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tatooedlaura-blog · 6 years

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At the End of the Road

a standalone venture into the world of fine diner dining ...

@today-in-fic

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Their first time at Waffles and Stuff, they had the heavy mantle of deadly 10-year-olds weighing on their shoulders, the diner dim with midnight shadows, the waitstaff mellow through pouring rain. Settled awkwardly at the counter, Scully felt around until her feet found purchase on the footrest while Mulder wrestled with sodden coat to hang dripping from the back of cracked vinyl swivel seat. Eventually, the foam finished giving way, shaping to backsides and thighs, warming to damp wool while the pair studied separate menus, quiet in debate over patty melt or salad, burger or chicken, coffee or hot chocolate.

Finally, the ancient waitress, small, quick, tight bun of hair, sweater hugging narrow shoulders, ended her conversation with the cook, coming over at just the moment Mulder decided what to order. How she knew, he’d never know, but know she did and stopping in front of him, “ready to order? Coffee? Tea? Space heater?”

Mulder, tired but still kicking, gave her a crooked smile, “you can’t warm space. It’s too big.”

“Given enough time, I could probably crochet it a blanket though. Maybe that would help.”

Her name was Catherine and he adored her instantly.

Scully, beside him, only absorbed half the conversation, mind caught between grilled chicken with lettuce and avocado and death by double cheeseburger, eyeing the deep-fried pickles for the interim moments between fry consumption and hot chocolate stupor. Hearing Mulder vaguely finish his order of waffles and eggs, she bit the bullet, ordering things the doctor in her screamed about at 3am when she couldn’t sleep from the heartburn singeing her esophagus.

The hot chocolate arrived first, whipped cream high, little bit of cinnamon classing up the plain, chipped mug; second came the pickles, mixing terribly with the drink and Scully loved it, the weird flavors, the grease, the ranch, the tang all smoothed out with warm milk and sugar. Mulder didn’t ask to have one, waiting quietly until she offered, holding out the small coin of fried delight, which he took, thanked her, didn’t ask for more but smiled when the flavors hit his tongue.

Scully’s feet were falling asleep but her belly was filling nicely, cheeseburger sitting precariously first on plate then in stomach, chasing away the gnawing hunger that had plagued them for the last three days, not satisfied with Payday bars and M&Ms, held barely at bay but not providing the shear beautiful thing that was deluxe cheeseburger and mound of vegetable oil crisp potatoes.

She caught Mulder staring at her at some point and when she raised her eyebrows at him, question sent non-verbally given her full mouth, he smiled his second time since they entered the restaurant and answered, small amount of egg caught in his front teeth, “I think you just moaned in satisfaction there, partner.”

Wondering if she should protest, turn red, sink in embarrassment, she instead gave it half a thought, then shrugged, talking through her mostly chewed mouthful, food in cheeks to speak without spitting bits, “damn good fry.”

Catherine refilled the hot chocolates for free, offered them pie, or cupcake in Scully’s case, given she was an ardent pie hater since the beginning of time, didn’t rush the check and circled a large smiley face on the bill, her ‘come again’ cheery against the thundering sky.

“Take as long as you like folks. I’ll be over here working my crossword and crocheting that blanket.”

Mulder snagged the bill, keeping it out of reach in his hand, “I like her and the Bureau will be tipping her double.”

Drifting towards a food coma, she propped her elbow on the counter and balanced her head on her hand, tilting enough to look him square, “if you give her triple, I bet she’ll let us nap here until morning.”

With a gaze that barely hinted at the next 70 years, he nudged her with his knee, receiving a lip twitch in return, the slightest eye twinkle she would never acknowledge having the power to do, before beginning the long slide to the floor, wiggling a little to straighten her pants, free damp cloth from the sticking places against her skin.

He saw that wiggle.

He would remember that wiggle.

Once soaking wet, 2:45am glowing on the dash, hair dripping, stomachs filled, in the car in a splashing dash, he gave her a glance, his diminutive partner already curled around the heater vent, safe in the passenger seat, “you’re going to fall asleep before we get to your apartment, I guarantee it.”

“It’s twelve minutes. I will not fall asleep in twelve minutes.”

Big fat liar.

He had to shake her arm for at least a minute before she even began thinking of forcing an eye open; ten minutes later, she was finally in her front door, Mulder holding her elbow the entire way, navigating her like a slack-jawed drunk up the steps. Setting her bag on the floor, he debating shoving her towards her bedroom so he could drop comatose on the couch but he fought gravity and overstuffed pillows to bid her g’night/g’morning.

He nearly crashed twice trying to make it to his own place with both eyes open.

Falling asleep on his couch, snuggled up tight under two wool blankets and a layer of flannel and fleece, Mulder listened the rain and thunder, wondering if they’d ever find the time to go back to the diner.

He wanted a full order of those pickle chips all to himself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Waffles and Stuff glowed in the night. Pitch black around them, savior in fluorescent and neon, it called to them after the longest drive known to man. They were just this side of the Bureau’s cutoff for driving to a crime scene, planes too expensive when a six-hour drive could take care of business.

It wouldn’t have been terrible save the flat tire, the stench of spilled gas from the can in the trunk and the persistent squeak, thud, thump from whatever under the car. Mulder didn’t want to look and Scully didn’t care to look so they suffered the rhythm while trying to keep the other from hangry overtones in their conversations with stolen M&Ms and Starbright mints from Scully’s secret forgotten stash in the side pocket of her suitcase.

They really should have stopped but the thought of Waffles and Stuff by 1:30am, navigator Scully estimated time of arrival, kept them driving past crap fast food for glorious Catherine and her bottomless supply of chocolate, hot or cold form, and the newest special, banana pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries, side of bacon, side of ham, one egg over easy, two wheat toast, grape jelly, one biscuit hold the gravy.

Actually, that was the Mulder special at the moment, of which he’d been extoling virtue since exit 4b or 610, whichever was further back and farther from destination.

Scully, on the other hand, had been drooling, physically and mentally, over the thought of mushroom swiss burger with lettuce, tomato and bacon, bun toasted, fries on the side, crisp side salad with exactly four cups of ranch dressing and croutons by the pound, mozzarella sticks, marinara dipping and for the love of God, some kind of strawberry milkshake.

In the three years since they’d began frequenting Stuff, their combinations had changed drastically in contrast to pricing, décor and staffing but the cook kept cooking, Catherine kept knitting and Mulder kept tipping his usual Bureau approved 30% tip. Finally, in reference to the glow from earlier, Mulder spotted it first and Scully, to this day, swears she heard a small whimper of want escape his lips, forcing his foot down further on the gas pedal.

Scully had just slightly more decorum to keep her sounds to herself.

“Well, hello, my weary travelers.” Catherine waved to the empty room, “your usual is open.”

Mulder gestured Scully forward to the only blue booth, the one that had been reupholstered at some point and by accident done in blue. He’d always meant to ask why blue but tonight, like every other time, the thought fizzled out before fully forming and he was perfectly fine with this. Once they were both in, coats shoved to the sides, dry, not needing a place to drip, Scully tucked one foot under her leg, swinging the dangling one lightly, the breeze of her movement ruffling Mulder’s pantleg every second or third pass by, “cheese?”

Before he could answer, Catherine called out from near the coffee machine, about to begin the hot chocolates, given the chill in the October air, “we’ve got a new item. Max thought it up about a week ago.”

Manly squee loud enough to make Catherine smile, “really? Please say it’s a fried chicken and waffles with a side of home fries and scrambled eggs with green peppers, tomatoes and just a hint of Tabasco sauce and maybe a spritz of lemon.”

Max stuck his head over the order counter, “give me a few weeks on that one but tonight’s is pancakes with crumbled sausage and bacon cooked right in, four egg omelet with jack cheddar, peppers and onions, two biscuits and sausage gravy, perfect for sharing.”

Mulder held up a hand, “I’ll take it. Burn the bacon first please.”

Looking at Scully next, “how about you, Miss Scully? What can I get for you this evening?”

After she told him her order, Catherine came by, drinks in hand, settling into the chair she bought with her, “all right. What’s happening in your world today?”

Their nights at Waffles and Stuff were part therapy, part inquisition, part intellectual debate, part necessary nonsense, Catherine helming it all, feeding them, waiting on them, listening to them and when necessary, pretending to have somewhere else to be when she saw them lock eyes, drop off the Earth, the quiet bubbling them together for what she hoped would be eternity.

Or until the sun came up.

Sometimes it was Scully who looked about to faceplant in her dessert; this time, however, it was Mulder, yawning every thirty seconds like clockwork until Scully, the other foot dangling by now, nudged him gently on the shin, accidently on purpose running her foot closer to his knee than she ever suspected she’d do in daylight.

He didn’t wake up so much as give her a sleepy crook of smile that made her wonder if she really needed to drop him off or if she could just take him home, stash him in her spare room, make him breakfast sometime the following afternoon.

Reluctantly she paid the bill, left the tip, held the coat, guided the body, drove the car, escorted the warm puppy, called the good night, drove the car, opened the door, locked the door, shed the clothes, pulled the covers, hailed the Mulder, succumbed the sleep, dreamed the partner… woke up with a smile to find him banging on her door, donuts in hand and casefile ready.

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From spinning barstool to lone blue booth to corner haven, feet on seats, hands on ankles, smorgasbord between them, plates lined up, a fry for a carrot, a bite of burger for a slice of tomato, one chocolate shake, one strawberry, one mint, each with two straws and spoons for skimming whipped cream, two cherries to Scully, more mint to Mulder.

He stole sips of her water while she talked, she slid pickle coins her way while he nibbled crusts from her buttered toast. Their fingers lingered when reaching for the same crouton soaked in dressing, sliding past and through each other, hanging on with white knuckles one second, back to eating the next.

Hours later, instead of stumbling into the night, he slid quietly in beside her, thigh warm against thigh, hand flat on tender muscle, kneading lightly, waiting as unseen forces pulled her head to his shoulder, tired eyes closed against the world. Mulder set his head against hers, eyes meeting two pair behind the counter, the slightest upturned cheek and chin nod in their direction before closing his own eyes, not worrying about the day ahead, only the Scully beside him and the quiet around.

Catherine looked at her husband, leaning against the counter across from her, “we did good, Max.”

“We did very good.”

#msr #early years #late years #years in between #i had the best deep fried pickles the other day #there really are some decent ones up here in the frozen north #at least in my opinion #my writing #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #diners

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howdoyousleep3 · 3 years

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There was only one thing that made sense for me to give to you for your gift of 2K followers to me.

I love you. I would not be here without you.

Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky would not be here without you.

So without further ado...

Rating: T (Teen) Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers Wordcount: 6.8K Tags: Meet-Cute, First Meetings, Steve Rogers Feels, POV Steve Rogers, Developing Relationship, Bucky Barnes Feels, POV Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Nat is the best Wingman, Clint is also the best Wingman, Mentions of Past and Toxic Relationship, Insecurities, Only Happy Endings Here Summary: How it all began.

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate once the beer is set down in front of him, doesn’t even grimace as he swallows down his first swig of it.

“This is disgusting,” he remarks flatly, going in for another gulp. If he drinks more, he’s sure it won’t be long before he doesn’t care about the taste of the beer in the slightest. Then again, was it even possible for him to get drunk from beer? This local IPA that Nat insisted he get makes him hopeful of just that.

“Mmm, good thing we’re not picky,” Nat responds with, reaching for her own glass and tipping it back. Bucky grimaces, agrees to disagree, and instead dips a fried pickle deep into a cup of ranch.

“You know this might be the best decision you’ve ever had. Why talk about our feelings when we can just…eat them?” Bucky asks rhetorically and with a flick of his fingers towards their tabletop. Lamb meatballs, spinach artichoke dip, truffle fries— treat yourself comfort bar food at its finest.

“Right, but also when we were at home like thirty minutes ago you were crying after having communicated with me very clearly what your feelings were so…”

Bucky smiles, taps a few fingers under Nat’s chin two times before reaching for a few fries.

“It’s the best of both worlds, baby.”

It’s been one hell of a week for the two of them, one thing after the other, encouragements of keeping their head up fading and becoming weaker as the days passed. Nat has spent the majority of her time at work, her asshole boss overworking her, taking advantage of her thinning kindness. Bucky has barely seen her this week, their paths crossing between classes and work, showers and breakfast. And with his schedule and his workload from classes, he spent most of his time at the library preparing for Dr. Banner’s midterm exam.

The two of them finally reconnected, Nat crawling into Bucky’s bed once she got home well into Thursday night, Friday morning. It felt good to let his feelings out, to talk to his best friend, to cuddle close and have his hair played with.

“Just us today. We’re gonna do whatever we want to do today, Buck. Fuck everyone else,” Nat had told him, and he wholeheartedly agreed, mind already light from letting out the stress of the week with a good cry.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em…”

Bucky likes this bar. It’s a bit dingey but somehow charming, the music soothing and low, the warm chatter of other patrons surrounding him. It’s comforting and everything that would come to mind if Nat were to suggest a bar, which she had with an easy, “I know one of the bartenders, c’mon.” Bucky is about to give Nat shit for the way the bartender’s eyes lit up when he saw her, for the way he said her name and the way she replied in kind, when Bucky sees him.

Holy shit.

Bucky has to pull his eyes away almost immediately as soon as they land on the man at the bar. His chest grows warm and it isn’t because of this bitter beer.

“Holy shit,” he repeats out loud, dropping what’s left of his handful of fries into the basket of fried pickles. He wipes his hand on his jeans, adjusts in his seat, chances a glance back up to the man at the bar.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s…n-nothing.”

“Oh my god, did you stutter? Why? What’s—”

“Nat! Don’t look!” he hisses, gives his best attempt to avoid making a scene when Nat turns in search for what it is that Bucky has seen to cause such an immediate reaction. It fails. Nat spots him immediately as well, head slow to move back in Bucky’s directions, eyes wide nonetheless.

“Holy shit.”

Bucky’s cheeks go up in flames. He can feel it where he sits, that throb of color, that wave of sensation. He reaches for his beer, manages to look over it and back at the bar as Nat whistles lowly.

“Buck…”

“I know, I know.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, is that your walking wet dream?”

“I don’t…oh my god.”

He doesn’t even have the space in his mind to protest any further, knows anyone who has ever crossed paths with this man would know Bucky is full of shit if he made an attempt to.

Bucky’s never seen anyone so beautiful before in his life.

This man has a face and physique for a runway, a Vogue catalogue, for in front of a camera. His side profile alone has a ball of arousal dropping into Bucky’s stomach like a stone, a boulder, sharp and rugged. A strong nose, a neatly trimmed beard, a pout Bucky can see from here, effortlessly swept back hair. Even sitting down, Bucky knows this man is a large man, that he takes up space in more way than one, is broad.

Bucky swallows heavily.

Casual yet professional, a dark polo that gorgeously clings to curvature of his arms and the span of his shoulders, jeans that miraculously fit and stretch around thighs so thick they make Bucky’s mouth water. A simple pair of brown boots and to top everything off, what Bucky thinks is a watch. Simply looking at him has Bucky wanting to think up incredibly inappropriate thoughts starring this man and this man alone.

Bucky is inexplicably drawn to him.

“Buck—”

“Nat, don’t,” he mumbles, eyes not leaving the man at the bar as he speaks and sets his beer down. Nat turns around against, chances another glance of her own.

“Bucky, you have to talk to him.”

“What?” Bucky squeaks, leaning forward in his seat to make himself clear. “Are you insane? Not a chance in hell. He...he's probably just looking at you anyway. Maybe he's...maybe he's not into men!”

Natasha grabs for his wrist, the closest part of him she can get a grip on, leans forward to face him head-on.

“You’re going to talk to that man before we leave here tonight.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve sighs as the other man brings him another glass of whiskey, not even the good stuff. That rightfully made Clint’s eyebrows raise when Steve requested it, “Well is fine.”; this isn’t the kind of place to drink shitty whiskey. It is almost painfully harsh, no depth, just pure burn, but it’s what Steve wants in this moment.

“Y’alright, Rogers?”

Steve is sure his smile falls flat so he covers it up with another drink, nods his head.

“Yeah, yeah I’m…m’okay.”

Clint doesn’t look convinced but nods his head and blessedly leaves it at that and moves onto the next customer. Steve’s sigh is long and is a relief that racks his body. He fills up his lungs with air, holds it momentarily, breathes out, brings his glass back up to his lips.

“Right, Steve but…you’re not happy. And I’m tired of seeing you try and pretend that you are. You know who you are, you know how important having a loving and doting partner is to you. You need to be consumed. That’s just who you are! I hate seeing you go through these patches where you pretend you’re alright with somethin’ physical, but then when the time comes for that conversation, that ‘what is this’ talk, you lie and say you’re fine with what you have with someone because you think you are protecting yourself and saving face. But you’re hurtin’ yourself, man. You’re hurting yourself. I’m sorry…”

Steve hasn’t stopped thinking about Sam’s words since he heard them three nights ago. They’ve kept him up at night, have been ringing through his head, have weighed heavy on his heart. They are words he has been thinking for months, years, words that Sam has tried to slowly tell him over time but in an emotional outburst ended up saying all at once over dinner.

They were long overdue but stung nonetheless. Steve didn’t know who he was trying to fool anymore, words out there for him and the person closest to him to see, crystal clear. He’s spent months bed hopping, trying to make the most out of physical relationships, yearning for more yet pretending he was okay with merely fucking around when that kind of relationship was the last thing he desired.

His age, his job, his lifestyle, his personality—every part of Steve, everything that makes up who he is, is desperate for a partner in life.

He has the house for another person, a stable career, the space in his heart. Maybe this is a wakeup call, one that he has needed for a long time, one that he has been too stubborn to see himself. Sam is right—he doesn’t deserve to take this treatment from himself. His immediate follow-up thought is a negative one, is how difficult it is to find someone who is open to and accepting of his intensity, of how he thoroughly enjoys falling head over heels for someone. People tend to not take to that well, don’t like that about Steve, that he’s an all-or-nothing kind of guy.

Steve is bringing his glass back up to his lips, is ready to toss the rest back and ask for another, when he seems him.

“Holy shit.”

“What’s that?” Clint asks, Steve blindly unaware that he was within ear’s reach, but he sets his glass down onto the bar top anyway.

“Nothin’, nothin’. Another?”

Steve thinks Clint nods before he turns and takes Steve’s glass with him, Steve diverting his eyes to the floor. He blinks a few times, maybe he hadn’t seen correctly, glances back up at the man sitting across the room.

Holy shit.

He releases the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding out, low and slow, as soon as his eyes rake over this man’s face once more. Steve feels his heart hammer against his chest a few times, the aching thing making a reappearance that he tries his hardest to tamp down. He’s almost certain he’s never seen someone more beautiful in his life, has never been swept away by someone’s physical appearance before. He’s met beautiful people, has seen them, has been intimate with them, but this is something entirely different.

This kid has a face that would make angels weep. A pair of sinful lips, rose-tinted cheeks, caramel-highlighted hair that curls and wisps as it pleases and is artfully effortless—Steve wants to tuck this one close to his chest for fear of others setting eyes on him. He has boyish charm that Steve has never come across and when he watches this man laugh, eyes wrinkling in the corners, nose scrunching up delightfully, Steve feels something he hasn’t felt in so long stir in his chest.

Hope.

The realization that this feeling is indeed hope has another one tucking in alongside it.

Doubt.

This final awareness that Sam has brought to the forefront of his mind has Steve uncharacteristically doubting himself. He’s on shaky ground, slipped footing. Where he is normally confident and self-assured, he is overthinking and questioning every action and thought he comes across. He feels like he once did when he first started dating, unaware of what is acceptable and what is not, overthinking every possible future scenario inside of his deafening brain.

“Here ya go, man,” Clint announces, placing Steve’s glass down in front of him. He pauses before reaching for it, pulls it towards his body a bit, yanks his eyes away from the man across the bar.

“Clint,” he starts before he can stop himself. He picks up his glass, uses it as an excuse to lift his finger. “Do you know them by chance? That redhead and the…the guy with her?”

He sips his whiskey as Clint turns and looks across the bar. He smiles.

“Eh, kinda. I know the girl’s name is Natasha, been tryin’ to get her number for weeks. She’s stubborn. I like her.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate.

“And what about the man with her?”

Clint shrugs his shoulders, “Yeah, not sure. Sorry, guy.”

“Nah, don’t…don’t worry,” he brushes off, lets his hands cup his glass as he feels nerves he hasn’t felt in years slip through his system. He wants to keep his eyes downcast, wants to reel himself in, but he feels an undeniable pull, an unavoidable urge, to take in as much of this man as he can while he’s been given the chance. When he looks back over across the bar, his heart leaps up into his throat as he sees the man looking over at him.

Shit.

He would like to think it’s the small amount of mustered up confidence that keeps his gaze locked across this busy room, locked onto what he swears is a pair of summer sky eyes, but he’s only fooling himself. It’s like he’s in a trance. Steve swears this is what people feel like when they claim they are “lovestruck”. It feels more like “dumbstruck” though. His palms grow sweaty, his heart races, he tries to find something to do with his hands and fumbles with his whiskey glass.

Either way, he meets this man halfway, looks on for a time that is more that socially appropriate, but one that feels so very right. When Steve lets his eyes wander down this man’s face, the curve of his jaw, to the delightful dimple in his chin, and back up, he’s broken his gaze and is turned towards the redhead with him.

“You…you wanna know what he’s drinking?”

Steve looks over at Clint, had entirely forgotten he was standing so close. Steve swallows, noise loud in his own ears but to no one else, looks down at his hands.

Does he?

It’s a simple and generous question, one with a heavy implication. Steve cannot ignore the timing of this moment; how divine it almost feels to be sitting here questioning what he wants in a future relationship and being in the middle of promising himself things will be different when he sees this breathtaking man.

"You...you think he'd be interested?"

"Only one way to find out, bud," Clint answers easily enough.

Sending a drink over is harmless, is something he would normally have no reservations in doing, would in fact take it over himself. But if he’s trying to be changed, if he’s seeking out a different kind of relationship, is this the way he wishes to go about it?

When his eyes cross the bar again and land on a blush that makes Steve’s gut curl pleasantly, hid decision is made.

“Yeah, why don’t you lemme know what he’s drinkin’…”

“He keeps looking over here, Buck…”

“Nat, I swear to god,” Bucky starts, unsure of what he is swearing about and unable to finish his sentence because her statement is true. The man at the bar keeps looking over in their direction, has continued to do so since he mortifyingly caught Bucky looking over at him. The only reason Bucky knows this to be true is because of the fact that he too cannot stop looking up and over at the man at the bar.

His stomach flips pleasantly and nervously when he sees the bartender talking to the man at the bar, unable to contain his noise when he sees them gesturing gently over to them.

“Oh god, they’re pointing over here, they’re looking over here!”

“I’m so serious, Bucky. If he doesn’t make a move and if you still sit here struck stupid, I’m going to get involved somehow. This will happen.”

Bucky has no comment in response, finds no use in refusing her efforts when he is almost certain he wants to talk to this man. Who wouldn’t? Panic rises up in his throat, thick and heavy, familiar. Why would a man to whom everyone would wish to talk to have an interest in Bucky? His eyes wander over to the bar once more, greedy for any crumbs of this man he can tuck away into his brain, when he sees the bartender start to walk over to their table, mischievous smirk on his lips, beer in hand.

“Oh my god, Natasha.”

“No fucking way. Clint didn’t take another order of ours, did he? That’s gotta be—”

Clint is all sparkling and tickled eyes when he saddles up to their tall table, sets the beer down in front of Bucky.

“My good sir,” he starts, shifting his body in a way that doesn’t block the man at the bar from Bucky’s view. “Another beer for you from my dear sweet friend sitting at the bar all alone over there.”

Clint gestures towards the man, arm extended, and when Bucky follows the movement, his eyes meet a gentle smile followed by a wink that has a physical force to it.

Oh.

Bucky’s tongue is thick in his mouth, a pleasant tingle at the nape of his neck, the warmth of his no doubt opaque blush creeping down his neck as he looks down at the beer. The smile that blooms on his lips is a slow one, but a loud one that is accompanied with a giggle, one that a bitten lip cannot hold back.

“I hate this beer,” is what he stupidly says in response, his giggle uncontrollably growing as Nat rolls her eyes and begins to laugh with him. She turns to Clint, lays her hand on his forearm and says, “Thanks, Clint. Looks like I need to take it from here.” The way her touch and his gaze linger is not lost on Bucky.

Clint claps his hand down onto the table, goes to turn away and walk back towards the bar, when Bucky asks, “What’s…what’s his name?”

“That’s not how it works, pal. The drink is an invitation to go over there and find out for yourself.”

Damn.

Bucky stares down at the amber-colored beer, mind racing, practically begs himself to not look up and across the bar. He feels Nat’s hand on his arm, a squeeze then.

“Are you freaking out?” she asks even though it is quite obvious that he is indeed freaking out. He speaks before he can think to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Why…why did he buy me a drink?”

Nat’s eyebrows knit together, Bucky looking up at her.

“Buck, he’s hitting on you. He wants you to talk to him.”

Bucky shakes his head.

“No like…why did he buy me a drink?”

Nat’s eyes soften as she brings her other hand up to grab for Bucky’s hand. Her eyes are specifically soft for a reason only she is aware of. Bucky reaches to squeeze for her fingers, swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Buck…” she starts, and Bucky knows what is coming yet needs to hear it anyway, even nods his head to encourage her.

“You deserve positive attention. You deserve to be wanted. This man is requesting your attention and you have every right to say no or walk away at any time.”

Bucky will not cry. He’s done that already today. This is too positive of a night and too exciting of a moment to ruin it with more tears. Nat’s words are one hell of comfort, one that settles over his shoulders and runs down his back, into his mind. These are words she has told him before, words she has lovingly given him time and time again when he needed them the most.

Brock didn’t treat you right. You aren’t the names he calls you. One day you’ll find someone who worships you and loves you the way that you deserve, someone who doesn’t make you feel bad for the things that are you and the way you are made. You are stronger and better than he’ll ever be.

It’s been months, almost a year, since Bucky finally walked away from his last relationship, one that was very unkind to him in many ways, one that Nat had begged him to leave for fear of his physical safety.

“It’s words now, Buck. It’s the words and the manipulation but it could become physical. Please.”

He had gone back to therapy, moved back in with Nat, worked on his physical health, even gone on dates and had purely physical relationships with others. All things he is immensely proud of, that anyone would be proud of, yet here he is questioning his self-worth in a bar.

This has turned into one hell of a night.

“I’m gonna go over there,” he decides with a squeeze of Nat’s hand. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his body is wracked with nerves, so much so he has to let out a whooshof air, a few more to follow.

“Holy shit, I’m gonna go over there.”

“Thank god. I was going to go over there if you weren’t. Buck, look at that man. He’s a sweet talker in the best way possible, I know it, I can tell. And you not only need a sweet talker, you want a sweet talker.”

“Nat, don’t…don’t get my hopes up, please. Shit.”

He slips from his chair, his feet hitting the floor, and the second thoughts come rushing in. He wishes he had put on a nicer outfit, wishes he would have put on some moisturizer, done up his hair—all of those physical alterations that can enhance a first meeting. He’s got on dark jeans, some old college robotics club shirt on, a jean jacket. He’s certain his face makes it look as if he’s been crying recently, and he has, but this man doesn’t need to know that.

He grabs for the beer, takes a few steps.

“Don’t leave without me, please,” Bucky mumbles to Nat as after he kisses her on the cheek. She squeezes his arms once more, nods her head.

“Remember, Buck—you look sexy as hell when you bite your lip.”

Steve signals for Clint to bring him another round the moment he looks up to see the kid walking over to Steve with the drink he had delivered to him in hand.

The rejection stings more than usual. He isn’t used to it and it happens to be right as he is feeling his most vulnerable. It most certainly doesn’t help that the closer this man gets to him, the more Steve wants him. He’s gorgeous, devastating, has features and carries himself in a way that has Steve’s insides yearning, pulling, aching.

Steve turns towards him as he approaches anyway, softens his features, looks as welcoming and confident as he can knowing what is about to happen. He’s bashful, this one. Doesn’t look up at Steve until he’s all but three steps in front of him, but when he does, good lord.

“Hi,” he says, simple and nervous, his crippling smile growing once he sees Steve’s own welcoming one. He sets the beer down on the bar.

“Hi,” Steve starts, ready to get this over with so this kid can get back to his friend. “I’m sorry if this was forward of me and I understand why you wouldn’t be interested in my forwardness, it’s just—”

“No, wait,” the man says with a quick shake of his head, his eyebrows knitting together. Steve stops talking immediately, a bit startled. “I…I’m very interested in your offer of a drink I just…I hate beer.”

Oh.

“But you’re drinking it?” Steve inquires gently, a smile playing with his lips, unable to hold it back as relief and hope sweep in through his chest. Cutie huffs, rubs the back of his neck and leans, rests an elbow on the bar.

“Yeah, umm…my friend said I’d like it and she uh, she was very wrong.”

With every passing second Steve spends in this man’s presence, the more comfortable he feels, the more he can sense his confidence returning with the undeniable pull between them. It slips off of his tongue easily, naturally—

“Alright, well lemme get you one you actually enjoy drinkin’, sugar.”

The reaction to his words is immediate and absolutely delicious. If Steve was a tad nervous saying these words out loud, throwing around a pet name, this reaction has his mojo solidifying like concrete underneath his feet. The man’s cheeks glow pink, he bites his lip, almost preens into the sweet name Steve gives him. Steve doesn’t know if it’s intentional, but he also tilts his head, exposes his neck as he wiggles where he stands. This one may be bashful but he’s dangerous.

“I’d love a Moscow Mule?”

“Excellent choice.”

Steve waves his hand, knows Clint is busying himself nearby on purpose, unable to prevent his knowing grin from shining through. He turns back to the man by his side, holds out his hand.

“My name is Steve.”

“Bucky. My name is Bucky.”

Bucky.

Their hands meet, Bucky’s skin as soft as it looks, grip firm, a tight shake. Steve doesn’t want to let go and that’s cheesy, awful, but it’s true and Steve lets himself feel the want coursing through his body and his heart in full, doesn’t shy away from it. Bucky doesn’t seem to want to let go of Steve’s hand either, but as he does, he sinks down into the seat next to Steve, right where he belongs.

Clint returns with a twinkling eye and Steve orders his drink for Bucky, turning his attention back to him once Clint has walked away with a wink.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. What’s brought you into this bar on this rainy and gloomy Friday night?”

Steve is grateful that Bucky chooses to turn his body towards him instead of sitting next to him, almost face to face and not shoulder to shoulder. It makes him feel more at ease, calmer, to have someone’s attention in such a way, for it to seemingly be on him and no one else. Steve likes that.

“I was feeling pretty gloomy myself,” Bucky tells him, voice gentle and pleasant. Steve is taken aback by his honesty. “My friend and I decided to cheer ourselves up, ease our spirits with some bar food. How about yourself?”

The two of them share a laugh, but Steve is quick to address Bucky’s emotions.

“I’m so sorry you’re feeling gloomy, Bucky. This sounds like a reliable plan to make yourself feel better though,” he hesitates before continuing, cautious of oversharing himself, but Bucky deserves the same level of vulnerability he’s given Steve. “I’ve been feeling down as well. Thought a bit of a moody moment, a drink in a bar on a rainy night, might make me feel better.”

Bucky thanks Clint, drink in his hand as he immediately grabs for it. Steve watches as he eyes it for a moment, takes the tiny straw between two fingers and stirs. When he looks back up at Steve under his lashes, the look is coy, is gutting, his little lip bite sexy as hell.

“Do you feel any better after your drink in a bar on a rainy night, Steve?”

Steve lowers his voice purposefully, meets Bucky’s gaze.

“The drink isn’t the thing that’s makin’ me feel better, sugar…”

Bucky is in love.

He’d never admit it out loud, to Nat, to himself, but he’s certain that Steve is so very special and that this is a moment that Bucky will remember for years to come. Even if they part ways tonight and never see one another again, he knows in his being that he’ll remember this night he spent at the bar with Steve.

Steve Rogers.

Bucky’s never felt more comfortable with another person so quickly. Their shared conversation rarely stops flowing, nor do the winks and the chiding, and Bucky knows Steve has to be exhausted of hearing Bucky giggle or seeing his cheeks glow red at his flirtatious behavior. Bucky doesn’t care. Steve makes him feel at ease and Bucky is three drinks into their conversation and Steve’s eyes are full of warmth and Bucky doesn’t care.

Steve is kind. He listens to Bucky as he talks, eyes on him, not distracted, like what Bucky has to say is the most important thing in the world at the moment. He asks Bucky about school, his majors, what interested him in pursuing such a lofty double-major. Steve even compliments Bucky, tells him how impressive that is, how smart Bucky must be. It has Bucky practically melting right through the floor.

“What do you do, Steve?” he asks, wanting to divert the attention away from himself, wanting an excuse to hear Steve talk more, to say his name. Bucky hadn’t realized the two of them have gotten so close, chairs already near one another, their bodies even closer, leaning towards the other. Steve has to be a warm person. Bucky knows that if he touched Steve, he’d want to wrap all of his limbs around him, would absolutely cling to him.

Bucky wants to touch Steve. He wants to do more than touch Steve.

Bucky needs to start drinking some water.

“I’m a lawyer,” Steve says easily, tilting his head into his hand, watching for Bucky’s reaction as he takes a sip of his own drink. Bucky is impressed, transparent as his eyebrows raise.

“That’s impressive.”

“Well, thank you. It’s not a bad gig.”

“If it ain’t that bad, why don’t you sound excited?”

Bucky doesn’t expect Steve to smile softly, for his eyes to wrinkle handsomely at the corners. It makes Bucky’s lips curl in kind, hopefully one that pulls Steve’s answer out of him. To seal the deal, Bucky mirrors Steve’s head tilt with his elbow on the bar.

“That’s a really good question, sugar.”

Sugar.

It’s been dropped a handful of times already and Bucky never wants to be referred to as anything else from this moment on. It makes his tummy turn pleasantly, indeed makes him feel sweet. It feels old fashioned and makes Bucky feel desired and Steve says it with such confidence it makes Bucky ache.

“I think…” Steve hesitates, looks over at Bucky with a thoughtful grin. “I think I’ve reached the point in my life where work isn’t my everything. It has been easy, ya know, up to this point in my life to throw myself into my work and let it be my all. I just…I don’t think I want it to be my all anymore.”

Bucky can’t hear anything but Steve’s words and the meaning behind them. The noise and words of the people around him turn into a dull roar. Steve shares his thoughts with Bucky with such emotion, he almost feels as if he should apologize to Steve for asking that sort of question within their first meeting. Did he push too hard? Should he not have asked? This doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be having with someone he’s met just an hour earlier but that thought is the only thing that makes this feel wrong.

It feels very right to be communicating with Steve this way.

Which is why, heart racing as he asks the questions of, “And what do you want to be your all now?”, he knows the answer will be—

“Love.”

Bucky is going to remember this night for the rest of his life.

He feels as if he is sealing some sort of deal when he murmurs, “Yeah. Love is…love is a pretty valid thing to throw your everything into.”

Steve’s soft smile feels like a warm blanket draped right around Bucky’s shoulders. There have been few times in Bucky’s life where he has not regretted being so vulnerable and open with someone and this moment will be added to that short list. Eyes locked, knees almost knocking, belly warm with vodka, ginger beer, arousal, and sugar, the two of them resort to sitting there and drinking each other in instead of their drinks, of sharing any more words.

Bucky maps out every minute detail he can of Steve’s face, from how soft the hairs in his beard look to the way his eyes seem like storm clouds ready to break, back to his bitten, cherry-red bottom lip. Do people do this? Stare at each other longingly, no words being shared, all in dimly lit bars? Maybe Bucky has been doing this whole dating thing wrong for the past few months. Maybe this feeling is because it is Steve.

Shut up, heart.

“You two want another?”

Bucky doesn’t even jump back at Clint’s boisterous interruption. That’s most definitely the vodka’s fault. Maybe it’s the whiskey coursing through Steve’s own body that that has him reaching forward, closing the short distance between them with a hand. Bucky’s heart doesn’t have enough time to even stutter by the time Steve is brushing Bucky’s hair back from his face, his fingers gently tipping Bucky’s chin as his eyes dance between his own, over the features of his face. Bucky almost whimpers when Steve’s hand falls from his face, when that warm touch is broken.

“I think your friend might be gettin’ a bit restless, Buck,” is what Bucky hears Steve murmur, watches him say, eyes locked on the older man’s lips. A tap on the underside of his chin has him comprehending what Steve’s words mean. He forgot all about Nat to be honest, but that realization doesn’t have him pulling away from Steve in the slightest.

“I think that’ll be our last, Clint. I’ll pay for their meal as well,” Steve tells Clint, eyes not leaving Bucky’s as he speaks, merely glancing down once to retrieve his wallet before his eyes are back on Bucky’s. Bucky’s gut burns pleasantly hot at Steve’s show of money, of his show of providing and taking care of Bucky. It scratches an itch that is a deep one for Bucky, one that hasn’t been scratched properly before, one that Bucky wants Steve to keep scratching.

If Steve asked, Bucky would go home with him. He’s only done that a few times before, but he’d do it for Steve. One question and that’s all it would take for Bucky to go home with Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve starts, and Bucky watches as Steve stands from his chair, and fuck, he’s bigger than Bucky thought he was. Even sitting in a barstool seat, even with Bucky being six-foot himself, Steve is a large man. Bucky’s mouth waters. Just one question, just that one question and Bucky would be out the door with Steve in a heartbeat.

“Can I give you my number?”

That isn’t the question Bucky was expecting but it’s…it’s better. You don’t give your number to people you intend to never talk to again once you spend the night with them. Right? Bucky isn’t sure but he likes this question more, likes the idea of having Steve Rogers’s number in his cell phone to utilize for whatever purpose he deems necessary in the future.

Steve smells so good and he’s so warm, and Bucky isn’t even touching him. He’s incredibly close though, and when he looks up at Steve, tilts his head up while still feeling that tap under his chin from seconds prior, Steve steps in close.

“Yes,” Bucky breathes, almost stutters, as Steve slips his hand into Bucky’s jacket pocket, pulling out his phone on his own accord. Bucky reaches forward and naturally rests his trembling hands onto Steve’s hips, nothing Bucky would ever feel confident doing it this weren’t Steve. He is warm. He’s sturdy as well, feels like all things strength and power underneath Bucky’s hands. Steve holds out Bucky’s phone, Bucky types in his passcode. The confidence has the tremble in Bucky’s hand shifting and rolling throughout his entire body.

Bucky doesn’t want to let go of Steve.

“I’d like to see you again, Bucky. I know we didn’t have long together tonight but I think you’re special and I’d like to take you out on a proper date,” Steve practically purrs as his fingers work on Bucky’s phone, and Bucky feels like he’s about to combust on the spot.

“I’d…I’d like that, Steve,” Bucky breathes, still in awe at his luck, how this night has turned out, and how someone like Steve Rogers wants to take him out on a date. Steve’s smile reaches his eyes and then some, makes his features glow. Bucky’s fingers twitch where they rest on Steve’s hips.

“That’s good, sugar,” Steve tells him and oh, Bucky is going to be thinking of those three words all night, all week, all month. Steve slips Bucky’s phone back into his jacket pocket, taps it and lets his hand linger on Bucky’s body. “You just let me know when you wanna see me and I’ll make it happen, I’ll be there.”

“Now?” Bucky presses too quickly, too eagerly. He’s mortified for a moment, swiftly thinks of a way to play it off as a joke, but Steve’s smile is growing, features going soft and mischievous.

“Buck,” Steve breathes, coos, and this time a soft, strangled noise does slip passed Bucky’s lips. “Now doesn’t give me the proper amount of time I want with you.”

Oh.

Bucky burns.

“Steve—”

“You’ve been drinkin’ and I don’t think your friend over there would like it if you left with me anyway, no matter how much I’d try to convince her I’d do nothin’ but take good care’a you.”

“Steve…”

Bucky doesn’t know why he says the other man’s name a second time, maybe as an excuse to watch the way Steve reacts to it, heavy eyelids and slick lips.

“Text me. Call me. Please, Buck?” he requests, hand rising back up to Bucky’s chin, the back of his knuckles running along the front of Bucky’s throat in a casual show of touch that has Bucky struggling to take air into his lungs.

“I will, I promise.”

“Mmm, I’ll talk to you later then, sugar,” Steve whispers as he ducks his head, presses his lips into Bucky’s heated cheek. Bucky wishes it were a kiss on his lips, wishes he could push Steve back into his chair and follow him, climb right into his lap. But that’s probably the vodka talking. Or his hindbrain.

Steve is slow to pull back, is slow to remove his fingers from Bucky’s chin, is slow as Bucky drops his own. He looks down at Bucky as he does so, lets his fingers slide to squeeze at Bucky’s hand as he turns, tucking his wallet back into his pocket, Clint returning with the bill.

“I’ll see you later, Buck.”

“Bye, Steve,” Bucky smiles and Steve turns on his heel and walks towards the front door and out, Bucky’s eyes on him every step of the way. As soon as the door closes, he has no choice but to turn and press his forehead against the bartop, to let out a heavy and loud exhale as he does so.

“Oh my god.”

“Well, I for one am horny after seeing such a display,” Clint shares, a low whistle following his words. Bucky giggles, Clint’s thought amusing and his own mind and body unsure of what to do with all of this pent-up energy.

“Yeah, you aren’t the only one, Clint. Jesus fucking christ, Bucky. I can’t believe what I just witnessed. Did that just happen?”

Nat settles into Steve’s old seat, Bucky reaching for her as soon as he hears her voice.

“I was hoping you could tell me. Holy shit, Nat. Is this a dream?”

Clint hums.

“Hmm, let’s see, kid,” he starts, turning to Nat. “You wanna utilize this newfound horny and capitalize on it together, Natasha?”

Bucky doesn’t see the look that Nat gives him in return but it’s enough to have Clint quickly conceding with a, “Nope, nope— not a dream. This is real life, my friend.”

“Did you get his number? Are you seeing him again?” Nat presses without much patience and Bucky is huffing out a giggle once more, raising his head up to look at Nat. He squeezes her hand.

“He gave me his number, I’m…I’m gonna see him again. Oh my god, Nat—I’m gonna see him again.”

“Hey, it’s…god I’m so sorry I had to push back plans. No, I know it’s like the fourth time I’ve done this, but I swear I have a good reason this time, swear. No, I can—yeah I can meet you there instead. I uh…no I met someone. God, Sam he’s…this one’s different. A fucking hour and I know he’s different. He's so special. I feel…god I feel so good. No, yeah I’m gonna see him again, I’m…I’m gonna see him again.”

see daddy steve and baby bucky here 💕 listen to their playlist here 💕 read more of their story here and here 💕 come shout with me here 💕

#2K celebration #howdoyousleep #my work #daddy steve #baby bucky #daddy steve and baby bucky #origin story #stucky #steve rogers and bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #i am so goddamn emotional #literally cried posting this lmao #damn these two!#please come shout with me please please please #my heart is beating so fast lmao #origin fic #meet cute #meet-cute

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linasobsessions · 3 years

Text

Our Journey OR 4 Times you asked Matt for something during your pregnancy and the one time he did {Matthew Tkachuk}

Word count: 2,5k

Warnings: talk of vomit? Matthew being extremely sweet (yes this should be a warning)

After you told Matthew you were pregnant he was over the moon. His face lit up with what probably was the brightest smile you had ever seen. He couldn't wait to be a father, even if your pregnancy was unexpected. He had swore right then and there that he would do anything to ensure you had everything you wanted and that he would take care of you and your little one in any way that he could. And he took his promise incredibly serious.

A couple of weeks after you found out the typical pregnancy symptoms started. Especially the morning sickness was something you struggled with. It wasn't unusual you woke up with the urge to throw up. Today was one of those days.

You woke up cuddled into Matthews chest with his arms wrapped closely around you. He had come home from a long roadtrip last night and you were glad he was finally back home with you. Before you were pregnant it wasn't as hard to see him leave as it was now. Now you had another person you had to worry about which made it so much more difficult. Having him close to you and waking up next to him was one of the best feelings in the world. But this morning that feeling was pushed aside by nausea taking over. Unwrapping yourself from his arms you bolted to the bathroom to empty your stomach. You should be used to it by now but it still took so much energy from you.

You didn't hear Matthew wake up and get to the bathroom with you. Only when you felt one of his hands holding your hair back you noticed he was there. The other started to rub your back to soothe you. When your stomach had calmed down you lifted your head and let out a groan.

"Matt please get out. I don't want you to see me like this."

But he just pressed a kiss to the back of your head instead of getting up.

"Baby, I signed up for this when I told you I'd take care of you. This is part of our journey. I won't leave you alone with this. You okay now or do you have to go again?"

You nodded and stood up with his support to get to the sink. Grabbing your toothbrush you started to brush the taste of vomit away.

"I'll get you some tea, okay? Get back to bed when you're done."

You gave him a small smile and tried to speak with the toothbrush in your mouth.

"Can we cuddle then? I don't really feel up to doing something."

Matthew pressed a kiss on your temple and muttered 'you can be glad it's my day off' before getting out of the bathroom to make you the tea. Finishing off you spit out the toothpaste and rinsed out your mouth. You were glad to be getting back to bed as you laid back under the covers and got comfortable. Matt came back to the bedroom with a steaming mug in his hands which he put down on your nightstand. You patted his side of the bed so he would get back into bed with you. Smiling to himself he slid under the covers with you and pulled you close to him. Laying your head on his chest and drawing shapes on his skin. You started to get drowsy again and Matthew noticed.

"Go to sleep baby. I'll be here when you wake up. I love you."

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck as your eyes finally fell shut.

"I love you too Matty."

-------

It took until the end of your first trimester for the morning sickness to calm to such an extent that it was a rarity. Pregnancy hormones took over their place. And these pregnancy hormones made you crazy. Not only did you have heavy mood swings. No. You were also constantly sexually frustrated. Matthew could do anything when he was home, even just sit on the couch watching a movie and you wanted to jump his bones. Not that he minded of course. He was happy to help you out with your seemingly insatiable libido.

It had been a calm night. You and Matt had planned to watch a movie and then go to bed. He had a game tomorrow so it was important that he went to bed early and got as much rest as he could. But your hormones seemed to have other plans. Watching him all concentrated on the movie and having his side profile with jawline full on display made you press your thighs together. Your hand reached out to the back of his neck as you run your hands through the hair there. As he leaned into your touch you decided to make your move.

"Matty?"

You moved your body closer to him and he reached out for your body to curl up against him. He looked down at you and raised his eyebrow, signaling you to continue. You looked down nervously in your lap. You didn't want him to lose rest because of you but you couldn't help yourself. You needed him so badly. Your fingers ran over his chest against the muscles you loved so much.

"I need you Matty. Please. Please fuck me."

The look you had in your eye made Matt give in. He let out a groan while leaning forward to press your lips together. You sighed as you finally felt the satisfaction of having him this close again. You pushed yourself into his lap as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands wandered to your hips, grabbing onto them so hard you were sure he would leave marks on your skin. The kiss started to get very passionate with your lips moving and synch and your tongues exploring the other. Almost unconsciously you started to move your hips against his, pressing your core into his crotch. Another groan left his lips as he threw back his head and you felt him harden up under you. He now guided your hips with his hands as you moved your mouth down to his neck, sucking on the skin under his ear.

"Take me to bed, Matthew."

He didn't have to be told twice as he held your thighs against him. He walked to your bedroom with you holding onto him, kissing him in a way he knew you would have a good night. And an amazing night it was.

------

Your cravings were beginning to take over. Your little daughter, as you had found out, was craving the weirdest things st the weirdest times. Some things, like Nutella and pickles had already become so regular that you had enough glasses of both to last a lifetime. When Matt noticed it was a returning craving he bought as much of it as he could. You thought it was very cute, seeing him so caring to have your and your baby girl satisfied. He was very helpful when it came to your cravings, having made sure you would ask him to get things for you no matter the time. And the no matter the time was something that was kicking in now.

You looked at your phone for the time. 3.46am. And you were craving a milkshake with fries. Letting out a sigh you turned back to lay down and looked next to you to see Matthew spread out, deep in sleep. He looked so young and innoced while sleeping it could make you forget what a cocky little shit he sometimes was. But that only made you love him even more. You hated waking him up but he made you promise to make him get your cravings. Grabbing onto his shoulders you shook them while calling his name. Grumbling because he got pulled out of his precious sleep he lifted his head to look at you. You took this as a sign to continue talking.

"Baby girl is craving a vanilla milkshake with fries. Could you please get some?"

Without complaining he got up muttering a 'of course sweetheart' before throwing on sweatpants and a hoddie to get you your milkshake. Half an hour later the bedroom door opened with him carrying a bag of fries with two milkshakes, one for you and one for him. As you saw him making his way over to you, your face lit up with a big smile. This is was Matt was living for. Seeing you happy made him the happiest. He sat back down on the bed with you and you took his face into your hands and kissed him as a thank you.

"Thank you baby. You're the absolute best you know that?"

Matt smiled back at you while wrapping his arm around you. He looked at you eating your fries, dipping them into your milkshake as he sipped on his.

"Anything for you my love. Can't have you and our baby girl hungry can we?"

------

At the end of your second trimester the unpleasant sides of your pregnancy started. You were constantly tired and your back hurt from all the extra weight on your belly. But the worst thing was the swelling of your feet and ankles. It felt like every time you went out it didn't take long for your feet to swell up yet again. It bothered you so much that you didn't go out as often anymore.

But one thing you would never miss for anything in the world. And that was a Calgary home game. So you were back at the saddledome in your Tkachuk jersey to support your boyfriend. Standing in the family box with all the other WAGS and children was something you looked forward to every time you were there so it was no surprise you didn't feel your feet swelling up until the middle of the second period. You tried working through it but it just got more uncomfortable as time went on. By the time the game was over and you were making your way down the tunnel you were ready to get home, lay down and do nothing else for the rest of the night. And Matt caught onto this. When he got out of the dressing room he wrapped his arms around you and let you to the exit.

"Let's get you home baby."

As you walked back into the apartment you kicked off your shoes and laid down on the couch while Matthew went to the bedroom to change out of his GameDay suit into more comfortable clothing. He came back with a normal shirt and sweatpants on, but it made him look extremely cuddly. He sat down on the couch by your feet and an idea popped into your head.

"Matty? Could you please massage my feet? There killing me."

He put your ankles into his lap without hesitation as he ran his hands over the swollen skin. It relieved the ache in your feet and you relaxed under his touch.

"You were standing too much again babe. You should sit down during games."

You only let out a hum, knowing you would stand for him and the team anyway. No matter how bad your feel would ache. But you knew Matthew would be there to massage the ache out of your feet after standing too much. Just like he was always taking care of you.

--------

It was the middle of your last trimester and your belly seemed to get bigger and bigger every pday. You could feel your little girl kicking and moving around in your belly and it gave you comfort feeling her being so active. By now, Matt insisted of you staying home from games of his, just to be safe. And you followed his wish. But seeing the flames get crushed by the oilers during a home game made you wish you could be in the arena to comfort Matt as soon as he got out of the dressing room. But that had to wait.

You were getting ready for bed, changing into one of Matthews bigger shirts when you heard the front door opening. Matt was home. Hearing his dress shoes on the wood of your floor made you antsy to welcome him back. He opened the bedroom door and saw you with your arms already opened for a hug. For him, this was home. Seeing you in one of his shirts ready to welcome him home gave him a great feeling of being at home. Matt let out a sigh as he dropped his bag by the door and walked into your arms. He curled his arms around you to embrace you as tightly as he could without putting pressure on your belly. Running your hands over his back and through his hair you finally felt him relax. You stepped out of the hug to cup his cheek and run your thumb over the stubble on his cheek.

"Get changed. I'll be waiting in bed to cuddle."

You didn't have to tell him twice as he kissed your forehead and moved to your closet to get changed. Meanwhile you slid under the covers and watched him get out of his suit. As he was only dressed in his boxers he turned around and got into bed with you. He looked at you with sparkling eyes and a shy smile, something you rarely saw.

"Can I- can I talk to her?"

You knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to talk to your belly. He had picked it up sometime along your second trimester, once you felt her starting to move around. He told her all about his day, jokes his teammates had told him but mostly he told her how excited he was to welcome her to the world and that he couldn't wait for her to get out of your belly so he'd give her all the hugs and kisses she could possibly want. It warmed your heart every single time, seeing him so attentive with your unborn daughter that you didn't hesitate to pull the shirt over you belly so it was on display. He rested his head above it and pressed a kiss against your skin. As he got comfortable you began to run your hands through his curls, knowing it would relax him and distract him from the loss even more. You were starting to drift off to sleep as you heard Matt say the first words to your belly of the night.

"Hey little one. It's daddy. I can't wait for you to finally be here so I can finally have you in my arms."

All these things ensured you he would be the best dad to your daughter. And you agreed with him. You couldn't wait for her to come into the world and grace you with her presence. You know your little one would be one of the most loved children in the world.

#nhl #hockey #calgary flames #matthew tkachuk #Matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #Matthew tkachuk imagines #Matthew tkachuk x Reader

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depressedacadamia · 3 years

Text

Whataburger

Summary: Leo and Will sometimes feel somesick which leads them into a whole load of trouble...

A/N: Okay so first off what is 'whataburger'? Apparently its a just a burger place in Texas?? I didnt do too much research since I kinda rushed this fic (since I may or may not have 4 other ones that I need to write...). Either way, its day 3 of Will's bday week so thank you to @solangeloweek and there are 2 days left but I may turn it into a 7 day week birthday because why not? I hope you enjoy and please comment! <3 from Persephone

Read on A03 Masterlist

“Dya have it?” Will whispered as he grabbed Leo by the elbow and dragged him to a secluded corner, away from the presence of everyone else. These interactions had been happening quite recently and were always private.

“Yes, yes I have it. Are you sure no one saw?” Leo murmured back. Will nodded and the two quickly scuttered away towards the abandoned side of the lake, closest to the forest.

Nico had an unsettling feeling.

He had had this feeling for what seemed like ages but in reality, it had only started up until very recently when he noticed Will was finding more and more reasons to ditch his friends. Will had never ditched one of their dates -unless there was an emergency at the infirmary that required the Head healer- but Nico had noticed his greater withdrawal when around large groups of people.

And at first, not much was thought about it. But as Nico began to dwell more and more, he noticed that every time Will withdrew, so did Leo and he was almost positive that he had seen them sneaking about once or twice around the camp together.

But Will wouldn't be up to anything like that, would he? Afterall, Will was a loyal boyfriend- right?

“Oh my god,” Will practically moaned as he took another bite in his burger.

“Calm down, it’s food, not sex,” Leo pointed out, munching on his fries.

“You're right for once but this time you got my order right and they’re still warm!” Will said in delight.

Leo nodded. “You’re welcome.”

The two boys ate in silence, gobbling down their burgers which gave them the greatest sense of nostalgia. For those who really don’t understand what’s going on, it was often that these two- the demigods in question being Leo and Will- would feel a sort of longing for their home: Texas.

They were both from there and they had to get up and move their lives suddenly- so suddenly that they had barely had any time to depart from their home. Despite it being inappropriately warm there, they did miss the home they grew up in.

And so one time when they both felt a very deep sense of longing, they banded together and boarded Festus- flying to Texas and back. Indeed, it was an overly ridiculous thing to do and they realised at once that it wouldn’t be as simple to do this every time they felt homesick.

So instead they decided on this. Whenever they felt homesick, Leo would fly to Texas and order them burgers from Whataburger. He then would fly back as fast as possible and they would both take immense delight in enjoying the nostalgic meal together.

Of course- Will couldn’t tell Nico what was going on. It would ultimaetely seem stupid and there was a possibility that Nico could get jealous- especially since they weren’t out about their relantionship yet.

So they agreed that no one could ever find out about their agreement.

“I got extras by the way- if you want them,” Leo passed Will the bag with extra food and Will happily picked out the fries.

“Do you want my pickles?” Will asked as he opened the burger and removed them. Leo, who could never say no to pickles, nodded and happily accepted them. This sort of routine and intimacy between the two became normal for them.

“I still don’t get how you can dip your fries in ketchup. Barbecue is the best sauce there is!” Leo cried as he stole a couple of Will’s fries, dipping them in barbeque sauce before eating them.

“Nu-uh, ketchup is way better than barbecue. It’s just so much more…” Will waited for the word to hit him as he took another bite. “Original.”

“Woah…” A surprised voice came out from behind them. Both of the boys shot towards the surprised voice, their faces frozen with panic. A younger camper- luckily- had stumbled upon them.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Will breathed outwards, in a calmer manner than before.

The kid quickly turned on their foot and ran back towards the camp. Leo and Will- not being disrupted anymore- continued their meal. Little to their knowledge, the kid would do much more damage than one could ever imagine a child could do.

Will and Leo walked back to the main part of camp, unaware of what would meet them. They had taken their time with their picnic and by the time they had returned, people were gathering by the bonfire.

“Ooooooooooooh, look who’s here guys!”

“Why didn't you say you guys were dating!” A voice called out.

“Although honestly, I really thought it was you and Nico.” Another voice mentioned.

And as Leo and Will were surrounded by misinformed campers, Will could have sworn he saw Nico mortified. Their eyes caught and as quickly as he had appeared in Will’s life, Nico slipped into the shadows.

#will solace #Nico Di Angelo #Leo Valdez #solangelo #solangelo angst #will solace fanfic #will solace fluff #will solace angst #will solace bday week #Leo Valdez fanfic #Leo Valdez fluff #Nico Di Angelo angst #nico Di Angelo fanfic

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Flufftober Day 1 - Winning a Tedddy Bear for the Other

This is the only October prompt fic I was able to write, so uh. Hopefully you enjoy it!

2.5k words, pairings are pre-Logince, Dukexiety, and pre-Moceit

Nobody actually wins a teddy bear for anyone, despite their best efforts

Truly have no idea if this is solely an American hick town thing or not, but where I'm from, all the summer drama took place at the county fair; the hook-ups and break-ups and all the stuff that people would gossip about at the beginning of the school year. Except! The crew have just graduated and this is kind of their last hurrah before college and work and what have you.

Roman closed his eyes and tried to focus. He turned the basketball over in his hands, privately grossed out by the weird, sticky texture beneath his fingertips. He let the ambient noise of the county fair fade into the background. Focus. He just had to focus.

Then Virgil's voice shattered his concentration: "You know this game is rigged, right?"

Roman opened his eyes and, catching an annoyed glance from the carnival worker, sighed and hurled the ball at the hoop. It soared a neat arc and fell neatly through the center of the hoop. Ha. "I'll have you know I played basketball in middle school." He puffed out his chest a little and raised his arms so Virgil could admire his killer delts.

"And how old are you now?" Virgil leaned into Remus, who was lurking over his shoulder like some kind of lanky cathedral goblin. How Remus had landed a boyfriend before he did, Roman would never know.

The worker handed Roman another ball, which Roman accepted with a half-hearted "Thanks."

"It's true, though," Remus said, placing his chin on Virgil's shoulder. "The hoops are ovals."

"Everybody knows that," Roman huffed, and threw the ball.

"Yeet!" said Remus. Idiot.

The ball bounced off the rim. "You distracted me!" Roman huffed. The carnival worker held out another ball, but Roman dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Oh, forget it!" Two baskets would only get him a stupid Minions keychain, and he definitely didn't want something that cursed in his possession. He turned and walked away, half-hoping Remus and Virgil wouldn't follow him.

"Dude, you paid for three tries," Virgil said.

Roman stopped and turned around and nearly got trampled by a herd of excited pre-teens. "You don't get it!" He gestured at Virgil and Remus' intertwined fingers, even now unable to fight back the wave of jealousy and longing that rose up inside him. "You guys already have your fairy--" He paused, corrected himself. "Your weird, creepy, Tim Burton fairytale dream. I have one shot to impress Logan tonight and I need to make the most of it!"

"Hold on, hold on, hold on!" Remus grabbed Roman by the wrist (ewww, Roman, just try not to think about where his hands have been) and dragged him over to a bench. "Your grand plan is to win Logan some lame carnival prize before he even gets here?"

"Oh, buddy." The mocking pity on Virgil's face was enough to make Roman blush. Jerk. All he'd had to do was sit around and wait for Remus to make the first move. "What makes you think that's even going to work?"

Roman stood up again, motioning for Virgil and Remus to stay seated. He'd had enough. "Because it's a grand, romantic gesture and I am a grand, romantic prince. Now leave me alone! You're wrecking my concentration and I'm supposed to meet Logan in an hour!" And he stalked off, soon getting lost in the crowd.

Virgil looked at Remus, who was wearing a look of undisguised masochistic glee. Still, Virgil ventured, more to soothe his own conscience than anything, "Should we try to help him?"

"Look!" Remus shot to his feet, pointing off into the distance. "Deep fried pickles!" He took off, nearly jerking Virgil's shoulder out of socket.

Virgil dodged an elderly woman and nearly tripped over his boots. "Roman?"

"No, I'm Remus."

"No, I mean, should we try-- Oh, forget it." Virgil wrapped his free hand around the back of Remus' and let Remus yank him through the crowd. There was a long line for the cart selling deep fried monstrosities because this was the county fair and people lost their humanity upon stepping through the gates. Not Virgil. He would sooner lick the door of the horse barn than consume anything from this horrorshow of a food cart. That was one thing Virgil and Roman could agree on: fair food was disgusting. Ah, poor Roman. "You do have to feel a little sorry for him, though," Virgil said, admiring the shiny piercings decorating the shell of Remus' ear.

"Who?" said Remus, standing on tiptoe and examining the crowd.

"Ro--"

"Oh, Roman?" Remus landed hard on his heels and nudged Virgil with his hip. "No I don't. A little heartbreak might take Sir Brags-a-Lot down a peg." Something caught his eye and he jerked his head away with a smile. "Hey. V. I'd like to dip my pickle in your deep fryer."

Virgil made a face, but soldiered on. "But he's had a crush on Logan since, what? As long as I've known him."

"Longer." Remus stuck out his tongue. "He and Logan were lab partners Freshman year. And I had to hear about him every single night." He lowered his voice into a passable imitation of Roman's, gesticulating with abandon. "'Ugh, Remus, this boy in my science class is so annoying; he knows about dumb shit like protons and covalent bonds. Who even cares about that? I don't. So I'm gonna keep talking about it for the entire bus ride home.' Nightmare."

"Exactly!" said Virgil, though he had kind of forgotten what he was getting at. What had he been getting at? He shuffled forward as the line moved and turned his fractured attention to the menu.

"Hey," said Remus, now drumming on Virgil's shoulder with his fingertips. "When was the last time you saw Pat and the Hat?"

"Who?"

"Come on, that was clever."

Virgil tapped his lower lip. "You mean Patton and Janus?" Remus just blinked at him. "I dunno, didn't they say they were buying tickets?"

"Yeah, like, 30 minutes ago.

The line moved forward again. Remus ordered his horrifying hell-pickle. Virgil ordered a lemonade, knowing full well that Remus would insist on paying anyway.

"Maybe," said Virgil, side-stepping away from the order window and deliberately ignoring the way Remus was running his tongue all up and down his deep-fried pickle, "they went to the petting zoo."

"Well, let's go get 'em," Remus said. "They don't get to ditch us just because Patton wanted to see the bunny rabbits."

The setting sun painted the clouds a brilliant orange. Patton sighed and stared out at the expanse of the fairgrounds beneath him. One by one, rides were starting to turn their lights on. It was exactly the most romantic time of evening, exactly how he'd wanted things to go when he suggested they take a quick ride on the Ferris wheel before tracking down the others.

Well.

Almost exactly.

"I should sue," Janus said. Again. He looked over the edge of their basket where it dangled almost exactly at the top of the Ferris wheel. "How long would you say we've been stuck up here?"

"Um," said Patton, trying to wiggle his phone out of his pocket.

"What if I was diabetic, hm? What if one of us needed to take life-saving medication and couldn't because we were stuck at the top of this death trap?"

"But Janus." Patton waited for Janus to meet his eyes, then smiled. "We don't."

The magic didn't last. "It's the principle of the thing!" Janus said explosively, looking away in obvious agitation.

Patton rallied and tried again. "You don't think it's kinda romantic? I mean, look out there." He gestured at the lit-up fairgrounds and the golden haloes of clouds.

Janus huffed and didn't look. "I don't see what's so romantic about a potential reckless endangerment lawsuit." And he was off again, ranting about confusing legal concepts and other things Patton wouldn't care about, except that they were important to Janus.

Oh, well. He sighed and watched the blinking lights of El Niño. If they got down soon, maybe he could win Janus a teddy bear or something and make his confession then.

"What color?"

Roman ran a hand through his hair. Of all the games to have a knack for, he hadn't expected darts. "Pink, I guess-- No, wait, the blue one."

The attendant nodded and handed Roman a flimsy acoustic guitar. "Congrats, man."

"Thanks." Roman turned to go. He had to meet Logan at the gates soon. At least he wasn't doing it empty-handed, not that a barely-playable guitar was a particularly romantic gift. Realy, who was he kidding? Logan didn't want the guitar and Logan didn't want him.

The fairground lights lit everything up a sickly green. Roman scanned the crowd at the midway, trying to determine the best way through, when his gaze fell on a familiar pair of glasses.

He was still trying to decide how to react when Logan reached him, his arms full of brightly-colored stuffed lemurs. "Hello, Roman."

"How long have you been here?" Roman demanded. The idea that Logan had been sneaking around, avoiding him, sat heavy in his stomach.

But to Roman's surprise, Logan blushed. "Not long," he said, shifting his weight. "I wanted-- Well, it seems foolish now."

Roman forgot his anger in an instant. "What? C'mon, Lo, I don't think you're even capable of being foolish."

"I had thought," Logan dropped his gaze to the stuffed lemurs in his arms, "I had thought that if I came early, I might be able to win something big and--" He cleared his throat. "And give it to you."

"Why?" Roman demanded. Why would Logan copy his plan?

"Well, Roman," Logan said in such a clipped, professional voice that he might have been delivering the weather report, "traditionally, winning a large prize for your sweetheart at the county fair is a romantic gesture."

"But I'm not your sw-- Oh." Roman's jaw dropped. The guitar's strings dug into his fingers. Then he started to laugh. Logan's expression hardened, but he stayed put, staring intently at Roman. "I'm sorry!" Roman choked out, brandishing the guitar at Logan as some sort of peace offering, though Logan didn't have a free hand to take it. "I was--" Tears streamed hot and ticklish down Roman's cheeks, his entire body still spasming with stifled laughs. "I was trying to do the same thing! That's how I got this stupid guitar."

"Oh," said Logan. "Oh, dear."

"Come on, let's sort this out." Roman stood on his tiptoes, spotted an empty bench, and led Logan to it.

"This is terribly awkward," Logan said, adjusting the lemurs in his arms. "Do you even want these?"

"Not really," Roman said. He held up the guitar. "Do you want this?"

"I don't."

They smiled at each other. "You know," said Roman, hurriedly counting Logan's stuffed lemurs. "You can trade six of those in for a kiss."

"Piercings!" Remus tugged on Virgil's sleeve and gestured at the booth.

"I thought we were looking for Patton and Janus," Virgil said, already trying to think of a way to keep Remus from getting an ill-advised piercing.

"Forget them! I wanna get my tongue done."

"Here?" Virgil asked as Remus tugged him closer and closer to the piercing booth. "We're, like, six feet away from a horse barn. You're gonna get an infection."

"Damn, V, it's not like I'm gonna French kiss the horses."

Virgil bit his lip and made a second attempt. "Don't you have enough holes punched in yourself?"

"Nope!" They reached the booth and Remus bounced on his toes while he studied the laminated photographs pinned to one of the tent walls.

"Fine, but don't expect any kisses until that piercing is fully healed," Virgil said, struck by an eleventh-hour moment of genius.

"Hold up." Remus turned around and stared at Virgil. "What?"

"You heard me." Advantage secured, Virgil relaxed a little and even managed a sneer. "No kisses until I'm 100% sure you're not gonna get blood or anything else in my mouth."

"Baaaabe." Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil's shoulders and let Virgil take some of his weight. "You're killing me! What about my self-expression?"

"You can get your tongue pierced," Virgil said, "just not at some shady horse barn-adjacent piercing booth run by a bunch of traveling randos."

"I'm an American," Remus mumbled into Virg's collarbone. "It's my God-given right to die of a horse infection because I got my tongue pierced at a-- Whatever you said."

"C'mon." Virgil stood Remus upright and took him by the hand. "I'll pay for you to get your tongue pierced at that nice place downtown. Or I'll get Janus to pay for it. Next birthday. I promise."

"Thanks, I guess," Remus muttered. He was obviously trying to pout, but his face kept cracking into a smile.

"And as for your self-expression…" Face-painting booths were a dime a dozen at the fair; you practically couldn't turn a corner without running into some kid with their face painted to look like Spider-Man. Virgil pointed to the closest one and continued to lead Remus toward it. "I'm thinking spider eyes for me, kraken for you?" Remus took a breath, but Virgil knew better. "There's no way anyone is going to paint a photorealistic dick on your face."

"Alriiiiight," Remus said. "Kraken it is."

The sun was now nearly gone over the horizon, only visible as a faint golden line. Janus had finally worn himself out and gone silent, though even in the darkness, Patton could see the annoyance smoldering in his eyes.

Oh, he was so cute. Even when he was annoyed. Which, granted, seemed to be most of them time, although some of it had to be an act. He smiled sometimes, when he thought Patton wasn't looking.

It was those secret smiles that had given Patton the courage to make this plan. He jiggled his leg and swallowed as nerves sent flutters of nausea through his belly. "Um, Janus?"

"Hm?"

"I mean," Patton started, "since we're stuck up here and everything."

"Don't remind me."

"I mean, you know, It's not all bad. If I have to be stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel, I'm glad it's with you. I… I'm glad it's us."

For a moment, Janus was silent. Then he said, in a tone of suspicion: "You're trying to cheer me up."

Patton sighed. As smart as Janus was, he just didn't seem to be putting the pieces together. Although, that was as much Patton's fault as it was Janus'. Well, it was mostly Patton's fault. He just had to be brave. "Look, Janus, I had this whole plan where we were gonna ride the Ferris wheel together and it was gonna pause at the top and while we were looking out over the fairground, I--" His breath hitched.

"...Was going to push me over the edge?" Janus asked.

"I was gonna do this." Rainbow lights from the Ferris wheel spokes danced across Janus' face. Patton leaned over and took his hands. "Janus, I really like you. And I want--"

"Yes," said Janus. "Whatever you're about to say, yes."

So Patton kissed him.

#queuing this for later today as well #i truly have no idea when you people are online #spicypost #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moceit #logince #dukexiety #spicywrites

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novaviis · 3 years

Text

Terminal Velocity Chapter Five. Momentum.

Watercolour Series.

Words: 26k Status: In Progress Rating: Mature Relationship: Dick Grayson/Wally West

Summary: Wally's life is at a crossroads, and so close to everything he's always dreamed of; he's dating his best friend, about to head to University, and saving the world every day as Kid Flash. But just when he's riding high, his whole life seems to come crashing down as his powers begin to attack his body. Everything comes to a head all at once, and when combined with a volatile relationship with his parents, Wally learns that there is only so much one person can take. Luckily, Dick and Barry are there to support him.

Will it be enough to save him?.

Excerpt:

“Shit, I think he saw me. Quick!” Dick hissed as he shifted back. What happened next, even Wally couldn’t keep up with. Dick grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and spun him around so that Dick’s back was against the rough bark of the tree. Before Wally could so much as make a noise in his confusion, Dick had pulled him down into a heady kiss. Stunned for all of a moment, Wally decided very fast that he didn’t have much interest in questioning this. “Make it believable,” Dick muttered against his open lips with a slow, wide grin. “Can’t be that hard.”

Wally chuckled into Dick’s waiting mouth. “No, sir,” he teased. Strategically, it made sense. Made it look like they were busy doing other things, and whatever their hooded friend had seen had been a fluke. And most people were quick to gloss over too teenagers chewing face out of pure awkwardness alone. Faces were hidden too. Well, if they were going to put on a show, might as well make it count, right? Wally shifted his forearm onto the bark above Dick’s head, his other hand coming down to his waist, as Dick’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. Their senses were alive, breathes held between every pass of their lips to listen out for an approach, but even still neither could seem to stop themselves from getting a little too into their cover. Wally had Dick practically pinned against the tree, and Dick only held him tighter. He tasted like caramel covered popcorn, salty and sweet, with vanilla ice cream, and... yeah, and a bit like deep fried pickle.

Good luck absorbing this one lmao.

#birdflash #dickwally #watercolour series #young justice #yj fanfic

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illuminatingnun · 2 years

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7. 12. 2021

Exam season is upon us and is crushing me like nothing else. I've already had two exams and passed both of them (destrezas de español and Women and Private life in Antique Greece) and have one from Chapters of artesanal crafts next week. ft. fried rice with broccoli and pickled ginger.

Because I didn't have time to do this these past few days, the answers are under the cut. Take care🌱

Day twenty:

Give yourself some love today! Post a picture of yourself or your favourite outfit and tell us five things you love about yourself!

Uhhhh I don't like to share pics of myself but I really love this one (taken by a friend):

Počúvadlo in winter ft my pipe

Well, five things - I can sleep anywhere, I can cook and bake pretty decently and that makes me happy, I can do some crafts, I try hard to be good enough and a little vanity at the end - I really like the way I look in historical clothing

Day twenty-one:

Do you ever question your worth? What do you do to get out of this mindset? Do you feel like questioning your worth is a universal feeling?

I do, just as I think that everyone does at some point. The older I get, the less I do it, thought. I've slowly come to realize that are many way one can look at themselves and see their worth. Hell, when my mother was my age, she had finished uni, was expecting me and lived a fully independent life. My grandmothers - one had the red diplom (meaning she had the best grades and was very successful in academia) and the other had lived a truly moved life, left her home country, was married, had children, and already had been on her own for almost five years. And I sit here, happy that finally found a job, am mostly healthy and can study without any familial obligations. And even if I wasn't doing anything - my worth doesn't come from my grades, from my looks or anything. I live, I breathe, I laugh and cry - I'm a human, a living being, and that alone gives me worth that cannot be taken from me.

Oh and I just make some tea (tea is always the answer), mentally slap myself, eat something, take a shower and go the heck to sleep.

Day twent-two:

Where do you feel most at peace?

On the flood barrage by my village - during autumn evenings it's beautiful, you can see the river and lake, the fields and wild geese fly overhead. It's quiet and the air is gently biting and I feel untouchable, as if I were in my own private bubble of "grandmother's summer".

Day twenty-three:

Do you feel like there are certain books whether classics or otherwise, that you just don't "get"? Share your unpopular book or reading opinions.

Uhhhh Lazarillo. Good lord. I'm starting to hate it every day more. Same goes for Celestina, but I hated that one from start.

But also, I believe it's good and necessary to read fucked-up and disgusting books. If nothing else, they make you think and looking into yourself. Tbh I don't have much to say and have basically no energy and a lot of stuff to do

Day twenty-four:

Send love to your top three favourite study or book blogs, and write down something you love about each of them!

Okay, I'm not very social in this group (but would love to be!!! So feel free to interact more or just shoot me a message), so I will only name two (and for both of you - for some reason you feel very comforting??):

@the---hermit - I love your consistency and motivation, as such I look up to you

@mossy-studies - konečne dakto od nás and that makes me unbelievably happy

Day twenty-five:

What mindset do you put yourself in to be the most successful version of yourself? What mantras do you tell yourself to find motivation?

Usually it's just a deep breath and the realisation that if I don't do it now, it will come and bite me in the ass sooner or later. To be honest, at this time in my life I'm just trying to push through and do my best.

#studyblr #studyspo #kávička #tranquilwinterbuddies #illuminatingnun #cw: smoking

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babbushka · 4 years

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Paradise Inn

(this is entirely @autumnlovesadam‘s fault)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader x Kylo Ren

In a small town just outside of Colorado Springs, there's a motel called Paradise Inn. The rooms are cheap, the furniture leaves much to be desired, the walls are thin -- but it's your favorite place to have filthy, raunchy, seedy sex with two favorite boys, Flip and Kylo.

And there's a vacancy.

5k; NSFW (threesome MMF, double penetration PIV, dom!Flip, service top!Kylo, lactation kink/breastfeeding, semi-public sex, derogatory name calling/dirty talk, multiple positions & orgasms, marathon sex)

Available on AO3!

-----------------

The engine quiets next to a big black motorcycle outside the shop, the familiar store-front bringing a smile to your lips. Flip turns the motorcycle off, and your arms relax around his middle, no longer concerned with falling off. It’s new, the bike, a surprise present you and Kylo worked on together. He builds them, these custom motorcycles, and he does a damn good job.

You’re excited to see him, Kylo. It’s been a couple days since you were able to get together, and even longer since you got to do what you were about to go ask.

“Be back in two shakes.” You kiss Flip’s cheek, and he smiles at you, gives your ass a light pat as you hop off the back of the motorcycle and head into the shop.

You catch your reflection in the mirror, black leather halter top and dark wash jeans. Flip’s Sherpa coat protects your arms, but you let it slip off your shoulders, wanting to catch Kylo’s attention.

He’s there right in the front, looking up as the little bell dings for a new customer. You’re not any ol’ customer though, you’re special, you’re always special. Kylo excuses himself to the man he was talking to, and opens his arms for you.

“Kylo!” You let yourself get scooped up by this hulking man. His tattoos are on full display as they wind around you and hold you tight. You kiss him sweetly on the mouth, no tongue, not yet.

“Long time no see, sweets.” He huffs against your mouth with mock-offense, making you roll your eyes and pull away from him playfully. He throws up a hand in a wave to Flip who waves back, smoking his cigarette outside.

“You came over for dinner Friday night.” You point out.

“It’s Thursday.” Kylo counters, and you grin.

That grin, he knows that grin. He knows it, knows what it means. Trouble, that’s what. Trouble in the best of ways. His dick is already twitching in his jeans, he’s already getting hard for you, for what he knows is coming.

You back him up against the cashier counter, your hand hidden between your bodies as your palm rubs up and down the crotch of his jeans, feeling just how hard he is.

It makes your mouth water, so you grin.

“Let me make it up to you?” You whisper in his ear, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. You can feel it, when your other hand reaches up to cradle the back of his skull, his long black hair silky and soft through your fingertips.

“Hm?” He’s already lost in your touch, your smell, he shudders as your nails scrape lightly against his scalp.

“We got a babysitter; Flip and I are going to…go for a ride.” You look at him, really look at him, nearly going cross-eyed from it, from trying to convey the true meaning of your words when you ask him, “Join us? Please?”

“Is – are you good for – you know – ” Kylo asks nervously, making you bite your lips with excitement.

“It’s been long enough and the doc cleared me, I’m good for it.” You reassure him. He sighs with relief, always careful with you, never wanting to hurt you. It had been nearly three months since giving birth to your daughter, and you were ready to get back into bed. “We missed you. I missed you.”

Your stomach does flips when he licks across his teeth and replies, “Let me get my jacket.”

You walk out of the shop together, and Flip pinches his cigarette to put it out when you get close enough. You cup Flip’s cheeks in your hands and kiss him deeply, tasting the Camel on his teeth, inhaling the sigh he gives you.

“Hey Flip.” Kylo says, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Thanks for coming.” Flip accepts it heartily, gives him the closest thing to a smile Flip ever gives anyone other than you.

“Always,” He shrugs, before reaching out and caressing the side of your face, “Who could ever say no to her?”

“Who would want to?” Flip agrees, and this time, Kylo is the one who almost smiles.

Your heart soars, watching your two favorite boys be good with one another.

“I’m riding with you the way there, and Flip the way back.” You tell Kylo, and he nods, one leg over his black hog and turning her on. You’re quick to follow, snuggling yourself against his back.

“Where to?” He asks Flip, because Flip’s the one who gives the orders when it’s the three of you.

“The usual place, but the diner first. I’m starving.” Flip replies easily.

With that, you all put on your helmets and the engines roar back to life, loud and nasty on the street as Kylo and Flip pull onto the open stretch of road ahead.

--------------------

Sunset in the mountains is gorgeous, you can’t help but think. Kylo and Flip cruise at a steady pace, and you nestle your head against Kylo’s back, watching the world move past. The Rockies are have exploded into a beautiful purple landscape, the sky a tie-dyed vision of lavenders magentas and fuchsia. Kylo focuses on the winding path ahead, and you focus on the feeling of the hot leather seat between your legs, how the vibrations make your clit throb.

You’re glad it’s not a far way to the next town over, you’re glad, you don’t know if you’d be able to wait too much longer.

Speak of the devil, you think, as the streetlamps of the sleepy little town come into view. The anticipation thrills you, as the tires eat the road away, the little neon sign of the diner grows larger and larger, until Kylo and Flip are pulling up into the parking lot.

Flip immediately moves to you, winds his arm around your middle and tugs you close to his side. He and Kylo look like twins almost, which you think is funny because Kylo does have twin brothers, and Flip certainly isn’t one of them.

Still, the hostess eyes them up and down, their dark hair, their strong intimidating statures, the way they’re both dressed in dark jeans and leather jackets…and you, in the middle of them, standing and waiting for a table.

“Smoking section, please.” Flip mutters, not one for wasting time.

She doesn’t say anything, just nods once and grabs a couple of menus. Not like you need them, you’ve come here one time too many, you know what you order, what you like. The waitress knows, she recognizes the three of you.

She doesn’t say anything, just gives you the menu at your table and lets you be.

You sit at one of those corner tables, the kind that’s one big booth that wraps around. Kylo slides in first, you after him, and Flip at the end, sandwiching you between them on the red and white leather seat.

A different woman comes over, much less suspecting than the first, barely looks up at you as she pulls out her little notebook, and a pen, asking you, “What’ll you have honey?”

“Number 2 combo?” You’re polite, overly polite because you know that you’ll have to make up for the brusqueness of the men on either side of you. “With a basket of fries, and a large vanilla shake with two cherries, please.”

“Boys?” The waitress asks.

“Double cheeseburger with no pickles, and a coke. Please.” Flip replies, smoking his cigarette, already handing her the menu. You smile and kiss his chin, the goatee tickling your lips for a moment or two.

“Same.” Kylo replies, and you squeeze his thigh, a little warning. “Please.”

You grin at him, and the waitress leaves without another word.

The diner is full, nearly every table is packed. You don’t care, neither of you do. Flip’s got one arm slung across the back of the booth, his leg crossed over his thigh. Kylo’s leaned back against the booth, his legs spread. They’re both hard and you wonder how long it’s going to be before Flip decides that he’s ready to go to the motel.

You thank the waitress for the food when it gets delivered, and immediately go for the milkshake. You pluck the cherries off the stem with your teeth and chew them slowly, before one at a time tying the stem into a knot with your tongue and teeth.

“One for my honey,” You kiss Flip, passing the first cherry knot into his mouth, before turning to Kylo and doing the same, “And one for my baby.”

“You’re real fuckin’ good at that ketsl, aren’t you?” Flip grins, chewing on the cherry stem for a moment, because your man isn’t nothing if he’s not a chewer, before pulling it out of his mouth and letting it rest on the little napkin coaster.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” You tease, a little bubble of laughter escaping your throat.

“What’s so funny?” Kylo asks, his hand creeping between your legs, squeezing your thigh with his big palm.

“I’m just excited. I hope they have a room open.” You say honestly, earnestly in a way that has Kylo licking his lips, giving you a little half smirk. Flip smiles, smokes his cigarette.

“Yeah? Your pussy’s wet for it?” Kylo asks, his voice very low, deep and dark in your ear. It sends shivers up your spine, your thighs press together.

He smirks again, he can feel it with the hand creeping ever closer.

“Mmhmm, want a feel?” You dare, making his eyebrows shoot up a little, looking up to Flip.

“Here?” He asks, nodding slightly to the reminder that you’re all in a very public space. No one is looking at you, no one cares, everyone too preoccupied with their own affairs, their own dinner.

“Touch her.” Flip nods, baritone rumbling through your chest. “It’s okay.”

Kylo carefully, ever so subtly, pops open the fly of your jeans and wedges his hand into your underwear. His fingers slip and slide through the folds of your pussy, his cock throbbing in his own jeans as you spread your legs a little further. It’s all so discreet, no one would ever know what’s going on under that booth. Kylo’s good about things like that.

He rubs at your cunt for a while, your clit pulsing under the heat of his thumb, big and broad and rubbing soothing little circles that make your nerves short out, make you slurp a little harder on your milkshake. Your hand holds his wrist in place, you grind against the heel of it, and Flip tries his best not to grin.

You make the sweetest little sounds, doing your best not to move, not to be loud, not to be heard over the chatter of the diner, but when your eyes start to flutter and roll back, Kylo knows he has to stop.

“Pretty fuckin’ wet.” He eventually decides, pulling his hand away before you come, because it’d be bad if he got you coming right here – you come so loud after all – and buttons you back up.

“Well I gotta fit both of you, so it better be.” You turn back to Flip and kiss him a little, a couple chaste smooches against the warm skin of his throat.

“Oh is that what we’re doing tonight?” Kylo regards you and Flip carefully. You turn your attention to Flip too, eager to see what he has to say.

“Yeah, it is.” He says, before taking another bite out of the burger.

--------------------

True to your word you ride over to the motel with Kylo, knowing that Flip will get you on the way back. With each second that passes, you only get more and more worked up, practically shaking as Kylo waits out in the motel parking lot, while you and Flip go inside to pay for the room.

“One room please.” Flip requests, already pulling out his fat wallet. He always carries cash for things like this – not that he’s got anything to hide from anyone, because you’re right there with him, but it just makes life a little less messy when there’s no paper trail.

The guy at the reception desk sees Kylo outside, and glances over at you carefully.

“How many people?” He asks, a little too suspiciously, but not suspiciously enough for either of you to give a shit.

“Oh a single king is fine.” Flip replies, his tone brooking no argument.

“Check-out’s at eleven.” The man says, sliding a single tarnished key attached to a Paradise Inn key-ring.

“Perfect, thank you.” You flash him a winning smile, and you pretend not to notice the way he stares after you as Flip holds open the door.

Lucky number 17, you find the door of your room easily. There’s not much, but then again you’re not here for a five star treatment. It’s small, brown shag carpeting from the door to the bathroom, with nothing more than a king sized bed, a black and white television on the dresser, and a lamp in the corner.

You barely get a second or two to take in the surroundings before Flip’s hands are on you. There’s a reason you wore the halter top, with one zip your tits are out and your nipples stiff against the cool air of the A/C. He rubs them with his rough thumbs, and you loop your arms around his neck as his hands travel lower lower lower, working on your jeans.

“Hi.” You say to him, your voice breathy and soft, excited.

“Hey honey-bunny.” Flip smiles back against your lips and then frowns at you like he’s angry about somethin’. He grabs your jaw and gives your face a little shake. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

“Mmhmm, but tell me anyway.” You grin, bratty and naked as he walks you back back back towards the king.

“Lay down on the bed, let me take a look at you,” Flip licks his lips, strikes up a cigarette and puffs the smoke thick and heavy into the air. He breathes out through his nose “Damn, goddamn, you’re beautiful. We’re going to fuck you so hard you won’t know anything other than how beautiful you are.”

Flip works on unbuckling his belt, sliding it slowly out of the loops. You watch the movement, and so does Kylo.

“Did you bring the camera?” Kylo asks, knowing that sometimes, the first time Flip fucks you he likes Kylo to take pictures, all sorts of pictures from all sorts of angles.

Flip surprises him by shaking his head.

“No, not this time, this time’s just for the three of us. Come here.” He tells Kylo, turns him so that he’s facing you on the bed. You’ve pulled down the comforter and have thrown it to the floor so it doesn’t get too filthy, arms and legs spreading out beautifully in the sheets. Flip gives Kylo a gentle nudge, asks, “Do you want to kiss her?”

“Yes sir.” Kylo’s response is quick, and it makes Flip hum out in approval.

“Kiss her nice and slow, finger her open I want her ready for me by the time I’m done with my cigarette.” He pats Kylo on the back, and with the new permission, climbs up onto the bed with you.

He pulls your body to his, so that you’re facing one another on your sides, those muscular biceps flexing as they hold you close. Before he can really start, you tug the black t-shirt over his head, his chest exposed to you. Your hands splay across his pecs, and you gasp happily into his mouth as his left hand finds your pussy with his eyes closed.

“Your cunt’s so tight baby, how’d you manage that?” Kylo murmurs against your lips, thrusting one finger, then two, then three inside.

“Magic – oh!” Your eyes shoot open as he pushes those three fingers inside you up to his knuckles. He keeps them there are rubs against your walls, spreads his fingers, stretching you carefully. Your hips push down on his hand and you gasp again, this time a little harder. Immediately, Kylo’s other hand clamps down around your mouth.

“We can’t be too loud sweets.” He whispers, not stopping his pace at all, not letting up on your pussy, “These walls are thin, we can’t have anyone hearing you, they’ll know how much of a cockslut you are.”

“Kylo,” You whine, the sound muffled against his palm but still legible enough for them to hear, “I’m gonna come, Flip? Flip I’m – ”

Flip’s been smoking his cigarette at the foot of the bed, watching Kylo touch you, watching Kylo prepare you for him. He nods, even though you can’t see it, your eyes shut tight from the sensation of Kylo’s fingers stuffed up your pussy.

“You get to come as many times as you can tonight ketsl, don’t hold them back.” Flip rubs your calf soothingly, smirks at how your toes are curled and how your thighs tremble already.

“Thank you Philly -- ohh your hand’s just so fucking big Kylo, pleaseplease – a little harder please -- !” You encourage, and Kylo listens, always listens to what you say, to what you want. He’s a little rougher with you, a little faster, his fingers stiffening and curling inside you to rub against your gspot so that you can get out a quick orgasm before the night really begins.

He doesn’t even have to touch your clit before your body is snapping up for a split second, relaxing right after, shocks of pleasure ricocheting inside your brain.

“She’s ready for you.” Kylo kisses you softly and carefully eases his fingers out of your pussy.

You’ve done this often enough, you know what’s coming, but it still thrills you every time, still sends a jolt of adrenaline up your chest. Your ribs ache for it, for the feeling of being pressed between them, your orgasm glowing over your body as Flip puts his cigarette out.

“Good, hold onto her for me, hold her steady.” Flip tells Kylo.

Manhandling you, Kylo leans against the headboard of the shitty bed that squeaks and creaks and groans, and pulls your back against his chest. It’s broad and warm and already covered in a sheen of sweat, and you grin blissed out and in love, as you watch Flip shuck off his clothes.

Kylo wraps his hands beneath your thighs and holds them open. Flip smiles and kisses your pussy sweetly, swipes his tongue through the come and slick between your legs just once, before licking it off his lips and swallowing it down.

You let out a long moan when Flip pushes the head of his cock into you, your hips widening for him as you adjust yourself back against Kylo’s chest. Kylo kisses your neck, sucks on your earlobe while Flip bottoms out inside you, the feeling of fullness all the way up to your cervix making your knees want to fight Kylo’s grip.

“Flip,” You whine, your mouth seeking his, “Holy shit that’s good.”

“Kylo, rub her clit for me.” Flip smiles against your lips, sucks on your tongue as he rolls his hips against yours. Kylo’s fingers find their way back to your clit and he presses down with steady pressure in little circles. Flip groans as the sound of his cock thrusting in and out of you fills the air, “Your pussy’s so wet, pretty girl.”

“O-oh!” You moan, before suddenly, the overstimulation has your nipples leaking, making your eyes snap open with embarrassment, “Oh fuck, I’m sorry I – ”

“What’s that?” Kylo says, as Flip stops fucking you for a minute.

“Milk, shit, hand me the little towel?” You groan, one hand covering your face as Kylo lets your legs down, as Flip gives you some space.

“No – !” Kylo’s brain short-circuits, realizing that it’s your breastmilk, suddenly strangely fiercely protective of it. He doesn’t want it to go to waste, not something so precious as that, something that comes from you, something for the life that you’ve created with Flip. “No I’ll, can I -- ?”

You and Flip look at each other, before looking back at him, and he feels his heart hammer in his chest. He doesn’t know how to explain it, he just…he just thinks it would be wrong to wipe it away, not when…not when he could savor it.

“Of course you can.” You whisper, and this is new, this is something you haven’t done before, either with Flip or with Kylo or anyone else.

But damn, you’re eager to try.

Kylo shuffles out from under you, and you settle down onto the mattress again. Flip moves over you again, his arms holding your legs up around his hips as his cock sinks back into your cunt. Kylo licks up the milk that’s dripped from your nipples and sighs at the taste, his finger returning to your clit as he lays himself down so his head can rest on your sternum, your breast in his other hand as he latches himself to your nipple and sucks.

“Mmmmm.” You moan, one hand pulling Flip down to make out with him as he fucks you, your other hand carding gently through Kylo’s hair.

The sensation is overwhelming – the suction on your nipple as Kylo drinks his fill, his rough fingers on your clit, Flip’s cock dragging in and out of you, in and out in and out it drives you insane, it drives you over the edge, it makes your back arch and your toes curl and your eyes sting with pleasure, with the overstimulation on all ends.

“Aw fuck, fuck Flip – Kylo – fuck I’m – ” You’re hiccupping, panting, sweat sweat sweating all over and Flip knows you’re going to come again, he speeds his hips up, brings you closer closer closer, and you’re sobbing out their names, “Flip, Ky! Please!”

You come hard on Flip’s cock on Kylo’s fingers, cunt clenching down around them. Flip fucks you through it, you’re not done yet, not yet, not even getting started.

“You think you can take both of us?” Flip asks you seriously, sweetly, calmly. He doesn’t want to hurt you, never wants to hurt you, and so he makes sure you can handle it.

“Please!” Your eyes are clouded from orgasm as it rips through you, but there’s clear certainty in your voice when you shudder through the pleasure that you want, that they’re going to give you.

“Ky.” Flip places a sweating hand on his back, getting his attention. Kylo nods, pulls off of your nipple and licks up the droplets of milk that linger on his red swollen lips.

Kylo lays down on his back, and Flip gets off of you, grabs you carefully and settles you right on Kylo’s cock. It’s roughly the same size as Flip’s, although not as thick around the shaft, and you’re boneless above him as you sink down on it with a great big moan.

Flip kneels behind you, and whispers into your ear to relax as he pushes his cock inside your pussy too. You let your hips drop to accommodate them, and your nipples leak onto Kylo’s stomach as you cry, it’s too good, it’s so much and not enough because neither of them are moving and if they don’t start to move soon you might just lose your mind.

“You’re doing so good baby.” Flip’s hands hold you up, you can’t do it yourself, you’re drooling all over yourself and trying your best not to scream. Still, Flip asks, “Does it feel good?”

“Uh-huhh, you’re both really fucking big I – oh!” You let a big string of drool land on Kylo’s face, and he just licks it up, eyes wide, pupils blown black with lust. You can barely see one another in the shitty light of the lamp, but it’s enough to see how fucking hungry they both are for you.

“I’m going to come soon.” Kylo grunts out.

Now that he’s got his cock in you too, he’s starting to lose the ability to form coherent sentences. The tightness of your pussy and the friction of Flip’s cock rubbing against his own have his whole body tensing and flexing, shuddering and shaking as you moan and cry cry cry on top of him.

“Not fucking yet.” Flip growls through clenched teeth.

“Flip,” You sob, rocking back on the two cocks that can barely fit inside you, on the cusp of another orgasm that you’re almost afraid is going to hurt from how good it’ll be.

Flip thrusts into you harder, faster, he’s close too, you know he is, you can tell, can tell with how he’s starting to bite down on your shoulder, bite enough that he could break skin.

“No, not yet.” Flip shakes his head, hair sweaty and falling in his face as he corrals your body up and off him, with a harsh, “Pull out of her. I’m gonna come in you okay ketsl?”

“Please Flip, fill me up honey.” You cry into his mouth as he kisses you deeply, passionately, rolling you onto your sides so he can have one hand on your hip and the other splayed out across your back.

He grunts with a muffled shout against your lips and comes, shoots a hot thick load into your cunt and groans through it, hips pushing it deeper. He stays like that for a few moments, before forcing himself to pull out of your throbbing aching pussy. His come oozes onto your folds, drips and pools onto your slit. He strokes himself to make sure that every last drop gets on your pussy, before he collapses down onto the mattress with a loud groan, chest heaving.

“Fuck my come back into her, slowly Kylo.” Flip orders the man who had been fucking his fist to keep himself from shouting out your name. Kylo’s so quick to scramble back on top of your body, that Flip lets out a chuckle as he lights another cigarette and breathes, “Go slow, don’t come yet.”

“She’s so hot, you’re so fucking hot, sweets.” Kylo moans as he rubs the head of his dick into Flip’s come, pushes it through your folds and into your cunt. The squelch is slick, heady and so thick, the room smells so much like sex that Kylo almost blacks out from that alone, from the all consuming feeling of you.

“Thank you Kylo.” You slur your words, blissed out of your mind, the world moving in slow motion as Kylo takes long drags in and out of your pussy, pushing more of Flip’s come back into your body with each thrust.

“C-can I come, Flip, please,” Kylo sweats all over you, it drips down from his nose, the ends of his hair. He drools into the pit of your throat, and Flip breathes smoke through his nostrils like a great languid dragon, watching your face.

“No, not until she comes one more time.” Flip smiles at you softly, turning your face to meet his as he kisses you, his tongue hot and thick against yours as he sucks on your bottom lip. “You’re gonna come like this, aren’t you ketsl?”

“P-Phil I – yesyes I –” You cut yourself off and come for the last time of the evening, nothing but sensations, lights and sounds and feeling all around you. You feel like you can taste it, up in your throat, how much come there is inside you. Your hands rub at your lower stomach, it’s like you can feel it, sloshing around inside you. “I’m so full.”

“Here honey-bunny,” Flip gives Kylo a nod, “You can take some more, here.”

Kylo comes so hard that his arms give out on top of you, and he falls with a thud onto your messy chest. You’re all disgusting, covered in spit and tears and sweat, milk and come, all mixing all over these sheets. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you make a reminder to leave more cash for the maid in the morning.

--------------------

Everything is quiet, as the three of you catch your breath. Kylo comes in you just as much as Flip does, and you moan in the back of your throat at the thought of it mixing together, your two favorite boys inside you.

“Thank you Philly, thank you Ky.” You mumble, your eyes shut, mind already starting to drift off to sleep. You’re exhausted, after all that, and the pillowcase is cool and so inviting.

“You’re welcome sweets.” Kylo pulls out of you, his cock softening enough that you only wince a little from the overstimulation.

“Anything for my girl.” Flip pulls you to him once again, never wanting you too far away, wanting you close to him.

“Sleep?” You tuck your head under his chin, already snuggling against him, not caring about anything else in the entire world other than the heartbeat underneath your cheek.

“No, no not yet, we gotta get cleaned up.” Flip cards his fingers through your tangled knotted hair, picking apart the sweatier pieces and coaxing you up with little kisses. “C’mon ketsl, shower time.”

“I can’t get up.” You complain, and Flip chuckles because after the night you just had, he’d be surprised if you’d be okay to walk for a couple of days.

It was a good thing the weekend was just around the corner, he thinks, because he doesn’t envision you getting out of bed at all when he gets you back home, when you leave the motel in the morning. Still, you can’t not shower and use the bathroom, so he pats Kylo’s shoulder.

“Ky, give me a hand?” He asks, hoping to get some help from the man.

Thankfully, Kylo’s awake enough to shoulder some of the weight as the three of you shuffle your way to the bathroom. The hot water is blissful on your sore muscles, and you groan and moan and sigh with happiness as big strong hands wash your body, your hair, your face.

In the morning, the three of you will sneak out well before anyone will have any clue that you’ve gone. You’ll wrap your arms around Flip’s middle as he rides the motorcycle back towards home. You’ll pick up your daughter from your dear friend who knows what you get up to and doesn’t judge, and whenever anyone else asks where you’ve been, well…you won’t be lying when you tell them paradise.

--------------------

#kylo ren #flip zimmerman #kylo ren/reader #flip zimmerman/reader #kylo ren/you #flip zimmerman/you #kylo ren/flip zimmerman/reader #kylo ren smut #flip zimmerman smut #blackkklansman #my writing

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kelyon · 3 years

Text

Golden Rings 17: A Name

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold revisits her past

Read on AO3

Mrs. Gold looked on in mute horror as Hunter Duke dumped more hot sauce on his triple bacon hamburger. He’d asked Ruby to give him three meat patties with no bun and steamed broccoli instead of fries. When Mrs. Gold had questioned that lunch choice, he had explained his new diet to her.

At length.

Hunter had always been the kind of boy who thought meat and spicy food were substitutes for a personality. He’d been the star athlete at Storybrooke High, taking home championships in football and wrestling. He’d been popular with everyone--except for the one girl he’d arbitrarily decided was the hottest girl in school. That girl, the valedictorian, hadn’t given the quarterback the time of day. Not until she lost her scholarship and suddenly dating the son of a lawyer sounded like the way to the best future she would ever get.

“They do the burgers way too overdone here,” Hunter said with his mouth full. “You don’t get enough protein if it isn’t bloody.”

Mrs. Gold shrugged and took a bite of her own burger. It needed more pickles, but it was still amazing. Toasted bun, crisp lettuce, a patty that was juicy but not messy. She hadn’t had a Granny’s burger in forever. When she was a kid, her parents had taken her out for burgers every Friday night after their shop closed. Mom would bring her own supply of extra-zesty mustard and Dad…

She set her bun on her plate. On those idyllic, bygone Friday nights, her father would spend the whole meal grumbling about money and expenses and couldn’t they have eaten at home? Mom had always told him to stop worrying and enjoy the moment. It was the end of another week and they were together, happy and healthy. She’d calmed him down and kept him focused, every time there was a crisis.

Until they faced the biggest crisis of their lives.

Mrs. Gold blinked out of her thoughts. For some reason, Hunter was still talking. Maybe it looked like she was listening. She’d gotten good at that when they had dated. Now that she was listening for real, she tried to catch up.

“I keep telling my dad he needs to just change the sign. ‘Duke & Duke & Duke’ has a great ring to it, right? Or he could for ‘Duke & Sons.’ I don’t mind sharing the spotlight with Steven. Or he could leave the sign as it is and retire! ‘Duke & Duke’ is classic, everyone knows we’re the best bankruptcy lawyers in town. Just let my brother be the first Duke and I’ll be second Duke and we’ll take this firm into the future! But Dad keeps brushing me off for some reason.”

Mrs. Gold took a sip of iced tea and desperately wished it was something stronger. “Did you… go to law school?”

She had the oddest feeling that she couldn’t remember how long they had been out of high school. All she knew for sure was that Hunter had enrolled at Storybrooke Community College--and she hadn’t. It was possible that he had gotten his bachelor’s. As Hunter was fond of saying, “Cs get degrees.” But SCC didn’t have a graduate program. Had he taken more classes on the internet? Or correspondence courses? It boggled her mind to think of Hunter of all people had gotten a law degree during the years she’d been Mr. Gold’s stupid slut.

“Well actually,” he explained, “you don’t need to go to law school to take the bar exam. I’ve got a bachelor’s in poli-sci and I’ve been around lawyers all my life. My dad knows everyone at the state bar. He’ll pull some strings and I’ll be all set.”

Mrs. Gold stabbed her straw at the ice cubes in her glass. It was so fucking unfair. Hunter was an idiot child who had never worked for anything in his life. His father--Richard “Big Dick” Duke--had bought him a Humvee when he turned sixteen, a speedboat when he graduated high school, and a college education just because no son of his wasn’t going to go to college. Now he would give his son the bar exam and a ready job and everything he would need for a future, without Hunter ever having to grow up past the maturity level of a toddler.

She’d lost her virginity to this boy. One summer night after senior year, in the back seat of that gas-guzzling monstrosity. They’d been dating for a while and Hunter had been perfectly content with her amateurish attempts at blowing him. But for her, the novelty had begun to wear off. So she’d suggested that he “put it in” instead. It was mostly a way for him to get his rocks off while she could just lie back and think of something more interesting.

Her memories of that night were dark and cramped and disappointing. She kept her shoes and her bra on the whole time. When Hunter was done, she had been more confused than anything else. This is what people made such a big deal about? Wasn’t sex supposed to be better than that?

It wasn’t until later, with Mr. Gold, that she had understood what people were talking about in romance novels.

But now that things were so strained with her husband, she found herself thinking back to the only other sexual partner she’d ever had. Looking at Hunter now, she had to remind herself of how bad things had been that summer, when he had been a welcome distraction. Hunter hadn’t wanted to talk about doctors’ appointments or shop inventory or arguing with financial aid departments--every fight a losing battle. All he wanted to do was drink, screw around, and have fun, and he welcomed her along for the ride.

I thought he would help us. I was wrong. He wasn’t what I needed.

Mrs. Gold shook the thought out of her head. The thought was true, but she recognized it as not being her own, so she talked over it.

“Have you been hanging out with any of the old gang? Sean or Jesse or anyone?”

It had been exciting to be included with the rich kids, to feel like she belonged in the world of the young and the reckless--people who didn’t have to worry about things because their parents would always be around to bail them out. They could do whatever they wanted because the world belonged to them.

Hunter shrugged. “Jesse’s an idiot, so no change there. But Sean’s been such a pussy ever since Ashley had her baby.”

Ashely Boyd had been in that group with her. Rich boys liked running around with poor girls because they were easier to impress than the rich girls. New Town young ladies also had parents who bought them cars for their sixteenth birthdays. They didn’t need to rely on spoiled boys to pay their way every time they went out, so they didn’t have to go along with whatever stupidity the boys came up with. Mrs. Gold had taken a lot of risks just so Hunter would keep thinking she was interesting.

But Ashley had loved Sean for more than his money and toys. All she ever wanted was for him to love her back and stay with her. Once, Mrs. Gold had thought Ashley was stupid for pining so hard after a boy who would never commit. But now she had a little more sympathy.

“What happened with Sean?”

“Mr. Herman kicked him out, cut him off. Now he’s living at Ashley’s place, working his ass off at the fish factory.”

“The cannery,” Mrs. Gold corrected quietly. Fish King Canned Foods was always hiring. It was always looking for people who could stand waist-deep in ice and fish guts for twelve hour shifts, operating machinery that could cut through a human hand as easily as it did a whole herring. Her cousin Andrew had gotten a job right out of high school. Her Uncle Peter had worked there for twenty years before he died.

“Like I said, he’s a total pussy now. All he does is work and hang out with Ashley, work and take care of the baby, work and sleep. You know he asked her to marry him a couple days ago? Utterly whipped.”

“Wow,” she said.

She had never respected Sean Herman, so it was weird to think of him actually growing up. People didn’t usually change around Storybrooke. But now the spoiled party boy was taking responsibility for his child and the woman who loved him. He had given up his own wealth and family status because he loved a penniless girl from Old Town.

It was impressive.

She finished her burger while Hunter started another monologue, this time about all the fat, lazy, poor people who came to his father’s office to declare bankruptcy. Forget being a lawyer, he should go into talk radio.

“I did ask you to lunch for a reason.” She grabbed her chance to talk while he was taking a breath.

“Oh yeah?” Hunter wiped hot sauce off his face with the back of his hand. “What’s up?”

“You know a lot of people,” Mrs. Gold said. “I was wondering if you might know somebody that I don’t.”

He slurped up the dregs of his diet soda. “Yeah? Who?”

Mrs. Gold gripped the edge of the table and desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice how hard it was for her to say this. The gold of her wedding ring was dull on this cloudy afternoon. “I… just have a name right now. I think it’s a woman named Belle.”

She could see the wheels in his head turning as he thought. “Belle? Hmm. I don’t know.”

“She’s probably young. Maybe our age. Maybe younger. Or older? Maybe she’s one of your mom’s friends or something?”

A woman as old as Karen Duke would still be younger than Mr. Gold. Maybe he was looking for more maturity now. In the days since she found out about Belle, Mrs. Gold had been racking her brain to try to imagine what kind of person she was. She was only moderately sure that Belle even was a woman. If Mr. Gold wanted this Belle person more than he wanted his own wife, she was probably the opposite of her in some crucial way.

Hunter made a face and scratched the back of his head. “Nah, I got nothing. Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Mrs. Gold looked down at her empty plate. “I’m not surprised.”

Seeing that they were both done with their food, Ruby came up to the table. “Now is this gonna be one check or two?”

It was almost funny how quickly Hunter looked to Mrs. Gold. He panicked at the thought of paying for his own lunch. Daddy must not be giving him an allowance anymore.

“You invited me,” he said, almost chiding her with the reminder of how things worked.

“Yeah, that was my first mistake.” Mrs. Gold took the check from Ruby and pulled out her purse.

A fifty would be enough to pay for two hamburgers and Ruby’s discretion. Not that Mrs. Gold was being particularly sneaky, arranging lunch with her ex-boyfriend at the most popular restaurant in town. But that didn’t matter either. She could take Hunter to the pawn shop and bang him in front of the cash register and Mr. Gold wouldn’t give a fuck.

And neither would she.

****

Wandering listlessly up and down Main Street, Mrs. Gold tried to keep warm. The clouds were dark and heavy with more snow. The sidewalks were shoveled, but there was always a residue of dirty slush. It was the time of year when trash kept showing up in the streets, no matter how many anti-littering signs Mayor Mills put up.

Mrs. Gold’s suede boots were more fashionable than sturdy. The same could be said for her coat, scarf, and hat. The cold seeped through her flimsy layers, until she was nothing but numb and damp, until it was hard to breathe, until she was so desperate to be warm again she resolved to go into the next open store, no matter which one it was.

Sugar’n’Spice was always warm and it always smelled good. Mara Trudine burned a different scented candle every day the shop was open. Today the candle was cinnamon and cloves. The whole place smelled like cider.

Mrs. Gold entered as quietly as she could. She hadn’t been in the store since before Christmas. And she had never walked through that door without strutting proudly, loudly announcing her intentions to buy whatever lingerie it would take to drive Mr. Gold wild.

Was Mr. Gold even capable of going wild for her anymore? Or did the sight of her just turn his stomach? He thought she was trash, she disgusted him, he didn’t want her and he never would again.

Ducking behind a rack of silky robes, Mrs. Gold took a breath to calm herself down. It was a bad habit she’d developed lately, thinking of the worst-case scenario just to make herself feel something. Her mind kept poking and prodding at her pain, pulling out her darkest fears and putting them front and center. She could push it away if she concentrated. If she tried to act normal, she could almost feel normal. Sometimes.

“Oh hey.” Mara had spotted her from the sales counter in the back of the shop. “Mrs. Gold, I didn’t see you come in.”

Steeling herself, Mrs. Gold walked out from behind the robes. “That’s me.” She tried to smile.

Mara stayed where she was. Bits of fabric were spread out over the counter. It looked like she was sewing something.

Mrs. Gold’s heart skipped a beat. The fabric was a shiny yellow-gold. Sometimes, when Mr. Gold was really pleased with her, he liked her to wear that color. Without thinking about what she was doing, she began to walk towards the counter.

“What are you working on?”

Mara looked up from her needle. Even after all these years, she had the same face she’d had as a kid--sharp brown eyes, adorably crooked smile, freckles all over her round cheeks. She looked so innocent. You’d never think she made a living off of unmentionables.

“Custom order,” she said proudly. “I’ve been trying to get tailor-made lingerie off the ground for as long as I can remember. Got my first order in October and more have been coming in.” She held up the fabric and Mrs. Gold saw a pair of panties that would go up to a person’s rib cage.

“Somebody wants that?”

Mara’s excitement dimmed in the face of Mrs. Gold’s skepticism, but she did her best to explain. “It’s shapewear,” she said. “See the reinforced panels? The idea is to smooth out tummy rolls and make a more flattering silhouette.”

Mrs. Gold looked over at the rack of Spanx. “Don’t you already sell that?”

“Yeah, but the stuff I make is sturdier than the mass-produced product. Better for people with non-standard bodies. And prettier too. Nothing over there comes in straw yellow.”

It was true. Most of the stuff in that section was nude or black. Mrs. Gold knew a thing or two about wearing corsets, but she had never actually needed one. She had thought Mr. Gold liked her to be skinny.

“That is a pretty color,” she said. “Who’s it for?”

Mara looked at her dubiously. “I can’t talk about a client, it’s confidential.”

“How are you planning on getting more orders without word of mouth?”

“Well, normally word of mouth comes from customers talking about the product, not a creator talking about their customers.”

Falling into old habits, Mrs. Gold tilted her head back as her voice went up an octave. “I know, but it’s just such a pretty shade of gold, I was wondering if someone special might have ordered it...?”

She let the question hang. Mara just frowned and shook her head.

“Come on, you’re smarter than that.” She held up the garment again. “This is for a plus-sized woman. Two of you could fit in here without straining the elastic. Mr. Gold didn’t order this for you.”

Without thinking, she leaned over the counter and got in her friend’s face. “Did he order it for someone else?”

Mara’s eyes went wide. Her mouth transformed into a tiny little O of surprise. Mrs. Gold pulled away and kept her eyes on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Gold said. “That was out of line.”

“Wow,” Mara said softly. “I, uh, I’d heard that something had happened. But I didn’t know it was that bad. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” She turned around, pretended to look at something lacy until the urge to scream had passed. When she glanced at Mara, her brown eyes were trained on her.

“It’s not from him,” she said simply. “I’ll even tell you that my client paid with a credit card, so it was definitely her own money.”

Or maybe Mr. Gold was just covering his tracks. But at least he hadn’t called in the order himself. At least he wasn’t flaunting his disregard for her.

“Does he… Have you ever heard from him? Is he buying anybody lingerie?”

Mara shook her head. “I only see him on Rent Day.”

With nothing left to lose, she asked her old friend the same question she’d asked her ex-boyfriend. “Do you know anybody named Belle?”

Mara blinked. “I don’t… think so. The name sounds familiar, but I’m probably thinking of a character from a book or a movie. It’s not the sort of name you hear around Storybrooke.”

“No,” Mrs. Gold agreed.

“But I’ll keep my ears open, if you want.”

Mrs. Gold raised her eyebrows. “What about client confidentiality?”

“Well, whoever Belle is, she’s definitely not a client. And until Mr. Gold pays me himself, neither is he.”

You’re a good friend.

This time, Mrs. Gold didn’t swat at the thought that intruded into her head. She let it rest over her brain like a blanket. She let the thought warm her up.

She leaned against the counter and watched Mara work. The shapewear was fully constructed, and she was embroidering stalks of straw in a pattern along the sides. It was really pretty. The sort of thing that would give a girl a boost in confidence and excitement about her own body, her own clothes. Mrs. Gold remembered how fancy she’d felt the first time she wore something as simple as a bra and panties that were the same color. That sort of energy could get people through interviews or contract negotiations, any time you needed to feel powerful. Mara was helping people here, she was good at it, and it seemed to make her happy.

“So, business is good?”

“Yeah, it’s picking up. Valentine’s Day was a madhouse, but you know how that goes.”

Mrs. Gold nodded. Lingerie could be as popular as flowers when it came to last-minute gifts that men always thought would be cheaper than they were.

“Did you spend the day with anyone?”

Mara scrunched her nose. “I’m working too hard for that. Besides, I don’t meet a lot of single men in this business.”

She was able to snicker at the joke, and she was able to mean it. “Yeah, I guess not.”

They were quiet together for a minute, then Mrs. Gold asked a more personal question: “How’s your mom?”

Mara looked up from her embroidery for a second, but then went back to work. “She’s fine. I think she’s bored, now that the preschool is only open for half-days. She keeps asking me to move in with her.”

“I take it you don’t want to?”

A halfhearted shrug. “I don’t have a good reason not to. It would make sense, we could split the bills and keep each other company. But there is also something really nice about living by yourself. Even if it’s just a one bedroom apartment on top of your store.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Mrs. Gold drummed her fingers against the counter. She had gone from living with her father to living with Mr. Gold. The night after their anniversary had been the first time she had slept in any building by herself.

But she understood what Mara meant. When you lived with your parents, it was hard to feel like an adult. To make matters worse, Irma Trudine--Mara’s mother--had been a preschool teacher for as long as anyone could remember. She tended to treat everyone she talked to like they were a four-year-old whining for more juice and crackers.

Mama’s closest friend.

Now the voice was annoying her again. It was true that Irma and Mom had been good friends. That was why she had grown up with Mara as much as she had grown up with her cousin Janine. The three girls were inseparable, just like their mothers had been.

Until…

Mrs. Gold sighed. She was warmer now. She should probably buy something before she moved along.

“Do you have anything comfy around here?”

“What, like no underwire?”

“No, like pajamas, I guess. Or loungewear? I think I need to get a pair of sweatpants.”

Mara grinned. “The last time I saw you wear sweatpants, they had dinosaurs on them.”

“And they were fucking awesome.”

She had gotten those pants for her eighth birthday and worn them until the knees gave out. Even after that, Mom had cut them up for shorts and she’d worn them for another six months. If she could find sweatpants that had dinosaurs on them now, she wouldn’t think the mere act of wearing sweatpants was a sign of the end of her life.

But Sugar’n’Spice only had pajama sets with flowers on them--or hearts, but Mrs. Gold couldn’t bring herself to buy anything that looked like love. It was enough to buy comfort, something that would make it a little easier to be in her own skin.

Mara rang her up and gracefully accepted the extra fifty Mrs. Gold handed her.

“How about I call this a down payment on a custom order for you?”

Taking her bag, Mrs. Gold shrugged. “I don’t think Mr. Gold will want me in lingerie for a long time.”

“I didn’t say it was for Mr. Gold, I said it was for you.” Mara looked her steadily in the eye. “Come back some time and we can talk about what you need. Okay?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. “Yeah,” she said at last. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.”

****

The day wasn’t over. Mr. Gold was still in his shop. She could go there for a few hours of awkward silence. Or she could go back to the house, for a few hours of lonely silence. Then he would come home and make dinner. They would eat together and make stilted small talk. And then she would go to her bedroom, and he would go to his.

That was their life now.

He said he wanted her to stay. He said he wanted to take care of her. He said he loved somebody else.

It didn’t make sense. It was wrong. They were supposed to be together. Being near him, but not being with him, trying to act like everything was fine, trying to act like he didn’t matter to her as much as she obviously didn’t matter to him…

It was tearing her apart.

So she walked. Like a circling shark, she kept moving so she wouldn’t drown. She was trapped. Storybrooke was a small town, there were only so many places you could go in one day. And she had lots of days ahead of her. Mrs. Gold had the image of the rest of her life, stretching out to the horizon. She would have to keep walking, she would never be able to rest. She would never have a home again.

She was in Old Town now. The flower shop was behind her. Aunt Teri’s yellow and purple house was on this street. How many times had she walked the route between those two places? Her whole childhood, her whole life until she married Mr. Gold and moved into his house. She used to belong in this neighborhood.

Was there a way she could belong here again?

Turning at the plastic sign that said Hair Today! she went to the side door of the yellow house and knocked. Then she stepped away from the door and waited for an answer. She held herself against the cold.

Janine came up from the basement salon. Her mouth opened when she saw Mrs. Gold.

“Oh hi,” she said. “Mrs. Gold, you don’t… usually knock.”

“Yeah, I’m usually a bitch to you and I’m sorry.” She hadn’t meant to start that way, but she couldn’t avoid the truth anymore.

Janine’s eyebrows raised and her sky-blue eyes--a family trait--went wide. “O...kay,” she said slowly. Stepping outside, she shut the door behind her. The cold made her keep her arms crossed over her chest. “What’s going on?”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. She had started, but what was the next step? “Things suck, right now, for me. And I kind of suck too. And I realized…”

What had she realized? That no one in her family would help her in an emergency? That she had built her whole identity around one relationship and without that she had nothing? That she had spent years intentionally, maliciously, pushing away all the people that had loved her in exchange for a man who only paid her? That all of those things were really fucking shitty? None of that was a realization. Mrs. Gold had always known what her life was. But she was just now starting to care.

“I realized I’m sorry,” she said. “For as long as I’ve been with Mr. Gold, I’ve been so caught up in him and it made me a worse person. And I want to be better.” She looked at Janine. “You deserve a better cousin.”

Janine sighed, her breath visible in the twilight. “So the honeymoon is finally over, huh? Are you tired of him or is he tired of you?”

Mrs. Gold pressed her lips together. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. At the same time, she didn’t begrudge her cousin the snark.

“He’s tired of me,” she admitted softly. “And I’m kind of tired of me too.”

Now Janine looked more sympathetic. “What happened?”

“You didn’t hear? I thought everyone in Storybrooke knew by now.”

“Yeah, no, I’ve heard a lot of rumors. But I’m asking you what happened. What’s the truth?”

“He loves someone else.” The words slipped from her mouth like a burden off her shoulders. “Some Belle person. And like, like he loves her, Janine. More than he ever loved me.”

“Oof,” Janine let out a long breath. “Oh honey, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

Until now, Janine had been standing in the doorway, and Mrs. Gold had been in the driveway, with about five feet between them. Janine stepped out first, one arm open in invitation. The two cousins met in the middle. They didn’t hug, exactly, but they huddled together for warmth and comfort.

“Do you need to stay with us?” Janine asked. “We never did anything with Andrew’s room after--”

“No,” she shook her head. Mr. Gold asked her to stay with him, and even that had to be better than sleeping in her dead cousin’s bedroom. “I’m fine, I… He’s taking care of me.”

“What, like alimony?”

“No, we’re not… I’m not leaving him.”

Janine pulled away. “But you said he loved someone else.”

She nodded. “He does, but he doesn’t want the marriage to be over.”

There was a moment of silence while Janine’s face twisted in anger and disbelief. Then she burst out: “Oh screw him! Does he really get to decide that? That man is cheating on you and you don’t even get the satisfaction of walking away? Come on!”

Mrs. Gold couldn’t look her in the face. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said. “I--I married him, I need him, I…” The next words were small and soft: “I don’t want the marriage to be over either.”

Closing her eyes, Janine pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I mean, the sanctity of marriage is great and all, but Mr. Gold has been nothing but bad to you for so long. And now you have a reason to get out, but you’re not taking it? Why?”

“Because this is different,” she said the words before she knew what they meant. “He’s different than he was when we got married. There’s something… good about him now. Something kind and gentle. Something that wasn’t there before.”

Janine rolled her eyes. “So now you have feelings for the monster?”

“He’s not a monster now. Maybe he was before--I can see that more clearly now. But now the only thing he’s doing wrong is… not wanting me. And it hurts, but it’s not an evil thing.”

He’s my husband and I love him. Can you understand that?

Shifting her weight back and forth, Janine kept her arms over her chest. “And he’s not… hurting you anymore?”

She shook her head. “Not even in a way I like.”

“Gross,” Janine said, matter-of-factly. “I mean, good for you that it used to be something you liked, but it is very gross for me to think about. Too much information is a very real thing.”

Both of them snickered at that. The years of lingering tension eased a little more.

“Can you at least stay for dinner? We’re having Spaghetti-Os a la Chloe.”

“Chloe’s cooking?” How old was she now?

“It was her idea. Under careful supervision, she is going to dump a can of Spaghetti-Os into a pot and warm it up. Mom might even let her into the spice cabinet for some basil.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” She shuffled her feet. “But I should get going. I still eat with Mr. Gold. It’s… weird.”

“I bet.” Janine put her hands in the pockets of her work smock. “Listen, I… I’m sorry. All this time… I could have been a better cousin too. We--I think the general idea was that… we were waiting for you to meet us halfway.”

“I get that,” she said. “And I never came close to halfway. Not with anybody.”

“Well, you did today. And I’m glad. We missed you.”

Nodding, she tried to keep the tears out of her eyes. All this time, she could have had her family. If she had just eased up on being Mrs. Gold, she could have been the same girl everyone had loved.

“I’m trying to make things better now, you know?”

Janine nodded. “I know.” They were quiet for a minute, then she asked. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”

“Not yet,” she shook her head. “Not him or Uncle Manny. I… I kinda thought I’d start easy.”

Janine half-smiled, half-winced. “Manny will be happy to see you. You’re the only niece he’s got.”

She snorted. “I’m the only daughter my dad has and that didn’t make anything any easier.”

“He loves you, Lacey,” Janine said. It was the first time Mrs. Gold had heard her first name in as long as she could remember. “We all do.”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ouat #you like ocs? I've got so many ocs

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cake-writes · 4 years

Text

Compromise (Part Nine)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Eight / Master List / Spotify Playlist

Lunch was the most uncomfortable ham and cheese melt you’ve ever had.

That’s not to say you didn’t like the diner. Kitschy and quaint – a real hole in the wall, really, and although you’d lived right around the corner for the last two years, you hadn’t even known it was here. If you were being honest, though, you probably would have given it a pass even if you had known. With worn-down tables, cracked red vinyl booths, and chipped mugs filled to the brim with terrible coffee, this wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d ever take your young daughter.

That said, when you were single and childless, it would have been right up your alley.

Dives were a dime a dozen in New York, but you had your favourites. This one in particular reminded you of a place you used to frequent before, but more so after you started eating for two, especially when Bucky used to indulge your pregnancy cravings. In lieu of flowers, he often brought home your usual order from the little diner down the street: a couple of ham and cheese melts that the two of you shared over Netflix binges well into the night.

You liked the melt from here, too. And the greasy fries.

What you didn’t like was the tension.

This wasn’t a date. Bucky had made that perfectly clear. He didn’t want it to be a date, because he wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to begin with. Right? All he wanted was— well, you weren’t sure what it was he wanted, exactly. He’d invited you out for lunch, but you couldn’t figure out why. To help with your strained co-parenting relationship, perhaps, or did he just enjoy your company?

No way. How could he, when you were so standoffish and nasty all the time?

Some part of you hoped that he still did want to spend time with you, but you pushed that idea right out of your mind. It was more important for you and Bucky to get along for your daughter – to work as a unit, a team, even if you weren’t together.

Right?

The problem was that you missed being together. You missed him.

You missed the twinkle in those gorgeous baby blues when he told you how much he loved you; missed that stupid, smug smile on his face when he teased you; missed the gentleness he offered you, the warmth, the affection. Even if his love was long gone, yours certainly wasn’t, and as of late you’d caught yourself daydreaming about what could have been.

What if you hadn’t ended things?

Where would your little family be?

Would Winnie have a little brother or sister?

Even when things were rocky way back when, you still thought about Bucky, longed for him, maybe even needed him sometimes. As independent as you were before the two of you got together – and after, especially as a single mom – you could definitely get by on your own, but it was nice to share your life with another person. It was nice to have someone to come home to.

When he was there, anyway. He usually wasn’t. Work kept him away.

You were better off on your own.

Right?

Toying with the last half of your sandwich, you found yourself sneaking glances at Bucky from across the well-worn table. Staring at his phone, he seemed lost in thought, brows furrowing as he read the messages he’d just received. He’d been happy to ignore them until the fourth chime; it would have been important, unfortunately, and he’d apologized for even pulling it out at all.

Work.

You certainly didn’t miss that, but today, you didn’t mind. You were just happy to spend time with him. And you were happy to see how far he’d come. Therapy at last; who would have thought? Bucky had taken great strides to better himself, and he’d changed in a lot of ways. Improved.

Soft chestnut locks fell into his face, which he absentmindedly blew out of his eyes as he typed out a response with a quickness you’d never seen. Two years’ experience with modern day technology had apparently upskilled him quite a bit, not that you cared right in this moment because you were more focused on how stupidly attractive he was.

You wanted to run your fingers through his stupid, messy hair. Wanted to brush it out of his stupid, handsome face. Wanted to kiss him and tell him how much you’d missed him.

Stupid to think any of that at all, but you did it anyway.

Your eyes trailed down to the tight, moisture-wicking black t-shirt on his body, which accentuated strong, muscular arms – arms that he’d wrapped around you too many times to count – arms that had always made you feel safe, despite the fact that one of them was cold and hard and dangerous.

Dangerous, but not to you. Never to you. A couple of red marks and bruises, nothing more, and only when you asked him for it. Or begged.

The sudden memory sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

His thick, callused fingers typed away at the screen, but you knew firsthand just how dexterous they could be. A completely appropriate thought for such a harmless setting, to be sure, and you felt your face start to heat up as your thoughts went down a path they absolutely shouldn’t have.

“It’s Nat,” Bucky said, then, startling you out of your daydream, and your eyes jerked up to his.

“What?” you asked hoarsely.

“Natasha.” He waved his phone just a little to indicate what he was talking about, before he set it to the side. “She wants a debrief.”

Right. The mission. The one he’d just returned from.

“It’s fine,” you told him as evenly as you could manage, heart pounding within the confines of your chest. It felt like you’d been caught fantasizing about him, caught red-handed, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t have to explain.”

You’d never expected him to share work details with you, and you still didn’t. Curiosity was human nature, but you didn’t need to know. That wasn’t what mattered, anyway; what mattered was that he never used to be around because of it.

Now he was.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said, casually reaching over the table to steal a couple of your fries. He’d already eaten all of his, along with the rest of his food. Bucky had always been a fast eater; that hadn’t changed, at least, and neither had his familiarity with you in such a casual setting.

You liked it.

Still wanted some paybacks, though, so as he went to shove your fries into his mouth, you reached over and snatched the pickle off of his plate. He’d saved it for last, because James Buchanan Barnes had always loved a good dill pickle. That hadn’t changed, either.

Fries just inches away from meeting their untimely death, Bucky froze, as if he only happened to realize just now what he’d done. The guilty look on his face told a different story, however.

“Give me the fries or the pickle gets hurt,” you warned.

“Hey,” he pleaded half-heartedly. “Come on, you’re not gonna eat ‘em all—”

“Fries,” you repeated, inching the pickle closer to its demise: your mouth.

“Okay, okay! Here.” Bucky held them out to you – a peace offering, or maybe he was just kissing ass. He’d always been good at that, hadn’t he? “Damn. Forgot how much you love your fries.”

You, of course, did what any normal person would do. You took them right out of his hand. Except, unlike any other normal person, you used your mouth.

Your lips brushed against his callused fingertips, accidental contact that felt like pure electricity. It made you remember all sorts of things the two of you had once done behind closed doors – things you absolutely shouldn’t have been thinking of in this particular setting, or at this particular moment.

One-track mind. Especially today.

Why?

Even you heard his sharp intake of breath.

Emboldened, not to mention empowered by the stunned expression on Bucky’s face, you licked away the salt from your lips. “Guess we’re gonna have to make sure you don’t forget again, huh?”

Then you took a bite of the pickle, as if to make a point. What point that was, you had no idea, and it didn’t matter anyway. This was all just a confident façade, a front meant to hide the racing of your heart.

You watched his surprise give way to something a little darker – a certain look that matched your memories tit-for-tat and had your panties sticking uncomfortably to the apex of your thighs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

His voice, low and rough, set your body on fire.

Oh, this was a dangerous game.

You loved it.

“I don’t know, Buck,” you drawled, eyeing the pickle. “Two years is a long time, isn’t it? Been awhile since you stole some of my fries.”

Then you turned your attention back to him.

Teasing, yes. Dangerous, absolutely.

You were flirting. Why, oh why, were you flirting? Nothing good would come of this, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He’d changed. This wasn’t the same Bucky anymore. Deep down, it was still him, just a better version, a fact that was becoming more and more evident the more time you spent with him.

Your nerves went haywire as Bucky studied your face; his eyes traced every dip and curve and feature, and when you worried your lower lip in between your teeth, his focus lingered on your mouth for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Tense in the best way. You loved that, too.

Then he cleared his throat and looked away.

“You… You go ahead and have it, doll. I’ll get the check.”

Rejection. That’s what it was. Pure and simple.

What the hell were you thinking? Of course Bucky turned you down. Not that your intentions were obvious, anyway; you didn’t even know what you wanted from him, so how could he? How on earth could he know that you’d been longing for him like an idiot?

You’d been daydreaming not just what could have been, but what could be.

Except it couldn’t. Not really.

Your relationship was over. It would always be over. The two of you had already come to an agreement that your daughter was more important. Her safety. Her stability. Winnie didn’t need parents who argued and couldn’t stand each other. She needed good role models. She needed love, and this was the best way of ensuring that she got it. Better to love her separately and do a good job parenting her than the alternative.

Right?

So what the hell had gotten into you?

Maybe you’d flirted because the future wasn’t set in stone, and you had hope. For some stupid reason, you hoped that he felt the same way, that he wanted this too, that he missed you just as much as you missed him. And that was worst part of all, because you already knew he didn’t.

Two years was a long time. He would have moved on by now, just like you should have.

You hadn’t. You couldn’t.

How idiotic.

“You’re quiet,” came Bucky’s voice from your left, soft but playful. “What happened to all that sass?”

His gentle ribbing pulled you out of your reverie, and that was when you realized that the two of you had just made your way back past the playground in the park. Despite your embarrassment, the sun was still shining, the kids were still playing, and the parents were still around, still watching, still together.

Not like the two of you.

Ever the gentleman, Bucky had insisted on walking you home after paying for your meal. His invitation, his treat. And you’d thanked him, of course, but for the entire walk back you’d been ruminating over the fact that you made a fool out of yourself.

“I’m tired,” you lied. In reality, you were wide awake. Too awake. “I had some trouble sleeping last night. It’s hard to turn my brain off sometimes.”

That, at least, was the truth.

His soft laugh made your heart ache. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” Then he paused, likely to consider whether it was appropriate before he finally offered, “Anything I can help with?”

You met his eyes, then – such a stunning blue, a reflection of clear blue sky and far too genuine – before you quickly turned away, shoving your hands in your pockets. A nervous tic, maybe, or a defense mechanism.

A barrier.

A wall.

“No,” you responded, even though you desperately wanted to say the opposite, “but thanks.”

Rejection. That’s what it was. Pure and simple.

“Sure,” was all he said before an awkward silence came over the two of you, and you only vaguely noticed when his hands slid into his pockets, too.

Interlude #3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes

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sif-the-tsunami · 4 years

Text

Ropes and Roses part three

Summary: Elizabeth Rosehill is a talented dance instructor and a force of nature that beguiles her famous student. Events in her life, however, have led her to search for more creative ways for her to keep herself afloat. What will she do to keep her dreams secure and what will it mean for her blossoming relationship.

Warning: this passage contains some drunken shenanigans, heavy petting, making out, self deprecating humor, stripping down to ones underwear, sexual frustration, some insecurities, and angst. Oh and the beginning of Elizabeth showing her dominant side. If I missed anything please let me know

Word count: 2500

A/N: If you read it and like it, it would mean a lot to me if you could say something nice!

“And what will the lady be having?” The handsome bartender asked from behind the wooden top.

“Gentleman Jack, two fingers, neat. Please and thank you.” Elizabeth had her face all smooshed up in her hands, cradling her own head, resigning to the feeling of utter defeat. Gregory Chapman had called her and told her that the movie had lost its funding. The promises he made her were now as empty as the glass in front of her. As was her bank account. At least the bartender quickly remedied the empty glass problem. Henry saw her sitting there, her perfect posture was replaced by the pose of someone who wanted to be as small as possible.

“Oh shit, you are taking the news way harder than I thought you would. I also had no idea you liked whiskey.” He saw that her eyes were puffy, she had rubbed the winged eyeliner tip off on one of her eyes. He took the hand closest to him and gave her a gentle squeeze. The best part of having had their lessons was they had grown comfortable with touching each other. He appreciated the intimacy they shared, even if he though it had been platonic on her part. “Cancellations happen pretty often, don’t beat yourself up too much.”

“You were getting so good too.” Her voice came out as a whine, she took a sip of her liquor.

“I was mediocre at best, I just happen to look good while you dance around me.” The gold tinged light above them made her eyes and the drink the same color. Everything about her right then seemed angelic to him, even with her sad expression she glowed. “My only regret is that I won’t get to see you as much. I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

“That is very kind, Henry.” Elizabeth laced her fingers with his. “It was a pleasure to teach you.”

I love how she says my name, he thought. “So, what happens next for you?”

“I have to work harder to try to keep my dance studio open.”

“What do you mean? You have some great teachers, you have full classes.”

“Greg had told me that once he was given the funding he planned on investing in the dance studio with some of his earnings. I’m not sad about the movie being canceled, I’m just sad that this is just one more thing to have gone wrong this year...” she trailed off.

“Want to talk about it?”

“If I start, I will not shut up, I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me bitch and moan for an hour. Don’t you have more important things to be doing?”

“I could listen to you complain all night. Besides, nothing is more important than us getting drunk and possibly finding people to snog with tonight,” he said with the intention of making her laugh, but with a quick look around the pub, it looked like the their options would be limited. “I bet you could charm the pants off that lad at the end there.”

The lad was an older gentleman wearing a newsboy hat and a sweater with patches on the elbow.

“Oh Mr Cavill,” she said in a dreamy, playful voice, “he’s just my type. Do you think he’ll like me?”

“I don’t know Ms Rosehill, you might have to show him a little clevage.”

She pretended to pull the top of her dress down a little, big shit eating grin on her face, “How’s that? Better? Oh please, sir, notice me. Please come tap my ass like a keg!”

The remark caused Henry to choke on his drink. After a deep gasp of air he looked at her incredulously “never mind, you’ll kill the man. Give him a heart attack talking like that.”

The two talked, Elizabeth told him about how earlier that year she had gone through a bitter divorce, her ex had left her with more debt than she would be able to handle by herself and then her mother had passed away. She felt like she was drowning and the first life raft that had been thrown her way was being pulled from her.

“But you know what? I am a pretty damn good swimmer, and my momma didn’t raise no bitch.” She stated. She sat back sagaciously for a moment, “I think that might be the whiskey talking.”

Henry chuckled to himself. They were both a few drinks deep into their conversation and she was feeling it. He paid their tab and took her with him, “Come on, you lightweight, let’s go put some food in you so you don’t black out on me.”

Trying to get the teacher to do anything while she had been drinking was like trying to get a cat to cooperate. Every time they walked for more than a few minutes, she would wonder off some where distracted by anything that caught her attention. He stood there the fourth time when she stopped to look at display of macrons in a window.

“Are you like this every time you drink?”

“No, only when I forget to eat during the day before hand, I’m so hungry, I would perform unspeakable acts if I could get my hands on some fried pickles right now. Are those even a thing here?”

“Fried… pickles?” He responded moderately concerned for her sanity. “Why?”

“Do you want the drunk answer or the athlete answer?”

“Both. Oh my god woman, would you get off of that. You are like the worst version of the worst mission in video games. No, no, no, you wrap your arm around mine right now, I will get you food, I promise. Stay with me, Lizzie, tell me about the pickles.”

“Drunk answer is that they taste good, you know what takes a sandwich from eh to great. Pickles.” She tucked her arm right into his, with his other hand gently resting on top of her arm ready to guide her along. “Athlete answer is that they help re-hydrate you, after work outs, after drinking. Drinking pickle juice always cures my hangovers. Although chips work too, especially with salt and vinegar.”

They found a place still open that was serving delicious smelling fried food. He was together enough to set her down on a curb. “Please stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She leaned against him as soon as he sat down and handed her their snack. It was beginning to get late and a chill in the autumn air was starting to creep in. “You called me Lizzie earlier, I haven’t been called that since I was a little girl.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you still are a little girl. Well, compared to me anyways.” He nudged her with his elbow a little to get a smile out of her. “I hope you don’t mind, I won’t call you that again if you hate it.”

“It is totally fine, I’ve gone by Liz, Lizzie, Lizbeth, Beth. Just please don’t call me Libby. My middle name is Louisa, my ex would call me Libby-Lou, knowing how much I hated that nickname. Made me feel like I should be living in Whoville, waiting for the Grinch to steal my Christmas dinner.”

“They can be the worst, ex’s. They always know where they can jab at you with a mean joke or poke at an insecurity. One of mine would make comments about what I was eating, especially if I was between jobs.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and felt her whole body shiver.

“I’m sorry, you never deserved that.” She said softly. He looked into her eyes, the eyeliner had somehow gotten more smudged, she looked as exhausted as she sounded.

“No, neither did you. I don’t know what all he did to you, but you deserve better too.” His voice came out low and husky. “Do you want to come back to my place, I live pretty close by and you look like you are about to freeze.”

“I don’t know, Mr Cavill, I seem to remember you mentioning something about finding someone to make out with tonight, will I find one there?”

With the straightest face he could possibly muster, “As long as you don’t eat all of my pickles.”

***

A twenty minute walk later, they were in Henry’s home. They were both greeted by a very excited Kal, who snuffled and snorted at his daddy’s new friend. A warm welcoming glow came from the living room where the lights had been left on for his dog. He offered her one of his hoodies to help her warm up and planted her on the couch so he could take his boy to do his business outside. He came back as quick as he, honestly expecting to find her asleep. Instead, she was looking at him with her whiskey colored eyes. He had wanted another drink, and brought them both another glass of the liquor. He sat down at the other end of the couch, trying to respect her space. “Are you comfortable, can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m warming up well, thank you. You have a beautiful home, it’s nice and cozy.”

“Thank you, I like it here a lot, it is just enough for me. And Kal, for that matter.” His furry buddy was pressing as much of himself against the spot Elizabeth sat on the couch. She was delicately rubbing the area between his eyes and cooing at big beast, his fluffy tail wagging happily. “I think he likes you.”

“Oh good, I’m glad His Lordship approves of me.” She moved her hands to rub his chin. “You are just a big softy aren’t you? Good man, Kal.”

Henry watched them get acquainted, allowing himself to melt into the couch, legs spread apart. She turned her attention to the beautiful man before her. Maybe the booze was making her feel more bold than usual, but damn did she want him. Her mind was still swimming from their earlier adventure. Hopefully, it was an invite to climb between his powerful thighs. She shot back her glass and put the empty cup on his side table. He reached over to her and pulled her close. She positioned herself to face him and straddled his lap. His breath caught in his throat for a moment.

“If I’m being to presumptuous, I can stop. I will go sit on the other side again.” She said quietly.

“No, I want this. I want you.” He reached up, fingers were gently touching the back of her arms.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his, “Before you... we… whatever it is here that we are doing, I need you to know that I don’t know what all I can give to you right now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I think you are worth the risk,” he whispered to her and they connected.

Henry had wanted this from the first time he placed her hands on him. Every nudge, posture correction, hand offered to help him, whenever he felt her skin on his he felt the current between the two of them and it was electrifying. He felt himself grow hard as she invited him to explore her body. His hoodie was off was off of her body as soon as they started, and then shortly after came her black dress. They continued to make out as she unbuttoned his soft flannel shirt.

He fingers searched the back of her bra for it’s clasp. She broke off their kiss long enough to lean back and unhook it from the front. Henry could feel the pressure building in his jeans as he looked at her body. All she had left on were knee high black boots and a pair of silky purple panties. Elizabeth gave him a lopsided smile as she leaned back into their embrace. Her fingers danced and tickled down his chest running down to to the bottom hem of his shirt. Henry stopped himself before she removed the cotton undershirt, ever so gently. “Before I take this off, I want you to not be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” she asked breathlessly.

“I don’t look like Geralt right now. I’m in my off season, and I don’t know what kind of expectations you have...” Elizabeth slowly ran her hands back up his chest.

“I like you, Henry: your beautiful, overthinking, intelligent mind; your sweet nature; your burning passions. You as a person.” peppering his neck and face with tender kisses, her hands tangling in his hair. “Everything else is just sprinkles on a cupcake.”

“Sprinkles on a cupcake?” he smiled. She nibbled on his ear and he moaned, hungry for more.

“Cupcakes don’t need sprinkles to be delicious, I have never refused a cupcake because it didn’t have sprinkles on it.” She ran her fingers back down to the bottom of his shirt. “So, Mr Cavill, do I have permission to take your shirt off?”

“Yes, Ms Rosehill, you do.” The woman on top of him pulled the garment off, never breaking eye contact. After it’s removal, she kept a firm grip on his arms, inching ever closer to his wrists. With her hands on them, Elizabeth pressed her weight against his wrists and pinned him as best she could to the back of the couch. She ground her pelvis against his as she started nibbling and kissing his neck, her torso against his. Appreciating the nuzzling and nibbles on his neck, he closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for her to continue.

All he felt was her soft breathing against his skin. A moment later her hands dropped from his wrists. Henry tried to move himself to see what what was going on when a soft snore came from his would be lover. He rubbed his face, not believing what had just happened.

“Liz… Lizzie… wake up, sweetheart.” He tried kissing her cheek to wake her. The only response she gave was tucking her arms to her chest and adjusting her head on his shoulder. He groaned, but knew what he had to do. Elizabeth was as limp as a rag doll, so he guided her arms through his flannel shirt, placed her down gently on the couch and prepared his guest room for her. Making sure his warmest duvet was on the bed, he left a bottle of water and some Tylenol on the bed side table for her. He carried her to the room and tucked her into bed, making sure a pillow was wedged behind her back to keep her on her side. Henry then went to his room, fell face first into bed and yelled directly into a pillow.

#fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut

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