perfect as you thought you would, but you also now understood that you couldn’t predict these things. You did feel better though; lighter, happier.

Acceptance, that was the stage in the grief cycle you were, at long last, truly on. It was time to move on even more than you already had; keeping his memory, but letting your life occur organically. You couldn’t keep telling yourself you had to wait for this, or that, to happen in order to be past it. You knew you would have an ache for a long time in you without him, but you could manage that.

In the past couple weeks, you had decided you just had to let life go on. Evan would always be with you in some way, and that was all you needed to know. You weren’t about to start sleeping with every man you met, but you also weren’t going to have being a widow be a leading characteristic of yourself all the time. You felt secure in pushing onward in life.

After the tattoo had been done, you had posted it on Instagram. Somehow you had become encouragement, validation, for others going through losses. You weren’t overly sharing your pain and experiences on the internet, but you weren’t shy about being real about what it was doing to you either. That had struck a chord with people.

1 year later…. I’ve never been one for religion. Always felt forced & constricting & contradictory. But I know religion for many is a relief. It gives answers. It gives control over to someone else. It gives purpose. It gives direction & structure. The idea of heaven & hell gives some type of peace of mind. Bad people get no rewards in death, while good people do. I like that part. I like thinking maybe the people I’ve loved & lost are somewhere happy. It’s always fascinated me how many people “find” religion in times of sorrow. I guess it’s a comfort to believe that everything has a reason & greater meaning, even if at the time you don’t understand it. I never got it before, why in times of tragedy you would suddenly change your outlook. But I’ve gained an understanding in the last year. I’m not attending church anytime soon. I’m staying Team Agnostic. Evan was religious to an extent. It brought him a lot of comfort to have God, to pray, to believe. Who was I to tell him otherwise? He did his thing, I did mine. We compromised when needed That said, we played Jeff Buckley’s ‘Hallelujah’ at the end of his funeral. It felt right. For all of the reasons above & hundreds I haven’t stated. This tattoo is for him. For all the other people I’ve lost and like to think are watching over me. For the comfort I’ve found in travel & new experiences & old friends. For the peace I’ve been able to make with my life. For the adventures I have yet to be on. I have no true answers. I probably never will. But I’m lucky because what I do have is time & hope & really good people around me. Live, and let live, and let go. “Maybe there’s a God above. But all I’ve ever learned from love, Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya. And it’s not a cry that you hear at night, It’s not somebody who’s seen the light. It’s a cold & it’s a broken Hallelujah.”

Your caption had been long on the picture, but after posting it, you had in some ways been calmer. You had rewritten it over a dozen times to be honest, before you thought it got across the point correctly. This was in Evan’s memory yes, but it was just as much a symbol of you having gotten through a massive tragedy. And you were still standing: stronger, smarter, just as capable as you were before. Maybe even more.

Adam had texted you afterwards, clearly having seen your social media post. Looks good, was all his message had read.

Since Texas a month ago, you both had managed to be around each other without anything else eventful happening. You’d made it through some other ROH and PWG shows just fine. There had been dinners where everyone laughed; after-show beers with friends in hotel rooms without fights breaking out. He had been in Japan wrestling, while you had been all over America. You’d texted one another throughout the weeks, checking in after matches, relaying funny stories from the road, asking if the other had heard a song or seen a TV show.

It seemed like there was a genuine friendship between the two of you.

Finally.

Except…you couldn’t let go of all of the things he had told you in San Antonio.

Especially not after talking to Lauren and Candice. Your best friends, bless them, had decided they could see right through his words, and all but smacked you in the face with the reality of it.

Lauren, the far bigger believer in fate and kismet and all that jazz, had immediately declared Adam was in love with you given what he had said and done. You decided that was just a little bit dramatic. Candice had been more along the lines you were comfortable with; Adam clearly had feelings for you, but wasn’t sure what exactly they were or how to handle them. And out of respect for you, he wasn’t going to try to actively figure it out with you either.

Both girls, however, conveyed that you needed to stop putting restrictions on yourself. They wanted you to stop telling yourself you had to wait for something else to happen before you reacted, or thinking you had no right to be ready to move forward. They agreed you needed to do something, anything, to progress the situation. You have someone who wants to be with you, figure it all out with you, right in front of you! Do not waste that, Lauren’s words stuck with you.

All of this just made you hyper aware of any of the interactions Adam had with you. While on the surface you were maintaining an image of friendly, relaxed, it never felt like it was just that, at least not to you. You kept seeing motive, meaning, in every exchange, be it in person or over a cell phone.

Once he had put his arm around your shoulders while you had been talking in a group, and it just hadn’t seemed the same as when any of the other guys did it. It didn’t feel causal; it felt possessive, intimate. Another time while at a bar, he had stood behind you, close, ordering a drink over your shoulder, and feeling his body against you had made your breathing stop. You hated that you were analyzing every contact you had with him, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Anytime he was in your personal bubble, it caused a reaction for you. And any time he texted you, which had become a daily occurrence, asking your opinion or thoughts on something, it made you smile, usually involuntarily.

You had never looked at Adam beyond the scope of friend, but after what he had said to you, after what the two of you had done together, it was hard to not let your mind go there. You weren’t sure where you were at with regards to him. You completely understood what he was saying when he explained that it was not so easy to put one another in a clear-cut category anymore. Did you have a fleeting crush on him? Genuinely like him? Actually want to be with him? All of it? None of it?

Things were different, and you really didn’t like that he had been right with regards to using that word so often.

The entire matter also terrified you.

You’d only ever been with Evan, at least in a way that was significant. Childish middle school relationships full of giggling when you held hands just didn’t count. Evan was your definition of real love. It was hard to think of anyone else fulfilling that role, meeting those expectations, making you so happy. You knew, logically, someone could, probably would. But you still assumed it to be just slightly out of reach to you.

Your brain, your heart, and your soul were all just at war within you. For every point one made, another had a counterpoint. It was overwhelming most of the time. And not a whole lot of fun.

“I’m gonna go get ready,” you told Jay, pushing your current life indecision back to the back of your mind, where it had been living for some time.

“See ya, bug,” he responded, with a short wave. Sighing at the childish, yet endearing, nickname, you got up from the table and headed to what was the women’s locker room for the night.

You were relieved none of the girls wrestling that night were in there. You liked your coworkers, had become genuine friends with a few of them. But right now, you just wanted to get ready in quiet, and settle your racing thoughts. You hadn’t yet seen Adam tonight, and you couldn’t deny you were anxious about it.

Playing music from your phone as you flitted around the locker room, getting dressed for the night, you enjoyed the calm that you had somehow managed to find for the moment. You knew tonight was going to be busy, a lead in to the anniversary PPV next week. So for now, you had on a playlist of less frantic songs. A lot of the songs had been comforting for you over the years, a way to reflect and put words to your emotions when you otherwise couldn’t. It was amazing how music always had a way to make life better, easier, even when it was anything but.

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing ‘Cause I’ve built my life around you. But time made you bolder, Even children get older, And I’m getting older too.

You slid on your black long-sleeved body suit, which had an open back, adjusting it as needed. You then pulled on a tan ruffled thigh-length skirt up your legs, zipping it up, and turning it so it laid how you wanted. Grabbing your makeup case, you sat down in the folding chair in the room, placing the items on the small table next to it.

As you worked on your make-up, the music continued to swirl around you, multiple songs playing as you not only completed your face, but also your hair, which you left hanging loose in waves.

This is my relapse, That I’ve succumb to. I went through things no one should have to. I could have never let this slip, I could have let this slip. -~- I’ve been everywhere around the world and finally here tonight. You seem to be the only one to make me feel alright. I feel good when I know you’re coming down. I feel good when I know you’ll be around. -~- An angel got his wings, And we’ll hold our heads up knowing that he’s fine. We’d all be lucky to have a love like that in a lifetime. Friends stay side by side, In life and death you’ve always stole my heart. You’ll always mean so much to me, it’s hard to believe this. -~- I caught you burnin’ photographs, Like that could save you from your past. History is like gravity, It holds you down away from me. You and me, we’ve both got sins, I don’t care about where you’ve been. Don’t be sad and don’t explain, This is where we start again. -~- Drinking old cheap bottles of wine, Shit talking up all night, Saying things we haven’t for a while. We’re smiling but we’re close to tears. Even after all these years, We just now got the feeling that we’re meeting for the first time.

When you were satisfied with your look, you put away all of your items, and turned off your music. You left out some sweatpants and slip-ons to put on after the show, knowing you would want to change before going to the hotel. You grabbed your thigh-high black boots, sliding them on and securing them to yourself. Standing up, you looked yourself over once more, before deciding it was time to head out in to the Ring of Honor backstage craziness. Making sure you had your phone in a small wristlet, which you also put a lipstick and compact in for touch-ups, you left the locker room.

And immediately you collided right in to somebody.

“Oh shit, sorry!” Damn. Fuck. His hands were immediately gripping your upper arms, steadying you on your feet. “You OK?”

“Yea, fine,” you answered, causing him to let go of you, leaving your skin feeling warm. Looking up, you met Adam’s blue eyes, and took in the grin on his face. “Were you just coming in?”

“I mean, I can definitely be a sleaze ball sometimes, but no, I was actually going to knock, I swear,” he said, the smile on his face getting wider when you pursued your lips and raised your eyebrows. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Matt brought stuff for us,” Adam nodded his head to the side, indicating he wanted you to come with him. But you didn’t move. So neither did he. “…what?”

“I didn’t tell Matt to bring me anything?”

“I did.”

“Oh.” For the first time since you’d ran in to him, you saw Adam genuinely in front of you, in a t-shirt and jeans. You were pretty sure he had a meet and greet before the show, so apparently he wasn’t changing in to his ring gear for it. And he also had apparently taken it upon himself to get you dinner. Which was sweet of him.

“So…food, or no…?”

“Um, yea, yes,” you stumbled out, with the tiniest half-smile on your face. When you went to walk past him, he stopped you however, his hand light on your wrist. You turned your head towards your shoulder, so you were able to look over at him.

“You look amazing,” he stated, his voice low. He was close, having stopped you mere inches away from him, and every one of your senses was very aware of him.

“Thanks,” you whispered. Had his cologne always been this nice? And did he always give off so much body heat? Was he always looking at you in this way, like he wanted you? Would he reject you if you kissed him again? Should you just find out?

You turned yourself a few more inches towards him, put your hand on his cheek, and placed your lips to his.

He didn’t react right away, whether that was because of sheer surprise or personal restraint, you didn’t know. But after a moment, when you didn’t pull back, you felt his hand settle on your hip, and he returned the kiss.

Despite your current state of affairs, which was causing your entire body to feel electric, you were still aware you were in the hallway. Stepping backwards slightly, you guided Adam with you.

“Locker-room,” you breathed out against his lips, explaining your actions, as you shuffled your hand blindly behind yourself on the wall until you found the handle to the door. It was as though your words increased the emotion in the kiss, turning it almost desperate, as his tongue went into your mouth. You fumbled for a moment trying to turn the handle, caught up in the now heated kiss, and the way Adam’s arm slid to encircle your waist.

The both of you moved through the doorway once able to, Adam supporting you so you didn’t stumble in your boots. He shoved the door shut with his free hand once you were inside, then tangled that hand in to your hair. You shifted your hand from his face to the back of his neck, your nails scratching against the base of his skull. With his arm around your waist, he pressed his hand in to the small of your back, causing you to arch forward. Your wristlet dropped to the floor from your other hand, allowing you to instead grip at his side, fingers tangling in to his shirt.

Sufficiently wrapped up in each other, you weren’t even thinking about anything anymore, just how much you enjoyed feeling him, being close to him. This was completely new in some ways from your other kiss, especially being you hadn’t been drinking, but some parts of it felt familiar. The actual desire between the two of you to be doing this was definitely heightened more this time. It was evidenced in every motion, and the literal hold you had on each other.

He pulled you with him, as he rested back against the wall, securing your body against his. Being pressed against him, front to front, brought a whole new dynamic to your interaction. You could feel every part of him, all firm and warm, and despite his grip on you, somehow gentle. With every move of his tongue with yours, you wanted to be even closer to him. It was all so very visceral.

You weren’t sure if it was a moan or a groan that came from you when his hand slid up your back and on to the exposed skin of your back and shoulder blades.

“Fuck.” Whatever sound it was, Adam had clearly heard it. He stopped kissing you, and you could feel his breath, heavy like yours, as he parted from you. “Shit…” You wanted him to just kiss you again, and leaned slightly to make it happen.

“Bren…” You knew then by his tone, he had broken the kiss with a purpose. You kept your eyes closed for a second, so you could swallow your now wounded pride. Letting go of him, you stepped back and away. It was only once there was distance that you opened your eyes. He looked far more troubled than you expected him to. You could only imagine how you looked to him. Pathetic, probably.

“I get it,” you murmured, your shoulders slack, hoping to just end the moment and be done with the entire situation. He had just been caught up probably, his feelings were likely not the same as before. Everything your friends had said was wrong, and anything you had felt had been misled. This had been a mistake.

You shouldn’t have let your physical desires direct your behaviors; you should have listened to your cautious brain.

“Do you get it? Because I really don’t think you do,” Adam argued, peaking your interest, as he pushed off from the wall. “I’m doing everything I possible fucking can to not an asshole here, for you or me. And you just kissing me….”

“Yes Adam, that was a one person event that just happened,” you rolled your eyes, his own narrowing in response. “But go on, tell me. What does that all mean?”

“It means, that yea, when I met you, of course I had a crush on you. Hell, half the locker room did. But you had Evan, and that was that, and it was easy to let it go because it couldn’t ever matter. And then we all just became friends and family, and life was clearly defined.” He paused, taking in your reaction.

You were pretty sure all he saw was a blank face, because these were things he had spoken to you before. Why did he have to repeat himself? You heard it the first time. It didn’t exactly feel wonderful hearing it a second time either.

“And then…then Evan wasn’t here anymore. And you and I…we’ve gone down this weird path of avoidance and confrontation and reconciliation and more confusion. That’s all these past few months have been. But in all that…somehow, I don’t know, I realized that without that just immediate, unspoken boundary, I can’t help but see you differently. I can’t ignore you when you’re around. And I want you to be around. I do like you. As the person I get to talk to…hang out with…kiss.”

You knew he could see some surprise in your eyes now. When you had the serious conversation in Texas, Adam had mentioned all these thoughts, emotions. But hearing him say it so directly, with confidence, clearly meaning it…it put a whole fresh off-axis spin on your life. You had believed you had come to terms with what had been brought up before, having talked it all out with your friends. But apparently it was one thing to have it in your head; it was another to hear it so bluntly from him.

“And I’m trying my fucking hardest to not act on it, not push you towards anything. I don’t want to put any more worries, problems, into your life for you to figure out. Not when we’re finally somewhere good together. I don’t want to risk that.”

“…why do you think you’d be a problem?”

“Brenna, come the fuck on,” he huffed. “Are you saying you’ve enjoyed the absolute hell we’ve put each other through the last few months?”

“Well, no, of course not…but it’s not like I didn’t bring it on myself?” You didn’t blame Adam exclusively for anything in the last few months; you had played your role in it too. “I’m the one who confronted you the first time after months of silence. We both had a part in all that. Good and bad.

“But the last months, that’s in the past. That has nothing to do with these feelings, right here, right now. And I mean, sure, yea, of course I have no fucking clue what this is really, what to do here, with us. It could just be another shit-storm, or it could go really well. Like you said, we’re finally somewhere good. So what’s to say we won’t stay that way? But…shouldn’t I get to make that choice for myself?”

“So what? You want to try this with me? With us?”

“I don’t know, yes? Maybe? I just…I know I want you to stop thinking you get to make that decision for me,” you concluded. “You’re constantly telling me what I want, or what I need. Why can’t you ever just ask me?��

“Because I don’t think you know,” Adam replied.

“So? Maybe I don’t. Actually, OK, fine, I don’t know. I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t know how to be with you because all I’ve ever been with is Evan, and fuck, how you even date someone anymore? And I don’t know why every time I see you something has to fucking happen, good or bad. I don’t know why I just had to kiss you right now, except I know I wanted to. But what I do know is I want to be able to make my own choice. I need you to stop making a decision for me, and just tell me what you want from this.”

“I’ve told you.”

“And you always follow it up with a ‘but’, a reason why you can’t,” you pointed out. “So, do you actually?”

“You must not know me at all if you think I’m one to not mean what I say,” Adam declared.

“Well, considering everything I thought I knew about you isn’t exactly adding up in this situation, forgive me,” you retorted. You hated that this was turning in to an argument. That had not been your goal at all when you saw him.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, you’ve given me space. You’ve pushed whatever it is you want away in some attempt at not upsetting me. You text me every day, sometimes for literally the dumbest reasons. You just, treat me differently than everyone I’ve ever seen you with. So whenever I think I know what’s going to happen, it doesn’t usually go that way.”

“Well, I’m sorry I genuinely care about you,” Adam voiced, sounding almost wounded that you hadn’t realized that, just known it, before now. You observed him, as he looked away from you. Any of the frustration and anger in the room melted away for you.

“Adam…”

You weren’t sure what to say first at this point.

But it was definitely do or do not time.

“You said earlier you don’t want to put any more stress on me…but after Texas, after what you said to me…how could it not do just that? If you think I’ve just been able to not think about that conversation, worry about it, over-analyze it…then you just don’t know me, or women, at all.” His eyes finally came to yours again, and you did everything in your power to not look as nervous and unsure as you felt.

“And I thought I knew what it all meant, and I thought I had been OK, but now I don’t think I am. Because…I’m scared, Adam. This is all so confusing for me, and so different.” You swear you saw a sparkle of recognition in his eyes at your word use. “But…I can’t just ignore it either, or pretend it’s not real. Because it is. Because you care about me, and I don’t know what I feel towards you, but I know it’s not what it once was. It’s more than that.

“Maybe we will just go back to arguing all the time, I don’t know. We’ve managed finally to be friends again, but it’s obvious neither of us wants it to stop there. Even if we have no idea how to go about this.”

There was silence between the two of you after that, each processing your words and everything that had happened overall. You didn’t know what to do anymore, what to say. You hadn’t meant to have this conversation with him when you ran in to him. But something in seeing him, being close to him, had made you feel like you just had to. There was clearly something between the two of you, that much you couldn’t deny anymore. What it was though, remained to be explained.

“We’ll figure it out.” His declaration made your attention go fully back on him. As you comprehended what he said, you felt your heart flutter slightly.

“I might be really shit at this,” you warned him.

“You’ve already decked me. And cussed me out, a couple times,” Adam highlighted. “Does it get much worse than that?”

“Yes, it does,” you answered, seriously.

“Well, then I’ll stay alert,” he smiled. You recognized how much you liked his smile. It started on the left side of his mouth, before it grew across his entire face. It was so strong, genuine.

“Can we just…not make a big deal of this?” Adam tilted his head slightly. “With everyone else. Hell, even with us. I just….” You had no idea how to rationalize to him that you didn’t want this whatever-you-were being discussed by your friends, seen by your coworkers, made in to a notable event.

“It’s just you and me, no one else,” he assured you. “Nothing is going to change that much. But, when I want to kiss you, I’m going to.”

“OK.” You tried to suppress the grin that wanted to break out on your face. You had to admit how much you liked kissing him, which was obvious at this point. But, that was only a part of what went in to…this. Were you honestly ready to take this next step, however small or large, with Adam? What if you really were shit at dating? What if you hurt him? What if you weren’t actually ready to let someone in your life again in such a manner?

“C’mere,” he requested, putting out a hand for you to take, which you did. He promptly pulled you towards him, back in to his space. You were thankful for your boots, as it made you almost level with him. “I mean it Bren, we’ll figure this out, together, OK?”

“Yea.” You wished you were as confident now as you had been ten minutes ago when you all but jumped him. “It’s just…a lot.”

“I know,” he agreed, his hand squeezing yours. “But, as long as we’re honest with each other, it’ll work. So, we can’t go back to how we were before, keeping shit from each other and the arguing.”

“But I like yelling at you,” you teased with a small whine to your voice.

“I kinda figured,” he stated. “And I mean, I’m sure I’ll give you reasons to still yell at some point. It just…can’t be our standard way of communicating.”

“Fine,” you sighed jokingly. Adam just gazed down at you, a gentle smile coming to his face as he did so. “What?”

“I like you happy,” he said, causing your cheeks to warm. You didn’t know how to reply to that. “Come on, let’s go actually eat now.”

“We probably should do that,” you concurred.

Neither of you made a move to let go of the other, or leave the locker room.

Instead, Adam leaned his head down, kissing you again, softly. When he broke the short kiss this time, it was only to then lay another kiss on your forehead. There was no urgency like before, but the kisses resonated in you all the same. Before had been about want, and this felt like it was about something more.

“Let’s go,” he decided, removing his lips, letting go of your hand. You moved back as he turned to open the door, allowing you to walk out before him.

This night had certainly taken a turn. You were excited, nervous, happy, scared. You really hoped you hadn’t just made a mistake. You didn’t think you did, but you also knew there were still a lot of variables at play. You wanted things to be fine, you truly did. Maybe Adam was what you needed in your life. Or maybe he would realize this was all just emotion with no substance. Nothing was sure right now, that much you knew. But at least you were trying. And you had someone who appeared willing to try with you.

What if I can’t be all that you need me to be? We’ve got a good thing going, we have some promises to keep. But my addiction it can be such a detriment. Please believe in this my dear, I am more than penitent. What if everything’s just the way that it will be? Could it be that I am meant to cause you all this grief? My war ships are lying off the coast of your delicate heart, And my aim is steady and true as it’s been right from the start. There’s a degree of difficulty in dealing with me. From my haunted past comes a daunting task of living through memories. If we could just hang a mirror on the bedroom wall, stare into the past and forget it all. So when we leave it’ll be a quick midnight escape. We’ll disconnect ourselves from all of yesterday. I’ll dig for water and fashion our very own wishing well, Then we’ll throw our coins down hoping to rid us of this little hell. There’s a degree of difficulty in dealing with me. From my haunted past comes a daunting task of living through memories. If we could just hang a mirror on the bedroom wall, stare into the past and forget it all. Will we get out of this little hell? Will we get out of this little hell? Will we get out of this little hell? Will we get out of this little hell?

UPDATE: Chapter Eight is here.

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