#this is in reference to being out a bar last weekend and seeing the hot guy bartender who was probably cishet but sooo my type of cishet man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nolita-fairytale · 1 year

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make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter four: friday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, friends to lovers, smutty smut-smut, this is an 18+ chapter so minors dni, no use of y/n, second person pov

word count: 6.7k

summary: buckle up people, because this is a long one! tonight is the night: the night you and marcus' dessert menu goes live, the night you meet natalie berzatto, and the night that truths are revealed.

a/n: is it hot in here or is it just me? who's ready for some smut? this will be the last chapter i post till sunday/monday, so we can all sit with this. hear me out: it's not that i think carmy is really good at sex. but there's so much tension between these two, i think reader is good at sex, and there's something to be said for being so turned on by the other person that it just hits different.

and here is that song -- the jazz standard turned acoustic cover.

read: part three | masterlist

Friday

“Just remember that we don’t have to reinvent the wheel here. You just have to deliver a really damn good dessert time after time,” you instruct, setting Marcus up, pre-dinner shift.

“I think we should focus on the burnt basque cheesecake in lieu of the classic. You already have a heavier lift on the bake for the chocolate cake. That way, whatever happens with the mixer, or the ovens… this version of cheesecake is pretty forgiving. And you don’t have to fuck around with a water bath just yet.”

“The tiramisu is perfect because it’s a no-bake option, and you can mix it up with different kinds of flavors – call it a special.”

“Like what we’re doing Sunday?” Marcus suggests, in reference to the strawberry, lemon, and mascarpone version you be doing at the end of the week.

“Exactly,” you reply.

“Hell yeah.”

“It all fits into the menu so nicely too: elevated classics.”

“A play on tradition.”

“Exactly."

“Ah, I see you, chef,” Marcus nods along, excited about tonight’s R&D night.

The game plan is to serve smaller portions of each dessert for the price of one, then get feedback by the end of the weekend.

“Hey, family’s up in a minute. You guys ready to roll tonight?” Carmy asks, stopping by you and Marcus’ little pastry corner.

“Yes, chef,” you both answer, in staggered timing.

“She got me workin’ on a strawberry compote. Here, try it, chef,” Marcus encourages, grabbing a clean spoon and scooping out a spoonful from the deli container it’s been stored in. Carmy takes it, putting the spoon in his mouth and he tries the compote.

“That’s gonna be really good with the tang and slightly bitter outside of the burnt cheesecake. Good work, chef,” he congratulates, inspiring a grin across Marcus face.

“I’m learning so much from you. Seriously. Thank you, chef,” he says, turning to you.

“Hey, you’re the one that made the compote,” you reply, redirecting the praise back to him. “Just sayin’.”

“Family’s up!” Sydney calls out to the whole kitchen.

You lock eyes with Carmy, and he nods towards the front of house as if to say, ‘follow me.’ You and Marcus file in through the limited space that leads from the kitchen to the front counter, then finally, into the dining area of the restaurant. Carmy had told you all about the hellish remodel of this place – that the two tops, booths, and bar remodel had taken for-fuckin-ever. That it looked like nothing more than a diner with a few arcade games before the reopen.

“Hey, thanks for jumping in so that Angel could cover me the other night,” Ebrahim says to you, as you find a seat next to Carmy, and across from Marcus.

“Oh, it’s no problem. You feelin’ better?” you ask back.

“Very much so. A little rest and a little maraq digaag and I’m good as new,” he answers.

“What’s good, Jeff? Surprised you’ve stuck around this long. Glad we haven’t scared you away yet,” Tina greets.

Carmy’s shocked, considering Tina rarely warms up to anyone.

You chuckle in response.

“It takes a lot more to scare me away, chef,” you reply, confident that you can keep up with everyone’s witty banter. Even though you’ve been welcomed in over the last few days, you know that they were a family before you came.

And will still be one after you.

Right. Because this is temporary. You’re only here for a week, you remind yourself.

“Yeah, thought she’d be long gone after workin’ the line the other night,” Richie chimes in. “Especially considering she’s way out of your league, cousin.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Carmy shoots back, almost instantly.

“I’m just glad you’re here now. Man, it’s been three days and you’ve leveled my shit up already,” Marcus compliments.

“Besides, it’s nice to have some solidarity amongst the little boys club we work in every damn day,” Sydney points out, eliciting a scoff from Richie.

The two of you share a look, like a psychic high five or some shit. It begins to dawn on you that you could get used to this: this kitchen, these people….

“What? You got something against women supporting women, Richie?”

“Oh, so what? You’re the voice of feminism now, Syd?” Richie spits back. “Holy shit! Did you guys know that we were here in the presence of the new voice of-.”

You watch as Tina and Gary slump in their chairs, as if to say, ‘here they go again.’

“Don’t be such a prick, Richie. Oh wait.” Sydney challenges.

“You know what-?” Richie starts up, before being swiftly interrupted.

“Damn, Syd. This is fantastic,” you interject, your voice louder than normal, in reference to her family meal. “These tostadas are fuckin’ perfect and I’m gonna need the recipe.”

Richie continues to go on about god knows what, distracting himself, as Sydney mouths a, ‘thank you’ across the table towards you. You nod towards her as if to say,

I got you.

“Hey, I’m a little behind on plating. Sorry, chef,” Marcus apologizes, and you can tell he’s stressed. He gestures towards the plates that are ready to go out to the bar.

He hesitates before asking, “Oh and uh… these ones are ready to go out. Can you-?”

“‘Course, chef,” you answer, a mini-pep talk coming his way. “But uh… before you keep going, Marcus, take a breath. I know you struggle a little with pacing – you want everything to perfect – but, it’s gonna come with practice and repetition.”

You can see that he’s flustered – a little frustrated even.

“Expediting during dinner is a whole other animal, and it’s just night one. You got this,” you reassure.

You and Carmy had such different leadership styles. While you both had come up in the same kind of kitchens, you didn’t like to yell unless you had to. You were here to teach, and you can’t remember the last time someone screaming at you had ever helped you learn something.

You’re more than happy to support him by taking these plates out. You spent the first half of dinner service plating so that he could get some face time with customers – since you’d be asking for feedback. Then you’d switch halfway through service. You also thought it might be good practice for him to lead, considering they’d need to hire more help with the new menus.

You take a look at the ticket, one dessert tasting - two people - bar top, before taking the dessert plates out to the designated seats at the bar. There’s a gorgeous blonde woman sitting next to a guy in a sweater vest, as you make to approach the bar top.

“Hi, you guys,” you greet, a cheerful smile on your face. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We’re testing out a few new desserts for our dinner menu, so I’d love to hear what you think.”

“Oh this looks great,” the woman says, looking at both perfectly plated desserts.

“Here we have a burnt basque cheesecake with a strawberry compote, The Bear’s signature chocolate layer cake, and then a classic Italian tiramisu,” you explain, walking through each piece.

“Wow,” the man marvels, almost as if he’s surprised.

You share your name with them, and let them know that, if they have any feedback, that they can ask for you. As you turn to go, the woman calls after you, stopping you.

“Wait,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “You’re Carmy’s friend.”

“Yes.”

“Pete, it’s Carmy’s friend!” she exclaims, nudging the man next to her with her elbow to try to jog his memory. “You know! The one that’s staying in our airbnb.”

“Oh!” he says, as the light bulb goes on in his brain. “Yeah, we’ve heard all about you.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologizes. “I’m Natalie, his sister, but you can call me Sugar. This is my husband, Pete.”

“Oh my god! Natalie! Yes, I’ve heard so much about you too,” you reply, finally registering that this was the same woman in family photos that Carmy had shown you years ago. “It’s so nice to put a face to the name. And great to meet you too, Pete. Seriously, thanks for letting me stay at the place. I mean, you really didn’t have to.”

“Likewise,” she says back. She scoffs before rolling her eyes and continuing. “Leave it to Carmy to ask us for a favor and not even introduce you to us, that soft shitty bitch!”

“Babe,” Pete starts. “Maybe we shouldn’t be so hard on Carmy, you know, in front of his-.” He gestures towards you and you’re not sure what he thinks you are to Carmy.

Sugar brushes him off with a, ‘whatever,’ before you notice that they’re both in need of clean forks.

“You guys need clean forks. I’m gonna-,” you start.

“Oh no! I uh-, let me get it,” Pete interrupts, practically jumping out of his seat.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaving the two of you alone.

You lean against the bar top towards Sugar.

“Well, he couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” you say with a laugh, stating the obvious. She laughs with a nod towards her husband.

“Yeah he’s… special,” she replies. “I think he uh, I think he just wanted to give us some time to talk.”

You’re not sure what to say next, because you’re not sure what you and Carmy’s sister, one you’ve never met before, would have to talk about.

“So how’s the place? Do you have everything you need or-?” Sugar begins, in reference to the airbnb.

“Oh! Yeah, no it’s great. I’ve got everything I need. Again, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“No, we wanted to!”

“Thanks…” you trail off, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable – nervous, maybe? Yep, definitely nervous, you realize, as you begin to ramble. “It’s a really great apartment. Beautifully styled.”

What the fuck are you even talking about, you think to yourself.

“Oh, I did that! Styled it, I mean,” Sugar’s quick to respond.

“Oh, wow!” you say. Were all the Berzattos creative? “Yeah, I just-, I really appreciate it. Made getting out here a little easier.”

“No, yeah, it’s-, it’s no problem,” Sugar continues. “Really… anything for a friend of Carmy’s.”

You’re not sure why it’s so awkward, and it feels like you’re somehow both dancing around something you’re not even sure you should be dancing around.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a total bitch for saying this but,” Sugar starts, cautiously. While she doesn’t want to make her brother look like a total loser in front of you, she’s also unsure of how else to say what she says next.

“Bear's never really had any friends… not a lot of them, at least. So I-. Thank you. I mean. For being his friend, I guess… is what I’m trying to say.”

Bear.

You figure it's a family nickname. You wonder why you’ve never heard it before, and yet, it’s no surprise that he kept it from you. He’d been so evasive about his family when you’d first met. For a bit, it just felt like a topic that was off limits.

You take a beat, processing what she’s just said. In some ways, you always knew that Carmy was a bit of a loner, but you could feel the weight of what she’s saying – how much it meant to her.

“I know he’s not always easy to love but. I don’t know. He acts like he doesn’t need people, and I know he does. I mean, people outside of this fucked up shit hole anyways,” she continues, gesturing to her surroundings.

You agree with a small laugh, “Yeah, he can be a real dick sometimes. That’s for sure.”

“Seriously. Thank you,” she says, genuinely.

“Of course,” you reply, making sure she knows that her words mean a lot to you. You take a more playful tone as you continue. “To be fair, we did meet in another fucked up spot. Not so much a shit hole though.”

“Yeah, and there’s that,” she sighs, lightheartedly.

“I’m just glad he has someone. He needs someone. Even when he doesn’t want to.”

The rest of dinner service is a blur, as your mind continues to incubate on what Sugar had said to you. You let your interaction with her sit there, but try your best to focus on supporting the rest of service.

You all work together to wrap up the evening – a chaotic dinner service with a lot of lessons learned. You and Carmy are the last to leave as you notice he’s wrapping up a few things in his office. With your jacket on, backpack slung over one shoulder, you stop by to say goodnight before heading out.

He’s sitting in the chair, furiously scribbling a few notes down on a few pages of graphing paper. Your eyes flicker over all of the silly doodles on the whiteboard behind him.

“Hey,” you say, causing him to look up from his notebook.

“Good service tonight,” he says back.

“Yeah,” you nod in agreement. “Desserts were a hit.”

“I heard,” he replies.

You wait for him to say more, only he doesn’t.

“So, I’m gonna get out of here. Marcus is gonna fly solo tomorrow morning, so I won’t be in till the dinner shift,” you start, shooting him a polite smile.

You take a few steps away from the office before he calls out to you.

“Hey!”

You stop, taking a few steps backwards so that you’re standing in the office doorway once again.

“You hungry?” he asks, tentatively.

There’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify: a little nervousness, and something else you haven’t had a chance to name yet. It’s like he’s not ready to part ways with you yet. You smile back at him, hoping to quell whatever nerves he has about the question he just asked you.

“Always, Carm.”

You’re tired and your feet ache from a particularly busy service, but you’re not ready to part ways with him either.

“Watcha thinkin?” you ask curiously, sliding your other arm through the loose strap of your backpack.

“Can I cook you something?” he proposes, hopefully.

You laugh.

“Is that even a real question?”

You wait for him as he wraps up his notes and gather his things. Carmy slips on his jacket and ballcap, ready to head home with you. On the way, he lights up a cigarette, offering one to you, but you tell him that you’re trying to quit – or at least trying to cut back. It’s not a long walk back to his place, and you anticipate it being something along the same lines as what he had in New York: facebook marketplace couch, minimal food in the fridge, a TV and a bed.

Nothing else – just a place to sleep, before he spends most of his day at the restaurant.

When you arrive, you’re not surprised to see that your assumptions were correct. Carmy flips on a few lights as you follow behind him. You drop your book bag onto his couch, slipping your shoes off and removing your jacket, as Carmy bee lines for the kitchen. You hear the faucet turn on as you tentatively explore his small apartment, before meeting him in the small kitchen area.

He takes his time, washing his hands, before drying them on a dish towel and throwing it over his shoulder.

“So what are we makin’, chef?” you inquire.

“We aren’t making anything. You’re gonna sit right over here,” he begins, gesturing towards the area across from his gas stovetop. “Oh shit. Hold on. Let me grab you a-.”

“I’m good here, chef,” you interrupt, making a sound as you hop onto the kitchen counter. You immediately reach for the bag of chips he’s thrown onto it. It’s not even closed properly with a clip or anything so expect them to be stale as you pop one of the chips into your mouth.

“Sour cream and onion? Change up from your regular doritos, huh?”

A small smile spreads across his face as he moves around his kitchen, locating a quarter sheet pan. He opens his practically desolate fridge, pulling out a fresh brick of pecorino romano, guanciale, and a few eggs he throws right into the pint-sized deli container that lays on the sheet pan. The rest follow: an unopened pound of dried spaghetti and black pepper, before he gently places the sheet pan on the counter, beginning to preheat two pans on the stovetop.

“Are you-?”

“Uh huh.”

You smile to yourself. He’s making one of your favorites: carbonara.

The first time he’d made it for you, you had just started spending some of your days off together – had just agreed to be a part of each others' quarantine pods. You knew he had Italian-American heritage but it was blatantly obvious when you took your first bite.

“Holy fuck,” you had practically moaned at your first bite. “This-, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure your talents are being wasted on fine dining, my friend. This is… this is fucking unreal, dude.”

You had tried to convince him that this is the food you both should be cooking, but he vehemently denied the idea, insisting the fine dining was the highest on the food chain and the only way he could make a name for himself.

He’d been drinking the kool-aid. You both had.

You sit quietly, as Carmy works. You watch as he cuts perfect lardons, then renders the fat from the cured pork bits. The smell of the guanciale begins to fill the apartment, and Carmy opens a window, just to let the smoke dissipate.

“You can uh, put some music on if you want,” Carmy says, motioning towards the small bluetooth speaker he has on the coffee table. You agree to, hopping off of the kitchen counter and making your way towards his living area to set up the speaker.

You flip through your phone, looking for a good playlist to put on, settling on one of your dinner party playlists. The speaker booms with the sounds of an old jazz standard, redone as an acoustic cover, and you turn the volume up a little as the water for the spaghetti comes to a boil.

You spend time looking through Carmy’s bookshelf. It’s filled with thick-spined cookbooks from James Beard winning best restaurants and chefs. You drag your fingertips over the spine of a few classics, but settle on a fairly new book, written by someone at the New York Times.

“Do you have any other books besides cookbooks?” you call out to him.

He lets out a dry laugh and you take it as a no.

You make your way back to your spot on the counter, sliding the open chip bag over, before hopping back up to your seat. You flip through the cookbook as Carmy stays busy with the pasta.

It’s quiet moments like these that you’ve missed so much. Some days the two of you could talk for hours about sous vide vs reverse searing, and the right way to make a fucking bearnaisse sauce. Other days, Carmy wasn’t much for conversation, and you loved those ones equally. Sometimes, you just wanted company, so he’d come over and work on a recipe and you’d read while he worked in your kitchen.

You could just be together, and it was nice to feel that again.

No awkward tension of things left unsaid.

But there was a different kind of tension that seemed to linger between the two of you and you wondered if it had always been there. Had you just never noticed? Between the little comments from Richie about being out of his league, and Pete’s open-ended ‘not in front of his’ you wondered if everyone knew something you didn’t.

“Which one’d you go with?” he asks, continuing his graceful dance around the kitchen.

“Korean American. Eric Kim. I hadn’t had a chance to pick up a copy for myself yet, actually,” you answer, flipping through the first few pages.

Your met with quiet as you continue your story.

“You know we’re kind of friends. We went out for drinks a few times. Before I quit my job. Went dancing in the east village and stayed out till two in the morning bar hopping and gossiping about our mutual celebrity crush, Timothee Chalamet,” you add, your attention still fixed on the vibrant, colorful food photographs.

“Timothee Chalamet, huh?” Carmy asks, amused.

Your attention isn’t on Carmy, or what he’s doing, save for the sounds of him moving around the kitchen. That is, until you look up to find him unceremoniously close to you, peering over onto the page you seem so fascinated with.

“Jesus Christ, Car!” you gasp, surprised by his close proximity. Your heart was beating faster as he took a step back. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his head hanging as he takes a few steps back. “Didn’t mean to.”

“No, it’s okay!” you assure. But it’s too late, so you change the subject, deciding to finish your story. “Anyways uh… I had to hang out with someone after you left New York. Make some new friends.”

“We both know you’ve never struggled with that,” Carmy points out, eliciting a playful eye roll from you.

He returns with the most aesthetically pleasing twirl of spaghetti carbonara. It’s so perfect you almost can’t fathom eating it. He hands it to you, then returns to his kitchen counter, plating a second bowl for himself.

After finishing the second twirl, he carelessly tosses his carving fork into the sink, opening another drawer to grab two forks for eating.

“Come on. You don’t want it to get cold,” he encourages, handing you one of the forks.

He waits patiently for you to try it first, so you dig your fork in, creating a spaghetti twirl that hugs the fork, before raising it up to your lips. You open your mouth, taking a bite, before closing your eyes in absolute bliss.

“I can’t fucking stand you.”

He smiles, and it’s the biggest smile you’ve seen on his face this whole week.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean. Fuck you. Like… absolutely fuck you.”

He laughs, finally picking up his own fork and digging into the second bowl he’s plate for himself.

Holy fuck, is it out of this world.

“Like, do you think they’re such a thing as a talent aggression? Like a cute aggression, only I want to squeeze your head off because you’re so damn talented-kind of aggression?” you pitch your idea to him, playfully.

He laughs, a blush spreading across his cheeks, “Uh… no. I don’t think so.”

Carmy rests his back against the counter, as you eat together, side by side. You eat quietly, exchange looks and quiet giggles as the two of you finish your pasta, slurping up the cheesy, egg-yolk coated noodles. When you finish your bowl, you put it down on the counter next to you, throwing your head back with a sigh.

“Thank you,” you say, fully satisfied as you feel the dopamine rush of eating carbs.

“That good, huh?” he asks, a cocky smirk on his face.

“So good,” you exhale happily, as you rest your head on his shoulder. “And you know it, you asshole.”

He chuckles, turning his head towards you just as you lift your head off of his shoulder, your faces mere inches away from each other. You watch as his face turns a few shades darker, the blush across his cheeks running through his whole face.

Are you two fucking idiots to pretend that you were just friends?

Yeah. Yes, you are.

“Sorry, I’m, I didn’t mean to um,” he stutters, beginning to pull away from you.

“Wait,” you call out, reaching out to stop him. You grab his arm.

And there it is again… the tension. That thing that, even when you had talked it out, has remained between you two. He stops moving, his eyes fixated on your hand – the one that’s reached for him. The one that feels hot against his skin.

“Carm, I-. Um, I’ve really missed…” you stammer through, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel.

I’ve really missed you.

“... your carbonara.” He looks up at you with those beautifully sad, cerulean blue eyes, and if you weren’t breathless before, you certainly are now.

“You should make this more often,” is all you manage to get out, and you know you sound helpless.

He doesn’t know what to say back. That he can hear the ache in your voice – a yearning for him that he never imagined anyone could ever have for him. That it’d be world war three, trying to get a carbonara on the dinner menu. That screaming would ensue over a goddamn emulsion. That there’d be no way to pull this off authentically, and that he’d have to use heavy cream, and no fucking way would he compromise on that.

On your favorite fucking dish.

That he only has these ingredients on hand because he went out and bought them in preparation for your visit.

That he only got them for you.

Because he maybe only wants to make carbonara for you, and only you, for forever and ever.

That he’s missed you too, and that wanting you is one of the scariest things he’s ever felt.

His eyes flicker from your hand, the one still holding onto him, and then back to your face. He’s not sure what possesses him to do it, but he can hear his brother’s voice in his head, let it rip, pushing him to lean in – even closer towards you. You wrap your fingers around his arm, encouraging him closer to you – if it’s even possible. Your foreheads meet and it’s as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. It’s like your vision narrows and the dimly lit apartment has faded away behind you.

It’s just you and him.

You feel dizzy – in the most delicious way possible.

You’re not sure who moves in first, but the tip of his nose is ever so gently bumping against yours. You brush the side of your nose against his, neither of you daring to take a breath.

“Carm?”

He doesn’t answer, so you gently begin to leave a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“This okay?”

Then the side of his top lip.

“Mhm,” he nods, eager to continue where this is going.

Then you pull back, pulling him towards you so that, as you remain perched on top of his kitchen countertop, he fits perfectly between your knees. You lean in to kiss him, and this time, it’s not as hesitant… not as cautious as you’ve both been.

No, these kisses are different, each one opening up the door to more and more – more want, more need, more lust – and as it blooms, as it blossoms, you feel Carmy’s hand move gingerly to cradle your face as you fall down the rabbit hole. Your fingers tangle into his blonde curls allowing your sheer want for him to consume you. It’s lips, and tangled tongues, and tentative, soft moans as you continue to pull each other closer and closer.

And you slowly begin to understand: the lingering tension, the avoidance of labeling you from his brother-in-law, why he’s been terrified to say a damn thing to you this entire week.

As much as you tried, and as much as he’s tried, neither of you had put that night behind you.

Sure, it was shitty timing, and sure he wasn’t in the right headspace then. But now?

Now, could be different, if you’d let it.

Carmy pulls away from you, reluctantly, his face hot before asking, “You uh, you wanna take this somewhere else?”

His tone is hopeful, as if he’s the teenage dirtbag asking the prom queen out – like if you heard him, and you laughed in his face, he simply wouldn’t survive it.

But your response is quite the opposite, and he feels silly for worrying, as you manage a breathy ‘yes’ going back in for one more kiss. He gives you some space to hop off the counter and you grab his hand, leading him towards his bedroom. It’s not a huge place, so you put two and two together about where that is. Carmy leaves the lights off in his bedroom, the only glimmer of light either of you can see comes from the living room lamps, and the kitchen overhead.

With his hand in yours, you pull him towards you again, and he’s more than happy to let you lead. You begin to kiss him, taking note of how perfectly his top lip feels nestled in between yours. He follows you down to his bed, hesitant to put his full body weight on top of you. You giggle into the kiss, pulling him down to you.

“I’m not a porcelain doll, Carm,” you tease, gently.

You feel his lips twist into a smile against yours, as he begins to leave sloppier, wetter kisses down your neck. You allow him to explore as his hesitation lessens, his hands beginning to bunch up the hemline of your shirt. Higher and higher. And before you know it, you’re taking it off, impatiently throwing it somewhere you’ll barely remember in the light of day. You pull Carmy back down for another kiss, this time with a little more intensity, as he covers his body with yours, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of newly revealed skin that he possibly can.

You’re not sure when his shirt joined yours on the floor but before it registers, you’re running your fingers across the muscles of his back, exploring each peak and valley. You hiss in pure pleasure as he pulls down one of the cups of your bra, his tongue running across one of your nipples. You can feel him smile against your skin, a well-won reaction from the pleasure he’s giving you. His other hand reaches up to give equal attention to your other breast, and moments later, you’re both impatiently pulling your bra off.

“Wanna try something,” Carmy murmurs, his eyes meeting yours.

You can feel the wet heat pooling between your legs as you breathe out, “Okay.”

The anticipation is building in your body and you feel like your head might explode. Carmy busies his mouth once again, leaving kisses down your torso as his hands begin to fiddle with the button on your jeans. You giggle, more than willing to help him out as he gets them undone, lifting your hips so that he can slide them off.

He’s hesitant, and you’re trying your damnedest to be patient as he takes his sweet time to marvel at your almost-naked body.

“So fucking perfect,” Carmy whispers, in between leaving wet, open mouthed kisses across your hip bones. You can hardly breathe, panting out loud as he continues his exploration. You make space for him between your legs as he slips his hands into your panties, dragging a finger up and down your dripping sex.

He checks in with you, gauging your reaction, and you nod as he continues what he’s doing.

“This all for me?” he asks. He means for it to sound confident, but as the words leave him, he sounds more surprised than anything.

Before you can answer, he’s pushing your legs wider, his tongue gently running across your clit, causing you to cry out to the gods. He’s tentative at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to gather up the confidence to keep going, with the noises you’re making. At first it’s all tongue, licking, circling and flattening up against you, but you’re losing your mind as he adds his fingers back into the mix. His fingers are buried deep inside of you while his lips and tongue are bringing you far past your edge.

It’s as if the only words you can remember are his name, and ‘fuck.’

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you as he murmurs, “Just wanna make you feel good.”

You can feel it – your climax – building up, and Carmy groans, rutting his hips into the bed as he can no longer ignore how hard he is.

“Carmy, yes. Don’t stop, please. I’m-,” you beg, your voice shaking.

And he has no intention of stopping till he gets what he wants – till he makes you cum. He works you through your orgasm, groaning against you as you cum on his tongue and around his fingers. You swear for a moment that you can’t hear a single thing as stars fill your vision. As you come to, it starts with only the sounds of the heavy pants that escape your mouth. Carmy sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Holy fuck,” you say, breathless.

Carmy lays over you once again, kissing you, and you can taste yourself on his lips.

Your hands fumble with the button on his jeans and you order, no patience left in a single cell of your body, “Off. These need to come off.”

He chuckles, hurrying through the removal of his jeans. You’re so eager to feel the weight of his body on top of yours again that you pull him back down to you before he’s even able to properly take them off.

He’s kissing you again as you reach down, grabbing his hard length through his underwear. He’s thicker than you remember. You slip your hand into the waistband of his briefs, causing him to grunt. He hisses your name as you wrap your soft hand around his dick, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, desperately. “I wanna feel you, Carm.”

“Mhm.”

He doesn’t keep condoms around. It’s not like this happens very often for him. But Richie had thrown a pack of condoms at his head the minute he found out that the friend that was coming to visit was a girl. Richie had teased him with some stupid quip like ‘don’t forget to wrap it up, cousin. No one wants a mini-eleven madison park dickhead running around here.’

He hadn’t expected this to happen. But it’s not like he’d thrown the condoms away either – tucking them into the single drawer of his nightstand.

You wait as he reaches over and pulls out a condom from his nightstand. You want to ask him about why he has them, but as long as you get to feel him, you’re not sure you care.

You’ve been here before with him, but this is different. He sits up on his knees and you follow him, pulling his briefs down properly and giving him time to roll on the condom. He follows you back down onto the bed as you wrap a leg around his waist so that he can fit perfectly between yours.

He waits a beat, and then you feel his thick tip pushing against you, causing your breath to catch in your throat. He rubs the head up and down your slick core, before slowly beginning to push into you.

You both gasp at the feel of each other.

“Fuck. You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moans, dropping his head into the crevice of your neck. He hopes you can’t tell how utterly helpless he feels.

You hiss at the way he’s stretching you open, the pads of your fingertips digging into his arms. You’re holding onto his arms for dear life as he fills you all the way to the hilt. You let out another moan as you as he stays there for a moment.

“This okay?”

You nod, pulling him down to kiss you again. You start moving your hips against his as Carmy gives you shallow thrusts.

“Hold on,” he breathes out, holding your hips down for a moment. “Just-, just give me a second.”

And you do, allowing him to collect himself, before he’s giving you shallow, gentle thrusts.

But you’re in desperate need for more.

“Carmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking move.”

Finally, finally, he pulls almost all the way out, before driving himself back into you, earning a cry from you as the pleasure is just too much.

“Oh fuck!”

You want more. You want everything and all of him and so much more. And he gives it to you, continuing to check in that what he’s doing is okay. Before you know it, you’re begging him to go faster, harder, convincing him that you’re not fucking breakable and that you want more, grasping at the sheets and his biceps, and his curls – anything you can hang on to as he’s bringing you over your edge again for the second time tonight.

You’re crying out his name as you cum, and Carmy thinks it may be the sweetest, best thing he’s ever heard in his life. He fucks you through your climax, beginning to slow down the pace of this thrusts. He pauses, kisses you long and hard, passionately pausing just to be in this moment with you.

“Carm?” you manage to get out. You wonder if he can hear how much you want him just by the sound of your voice.

“Hm?”

“I wanna ride you,” you say, and you can feel that your words have gone straight to his dick as he twitches inside of you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you clumsily change positions – him on his back staring up at you in awe, like how the hell does that perfect, beautiful, creature want to be here with me now? You reach down, guiding him back inside of you and you’re both gasping at the contact. You begin grinding your hips against him, watching his eyes roll back as you make your movement a little bigger.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs out, the pleasure of it all taking over his brain.

You know he won’t last much longer as you begin to ride him, rocking your hips back and forth. Carmy hands are on your hips, then running up and down your torso, grabbing your tits, and then they’re pulling you down to him for another passionate makeout as you continue your movements. You can feel his thrusts becoming more erratic as he starts thrusting up into you. You keep riding him, reaching for his hands and placing them along your hips.

“Show me how you want it,” you whisper in between kisses.

“I think this is nice,” he manages to say.

“Show me how you want it, Carmen,” you demand, emphasizing your need for him with use of his full name. “Let me make you cum.”

You squeeze his hands against your ass, egging him on, and he’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this. He holds onto your hips, before thrusting up into you, setting a bruising pace as your moans become louder and louder. You scream out his name, as he brings you closer and closer to your high, chasing his with him.

He grunts, his thrusts becoming sloppier, messier, more desperate and you let him use your body in the most delicious ways.

“Are you gonna cum?”

Instead of answering, he’s driving into you like a fucking mad man, and you’re riding him through his high till you both collapse.

Carmy lets out a strangled moan as he cums, so you begin to slow your movements. You’re breathless, hunched over him, your foreheads touching as you exchange a laugh.

It's a kind of 'I can't believe we just did that' kind of laugh.

“Holy shit,” he says, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” you agree, a stupid, blissed out smile on both of your faces.

“That was-.”

“Yeah.”

You get off of him, allowing him to get up and dispose of the condom. He’s not gone long before he returns to you, wrapping the both of you up in his sheets and into his arms. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever had.

It feels… magnificent.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks, leaving a few soft kisses along your shoulder.

“After that?” you giggle, as his lips against your neck begin to tickle. “You’re not getting rid of me, Berzatto. Not a fucking chance.”

read: part five

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney

#carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #the bear marcus #sydney adamu #the bear tina #richie jerimovich #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut

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notroosterbradshaw · 8 months

Text

My Father's Eyes - prologue

about: Bradley comes to terms with growing up without a father to guide him while quickly adapting to become one himself… to a child who wants nothing more than not to have him in her life.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, angst, fluff, smut [...probably]. no posting schedule.

You slipped your phone carefully into your backpack, cursing low. It hadn't stopped blowing up since you took the opportunity to unwind a little with a few after-work drinks. You were generally an automatic no, so giving the affirmative to a question perennially asked just to be polite was met with more confusion than excitement - you weren't sure how it made you feel. Your social skills felt like they were severely lacking (not to mention the pop culture references you were behind on unless it was, of course, Taylor Swift)... You simply weren't social anymore.

You mostly tolerated your work associates, they were all friendly, smart, and considerate, but come Friday, you were on your time and couldn't wait to get home to start your weekend. You had wine, pizza and TV to catch up on and it would be perfect. Basic in its simplicity and you didn't care what anyone else thought.

"One more drink," your co-workers begged.

"Let loose, we never get to hang out aside from work," they added.

And while you were having a pretty good night, you had other reasons to be home -

But the revelry was about to end as hoots and hollers of patrons in the bar overcame a raucous Friday night crew as a group of sailors walked in. Grand in their whites, gleaming, broad grins, covers and sunglasses in the dim, overcrowded room. Your eyes scanned each one like they always did when moments like this materialised.

Your heart rate elevated, and the hairs on your arm pricked up. Hands clammy -

The warning signals in your brain were firing louder than an air raid siren. That face you never expected to see again among that crowd, and it was more handsome than you could even recall.

Bradley Bradshaw. Your first... everything. Young and dumb, you fell head over heels for that boy with his head in the clouds and that impish grin. He who dreamed big, much bigger than you ever could imagine.

Tall, broad, tanned, unassuming. He was surreal, it felt like a dream how he’d just returned your life without warning. This wasn’t his hometown, so you knew he was here for work. A nightmare occurred even as you rose from your place at the small cocktail table and started making your apologies for the drink just placed before you, reaching eagerly for your bag and other random belongings you’d whipped out.

That you had to get home, "Oh, look at the time - " that you had to go -

You had to just get the hell out of The Hard Deck. You knew better, even if the time to now had been on your side in previous ventures to the joint.

The crowd swarmed them, and you took your opportunity to try and get out without being noticed. You knew Bradley had no idea you would be there. The beautiful man was immediately surrounded by striking women all vying for his attention, and although he appeared to enjoy it, he was keeping them all at bay. You could see that from your safe distance.

But that last tequila had done you in and you had to get to the bathroom before you got into the Uber - while you weren't feeling the effects of the alcohol, you felt could be ill at any moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hissed to yourself, slamming the cubicle door after you, the safety of the bathroom gave you small comfort but it relieved the feeling of someone standing on your chest in any way.

Sitting, you had no choice but to overhear the gossip of the sudden arrival of the newly decorated squad who had just entered the place, sending the bar into a tizzy.

“ - Hangman is blonder - "

" - suave Coyote was - "

"I don't know how Natasha can be around such sexy men all the time."

"Come on, she's as talented, and dear god, she as hot as them. Don't discount her rank because of some guys. I’m sure she deals with pissing contests 24/7.”

You silently cheered for the last person's comment, whoever this Natasha was. Good for her.

But no mention of Bradley.

"It's like the Navy put together the sexiest aviators they had - " this person was also right. They always grandstanded like they were in movies. And tonight, even Bradley.

Flushing, you pulled yourself together and made a hasty exit strategy in your brain as you furiously washed and dried your hands. The closest door from the bathroom was also the furthest from the pool table and you were in luck as you heard the roar and the familiar opening keys to Jerry Lee Lewis' Whole Lot of Shakin' Going On.

Come on over, baby, whole lotta shakin' goin' on, Yes, I said come on over, baby, baby, you can't go wrong...

And abruptly, you were young, dumb and 21 again. Falling for this schtick then and, by God, his voice deeper than it was and you could swear, better. Sexier. Older. Bolder. Not your shy, quiet reserved college boy on his summer vacation in San Diego... but look at you now, falling for this schtick again. The way he could sway people on full display as the crowd and his friends/teammates, how were you to know, tumbled over each other at the grubby old piano you’d never seen touched to now to spread the revelry with him.

"My old man listened to this album so much when I was a kid," Bradley said quietly, delicately handing the cover to you as he wandered over to the old turntable he'd mentioned was also his father's and you watched him intently. He could make you listen to white noise or nails on a blackboard and you’d be enthralled with it. "I don't have too much of his stuff," he explained, considerate as he dropped the pin on the record tenderly. "But this song," he laughed quietly as Great Balls of Fire filled his small room of the share house he stayed at that school break. "We sang this song a lot as a family. Please don’t hold it against me, I’m very aware Lewis was a fuckin’ creep of a dude,” and you couldn’t resist your smile as he offered you his hand and danced with him.

And how often that summer that hand lead you down a garden path of trouble.

You probably hadn't listened to Jerry Lee Lewis since it reminded you too much of him. And of course, the artist was controversial at best, just like Bradley said but you’d never, ever forgotten the words.

And as you headed towards the door, the need to see Bradley Bradshaw just one more time overwhelmed you. His jacket stripped and sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled to his thick golden forearms, the collar on his shirt strained around the thick ropes of muscles of his neck and throat as his cheeks pinked in the hot room.

Aviators sliding down his strong nose in the exhilaration of being the centre of attention. He was thriving off it.

He was as handsome as the day you met him. The way he captured your attention as he retrieved the football that landed near your beach bag that fateful day. His soft voice of apology as his buddies teased him down play. He apologised on their behalf and asked if he could make it up to you The way he handled the room funny to you, your once shy, quiet boy now commanding the group at the bar, singing with him, vying for his attention... singing to just get that small piece of his time.

Home soon kiddo. Hope you had a good night with Amelia, you texted quickly.

As the song ended and the place erupted again in enraptured applause, you slinked out as more sailors slipped in and took in a deep breath, the humid beach air filling your lungs and you called for the quickest car to get you home safely... to safety.

"Hey," you heard the voice behind you. You were so fucking close to the car... so close to escaping without a trace... but just like the old days, his voice warming you to your bones. But you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, even as he gently took your wrist and guided your body towards his. "Holy shit," you heard the small flutter of laughter in a bubble against his lips. “It is you.” He was clearly as shocked as you were.

The softness in his rough rasp. It had haunted the better part of the last 14, 15 or so years. Dreams, nightmares.

You were so close to breaking free of the bar without him seeing you - but that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. In his quiet calm, he was always watching.

...bringing yourself to raise your eyes to him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. To his warm, humoured honey ones, his grin just melted you like it always had. So much about him had changed, the moustache you were perplexed about. Some faint scars marred his handsome face that you didn’t recall but they certainly didn’t look new (even if new to you). They gave him a light ruggedness, maturing him. But you could only compare him to the senior in college, eagerly awaiting his acceptance into the Naval Academy.

And he was big. Taller, broader, stronger. BIG.

And white certainly was his shade. He chewed his lower lip, and you were reminded of the charming boy who left you all those years ago. The man now before you who didn’t even know he had changed the course of your life.

"Hello, Bradley," you finally said, and he stood to height, the recognition in your voice as you tried to keep his gaze. His tongue tracked his upper lip and he finally smiled, not the smug arrogance on display as he and his team ponied in earlier, but the sweet genuineness that was simply Bradley.

"Hi," he swallowed. "Been a long time," he reckoned.

"Yeah," you agreed.

"Looks like time has been good to you," he said, low, appreciatively.

And you laughed as he visibly relaxed, the flirt enough to break you. You weren't sure if he was trying anything, but the air was finally making it to your lungs.

"You still livin' around here?"

You gave a soft nod. "Yeah."

"I'm just in town a few days," he admitted as you nodded. "I - my team and I - were just promoted. Lieutenant Commander."

"This why you're all dressed up - or were?"

"My whites?" he asked.

"I saw you come in."

"And yet you tried to sneak out before you said hi," he teased.

"I'm sorry," you admitted. "But congrats on your promotion. Kind of a big deal?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Kind of."

Hearing the knocks on the glass, his attention was demanded back inside. Relief swept through you as he shooed them away with a swift flick of the bird and they howled inside but left him to his devices.

"How about coffee this weekend? It would be great to catch up," Bradley pressed. "Find out what you've been up to. Husband, family, work. All that stuff."

"Ha," your voice faltered. "I'm pretty sure it's nowhere near as exciting as yours," you forced a laugh, and he really didn't seem to take the hint. His pout at your near rejection only seemed to spur him on further.

"One coffee and I'll get back on the boat and be out of your life forever," his lips quirked, and you remembered how you felt when he made that face without the moustache. He could get away with a lot then, just like he was getting away with it now. "Look... here's my number," he urged, holding out this hand as you sighed and unlocked your phone to enter the digits. You saw how he'd saved it.

Bradley Bradshaw (a big deal?). You had to laugh as he winked, relieved for the smile that crossed your features but you weren't sure if he was offended or not when you didn't offer yours in reply.

"Kind of a big deal," you confirmed with a giggle, those nerves bubbling under the surface rapidly now. He shrugged, the cheekiness of the boy you knew still evident in the man before you.

"Text me if you wanna catch up. I wanna hear about what you've been up to since graduation all those years ago. I fly back to Virginia Tuesday."

"Fleeting."

"Very much," he agreed. Sighing (with relief, but Bradley would never catch that), your Uber was right before you. He moved around you to open the passenger door. "Been a long time..."

"Longer than you know," you admitted, slipping into the car and he carefully closed the door behind you as the driver recalled your address and you left Bradley Bradshaw for what you hoped was the last time.

Your fingers itched to delete his number, but all you had to do was get through the next few days without the temptation to text him and it would be fine.

Life would go on and he's sail off into the sunset again like he promised.

Home ten or so minutes later, you made a beeline for upstairs. The bedroom door closed and silent from the other side. You pushed your way in quietly, the room dark, and you sat on the side of the bed, your hands drifting to the mess of dirty dark blonde curls splayed across your daughter's pillow as she read on her phone with her earphones on.

"Hi, sweetheart," you whispered, gently pushing back a tendril on your daughter's forehead. "Bedtime?" you suggested as she shrugged. Ahh, teens. You kissed her forehead before standing and leaving her room, your beautiful girl protected under the snuggly covers.

You didn't know how you were going to tell her that you saw her father tonight. After all these years and radio silence, doing what you could to protect her from the hurt you knew you'd caused by keeping this very real secret from Bradley.

"Shit," you muttered, wandering the hallway to your bedroom, your nerves shot, hot tears threatening and everything you'd done so well protecting to now... about to shatter into a million pieces with the return of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

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sbdskate · 1 year

Text

Laws of Attraction (Part 4) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings (18+): language, alcohol consumption, COPIOUS sexual themes, references to self pleasure, NSFW for a hot sec

Word Count: 5,548

A/N: Happy Enchante drop day! Remember that time I thought this was going to be a one shot? Well, here’s part 4 and apparently there will now be a part 5 which I’m pretty sure will be the last one unless there is an epilogue. Thank you for your patience, while I had a strong sense of the story I wanted to tell in the beginning, I’ve had some trouble trying to figure out how to wrap it up. As always, any feedback is welcome. If you enjoyed, please like, comment, and/or reblog xoxo

Daniel stood there dazed in the middle of the bar, unsure of what just happened. One minute, he and y/n were dancing and laughing, then you were suddenly gone. He felt sad, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

He barely had a second to reflect when people started swarming him, men and women alike, trying to find their way into the driver’s orbit. Some of them just wanted pictures, some tried to make small talk or flirt. Despite being surrounded be people clamoring for just a fraction of his attention, he was incredibly alone.

It was late, he was tired, and it was time to leave.

By the following weekend for the Mexico Grand Prix, you had not spoken to your client since that night in the bar. You wished you had blacked out so you could simply pretend it didn’t happen, or blame your behavior on the excess alcohol, but unfortunately for you your memory of the night was crystal clear. The scene replayed over and over in your head. First comes the shame, at how much you enjoyed the feeling of his touch on your waist and the warmth of your bodies pressed against one another. You wonder what might have happened if you had closed the tiny gap between your lips. Would it have stayed a drunken bar make out session or would it have overflowed to the hotel? Would you have gone to his room or yours? Would it have been sloppy and desperate or slow and sensual? Would he be a gentleman in the morning or would he kick you out? When you finish going through every single permutation of what could have been, that’s when the embarrassment sets in. Embarrassment that you let the whole thing happen and that you basically ran away without an explanation, saying goodbye, or much else. Finally, the wave of guilt over abandoning him after an emotional weekend when he probably needed you most. You couldn’t see how you could come back from this.

Fortunately you hadn’t had a reason to be in the same room together, but that would soon be coming to an end. Despite the temptation of margaritas and empanadas and tropical sun outside, you mostly stayed in your hotel room, throwing yourself deeper into your work and trying anything to distract yourself from the anxiety of the unknown fallout from what may or may not have occurred in Austin. There was a lot of positive movement happening with both Mercedes and Red Bull, which you should have been ecstatic to share with your client. And yet you were terrified to make contact with him.

As things seemed to be coming to a head in reserve driver negotiations, the partner set up an in-person client meeting on the morning of press day. You hadn’t been this nervous the first time you met Daniel or going into hostile negotiations against Zak Brown and McLaren. You changed outfits no less than seven times before heading out and no amount of power posing made you feel any better. Normally you would have gotten to the meeting at least fifteen minutes early, but you were worried Daniel would show up before Joe which would leave the two of you by yourselves. You uncharacteristically arrived on time, and ended up being the last person to join the meeting. You could tell Joe was slightly annoyed.

“Y/N, so nice of you to join us.”

You cringed. “Sorry. There was…uh, traffic.” You knew it was a lame excuse, but you couldn’t be bothered. You glanced over at Daniel, but he kept his eyes focused on the desk. For a meeting that should have been filled with excitement over the prospect of possibility, it felt somewhat somber.

You went over where he stood with Mercedes and Red Bull. The discussions between Daniel and the teams had been successfully kept under wraps until the last week or so, when a photo of Toto in an Enchante sweatshirt began circulating the internet. Though nothing was finalized, sleuthing fans thought this was an obvious hint that Daniel had signed with Mercedes. While it wasn’t the end of the world, you had hoped Daniel would be able to make his decision without the pressure of public comment or opinion. You were sure he had the mental fortitude to do so regardless, but you felt the need to protect him beyond your professional fiduciary obligations. He had already been through enough.

You pressed through the meeting, keeping your comments technical and brief. As usual you exchanged handshakes at the end before going your separate ways, though he hardly looked your way before he turned to leave. Once out of the room, Joe began to discuss next steps with you but his words went in one ear and out the other. You felt nauseous as the growing pit in your stomach failed to subdue. You thought back again to the night at the bar and your abrupt departure, and the last few days where you easily could have sent a text to reassure him or ease the tension, but you didn’t. You were the attorney and you were responsible for maintaining the attorney-client relationship, which you failed. You had to go find him.

You cut your boss off as politely as you could. “I’m so sorry, sir, I just realized… I forgot my, uh, charger! And I need to… respond to another client’s email. So I have to go.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you ok? You seem flustered today.”

“I’m fine!” You were absolutely off your game, but you didn’t want to show him any signs of weakness. “Just, jetlagged?” You mentally slapped yourself as soon as the words came out of your mouth. While it might have worked for almost any other F1 race on the calendar, Austin and Mexico City were in the same time zone. The partner knew something was up, but he had too many other things to worry about than the mental breakdown of a low level associate.

“Ok. But I expect a draft of redlines by the end of the day.”

You were practically already out the door as you called out “Thank you, sir! I’ll be sure to get those to you as soon as possible!”

You were running around the paddock like a crazy person, unceremoniously shoving media personnel out of the way. You made your way through the maze of hallways and offices, the click-clack of your high heels announcing your presence before you got to wherever you were going.

In your haste, you didn’t notice running past Lando.

“Y/N!”

“Can’t! Don’t have time!” you called back, not even bothering to figure out who was addressing you.

“Y/N! It’s me, would slow down for two seconds?”

Finally, you stopped and turned. “Oh thank goodness.” You doubled over, huffing and puffing from the unexpected cardio. “You can help me. Where’s Daniel?” you asked between breaths.

“He went to his dressing room after your meeting. Whe-?”

You were already around the corner before he finished his sentence. “Great, thanks!”

You barreled your way towards Daniel, your run turning into a lame waddle from the constrictions of your shoes and pencil skirt. You did not pause when you arrived at your destination and pushed the door open without knocking. You doubled over again and leaned against the wall once inside.

“Can I help you?”

You were so exhausted you almost missed the fact that the driver was shirtless. It was a sight to behold, especially after months of imagining what might be underneath. Your eyes lingered longer than they should have on his toned pecs, moving their way down to his chiseled abs and the “v” that pointed its way to his pants. You knew he was still upset with you, but it didn’t stop the small smirk threatening its way to his face. But you were a woman on a mission and you refused to be distracted.

“I’m sorry,” you got out, still panting. “I fucked up.” You looked away while he put a McLaren shirt on, taking the moment to catch your breath.

He sat down and motioned for you to do the same, which you graciously accepted. He took you in. In the span of less than an hour, it felt as though he was looking at before and after photos of an ad but in reverse. You seemed so composed during the meeting and now here you were, blazer lopsided and unbuttoned, hair tousled, sweat beading at your forehead, cheeks flushed, and breathless. It was simultaneously hilarious and insanely hot, but he wasn’t going to let on anything at this point.

“What the hell happened?”

You started talking a mile a minute. “I wanted to talk to you right after the meeting, but Joe wanted to talk about next steps and I tried to get away as soon as I could, but then I couldn’t find you –“

“Not now you dodo, last week after the race.” You blinked a few times. Now that he was in front of you, the thoughts running in your mind from before went blank. He came to your rescue, filling in the silence.

“All I know, is that we were having a good time and then you left me in the middle of a bar by myself without saying goodbye after one of the shittiest races of my life. I haven’t heard from you since, and I know you haven’t been hungover for four days straight. I appreciate you coming in here and apologizing, but respectfully, what the fuck.”

You looked away in shame. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this without disclosing your feelings. You took a deep breath and swallowed your pride, proceeding cautiously.

“What happened at the bar, and how I acted afterwards, is entirely a me problem and I could have been more… strategicabout how I handled it.

“Strategic!?” You winced and closed your eyes, immediately regretting your choice of words. Clearly insulted, he continued. “Strategic is how you describe a Bond villain, or a business deal, not how you treat a friend-“

You jumped out of your chair, interrupting him out of frustration. “Don’t you get it? That’s the whole problem!” You couldn’t tell if you wanted to hold his hand or punch a wall. “I love that you are basically the human equivalent of a golden retriever. I love how comfortable we are together, and I’m a firm believer that you do better work when you know and like the people you work with. But you are my work at the end of the day. You are my client. There’s literally a whole ethics exam that is separate from the bar exam and it’s really easy. (1) Don’t comingle funds; and (2) don’t sleep with your client.” He raised an eyebrow. You sat back down.

“Obviously, nothing happened on Sunday. But… it felt like it toed the line of what is acceptable in my professional capacity. I know this is probably very one sided and it’s all in my head, but it felt like something could have. If Joe or anyone else ever found out, I could lose my job or my license over something like this. That being said, I do not blame you one bit. I’m the one that let things get out of hand, and I realized it in a single moment, and I freaked out, and left. And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Daniel looked at the floor, his cheeks dusted slightly pink as he processed your admission. “It wasn’t in your head,” he whispered. His gaze rose to meet yours, but you covered your face with your hands.

“Fuck, don’t tell me that.” You tried to keep your tone light as if you were trying to joke it off, but you were very serious. You had convinced yourself this was a delusional fantasy of your mind’s creation, which would have been very easy to let go. But now it had been spoken into existence with the revelation that those feelings were reciprocated. It had legs and took up space. It was terrifying. You sighed as you slouched back in your chair, feeling defeated and mind reeling. “Look. Let’s just chalk this up to the fact that we’ve been spending a stupid amount of time together for the last however many months. Can we please just pretend last weekend never happened so we can move past this?”

Daniel sat for a moment. Of course he had forgiven you as soon as you stampeded your way into his room. There was a lot about Texas he wanted to forget, but his day with you was not one of them. Maybe you were right that the feelings the two of you evidently had for each other were just the product of forced proximity, but right now he didn’t want to believe that. Time and time again this season when he felt like he couldn’t go on, you had been there with support and compassion. You grounded him while he mellowed your intensity. You provided logic and reason while he extracted adventure and vulnerability. He was Yin and you were Yang. You couldn’t make up a connection like that. Yet, he would never want be the reason you lose your license, let alone the job you love so much.

Looking at you now, all he wanted to do was scoop you up and kiss you. Instead, he stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

You smiled softly, giving a firm handshake. “Thanks.” You paused. “So, we’re good… right?”

Of course you were. How could you not be? He had a million things he wanted to say. Instead, all he could get out was: “Yeah. We’re good.”

You weren’t sure what was in the water. Maybe it was you, or next year’s team prospects, or simply the energy of Mexico, but Daniel gave his best performance of the season finishing a strong P7. For the first time since you met him, a genuine smile graced the driver post-race. Professionally, you knew this would be great to leverage in finalizing negotiations. But as his friend, your heart was exploding with pride. The crowd was roaring in celebration, everyone was a Daniel Ricciardo fan. After a tough season, you had forgotten this side of him. What you wouldn’t do for those dimples. You kept your distance though, allowing him to revel in the spotlight. It was killing you not to run up to him, but you wouldn’t have been able to get to him if you tried.

The post-race interviews would probably take a while so you decided to head out. As you fought your way through the media, you felt someone tap your shoulder. You assumed it was just standard foot traffic, so you kept moving until you heard someone call your name. You were shocked to find Christian Horner trying to flag you down.

“Y/N!”

“Christian! What a pleasant surprise, I assumed you would be busy.”

“I saw my favorite lawyer walk by, I had to say hello.”

Christian was an interesting character. Admittedly you had not looked forward to working across the table from him initially. He came across as arrogant, hypocritical, and conniving. You thought his only redeeming quality was that he was married to Ginger Spice, but soon found that was only second to how much he cared about Daniel. Given how Daniel departed Red Bull all those years ago, you wrongly assumed that bridge had been burned so you were nervous when you first approached the team for negotiations. It was quickly apparent how unfounded those feelings were after the first email. Christian was there when Daniel made his F1 debut in 2009 as an awkward teenager and watched him grow and molded him into a seasoned driver. It was clear he would give him both kidneys in a pinch.

“Honored and humbled,” you teased. You were almost shouting due to the swarm that quickly surrounded you due to Christian’s presence. You continued walking, “Running away from interviews now, are we?”

“Funny you should say that. I am, because I keep getting some interesting questions about a certain third driver seat.” He was being coy, and knew exactly what he was doing with all the journalists around you. “Are there any updates I can report back on?” He was more persistent than a used car salesman.

“None at the moment, I’m afraid. I promise you’ll be the second person I tell when I do.”

“Second? Who has me beat?”

“Your wife, of course.”

“Maybe if this thing closes, Geri might be open to grab some celebratory drinks.”

“I don’t know Christian, that sounds like a bribe to me.”

“Good seeing you as always, counselor.”

You laughed as you parted ways. You had been able to fly under the radar, until recently when snooty media noticed you going in and out of various meetings. You thought everyone would leave you alone when Christian left, but a few eagle-eyed personnel stayed with you.

“Does this mean that Daniel Ricciardo has a home for next year?”

“Can you confirm Daniel is going to Red Bull?”

“I’m unable to disclose any information, those discussions are protected by attorney-client privilege.”

Legal obligations be damned, the handful of media continued to follow you. You repeated the same statement in eight different ways, you tried ignoring them to no avail. You continued walking, hoping at a certain point they’d give up. Certainly there were at least a hundred other people around the paddock significantly more important and interesting than you.

“I think you guys confused the pretty lady for me?” You recognized the voice immediately. You were thankful for your savior shifting the attention away from you, except that the swarm around you returned ten-fold in an instant. The Australian entertained their questions while helping you navigate the crowd. You knew he and his PR advisor had prepped for this, and you were impressed how he skillfully dodged their questions while making them feel as though they had gotten a profound, headline-worthy snippet.

He fought the instinct to put his hand on your back to help guide you through the mob. You stayed close though, unnerved by the increasing number of people around you. As you continued to walk side-by-side, unsuccessfully willing yourself to become invisible, your fingers grazed. Instinctively, you flinched and pulled your hand away at the contact. He continued engaging with the media but took a moment to meet your eyes. His gaze was not judgmental nor offended, instead offering you reassurance. You realized how silly you were being and dropped your hand. The tips of your pinkies momentarily met again and the warm feeling you felt in the bar before everything went sideways came bubbling back. Only this time it made you feel safe and secure, not scared or embarrassed.

“As fun as this has been guys, I have big plans with some tequila shots and a mariachi band that I must attend to.” Even his excuses could charm the pants off the most scrutinizing reporter. He politely excused the two of you, pulling you away into McLaren hospitality. The doors shut behind you, immediately muffling the outside noise.

“Is it always like that?”

He took one look at you and burst out laughing. You might be able to keep certain thoughts to yourself, but often times your facial expressions gave you away as they did now. Your eyes, wide and unblinking. Your mouth, contorted into downward frown. In the distance, *sirens*.

“Don’t laugh, that was traumatizing!” you whined.

“In all fairness, it didn’t always used to be this bad. But you get used to it.”

“Please, you were born to be in the spotlight. The camera loves you.”

“Just the camera?”

You gave him your most aggressive side eye. It was hardly an appropriate comment given your conversation on press day, but you knew he was just joking. You raised your hands. “You know what, that’s on me. I walked into that one.”

“Had to go for the low hanging fruit.”

You looked around. McLaren hospitality was quiet, but not empty. You hoped no one noticed the light flirtation that was taking place. You changed the topic.

“I forgot to say congratulations on today! You must be so proud of yourself.”

“Yeah, it feels nice.” You know what else feels nice? “It’s been such a long, hard season. Y’know?” You know what else is long and hard? “I’ve just been really pounding away with trainings and everything -” You know what else you can pound?

You smiled and nodded while you continued to tally the that’s-what-she-said jokes and innuendos in your head.

“- and I feel like there’s been this gaping hole -” Surely he has got to hear himself.

You bit your lower lip to keep from giggling and cursed yourself for your filthy mind and having the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy.

“-but all in all it’s been a good day, yeah?” Finally.

“Yes, for sure. I’m really happy for you.” There was a pregnant pause before either of you spoke again. He could tell that you were distracted though he wasn’t sure why. You were concerned about keeping yourself in check.

“Anyways, this has been lovely as always. Enjoy the rest of your night, I don’t want to keep you from your Mariachi band.”

“You’re not going to celebrate?”

You looked around, again being mindful of potential witnesses. “What are you talking about, we’ve been celebrating your points finish since the end of the race. You go have fun, I was just going to stay here and get some work done until things clear out a bit more.”

“Not for me. It’s Halloween, you know.”

Actually, you had completely forgotten. But you quickly realized where this conversation was heading. “That’s nice.”

“Lando wants to show off his DJ side hustle at some club. It will be fun.”

“Now there’s something spooky,” you said sarcastically.

“You should come.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

The stare down between you continued as you went about your delicate dance around the elephant in the room. He took a step towards you and grabbed you gently by the shoulders.

“Nothing will happen. Promise,” he whispered. You looked up at him.

“I don’t have a costume,” you lightly countered.

“We’ll get you one.”

You pursed your lips. You had a million other excuses in your head, but you trusted him. How could you say no?

It had been a while since you had been in a club, and truthfully you weren’t sure you were cut out for it any more as you approached thirty. The flashing lights and heavy bass were giving you a migraine. That being said, it was a very different experience than you remember and being the guest of a VIP had its significant perks. When you got to the venue you almost didn’t even get out of the car when you saw the line down several blocks. As it so happens, when you’re a Formula 1 driver you can skip the line. And get attentive bottle service as opposed to fighting your way to the bar and pray the bartender notices you. Not to mention easy access to the DJ booth. As he had assured you, there were plenty of other people around to act as buffers.

Sure enough, Lando was at the helm of the DJ booth along with his girlfriend and a few of the other drivers and their respective significant others. As soon as the others saw you, they burst out into laughter. If you were ever concerned whether you could ever fit into Daniel’s world, this experience quelled any uncertainty. What Daniel’s skeleton costume lacked in creativity, yours’ made up for in leaps and bounds. Why be a sexy nurse or police officer when you could be American Daniel Ricciardo? American flag bomber jacket, cowboy hat, belt buckle, poorly drawn facial hair and all - which looked even sillier given your short stature. It was clear the resourceful last-minute look was well-received and earned you a warm welcome.

As the night went on and the drinks flowed, you leaned more into your Danny Ric persona including donning a poor Australian accent. Daniel continued to converse with the other drivers but watched you from a distance, trying to remain respectful of your prior agreement. Even with your face covered in smudged eye makeup to mimic his beard, he loved seeing you in his clothes. You were practically swimming in his jacket and he was sure it was the cutest thing he had ever witnessed. When you thought no one else was looking, you subtly grabbed the collar and gave it a sniff, deeply inhaling the owner’s fragrance.

Seeing you try to pick up his scent caused something primal in him to awaken. In another world he would have put on his usual moves to woo a lady back to his hotel room, which admittedly didn’t take much. First, he would buy you a drink. Then after some short flirty back and forth, he would move the two of you to the dancefloor. He would be behind you while you grinded - in a club packed like this, your bodies would be pressed closely together. He would place his hands on your waist and slowly move them down to your hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. Eventually he would leave kisses on the side of your neck, while finding your hands to hold. He would spin you around and ask if you wanted to go back to his place. Inevitably you would say yes, and the two of you would leave and begin your makeout session in the back of his private car to avoid suspicion by nosy paparazzi. Finally when you arrive at your final destination, he would fuck you senseless.

His mind was reeling at the possibilities. But you were no ordinary lady and you didn’t deserve his usual moves. You deserved so much more. And he couldn’t give you any of it.

Meanwhile, the constancy you had to stay away from your muse diminished as the night went on. The champagne was easily accessible and went down even easier. The club was hot and stuffy, though it was unclear if it was from everyone’s collective body heat, the Mexican climate, or both. You decided to take off the jacket, wrapping it around your waist, leaving in you a plain white tank top. It was far from being the most scandalous outfit in the room, but Daniel was doing everything in his power not to stare. It was a stark contrast from the conservative suits and dresses he’d gotten used to seeing you in, showing off every curve of your body. Again, he should have been turned off by the beard makeup alone but it endearingly complimented the cleavage that threatened to spill its way out of your shirt. Eventually you found yourself next to him again.

“G’day mate,” you said tipping his hat. You weren’t sloppy, but it was obvious that your usual social filter was long gone.

“Is that absolutely necessary?”

“What are you talking about, I’m Daniel Ricciardo. This is my voice. Pew pew pew” you gave him some finger guns and blew them out before returning them to their imaginary holsters. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“That is by far the worst Australian accent I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I can switch to Steve Erwin if you want.”

“Please don’t.” You ignored him.

“Crikey! Here we see the Formula 1 Driver in his natural habitat.” You gestured over to Pierre shamelessly trying to flirt with a model with a bottle of Ace in hand. “Ah yes, the young male has spotted a potential mate. We will now get to witness his intricate mating ritual.”

He watched your face as you continued your animated nature documentary play-by-play of Pierre. He always felt lucky when he got to see this side of you. Silly, unfiltered, and unincumbered by responsibility.

He leaned into you. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I am. Are you having fun – oh!” Someone had pushed their way past you forcing you to fall into the driver, inadvertently smushing your bodies together. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back further pulling you into him while trying not to spill the drink in his other hand. The buzzing returned with a vengeance. It was hard to ignore the soft of your breasts pressed against his muscly torso. You blushed profusely at the new sensation of your hips meeting, feeling the bulge of his pants against your pelvis.

“Are you ok?” You finally pulled your bodies away from each other, your cheeks on fire from the heavy and unfamiliar contact.

“Oh I’m fine. But on that note, I should probably head back.” You hoped he would he would attribute your flush to all the champagne you consumed, and prayed your “beard” was covering for you. The fluttering sensation between your legs refused to cease.

“Ok, I’ll call the car.”

“No, no, I can just call an uber it’s fine.”

“You shouldn’t leave by yourself.” It took a minute for you to realize he was looking out for your safety, not inviting himself to your hotel room. You again felt embarrassed at your own misinterpretation.

“I don’t want to make you leave though, you should keep celebrating.”

“I’ve celebrated enough, I’m happy and tired and ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” He smiled and turned his hand into a fake phone.

“I’m calling it,” he said into his hand. You laughed at the reference to the joke he had with Lando about ‘calling it a day,’ thankful that he found a way to break the tension.

The car ride back to the hotel was relatively quiet. You squeezed your legs together to quell the growing heat below your waist and kept your hands in your lap to prevent them from accidentally wandering. Your heart rate had not slowed since you bumped into one another. You closed your eyes to try to center yourself and redirect the energy of your raging hormones.

Two feet away, Daniel was in a very similar situation dealing with his own demons. The smell of your perfume mixed with this own cologne intoxicated him. He forced himself to think of his home in Perth to keep his mind from wondering to all the ways you could be bent right then and there in the back seat.

You thanked the driver getting out of the car. The walk to your respective rooms felt like an eternity. You pressed for your floor when you got in the elevator and waited for him to do the same, but he did not move.

“What floor are you?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I just want to make sure you’re safe.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“Fine. I’ll allow it.”

You again stood there in silence side by side as you waited to reach your floor. You cursed the mirrored walls of the elevator. With a few drinks in you, you allowed your lidded eyes to wander all over Daniel’s reflection from the neck down. Fortunately for you he didn’t notice your ogling, but only because he was doing the same thing. In the middle of your respective daydreams, your pinkies accidentally grazed again, pulling you back to reality. Your eyes finally met in the mirror.

“Sorry,” you said under your breath, taking a step away from your client.

“All good.” You both diverted your gazes for the rest of the short ride. You got off the elevator and walked to your room.

“Well, this is me.” You paused, finally making eye contact again. “Thanks for inviting me out, I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.”

“Oh, before I forget here’s your hat and jacket.” You went to remove the hat but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it, they look better on you anyways.” It was a questionably appropriate line, but he didn’t care. At this point, neither did you.

“I’m not sure when I’ll wear them again, but thanks.” You smiled to yourself, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of his jacket. He was still looking at you when you looked back up. The chatty driver was uncharacteristically quiet. You were both stalling, though it was unclear what for. You decided to rip off the band-aid.

“Good night Mr. Ricciardo, congratulations again.”

“Good night y/n. I’ll see you in Brazil.”

“I’ll see you in Brazil,” you repeated.

When the door shut, he placed his hand on it for a moment. His mind, again, going to all of the places that were off-limits. With a sigh he left for his room.

On the other side, you leaned your head against the door and squeezed your eyes shut. Sloppily undoing your jeans, you stuck a hand down your underwear to offer relief from the building tension. You were soaked. With reckless abandon, you grabbed your vibrator and shamelessly indulged yourself in the filthiest fantasies regarding your client the rest of the night.

Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @wewoo1233 @monzabee

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soulwillower · 3 years

Text

housesitting • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: no

had this in my drafts and figured i’d finish it and post it, sorry for being away, but idk if i’ll keep writing! hope you enjoy, i’ll prob still come back and update/post fics on this account on occasion. love u guys lots and i hope you’re all doing okay <3333

warnings: drinking, unprotected sex, oral (fem and male receiving), light deepthroating/face fucking, praise kink, degradation, use of the words slut, whore, etc, suuuper unedited

(losers + reader are 21+.)

4.7k words

♡

the moment you stepped back into your flat, dropping your bag heavily on the ground with a sigh, you finally felt like you could breathe.

today and yesterday had been a nightmare - you and your roommate bill had gone home, planning to stay for a week with family and friends back home.

you'd spent the first night out with old friends at the bar enjoying yourselves and you'd even gone home with a handsome boy you'd had a crush on in high school. but just as he was about to go down on you, after you'd gone down on him despite how terrible his b.o. was, he said he wouldn’t because it was 'gross.'

you hate to admit but you were slightly tipsy and horny, so you still stayed for ten minutes of awful, boring missionary before he fell asleep. then when you'd left in the uber, a voice message from your boss threatened to fire you if you didn't come in and finish a project - so you had to scramble for a flight home, leaving bill back with your friends in maine for a few days, and now you're just ready for a shower, a nicely packed bowl, and a large dinner.

because good god, that was an awful trip.

"hello?" you call, rubbing your eyes as you walk towards your kitchen, wondering if your roommate's best friend was still here - he was supposed to stay and take care of the apartment while you were away.

but instead, your eyes landed on a complete mess in the kitchen; solo cups everywhere, trash, empty chip bags, furniture moved and counters sticky from spilt beer.

"what the fuck?" you project, eyes landing on the figure who walks into the kitchen, towel hanging low on his hips as water drips from wet, shaggy curls of hair. you meet the bright eyes of richie tozier, your roommate’s best friend.

he looks like a deer in headlights, his glasses slightly fogged as he blinks his eyes owlishly and you swear his eye lashes tangle together as he blinks. "oh, hey y/n, why are you here?"

and honestly, richie has always made your fingers tingle and your abdomen clench when he so much as looks at you, despite bill’s groaning and glaring when you refer to him as ‘hot friend number one.’ (he had a lot of hot friends).

but you’re wound up, stressed, frustrated, and exhausted so all you can do is look from the boy to the mess and then back, stunned, "this is my apartment."

he chuckles, wiping a drip of water off of his chest. you have to fight to look away, feeling burning from irritation and also something else as your chest heaves. you're just so tired, and this boy who you don't know very well has trashed your place and maybe even had a party and you just want to smoke and go to bed and-

"say, what are you doing back so soon, toots? thought i had the place to myself for the next five days." he says too casually, grinning like he's catching up with an old friend. his hand runs through his wet hair, droplets rolling down his bare skin and causing you to fight the urge to keep your eyes on his face.

you shake your head. "richie, why does my kitchen look like a scene from dexter?" you say, trying to keep yourself calm.

he tilts his head in an irksome, handsome way that makes you want to scream, "pretty sure dexter was....murdering murderers, not slamming smirnoff at three am." "clean it up! what gives you the nerve to have a party in someone else's fucking apartment? while they're gone?!" you yell, throwing your hands in the air. richie shrugs uncomfortably and you're briefly in shock at how much faith richie is putting in the small tuck he's made with the towel, barely keeping up on in his waist. he laughs somewhat nervously, "sheesh, doll, it would've been cleaned by sunday, you just surprised me and almost gave me a heart attack while i was in the shower. bill told me we could throw at your place as long as we were responsible." he sounds pretty genuine, but you're just so tightly wound and frustrated.

"well this," you gesture to your place, "is not responsible." you glare, "i'm going to shower. i've had a long fucking day, and when i get out the place better be fucking spotless and you better be gone. i'm not asking." you snap.

he grins as you push past him, turning to watch you storm towards the bathroom with an apologetic grimace on his face.

you took as long as you could in the shower, savoring every warm drop until you stepped out of your bathroom, expecting to see an empty apartment.

"what are you staring at?" the boy with the curls mutters as he fixes the wine glass he'd placed on the counter. you're pretty speechless as you look around, wondering how richie had managed to get your place more clean and inviting than how you'd left it. dishes are all clean, put away, the counters spotless; the oven is set with a timer for two hours, and the smell of lasagna invites your nose with a rumble of your stomach. two glasses of wine are poured, sitting at the counter as richie chews on his lip anxiously, hair glinting in the dark mood lighting from the lamp near the window.

"i felt bad. you seem like you had a long day and i didn't mean to make it worse." he admits.

you step forward, suddenly feeling hot as you watch him, his jaw clenched slightly and sharper than you remember it. he's actually really fucking beautiful, you realize.

"you didn't have to do all this." you say, biting your lip as you take the wine glass from his hand.

"i know." he says with a cocky smirk. your face feels hot as you watch him slide out the stools by your breakfast bar, sitting down and sipping on his own wine.

with a smile, you sit next to him. he was always the friend of bills that made you the most flustered - he's a tall, loud, garish bartender who spends most his time doing stand up at the clubs on the weekends even though he studied applied mathematics in school. he's the kind of boy that everybody has a crush on, because he's got that dorky yet beautiful sculpt; dark, curly locks, pale skin with a splattering of bright freckles. his eyes pierce yours whenever you're in the same room and his grin makes your stomach flip on it's head.

"so, why'd you come back early?" richie asks as he takes a sip, eyes staring at you brightly from behind the rim of the glass. you huff a small bitter laugh, "my boss told me i had to come back because we're understaffed. told me the extra hours are 'building charater' or something. but i was having a shitty trip anyways, so i may as well just volunteer my time."

he laughs, muttering, "good girl. doin' the lords work." you almost laugh but his words have heat sent straight between your legs and you can't tind words, suddenly in a state of shock. oh, god, this wine is getting to you.

richie's always been so hot, you're not surprised that one casual phrase had you so frantic like this. you blink, richie muttering, "y/n?" gently.

you shake your head, snapping to look at him, "y-yeah? sorry, i just- what did you say?" you're embarrassed. you're embarrassed because richie didn't even mean it like that and you didn't expect to like being called that by him and you're embarrassed because he knows now, god look at his smirk, you're done for.

"i asked why your trip was shit." he says simply, smirk on his face causing your face to heat up even more. you sigh, eyeing him, "i tried to enjoy myself and then i have the worst hookup experience of my life. then i came back to a messy apartment." you admit, shaking your head as richie pours you both another glass of wine, "the worst? that's a shame. what'd he do, throw up on you?"

you laugh, "no, nothing like that. he was a minute man, and he refused to..." you shake your head, wondering why you're admitting this to a guy you barely know. you've never hung out one-on-one before with him. "-he made me do all the work. and then he fell asleep. the worst part is, i've liked him since high school." you admit, dropping your face into your hands as richie lets out a chuckle.

richie's shaking his head, "see, those types are the ones who just shouldn't be allowed in the gene pool. lazy. missin' out on all the fun, especially with a gal like you." he says with a wink. you laugh, face feeling hot. "i'm no fun." you say bashfully.

richie raises his brows with a grin, his smile making you melt, heat pooling in between your legs from the way he runs his fingers across the rim of his glass. "i highly doubt that, doll."

his eyes dip down in a not-so-subtle way as he takes in your body, biting his lip and making you clear your throat with a heated face. "sorry you had to put up with a guy who couldn't fuck you the right way. and that your boss also fucked you. and that i ruined your night."

you shake your head, "i just had so much pent up stress from the last few days." he's eyeing you, and you wonder if he wants to fuck you as bad as you want to be fucked right now. would bill kill you? yeah, he would, but richie is so damn fine and you were left so high and dry last night that you’re just about ready to jump onto his lap.

as if reading your mind, richie hums, "bill's still in maine, yeah?" he asks casually, eyes fluttering to the timer on the oven that ready an hour.

you nod, "yeah, he's actually hanging out with the guy i hooked up with tonight." you say with a light huff. richie groans a laugh, "no fuckin' way. i promise, not all of bill's friends are bad at sex." richie says with a grin, and you laugh. "you sure about that?"

he hums, eyeing you but not responding.

“guess i’ll just have to find out.” you say boldly, butterflies fluttering in your chest when richie shoots you a deep look, slicking his lips through a smile. he hums, "so i don't get it, what was so bad about it?"

you sigh, "he wouldn't go down on me. said he was 'too tired' and ‘too much work’ then he wanted to lay down so i rode him for, like, five minutes and then he fell asleep."

richie's laughing, and you swat his arm as your face burns, "it's not funny! it's humiliating, richie."

he snorts, standing up to place your empty glasses in the sink, recycling the empty bottle. "sorry, doll. that's just shit. he should've at least had the decency to make you cum."

you almost choke on your spit at his bluntness, face blossoming and thighs tingling. "y-yeah."

"anyways, i can get going, if you'd like. guess i’m done being the house sitter. the lasagna will be done in an hour or so." he says with a nod, eyes staring at yours fiercely. you hum, standing up as richie walks closer. "or you could stay." you say, looking up at him from where he stands in front of you.

"you lonely or somethin', doll?" he rumbles lowly, lifting a brow. biting your lip, you swallow, "something like that." you say, lifting a challenging brow.

“so if it was stan here, or mike...” he starts, walking towards you until he’s close enough that you’re afraid he can hear your heart thump, “you’d want them to stay?”

you swallow dryly, “if bill lived with someone else, would you want to stay?” his smirk makes you clench your thighs. his long fingers raise and curl around your jaw, tilting your head back before tucking hair behind your ear. you swallow roughly, his hands are so big. his rings that he wears are thick and ice cold and feel so good against your warm face.

your heart pounds as he smirks, eyes challenging you. the waiting is killing you.

"you've got a pretty mouth." he whispers, sending shocks all around your body. "y-you've got a pretty everything." you stutter out, feeling extremely flustered and suddenly shy. "thanks, honey." he says with a laugh, making you feel even more bashful.

"y'know..." he drawls, hand settled on your neck, caressing your jaw, "i've wanted you since i first saw you."

you can't help the whimper as it falls from your lips. it's a small, shy noise of need and it makes richie beam a beautiful, sexy grin that has your knees weak. "please..." you whimper, eyes staring at his, the suspense making you anxious with need.

"please what?" he asks quietly, clearly loving the tense air. you almost roll your eyes, "kiss me." you say, rushed.

he pulls away slightly, giving you a stern look. “please.” he says, smirk creeping onto his face. you burn in slight humiliation because he knows what he’s doing.

“please kiss me, richie.” you finally say, swallowing.

"good girl." he says with a smirk and you feel like you're burning up under his gaze. but then he’s leaning in and his lips are on yours and wow, richie is a good kisser. he’s pulling you towards him tightly, hungrily; his teeth bite gently at your lower lip as his tongue swipes your own, pulling you into him. he was needy in the way he kissed you, a dominance in him that you're not surprised to find. you craved it, you craved him; and then he's pushing you back, up onto the stool as he moves between your legs.

his mouth is then marking your neck, claiming you, and you love it, the feeling of his teeth against your warm skin, the sweetness of his smile against you.

his hands brush up your thighs and past the hem of your shorts, legs spread so he’s pressed flush against you, his bulge so close to where you want him. "richie," you let out a mangled whimper, hair knotting in his soft curls. he laughs, lips finding your ear, "always wondered how you'd sound when i had you like this," he says quietly, "can't wait to hear what pretty noises you make when i'm inside you."

his fingers find the damp seat of your panties, dancing across it and making your legs shake with anticipation and neediness. you’re already a soaked, mewling mess as you grasp for him, hungry and needy and you want him closer, closer.

he pulls you off the stool, then, and you both stare at each other for a moment. he almost dies at the state of you; already fucked-out, hair mussed up and still wet, your eyes lidded and your lips kiss-swollen.

you can’t believe your eyes, richie’s curly hair fluffy from being freshly washed, the taste of wine on his lips, the freckles, the collarbone peeking from his collar, the smirk that could melt black ice. he looks like he could tear you apart. you hope he will.

“you’re hot.” you blurt.

he rushes at you again, melding your lips together with a searing hot kiss as he shoves you backwards towards the bedrooms.

"bill told me to stay away from you," richie says as he walks you down the hall, your feet nearly stumbling and shaky as you walk backwards, lips seeking his every moment, "he said i'd ruin you." he adds.

you lift a brow, too flustered to say anything as you stare up at richie, inhaling sharply as his hand trails down to cup your ass lightly, still walking backwards. "he knows how pretty i think you are. how hot, how... perfect." he whispers into the skin of your neck, raising goosebumps. "but i want to fuck you so well you forget your name. i don't care about what bill wants."

you look at him, desperate and needy. "i don't give a fuck what bill says. i want you, please." you say, pawing richie and kissing him needily. richie’s leaving dark love bites on the column of your neck and you know it's wrong, and you shouldn't, but you let him kick open the door into bill's room, guiding you to bill’s bed instead of yours. “please, wan’ you so bad,” you pant, the needy throbbing getting unbearable, desperate for some release.

“how bad, pretty girl?” he asks, smoothing down your hair. biting your lip, you sit on the bed, eyes level with the zipper of his pants. the sight of you staring up at him from below his hard, clothed cock makes his pants feel even tighter and he hums, "you sure?"

you nod enthusiastically, "wanna make you feel good, please." he lets out a soft noise as your hands go to pull down his fly, “filthy girl." he says lowly, making heat drip from your core. you shift, trying to relieve some pressure. you feel hot when you realize you want him to degrade you, that you love it. “god, say that again.” you moan, mouthing around his bulge. his hands come to caress your face, watching you,

"you like being my little whore, huh? so good just for me. bet you’ve thought of my cock in your mouth before, haven’t you?"

you nod, biting your lip. he grins and you’re moving to pull him out of his pants, trying to conceal your shocked face as you take in his size. your cheeks heat up, hand grazing his length and meeting his own hand as he pumps himself a few times, lining his tip up to your lips.

“open.” he says simply and you comply willingly, laying your tongue out. he’s teasing his cock on your tongue and you’re whining, desperate to feel him in your mouth, to make him feel good.

“just wait until i say so, baby.” he says, slapping your tongue lightly with his cock and making you shift on your legs, dripping wet.

he groans, one hand coming to hold your head softly, making you tingle. you watch as he stares at you, lips parted and eyes blown wide. his cock is glistening with precum as it lays on your tongue. “suck my cock pretty girl.” he mutters, caressing your cheek. so you close your lips, slowly sucking on his tip before taking a bit more, moving your head slowly.

you lick a stripe up the base of his cock and up to his tip, swirling your tongue. he groans in relief and pleasure as you take as much of him into your mouth as possible slowly, bobbing your head and taking as much in as you can. he’s bigger than anyone you’ve been with before, and the need to feel him inside you and to make him fall apart has you taking him as deep as you can.

you take him deeper, your eyes clouding with tears as you try not to gag and he hums, hands pulling your hair from your eyes - you can tell he’s straining not to buck his hips as you bob up and down on him.

“god, you feel so good, y/n.” he groans. you pull back, sucking on his tip as you swirl your tongue, catching your breath. his hands fall to your head and he gently, slowly thrusts his hips slightly. you gag, mouth wet as he pulls out of your mouth and wipes the trails of spit from your lips. “do it again, please.” you gasp, and he grins. “such a slut.”

he guides your face back to him, “tap me three times if it’s too much.” you take him in again, holding as long as you can and loving the way he’s thrusting into your mouth. he groans, both hands on your head, his chest rising and falling shakily.

"god, that’s so perfect. my good little toy.” he rumbles and your chest flutters. you feel him twitch and you sense he may be close, so you start to bob your head again.

he stops you, "no, pretty girl. i'm going to cum inside of you, okay?" you swallow, mouth dry, "okay." please.

he sinks to his knees, gently pushing you so you're laying down on the bed again, pulling your legs so they hang off the side of the mattress. he's pulling your shorts off, your underwear following as he spreads your legs wider, kissing your thighs. “look at that pretty pussy. soaked, all for me.”

you're breathing shakily as one finger rises to gently rub your slit, making you moan softly. his touch is feathery-light, teasing you and making you whine, moving your hips. "shhh." he says softly, bringing his tongue to lick up your slit. you moan out, relieved to have some sort of satisfaction. richie's hand moves up to push up your top, thumbing your nipples as he starts to suck your clit. he pins your hips down, "be a good slut and stay still for me." he says, burying his face as your toes start to curl in pleasure, the burning sensation of pleasure increasing.

he rubs circles into your hips with one hand as he slides two fingers into your heat, making you whimper, his fingers start to pick up pace as he continues to circle your clit with his tongue. his long fingers curl up inside of you, still pushing into you fast and rough, hitting your g-spot. you moan, “richie, harder, please.”

he hums, lifting his head as you gasp for breath, "since you asked so nicely, doin' everything i say." his fingers are moving again, faster than before. his tongue runs over your clit, practically moaning into your heat, fingers moving faster. you moan unabashedly, feeling yourself clench and knowing you're about to cum. your legs wrap around his shoulders as your hips move slightly,

“cum on my tongue like a good little slut, okay baby?” he says gently. you moan, eyes shutting as you see stars. you're hitting your high and then richie's watching you, praising you as you fall apart, letting out soft whimpers.

then you're sitting up as he rises from his knees, licking his lips. pulling him into a searing kiss, he crawls on top of you, rutting into you a few times before pulling back.

he's pulling himself out of his pants and you swallow around your words, resisting the shocked face that threatens to creep on to you when you see how big he is. you moan as you watch him pump himself, pulling off his shirt as you pull off your own.

he grins as he looks at you, "so good for me, my little slut. you want me to fuck you now?" he asks and you eagerly pull yourself up to your elbows, "yes, please, rich, fuck me."

he hums, pushing his cock against your slit, the tip rubbing your sensitive clit and making you moan sharply. he continues to tease you, one hand on his cock and the other holding your waist. "use me, please." you whisper in his ear, hand holding him to you from the back of his neck.

he lets out a sharp breath, hand snaking to your neck and pushing you back onto the mattress. "you want me to use you?" he asks, thrusting against you slowly, teasing your slit. "like my little plaything?"

"yes, god, richie, please-" but then he's sliding into you all at once, his large cock stretching you as he moves his hips, sheathing into you. you feel so full that all you can do is gasp, richie kissing your forehead as his hand rests on your throat. "gonna fuck you on bill's bed, okay? and you're gonna be good for me, right? my good little cockslut."

you nod yes, "so good for you." you say, and he smiles. he starts to pull out, easing back in and starting a shallow rhythm, getting you used to his size. you're euphoric as he starts to languidly pump into you, one hand on your neck and the other on your chest, palming your tit.

he starts thrusting into you, picking up speed - rough and fast. his hips buck up against you, pulling back fully before filling you up. his thumb gently grazes your sensitive clit and you grip his bare back, raking your nails down in pleasure. "do you walk around thinking of how it'd feel to get fucked by me, baby?" he whispers in your ear as he pounds you into the mattress. you moan, "yes, r-rich, i've wanted you for s-so long," you trail off into a moan. "feels so good." you mutter, panting, words babbling from your mouth incoherently.

you barely have a warning before you cum a second time, clenching so hard that richie's hips sstutter, his moan ringing with your own. he looks down at you, thumb trailing into your open mouth, you eagerly sucking on it like a lollipop. "god, you're so tight, doll. such a good little whore for me. i bet you'd let me do anything to you, anywhere."

your legs are shaking as he keeps thrusting you through your orgasm, feeling sensitive and euphoric. he smirks, "yeah? bet you'd let me fuck you anywhere, just my little fuck toy. so perfect for me."

you nod, kissing him needily, tears from oversensitivity pricking your eyes. "want you filling me up richie, feels so good."

"anywhere?" he asks, eyebrows knit in pleasure as he fucks into you. he's so possesive, it makes your face warm. you nod, "anywhere."

he's smirking, and you know he's thinking about how shocked bill would be if he found out. it makes it that much hotter as you turn and see the picture of bill and richie on the wall near the door.

then richie pulls out of you and you're being flipped onto your knees, richie's large hand pushing your face towards the soft sheets. you can't help the moans that escape you as he spits onto your dripping cunt, fingers playing with your used pussy as you moan, sensitive and still desperate. "pretty baby, all fucked out. can you take one more?" he asks, hands roaming your ass. you nod, yelping gently when a hand smacks down on your ass.

"can you take one more?" he asks. "yes!" you moan into the mattress with need. he mutters, "good girl." as he pushes into you, the new angle making you moan loudly. with every thrust, he pushes you down on the mattress, making you grip against the edge of it with pleasure. one of his hands drops down to rub your clit, and you buck needily against his touch. after only a few minutes, the combination of the snap of his hips, the few slaps on your ass, and his hands on your clit push you over the edge, clenching around his cock as you whimper. your legs barely stay up after you cum, and his arm wraps around you to hold you as he pounds into you, chasing his own high.

"yes, my pretty girl, so good." he praises again, hips speeding up. you think he's close because his breathing is faster, hands gripping your hips hard as he kisses down your spine, "take it." he whispers onto your back as he finally cums, pulling out and finishing on your ass and lower back, moaning lightly.

you can't believe what just happened as richie disappears, returning at the speed of light with a damp washcloth to clean you off. you blush at how sweet the gesture is before he falls next to you on the bed, sighing. "i'll be honest, i didn't expect that."

you laugh, "neither did i. i thought i was coming home to an empty apartment and some microwave ramen."

he's staring at you, a smirk on his face, “i'd apologize again but holy fuck, you look so pretty when you cum.” you don't know what to say, feeling hot as you roll your eyes with a grin. he laughs and kisses you, “you’re cute, you know.”

"says you." you mutter against his lips. you thank god bill won't be back soon as you watch his best friend rise, naked, from beside you and grab a spare hoodie and gym shorts from bill's closet, throwing them on before handing you his own shirt to wear.

"so, lasagna?" he asks, glasses askew slightly. you laugh as you stand on shaky legs, "it's the least you could do." you joke.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @chl0bee @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie @decafcoffeew @etaerealboy

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #losers club smut #losers x reader

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kinsey3furry300 · 3 years

Text

So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?

So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.

Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings. So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid. I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.

So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.

Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71 drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:

Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,

Served 90 days of active military duty; and,

Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,

Had countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,

Is age 65 years or older; or

Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.

As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit. So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.

After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.

He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner

Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.

Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military. At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.

Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.

Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.

Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.

Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.

Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.

Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.

T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!

Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard. However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.

Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.

Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.

So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?

Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent, but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.

Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest 15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.

So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.

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navalcriminalimagines · 3 years

Text

Every part of you

Request: Something just fluffy and domestic would be so nice...missing that old man. Maybe something like baking with him? Fluffy smut or just fluff, I would be really happy to see you write either. 💕

Warnings: Smut, blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex, kitchen sex

Words count: 2,4k

Joel Miller x Reader. Insecure Joel. No virus, no apocalypse. Divorced!Joel.

* * * * *

After his divorce with Sarah’s mother, Joel entered years of celibacy, except for the occasional hookups. He didn’t want to go down that road again, his marriage wasn’t the best one but he loved his wife and expected it to last forever, like they promised each other.

But things changed when he met you over a year ago.

It was one of those nights where his brother Tommy dragged him to a bar. You were there with some friends and the first thing he noticed about you was your smoking hot body. And before he knew it, Tommy brought you to their table to have a drink with them.

It was supposed to be one of those hookups. No strings attached. In the morning, he would’ve left and you probably wouldn’t have never met again.

But he broke rule number one on the first night anyway: never take someone home. He always found a way to go to his partner's place, or at least, found a place to do it, but never at his place. His home.

Until you.

Once you were done, he realized how young and innocent you looked. He could see the struggle on your face, as to whether you should leave or stay. He felt bad about himself and told you to stay. You warmly smiled and faxed yourself under the covers, your warm form curled up against him.

In the morning, he woke up to the smell of coffee and French toast. As you had breakfast together, you told him a bit about yourself and Joel found himself to be interested.

You left your phone number and two weekends later - he spends every two weekends with his daughter - Joel invited you for a drink. Which turned into a few ones. Which turned into taking you home again.

That was over a year ago. Now, you’re moving in with him.

He didn’t expect for it to happen. It’s just that when you mentioned wanting to move out from your crappy apartment, he simply told you to come live with him and Sarah. His teenage daughter is very fond of you, and Joel is deeply in love with you. There’s no reason this could go wrong, is there?

But somehow, it caused your first fight.

It was hard to fit two homes into one, and Joel wasn’t compromising at all. He didn’t want to get rid of anything.

“You have to meet halfway, Jo.” You told him, clearly annoyed.

“I am. I just don’t want to get rid of my couch. What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, for starters, mine is fairly new, bigger and way more comfortable. But it’s not just about the couch. It feels like you don’t want me to move in after all,” you said with such sadness in your voice, Joel felt horrible.

“I asked, didn't I?” He answered, defensively.

“Probably because you felt bad about my struggle to find a new place. Just like you felt bad after our first night together.”

“…What?”

“I’m not stupid, Joel. I know you didn’t want me to stay at first.”

“But you did.”

“Well, yeah. Because it was my first time hooking up with someone I just met. And—“ you took a deep breath. “I really don’t want to compliment you right now, but the sex was—mind blowing.”

You obviously were still pretty mad but Joel couldn’t help but smirk in his beard. Sex with you is indeed pretty mind blowing. There’s love, trust, passion, and you’re open-minded concerning his kinks. He never witnessed that before. Actually, he discovered new kinks with you, pretty much like if you were his very own kink.

“Take that smirk off your face. That’s unfair.” You breathed out.

Joel closed the distance between your bodies, and gently kissed your forehead. “Letting you stay that night was the best decision I’ve made in a very long time,” he kissed your nose. “I’ll get rid of the couch.” Then he kissed your lips and moved to your neck. “Let’s ruin it before.”

You chuckled and you did ruin his old couch.

A few weeks later, you were all moved in. Joel was exhausted, he fell asleep on your - extremely - comfortable couch. You covered him with a blanket and took care of the last details before cooking dinner.

Your parents had been owners of a restaurant for the past thirty years, your father being the chef and your mother doing pretty much the rest. You spent most of your time in the establishment as a child, and your father happily shared his know-how with you.

In the past year, Joel had barely spent time in the kitchen, as it became your space. Not that he minded.

He does mind the weight he’d been gaining though.

He woke up to the smell of one of your dishes, two hours after falling asleep. He could hear you doing your thing in the kitchen. He smiled, stretched himself and when his mind seemed awake enough, he joined you.

You felt his strong arms wrapping your middle, and took advantage of your messy bun to plant wet and sloppy kisses in your exposed neck. You felt shivers all the way through your body. “Hi handsome. Sleep well on the couch?”

“Bite me.” He growled against your skin and you chuckled.

“Did that last night.” You said, referring to the bite mark you left right on top of his shoulder. He had made you cum so hard, you didn’t control yourself.

“I love when you mark me.” He whispered in your ear, nipping your ear lobe.

“Good, I’m taking you for a scarification tomorrow. My name, right above your penis.”

“Hmm,” Joel was still planting kisses anywhere he could and you could feel his growing erection against your ass. It was getting really difficult to focus on the marinade in front of you. “I can meet you halfway and agree to get a tattoo.” You laughed but somehow imagined it. It would ruin any relationship for him if you two ever break up. “Only if you do the same, obviously.” He added.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

He hummed in answer and you felt his hand playing with the waistband of your sweatpants. But you slapped his hand away before he could slide it in. “Put your hands to other use for now. Cut the onions for me,” you playfully rubbed your ass against his crotch but only to push him away.

Joel let go of you and looked around to find the onions. “Wow. I like punishment but only if I know what I did wrong.”

You laughed before throwing two onions at him, which he almost missed. As he began to peel them off, you gently grabbed the knife from his hands and squeezed a lemon on the blade. Joel looked at you, lovingly. “There. You won’t cry.” You said, handing him the knife.

“Huh, we’ve been dating for a year and you’re only telling this trick, now? I thought you loved me.” He used his best complaining voice, and he felt your hand slamming against his ass.

“What will we talk about in ten years if I tell you everything now?” You casually asked and it caught Joel off guard. He stayed silent while cutting the onions in small squares and you didn’t push it. You focused on your marinade and checked on the steamed vegetables.

“Are you picturing us still together in ten years?” He finally asked once he was done. He gave you the bowl with the onions in it.

“Well—yeah. Don’t you?” You took the bowl from his hand, preparing the pan in order to cook them.

Joel sighed. It had been a struggle since you two started to date. Your relationship had been so perfect, you had been an amazing partner, it almost feels surreal to me. “I guess my marriage broke a part of me.” He paused, staring at you cooking. “It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

As you ditched the onions in a hot pan, a soft smile appeared across your face. “That will happen when your alien friends will come to pick you up, in order to bring you back to your home planet.”

Joel couldn’t help but laugh. He couldn’t believe you were real. He stared for a moment. You are so beautiful, young, funny and smart, with the biggest heart. How did he got so lucky?

He jumped on the part of the kitchen plan you weren’t using. “Or when I got so fat from your cooking, you’re not attracted to me anymore.” He finally said and you stopped everything you were doing.

“…what?”

“I gained a few pounds lately.” He confessed, avoiding your eyes this time.

“Yeah so?”

“Oh so you’re agreeing? Not even something like ‘honey that’s crazy, you haven’t changed a bit.’?”

"I'm sorry. Let me do this again.” You took a step back and got into character. “Joel! Are you crazy? You didn’t gain any pounds. Are those masculine magazines making you feel bad, again?”

“Wow. Don’t quit your day job to become an actress.”

You playfully punched his shoulder and he let out an “ouch!”. “But seriously love,” it was your loving and smoothing tone again. “Do you really feel bad about this?”

“Kinda. I’m already older than you, I can’t have that too.”

“Baby,” you settled between his legs and tiptoed to kiss him softly. “You’re perfect to me. I don’t care about your age, your weight, your height, the size of your—okay that, I do care but still.”

Never a woman made him laugh like you manage to. No matter the subject, the time of the day, his mood or your mood, you’re always able to bring a smile to his face. He’s so in love with you. “Do you get my point or do I have to take you upstairs to show it to you?” You stroked his beard and Joel leaned into your touch, humming in content.

“I won’t mind the show. But I’d rather have you showing me—here.”

“I better stop cooking and focus on my other hobby then.” You turned off everything and invited him to get down. “My favorite actually.” You whispered, before kissing him gently.

“Please do.” He pleaded, sticking out his tongue in order to meet yours.

As you kissed, you brought him against the wall of the kitchen. He moaned at your sudden dominance, and you felt his semi hard cock against your belly. Joel tried to travel under your tank top with his hands but you prevented him access. You quickly worked taking his tee-shirt off, throwing it on the floor. Your lips immediately crashed against his hairy chest, while your hands were softly caressing it. “I love you, Joel.” you whispered against his skin. “I love every part of you that you don’t.”

It was overwhelming. Never in his life has Joel felt this loved, this attractive. It was such a mix of feelings, he could have cried on the spot as well as fucked you senseless. But he only stood there, panting hard as you were taking his sweatpants and briefs off. He stepped out and you threw it away, next to his shirt. He was dying to undress you, to feel your smooth skin against his, but he knew better.

You kneeled in front of you, taking his hard member in your hand. You looked up to him with your big and loving E/C eyes. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamt of,” you said. “Call me crazy but I’d follow you to your damn home planet.” you confess, referring to what you said a moment ago.

Joel intensely stared at your mouth when you gave him a first lick. This view was so damn perfect.

You teasingly played with your tongue against his cock before taking him in your mouth. Joel moaned, deeply and you sucked him for a moment, not taking all of his length yet. Your jaw needed to relax first. No matter the amount of time you’ve seen his cock, you’re always amazed about how thick and long he is.

Joel’s hand grabbed your hair bun into his fists, guiding you. When you were ready, you took all of him inside your mouth, your nose buried in his pubic hair. “Fuck, baby!” he growled as his cock hit the back of your throat. “God I love your mouth so much.”

You kept going for a moment until you felt his urge growing. Joel was basically facefucking you, thrusting his cock deep inside your mouth. But you weren’t done with him yet, so when only a trail of saliva was connecting you to his length, you took advantage and got back on your feet.

You passionately kissed him, allowing him to taste himself. “Sit on the chair.” You ordered him and Joel obeyed.

You striped in front of him as he was lazily stroking his painfully hard cock. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Y/N.” he said before you straddle his lap.

“So are you, Joel.” He almost didn’t catch that - maybe because a part of him didn’t want to - as you guided his cock into your wet cunt. He was stretching you open, it almost hurt but you kept going until he was fully inside you.

“So fucking tight.” he growled against your neck.

You settled for a slow pace at first. Joel’s face was buried in your chest, assaulting your rounded breasts. One of his hands was in the small of your back, following your hips movements. “You feel so good inside me.” you moaned, your hands buried in his hair. He was so deep inside you, you two almost could hear every time he reached your end. “I’ll never be able to be with anyone else but you.”

His urge was coming back and yours was building up. You quickened the pace, and Joel furiously rubbed your clit with his hand. “Yes Joel, right there!” he looked up at you and crashed his lips on yours. You could feel his fingers digging on your hip, while yours did the same on his scalp.

“I’m gonna cum.” he warned you, thrusting as fast as he could.

“Me, too. Don’t stop,”

“Never.”

It was a closed call but you came practically at the same time, both crying each other’s name.

You stayed in the same position as you and Joel came down from your high. You held him close against you, feeling his cock softening inside you. You were both panting. “Every part of me, huh?” he said.

“Every single one.”

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #the last of us part 2

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hockey-fics · 3 years

Text

Sick of It ~ Vince Dunn

Summary: You never thought Vince cared much about your flirtatious personality but it only takes one night for the truth to come to the surface.

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: alcohol consumption, arguments, language, and references to sex.

The music in the house is loud, but only a little louder than the laughter and talking that fills the space, bodies pressed onto every piece of furniture or leaning against walls and tables. It’s warm in the house, the distinct feeling of body heat radiating through the air. You were sitting not the couch, pushed against the bodies of a couple of your friends.

You feel fingers on your jaw, tipping your head back and to the side as you watch the small LED light on the end of Kyle’s STLTH light up. Your lips curl into a smile as your eyes meet his. “What?” You giggle, leaning into him.

Without replying Kyle leans in, lips hovering just over yours, exhaling a cloud of fruity vapour into your mouth. You inhale in response, giggling a minute later as you tilt your body towards him. “Just let me hit it then,” you mutter, reaching over and snatching the vape from his hand, bringing it to your lips and inhaling deeply.

“I didn’t say you could,” he remarks, eyes focused on your lips as you exhale, taking the vape back from you. “I’m not here to support your nic addiction.”

Rolling your eyes you lean closer, till your lips are hovering over his. “Yet you expect me to support your sex addiction,” you whisper. Kyle leans forward to kiss you, his lips only brushing against yours before you pull back, a teasing smirk on your lips as you grab his vape from him and hop off the couch. The mixture of alcohol and nicotine making you teeter as Kyle reaches for you.

“Give it back,” Kyle calls as you head towards the kitchen, replying only by raising your middle finger in his direction. As you get to the doorway of the kitchen you see Vince leaning against it, his shoulder pressed to the doorframe, a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. Vince. Three years you had known Vince. A part of a distant friend group that you didn’t see often but when you did the times were destined to be some of the best of your life. From weekend trips away to drunken nights out, the memories you all shared were the ones that last a lifetime.

“Hey,” you giggle, reaching up and draping one of your arms over his shoulders. “What are you staring at?”

“You,” Vince replies, eyes travelling down to the small grey device in your hand. “Thought you quit.”

Rolling your eyes you bring the vape to your lips, inhaling again. “Don’t tell me what to do…you’re not my dad,” you tell him, leaning up on your tip toes to bring your lips close to his ear. “Could be daddy though,” you whisper, pulling back with a smirk on your lips. Reaching forward you grasp at the beer bottle Vince was holding, pouting as he pulls it away from you.

“Think you’ve had enough.”

Shaking your head you step away from Vince, heading to the kitchen to find your own drink. “Hey,” you greet Matt who was leaning against the island in the kitchen, another one of your friends who you will admit to flirting with maybe a little more than you should have. “Where did you put my drinks?”

“Fridge,” he tells you, nodding towards it. Walking over to it you open the large metal door of the fridge, finding the vodka sodas you had brought and opening one, about to head back to the living room when you feel a hand around your wrist. “You’re really not going to hang out with me tonight?” Matt asks, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you to lean back against him.

“I took Kyle’s vape, I should give it back to him,” you tell Matt, leaning your head back against his chest as you stand pressed against him.

“I see how it is,” Matt jokes, not letting go of the grip he had around your waist.

“Hardly,” you laugh, leaning into Matt.

“I know you two are fucking, don’t even try to tell me you aren’t.”

Scoffing you turn your head to look up at him. “Is someone jealous?”

Matt shrugs, a smirk on his lips. “A little.”

“I already knew that though,” you giggle. “Too bad, you’re strictly a friend.”

“Oh really? So that time we made out?”

“Strictly platonic,” you laugh, one hand resting on the arm that was wrapped around your waist.

Matt slides his arm up, fingers trailing up your throat till they get to your jaw, pushing your head back. “What are you doing?” You giggle, not being left in suspense for much longer till you feel the cool glass of a bottle touch your lips, the burn of vodka down your throat a moment later. Tipping your head forward again you shake your head, wiping some of the liquid that had dripped onto your lips with your fingers. When you look back up you notice Vince glancing in your direction and you smile happily at him, oblivious to the reason he looked so angry.

You spent the rest of the night in the kitchen, sitting on the island countertop, talking with a group of your friends who had gravitated in there. You made occasional flirty remarks here and there, mostly directed at Matt or Kyle once he had come back to take his vape from you.

Glancing over you watch Vince walking towards the door later that night, his hand on the doorknob. “Hey,” you call, hurrying over to him. “You were just going to leave without saying goodbye to me?”

Vince shakes his head, stepping away from you. “Seemed like you were a little busy.”

“Busy?” You laugh, watching him pull the front door open, stepping outside. “Vince?”

“See you later,” he mutters, about to pull the door shut before you slip through after him.

“What’s your problem?” You ask, shutting the door behind you, arms over your chest as you stare up at him.

“I don’t have one,” he mutters, hands in his pockets as he walks down the first couple steps in front of the house.

Reaching over you grab Vince’s arm, watching him turn and look back at you as you follow him down the steps. “Clearly you do.”

“I’m sick of it,” Vince snaps, staring down at you with a newfound intensity.

Shaking your head you let your grasp fall from Vince, wide eyes looking up at him. “Sick of what?”

“Watching you…watching you flirt with everyone like that.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you tell him, voice quiet and uncertain. You weren’t even sure why you were trying to defend yourself. You had no reason to need to defend yourself. You were single, you could flirt with anyone you wanted. But for some reason you felt a nagging guilt that you had upset him.

“Does anything ever mean anything to you?” Vince yells, scoffing as he looks towards the quiet street.

“What are you talking about?” You croak, arms wrapped tight around your body.

“Nothing...forget it,” Vince mutters, turning around and walking towards the street.

Hurrying after him you grab his arm again, eyes pleading as you look up at him. “I can’t just forget it. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

Suddenly Vince has his hand on the back of your head, tipping it back as he leans down, kissing you fast and hard. You reach up, hand wrapping around his arm, clinging onto him as you kiss him back.

Finally you find the self-control to pull yourself away, breathing heavy and fast. “You have to tell me what you mean, Vince. You can’t just fucking kiss me out of nowhere and expect me to forget about it,” you snap.

“This is what I mean,” Vince tells you, sighing loudly as he steps back, running his hand through his hair. “You’re constantly fucking flirting with me, telling me you’ll what…call me daddy? And then five minutes later you’re in another room with a guy’s hand around your throat letting him pour shots into your mouth. I kiss you and you act like it doesn’t mean anything. Because it doesn’t mean anything to you, does it Y/N? You’ll let anyone stick their tongue down your throat because nothing fucking means anything to you.” His voice is rising with every word, angry and built up.

You take a shaky breath, composing yourself, letting it process for a moment. “Is that what you want?” You ask, your lips curling into a smile. “For me to call you daddy?”

“What the fuck?” Vince exclaims, stepping away from you as he shakes his head. “You really can’t do it, can you? You can’t be serious for a goddamn minute. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” You snap, feeling a hot rage running through your tipsy body. “Nothing is wrong with me. In fact, I’m just doing what I need to do to protect myself-.”

“What-.”

“Don’t cut me off, Vince. Don’t start asking questions like I’m crazy for saying that. I’ve seen the girls you leave bars with. I’ve seen your DMs. I see the girls throwing themselves at you. And I get it, I really do. Because look at you, you’re so fucking hot and charming and you don’t even have to try. So I’m sorry if I’m trying to stop myself from getting hurt by not getting invested in you, but I just know that the second I let that guard down I’ll get hurt and I just can’t handle that.”

“But it’s always you,” Vince mutters, stepping closer to you. “It’s always you that I’m thinking about. And yeah, I leave with other girls because you’ve made it pretty fucking clear that I’ll never be your goddamn priority…And for ten minutes it’s nice to not be constantly thinking about you, to not have to be so focused on the way it feels when you’re letting other guys touch you, flirt with you-.”

“Ten minutes? That’s all they get from you?”

Vince groans, looking up at the sky before shaking his head and stepping back, hands raised. “You know what, this was stupid. Forget about all of this, just go back inside and let Kyle blow his fucking vape into your mouth or whatever shit you want to do.” Vince turns around, walking quickly towards the sidewalk.

“Vince, wait,” you call, hurrying after him. “Please, stop,” you plead, following after him as he keeps walking. “At least take me home with you if that’s where you’re going,” you say, finally stopping as you wait to give him the chance

“Why?” Vince asks, finally turning around. He’s standing ten feet away from you but the tension between you two is palpable even at that distance. “So you can try to make this better by sleeping with me? Is that how you try to solve everything?”

“Fuck off, Vince. You don’t have to be such an asshole. I don’t know what you want from me but I can’t go back in time. I’m sorry I flirt with other people. I’m sorry I fucked Kyle at your party last weekend. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You what?” Vince asks, walking closer to you, his voice quieter now.

“I fucked Kyle in your spare room last weekend. He bent me over the dresser and wrapped his hand around my throat, made me watch him screw me in the mirror above it…too bad you didn’t have the courage to do it yourself.”

“Is that what you want?” Vince challenges, walking closer to you. “For me to rail you and then pretend it didn’t happen?”

“No,” you whisper, voice barely audible. You knew you couldn’t do that with Vince, not the same way you could with other people. He meant too much to you. Your feelings for him were too deep. “I mean yes,” you add, staring down at the ground. “Part of it.”

“Which part of it?” Vince asks, fingers under your chin as he makes you look up at him.

“I want you to rail me,” you whisper, pausing as you let out a nervous laugh. “Or, uh, sleep with me, I guess. I don’t know, Vince, it’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because I have feelings for you,” you snap, pulling away from him abruptly. “I don’t want to. I don't want to have feelings for you but you make it so hard not to. When you’re so nice to me, trying to stop me from vaping or drinking too much, looking out for me in ways other guys just laugh about or encourage.”

“Then stop,” Vince says, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer. “Stop flirting with them when they’re being assholes. You deserve so much better than that and I-.”

“No, you can’t,” you croak. “You can’t be whatever you’re about to say, whatever you’re about to offer. I can’t handle that.”

“Stop pushing me away, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise,” Vince says before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. It’s gentle and soft and you don’t pull away till you feel a drop of moisture running down your cheek. Quickly you bring your hands up, wiping away the tears from your face, desperately hoping Vince wouldn’t notice. But of course he does, cradling your head in his hands, leaning down and kissing your forehead gently before wrapping you in his arms. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Anything you want,” Vince whispers, reaching down and taking your hand in his, pulling out his phone to get an Uber for the two of you.

#vince dunn imagine #vince dunn fic #vince dunn #vince dunn fanfiction #vince dunn one shot #nhl one shot #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey blurb #hockey fanfic #Vince Dunn blurb

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unknownwriting · 3 years

Text

Summary- going on a date

Character(s)- Kaminari Denki, Kirishima Eijiro, Mina Ashido, Aizawa Shōta

Warnings- just so one comes for me, everyones aged up!!, besides that none :)

Notes- ahh look at me trying to expanding my fandoms

Kaminari Denki

Definitely an arcade date. A simple yet fun idea.

Of course when he invites you, it mostly as a joke. He’s not expecting you to actually answer. But when you did this man is like so excited. If he could he would’ve planned the date that day but of course he waits till the weekend.

It’s a casual date, nothing to fancy just the 2 of you enjoy the little things. It’s one of those dates that feel like a date yet at the same time doesn’t.

It’s like those dates y’all see in like those cheesy romance movies. It’s a very cute date 🥺💕

Of course y’all don’t spend the whole date at the arcade, it was just the first out of many spots. Y’all basically play till y’all can’t anymore then go out to eat.

Y’all end up chatting about anything and everything, whatever topic pops up yall talk about it. At one point you make him charge you phone, limited his ability to talk. But you end up talking the most anyways.

After y’all had eat and enjoyed a dessert or 2, the 2 of y’all go a goof off at some random park. Talking on the swings, climbing up the monkey bars, petting to local cats.

Over all the date was just a simple one but it was probably the best one Denki has ever had and will have.

Before the date, he knew you only as a classmate, not knowing the small things about you. After the date he learns and remembers all the little things about you.

Your favorite color, your dream pet, what you what to do as a side job, how you wanna help people. All the little things.

Denki felt so unbelievably happy when the date was over. He hasn’t be on many dates before more like none so going on a date with you, and it being an actual date made him so happy. Y’all are definitely gonna be going in more dates from now on

Kirishima Eijiro

Unlike Denki, dates with Kirishima take a bit more time to plan. Kirishima loves to go hiking, so why not go on a hiking date with him.

You honestly had never been on one so you have no idea what y’all would even do but you decided to go along with it. It something new for you to try and plus Kirishima seemed really happy when he was talking about it.

You clearly underestimate him and the date. By a lot. To start of with, y’all met up together just as the sun had reached over the horizon. It was to early.

2nd, he just had to pick the most ‘manliest’ trail. It was an gorgeous trail, don’t think it wasn’t. There were so many animals, birds, and beautiful flowers. But also bugs, and awkward wooden stairs and rocks, and a lot of walking. At that point you weren’t sure if this was a date or extra training.

However, you went along with it. Although it wasn’t your thing, it was nice change of pace and something else fun to try. The date wasn’t bad either, the two of y’all cracked jokes, chatted about the latest gossip at the school and about y’all’s works study, and just talking about random topics.

At one point y’all ended up holding hands and walking shoulder to shoulder, until however the 2 of y’all didn’t even know how or when y’all did it. The only time y’all noticed it was when Kirishima tried to head off into a bush to pee but next he knew you just continued to follow him. His flustered face was so unmanly.

After hours and hours of talking, sunset came and you noticed that y’all weren’t near the entrance of the trail. You brought your concern with him, but he simply smiled, grabbed you hand once again and asked, “Trust me. You’ll love it.”

There was no way you couldn’t trust that smile. So you continued to follow him until the sun began to dip under the horizon. And an hour before the light had disappeared completely, Kirishima brought you to a lovely field and a small picnic area

You were speechless, you were definitely not expecting that. It was so strange yet cute. So while you stood there, speechless, Kirishima began to unpack a bunch of snacks, of course ones that didn’t need to be referated. Once he set them all out, he looked back at you and smiled sheepishly, “Hehe, I hope you don’t mind a pinic date.”

and of course you loved it. The date lasted on for about 2 more hours before yall decided to head back. Although the walk back was scary and surprising a lot shorter bc he apparently knew a short cut, it was still fun. The date was very new and nice, it was very different from any date you went on before. So this just might become a regular thing for you.

Mina Ashido

a night out on the town all the way. Kinda like Kaminari but not at the same time...

Even though the date is technically at night. The 2 of y’all spend the day together anyways. Not going out and partying, but lazing around the house doing nothing. Mina liked to call it your girl time where y’all gossip, watch rom-coms, fantasize about the future, sending each other memes, simply stuff like that.

It wasn’t until around 5 when the date was finally starting. Y’all would get all dressed up, do each other’s make up, complement the hell out of each other, flirt, and try on like 5 different outfits before finally heading out.

The night started off relatively calm. The 2 of y’all would start the date off by going out to dinner at a somewhat fancy restaurant. Where y’all would continued to gossip and talk about random things.

After the dinner date the 2 of y’all would sneak off to an ice cream parlor and enjoy an ice or 2 together. Completely ruining y’all’s outfits. Besides the dinner date and the ice cream, everything after that wasn’t planned at all. It was all up to Mina where y’all would go.

To the club! Is the first place Mina’s gonna drag you too. It was popular club too where citizens, heroes and even villains would attend. The only rule that’s enforced at the clubs is: no sharing your real identity with a stranger. Besides that it’s a free for all.

Dancing, drinking, partying. They do it all, and y’all definitely do it all. Of course still having a sense of responsibility, y’all don’t drink too much but y’all definitely make that up on the dance floor.

While dancing you even ran into a few friends and decided to join their little party. Y’all did everything: drinking games, dance, encourage fights, ate till y’all couldn’t stand, threw it all up in the bathroom then did it again. You were pretty sure you saw some people from the league of villains but who cares. You were on a date not a night patrol.

Of course y’all aren’t super human well technically you are butttt so eventually even y’all had to call it quiets. It was around 3 am tho. It was a good thing that y’all didn’t have work in the morning. So the 2 of y’all said you goodbyes and slowly stumbled y’all’s way back to your apartment. Both of y’all took turned carrying each

As soon as y’all go home y’all had enough energy go pull off your outfits before crashing on the bed make up and all. The next morning, or next afternoon Mina was the first to wake up so she was quick to get dress and clean up before she began to make breakfast for you and a hot drink. When you woke up Mina was quick to check up on you and make sure you were feeling ok.

Once again y’all spent the day doing nothing and relaxing with each. And after a night like that, y’all couldn’t ask for more.

Aizawa Shōta

This man is like so romantic...when he wants to be lol. It really all just depends on his mood. Normally a date with him would be a very simple and easy going one.

Because he is a teacher, there’s a lot of time where’s he stuck grading papers and when that happens, He loves to cuddle up with you under a blanket and while you watch a movie or read or play on your phone he’ll grade the papers. Taking many breaks of course.

Most of the time his breaks will consist of him complaining about how one of his students didn’t get a question right or didn’t even answer it or just put something crazy. Most of the time he’s not to talkative but when it comes to school, especially his students, he won’t shut up. So you let him rant, you enjoy hearing this stories too anyways. His students are amazing.

Occasionally if it’s a simple worksheet with an answer sheet he made before hand, He’ll make you grade the papers while he sleeps or does something else. You love when this happens cause then your can give them a few extra points just bc.

Of course the date is not grading papers with him. The date comes after. Once all the papers are graded, the 2 of y’all would put in some relatively decent clothes and head out to the nearest coffee shop. A chance to get y’all out of the house and a nice breath of fresh air. Normally it’s your idea to go on the date but Aizawa always loves it.

Once y’all reach the cafe that’s when Aizawa would normally take over the date. He’ll either find something else he wants to do like see a movie or take a walk in the part the. Something he’ll just want to go back to the appointment and just sleep and relax.

It really doesn’t matter what y’all do. Aizawa’s the type of person to just savor the time spent with you. As long as he’s with you he doesn’t mind what y’all do. With thag in mind, he would prefer to just lay around the house and cuddle but he’s also open to your date ideas.

Like I said before Aizawa can be one hell of a charmer when it comes down to it. So when y’all go on actually dates. He knows exactly how to dress, act, and what do it. It’s almost like a completely different person but his lazy reaction remind you he’s still the same man you fell in love with.

Even the romantic dates are simple, going out to eat at a fancy restaurant and going out for a walk hand in hand. If y’all do something too exciting, he thinks it will take away from your beauty and distract him so that he’a not focused on you. So he keeps the dates simple so that he won’t have any distractions from you.

To others y’all’s dates might be too simple and boring, but y’all love them. The dates aren’t about seeing how much y’all could do together, it about spending time with each. So if all y’all do it go off to some cafe that’s around the block and talk, y’all are completely happy and satisfied.

#my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #aizawa x reader #mina x reader #kirishima x reader #kaminari x reader #kaminari denki #kirishima eijiro #mina ashido #aizawa shouta #unknownwriting💕#mha x reader #bnha x reader

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sweettodo · 3 years

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I need longer than 7 minutes ⟿ Eren Jaeger x femreader [pt . 1]

Includes : swearing, making out, alcohol, lime, consumption, insinuation of marijuana [small reference].

Word count : 3,1k

••

This’ll be a few parts, this is my lil re-creation. I tried to make it original, but I give creds to the person who originally wrote 7 minutes, she surly will be with us forever; I’ll never forget that story :D

••

You run home from your last lecture in the English building; bag swinging and hitting your back while you sprinted across campus.

You didn’t expect to be held back twenty minutes after class; all because you got a B- on group work, your incompetent ‘buddies’ who had to help- didn’t. You did it all, in a week. Thankfully your professor had kept it somewhat short with you; letting you know you weren’t going to have to redo it.

That was besides the point though; you needed to get to the fraternity house, now. You had promised Jean and Connie you would help clean the house before people arrived. As you near the house, you pant, throat dry and your chest burns from running, your leggings made you sweat like a madman.

Running up the porch and fumbling with the doorknob, you swing open the door and see Connie, frantically grabbing cups from shelves and coffee tables, throwing them in a giant black bag and he begins shouting when you’re tossing your bag on the couch and tying your hair up, “What the fuck y/n!�� He whines, “you know I don’t clean for shit!” He hollers, you snag the bag from him and he smiles childishly and plops onto the couch. Little shit. You pick up where he left off, dragging garbage by the arm into the bag.

“Maybe if you knew how to clean-” you start, Jean comes down the stairs, only in a towel, you roll your eyes, looking back at Connie, “maybe if you two got off your dead asses, you wouldn’t need me to clean for you.” You growl, steam practically flying from your ears, looking back at Jean, with that silly smile on his stupid face.

“You live here too.” Jean teasingly cackles, you huff and charge towards him, shoving a finger in his face. He looks down at you with a smug smile on his face.

“Used to- it’s not my fault I had no idea college relationships don’t work out.” He sticks his tongue out at you and ruffles your hair, stepping back and strutting away in his low hung towel.

‘I don’t get paid enough for this.’ You mumbled under your breath.

He turns a head before walking towards the staircase, “pshh, you used to be over here every day with Connie! doing whatever toxic couples do. And look at you, still here for him.” He teases, Connie laughs, throwing his head back and standing up, walking towards the kitchen.

“That’s because she still loves me.” He sneers, you drop the bag on the floor and head towards your bag, swinging it over your shoulder. The boys start towards you, begging for you to stay, “I didn’t mean it! Please help.” Connie begs, you comply and place your bag down once more.

“Yeah let me get dressed and I’ll help! Don’t leave us! Please.” Jean implores, quickly running up the stairs, followed by hearing a door shut. You continue cleaning up the downstairs rooms, cleaning what needed to be disenfected so on so forth. Jean did in fact help you, while Connie prepared the bar, and drank half of it while he was at it.

Finally stepping in front of the door, taking a gander at the clean and organized house, surfaces cleaned and dusted, the garbage needed to be emptied a total of twelve times by the time you were done.

You though- you were proud at the work you’ve done, disappointed at the fact you knew it would only stay like this for not even two hours, knowing this house would be full of kids like every weekend, “let me go back and get ready, I’ll be back in a little.” Before they get a chance to say anything, your ass is out the door and walking down the sidewalk to the neighboring dorms, the sun slowly disappearing, the skin turning a milky pastel pink and orange. Students walked, groups of people skateboarding, while most conversed amongst each other. You scurried into the dormitories where you resided and headed for the elevator, pressing it a few times before quickly opening, you step in and slam your two fingers on the floor of your room.

Finally reaching your floor, your feet quickly move down the hall, unlocking your door and slipping in, Historia sits in her desk chair, doing work, “hey Historia, wanna tag along?” You’re throwing your shirt off your head followed by your leggings, you two had changed in front of each other so many times, neither payed any mind.

“No, I’m behind on an essay, I’ll come next weekend I promise.” She pleads, you smile and wave your hand in the air dismissively while standing there half naked.

“Please! You know it doesn’t hurt my feelings, I just don’t want you crammed in here all the time by yourself, it’s unhealthy.” Hands deep in your drawers, you’re looking for a dress, she lets out a sigh of relief and drops her pen on her textbook, standing and walking towards me, opening another drawer.

“I know what dress you gotta wear!” She sings, you follow her hands, fingers strolling down the neatly folded clothes within her clothes drawer. She rips out a black bodycon dress which wasn’t longer than mid knee, with a nice dip in the v-line.

Graciously taking it from her hands, a small gasp and smile planted on your mouth as you slip it over your feet and thighs, shimmying your arms into the strings. Historia had quite a delectable taste of fashion, she had worn and worked every style she’s come across, “you look hot.” She places a love tap on your ass and you stick your tongue out, taking a good look at yourself in the mirror, turning around to look at your body.

Releasing your hair from the hair tie, you shake your hair out and brush it. Being cautious you’d run late again, Historia is picking out a perfume and matching lotion, spritzing you and you take the lotion out of her hands, squeezing the sweet flower smell into your legs and arms, “thanks roomie, please, reconsider; come with me.” You plead one last time, she shoves me playfully and points to her textbook.

“Next weekend, go. Don’t make Connie mad by being late.” You groan and slipping your feet into black platforms.

“You’ll regret saying that, I don’t like Connie.” You shut the door behind you. Walking back towards that elevator.

The sky was pretty much dark at this point, the party was twenty minutes from starting, and you had just walked through the front door as Connie was swinging it open, letting people know they could come in, a few boys sat on the couch. Jean could be seen pouring drinks for himself and probably his friends. “I knew I heard y/n!!” Jean cheers, jogging over to me and scanning his eyes up and down my figure, “looking- uh, sexy.” He coughs, shaking his head and the little bit of pink brushes his cheeks, handing me one of his drinks.

Marco leaps over the couch and jumps towards Jean, leisurely throwing an arm over his shoulder, “maybe you’ll finally get a piece tonight,” he nudges, you smack Marco upside the head and he mutters swears under his breath, pulling off of his friend, Jean rolls his eyes and takes a gulp of his drink, cocking an eyebrow.

“Who says I haven’t hit already.” Before the boys can even react, your knee meets his groin, kicking him, he screeches and falls to his knees, the room stays silent for the most part besides laughing, “alright! I haven’t hit it yet- Jesus y/n!” He hissed, rolling back onto his feet and practically limping out of the room. I turn around to see if the others got the warning, but instead see two boys standing at the front door, both staring at me with wide eyes and interested looks.

Both were tall; one blonde haired which covered his forehead, keen blue eyes, the other wore baggy sweats, a black short sleeve shirt, his hair was messily pulled back. You stand there like a ditz, kinda humiliated.

“Here- Eren, Armin.” Jean is coming from behind you, handing these men drinks, patting Eren’s shoulder all ‘buddy - buddy’ as they walk deeper into the house, you shake off the intense vibe you felt from the two and drink more of the flavored vodka. Your ears suddenly perk up like a dog when you hear Jean’s loud mouth from the kitchen, “oh that’s y/n, isn’t she just a gem? my nuts still hurt.” He laughs, the slight hint of sarcasm in his remark, you swing around and walk into the kitchen, interjecting yourself in their conversation; the three chat it up, Jean’s eyes land on yours and smiles like a brat.

You poke Jean in the side and smile at whichever Armin and Eren were, “Isn’t Kirsten so peachy, this is why I love him.” You giggle, the boys in front of you laugh; both absolutely stunning bright smiles, you could get used to their faces around here. You also wondered where they came from.

“Oh, to be Jean’s nuts right now.” The dark haired one jokes, arising laughter amongst the three boys. Your eyes practically fall out of their sockets, an immediate halt of poking Jean’s side, the little ball stood out, you were absolutely thrown off any train of thought you had. People start filling the kitchen, you were so frozen in feelings you looked so ridiculous, shaking it off with a little smile, you needed to flirt back, he started it.

“And don’t I wish I was that tongue piercing.” It was now their turn to be frozen in shock, the blonde one turning his head to look at the other, a little ‘Eren’ could be heard from his lips; ‘so that’s his name, he kinda looks like an Eren.’

The loud chatter and booming music has overtaken the house, it was getting harder and harder to hear a single conversation as more and more people filled the house.

Jean wraps an arm around me, “I love it when she’s bold, she only gets worse the more she drinks, be careful.” Jean gives me a tight side hug and you down the rest of the liquid in the cup, I had stunned Eren into silence, Armin broke that silence with a small laugh. What Jean said was true, I had a small track record of flirtatious behavior when I had enough liquid courage.

Eren smiles at you, “so intense, let’s get them a room already.” Your eyes peel off Eren’s, Sasha stood there with a bottle in her hand, a huge smile on her face, “it’s like a staring contest over here, what’s happening guys?!” She hollers over the music, poking my boob a few times, you swat her finger off your tit and she giggles, hiccuping, she was much more intoxicated than yourself.

“I was just getting more to drink, gimme gimme’” you snatch the bottle out of your friends hand and pop open the cap, “I hope to see you all later, I plan on us all playing a little spin the bottle or something.” You swallow, Armin tilts his head and looks at you.

“Isn’t that for high schoolers?” He asks, a smile on his face, you lean in close, your head right between both Eren’s and Armin’s ears, they subconsciously lean in to hear what I have to say.

“With a twist.” You hum, pulling away and following Sasha towards the basement stairs, personal tequila bottle in tow and ready to drink.

An hour later you’re faltering towards the couches and sliding down onto your wobbly knees, Connie and Jean rounding up the people we are closest too in the basement, dizzy and laughing at practically every little thing in sight, Sasha and Mikasa sat to your left and right, equally or less drunk as yourself.

Our friend group sits on the floor in a giant circle and you stand, “okay my friends, I figured we could do a little something different this weekend.” You announce, the room falling somewhat quiet as they listen to you, “we’re gonna play spin the bottle, but instead of just regular old spin the bottle, if one spins and it lands on the other, they can head into the closet for seven minutes, but when your turn comes again, or that person that you went into the closet with previously, you go into the bedroom for a timed thirty minutes. No backing out.” You didn’t even catch Eren making himself comfortable next to Jean and Marco, Armin sitting on the couch behind Connie also planning on participating.

Eren had noticed you though, standing there with that half empty bottle and your tight dress, your messy makeup which he found beyond sexy. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you told him you wished he was his piercing, no girl had ever been so outgoing and bold. Although he was slightly stoned, and definitely drunk, he couldn’t rip his eyes off you; he sat on the ground intrigued, “I’ll do the first spin.” Sasha gushes, grabbing the empty beer bottle and giving it a strong spin.

It spins and spins, you sat pretty on your knees and wait for it to land on someone; an eternity later it’s pointing between Mikasa and Jean. He was jumping onto his feet in an instant, you knew Jean so well that it was impossible for him to act cool, he was freaking the fuck out. Mikasa stands and pushes Jean towards the closet, he stumbles, drunkenly tripping over his feet and we all laugh at him, they go in and I set a timer, starting it immediately.

We all talk and laugh, Connie and Marco had their ears pressed against the door like perverts, “hey pervs! Quit it you two!” Sasha shouts, they leap away from the door and soon enough the ringing plays to signify the end of the long 7 minutes, you stand and knock on the door, Jean comes out first, dizzy and face flustered, totally beyond repair. Then Mikasa following behind him, perfectly fine but with a domineering smirk plastered on her face. We cheer and Jean plops down on the ground, the boys patting and laughing, congratulating him.

I go, spinning the bottle and anticipating the stop, when it finally comes to a stop, my eyes follow the top of the bottle stopped right between the legs of Connie and Eren, seeing both staring at me, ‘ooh’s’ and laughing fill up the room, there was no way I was going into that room with Connie. “Rock paper scissors!” Jean shouts, I slap my hands over my face in embarrassment, my luck I’d be stuck with Connie who would probably just start a fight with me.

You peek your eye through your fingers and see the two boys play it out to see who would get to go into the closet with me.

Connie one- Eren two.

Your hands drop into your lap, feeling lightweight, almost like you were floating, a mixture of both anxiety and excitement flickering in your stomach, he was so intimidating and you felt tiny in front of him- in all honesty, flirting was one thing. You stand up hesitantly and walk towards the closet, his body blocking you from being able to see your friends one last time. He shuts the door and wastes no time looping his arm around my waist, pulling me into his rock hard chest, looking up at him and begin to gnaw on your bottom lip as he cops a feel of your ass; his strong hand groping your ass, hand rubbing and squeezing, “eager are we?” You tease, he hums and continues.

You were spiraling under his strength. He walks both of you backwards until your back is hitting the wall, dipping his head down to your ear, “what happened to the tough guy act?” He purrs, you shiver, his hand moving from your ass and down your thigh slowly, “you wanna kiss me?” He asks quietly, forehead pressed against yours, you respond with a little nod, his lips instantly meeting yours, your eyes shut and it only becomes more messy as seconds pass, his hand that was once on your thigh was now separating them, sliding his thigh in place between your legs; pinning you. While his thigh sat between yours, you could feel the growing erection poking your leg; which he paid no mind, this was about you. His left hand behind your neck, thumb caressing back and fourth on your jawline softly whilst fixing his right hand back on your ass, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

His body was warm, nose drinking up his vanilla scent, he tasted good, vodka completely soaked your tastebuds, the faint aroma of weed could be tasted in your nostrils from his clothes. Your hands loosely around his waist feeling up his back muscles only slightly.

The metal bud on his tongue keeping you enticed, colliding with your own tongue, it was like a little magic ball that could instantly have you on your knees; sparking these new and mysterious sparks within your body which you wanted more of. It was fun to play with.

He slowly pulls away, a string of saliva dragging from his lips to yours, he licked his lips, you kept your eyes on that piercing like an owner holding his pets treats in his hand, “I need more than seven minutes.” He grunts, your swollen lips begging for his again.

You were going feral, the tips of your fingers teasingly touching the hem of his sweatpants, feeling his boxers underneath, “you’re a good kisser Eren, wonder what else you’re good at, hm?” You whisper in his ear, he was tense, body still latches onto yours so you could feel the flexing of his muscles.

“I would tear yo-” our heads snap to the side, the knocking on the closet door, that was seven? Already? He pulls off of you, immediately feeling cold, your hand coming to your mouth so you can wipe it and somewhat look composed. Like nothing happened, he’s swinging the door open and cockily walking out, you walked out beside him, the girls overwhelmed with cheery grins and jaws hitting the floor, the boys ‘oohing’.

“Was it good?” Mikasa questions, tugging at your arm so you could sit in your spot, you look at her with devilish eyes.

“I’m taking that as a yes, he looks high and mighty don’t he?” Sasha chuckles, you glance at Eren who is looking at you with low, seductive eyes. You gulp and explode, looking at the floor and feeling like all eyes were on you.

“Next person!” Jean shouts. We all prepare for ourselves for the next round.

Fifteen minutes later, after Marco and Sasha had completely demolished each other’s necks in the closet, plus Connie and a random girl spending an odd eleven minutes in the closet after we all pounded on the door to get them out; God knows what they did in that closet. You look for who’s turn it was next; it was finally Eren’s turn to spin.

You were rather... irritated; he was gonna get to please some girl with his mouth the same way I was so blessed to have bestowed upon me. You drink from the bottle, drowning your new attitude. Now everyone is shock, leaping to their feet and jumping around like teenagers, you look around and Eren is walking towards your sitting body, your messy and drunken eyes looking up at him confused, “looks like we get our thirty minutes.” He smirks, your eyes bulge and you quickly stand to your feet, what luck!

Walking down the small hall of the basement, your back only barely touching his front side as he’s pushing himself through the doorframe, you push the door shut with your foot and pick up right where you left off.

“I’ll need more than thirty minutes.” You stand in shock at him ripping his shirt off his head. His finger touching your chin before being able to stare at his body, “get on your back princess.” He starts, gently pushing your back onto the bed.

“I need to taste you, please.”

#eren yeager #7 minutes eren #eren jaeger #attack on titan #aot x reader #eren aot #lime

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peachy-panic · 3 years

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Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

Watching rejection after rejection pour in from his top residency programs had felt like nothing short of his own personalized nightmare. He had spent several nights in a row on the phone with Alex, his undergrad roommate and only friend, clamoring back from the edge of many a panic attack, spiraling into all-out existential dread about the future and the past and what all of it meant for him if he couldn’t land an internship, let alone a real job out of school. To his credit, Alex never gave up hope in his friend. Or at least, he did a decent job hiding it if he did. Which was probably exactly what Sebastian needed to get through that particularly dark time in his life, and a good reminder of what a solid friend he had. Even if it was a party of two.

Unfortunately, Sebastian did not have the same faith in himself.

He was able to keep up some facade of optimism as his top five were picked off one by one. Telling himself, despite his devastation, that they were a pretty far reach, anyway. Even with good academic standing, it was famously no walk in the park to land yourself at John Hopkins or Mayo as a first-year. He even maintained a brave face as his first few safety programs reached capacity and moved forward without his name on the roster.

It wasn’t until he received his final rejection letter from some internal medicine place in Bumfuck, Idaho that he felt himself slip into dangerous territory. Sebastian knew himself well enough to know his own depressive patterns by then, and he knew it was only exponential decay from there.

Rock bottom came, as it did, in the wee hours of the night, after a full bottle of wine. Alone in his small apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes with no destination, Sebastian found himself sprawled out on the floor with his laptop hot against his thighs. He couldn’t have explained why he opted for a privacy browser, but something about it allowed him to justify the words that he typed into the search bar.

It was a new low, and one he had sworn to himself he would never stoop to. Yet there he was.

He gave himself a moment to reconsider, to back out of what was undoubtedly a morally-gray train wreck waiting to happen as his thumb hovered over the enter key. And then the alcohol decided to override his moral compass.

Facility Care is the open secret of the medical profession. It comes with its fair share of stigma, and rightfully so, but it is notoriously easy to break into and pays a decent wage.

There are two types of people who end up stooping to that kind of employment. More often than not, it consists of doctors and nurses who had their licenses revoked or suspended somewhere along the line and needed a way back in. As far as Sebastian understood, they aren’t terribly ridgid about the particulars of each circumstance. After all, in the eyes of the law, the patients they would be treating are a price tag away from being entirely expendable.

The other percentage of Facility Care workers, and the reason Sebastian found himself staring at his too-bright computer screen with a sinking feeling of dread that night, are young medical graduates who find themselves in a tough spot. It isn’t difficult to spell out the logic behind that one when you open the WRU CAREERS tab on the home page and see the bright white words printed across the top of the screen:

LOAN FORGIVENESS.

It is shamelessly predatory and aggressively capitalistic, but Sebastian supposes that particular exploitation is pretty far down on the list of transgressions for an institution of legalized slavery. A few broke and hopeless medical students were hardly going to keep the Powers That Be up at night when they were able to rest easy under the weight of hundreds of thousands of stolen lives.

The whole thing is part of the massive PR overhaul the company did a few years back. In a world that was slowly inching toward civil activism and with the accessibility of platforms like social media to hold them accountable, WRU had to adapt to survive. Adaptation, in this case, took the form of changing the barest of minimums in order to keep themselves above board — to the public eye, anyway. Anyone who dares to take a closer look at the policy changes can see that it’s bullshit.

Changing ownership conditions to a rent-by-contract basis isn’t the humanitarian move they try to paint it as. In the end, it probably just equals out to more money in the company’s pocket when they can get more return on their “investments,” and a larger chance of exploitation for the people being moved around.

Getting rid of the Romantic division is an entirely meaningless gesture when they are still loaning out human beings with no legal rights and the inability to say “no.”

And offering an open job market with good wages and healthcare options to lower class individuals is a pretty convenient way to mute the backlash.

Essentially, you can tie a system of slavery and abuse up in a bow and make it pretty on the outside, but at the end of the day, it’s still fucking slavery.

Not that he has any room to criticize now. Now that he’s one of them.

In the end, Seb tries to justify his decision a few different ways. He is, after all, more or less a young man alone in the world. The odds are stacked against him and have been for a while. With only his own two legs to stand on, the only force stronger than his internal ambition is his instinct for survival, and he’s been running on those fumes for longer than he can count.

He had lasted less than two months under his parents’ roof after he came out of the closet at eighteen. It wasn’t exactly a surprise for anyone involved; Sebastian’s parents had known about (and subsequently bottled) his… urges… since he was in high school. Probably before that, if he is being honest with himself. And Sebastian, for his part, had spent the better part of his teenage years mentally preparing for the inevitable. He can recall long, late nights he had spent crying into his pillow and the perfectly-scripted ‘coming out’ speeches he recited to his mirror when he was one-hundred percent sure his parents were asleep.

Of course, none of the preparation had been anywhere near adequate when he actually found himself wilting beneath the heat of his father’s glare, the weight of his mother’s grief.

But. He had recovered. That is the point he tries to remember when the memories sting fresh beneath his skin, even all these years later. He has more-than proven himself to be a survivor. He has worked harder than anyone he knows for every scholarship, every grant, every dollar to put himself through school. Sacrificed nights out and real relationships for night shifts at shitty diners and long weekends cramming for exams. It hadn’t been easy, but he considers it the price he had to pay for his independence. For freedom, to live the life as the person he is meant to be, despite his unfortunate odds. He spent years telling himself it would be worth it. That one day, his hard work would pay off.

He can’t stop now.

Sebastian doesn’t have the luxury of taking time off to reroute when his navigation has gone amiss. He is walking the precarious line of rapidly accruing interest and student loans and a dwindling savings account, and there is no safety net below him.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and as it turns out, beggars sometimes have to compromise their moral integrity in order to survive.

It’s only temporary.

That is the mantra that gets him through the (half-drunken) application process and the (disturbingly lax) interview process. It is a job. One job. In the medical field, though the details are up for debate, and it is real-life money for rent and food and a savings that will hopefully be sizable enough to get him where he really wanted to be. Which is… really, anywhere else.

He can do ‘temporary.’ And perhaps, some misguided part of him thinks he can do some genuine good from the inside, too. ‘Be the change you want to see’ and all that.

It is a far jump from the floor of his apartment, sloshed and exhausted and desperate, to the cold, sharp reality of walking into his place of employment on his first day of work. Ironically, it feels a lot like an echo of the emptiness from his graduation day.

‘Sterile’ doesn’t quite cover it. ‘Sterile’ is the expectation of any well-respected medical establishment, but the inside of the facility walls has been wiped clean of far more than bacteria and germs. It is completely devoid of humanity. The long corridors that connect the medical wing to the general ward are windowless and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels that had make his head pound for the entirety of his first week.

He is given an office, though it is a term he, himself, might use loosely, as it is more akin to what was probably a storage closet before the old prison had been converted into the state’s training headquarters. It leaves him just enough space for a small desk and two chairs. On his first day, he asks if it is okay to bring in some personal items to spruce the place up. The older, balding doctor who had been assigned to show him around merely shrugs, and Sebastian decides to take that as a yes.

The small, pink-framed photo of a six-year-old Sebastian Tate in his grandfather’s white coat and an old-school stethoscope around his neck is hardly enough to make the place cozy from the corner of his desk, but it’s a good enough reminder of why he has to make this work.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Be the change you want to see.’

He will do his best.

#Sebastian Tate #bbu #like bbu adjacent?#tw: human trafficking #tw: slavery #implied noncon #whump #Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian

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ipuckwithhockey · 3 years

Text

Earned- N. Patrick

a/n: This one gets angsty, oops. I’m on a NolPat thing right now, but when are we not? I’m honestly enjoying writing again, so I hope you guys enjoy this one!

warnings: angst, mentions of sex/oral sex, swearing, divorced parents, drinking (i think that’s it)

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Nolan loved his friends and family, hockey, and even on occasion Travis Konecny. This was enough for him. He had his close-knit group that he surrounded himself with and that was all he needed. It’s not that he avoided getting attached to people, he just hadn’t found anyone that he felt was worth getting attached to. He was young and focused on his career. Love would come eventually. He just didn’t realize how soon ‘eventually’ would be until he met you.

You met Nolan at a Post Malone concert. Your friend Grace had gotten tickets through her job and you couldn’t just say no to floor seats for Posty. Your seats just so happened to be right next to Nolan, Travis, and Kevin Hayes. You recognized the hockey players instantly, but your best friend just recognized that TK was hot and definitely checking her out.

By the time Post was ending his show Grace was agreeing that the two of you would join the boys at a bar around the corner. You weren’t planning on going home with anyone that night, but Nolan Patrick was flirting with you and you were a woman of opportunity. So, you found yourself going home with a Flyers forward while your friend went home with another.

Grace was your polar opposite. She was an undying optimist, bubbly, and most notably a romantic. You on the other hand considered yourself a dedicated realist who was levelheaded and decisive. The thought of finding someone to spend the rest of your life with almost made you laugh. You had no interest in settling for a mediocre relationship that would eventually combust or at best, just fizzled out.

The first night you went home with Nolan was supposed to be the only night you went home with Nolan, but just like the tale as old as time, it was far from a one time occurrence. Grace and TK kept seeing each other and their big personalities actually seemed to mesh well. Grace was happy and you were happy that she was happy. What you weren’t totally sure about was that their blossoming relationship meant you found yourself in the same room as Nolan more often than not. A couple of drunken nights together turned into a habit neither one of you seemed to mind.

Nolan was just as aloof as you when it came to romanticism. That was what you told yourself was the reason why you kept letting yourself fall into his bed every weekend. When he started texting you to come over out of the blue instead of your usual drunken hookups you decided it was time to lay down the law.

“Ok, so just to be clear, because I don’t want to be the reason for any broken hearts and more importantly, I don’t need any lost Flyers games weighing on me, this is just sex. Like we’re not going to be those stupid kids that say it’s just sex but then end up falling madly in love. I don’t do that, and from what I’ve gathered, you don’t do that either. So, if this is going to happen again, or keep happening, then it’s strictly business.” You’re barely even looking at Nolan as you explain your position. He had quite aggressively ripped your clothes from your body when you arrived at his place tonight and you can’t seem to locate your second sock as you scour his room.

Nolan was still laying naked on his bed, catching his breath, as he watched you in your adopted routine of rushing out of his apartment. He had met girls who were okay with a quick hookup with a famous NHL player, but you were different. You were bold and definitive. You weren’t here because he’s famous, you were here because the sex was good, and that’s why Nolan was here too.

Nolan didn’t make a habit out of hooking up with the same girls more than a couple of times, max. If you hadn’t been so good in bed and so open to just having sex, he probably wouldn’t have entertained the idea at all. You couldn’t deny that having Nolan between your legs a few times a week wasn’t a good thing. In fact, it was a great thing. Nolan might not spend much time talking, but he definitely knows how to use his mouth. You both left each other at the end of the night tired and satisfied, and that didn’t seem like a bad thing.

“Mkay. I promise I won’t fall in love with you. My track record is pretty good, so if you need references, I can probably get you their numbers. They probably wouldn’t be thrilled about you calling to ask them about how I’m a heartless asshole, but you can give it a swing.” You can’t help but laugh as your brain deciphers the mumbles that just came from the half sleeping body in front of you.

The second or third time you hung out with the boys you were at a party. You were teasing Nolan about all the girls who were trying so hard to get his attention, and he replied that they probably wouldn’t try so hard if they knew how their short lived fling would end. He had a bad habit of accidentally leading girls on, thinking they were on the same wavelength but then being met with a pissed off girl who thought “they had something special.”

“Perfect. And if you somehow end up falling for my stunning good looks and amazing personality, just do me a favor and let me know so I can run for the hills.” And with that you gave him a wink and were out the door. Nolan couldn’t hold in the laugh that fell from his lips as he continued to take in the personality you had begun to share with him.

—————

It’s been two months since the two of you settled your business deal and things were good. Grace and TK had made it official and she insisted on bringing you with her to team gatherings and games. You and Nolan went over to each other’s places when the other called or texted, and the sex was still as good as it was the first time.

The two of you developed a friendship and your post sex talks began to last a little longer on topics that were just a little deeper than the time before. Nolan would ask you about the douche that likes to hit on you at work and you would ask him how hockey was going. Then he told you about his sisters and and eventually told you a little more about his migraines. When it felt right you would ask him questions that he always provided thoughtful answers to. Nolan Patrick was much more pensive than you initially thought. To be honest you hadn’t really given his personality much thought at all, but as you got to know him you realized his aloof exterior was maybe just misinterpreted.

To his surprise Nolan genuinely liked spending time with you. Unlike most people, you weren’t constantly urging him to be “more social” or outgoing, and even though you were using each other’s bodies for sex, you weren’t greedy. You didn’t ask too much of him or expect certain things because of who he was. He felt like he could breathe around you because he wasn’t constantly trying to satisfy any unattainable expectations.

Even when he talked to you about hockey, he felt like he was just talking about any old 9-5 job; zero pressure to perform for you. You would ask him how it was going even though you already watched the games, and you would let Nolan guide the conversation to where he was comfortable. In many ways Nolan did the same for you. He didn’t press about why you didn’t have a boyfriend or why you didn’t want one. He did query over why you gracefully steered the conversation away from your family. He didn’t pry into things that were too personal, that for some reason, so many people thought they were entitled to.

There was a level of respect present between you that neither of you had experienced with anyone else. In both of your past relationships people always wanted to go fast, immediately trying to see if you were compatible. You and Nolan were just friends having sex with no other expectation, and somehow that allowed the two of you to slowly peel back each other’s layers.

You were oblivious to all of this until one night when your post sex talk didn’t come after sex. It came before. Well, actually the conversation came but neither of you did that night. You were at Nolan’s after a game that hadn’t gone as well as they had hoped. He was tired and you could see it in his eyes. Instead of jumping each other’s bones as soon as he greeted you at the door, you cracked a bottle of wine and settled on the couch.

It was nice. It was two friends having conversation over a bottle of wine. You didn’t talk about hockey or work; it was just talking about nothing. You talked about the lady who gave you one of her extra coupons at the grocery the other day. He explained how he made a sweater once in home ec. ( You’re still not sure if you believe him.)

A couple of hours later, and halfway into your second bottle of wine, Nolan’s curiosity got the best of him.

“So, is there a reason you’re so anti relationship or are you just a serial heart breaker like me?”

Once he asked the question, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have. You hadn’t talked about it before and that probably meant you didn’t want to. You were surprised but his smug joke still made you laugh. Normally you would be a little annoyed by the question, but you felt like you knew Nolan. You knew he wasn’t just trying to get to the juicy part, he just genuinely wanted to know, so you told him.

“Well, if you must know, I am most definitely a serial heart breaker, but that’s just a result of why I’m not thrilled about relationships, not the actual why.”

You take a breath before going on, “My parent’s marriage was horrible. They fought constantly and I don’t think I ever saw them genuinely happy together. They insisted on staying together. Their families, my grandparents, were both pretty ‘well-to-do’ and I’m pretty sure my parents were just staying together to save face with them and their circle of rich friends. I’m not sure why, because none of their marriages seemed any different. They’re all divorced now, and remarried to even shittier people. But before that, it became more of a game than anything else. — it started getting bad when I was in middle school.”

You look out the window in front of you. Through it, you can see the city of Philadelphia. A city you came to for college, with the hopes of leaving your old life behind.

“My mom started to go out to the country club and wherever else, and then she’d come home in the middle of the night, drunk, after doing god knows what or god knows who. My dad would go on business trips just to get away, and I’m pretty sure he was cheating on my mom too at that point. I never really saw them, and when I did they were always fighting. We didn’t have fun holidays and if my brother wasn’t there no one was in the stands cheering me on at my soccer games. Hell, by that point I preferred no holidays and no parents at my games. They didn’t care about me or my brother, and once Caleb went off to college I was on my own. I don’t blame him, I got out as fast as I could too. All we had was each other and we were always close. He’s in New York now, and we still talk pretty regularly, but being at home alone sucked, and being home alone with them sucked even more. I wasn’t always so pessimistic; I’ve dated a handful of guys but obviously they never worked out. Then I met a guy in college, and I thought wow this guy is unbelievable. He was perfect— Josh was his name. He was in grad school and he was smart and funny and said all the right things. I was young and naive, and I think I just wanted someone to love me, so I let him. And I let him take advantage of my time and energy. I let him lie to me and I let him cheat on me. And when I finally woke up from whatever trance I was in I realized that I had been looking at the world through rose colored glasses. I promised myself that I was never going to let myself do that again. I wasn’t going to rely on anyone but myself… I wasn’t going to give all of myself to someone just to wait for it to fall apart… The proof was in the pudding, relationships just don’t work, and that is why I’m so anti-relationship.”

You hadn’t looked Nolan in the eyes since you started in on your monologue, afraid that you may have just scared off your friend. Nolan was still taking it all in, reveling over the years of your life you had just laid out for him.

He had grown up in a loving family where his parents did everything they could to give him and his sisters the perfect childhood. They spent every weekend driving around Canada for hockey tournaments. He still talks to his sisters almost every day even though they’re thousands of miles away. His mom insists on carry out whatever holiday traditions she can even with Nolan in Philly. And here you were with a childhood that couldn’t have been more different than his. He didn’t want a relationship because he couldn’t find anyone he felt was worthy of his time and energy, but here you were, closed off to the world because you thought that unconditional love wasn’t real.

He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything he could say, so instead he pulled you from your side of the couch to his, where he wrapped you up in his warm arms. You sat like that for a long time, not saying anything, not even moving, just letting him hold you. You didn’t even realize you had started crying until you felt Nolan’s hands wipe away the tears that were staining your face, and that small gently gesture was what made you snap. That’s when it boiled over, when it became too much too fast.

“I’m sorry... God. I shouldn’t have even said anything. And now I’m crying like a fucking idiot. It’s probably just the wine. It’s late, I should get going. Just forget I said anything, ok?”

And just like that you had grabbed your coat, faceted your shoes, and were out the door of his apartment. Nolan’s brain couldn’t keep up with yours and by the time he heard his door slam shut it was too late to tell you that everything was okay.

—————

Nolan tried calling you after that night, but he couldn’t get a hold of you. You couldn’t talk to him. You knew you couldn’t look him in the eyes, because for a couple of seconds you got too comfortable, you let go and let him in. It was a mistake, and Nolan would surely know that too. You had both decided this was just a transaction of sex, nothing more. You were the one who took it past that. You could have just brushed off the question that Nolan was surely regretting now.

Nolan was regretting asking that question, but not because he didn’t want to know. He regretted it because you were gone now, and he didn’t know how to get you back. You had both promised not to fall in love, not to affect each other’s lives, but that’s exactly what happened. Nolan was in love with you.

Kevin had to spell it out for Nolan as he sat on his couch explaining what had happened. Nolan knew he cared about you, but he hadn’t deciphered what that feeling in the pit of his stomach was when he saw you. He couldn’t explain why he had to constantly rub the back of his neck in nervousness when he caught you staring from across the room. He didn’t know what any of it meant.

“Dude. I’m dumb. Like I’m big-Boston-hockey-dude dumb, but you’re an idiot. You’re in love with her man.”

“What? We’re friends, I’m just worried about her.”

“Well, she’s in love with you too.”

“It’s just sex.”

“If you were just friends, and if it was just sex, you guys would be fucking right now, and you wouldn’t be mopping here on Saturday night because she told you about her life and won’t talk to you now. She wouldn’t have told you that shit, and she wouldn’t be ignoring you now if she didn’t have feelings for you. You said it yourself, she doesn’t let people in, but she let you in.”

She let me in. That’s all Nolan could think. Maybe Kevin had a point. Maybe he did love her. Maybe you somehow loved him too. Nolan couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. A couple days later he was getting more comfortable with all the reasons he loved you, but he still couldn’t figure out why you would love him.

He loved you because you were unwavering, absolute, and even a bit brazen. Over time Nolan had found that underneath that outside shell there was so much more. There was a girl who if you were patient and gentle, she might just let you in a little bit at a time. She unveiled her scars and her wounds, and Nolan was going to do anything he could to help them heal. He didn’t know that the feelings you were denying were nearly identical to the ones he was having right now.

It’s been two weeks since you spoke to Nolan. You had also been ignoring Grace and Travis’ attempts to figure out what the hell was going on. You were telling yourself it was fine, and that everything would blow over. What you didn’t expect to see was a large body sitting in front of your apartment door when you got home from work.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t meet his eyes as his towering frame rose from the floor. You kept your eyes fixed on your purse as you fished out the keys to your door, and as you stuck them into the door you weren’t sure if you should slam the door behind you or turn to listen to what he had to say.

“I know that you think I’m gonna be like every other guy, and I’m gonna use you or hurt you, and maybe I will, but if you let me try, I’ll try my hardest to never let that happen because it would break me to break you. I don’t need you to give me every piece of yourself right now, I don’t want it right now— “

You scoffed. For an apology or a speech or whatever it was you were listening to, it didn’t seem to be going too well.

“-I don’t want it right now, because I know I don’t deserve it. It has to be earned. Trust is earned and I just want you to give me the chance to earn it. I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t share yourself with people because you think they’ll be disappointed or throw it away because it’s not what they wanted. But that’s not what this is. I’m a huge idiot and I didn’t realize this until recently, but I trust you. I totally and completely trust you. I can’t say that about many people, but I can say that about you. You’ve earned it. I’ve let you into parts of my life and you’ve welcomed them. You brought me closer, and for the first time in a long time I didn’t want to run away. I’m not going to say it, because I know you need time, I know that if we do this, we have to take it slow, but I think you know how I feel about you because you feel the same way about me. Or at least I really really hope you do, because I’m totally falling for you amazing personality and stunning good looks.”

Nolan is practically out of breath after the word vomit that has escaped his mouth. You’re taking it all in. You’re taking him in, and you can’t help but let a smile creep onto your face. Nolan somehow put everything you didn’t know you needed into words and you still didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you pulled him close to you and wrapped your short arms around his torso as you felt his own engulf your body. You both melted into each other and for the first time in weeks felt like you could breathe.

Neither of you were sure what was going to happen next, and how this would unfold, but you were willing to give him a chance. You were willing to let him show you what this could be, what you could be together, because you had both earned it.

#nolan patrick #nolan patrick imagine #hockey fanfic #nhl fanfic #hockey writing #Hockey Fanfiction #Philadelphia Flyers

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idga-buck · 3 years

Text

Some and Others, 2/?

Bucky finds it difficult to end a relationship without a good reason, until he has a good reason.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3,702

Content: sexual references (18+ only), swearing, Bucky seems like a jerk in this, but he really isn’t. I’m so behind on FATWS (like..second episode behind) because the friend I’m watching with is very busy and I respect that. This doesn’t contain any spoilers that I know of and doesn’t use the show as a point of reference. May change in future chapters if I ever get to watch it.

“Fuck... Fuuuu-“

The word died in Bucky’s chest, dissolving into a

mouthful of shamelessness. Grunts that vibrated against the back of his teeth as his body tightened, every muscle from his fingers digging into your hips to his burning quads pulled so taut that his ass cheeks could have crushed rock between them. He was getting rather comfortable using his new body to dole out something other than pain and suffering, to experience something else too. Though by the yellowing finger shaped bruises scattered on your legs and arms, there was still a little pain. The good kind, you’d assured him many times and some days Bucky Barnes was in awe of the fact that there was a “good kind” of pain. He wasn’t ready to be on the receiving end to find out for himself and you never pushed him to it. You were good, he liked that.

When his orgasm faded, leaving Bucky feeling like an empty husk of a man, he leaned down to kiss you in the middle of your back. A “good job” kind of peck that ended with him pulling out and pulling away to flop his sweaty body into your bed. There was a fuzzy blanket that irritated his heated skin and while he kicked awkwardly at it until it fell onto the floor, you were catching your breath next to him and inching closer. He wasn’t in the mood to cuddle and he closed his eyes hoping you wouldn’t expect too much. That was why he’d come over so early in the morning anyways. To see you off to work in a fun way, but at a time when he knew you wouldn’t be able to dawdle. Much to his surprise, you kissed his shoulder, the same little gesture he’d given your spine, and then rolled away, yanking a flowery robe from under his wide spread leg to pull it out. It was getting hot outside, the summer air a little too sticky when it seeped under those long sleeved shirts he preferred, but thankfully you kept a stand up fan at the end of your bed and Bucky sighed dreamily when he heard you flick it on, the artificial breeze shooting up his legs and cooling his damp skin. He’d expected you to continue your walk across the room and into the bathroom to prep for work, but your footsteps were muffled, which meant you’d stayed on the rug next to his side of the bed. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell you were watching him. Sure enough, there was a small dip in the mattress next to his head and your hand reached up to play with his sweaty hair.

“I could call in today.”

Bucky’s left eye fluttered open at the offer. You’d squatted next to the bed, leaning in one elbow to mess with the hair around his ears while you spoke. He usually liked that. There weren’t any memories of gentle touches from the last oh, 7 decades or so, and the therapist he stopped going to had encouraged him to seek out hands that didn’t hurt him. He’d found you shortly after and it felt good enough. Lately, especially today, Bucky just wanted the touching to stop making him feel so guilty.

“You’ve been gone a week, maybe we-“

“Better not,” he interrupted, rolling his head against the pillow to look at you. It felt like the decent thing to do. Look a person in the eye when you tell them no.

You were still smiling at him, but the hand that was touching him fell to the mattress. “You sure? We could stay in bed,” your voice lifted, knowing it was an extremely tempting offer. “I missed you, soldier.”

“Yeah,” Bucky offered a tight smile that probably looked even less convincing when it was half smashed into a pillow. “You should go to work.”

You licked your lips and kept them tucked in over your teeth as you nodded then stood without saying anything else. You’d get ready in the bathroom, Bucky would close his eyes again and pretend to be asleep when you emerged. You’d kiss his cheek and he’d enjoy your quiet apartment for the rest of the day while you were at work. It was how things had gone for a while. Long enough that it surprised Bucky a bit that you were still offering to stay home with him after he’d returned from a mission.

He flinched a bit when the bathroom door creaked open again and recovered quickly, waiting for his kiss before the front door closed behind you. But he heard dull footsteps pause before being replaced by the sharp sound of heels against wood. Then the rivets on your leather bag scraped over the kitchen counter and the keys jingled in your hand. Bucky waited, but the door opened then closed again without your lips stopping near his face. He sat up right and looked through the open bedroom door toward the entry, half expecting you to come back in, apologizing as you awkwardly stooped in a tight skirt to right this mistake.

You didn’t. And Bucky took it to mean that you felt it too. This whole thing was over.

He’d started feeling that way just a few weeks ago. You’d been feeling ill and he realized that he was more than happy to stay away. There wasn’t any urgency or desire to take care of you and only realized it a week later when he was coming over and you’d asked him to bring a Gatorade. He’d stopped dead on the street just outside your window and wondered if he should ask after any other needs. Or if maybe he should just assume and bring something he knew you liked. But then he spent too long standing in front of the candy rack by the glass covered register without a clue what you liked. He grabbed one of everything at first then put them all back, not wanting to admit he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been a spy, an assassin, a marksman, a ladies man- all of which required keen observations. Yet, he’d missed this. Bucky told himself it hadn’t come up and he paid for only what you asked before heading upstairs.

After that, he started to feel off about everything. Noticing all the different things he didn’t necessarily like about- not you- but being with you. Not that it would sound any better, but once he realized he wasn’t actually ready to be in a relationship, the awkward dance began. Bucky Barnes had never been dumped. Obviously. But he’d never really had to let a girl go either. Dating was so different back when he was at it. Dates were frequent and they were fun. Being seen out and being seen with the right girls only made you more popular. It was especially good for the girls and a date with Bucky Barnes was as good as gold. Now, you and he had skipped over all the steps he’d known anything about and once you called yourself his girlfriend he had no clue what to do with you. Fumbling around for a few months didn’t yield much progress and the frustration was too much.

Everytime he thought he’d do it, he decided it wasn’t the right time… or he’d decide to kiss you instead, one last time. Last kisses taste as good as the first if you don’t really mean it and too often, Bucky found himself back in your bed instead of walking away. He’d linger in your apartment while you were at work, treating it like his own secret clubhouse and try not to think about how his mother would pinch his ear for how he was treating you. So Bucky finally rolled out of your bed and stepped into the shower.

Under the spray, he eyed the products you kept in a gray plastic bin for him and he wondered if he should throw them out when he was done. He had no use for them back in the compound, but when he pictured you coming home to find all his stuff in the trash before he’d had a chance to say something, he left the bottles where they were and toweled off. Then he dressed and checked his phone in the kitchen. You’d texted from your office, asking him if he’d meet you for dinner. He didn’t prefer going out, but he could suck it up for this. It would be easier to let you down in public. Maybe. Bucky agreed and you responded with a tiny picture of a floating yellow head. It was smiling so he slid his phone into his pocket and left it there to eye the kitchen next. Part of him wanted to leave, knowing what he’d have to tell you later. But another part of him was hungry and he knew you kept bacon in the freezer for weekends. So he stayed.

He’d changed into a set of clothes in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Just a black pair of jeans and a sweater that you said made his arms look tasty. The outfit was left after a different date and now Bucky was glad to be getting it out of your dresser. He didn’t bother leaving the city, but he did leave the apartment, knowing you’d stop home to change before heading to the restaurant you chose. He found a bar to sit at until 6:00, but while he was killing time a text message came in that ruined his whole evening.

Bucky should have seen it coming and when the toe of his boot collided with the trash can outside, he wished it was his own brain. Or heart. Or whichever other organ was responsible for putting him in this mess. He looked down toward the sidewalk and kicked that too. He knew exactly which organ got him here.

There were plenty of signs. Little moments that he ignored to soothe every selfish ache. The need for sleep, the need for comfort, the need for release, the need for something that was just his. You’d given him all of that without question, but clearly not without expectation. Dating a hundred year old soldier came with its own difficulties sure, but dating an Avenger seemed to make up for all of that. Bucky knew he wasn’t blameless, having agreed to the whole boyfriend thing knowing your name, your address, and how much he liked sleeping on your sheets. Beyond that you were a mystery to him and it seemed to be unraveling right before him.

This kind of thing was meant for Steve or Tony, the faces of the organization not the bloody fists behind them. Bucky hadn’t even considered that he was being used until FRIDAY alerted him of a sudden social media buzz that included his name circulating around the internet. Tweets and posts and fan accounts which he wasn’t aware he had were passing around a photo of him. It was undeniably him. Even without seeing it on a regular basis, Bucky could recognize his own back from a photograph. The problem was his shirt, or lack thereof, highlighting the fact that one of his arms was the color of gunpowder and twice as deadly. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who it was.

Aside from the obvious violation, feeling like the intimate moments he’d guarded so carefully were suddenly being invaded by a world of people who didn’t know him, Bucky also couldn’t help but feel hurt as the leaked photo proved something he’d suspected, but never gave much thought to. You were only with him to be with an Avenger. He wasn’t sure it would matter who it was, you would have gone home with any member of the team given the chance. It was his face you found at the bar that night, so it was his life you slithered into without remorse. Bucky had only one desire left when it came to you— to slither out the same way.

“What is this?”

Bucky dropped the phone on the table between you and watched you wince at the loud clattering of silverware. If only you’d known his real desire was to throw the damn thing. On the screen before you was a familiar photo, one you’d posted yourself to Instagram, desaturated just enough to catch the early morning sun glinting off Bucky’s arm complete with the location “Welcome to New York” and appropriate Taylor Swift lyrics in the caption. The muscles in his bare back tensed as he looked out the window of a swanky hotel room. You’d met him for drinks in the bar downstairs when the night manager caught wind of the avenger in his hotel and made the surprisingly vacant presidential suite available for you two. It’d been a good night. A very good night, Bucky thought, before those steamy memories were spoiled in this very moment.

“Earth’s Mightiest Lover, question mark?” You read aloud, laughing at the headline, before looking up at Bucky’s face drawn tight in annoyance. “I mean, it’s not far off,” you offered casually, winking as you passed Bucky his phone back. He was unamused and watched as you straightened in your seat, tone suddenly matching the serious look on his face. “My page is private, I don’t know how they got that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he seethed. “You posted it.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t realize this was a secret.” You sounded offended and that surprised Bucky. As if you didn’t know exactly what you’d done.

“What I do in my personal life isn’t anyone’s business,” he insisted, still standing next to the table instead of sitting to join you.

He only became aware of the other patrons watching the exchange when your eyes left his to float around the room. You lowered your voice in response. “Well, what I choose to share from my life is.”

“This isn’t about you,” he sighed, dropping his voice a bit to match yours. No reason to bring anymore unwanted attention to himself.

“It feels like it is!” Your whisper was forceful and you turned your face away from him immediately after. “Why the big fuss, Bucky? Was it really a secret?” He didn’t answer. If he’d done what he’d been meaning to do sooner, this whole thing could have been avoided and he felt more ashamed of himself than you. It wasn’t that you were a secret, per se. It just wasn’t something he knew enough about to share with the world. He was still getting used to this century, let alone dating in it, let alone being a public figure in it. There wasn’t any part of him that wanted to fail in front of an audience and he assumed you’d know that. Even if he’d never told you. “What’s the point of a superhero boyfriend if no one can know,” he heard you mutter while he was lost in thought.

Bucky froze. “What’s the point?”

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” you said quickly. The air around your table changed immediately and you’d both picked up on it. “I hear how that sounds, that sounds bad, that’s not how I meant-“ he turned around and unfortunately, you chose to follow. He heard the offended gasp of a nearby table as you scampered after him, heels a dull thud in the thick carpet. “Bucky, come on. I didn’t mean it, can we talk about this?”

“No,” he said gruffly, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the sidewalk again.

“We’ve both said things-“

“Well, I’m done saying things.”

“Wait…” Bucky stopped walking when you grabbed at his arm. You didn’t normally go for his left side. He didn’t know if it was because you found it weird or if you thought he did. Another thing he never brought up. The feeling of your hands wrapped around vibranium was startling enough for him to face you, expectantly. “What just happened here?”

“This isn’t going to work for me,” he said, watching your mouth twitch a little as you considered his words. At least he wasn’t kissing you. He still kind of wanted to, it’d become a sort of habit over the last few months. When he was wound up, like he was now, he came to you and you made it go away. Simple. Yet now it felt complicated. Like the relationship was supposed to be more but also felt like too much. He wasn’t ready for it and as long as he focused, as long as he got out as soon as possible, he wouldn’t slide back into comfortable ways.

“Bucky…” your eyes were wide and your voice broke a bit at the end of his name. “Are we… are you breaking up with me?” You asked, before adding, “Over a picture?”

No, but also yes.

Bucky knew that he should, before you got hurt, though apparently he was too late for that. Your arms were crossed over your chest defensively and he dropped his eyes to the pavement. It wasn’t the picture. It was everything. The picture gave him permission to do the right thing. Though the right thing probably would have been telling you he wasn’t interested in a relationship at all when you asked.

“Delete the picture,” he said simply, choosing not to say more. “You don’t have a superhero boyfriend to brag about anymore.” With the twisting of that knife, he felt more like the Winter Soldier again in that moment than he had in months. Cruel and beyond his own control.

It happened so fast. All of it. By the time he’d returned to the compound, half the team was waiting for him. Tony stood smugly looking like a dad that hated being the bad cop, while Steve wondered aloud why Bucky had kept his relationship a secret for so long anyways. Sam’s questions were blessedly lighthearted, but Bucky’s gratitude could only be expressed in quick grunts as he pushed through the Brady Bunch. Back in his room with the door shut, Shuri called and without really thinking, Bucky answered. He didn’t turn to face the hologram floating above the kimoyo beads on his bedside table, just let the princess talk directly at the side of his head while he listened.

“Sergeant Barnes!” The honorific was standard for her and most of the time he appreciated it, but storming out of a date like a teenager had him feeling less than worthy of any title. He was barely fit to command his own personal life at that second and being called sergeant left a sour taste at the back of his tongue. If the boys could see him now, moping about because a gal was too eager to show him off. Ridiculous.

“Bucky…” he muttered to himself, but it didn’t matter. Shuri was already rambling excitedly about something or other she’d cooked up in her lab. Under normal circumstances, Bucky would be enthralled, but he was tired. Not physically, after accidentally on purpose taking a nap in your bed before getting dressed again. Just… all the other kinds of tired that he couldn’t talk about. So while the Princess talked, Bucky hummed randomly. He didn’t think he was allowed to miss this call and stayed on the line, though his disinterest was noticeable and promptly called out.

“Why do you look like someone kicked your goat?” Bucky turned to glare at the floating head and Shuri cackled. His time as a shepherd was nothing compared to the real Wakandans who’d been perfecting their craft over thousands of years, but she’d never let him forget his ‘roots’ as she jokingly called them. Because of her he was reborn, therefore Wakanda was his de facto home. Honorary member of the border tribe and the royal family’s favorite broken white boy.

“We broke up.”

“You know,” she started in a light tone, far too playful in response to his news. “White Wolf is just a name, you don’t have to be so lonely… or mopey.”

“I’m not mopey,” he argued, but the fight wasn’t really there.

“Says the mope,” Shuri countered, sucking her teeth and shaking her head. “Nakia would twist your lip if she saw it stuck out like that.”

“Well the next time I’m in the presence of the queen I’ll let her.”

“You know Sergeant Barnes,” the youthful tone in her voice disappeared instantly. She sounded every bit of the Black Panther mantle. “It’s been a long time since a man has snapped at me like that and walked away unscathed.” There was an underlying threat that sent Bucky upright, sitting on the edge of his bed and lifting the beads in his palm. Already his posture was more respectful than it had been a moment ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely and Shuri nodded. “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Finally the princess’s smile broke back through and Bucky was instantly relieved. “I didn’t call you to talk about girls anyways.”

“Can we skip this one?”

“No,” said Shuri, leaving no room for argument.

“How many diagnostics does one arm need?”

Shuri looked back up from the tablet she’d grabbed and squinted at Bucky. “The next time you rebuild a brain and an arm from scratch- you can tell me.”

And there was nothing to say to that, so Bucky detached the arm in question and set it down before popping a single kimoyo bead into the empty joint. He got comfortable and waited for Shuri to engage him again for another evaluation. The first year was critical, she kept saying, and he had no choice, but to agree with her.

He’d never rebuilt an arm or a brain.

While he waited for her to need his input again, Bucky thought about you. How surprised you looked when he started to walk away. Maybe you hadn’t seen it coming like he had. Just before Shuri finished with the arm, he’d decided to reach out to you. Not tonight. Probably not even tomorrow. But at some point, he’d apologize for the brusqueness of his exit. If he got the chance to.

Photo because, Bast bless this woman. She is too good for the world. Also. A mood. Shuri isn’t here to fix your relationship, Bucky. She’s a genius and a princess and a badass.

A/N: this is my not so subtle introduction to a genre I have created called, what is everybody else doing? Ok do the opposite just for fun. One of my favorite things in fic is when Bucky finds himself a girl who’s DiFfErEnT. Seriously I eat that shit up like fourth meal. But for fun, I asked, what if ‘reader’ is just like everyone else? A little shallow. A little star struck. A little in over her head. A little bit Alexis. Jk. Kind of. The excitement starts in the next chapter which I won’t wait two months to post. I don’t think.

Tags: @fangirl-swagg

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan characters #idga fic #some and others

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hanoella · 3 years

Text

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 8)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence, PTSD, PG-17 Romantic Content (oooooh), talk of sex

Part 8 Word Count: Just under 8k

A/N: It's starting to heat uppppppp👀. I always sort and curate the music so that you can listen to the music as you read the story and match the tone, starting from where I insert the song. Unfortunately, tumblr is being idiotic, and now I can't post the songs to play in-app for some reason. Sorry guys😭 If you haven't given it a try, I highly recommend!

Once again, thank you for all your support! Every heart and comment motivates me and is just so wonderful.

Taglist!: @vicmc624 @officiallykuute @undiadeestos @tailsoflightning @buckys2thicc @mischief-siriusly-managed

Winter

Bucky looked in the mirror nervously, mussing his hair up. It was a bit longer than when he had first come to Louisiana, and he had been overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices when it came to men’s hair products. He thought it looked okay, using the man on the front of the packaging as reference. It was a good thing you two were taking your car. He wasn’t sure if his work would’ve survived the motorcycle helmet. Glancing over the rest of his ensemble, he gave himself a nod of assurance. It was concert weekend, and also the day you were going on your first date. After contemplating on when to go, you had suggested a late night dinner after that weeks second concert and Bucky had thought it was a fine idea at the time. Though, now, he realized that he would have to sit through the concert first.

He picked up the bouquet of flowers he had gotten with the hair product the other day and headed to the door. Before leaving, he bent down to pet a sleepy Alpine, who was currently dozing peacefully in the last rays of the sun for the day.

“Wish me luck.” He said to the cat, who purred in response.

He left and crossed the driveway to your house. Knocking on your screen door, he waited expectantly.

“Come in!” He heard you call from inside.

He opened the screen door and crossed the threshold. He’d done it plenty of times before, but this time felt different. Seeing that the living room and kitchen were empty, he headed down the hall to your bedroom, where the light was filtering out of. Cautiously opening the door, he saw you sitting at the vanity, dressed in your typical rehearsal outfit of a blouse and slacks, and putting on the final touches to your makeup. You blinked to adjust to the mascara and turned towards him, a smile spreading across your cheeks.

“Hey!” You stood up to hug him and then take him in. “You look great, Buck.”

“Thanks, you too.” He replied, still coming across rather stiff from the nervousness. You looked up at him, slightly amused but keeping it to yourself. After a moment of gazing at your features that were complemented by the makeup you had just put on, Bucky cleared his throat and gifted you the bouquet.

“Oh, these are beautiful. Thank you so much.” You said as you admired the large white peonies, accented by bundles of pink hydrangeas and various types of eucalyptus. A green satin bow held the stems together as you felt the velvety petals between your fingertips. You grabbed his hand afterwards and squeezed it as you held the bouquet to your chest. “Thank you,” you repeated as you looked up at him. Bucky felt slightly more at ease, giving you a small but genuine smile.

“Of course.”

You set the bundle down gently before going over to your bed and unzipping the garment bag and holding the dress out for him to see.

“Is this too much to wear for the concert and then dinner? I figured I’d dress a little simpler so I don’t stand out too much at the restaurant.”

Bucky stepped closer and touched the luxurious navy blue fabric. The dress was cut so that it had a slight halter neckline, exposing minimal shoulder. It wasn’t until he saw the bottom end of the dress that he caught a glimpse of what you normally liked to wear. Flowers and greenery adorned the bottom half of the skirt, detailed in such a way that it looked like they had been painted right on the dress. The soft pastel brushstrokes formed rounded petals and long wispy leaves.

“It’ll look great on you.” He said with affection in his tone. “But you don’t have to change anything for me. All the gowns that you wore before looked great too, but what really makes them is the fact that you’re wearing them.”

It was your turn to blush, turning slightly to try and hide the pink on your face. You thanked him softly before excusing yourself to the kitchen to get a vase for the flowers. As you were filling the vase with water, you held your hand to your cheek in an effort to cool down your face. Coming back to your room, you put the flowers in water and turned to Bucky, who had sat himself down on the edge of the bed.

“Ready to go?”

---

Bucky sat on the green velvet couch in your dressing room, reading something on his phone as he listened to the rustling behind the room divider behind him.

“How do I look?” You asked, coming out from behind the divider and into the room. You were dressed in the gown from earlier, now with black flats and earrings that mimicked flower petals falling in the wind. You had decided on a more romantic look for your hair, settling on large loose waves, one side pinned back with a dainty silver bar clip.

He couldn’t help but smile.

“Beautiful.”

Who knew one word could give you such a fluttering in your stomach.

“Thank you.”

You sat next to him, folding one leg underneath of you and leaning against the couch, facing him.

“Are you going to be okay up in that box all by your lonesome?” you teased, reaching across and grabbing the tips of his fingers with yours.

“I hope so. I’ve got a date tonight.” He replied playfully. He always felt so warm, so comforting. You looked at him with affection before your eyes flitted to the clock behind him.

“I should probably get to the stage.” You sighed while you said it, reluctantly starting to get up and pull your hand away. Before you could completely escape his grasp, he squeezed your hand slightly.

“You’ll do great. See you after?” His look was slightly reminiscent of a puppy. You smiled wistfully and squeezed his hand back.

“See you after.”

You separated in the hall, you going one way to the stage and him going the other way to the box. Before he stepped inside, he realized he didn’t have a program. He made his way to the front and found an usher with a stack of programs.

“Can I have one of those?” He asked, coming off slightly more gruffly than he meant to.

“Sure, sir.” The usher handed him one and Bucky thanked him before turning. Halfway down the hall, he picked up the whispering of another usher who had come up to the one that had the programs.

“Is that Ms. Novikov’s boyfriend?”

“No way, is that who that was?”

“He always sits in her own personal box. It has to be.”

Boyfriend. Such a funny word. Bucky hadn’t been anyone’s boyfriend in decades. It almost felt silly to be dating somebody. It was like someone blowing all of their money on something they couldn’t afford. It felt reckless to invest so much feeling and time and emotion when he had so little of those things on his own. Yet, what little he had, he gladly spent on you.

“He is so hot. I would just let him-“

Bucky’s eyes widened as he heard several terms he didn’t understand. Clearing his throat, he walked a little faster back to the box.

---

You had laughed so hard that you were crying as Bucky tried to repeat some of the stuff he had overheard. Deciding to check on him during intermission, you had popped up to the box for a minute. After complimenting you on your playing, having performed what Bucky thought to be amazingly, as you usually did, he couldn’t stop the face he had made as his mind thought back to the usher. Needing to sit down, you had sat in one of the seats in the box, doubled over in a combination of laughing and crying.

“It’s not that funny!” Bucky whisper-yelled at you, as you gasped for breath, face in hands. He turned around to see that the next several boxes were looking over to see what the commotion was. One particular look on an older woman’s shocked face made him turn around quickly and try not to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” He said again, though now he was obviously trying to hold back his own laugh, which just made you laugh even harder.

Starting to calm down, you leaned back onto the seat, still clutching your stomach. Letting out some deep breaths, a burst of giggles fell out of your mouth, evolving into full on laughter again.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You said, regaining some semblance and wiping your eyes carefully as to not ruin any makeup. “That is just hilarious. I love it.” You concluded as you sighed and closed your eyes.

“You are just… something else.” Bucky replied, a huge smile overcoming his face despite the fact that he was shaking his head. The lights flickered overhead to signal the end of the intermission. You got up, straightening out the skirt of your dress and giggling.

“You can meet me at the dressing room after.” You said, waving your fingers at him. He had the same smile on his face as he watched you sweep aside the curtains and disappear. As embarrassing as it was, Bucky was thankful that it had broken the ice, no longer leaving him feeling awkward, nervous in your presence. As he was turning back to face the front, Bucky made eye contact with the same old lady in the box next door. Quickly, he cleared his throat and settled in his seat, adjusting so that he was sitting up straighter.

Several minutes went by before the conductor came back out, followed by you. He gave his usual introduction of the piece, explaining the history and the background behind the melody they were about to hear. This one was another piano feature- this time by Chopin.

The opening note was long and forceful, followed by a back and forth of a set of notes on your left hand that quickly sped up into an impressive speed. Your right hand entered the melody, quickly flitting back and forth to the end of the keys. The quickening of the keys sounded desperate, like a hare running frantically to safety from the jaws of a predator.

Both of your hands ran down from the higher keys to the low ones, somehow managing to hit very precisely on each intended note on the way down. Once in the lower octaves, the melody slowed. Your hand movements were graceful, body language and tone changing to one of peace. You spent some time exploring the gentle melody, conveying a feeling similar to the quiet after the storm. Just as Bucky expected the end of the melody, what would’ve been a period in the phrase of the major key, turned into a comma. The minor key from before took control of the music once more, somehow more desperate than before. The pace of your breathing sped up as you put more force behind the fleeting notes. The minor key evolved into a more complex intertwining of notes before unraveling into a major key once again, saying its last words and taking its last breath before dissipating into the auditorium.

Applause burst forth from the crowd, conveying more than Bucky could ever put into words about how incredible your performance was. How incredible you were. Still catching your breath, you stood at the conductor’s prompting, stealing a glance at Bucky, who was standing as he clapped, before bowing in acceptance of the praise.

---

After the concert, he drove you to New Orleans. At the restaurant, you were sat at a table on the edge of the dining room behind a low privacy partition. It was dimly lit, the small candle in the middle of the table creating a very intimate atmosphere. You sat across from each other at the two-person table, browsing the menu. Yours was laid flat on the table as you leaned over it, resting your chin on your clasped hands. Bucky’s was held up, serving as a way for him to sneak glances at you. The candlelight gave your hair an ever-moving sheen. It was nothing compared to how it lit the color of your eyes as you met his eye and smiled.

The romantic piano music played softly in the background as he set the menu down and let a gentle smile overtake his features. Your eyelids slowly lowered. You loved the little crow’s feet that appear by his eyes when he genuinely smiled.

“How’d I do on the first date setting?” You asked. The cozy restaurant had been your pick.

“You hit it out of the park. It’s very nice.” Bucky replied, leaning in a little closer so that he could cross his arms slightly onto the table.

“Isn’t it? There’s a few of them across the country. I used to at the one in New York while I went to Julliard. Can you guess what I did?” You chuckled as you pointed your head in the direction of the live piano music coming from the stage.

“Hmm… Dishwasher? No wait, valet?”

Bucky lives for the smile that comes across your face when you try not to laugh at his antics.

“Absolutely. Always wanted to be a valet. It’s my dream job.” You joked back with a twinkle in your eye. The waiter came up to the table, causing you both to lean slightly back. After introducing themselves and setting two glasses of water down, they asked for your drink order. Bucky nodded for you to go first, ever the gentleman. You turned your head towards the waiter, your gaze lingering on Bucky before giving full attention towards them as you spoke.

“What are some of the best whiskeys you have to recommend?”

Bucky could’ve spit out his water. This place could not be cheap. His suspicions were confirmed as the waiter started listing off various whiskeys that were at least a decade old. About three whiskeys into the list, you saw Bucky tilt his head out of the corner of your eye. Glancing at him, you raised your eyebrows as if to ask if he was interested. He raised his eyebrows and gave a small nod.

“We’ll have that one please.” You said, stopping the waiter when he finished the description. You had selected the sixteen year old single malt with notes of plums, apricots, white truffles, honey, dark chocolate, and hazelnuts. As soon as the waiter turned around, Bucky leaned in and gave you a look of incredulousness.

“Doll, I am all for the finer things in life but that whiskey has got to be a pretty penny.”

You leaned in as well, with a dreamy look on your face.

“Well, if it gets you to call me ‘doll’ then I’ll buy the whole bottle.”

---

Bucky actually did end up liking it so much that you ordered a bottle to take home. He had tried to stop you from paying for it, but you insisted, saying this whole date was on you.

“Just pay for the next one. I picked the fancy place, so I should pay! Besides, you do so much for me all of the time.”

Eventually, he caved in and let you, the assurance of a second date placating him. Dinner had been equally as delicious and sprinkled with easy conversation. Dessert was set on the table with two spoons to share. The entire night was going wonderfully. At this point, with a few bites of dessert left, both of you were lounging while listening to the gentle music as he held your hand across the table.

A group was getting up from the table across the divider when one of them glanced over and recognized you.

“Irina Novikov!”

Your hand left Bucky’s instinctually as you looked in the direction of the voice. Easing when you realized it was a concert goer, you smiled as the group came over to your table.

“We just came from your performance, you did an excellent job. We’ve been coming all season and it’s wonderful to be able to talk to you in person.” A middle aged man said as the rest of his group nodded enthusiastically.

“The pleasure’s all mine. I’m so happy that you enjoy the music that we perform.” You said, shaking his hand.

“Would you, perhaps, be willing to sign our programs?”

“Absolutely.” You said, as you took the pen. You paused slightly before writing the signature. Bucky could tell that you hadn’t thought about it before- how to sign the new name. You signed everyone’s program, making sure to ask for their name and including a short thank you for their support.

“I look forward to seeing you in the audience the next time you’re able to visit.” You said as you handed back the last program and pen. They graciously thanked you and walked away, leaving you to look at Bucky, who was admiring you.

“What?” You asked, cheeks flushing.

“Nothing. You’re just so good to them. Does that happen often?”

“I try to be. I’m sure if I had more people always coming up to me I’d be less patient. To answer your question, it happens occasionally. It happened a lot in New York when I played with the symphony up there. But that was a long time ago.” You looked down wistfully, thinking of the past. Then, you looked up and grabbed his hand.

“But I’m pretty happy where I am now. Don’t doubt that.”

Bucky felt a fluttering in his chest.

After settling the bill and giving Bucky the bottle of whiskey, you put your coat on and held Bucky’s hand as you walked to out of the restaurant. On the way home, he drove as you hummed along to the radio, watching the road signs and the streetlights pass. Eventually the highway turned into main streets and main streets turned into side streets. Maybe if he drove slower, the night didn’t have to end.

Parking in the driveway, Bucky signaled for you to wait before he jogged around the front of the car, opening your door and holding out a hand.

“Oh, what a gentleman.” You laughed as you took his outstretched hand and stepped out of the car. Taking his arm, you let him walk you to your front door. You turned the key and opened the door, turning on the lights before facing him again.

“Well. This was wonderful. I had such a good time.” You said, hugging him around the neck. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

“Me too.”

You pulled back, letting your hands run down his arms and holding his hands in yours.

“I think it’s safe to say that there will be a second date.” You stated teasingly, squeezing his hands.

“I would say you’re right.” He said, boyish charm coming through. You wondered if this is what he was like back before the war. Smiling, you looked into his eyes.

“Thank you for taking me out. You’re so lovely to be with, and it feels unreal to be with you. I think I’ve wanted this for a long time.” Affection was laced throughout your tone.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something and nothing came out. He squeezed your hands once, as if to make sure you were real, and shook his head.

“You took the words right out of my mouth. That’s exactly how I feel about you.”

There was a slight pause before Bucky closed the gap between you. Your bottom lip was between his and you closed your eyes as your hands held his face to yours. You felt your fingertips scrape across his stubble as he held you in his arms, hands supporting your back as he deepened the kiss. After a few moments, you pulled back, a flush over your face and the cold air exposing your breathlessness. He let out a quiet breathy laugh and you did the same.

“You have… no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He said as he softly put his forehead to yours.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” You repeated his phrase with amusement. Reluctantly, you took your arms from around his neck and trailed them down to his hands, grabbing both. You took a moment to appreciate how perfectly his hands felt in yours, vibranium and all.

“Goodnight, Buck.”

He squeezed your hands lightly before slowly letting go of your hands.

“Goodnight.”

Putting his hands in his pockets, he waited for you to exit the house, reciprocating your wave as you softly shut the door. Letting out a deep breath, he walked leisurely across the driveway and up to his apartment. He loosened his tie with one hand as he greeted Alpine with the other. She followed at his heels as he got ready for bed, hopping up onto his chest when he finally laid down. Curling up into a ball, she purred as he scratched her neck. Alpine fell asleep almost immediately, but Bucky lay awake, the image of you laughing at something he said across the candlelit table occupying the forefront of his thoughts.

---

The second date had to be rescheduled due to business that Sam and Bucky had to take care of, once again, in D.C. Reluctantly, he had texted you to reschedule.

Have to go to DC tonight with Sam… Go out when we come back?

Bucky watched the bubble type.

If you don’t want to go out again, just say so

He felt like vomiting.

KIDDING! Of course we can.

Taking a deep breath, he typed out a reply.

Not funny. Almost gave me a heart attack. You gonna be okay for a few days?

I’ll be fine, just take care of yourself and be safe, please.

Will do, doll.

A little heart emoji you sent back made Bucky smile before he tucked his phone away and boarded the plane.

---

After a few days of cut-and-dry investigation, they were done by Saturday night. Since they were flying commercially, they had one more evening to kill before the next flight. Bucky was standing idly outside of the crowded comic book store that Sam was currently in. AJ had called Uncle Sam, asking if he could check for a specific volume of a comic that he liked. Happy to oblige, Bucky had told Sam that they could make the stop. Though, once seeing how crowded it was, Bucky opted to stay outside. Feeling a buzz in his pocket, he took out his phone to see a text from you pop up on his home screen. You had sent him a picture of Alpine curled up on the bed next to the dress you were going to perform in.

Alpine has approved my dress selection this evening!

Smiling at his screen as he sauntered down the sidewalk, he typed out his reply.

I agree with Alpine. Very nice selection.

He sent the text and paused, standing in place for a moment before sending a short addendum.

Sorry that I can’t be there.

It’s okay, there’s plenty others :)

Bucky looked up and saw that he had wandered a few stores down from the comic book shop. Craning his head, he didn’t see Sam yet. Turning back to the store in front of him, he glanced at the window display. A set of earrings on the edge of the display caught his eye. The soft pearls and winding gold took him back to another time. It was very reminiscent of the fancy jewelry that adorned the movie stars during his youth.

Glancing back down to the comic store, he had yet to see Sam out front. He took the opportunity to slip into the jewelers. There was a well-dressed couple looking at specific pieces of jewelry but otherwise, the store was empty. An unoccupied salesman approached Bucky warily.

“Can I help you sir?”

“Yes, um… I was interested in getting something from the window display.” Bucky said in a low tone as he gestured to the front. He was overly aware of how ‘rough around the edges’ he looked.

“Which one?” The salesman asked as Bucky followed him to the front. After the earrings were pointed out, the salesman took them out of the case. He gave a little background as he handed Bucky the set.

“This is from our vintage-inspired collection. Modeled after jewelry from the post-art-deco era in the 1930’s, these earrings are the perfect modern gift with a vintage twist.” They dangled on the velvet earring holder as Bucky took a closer look. They were perfect.

“How much?” Bucky asked.

“They’re a bit expensive sir- four hundred dollars.” The salesman said uneasily.

“I’ll take them.”

He paid for the gift and stepped out onto the street, stuffing the earring box into his pocket. No sign of Sam yet. Making his way back up the street, he checked his phone to see that you had texted him a link. He sat on the bench and tapped on the link, which took him to a video that you had uploaded of the opening piece from the night before. He smiled as he saw that you had recorded it from his usual spot in Box One. You walked across the stage on screen, doing your usual bow and taking a seat at the bench. He put the speaker of the phone up to his ear and waited for the playing to start.

“What’re you listening to?”

Bucky almost dropped his phone as Sam cackled.

“Are you finally done?” Bucky said, annoyance seeping out his tone.

“Yeah, c’mon.” Sam said, smirk still on his face.

That night in the hotel room, as Bucky was settling into bed, he played the video once more, this time actually getting to listen. It was a soft melody, warm and deceivingly intricate, lulling him to sleep.

---

The second official date was up to Bucky to plan, since you had gotten to plan the first one. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but he wanted it to be a surprise.

Dress code? You had asked.

He texted back to wear something comfy and casual. He had gone back to his roots, opting for dinner and a drive-in movie. Remembering your favorite snacks from grocery shopping, he made sure to stock up beforehand, stealing your keys and tucking them into the trunk of the car along with a cozy blanket.

He straightened out the wrinkles in his light grey long-sleeve shirt and checked to make sure his jeans and sneakers didn’t have mud on them from the driveway earlier. Satisfied with his appearance, he snagged his leather jacket and went to warm up the car.

Several minutes after he had gotten in the drivers seat and started the car, you stepped out of the house. Your white headband kept the hair out of your face as you locked the door behind you. You had put your hair into two braids that fell against the fuzzy crème sweater. With your outfit completed with light-wash jeans, white sneakers, and a small cross-body bag, Bucky thought you looked absolutely adorable.

“Hey.” He greeted you with a huge smile.

“Hey!” You replied as you messed with the seatbelt. After it clicked, you looked up at him, allowing Bucky to get a better look at you. You had put on a more natural set of makeup that just enhanced your already present features- your eyelashes curling just at the tips, your lips glossy and tinted-pink.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“You’ll see.”

A coy smile came upon his lips as he shifted the car into drive. It was a longer drive and you made easy conversation as the sun started to set. It always set so early in the winter, making it feel way later than it was. Bucky exited the highway and you perked up curiously, looking to see if you recognized anything. Eventually, he merged into the turn lane, waiting for the light so that he could turn onto the street with a huge sign that read Drive-In Movies, This Way.

“Are we going to a drive-in movie?” You questioned excitedly. Bucky laughed at your enthusiasm and nodded his head.

“Yup. We are.”

You looked forward excitedly as the light turned green and he turned onto the road. Bucky pulled up to a toll booth and rolled down the window. A man peered into the car momentarily before ringing up the register.

“Twenty four dollars please.”

Wordlessly, Bucky pulled out his wallet and handed the man the cash. Letting his left arm hang out of the window while he waited for the change, he took his right and cupped it against the side of his mouth in a dramatic fashion.

“I remember when these used to be a dime.”

Your mouth twisted in an effort to hold back your laughter as Bucky thanked the man for the change. As you pulled off, you couldn’t help but snort.

“Okay, that was cute.” Bucky teased, getting the crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes that you liked so much. You gave him a wide smile as he pulled into the last row. Your eyes grew wide at the trailers playing on the screen.

“Wow, this is amazing. I’ve never been the a drive-in before. The screen is huge!” You turned your head. “And there’s a snack bar!”

“Hold on,” Bucky said as he popped the trunk and exited the car. He lifted the bag out of the trunk and came back around to the door, ducking his head so that he could see you.

“I’ve got some of your favorite,” he said as he passed you the bag of snacks, “and a blanket to stay warm in.”

Your eyes lit up as you looked through the snack bag. He had gotten a variety of candy he’s seen you eat, as well as chips and a bucket of kettle corn.

“Of course, if you want anything else, you can still go to the snack stand.”

“No, Buck, this is great. You’re amazing.” You said as you shook your head, still ruffling through the bag. He laughed and got back into the car, throwing the blanket into the back seat and pushing his chair back. As you got situated, the sun set fully and the movie began playing.

---

There were about thirty minutes left in the movie, and you and Bucky had finished up with the snacks and settled into your seats. The action on the screen did little to distract you from the way Bucky’s thumb rubbed the top of your hand. You stole a glance at him and he met your gaze with an easygoing smile on his face.

“Do you like the movie?” He asked when you did not turn back.

“Oh, yeah, I like it. I’ve actually seen it before. I just really like being here with you.” You propped your elbow up on the center console and rested your chin against your palm, looking at Bucky with a dreamy look in your eyes. “Am I distracting you from the movie?”

Bucky leaned closer to you with an amused look on his face.

“Yes, but I have also seen this movie before.”

It only took a few moments before his lips met yours, parting slightly to taste your strawberry lip gloss. His hand came up to softly hold your face, his thumb brushing against your jawline. When you came apart, the expression on your face made him swallow thickly. Hooded eyes and slightly parted lips tempted him beyond his means. This time, you leaned in to meet him in the middle, no hesitancy behind your actions. You captured his bottom lip, giving it a little kitten lick before gently sucking on it. Bucky let out a small groan into your mouth unintentionally, making your breath hitch.

You kissed for a while, small noises escaping both of you as you tilted your head occasionally to deepen the kiss. Bucky felt something stir in him that hadn’t in a long, long time. It was absolutely intoxicating, being with you like this. All he wanted was a little more. Breaking the kiss, he pulled back just a little, slightly breathless, just as you were. You let out a breathy laugh, cheeks warm and lips swollen. A beat passed before Bucky said something that made you almost choke.

“If we’re going to keep kissing, you should come over here and sit on my lap.”

You turned your head, looking through the car windows. There was no one parked particularly close to you, and your windows were tinted anyway. With an excited grin on your face, you scooted backwards over the center console until your back was resting on the driver’s side door. You were angled slightly to face him, your outstretched legs over his lap and on the center console towards the backseat. You hooked your arms around his neck and giggled. You hadn’t done anything like this since you were in high school.

He chuckled with you before closing the gap. You felt each others smiles as you kissed. Slowly, the kiss deepened. His arms wrapped around your waist as he tilted forward, leaning over you and giving him better access as you opened your mouth to let his tongue in. His hands moved to support the back of your head and your lower back, causing you to groan slightly and shift in his lap.

Bucky opened his eyes in surprise, panicking silently. You hadn’t noticed, eyes still closed as you continued to kiss him. He cursed in his head, shifting you up slightly so that your leg wasn’t resting right on his crotch. Thankfully, he was wearing jeans and you hadn’t given any indication that you had noticed. He chastised himself in his head.

C’mon man, you’re not fifteen anymore. You can’t go around getting stiff every time you kiss a girl.

The bright lights cut back on, startling you and Bucky apart. You squinted your eyes and looked out towards the screen. The credits had just finished. Looking back to Bucky, you both laughed before kissing once more.

---

Afterwards, he took you to a classic diner, treating you to dinner and dessert. There was a jukebox in the corner that you and Bucky had looked at, racking up a few songs. You had danced slightly in your seat when your favorites came on, making him grin like a love-struck fool.

The diner had been close to the drive-in, so the drive home was still pretty long. Full and content, you had dozed off to the tune of the radio playing softly in the background. Choosing to let you sleep, he drove back silently, looking over at you with a smile every once and a while.

He pulled up to the driveway and parked the car, gently leaning over to rub your arm.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “We’re home.”

You hummed in acknowledgement as you yawned and let you eyes adjust to the lights in the car.

“Mmm. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay, it’s late. Let’s get you inside.”

You slowly got up and out of the car, gravel crunching underneath of your shoes. Bucky walked with you up to the front door.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” You said groggily, leaning forward to kiss him. He met you halfway, pecking you on the lips.

“Goodnight.”

He watched you cross the threshold, giving you his usual three-fingered wave when you turned back to wave goodbye.

---

For the third date, you had told Bucky to wear his suit and tie. He had no idea what to expect. Hearing thunder outside, he took a peak through the blinds. The wind was really starting to pick up. Grabbing his phone and wallet, he gave Alpine a quick scratch before heading out. The wind was harsh, even for Bucky’s standards. He jogged across the driveway and up the porch, knocking on the door. A few seconds later, you answered, stepping out onto the porch.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting the weather to be like this. I got us a reservation at the museum’s restaurant but I don’t think it’s a good idea to travel that far in the rain.”

You looked out at the sky as the wind whipped your hair around your face. Bucky took the moment to admire how attractive you were. You had on an emerald satin cowl-neck dress that had a slit up the side. Dainty gold earrings matched the shimmering tennis bracelet you on. Your heels gave you some height and made it look like you were showing off an ungodly amount of leg.

“I’m sorry Buck,” you started, looking back to him. “I think we’ll have to go out some other time.”

“I understand. You look beautiful, by the way.” He said as he grabbed both of your hands.

You thanked him with an affectionate smile before getting a thoughtful look on your face.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?”

---

You padded back to the living room with two glasses, heels discarded at the door. Bucky, sans coat and tie, had opened a bottle of whiskey. Tucking your leg under your knee, you sat close, facing him. You held out the glasses, letting him poured a small amount in each. He sat the bottle down and you held out your glass to clink it to his. You took a sip of liquid courage, trying to steel your nerves. You held your drink in your lap and put your arm up on the back of the couch, leaning your head on your hand.

“It’s strange how, once we started seeing each other, how much of a rush it feels. Does it feel like that to you?”

“I do. It feels like… I just can’t get enough.” He said with a chuckle.

“It’s quite nice.” You smiled softly. “To find someone you have an understanding with.”

Bucky nodded as he sipped on his drink. You’d only known each other for half of a year, but if he thought about it harder, you had spent a lot of that time together, especially during the last few months. Bonds are also strengthened during trials and tribulation- you were both people looking to start over, to live happily, to do what you love and have a sense of fulfilment.

“I just think you’re amazing. I think it’s amazing that you want to be with me. I went through so much for so long, and now I finally remember what it feels like to have a sliver of happiness. So thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to be with anybody,” you started, looking down at your drink, “-and I would imagine it’s been the same for you.”

“Yeah. Since before the war.”

“There’s been nobody since?” Your face changed to one of empathy. Bucky took another sip of his drink.

“Nobody. Except you.” He glanced at you with a look of resolution and longing. Gently, you smiled back at him.

“I must be one lucky gal to catch you this late in the game.”

You looked at each other affectionately and kissed. It wasn’t rough, but still filled with passion. After a moment, you pulled apart. You looked up at him through your eyelashes and bit your lip. Bucky swallowed thickly.

“How… fast do you want to take things?”

He blinked in surprise at your words. He hadn’t expected a straight forward discussion about it, but then again, dating in this age was much different. It did make things refreshingly simpler.

“I, uh…”

You looked at him expectantly and he cleared his throat and apologized.

“Sorry. This is all new for me.”

You set a hand on his thigh encouragingly and offered to go first.

“I can start. I… haven’t been with anyone, physically, since my last relationship and you know how that ended. He could be a little… forceful, and that aspect of our relationship has proven to be one of the hardest things to heal from.”

At this point, you were looking down at your hand, tapping a soothing rhythm from muscle memory onto his thigh.

“… I’m sorry. That must be extremely painful to deal with. Nobody should have to go through that.” He put a hand onto your knee reassuringly, rubbing it with his thumb. You shook your head quickly.

“It’s in the past. I’m happy with where I am now. At the end of the day, that’s what matters. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself… Either way, I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m not completely sure what I’m ready for, and I might not know until the opportunity presents itself. Please, be patient with me as I figure this. It’s not because I don't trust you or think you'll hurt me, I just...” You trailed off.

“Of course. Whatever you need. Don’t be afraid to tell me if you’re uncomfortable,” he assured you. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t been with anyone… ever.”

“Really? Like, you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” You looked at him in a way that implied that he better not be messing around.

“I mean, I’ve gotten a little handsy before,” he said in slight defense, lightening the tension. “but I’ve never been with anyone like that. We didn’t talk about stuff like this in the 40’s. It was expected that you… you know, wait until marriage. People still got together physically, but it was way less common back then. Believe it or not, Steve wasn’t the only gentleman out there.”

You nodded your head and looked at him, clearly impressed.

“No, I totally believe that. Wow. Playboy Sergeant Barnes, waiting for the right girl. You know they write about you like you basically invented premarital sex.”

“Pfft.” Bucky couldn’t hold back his laughter. You both fell apart into a round of giggles. You took another sip of your drink and tried to settle down, wiping your eyes and letting out a deep breath.

“So, are you waiting? To be married? It’s totally fine if you are, I’m just curious.”

Bucky shrugged his eyebrows, now bringing his arm to rest against the couch behind you.

“Not anymore. I think I might’ve then, but that was a lifetime ago. I think what matters most is how comfortable I feel with the person. Besides, it’s rude to keep a lady waiting.” His tone changed, wearing a teasing smile on his face. You rolled your eyes, though still smiling, and put a hand on his chest lightly.

“Very funny, Buck. I’m glad we got to talk about it.”

“Me too.”

The rest of the night was filled with cooking together and watching a movie, only to be distracted by each other. You had been making out with him for quite some time before you separated from him, yawning and stretching your arms over your head.

“Alright, I’m tired. Wanna sleepover?”

“What happened to taking things slow?” He half-teased.

“Well, I figured since you’ve already slept over here once, it wasn’t anything new. Plus you are so warm and it’s so cold.” You bantered. Changing to a more serious tone, you reiterated- “Only if you want to.” Bucky squinted his eyes as he thought and then mentally shrugged, getting up off of the couch.

“Sure.”

He followed you down the hall. You padded lightly to your room, pulling your hair to the front of your shoulder.

“Do you need clothes?” You asked as you started unzipping the top of the dress. Instinctively Bucky looked aside.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

You responded “okay” as you stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you to change in privacy. He looked around before unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt. He did the same with his pants before getting in bed on the side you don’t sleep on. Bringing one arm up under the pillow to prop himself up slightly and resting the other on his midsection, he let out a deep breath, getting comfortable. The sheets were extremely soft, and they smelled like you. Hearing the door open, he watched as you came out in a loose long-sleeve t-shirt and soft flannel sleep pants.

“Comfy?” You asked with a smile, hanging up the dress on the door.

“Yeah.”

You got into bed on your usual side and laid on your stomach, propping yourself up on your forearms as you looked down at him. Your hair created a curtain, blocking the light from the lamp and creating your own little bubble.

“Goodnight.” You smiled at him sleepily.

“Goodnight.”

He kissed you softly before settling back down. You turned off the lamp and scooched up next to him. He sighed in contentment and moved his arm so that he was holding you to him. With your head resting on his shoulder, he fell into the best sleep he had had in years.

---

The next morning, Bucky floated back up to consciousness to what felt like bliss. Stirring awake, he blinked his eyes open to find the source of the comfort- you. You were still asleep, curled up next to him, face against his arm. Carefully, he slid out of the bed so as to not disturb you, and went to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. He breathed in the morning as he looked out at the bare landscape. After experiencing cryofreeze and the depths of Siberia, the cold couldn’t phase him.

What did phase him, was the warmth he experienced with you. His entire life up until this point had been frigid. Losing his family, his friends, his life, his willpower. Everything around him was nothing but cold to the touch. Then, you came in with a burst of red warmth, thawing him out and letting him feel again. Feel something other than pain and confusion, anger and abandonment. The feeling of actually being happy, which was new and overwhelming.

He hadn’t noticed his breath growing heavier. Putting a hand to his chest, he tried to slow his breathing. Being happy also meant that it could now be taken away. He hadn’t had anything to lose in a long, long time.

The creaking of the floorboards caught Bucky’s attention, and he was able to calm himself down with the distraction. He poured another cup of coffee as you walked into the kitchen. Turning around, he saw you stretch your arms above your head before settling down on the barstool at the counter.

“Good morning.” You greeted him with a sleepy smile, slouching over the counter to watch him pour the exact amount of cream and sugar that you liked into the cup.

“Good morning.” He echoed, handing over the mug and leaning against the counter across from you. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. The delicious smell of coffee did.” You took a sip and sighed. “And maybe the cold did too.”

You reached over the counter for his hand. The warmth of his palm brought much needed heat to the tips of your fingers. He squeezed your hand slightly tighter than normal and you thought nothing of it. You lifted the mug to your mouth by one hand and took a longer drink before settling back in your chair. Your unbrushed hair framing your face as the light of the winter morning lit up your eyes.

Bucky’s breath sped up slightly as he looked at you, completely enamored and terrified of the feeling that was swelling in his chest.

#bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader

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spine-buster · 4 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 25

A/N: So this chapter begins the first mention of COVID-19 for the story. I know it’s not much but I did want to put a little disclaimer because I know it was a traumatic event for many people, especially those who were affected by it personally. We will obviously get deeper into it as the story progresses in the next chapters (judging by the date...it’s time!)

Also, no @’ing me about what happens here with a certain someone.

March 2nd, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was paying attention to the news at the airport.

“While the first case of what epidemiologists are referring to as COVID-19 was recorded in Toronto on January 25th, the novel coronavirus is still baffling some scientists in terms of its symptoms. They range from severe in some, to completely asymptomatic in others. While there are currently less than twenty cases in Toronto thus far, Ontario health officials have recorded three news cases today. One is a man in his 60s who returned on a flight from Egypt, while the other two are women in their 60s and 70s returning on a flight from Egypt. Public health officials are encouraging individuals to wash their hands frequently and exercise caution whenever and wherever possible.”

“Want some hand sanitizer?” John asked from beside her. He was laid out in the chair beside her while her knees were against her chest.

She nodded, leaving her bag of pretzels in her lap before she extended her hand and he squirted some Purell onto her hand. John always had everything readily available – hand sanitizer, band aids, healthy granola bars, breath mints – she was sure he probably had a spare hair elastic in his backpack too, and a full surgery kit for all she knew. She rubbed the sanitizer in between her hands. “What do you think about all this?” she asked, motioning towards the TV monitor.

John shrugged. “I’m a bit nervous about it,” he admitted. “I know that Aryne is taking some extra precautions with Jace. A lot of her friends from Queen’s ended up going to med school so she’s friends with a lot of doctors and listening to their advice.”

“I guess we should all be.”

“Wouldn’t hurt, right?” John asked rhetorically. “Better safe than sorry. What do you think about it?”

Aberdeen pursed her lips slightly. “I have no clue. Science goes way above my head. But if doctors and epidemiologists are going to tell me to do something – or not do something – so I don’t get sick, I’m going to do it – or not do it – whatever.”

“Atta girl,” John smiled. “Just listen to the experts.”

“That’s why I listen to you about hockey,” she winked.

He laughed out loud. “You butter me up too much. What are you looking for? A granola bar? You already have pretzels.”

“Not everything with me has to do with food.”

“Really?”

She pinched him.

***

March 5th, 2020

It was 24 Celsius in Los Angeles, and Aberdeen was loving it. Though the Leafs had suffered a bit of an embarrassing loss to San Jose the night before, today the team had a day off before they had back to back games against the Kings and Ducks. Some of them were going shopping on Rodeo Drive (Auston, Frederik), and some were visiting old friends since being traded (Kyle, Jack), but most were doing exactly what Aberdeen wanted to do: going to the beach.

They decided on Malibu Beach. It was only a thirty minute drive from the hotel, so Aberdeen put on her bathing suit and packed herself in a car with John, Jason, and Justin Holl. William, Rasmus, Kappy, and Pierre followed in another, with Tyson and Mitch tagging along in the last car too. It may not have been super-hot to Californians, but for sun-starved Canadians, it would do. The sun was out, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and she was going to tan the entire afternoon. She would take advantage of it as much as possible.

As she helped set up the blankets and beach towels, she watched as Mitch and Tyson already stripped down to their bathing suits and ran into the ocean together. Pierre was setting up some Bluetooth speakers and John was passing around the sunscreen. The visual of these men rubbing sunscreen across their abs made Aberdeen’s heart flutter – but then the image of them having to slather sunscreen all over each other’s backs brought her back down to earth. She chuckled to herself and shook her head.

“Aberdeen, sunscreen!” John tossed the bottle towards her. She caught it and stripped down to her tankini before squirting some onto her legs and arms, making sure to cover herself thoroughly. She could tell William was watching but trying not to make it seem like he was. Jason took care of her back.

The guys did their own thing while Aberdeen read her book and tanned. She could hear them screaming every now and then and watched as they gave each other piggyback rides and splashed water at each other like they were a peewee hockey team on a weekend tournament. Every now and again someone would come back to the blankets and beach towels to relax, but soon enough, they were back in the ocean, being loud and obnoxious but happy, happy boys.

“Whatcha reading?” Tyson asked as he walked towards her, wet from the salt water and sand sticking to his legs. She flashed the book at him – Milkman by Anna Burns – and he squinted his eyes to see it properly in the sunlight. “Is it about milk?” he asked.

She shorted. She remembered back to when she was reading Women Talking by Miriam Toews and William asked “Do women talk in it?” like a smartass. “It’s about a woman in what’s very obviously Belfast coming of age during the Troubles. I thought it might give me some more insight into what my mom grew up in.”

“Is it any good? Was it as good as the one you were reading last week on the plane? Normal Girls or whatever it was?”

Aberdeen giggled. “Normal People, you mean? No, it’s not as good as that. Fuck, I loved that book.”

“I know. You wouldn’t shut up about it!” he joked, wiping his body off. From behind him, Aberdeen could see John making his way towards them. William was still off in the ocean, throwing a football between him, Pierre, and Mitch. “Think you can teach Mitch how to read?”

Aberdeen smiled. “I can certainly try.”

As if on cue, Mitch’s booming voice was heard. “Hey T-Bear! Get over here!” he yelled, putting everything he had into his throw of the football so it reached Tyson, who caught it expertly.

“See ya later, Aberdeen,” he said before running off, throwing the football towards Pierre who had to dive into the water to catch it.

Instead of focusing on the water cascading down Pierre’s abs or the sunlight hitting William’s broad shoulders perfectly, making him look like some Norse god, she focused her attention on John. “You feeling good?” she asked.

“The best,” he nodded, wiping himself off before lying the towel down again and sitting on it, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “You’ve already gotten some colour,” he commented.

“Thank God,” she said, looking down at her arms. “The winter has made me so pale. It’s a bummer I didn’t get my dad’s skin tone. My sister and brother got lucky with that.”

“You took after the Scottish side?” he asked. Aberdeen nodded. “I get it,” he said. “Aryne can’t tan either. She burns too easily.”

“Wonder if the Swedes are going to look like tomatoes in a couple of hours,” she said, nodding her head towards them. “Imagine they’re on TV and beet red? I might get fired for not slathering sunscreen on you guys or not telling you to put on some hats.”

John laughed out loud, choosing to lean back on his elbows. “I don’t know about that, Aberdeen. Something tells me you’ll be around for a long time if certain people have anything to say about it – well, until you want to leave, that is.”

Aberdeen’s body stiffened slightly at his words. “Wh…what do you mean?” she asked.

“Ah, nothing serious, Aberdeen. Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head. With the silence between them, Aberdeen thought he may have dropped it, but he didn’t. He was just preparing to articulate what he wanted to say. “It’s not just Brendan liking you, you know. We know William has, like, the biggest crush on you, okay? We’re all adults here,” he said to her shock. “It’s cute, but we all know it’s harmless.”

“It is harmless,” she stressed.

“I know, Aberdeen. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t for a second forget that you’re all Toronto Maple Leafs,” she said. “Every job in this organization is a dream job for someone and you guys forget that some people spend their entire lives, their entire careers, building up their resumes waiting to get hired by this organization. Nobody would ever, ever, under any circumstances, want to do anything to fuck it up, because once you’re done here, there’s nowhere else to go.”

“I knooooow, I know. I’m just ribbing you like we rib him about it,” he smiled. He was so jovial about it all that Aberdeen calmed down a bit. He wasn’t trying to get to the bottom of something like he was when he and Morgan asked her about Ethan – he was just being good-humoured. A human, not a captain of a hockey team. Maybe her overreaction was a bit much but she needed to remain guarded and vigilant about it if ever, and whenever the guys brought it up. “He looks at you googly-eyed all the time even though he knows nothing’s ever gonna happen. I’m pretty sure he’d cry whenever you leave.”

Aberdeen snorted. Cry from joy, probably, because that would mean they could actually touch each other in public. “He told you that? That nothing is ever gonna happen?”

John nodded his head. “Well, nothing’s ever gonna happen as long as you work here,” he clarified. “But don’t tell him I told you. He kind of figures and we all know it’s a lost cause as long as you’re working here.”

Aberdeen nodded, deciding not to say anything as she looked out into the distance. The boys were still throwing the football, and Justin was attempting a yoga pose on the beach. She picked up her book and buried her head in it.

***

Adrian Kempe, a Swedish friend of William’s, recommended a taco restaurant in Malibu for the group to have dinner. It wasn’t a far drive from where they were on the beach, so at around six in the evening, they shook the sand off the towels and packed them back in the cars and headed to Café Habana. Aberdeen was in the car with John, Jason, and Justin again.

When they arrived at the restaurant, she looked out the backseat window to see Kappy making a beeline towards someone. The girl, Aberdeen soon noticed, was Saylor. She figured Saylor was here for another modelling gig, though Aberdeen did find it somewhat amusing that Saylor always popped up in cities or areas with…well, shall we say distractions. She was in New York. Las Vegas. Aberdeen knew she’d been to Florida. Now she was in LA. Saylor didn’t go Columbus or Colorado.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Saylor squealed as she saw Willy, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him. “Surrrrrpriiiiise!”

“Surprise,” he smirked, but Aberdeen could tell he wasn’t as excited as she was. “Here for some modelling?”

“Who wouldn’t want to come down to LA to model? I just came from a shoot,” she said, now focusing her attention on Aberdeen. “Hey girl!” she squealed again.

“Hi Saylor,” she smiled.

“I’m so glad I won’t be the only girl here tonight,” she smirked. “The boys can get so boring sometimes.”

“Aberdeen’s used to it by now,” Jason piped in. “She’s only been travelling with us since September.”

The group moved towards the restaurant and were seated in the back patio at a long table. Aberdeen was squished in between Jason and John, and directly across from her sat Willy, Pierre to his right and Saylor to his left. Saylor and Kasperi didn’t even have to sit down to ask the waiter and waitress attending to them if they had oysters. They didn’t. With one quick look at the menu, and a disproportionately long discussion requiring everybody’s calculators to be out to determine how many orders of tacos were required for everybody to have three tacos each (much to Aberdeen’s entertainment), the group ordered four orders of every taco variation (and there were five of them) on the menu, along with some sides of baby broccoli, sautéed zucchini, and French fries. As a dining group of 11, it should have been more than enough food. She felt bad for the chefs, but knew the food would be amazing. She saw it being brought to a table near them and it looked delectable.

While Aberdeen maintained professionalism at all times when she was in front of the guys, when the tacos came, that professionalism waned. She made sure to grab the four tacos she was guaranteed and wanted and piled them onto her plate. They looked delicious. Even as she bit into her first one, she moaned audibly at the taste, making the guys around her laugh. Willy eyed her as she did so, taking a bite out of his own.

“So what have you been up to?” Saylor asked Aberdeen as she crunched on a French fry. “Kappy told me it was your birthday?”

“It was! I turned 22.”

“Ohmigod, I remember my 22nd birthday. We went to the rooftop bar at the Bowery Hotel in New York City,” Saylor said. Aberdeen knew it would be something ultra-luxurious because that was the only way Saylor seemed to roll. “What did you end up doing?”

“Oh, a bunch of friends and I just got a booth and bottle service at a club. Nothing as fancy as that,” Aberdeen answered.

“How many were you?”

“I’d say about twenty.”

Saylor’s eyes bulged a bit. “When you get older, your friend group gets soooo small,” she said, her tone making it seem like she was the all-knowledgeable big sister bestowing wise knowledge upon Aberdeen. Saylor was only a year older than her. If it was Jen, Aryne, or Bee giving this advice, fine – but not Saylor. “My friend group is so small now. All the drama that goes on between people is just so tiring, you know? Less people, less drama.”

Aberdeen didn’t want to be rude, so she nodded her head. “I can get that. These are all people I’ve known since high school and throughout university, though. We’ve already been friends for a long time.”

“And you’re still friends with them?” Saylor asked.

Aberdeen nodded her head. Before she could say anything else, John piped up. “I think that’s a testament to your character more so than anything, Aberdeen.”

“But it could also speak to, like, the way people are,” Saylor went on. Aberdeen indulged her, looking at her so she would continue. “Like, when I was in high school – my family is from Lake Forest, and I went to Lake Forest Academy – I found out this one friend was talking behind my back and I totally ditched her. But then we ended up at the same college, and it was really weird for a while, but then we ended up becoming friends!”

Aberdeen didn’t know what point she was trying to make. Neither did anybody else listening, judging by the looks on their faces. “That’s good you were able to turn the relationship around,” she commented, not knowing what else to say.

Saylor looked very proud of herself. “Besides that, what else have you been up to? Are you still just, like, Brendan’s assistant?”

Aberdeen bit her tongue to smile curtly. “Just.”

“And a great one at that,” Jason said before stuffing his mouth with a taco.

“I guess that’s enough for you,” Saylor commented.

Aberdeen almost dropped her taco. So did Jason. Willy was looking in between them. She didn’t know how to respond at this point and not sound rude when Saylor’s rudeness was so blatantly obvious. Aberdeen still wasn’t sure whether or not Saylor actually had the capacity to be underhanded. She was starting to err on the side of Saylor knowing exactly what she was saying to people but saying it in such a way and with such a tone that everyone thought she was just dumb and didn’t know better. Aberdeen began to believe Saylor did know better, and her act wasn’t fooling Aberdeen anymore. It made her reconsider what Saylor said to her in New York about her nose. “It’s actually not enough for me, but it’s what’s paying the bills right now and I’m not going to discuss career aspirations at the dinner table in front of people who are technically my colleagues and who don’t want to see me leave anytime soon.”

“But you can’t be in a job you hate just because it pays the bills!” she said like some dreamer. “You need to go out there and be creative! Cultivate! Be artistic! Design! Sometimes the best opportunities come when you just drop everything, quit your job, and start hustling as you do what you love!”

Aberdeen felt her blood begin to boil. She tried to remain calm. “One – I never said I hated my job. I love this job and I love the people I work with,” she clarified. “Two – that’s a bit easy to say for someone with family money who grew up in Lake Forest and went to a private school. I have rent to pay. Bills – groceries, my cell phone, internet, stuff for my cat – I can’t just up and quit my job with a steady income to hustle and be creative when I have a shit ton of responsibilities.”

“I’m sure your parents would help you if it’s your dream and it’s something you really wanted to do.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Aberdeen deadpanned. “My parents have their own shit to deal with. My mom would kick my ass if I was that stupid. I mean, my parents are immigrants, so that goes without saying. They don’t owe me a dollar, and I would never ask them for it. I would never do that to them.”

“What about your grandparents?”

Aberdeen could feel John, Jason, Pierre, and Willy deflate at the question. It was almost comical. “I think you’re missing the point, Saylor,” Jason said nicely. “Aberdeen is already hustling to get to an end-goal of writing. This job is actually helping her get to that goal.”

“Writing?” Saylor questioned. “I thought for sure you wanted to, like, work in sports or broadcasting or something. Writing, then? That makes sense, I guess. Better for you to stick behind the cameras.”

Aberdeen wondered if everybody else could hear what Saylor was saying too. She felt like she was in the twilight zone or something. It confirmed to her that Saylor knew exactly what she was saying. “Yeah, I guess. Kind of how it’s better for you to be in front of the cameras because you thrive on attention.”

“Yes! Modelling is all about getting attention and hype around your brand,” she smiled sincerely, so happy that the topic was back on her and her modelling. She didn’t get the subtle dig at her…extracurricular activities that took up more of people’s attention than any work or collaborations or modelling she’d done. “I’m working so hard to build mine now, which is why I’m in LA having meetings and doing more collabs.”

“Is modelling enough for you?” Jason asked.

Aberdeen almost spit out her water, but Willy beat her to it. She saw Saylor’s face light up even more. “Oh my God, yes. I looove modelling. I’m soooo into the creative aspect of it and building my brand.”

“That’s great, Saylor,” Aberdeen smiled. “I’m really glad that it’s working out for you considering how much you love it.”

“Thanks, girl,” she winked. “It’s hard because the industry is so saturated these days. I mean we were talking about this in New York. Every girl with an iPhone, some makeup, and good angles thinks she’s a model. It really takes someone creative like me to stand out. Someone with a unique look and a unique brand,” she went on. “Like your nose, you know? It’s big. Huge. We talked about that. You could get a nose job, or you could work with it. Most would get a nose job.”

Jason was ready for Aberdeen to snap. So was John. So was Pierre. But William knew better. When he saw Aberdeen smile, close-mouthed, just a hint of a coy grin playing on her face, he knew better. “I have a Virginia Woolf nose,” Aberdeen said. “It reminds me of how much I want to become a writer and not a model.”

***

“I feel like I just watched a WWE match on pay-per-view,” Aberdeen overheard Justin say to Jason in a low voice as they trailed behind her in the parking lot (he sat beside Jason during the meal and had heard everything, but even if he hadn’t sat beside him, Aberdeen had a feeling he still would have heard). After the tacos were eaten, everybody decided to call it a night and go back to the hotel – well, mostly everyone. Saylor wanted to go out for drinks somewhere else in Malibu. Everybody else politely declined.

“Yeah, except it was pretty one-sided,” Jason said in an equally low voice. “It’s like Aberdeen was Stone Cold Steve Austin and Saylor was the poor jobber her stunnered every Monday night.”

“You picked up on the nose comment too, right? I mean she was basically telling Aberdeen to get a nose job?” Justin asked.

“Yup,” Jason popped the P sound.

“I thought I was going crazy when I heard it.”

“Yeah, me too. But from what I’ve heard from Jen I didn’t expect more from her.”

“It’s good that Aberdeen is mature. I think if it were me at 22, I would have lunged across the table,” Justin commented.

***

“Who’s Virginia Woolf?”

Aberdeen was lying naked in her hotel bed, tits out, with William lying by her side after he’d fucked her, and that was the question he asked. Aberdeen smiled. She loved William and she knew him – she really did, at least she liked to think – but sometimes she didn’t understand how his brain worked. She knew she liked to call him “Head Empty”, but sometimes she wasn’t so sure. He clearly had thoughts. He just brought them up at weird times. “She was a writer in the early 1900s,” she answered, laughing slightly.

“And you want to be like her?”

She shook her head. “I’d like my writing to be like her writing.”

“Why don’t you want to be like her?”

“She filled her pockets with rocks and committed suicide by drowning herself in the river behind her home,” she said, looking over at him. His face was blank, processing the information, and she smiled wider. “Maybe if my writing was like hers, I’d actually get published in Toronto Life or something.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Her smile faded. She hadn’t told him yet. She’d wanted to keep it to herself for as long as possible because she didn’t want to burden him with the news. “I did try. I sent in one of my personal essays and they rejected it. They sent me the email on my birthday.”

William remained silent. He saw the look on Aberdeen’s face and knew that she felt embarrassed and disappointed – in herself, in her writing. He wrapped an arm around her and propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down at her. “Minskatt…”

“Don’t, Willy. You’re going to make me cry.”

“No,” he shook his head, not accepting what she was saying. “After the Carolina game you told me I needed to talk more and that you’d listen. Well, you need to talk now and I’ll listen,” he said. “Talk to me, minskatt. I’m listening.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and it wasn’t because of her writing getting rejected anymore. It was because of the man hovering over her. His head may by empty, but Aberdeen was sure his heart was full of gold. She didn’t know how she got so lucky. She didn’t know how he was hers. “I just don’t know how much more rejection I can take,” she whispered. “I try and I try and I write and I write and I read so I can write better and nothing is working. Nothing,” her voice was shaky. “I just want an editor to read my writing and say ‘This is what I’ve been looking for all along.’ But that hasn’t happened yet. And I’m scared it’s never going to happen.”

“It’ll happen one day, minskatt. I promise you,” William encouraged as he tightened his grip around her with his one arm. “You’re so talented. Your dreams are going to come true and you’re going to look back and wonder why you ever doubted yourself.”

“Do you doubt me?” she asked suddenly.

“No,” William said without hesitation. “Not for a second.”

Aberdeen stayed silent, bringing a hand up to wipe the few tears that had fallen down the side of her face. She rested it on William’s forearm draped across her body. “When I get like this, all my insecurities come out. About my future, about everything. Maybe I was never destined to be a writer. Maybe I was destined to be a personal assistant or a bank teller. Maybe I was destined just to be normal girl with a big nose and nothing special.”

“How can you say you’re nothing special when you’re my treasure?” he asked, burying his face in the crook of her neck and placing a light kiss there. She couldn’t help but smile, and he smiled at the fact he made her smile. “That has to count for something, right minskatt?” he stressed the word.

She nodded. “It counts for everything.” She looked directly into his baby blues, barely blinking. “The second I leave here I’m going to plant the biggest kiss on your lips, Willy. You have absolutely no idea.”

That caused William to laugh out loud before he bent down and gave her a quick kiss. “Not if I beat you to it,” he said.

“You won’t. Trust me. God, I can hardly wait,” she said. “I still don’t know why you keep waiting for me.”

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

“I wait for you because I love you. Because I love everything about you.”

“Even my big nose?”

“My favourite part of you,” he kissed the tip of it. She could have cried again. “It’s what makes you you. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

When she craned her neck to kiss him, she made sure to wrap her arms around his body and pull him close, wanting to feel his body on top of hers. He got the hint, and stuck his tongue down her throat, and they kissed until he was hard again. Though he hadn’t expected a second round, he was more than willing to partake. He even made sure to bring extra condoms. He always did now – since Valentine’s Day. He had them everywhere: in his wallet, in his suitcase, in his shoe. “I love you minskatt,” he mumbled against her lips.

She didn’t respond at first. But when she did, it was with something he wasn’t expecting. “Tell me how you want me.”

He froze for a brief second, the previous conversation they were just having still fresh in his mind. “What?”

“Do you want me from behind? On top?” she asked in a breathy voice.

He groaned. “On top.”

They switched positions so he was lying on his back. Aberdeen climbed on top of him. “Willy?” she asked. “Can we…can we try something different?”

He nodded quickly. “What is it, Aberdeen?”

“Can we…” she began, almost a bit embarrassed. “Can I try reverse cowgirl?”

William couldn’t help but smile. “Of course,” he said, gripping at her hips.

“D’you have another condom?”

“My back pocket.”

She dismounted him, leaning over the bed to grab his pants on the floor and retrieve the packet. When she straddled him again, she did it so her back was to his face. He could feel her pump him a few times before she rolled on the condom, and he sighed at the feeling. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I love you, Willy.”

“I love you too,” he said, his hands back on her hips. He helped her lower herself onto him, the both of the moaning at the feeling. He loved watching himself disappear inside of her. He noticed she wasn’t moving yet. “You okay?” he asked.

Aberdeen nodded her head. “It feels so good,” she said. “I’ve never…you know…”

“It’s okay,” he said, understanding what she wasn’t saying. He couldn’t believe that her previous sexual partners were so selfish that they never let her explore what she liked or what she could possibly like or positions she could do. He shuddered at the thought of her potentially asking and being turned down. It made him angry just thinking about it. He didn’t want her to be that way with him. He wanted her to be completely open. “Do what you feel comfortable with, minskatt.”

She began rolling her hips back and forth. William groaned in response, and he could feel Aberdeen’s hands grip his thighs and her nails dig in slightly. As she rocked herself on his cock, she began to moan, gasping out anytime William would buck his hips slightly. He had to admit he liked the view, but what he liked even more was that she was enjoying herself on top of him, doing what she wanted.

“Willy?” she asked suddenly. She looked over her shoulder at him again. She looked so innocent and he knew that she meant to do it, and he almost exploded right then and there as she bat her eyelashes at him. “Can you…can you come up here?”

He did as he was told, pushing himself up and wrapping his arms around her body. He kissed her back and dragged his lips along her skin to her shoulder and neck. “What is it, minskatt?” he asked.

“What if I wanted to try more?”

If it was possible, William felt even hotter. The sound of her voice saying those words was…indescribable. “What do you mean?”

“You just make me feel so good. I’ve never had anybody make me feel this way. I feel so comfortable with you,” she said. “You…I feel safe to try things with you. Things I couldn’t try with other guys.”

He knew what she was getting at. He placed a tender kiss on her shoulder. “What do you want to try?” he asked. She remained silent, wondering if she should have even said anything. “Don’t be ashamed, minskatt. What do you want me to do?”

She hesitated. “D’you…can you pinch my nipples?”

He smiled because it was such a simple request. He brought his hands up and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thumb and index fingers. He felt her sharp intake of breath and her head leaned back into his shoulder. He could tell by her reaction that she wanted more. “What else?” he asked, biting down on her skin near her shoulder. “What are you not telling me?”

“That,” she stressed. He didn’t know what she meant. “The bite. You—You can fuck me, Willy. I want you to fuck me. You can be rougher with me. I think I’ll like it.”

When William heard those words and how she emphasized them, he wanted to make sure. Needed to make sure. The first time they had sex it was a good old-fashioned hookup. The second time they had sex they��d made love. In subsequent times since, it was mostly making love, if only because they had waited so long to finally be together and that was what they wanted to “release” – love. But now, with those words being said, he knew Aberdeen was ready to take the next step. She was willing to go further. She trusted him to go further with her, and only wanted to do it with him. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I trust you. Fuck me, Willy.”

He pinched her nipples again, harder this time, and she gasped. He started to move his hips too, moving inside of her, and she began to moan again. Without warning, he fell back down on the bed, bringing her with him so her back was flush against his chest, though her knees were still bent and he was still in her. This was definitely a new position for her, judging by her reaction – a quick “oh fuck” escaping her lips. He heard her breathing get heavier as she felt one of his hands snake down from her breasts and on to her clit. “Willy…” she moaned out.

He started pounding into her, using his athletic physique to be able to so with such force in a new angle she’d never felt before. Her moans fuelled him, and the moans changed to slight whimpers when he started rubbing at her clit. “Fuck, Willy…” she managed to get out.

But he wasn’t done. At least he didn’t want to be done. His other hand, still pinching her nipple, moved up to her neck. “Willy,” she mewled, bringing her own hand up and placing it over his.

“Is that okay?” he whispered into her ear. He wasn’t applying any pressure – it was just sort of there – but that was apparently enough for her. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable going further, anyway, at least without her verbalizing something.

“Yes Willy, fuck,” she arched her back. “Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

He increased his pace. Her cries let him know that even with those simple actions, she was feeling pleasure. She was liking it. She was getting what she wanted from him. That was the only thing he wanted. “I want you to cum all over my cock, Aberdeen,” he growled into her ear. She didn’t answer, but when she arched her back again, he felt her walls tighten around his cock and he knew she was done. He let himself find his release too, groaning in pleasure as her body writhed on top of his. He didn’t stop rubbing her clit until her hand went over his to stop him. Her body went still as he slipped out of her and she fell to his side, trying to regain her breath.

After a couple of minutes, she curled around to face him. “I know that was probably really tame but it was new for me.”

William shook his head. He didn’t want her to feel nervous about anything. “Baby steps,” he kissed her.

“No guy has ever, like…asked what I like in the bedroom,” she admitted. “So I couldn’t explore things. Well I didn’t feel comfortable exploring things. But I know I can with you.”

William nodded his head. “Don’t worry, minskatt. We can start slow. No need to rush. You can tell me what you like and where you’re willing to go.”

“You too.”

“Hmm?”

“You tell me what you like and where you’re willing to go, and I’ll go there with you too.”

He nodded his head, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

183 notes · View notes

karajaynetoday · 4 years

Text

forever and always | calum hood

I couldn’t find the original credit for this gif but possibly here? It’s a deactivated blog though if anyone has the proper credit please let me know!

I don’t know how or why, but I woke up this morning thinking about this concept and I had to get it written to make my peace with it, in a way. Shout out to @spicycal for reading through the draft for me, and sending love to anyone this resonates with. It’s a very emo Calum one-shot that includes pregnancy loss (if that’s not something you can read, feel free to give this one a miss), but I promise it has a happy ending.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy loss/stillbirth, and references to COVID-19 (the pandemic circumstances i.e. quarantine, not actually having the illness)

(This is a fem reader insert)

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Calum ducked his head down to meet your gaze, brown eyes swimming with concern.

You were sat together on the couch in Ashton’s living room, surrounded by a lighting set up, having a quiet moment while Andy and Ryan were setting up their cameras in front of you. 5SOS were preparing to release their next album, and to reflect on the past ten years’ of the band, they had decided to film a documentary alongside the album process. After much deliberation, KayKay, Sierra and Crystal had agreed to take part, because they were just as much a part of the band’s journey as the boys’ families were, and their support and influence on the music was obvious. For you, though, it was a little different. You and Calum had successfully hidden your relationship from the public eye for the last four years. It was some sort of miracle, honestly, especially given the last little while where you’d gotten careless and slipped up by holding hands and showing affection in public. If any fans or paps noticed, they never said anything, and it gave you and Calum a sense of relief that no one knew your name or true identity when you were spotted with him or the rest of the band family in public.

Relief, but you had to admit that it hurt a little too. You’d seen the hate and vitriol that the other guys’ partners had experienced, and you knew Calum was just trying to protect you from all of that, but every time someone made a joke about him being the only single one in interviews, or asked him what he looked for in a girl, or the fans ran away with relationship rumours whenever he was photographed within breathing distance of a potential love interest, it made your chest feel tight. At the end of the day, though, Calum always came home to you, and that was what truly mattered.

To say that this was a big moment, publicly announcing your relationship with Calum, and revealing that you’d kept it hidden for years, was an understatement. But you knew it was important to both of you to finally share it with the world. Not just because you loved each other and wanted to show it, but because the events of the past year had broken and rebuilt you all over again. As individuals, as a couple, and even for the band as a whole. You knew that the hope you’d held, and the pain that tore you down, and the healing you’d been through came across in Calum’s contributions to the new album, so it felt right to sit down and use your own voice to convey your feelings about it all.

You broke out of your deep train of thought to nod in response to Calum’s question, and press a quick but reassuring kiss to his lips.

“I’m sure if you’re sure.” You whispered, as Calum threw his arm around your shoulders and squeezed to let you know he was in support of whatever you wanted to do.

“Okay guys, we’re ready if you’re all good to go?” Ryan spoke up from behind the camera, trying not to unsettle you two and the moment you were clearly having. A deep breath and a brief smile from you and Calum let Ryan know he could start recording, and Andy sat down out of frame and pulled his notebook of questions into his lap.

“So, shall we start from the beginning?”

Your heart swelled, as you began to remember.

Ashton had full on wingman-ed Calum when you first met them both at a bar downtown. He was dating KayKay at the time, so he’d made it his mission to find Cal a hot date, or a lover, or a lifelong companion (“Any of the above will do, as long as you’re not a shit person”, he’d told you as he tried to pitch Calum to you). The pitch had worked, and you’d joined them for a few drinks and rounds of pool, before exchanging numbers with Calum at the end of the night.

From there, it was coffee dates, and brunches, and then dinners and nights out on the town. Soon it became days or nights at each other’s houses, which became entire weekends, then it was trips away or secret visits to see Calum on tour, and before you knew it, you’d been dating for the better part of the last two years and Cal asked you to move in with him. He knew it was a sacrifice on your part, not only dating someone who was away for months at a time, let alone someone whose hand you couldn’t hold out in public for risk of being photographed, but you also knew that you and Calum loved each other more deeply than you’d ever loved before. You understood he’d be burned in the past with public or semi-public relationships, and seeing his band brothers go through them made him hesitant at best. By moving in together, you’d see each other more, and you’d also get to shower each other with the love and desire that was building more and more within your soul with every passing day.

“So that’s the story of how we met. Mate, honestly, I was head over heels from day one.” Calum laughed, kissing your forehead quickly.

“I’ve had the privilege of observing you two and your love for one another for a few years now, and I have to say it’s a beautiful thing. You just seem to know each other inside out, and I love that soulmate aspect of your relationship.” Andy mused, flashing you a warm smile.

“Now, in terms of influence on this upcoming album, I know the past 18 months have been a rollercoaster for us all, but you two especially have been through a lot. Do you feel comfortable talking us through that a little bit?” Andy was careful with his words, not wanting to upset you or make you uncomfortable.

You squeezed Calum’s knee, before swallowing thickly and thinking back to the time period Andy had mentioned.

When 2020 began, you held so much hope and excitement for the year ahead. Watching Calum and his brothers play the Firefight Australia concert was incredible, and you were so thrilled for them to be releasing their latest album that truly felt representative of the four individuals who had come together to craft it. But then the pandemic began, and you were ordered into quarantine. Each day felt heavier somehow, with more sad stories on the news, and more frustration building up amongst your loved ones. It broke your heart to see Calum and the boys not able to release the album in the way they’d originally hoped, but Cal himself was both an optimist and a realist, and constantly reiterated that it felt like the right time to release it anyway, because maybe it would bring a bit of joy and serenity to people that needed that in their lives amongst all the chaos.

You’d quickly fallen into the routine of home isolation, waking early to get your work hours done, so you could spend your afternoons with Calum and Duke by the pool, or hiking a nearby trail, or bingeing Netflix on the couch. It was strange to have so much time together, but it was also so warm and comforting that it didn’t take you long to get anxious at the idea of Calum ever leaving again for tour or promo. That was a while away, though, so you tried your best to make the most of the time you had, and take it one day at a time.

You couldn’t remember the first day you woke up feeling nauseous. Sometime in June, you supposed. A few days of vomiting and fatigue that made you feel like you’d been hit by a bus, and you had a telehealth appointment with your doctor to try and figure out what was going on. Given your symptoms, they’d asked you in for tests right away. A week or so later, you were back sitting in the doctor’s office awaiting the results, extra nervous because the COVID-19 restrictions meant that Calum couldn’t come in with you. You’d thought about FaceTiming him into the appointment, but there was something in the back of your mind telling you that you wanted to have a moment to yourself to process the news, whatever it was going to be.

When your doctor looked at you with a smile and told you that you were pregnant, all you could do was gape back at her in shock. It shouldn’t have come entirely as a surprise; you and Calum had spoken a few times about the vision you had for your future, and the uncertainty and restlessness that quarantine had given you made foregoing protection seem right, somehow (lovesick logic, or something like that). But it happening so quickly was unexpected. Your shock was soon replaced with tears of happiness, and you were already bursting at the seams to get home and tell Calum the news.

He was speechless at first, too, but then again Calum always was a man of few words. You’d kept it to yourselves for a little while, only discussing it in quiet whispers, or soft touches onto your non-existent bump, or sending links of cute baby things to one another via WhatsApp message. A few weeks later, you had your first scan, and this time Calum was allowed in the room. You could see his eyes light up when he heard the strong heartbeat on the monitor, and later he’d tell you how he immediately wanted to voicenote it on his phone to listen to while he was away on tour, or even mix it into a song.

Seeing that tiny blob on the screen and hearing the heartbeat honestly made your entire year, and from then on you couldn’t resist sharing your happiness with others. Video calls with yours and Calum’s parents, more happy tears and cheering from the soon-to-be first time grandparents.

The restrictions in California had eased a little, so you invited Ashton, Luke, Michael and their respective partners over for dinner one night. You’d prepared some cute greeting cards, one for each couple, thanking them for all of their support over the years with helping to protect your privacy with Calum, and slipped a copy of the baby scan with “see you in February” written on the back inside the card. Once everyone was settled onto the couches in the living room, waiting for dinner to be ready, you handed them out and sat down in Calum’s lap, taking a sip of your drink to try and hide the excitement on your face.

It was so amusing to observe the reactions that were representative of each couple. Michael and Crystal gasped and cheered, immediately pulling you and Calum into tight hugs. Ashton and KayKay were more reserved, but whispers of love and encouragement and happiness into your ears were so lovely and cherished. The tears in Sierra’s eyes, and the comfort of Luke’s squeeze of his arms around your waist said more than they could ever put into words.

The emotional celebrations soon turned into teasing jibes, and Ashton’s pitch for a new line of 5SOS baby merch. (“Come on guys, a baby-sized bucket hat? Tiny hoodies? Wildflower plush toys? A lullabies album? I’m telling you, there’s a whole WORLD of opportunity for us opening up right now!”), and you couldn’t help but feel both overjoyed and overwhelmed at how much this little baby was going to be surrounded with love and support for every day of their life.

The months carried on, and your once invisible baby bump grew and grew. You and Calum cleared out a spare room for the nursery, and got lost in furniture shopping and paint swatches and reading every parenting book you could get your hands on. There were doctors appointments, and birthing classes; lists of potential baby names on the fridge, and consulting your dog trainer on how best to introduce old man Duke to the idea of a new arrival.

As December approached, and you started getting into the festive spirit, Calum began returning to the studio as he and the guys toyed with some potential new directions for the next album. All of them had studios built into their homes, so they could meet and work together in relative safety, which was reassuring. You were standing over the kitchen sink one day, rinsing out the pan you’d used to make eggs for breakfast, when a searing pain in your abdomen had you groaning in discomfort and gripping onto the kitchen counter for dear life. The pain eased momentarily, and then came back stronger, and you managed to grab your phone from the counter and dial Calum’s number frantically as you gasped for breath.

The next few hours were a blur; Calum raced home to find you curled up in pain on the kitchen floor, Ashton and the paramedics were quick to follow him inside. They put you in an ambulance and took you straight to the hospital; you and Calum were gripping each other’s hand so tightly that your knuckles were white with stress.

The doctors determined you were in pre-term labour, and soon enough you were in a delivery room panting and pushing and crying out to Calum for comfort. It was all so terrifying and overwhelming but he was doing his best to ground you, brushing his fingers through your hair and holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. When you finally delivered the baby, a hush fell over the room, and you could tell from the look on the faces of your doctor and nurses that something wasn’t right.

The silence continued, and your heart broke when you realised that the baby hadn’t started to cry like you’d expected. The nurses had moved the infant over to another station, suctioning their airway and connecting them up to all manner of tubes and wires, but after a few moments your doctor told you the news. It was a baby girl, but her heartbeat wasn’t there. She’d come into the world and gone out again, just like that.

“I know a lot of people struggle to talk about stillbirths, and losing children, and it’s such a deeply personal thing so I get it. But it’s also grief, and loss, and emotions that you feel whenever you lose anyone you love. If there’s one thing I wish we could do more, as people in general, it’s discuss how we feel, and normalise having emotions, because it brings you closer and makes you feel less alone.” You spoke softly, blinking away the tears that had started to well in your eyes.

Andy nodded gently at you, before a quiet “Cal?” with an encouraging flick of his head.

Calum cleared his throat and glanced over at you before speaking.

“I think that’s a huge part of why we wanted to be here today and talk about not only our relationship but losing Matilda in particular. It’s a sensitive topic, I know, especially for men, but holding back and bottling up your emotions isn’t good for anyone. Without her support in getting me to open up, or having the boys to listen to me cry and help me get some of my feelings out, in words and on this album, I don’t think I’d be in as good a place as I am now. It’s dark to think about, but important not to ignore, I think.”

“You’re so right, Cal. And Matilda is always going to be a part of our story, and we’re never going to forget how much we loved her and how much closer together she brought us,” You began, pausing briefly to squeeze Calum’s hand that had settled on your swollen stomach, “And when our little rainbow baby arrives in the next few weeks, I can’t wait to tell them about their sister, and how much she would’ve loved to meet them, but now she’s watching over them instead.”

“Exactly. We’re always going to have had Matilda, and then this little one, and however many others we decide to try and bring into the world. But it’s the love that builds you and the loss that breaks you that makes us who we are. Forever and always.” Calum’s voice was emotional, but also firm and calm, as he looked down at you and kissed you intently, his hand never leaving its spot on your bump, where your little rainbow baby was kickly softly at the sound of his voice.

“Forever and always.” You agreed, inhaling deeply and feeling a sense of deep peace and content wash over you.

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