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matwith1t · 3 years

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A/N: Hiii! I’m fairly new to writing for Mat, but I heard this song and went !!! so I wrote a little something based off it! There’s a part two in the works! I’d love to hear any & all feedback!! 💗✨ @itrocksmysocks here’s your tag 🤩

Summary: Mat felt beyond nervous to meet your family for the first time, but like you predicted, your family absolutely adored him. But when your relationship suddenly comes to an end, Mat unknowingly broke more hearts than yours. (heavily inspired by More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress)

ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking // WC: 11.8K // Fluff & Angst

The trees were in full bloom as you drove down the familiar streets of your hometown. The sweet smell of April air wafted through the slightly cracked car windows; and the sun shined just as bright as the smile on your face when you looked over at the person sitting next to you in the driver's seat.

“And there’s the park where I broke my wrist after jumping off the swings,” you excitedly pointed out the window.

Mat chuckled and squeezed your hand as he slowly rolled to a stop at a stop sign. With no one behind you two, he idled the car for a little longer, and took his time looking out the windshield, “And the place where you got in your first fight, right?”

You turned in your seat to face Mat, who had a wicked smirk on his face. With your mouth wide open you gasped, “I was five and they pulled my hair!”

Mat leaned his head against the seat, eyes shut tight with a crinkled nose, as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Always the fighter,” he said as he brought your connected hands up to his lips, and pressed a kiss on the top of your hand.

You tried to contain your smile, but all of your efforts were lost when Mat’s eyes connected with yours. At the delicate soft smile on his face, you couldn’t control the smile that slowly crept onto your face. And the only thought circling your mind was how did you get so lucky six months ago.

Six months ago, you wound up at a mutual friend's house for a birthday party where you met Mat. It started off with talking in the kitchen over drinks, then to beer pong partners where he would clasp his hand around yours after a high five, and by the end of the night, you two were on the couch off in your world talking nonsense as he kept knocking his knees against yours.

Phone numbers were exchanged by the time the party was over, and a day and a half later, you met him at a coffee shop early in the morning.

A loud honk from behind brought you out of reminiscing. Mat seemed just as startled as you as he dropped your hand, checked to make sure no other cars were at the all-way stop, and then hit the gas pedal.

“Asshole,” Mat muttered under his breath as he slowed down and picked your hand back up.

A small chuckle escaped your lips, “We’ll walk around later and then you can see everything again,” you squeezed his hand as a promise, “Turn left here.”

He turned the blinker as he approached another stop sign, “With all of the stories you’ve told me….” After checking to see no other cars, he turned down the street your parents lived on for as long as you could remember, “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

You felt yourself heat up in embarrassment, “Sorry, I––”

Mat shook his head and quickly glanced at you, “Never apologize. I love hearing your stories.”

With a little embarrassment still lingering in the pit of your stomach, all you offered him was a closed lipped smile. Mat took his time driving down the residential street, admiring the quaint neighborhood, as you piped up, “We’re coming up to it on the right––three more houses––the one with the navy blue door.”

With a deep exhale, Mat’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, as he nodded his head, “Cool.”

With scrunched up eyebrows, you tilted your head to stare at his side profile. Because with his knuckles turning slightly white, locked jaw, and clammy hand, you knew he wasn’t anywhere near feeling ‘cool.’

“Why are you nervous?” you asked him sincerely as he pulled up and parked in front of your childhood house, “You’ve met them over FaceTime and they loved you.”

Mat rolled the windows up before turning off the ignition and turned in his seat to face you with a worried expression, “Because it’s your family, FaceTime is barely anything. This is meeting them face to face and that’s…different.”

You appreciated his honesty instead of denying his nerves, “You’ve already passed with flying colors with everyone,” he still didn’t look convinced so you listed your reasons, “My mom loves anyone who makes me happy and I’m very happy with you.” Mat tucked his chin into his chest to hide his blush, “My dad thinks it’s awesome that you’re a hockey player, won’t shut up about it. And my sister likes you because she thinks you’re her in to get her a hockey boyfriend.”

Mat took the key out as he threw his head back in laughter again in a way that made you fall in love with him all over again. The two of you opened your doors at the same time and got out of the car.

“Trust me,” he said with a few small laughs, “you wouldn’t want your sister to date a hockey player.”

You raised your eyebrows at Mat as he popped open the trunk and took out both of your bags, “What about you, Barzal?”

Mat shut the trunk, slung his bag over his shoulder. When you tried to reach out to hold your bag, Mat pulled it back and shook his head as if asking you why you would even try to carry your own bag.

“I’m better than the rest of them.”

This time, it was your turn to throw your head back in laughter; eyes shut tight and nose crinkled. And when you opened your eyes, you saw Mat staring at you, eyes full of adoration. You imagined it as the same look you gave him after he laughed.

You whispered, come on, to him and Mat followed you up the driveway to the front door. Your hand was floating on top of the door handle to open it, but the door swung open. The sudden movement startled you, which caused you to stumble back a bit, but Mat placed his hand on your lower back to keep you steady.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister let out an over dramatic sigh and flung herself into your arms.

You hugged her back, “Hit a bit of traffic.”

Your sister scoffed as she pulled away from the hug, but kept her hands resting on your shoulders as she stood arms length away. She raised her eyebrows and looked over your shoulder, “I’m assuming he drove?” You nodded your head and your sister rolled her eyes, “Guess fastest skater doesn’t translate to fastest driver.”

You masked your laugh with a cough as you peered over your shoulder to see Mat’s face turning a deep shade of red.

Knowing how nervous Mat felt, you rolled your eyes and lightly shoved your sister’s shoulder, “There are laws we have to follow when driving.”

“Touchè,” your sister said as she stepped aside and let the two of you in, “Would be kinda cool if there was something in driving that was like the same as getting in a fight during a hockey game.”

“Are you condoning road rage?”

She shrugged her shoulders, not paying any mind to your question as she focused her attention on Mat, “I’ve seen you get pretty feisty out on the ice––”

“Oh, that’s enough out of you,” your mother chastised your sister as she walked in from the other room, “I told her to wait until the two of you were inside.” She playfully glared at your sister one last time before facing you and Mat with a glowing smile, “Mat, so nice to finally meet you in person.”

Mat set down both of the bags on the hardwood floor, “Thank you for inviting me over, my schedule isn’t always the easiest to work with, so sorry for the delay.” He held out his hand, but your mother batted it away and brought him in for a hug.

“No need to apologize,” your mom said with a smile as she pulled away from the hug, “We’re just happy you could make it here for a weekend.”

Mat smiled and shuffled toward you, but kept his arms stuck to his sides, “I’ve been wanting to come, and I know it’d make Y/N happy,” he looked down at you with a smile that you returned, “So I’m happy to be here.”

Your mom clasped her hands together in front of her and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she continued to smile, “You’re too sweet.” She then turned to look at your sister, “Go show Mat the guest bedroom so he can drop his bag off.”

With a nod, your sister was off, talking a mile a minute at Mat who looked petrified. But you gave him a knowing look, referring back to your conversation in the car, how your mom approves of anyone who makes you happy. With a shake of his head and a slight roll of his eyes, he followed your sister up the stairs to see where he would be staying; in a separate bedroom from yours.

You stood in the foyer with your mother in silence for a few seconds before she broke, “I love him.”

“Mom,” you directed your eyes up to where he was only a floor above and had the possibility of hearing.

She laughed as you followed her into the kitchen. You slid onto one of the barstools as she went to stand over the stove. She picked up a spatula and moved around the vegetables in the pan, as she looked over her shoulder, “He’s perfect for you.”

You slumped forward, and buried your face in your hands, something about this conversation with your mom felt as if you were transported back to high school. Peeking up from your hands, your mom was still staring at you with a smile on her face, “He’s pretty great.”

“There’s something about the way he looks at you,” your mom’s comment struck a chord that caused you to sit up straight.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “He just…He looks at you with a lot of admiration.”

“You’ve spoken three sentences to him.”

Your mom spun around and pointed the spatula at you as she playfully glared, “You don’t see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him. And I’ve noticed it on the FaceTime calls as well.” Her features softened, “You can see how much he cares.”

An electric jolt shot down the back of your spine as you bit the inside of your cheek to contain your smile. Her comments also made you curious. No one else had ever pointed out the way he looked at you, of course your mom pointed it out because she’s your mom…but no one else had.

Did that mean that his friends saw the way he looked at you? Did his teammates notice a difference in his demeanor whenever they saw you two together after one of his games? Did his family notice the way his eyes lingered on you for just a bit longer when you met them?

You didn’t doubt anything your mom told you, in fact, it only made you confident that your relationship with Mat was definitely one for the long run.

Playing off the semi-serious look she gave you, you let out a small laugh, “You’re falling in love with him faster than I did.”

The spatula your mom held fell against the pan with a clatter as she whipped around, “In love?”

With a slight nod, you let a smile overtake your face as butterflies filled your stomach, “Yeah…” you said softly as you remembered the night Mat told you. There weren't any grand gestures, nothing over the top, just the two of you on the couch––with Mat laying his head on your thighs as you ran your fingers through his hair––and it slipped out from him.

“Just as of a few weeks ago,” you fiddled with your thumbs, “Still a bit new, but yeah.” You looked up at your mom who looked like was on the verge of tears, “He makes me really happy.”

Your mom sniffled, “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled at her, but with the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs––and your sister’s nagging about how much time Mat spent in the penalty box last season––your mom picked up the spatula and went back to cooking. Soon enough, two more people came into the kitchen, and your sister picked up a task to help with dinner.

“Do you need help with anything?” Mat asked your mother as he stood next to you.

She waved him off, “No, no––Everything’s almost ready anyway, just relax, I know the drive was long.”

Mat looked down at you, as if asking you if there really wasn’t anything for him to do. Shaking your head, you patted the barstool next to you.

He slid in easily and his hand automatically rested on your knee. Normally, Mat was a very touchy person; whether it be a small hand on your back in public or his hands ventured further up your clothes in private, he always had some sort of physical contact with you. But in front of your family, he was stiff.

So naturally, he placed a hand on you that was out of sight from both your sister and mother.

“Has she harassed you about a hockey boyfriend yet?” You leaned in and whispered to Mat so neither one of your family members could eavesdrop.

Mat chuckled, but shook his head, “No. She did ask a million questions about hockey though, I think she’s trying to warm me up.”

“Keep your phone close, I wouldn’t put it past her to steal a few numbers out of it. She’s had her eye on Tito since she started watching the games.” Your tone of voice was joking, but Mat’s face looked terrified. You knocked your knee against his, “I’m kidding, she wouldn’t disrespect someone’s privacy like that.”

Mat squeezed your knee, which caused you to let out a small laugh, “I––”

He was cut off by the front door opening and a loud voice saying, “Are they here?”

Immediately knowing that your father walked through the door, Mat’s hand from your knee dropped and he moved his chair a few inches away from yours. You let your mouth drop at his actions, but found the whole ordeal hilarious.

You slid off the stool just as your father walked into the kitchen. He set down his work bag and smiled, “Hey, you.”

It only took a few strides to be over to your dad and in his arms for a hug. After a few seconds, he pulled away, and you just knew that he was looking at Mat. And you didn’t need to look at Mat to know that the fear of God was in his bones. He stumbled out of the barstool, placed both hands on the back of the stool to stop it from wobbling, and took a deep breath.

“Mathew,” your dad nodded at your boyfriend, “Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t lost on you that he didn’t tack on the in person like your mom had. In your father’s eyes, he had yet to officially meet Mat, and considered this their first meeting, even though they had talked on FaceTime a handful of times. And if it wasn’t lost on you…You knew that Mat was overthinking it all in his head.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Mat took a few steps forward and reached his hand out, and unlike your mother who waved off his handshake for a hug, your father reached out and shook Mat’s hand, “Thank you for inviting me for the weekend, I–-I know how much Y/N loves it here.” Mat nervously glanced over at you next to your father for reassurance, and you nodded your head as to say good job.

“We’re glad you could find some time in your schedule,” your father stiffly responded.

There was a part of you that felt bad for Mat. You knew how intimidated he was to meet your father face to face for the first time, but there was another part of you that wanted to laugh. Whenever you talked to your dad, there was always some part of the conversation that Mat was brought up in, and it was mostly by your dad. He admired Mat’s work ethic as a hockey player, and was a big fan of hockey himself, so it was a bit comical to see him acting disinterested toward Mat.

“Dinner’s ready!” Your sister yelled out as she carried a steaming hot pot and weaved in between the three of you.

“Does everyone have a drink?” Your mom called out as she carried a pan of vegetables over to the table.

“Is there something I can bring over?” Mat asked your mom as she set the vegetables down.

She smiled, “There’s a chicken in the oven if you can bring that over.”

Mat nodded, finally feeling like he was of use for something, “Of course.”

The two of you walked into the kitchen and Mat released the biggest breath you had ever heard. You let out a chuckle as you took oven mitts out of a drawer and handed them to him, “Alright there?”

As you took down two glasses, Mat slipped on the oven mitts, “I think I was more nervous meeting your dad than I was for the draft.”

You let out a loud laugh as you started to fill the glasses with ice and water, “Don’t worry, he really likes you, trust me.”

“He called me Mathew.”

“And other people don’t?”

You knew where he was coming from, but you wanted to also show him that it wasn’t a big deal.

Mat opened the oven and carefully took out the chicken, “It’s your dad––everyone else called me Mat.”

With a roll of your eyes you picked up the waters and slowly walked toward the dining room with Mat at your side, “He’s just playing the dad card,” you hip checked him, “By the end of dinner I swear you’ll see it.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but the conversation was dropped when the two of you entered the dining room. Mat set the chicken down on the table where your mom instructed and then sat down in the chair next to yours.

Dinner started normally; plates were passed around to be filled up, stories of your childhood were shared, and Mat was able to share some of his stories face to face with your parents rather than a FaceTime call.

Mat perfected the skill of acting suave, mastering easy conversation skills from all the times he’d done press interviews, but no one else was aware that Mat moved his chair a teeny bit closer to yours. And no one was aware how you were slightly sitting on the edge of your seat so that way it would be easier for Mat to hook one of his feet around your ankle.

Again, it was the physical contact that Mat always craved, but you also knew how nervous he was, and skin to skin contact made him feel calmer.

“So, Mat,” your dad started out, and when you heard him not use his full name, you pulled his foot toward you in an I-told-you-so way, “Hockey is quite the career.”

As if he knew that this conversation was leading for him to defend his atypical career path, Mat unhooked his foot from your ankle and straightened out his shoulders, “Yeah, it––Hockey isn’t a normal day job, but I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

“No school?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mat’s index finger rapidly tap against his thigh.

“I wasn’t very good at it––Not that school isn’t important, because it is,” he fumbled over his words, afraid that he said something wrong, “But when playing hockey professionally started to become a reality, I wanted to put all of my effort into that. Studying for a test was like doing a drill over and over again. Making friends was getting to know my teammates. Doing homework was working out at the gym and camps all year round. And now I…Now I play hockey professionally.”

Everyone at the table was silent as they took in Mat’s well thought out answer. To say the least, you were impressed with his answer, and by the relaxed look on your dad’s face, you knew he approved instantly.

Mat coughed awkwardly into his elbow, “I do have a high school diploma though.”

Your sister snorted at Mat’s attempt to prove that he has at least some level of education, albeit not a higher level of education, but education nonetheless. You stepped on her foot under the table and glared at her.

“That’s a very interesting way to look at it,” your dad took a sip of his water, “Being on a sports team––at any age––means you have a lot of dedication, hardworking, have goals, and that you know a lot about teamwork.” Your father’s eyes shifted over to you momentarily before he regained eye contact with Mat, “And I respect that in a man.”

You could see the stress float away from Mat as he tried to hold back his smile, “Thank you, yeah it’s a lot of hard work, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow, “Nothing?”

Instead of panicking like you expected, Mat paused for a few seconds, “One thing,” he glanced over at you momentarily before looking back at your father with a small smile, “I would trade it for one thing.”

You ducked your chin into your chest in order to alleviate some of the attention, but it was a small table, and of course Mat was talking about you, so there was no use. But your sister wasn’t shy in stealing away the spotlight.

“Hockey,” she let out a low whistle, “A very demanding sport.”

Mat nodded, “It is, but you end up building a lot of stamina and you sometimes don’t feel the effects of it until you sit down on the bench for a bit.”

“It’s quite aggressive too,” your mom cut a piece of chicken up, “Between fights, getting smashed against the board….”

“Yeah it can be aggressive,” Mat laughed it off, “I mostly get hit in the face with pucks.”

Your mom and dad laughed at his quip before getting into a conversation of their own. And with your parents not paying full attention to the three of you, your sister decided to slip in another comment.

“High stamina and being aggressive?” she shot Mat a look and deviously raised her eyebrows, “I’m sure Y/N likes that.”

Mat spat his water back into the glass and started uncontrollably coughing into the crook of his elbow at the same time you dropped the metal silverware loudly on the ceramic plate.

Your parents paused their conversation, and your dad looked between you and Mat, “Everything alright?”

Mat held up his thumb as he still coughed, and you nodded your head frantically, stuck in a daze that your sister had the guts to say that at a family dinner.

“Everything’s fine,” your tone was high in pitch, but you knew your parents wouldn’t let the topic drop unless they got a verbal answer.

Your sister shot you a wink and a smug smirk as she nonchalantly picked up a few vegetables with her fork. And when you took a peak over at Mat, his face was redder than you had ever seen it. He could’ve played a full three periods of hockey, without any break time, and still wouldn’t be as red as he was now after your sister’s comment.

Luckily, the rest of dinner went without another crude, double meaning, comment from your sister. And when everyone was finished, it was all smiles and laughs as everyone pitched in to help. Mat teamed up with your mom on dish duty, taking it upon himself to wash the dishes. While you and your sister put the leftovers away, your dad wiped down the counters and swept the floor.

In no time, the kitchen was cleaned and everyone was off to the family room to relax, except you and Mat. A few of your high school friends decided to either stay local for college, or to move back to your hometown after graduation, and they were all very keen to meet up…Especially when you slipped it in that your boyfriend would be visiting with you.

You drove Mat’s car to the neighborhood bar where you had one too many nights where you couldn’t remember everything, but you knew they were all happy memories.

“So how many people are coming?” Mat asked as the two of you got out of his car and he locked the doors.

“Just a few,” you said as Mat came up next to you and slid his hand into yours, “You’re not nervous, are you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “They’re your friends.”

You rolled your eyes as you came up to the front entrance. Mat opened the door for you and you dropped his hand to walk through, “You’ll be fine,” you stressed, “They don’t pay too close attention to hockey if you’re worried about that.”

Mat playfully glared at you, “Were you nervous to meet Tito and the rest of my friends?”

Seeing the point he was trying to make, you offered him an apologetic smile, “You’re right, I’ll stop downplaying your nerves.”

He squeezed your hand and looked down at you, “Nothing to apologize about, I just want them to like me.”

You leaned up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, “They’ll like you because I love you.”

At that sentence, Mat’s face lit up and he looked down at you with the kindest eyes, “I love you, too.”

It had only been a few weeks since the first I love you with Mat, but you knew you didn’t want to hear the words from anyone’s lips but his for the rest of your life.

Before you could get another word out, you distinctly heard one of your friends yell over the chatter of the bar, “With twenty-two goals and sixty-three assists during his rookie season, there’s the 2018 Calder Trophy winner!”

Mat’s face turned red as he looked down at you, “They don’t pay close attention to hockey, eh?”

You dropped his hand and softly punched his bicep, “I bet they have Wikipedia open right now.”

Mat threw his head back with laughter as he followed behind you to the table your friends currently occupied. You introduced everyone to Mat and he easily fell into conversation with them. It warmed your heart to see your friends taking so kindly to your boyfriend.

Even when Mat tried to decline your friends buying him drinks, they didn’t listen to him. One after the other, they walked up to the bar and always came back with two drinks in their hands.

“Now this one,” your friend Tyler pointed a finger at you, “Stood up on that bar,” his finger moved away from you and pointed at the packed bar counter, “And sang Dancing Queen at the top of her lungs when it came on for karaoke.”

You hid your face in the crook of Mat’s neck and his arm that was around your waist tightened as his chest shook with laughter, “The ABBA song?”

“Stole the show,” Tyler chuckled at the memory.

You lifted your head up from Mat’s shoulder, “In my defense, it was the first time I was of legal drinking age and I was having fun.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t done that before when you weren’t of legal drinking age.” Your other friend, Paige, said as she laughed before taking a sip of her drink.

“What?” Mat continued to laugh as he looked down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Even though you were embarrassed by your friends sharing stories that you only half-remembered, you couldn’t help but reciprocate Mat’s smile.

“We have a ton to fill you in on mister NHL-er,” Tyler clapped Mat’s shoulder with his hand and then got off his seat, “What are you drinking? I’ll buy.”

With everyone jumping at the chance to buy Mat a drink, he knew that arguing to pay for his own would be futile. So Mat said a simple, surprise me, and Tyler was off to the bar. Mat had gravitated to talking a lot with Tyler, who actually knew a lot more about hockey than you originally thought, so when he was gone, your friends jumped in on the chance to get to know him more.

And with Mat’s strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his thumb slowly rubbing circles into your side, you stared up at him in admiration. You had only been home for a day, but everything was going even more perfect than you imagined.

The night ended a few hours later, with you and Mat denying any drinks that were offered to you both after Tyler brought him his ‘surprise’ drink. Sober enough to drive the five minutes back to your house, Mat kept his hand in yours the whole way home.

It was only a quarter past midnight, and you were sure your sister was still up, but the two of you still entered as silent as possible. The two of you tiptoed up the stairs, and came to your room, which was closest to the stairs. Unfortunately for Mat, the guest bedroom was across the hall from your parents room.

Mat held both of your hands in his, eyes locked on your fingers that he played with, as you admired the small smile dancing on his face.

“I had fun tonight,” he whispered.

Your smile widened, “I had fun too,” you squeezed his hands, and he picked his eyes up to stare at you, “I’m really happy you’re here.”

“I think your parents like me,” he tried to hide his smirk, but failed miserably when you let out a soft chuckle, “They probably think I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, “You’re getting cocky.”

Mat raised his eyebrows at you, “But am I the best boyfriend you’ve ever had?” His confidence was nothing new to you, but your mouth still dropped as he left you speechless. Mat’s smile widened, “That’s what I thought.”

You dropped one of his hands and whacked his chest, “You’re ridiculous.”

His laughter slowly faded away and the two of you were left standing outside your childhood bedroom door in silence. You so desperately wanted to tug on his hand and tell him to follow you into your room, but you knew he wouldn’t go against your parents wishes under their roof. While he acted a bit egotistical just moments ago about having your parents approval, you knew he was still terrified of them; especially of your father.

Slowly, he brought a hand up to cup your face, and let his fingers trail down your cheek. With his index finger placed under your chin, he tilted your head back so you had nowhere else to look but at his eyes.

His eyes were your favorite thing about him. Whether they were glazed over in the morning just after he woke up, slightly squinted in frustration as a penalty was called on him, or screwed tight when he laughed…His eyes were the first thing you fell in love with.

“I love you,” he whispered the exact phrase that was playing on repeat in your head.

“I love you more.”

Mat slightly laughed as he trapped your lips in an innocent kiss. You had trouble kissing him back with the smile on your lips.

He pulled away, his forehead against yours, as his eyes shined bright in the pitch black hallway, “Not a chance.”

You ignored his statement, because while you two could stand in this hallway and debate on who loved each other more until the sun came up, if Mat claimed to love you more…Than that meant the love he had for you was infinite considering how much you loved him. And it filled you with nothing but happiness.

You leaned forward and pressed another small kiss to his lips, “Goodnight, Mat.”

And for the third time that night, you felt his lips against yours. He pulled back with a smile, “Night, Y/N.”

You placed a hand on the handle and pushed it down, but you watched Mat walk down the hallway and to the guest room before walking into the room where you used to dream of having a boyfriend as wonderful as Mat. After you finished your nighttime routine, you pulled your covers back and crawled into bed.

While you set your morning alarm on your phone, a text from Mat caused your phone to vibrate. A smile erupted on your face as you clicked on it to read.

Can’t wait to see you in the morning…Love you :)

Sometimes, when you and Mat didn’t sleep together at night, you found yourself struggling to fall asleep. But with his text message, and knowing that he was only a few doors down, you slept peacefully.

––

You woke up a few minutes before your alarm, ready to start a new day. And while you didn’t rush your morning routine, you definitely got ready faster than normal. Once you were satisfied with your look, you quietly stepped out into the hallway and tiptoed down to the guest bedroom. Mat liked to sleep in when he didn’t have morning skate or a game, so you expected him to be laying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, with one leg sticking out from under the covers.

But when you cracked the door open a little, you were surprised to see the bed fully made with no Mat in sight.

A small hmpf escaped your lips as you checked your phone. But the last communication you had with him was when you responded to his goodnight text. Curious to find out where he had gone, you made your way downstairs.

When you walked into the kitchen, you saw your mom sitting at the island drinking tea, and your sister leaned up against the counter with a bowl of cereal.

But there was still no Mat.

“Has anyone seen Mat?”

Your sister looked up from her cereal and smirked, “Good morning to you too.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a mug down from the cabinet, picked out a tea bag, and poured the water from the kettle that was still hot. Cupping your hands around the warmth of the mug, you glared at your sister, “Morning.”

“He and your dad went on a walk,” your mom answered.

Your hands tightened around the mug to keep it from dropping to the ground, “What?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Your sister let out a laugh as she shoveled a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, “He looked scared to death when dad asked him to go.”

Ignoring your sister, you looked over at your mom with wide eyes, silently asking her if your sister was telling the truth. Your mom’s bashful smile confirmed it, “He did look a little…uneasy.”

With a groan, you leaned your head back, “He is absolutely terrified of dad.”

“With reason.”

You elbowed your sister in her side and looked at your mom for some reassurance. She set her mug down, “Your father likes him, he just wants some time to get to know him more.”

You took a sip of your tea and sighed. From talking with your dad, you knew that he was fascinated by Mat, but no matter how many times you tried to reassure him…Mat never believed you. Maybe this walk would be good for him, you thought to yourself, maybe this is what Mat needs.

The more you talked to yourself, you started to feel better. That was until your sister decided to share her input.

“I wished him luck before he went. Told him if it didn’t go well to not forget to say bye as he hightailed it out.”

An aggravated breath left your lips as you turned to face her, “Would it kill you to––”

But you were cut off when you heard the door open and laughter fill the front of the house. Your ears perked up and your sister sent you a sly smirk.

When your dad and Mat walked into the kitchen, they were all smiles, and Mat didn’t look the slightest bit nervous. A smile instantly brightened up your face when you saw Mat. His hair was a bit unruly, but he looked soft in his gray New York Islanders sweatshirt and gym shorts. And when Mat made eye contact with you, he smiled.

He made his way through the kitchen and leaned up against the counter next to you. His hip touched yours, and you felt like it was a win considering it was the closest thing Mat had done to show any public displays of affection in front of your family.

“Morning,” Mat smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you reciprocated his smile, “Have a nice walk?”

He nodded proudly, but before he could get a word out, your father spoke up.

“Next time I’m in New York, Mat, let’s meet up for dinner or lunch.” Your father spoke so nonchalantly as he poured himself a cup of coffee that it made you choke on your tea, “I’ll buy.”

You looked between your dad and Mat with wild eyes.

Mat let out a laugh and tucked his hands in the front pockets of his sweatshirt, “That sounds nice. If you’re all ever in New York, let me know and I’ll get you tickets for a game.”

Your parents and sister started their own conversation and you bumped your hip against Mat’s, which caused him to look down at you. With your eyebrows raised high, you repeated your question, “Have a nice walk?”

“I think he pretended not to like me at first,” Mat whispered, “But then we talked about fishing, and then hockey, life,” he tilted his back and forth as he listed the topics of conversation, “you.”

“Me?”

A single breathy laugh passed through Mat’s nostrils, “Of course you were a topic of conversation.”

“And?”

Mat shrugged his shoulders and took the cup of tea out of your hands and took a sip for himself. He looked straight ahead as he brought the mug down from his lips, “He said he likes me.” A smile lit up your face, but before you could say I-told-you-so, Mat handed the tea back to you, “He also told me not to fuck it up.”

You let out a laugh as you leaned your forehead against his bicep. When your laughter calmed down, you looked up at him through your eyelashes, “So far, I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Oh, just a pretty good––”

“Hey, hockey player,” your sister cut Mat off, which caused both of you to pick your heads up to look at her. After a moment of silence, she wickedly smiled, “What’s your preferred alcohol of choice?”

“It’s literally not even nine in the morning,” you deadpanned.

Everyone in the kitchen laughed, but your sister defended herself, “It’s Saturday, I want to know in preparation for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Mat’s voice sounded just as confused as his face.

You rolled your eyes, “She wants to sit around the fire pit outside and drink.”

“That sounds fun,” He looked at your sister with a smile, “I’m not too picky, whatever you have is fine.”

As the day continued, everything went more smoothly than you could’ve ever imagined. Mat clearly got along with your family, which made you happier than ever, and you walked around your hometown with him. While you loved the dynamic Mat was creating with your family, it felt nice to have some alone time with him. Especially when he slipped his hand into yours and pulled you close.

And when you were back at the house, and the sun was just starting to set after dinner was all cleaned up, your dad and Mat went to start the fire pit outside. You grabbed a few blankets, your mom made sure there were seats for everyone outside, and your sister grabbed the bottle of wine and glasses.

The fire crackled as you pushed the screen door forward to walk outside. You set the blankets down on the backs of one of the chairs as you made your way over to Mat, who was sitting on a little bench. With a little skip in your step, you walked over and plopped down next to him.

With your head on his shoulder, he threw an arm around you and pulled you in close. You pressed a single kiss to his jaw, “What’re you drinking?”

He shrugged, “Whatever your dad is having.”

“Show off,” you snorted.

Mat’s shoulders softly shook with laughter, “Need to keep impressing him.”

“You play professional hockey,” it was your sister’s voice that took both you and Mat out of your own little world. She came over and handed you a glass of wine, “You can just breathe and he’ll be impressed with you.”

Mat’s face turned red and you gladly took the wine from your sister, “She’s not really wrong,” you said to Mat.

“But I––”

The three of you stopped talking when you heard the squeak of the screen door open. All eyes were focused on your mom walking out with your dad not too far behind, with two glasses of liquor in his hands.

Your mom sat down in a chair, with your sister giving her a glass of wine too, and your dad walked toward you and Mat.

“Hope you like whiskey,” your dad chuckled as he handed Mat a glass.

Mat nodded in appreciation, “This is perfect, thank you.”

As everyone got settled in their seats, you threw the blanket over you and Mat, because you knew that would be the only way for Mat to feel comfortable holding your hand in front of your parents. And your assumption was correct. With the fire, and it being the beginning of April, a blanket felt perfect, but you liked the way his hand felt between yours more.

“He poured you whiskey over ice,” you smiled into your wine glass, “He loves you.”

Mat tried to conceal his smile, but you knew how much it meant to get the approval of your dad.

That night turned out to be one of your favorite night’s ever. Everyone had themselves a good time drinking, your sister eventually brought out her speaker and played music, and everyone––including Mat himself––had a good laugh when they heard him shamelessly singing along to Drops of Jupiter.

Nothing could compare to the bliss you felt in that moment, holding Mat’s hand under the blanket, as everyone had the time of their life.

–––

Sunday night came sooner than expected and that meant your little vacation was close to an end. Both you and Mat had to get back to New York, but your parents––especially your dad––encouraged the two of you to come back whenever you felt like it.

You were stood by your mom as your dad and Mat were kneeling next to his tires, checking the air pressure.

After a few minutes of hushed conversation between them, that you tuned out, they both stood up. Your dad wiped his hands on jeans, “They seem fine to me.”

Mat looked a bit embarrassed as he brought one of his hands to rub behind his neck, “Yeah…I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden the light started to blink…”

“No worries at all,” your dad said, “Better to be safe than sorry. If it happens again, there are a few gas stations before you hit the highway.”

Mat nodded with a closed lipped smile, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He then looked over at you, “Ready?”

With a nod, you gave your mom one last hug and promised that you’d see her again soon. And just when you let go of your mom and turned around to walk to Mat’s car, you saw your dad and Mat shake hands, before your dad brought him in for a small hug.

Your dad placed a small clap on Mat’s back before pulling away, “Take care,” his eyes fell on you for a brief second, before looking back at Mat, “Alright?”

Understanding the underlying meaning of what your dad meant, Mat nodded his head firmly, “Always.”

After saying bye to your dad, you and Mat hopped in the car for the second time. And this time, whatever light started to blink wasn’t there, and the two of you pulled out of the driveway, with your parents waving.

“Told you you had nothing to worry about,” You turned to smile at him.

Mat rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

As he pulled up to a stop sign, you quickly leaned over and pressed a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you, again, for coming. It really meant a lot to my parents.” Mat sat at the stop sign and turned toward you as your voice dwindled off with your next sentence, “And it meant a lot to me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Mat furrowed his eyebrows in seriousness, “And I had a really great time with your family.” He smiled as he picked up your hand, “I love you, you know.”

You squeezed his hand in appreciation, “I love––”

“Shit.”

A loud honk from behind––And Mat swearing––interrupted your sentence and it caused him to drop your hand, look both ways to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, and stepped on the gas pedal. You laughed at his face turning a deep shade of red as he slowed down his speed.

“It’s not funny.”

You leaned back in the seat and wiped a few tears from the corner of your eye, “It was so––you looked so scared––and you swore––”

“Whatever,” Mat grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, that you knew he agreed with you that it was a little funny.

Once your laughing settled down, you finished your sentence, “I love you, too.”

With his eyes straight ahead on the road, Mat blindly picked your hand up and gave it a squeeze, “You better.”

And it was that moment that made you realize you didn’t want to say I love you to anyone else, except for Mat, for the rest of your life.

–––

The trees were bare as you drove down the streets of your hometown. Your windows were rolled up to keep the frigid December air outside; and the sun was hidden beneath an array of clouds, just like the nonexistent smile on your face. And when you looked both ways as you came to a stop sign, you were reminded that there wasn’t a person accompanying you in the passenger seat.

Part of you thought about cracking the windows open slightly, because letting in the brisk air would make you feel something other than the numbness that had made a home in the center of your chest recently.

You tried to ignore the sting behind your eyes, but trying your hardest to not focus on everything that had happened in the last few weeks caused your mind to do the exact opposite. In a matter of seconds, you were only thinking about everything that happened nearly two weeks ago. Your frown deepened because how did everything blow up in your face.

Nearly two weeks ago, Mat broke up with you.

For you, it felt like it came out of nowhere. But for Mat, he said that he had been feeling it for a few weeks. It started off with Mat cautiously bringing up how he felt like he didn’t see you enough, then to you defending your work schedule and how hockey had started back up again, and by the end of the night, you had failed to hold back your tears as Mat kept apologizing about how he felt like the two of you were “growing apart.”

You left his place before he could give you another reason as to why he didn’t want to be with you, and a day and a half later, when you made sure he was at hockey practice, you picked up your stuff from his place and left your key on his counter.

The loud honk of a car horn from behind didn’t phase you in the slightest.

Carefully, you checked to make sure there weren’t any cars at the all-way stop, and drove off. You weren’t too far from your parents house, and spent the rest of the drive on autopilot.

Soon enough, you were in front of your old house. With your hands gripping around the steering wheel, you screwed your eyes tight and inhaled a deep breath; I’m fine, you repeated the lie in your head as you exhaled, I’m fine.

With a few more breathing exercises, you decided it was time to face your family. Opening the car door felt like ripping off a band aid as you took your duffle bag out from the back seat.

Sluggishly, you walked up the driveway to the front door. And with another deep breath, you silently whispered “I’m fine” to yourself before placing your hand on the handle to open the door. The first thing you saw was your sister sitting on the bottom step of the staircase.

She looked up from her phone with a surprised face, “You’re here early.”

You mustered up the smallest of smiles, “There was barely any traffic.”

Hesitantly, she nodded her head because she didn’t buy your lie. And she was right not to because you had requested the day off from work so you could get out of New York and to your family as soon as possible. Even though it was one of the most populated cities in the world, you felt suffocated by the thought of potentially running into Mat at any given time.

You needed out of the city like he wanted out of the relationship.

“How are––Are you––You know…” Your sister stumbled over her words, backtracking every time she was about to ask how you were because she knew the answer to that already. She apologetically smiled and itched the bridge of her nose, “Want a hug?”

You took an audible deep breath, and nodded, “Yeah.”

She kindly didn’t point out the way your voice cracked.

With her arms wrapped tightly around you, you squeezed her back as if you were about to fall off the Empire State Building. While your friends in the city had comforted you, there was nothing more comforting than a hug from a family member in a time of distress.

When she felt your grasp around her loosen, she took a step back, but kept her hands on your shoulder, “Do you want water? Or some tea?”

You shook your head and politely declined her offer, “I think I’m gonna put my stuff in my room and then come down.”

She nodded her head with a small smile and you turned around to head up the stairs.

Trudging up the stairs felt like it took too much energy than it should have, but you reasoned with yourself that between driving and being emotionally exhausted…It was fine to feel winded walking up the stairs.

You pushed open the door to your childhood bedroom, dropped your bag on the floor, and went straight to your bed. Unpacking your clothes could wait a few minutes.

Your head was buried into your pillows, the comforting scent of your childhood surrounded you, as you let out a shaky breath. Everything is fine, you repeated, I’m fine. But the more you kept saying the little mantra, the more you felt your throat tighten and the stinging behind your eyes intensify.

No, you scolded yourself as you sat up on your bed, no crying.

So you did your best to distract yourself; you decided to unpack. You absolutely hated to unpack your belongings, especially since you were only going to be home for the weekend, but you hated wrinkled clothing more. And that was your motivation to hang up all of your articles of clothing.

You had just finished hanging up your last sweater, but had let go of it too soon, so the sweater fell to the floor. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you bent down to pick it up, but something blue in the back of your closet caught your eye.

Holding your breath, you hadn’t seen that shade of navy blue in a few weeks.

With shaky hands, and your fallen sweater long forgotten, you grabbed the sweatshirt that was pushed in the back of your closet. And once you brought it out into the light, you sucked in a deep breath, because your thoughts were confirmed when you saw the familiar Islanders logo on the front.

It was as if that sweatshirt was the final key. The final key to unlocking the heart wrenching memory of the day that the relationship you thought would last forever…ended. All you could do was clutch the sweatshirt in your fist and remember.

You remembered the painful sting in your chest when you first arrived at his place and he slightly moved out of the way when you went in for a hug.

You remembered the lightheadedness you felt when you realized that your worst fear was suddenly starting to become a reality.

You remembered the ringing in your ear when he asked if you felt it too.

“Feel what?” The words barely came out.

“This,” Mat stood at the other side of the kitchen as he gestured his hands between the two of you, “This-–This space. This disconnect.” You were left speechless as he rubbed his face with his hands, it didn’t look like he was enjoying himself having this conversation with you, and that left you even more confused.

“What––Where is this coming from?”

Mat was a very perceptive person, but he ignored the way your hands slightly shook in panic and how your breaths grew shallower.

“I’ve been feeling it for a few weeks,” he confessed in a strained voice, “We’re growing apart––I never see you anymore––”

You let out a laugh of disbelief, “Never see me? You––You just came back from a God knows how long road trip from the west coast!” You waited to see if he had anything to say, but he didn’t. “I work a typical nine to five job, I have time for you. But you––Hockey is––”

“Hockey’s what?” Mat’s voice was challenging as he carried himself across the kitchen to you. He narrowed his eyes, “Want to finish that sentence?”

With a sigh, you took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. This is not happening, you repeated in your head, This can absolutely not be happening.

You opened your eyes and tried your best to remain calm, even though on the inside you could feel your soul shatter. And it would only take one vicious sentence from him to break absolutely everything inside of you.

“I don’t want to fight,” you took a deep breath because you knew whichever way this discussion went, a fight was bound to happen, “But I have time for you. I make time for you. I know hockey is demanding, I know it’s not a typical job, but if we both work at it, we can make more time for each other.”

“What time?” Mat let out an irritated laugh. You wanted to believe that he wasn’t irritated at you, and that he was irritated at hockey instead, but with his earlier confession of disconnection, you didn’t know what to believe.

“You just complained about me being gone for an extended amount of time.”

You picked at a loose piece of skin by your thumb, “I did, yes–—I know.” You let out a shaky breath, “But we talked, we FaceTimed, we kept up that connection.” You pleaded with him, “What do you––What can I do?”

The anger washed away from his face and you saw that it was replaced with remorse.

With his eyes casted downward, he frowned, “Is there…Is there anything left to do?”

You were left stunned at his ease of abandoning your relationship. In the time you had known Mat, he was never a quitter. He never gave up on anything he was passionate about, even with the trivial things that he didn’t quite care about, he always saw them through. He was an athlete…He never gave up on anything.

So why was he giving up on you?

When you took a step back, he whipped his head up to look at you. His eyes were red; full of pain and heartache as if he wasn’t the one surrendering. He took a step toward you, but like a dance, you took another step back.

“Mat, we’ve been together for over a year,” your voice wavered at the thought of all those months with him dissipating into nothing, “What is happening.”

His best response was to keep silent and shrug his shoulders.

Reality hit you like a ton of bricks. This is it, you thought to yourself, I’m losing the most important person in my life. A tear rolled down your cheek as you let out a hiccup from trying to hold your breath to stop the scratchiness in the back of your throat. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he whispered softly.

“Then why––why are you doing this?”

Mat ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath as he leaned his head back to look at the ceiling, “It’s holding me back. Everything is just––I can feel it affecting me and it’s not what I want––”

You heard his reasons differently though, instead of ‘it’s’, you heard ‘you.’

You’re holding me back.

You’re affecting me.

You’re not what I want.

All while you felt your relationship was stronger than ever, Mat felt like it was falling apart at the seems.

“I’m sorry,” Mat sniffled, “I’ll always love you, but––”

You shook your head, “You––No.” You brought both hands up to rub away your tears, but when you dropped your arms down at your sides, the tears you washed away reappeared. “You can break up with me, this relationship can be over, whatever.” You glared at him, “But you cannot say that.”

Mat scoffed, “Say that I love you?” You nodded angrily as Mat flared his nostrils, “But I do! I can’t help that this is how I feel about our relationship now, but I loved you then and I love you now! Things just aren’t working now––”

“While I don’t like what I’m hearing, I’ll respect your feelings,” you choked out, “but you need to respect mine and not say those words to me.”

“I want you to know that I still feel love for you,” his voice trembled, “That I’ll always––”

“Then why are you quitting on us?!”

“Because I feel like I never see you!” Mat threw his hands up in the air, “Sure, we can love each other, but what about the actual connection of a relationship? Furthering something that we can make a future out of?”

“I’m always here for you in New York when you get back,” you clenched your jaw, “We see each other as often as possible between our schedules! What do you––Do you want me to come out to away games?” You raised your eyebrows at him, “Because while I wish I could be at every one of your games, I can’t. I have a job. Just like you have a job––”

Mat scoffed, “So it all comes back to hockey?”

“Maybe if you put in a bit more effort, you wouldn’t feel this way.” You fired back.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” your voice softened when you saw his eyes betray him for a moment. Instead of the fiery eyes that burned through you like a wildfire, you saw eyes that looked one sentence away from breaking a dam of tears. And while you wanted him to feel every ounce of betrayal and heartbreak that you were going through, there was a piece of your heart that still loved him too much to put him through that kind of pain.

So instead, you said what you were feeling, which had the possibility to cause the same damage if you had just berated him.

“If hockey is your one true love in life, then that’s great,” you failed miserably at faking a smile, “I’m happy for you. Happy that you found something you can fully commit to and put in effort to make work even when it would just be easier to quit.”

Mat almost reached a hand out to you, but brought it back down to his side after a second thought, as he softly shook his head and whispered, “You know that’s not true–-”

“But it is,” you wiped away dry tears from your cheek with the heel of your palm, “And it’s…Whatever. It’s whatever, but if you don’t put that same effort into your relationships with people––If you don’t prioritize the right things in life––then you’ll end up alone and unloved.”

Mat stood frozen in the middle of his kitchen. And when he snapped out of whatever trance he was under, all he could manage was to shake his head as a single tear fell down his cheek, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “I’m not asking you to give up hockey. I’d never do that because I know how happy it makes you and it’s your career,” you gave him a weak smile because the realization set in, “But I think that last sentence is a lie.”

“I just––” Mat pinched the bridge of his nose, “Something is off, we’re not the same––”

You shook your head, tuning out more reasons why the man you loved more than life itself didn’t want to be with you anymore. You walked over to where your bag hung over the back of a chair, picked it up, and then walked toward the front door for your shoes.

“Where are you going?”

Once your shoes were securely on, you turned to face him one last time. He looked as if he also couldn’t believe that this relationship was over, even though he was the one who pulled the trigger. His mouth was slightly agape, eyebrows raised in anxiousness, and eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Home,” you said matter-of-factly, “I really don’t want to hear more reasons why I wasn’t enough.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry––”

You were out the door before he finished his sentence.

“Y/N,” a voice pulled you out of the nightmare that was doomed to play on repeat in your mind for the rest of your life, “Y/N?”

You blinked a few times to see your mom kneeling in front of you. She had a hand placed on your thigh and her eyes were filled with concern. But when her eyes flicked down to what you were clutching on for dear life in your hands, her face dropped as she looked back up at you, “Oh, sweetie…”

“I’m fine,” you sniffled as you itched your cheek. But when you scratched your skin, your cheek felt damp, and upon further inspection of wiping away the wet substance on your cheek, it dawned on you that you were crying.

“Y/N…” your mother repeated your name cautiously, expecting you to hit your tipping point soon.

With a shake of your head, you folded the sweatshirt up. But with the way your hands shook, the folding wasn’t even and the sleeve poked out a bit, so you unfolded the sweatshirt just to re-fold it again, “I’ll donate this somewhere.” The sweatshirt was still uneven, so you refolded it again, “I’m sure someone would buy it fast, it––It’s in good condition––”

Your mom tried to take the sweatshirt away, but you tugged it back toward your chest, refolding it again.

“New York teams are pretty––pretty popular,” you let out a hiccup as your vision started to blur, “I––maybe I can bring this back with me? Give it away as a birthday present?” Your chin wobbled as you felt your breathing come out uneven, “It’ll make someone happy, right?”

Your mom gently grabbed you by the wrist to stop your folding of Mat’s sweatshirt. Sitting on the floor, by the edge of your closet in defeat, you clenched your jaw tight as you sucked in a deep breath. Finally, you looked up at your mom through your teary vision and tried to sniffle away your runny nose.

“It’ll make someone as happy as he made me.”

She didn’t have to say anything for you to bring his sweatshirt––one that still smelled like him––up to your face as you openly sobbed.

You had been in other relationships, loved other people, been upset when those relationships ended…But you had never loved someone as much as you loved Mat. You thought that Mat was your forever––the person that the universe specifically made just for you––But you lost him.

Your mom wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into her chest. Easily, you fell into her and continued to cry as you clutched the last remaining piece you had of him close to your chest. Your mom didn’t say anything as she cradled you; she knew that no words could mend this feeling of cataclysmic heartbreak, so she simply offered you her presence and a shoulder to cry on.

“I––Mom, what did I do wrong?” While your words were muffled in his sweatshirt, she heard you loud and clear, and it broke her heart.

She shushed you as she ran a hand up and down your spine, “You did nothing wrong, absolutely nothing…”

“But he––We’re not––I thought that he was the one,” you peered up from the sweatshirt, eyes puffy and irritated from crying, to see tears welled up in your mom’s eyes. You wanted to ask her why she was crying, but an all too familiar pain ripped through your chest as you let out a whine, “Mom.”

Again, she brought you back into her chest and held you close.

“I––I told him he would end up alone and––and unloved,” you tried to speak through the tears, but your erratic breathing made it hard to get a full sentence out without it sounding chopped up.

She shook her head, “We all say things when we’re upset.”

“No, I––I told him that because I––I don’t want anyone else to love him,” you let out a whimper, “I wanted to be…Want to be the only person who loves him like that.” You blinked a few times to look up at your mom and frowned when you saw her tear stained cheeks, “Why are you crying?”

Your mom let out a small laugh and wiped under her eyes “I feel every heartache you go through,” she sniffled and tried her best to offer you a reassuring smile, “If he couldn’t recognize how great of a person you are, then you’ll find someone else who will.”

“But he’s the only one,” you sat up, continued to hug his sweatshirt close to your chest, and reciprocated her sad smile, “I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else.”

Knowing that the heartache you felt was still fresh, your mom knew that no matter how much she tried to convince you that you would find someone else, it would be useless. “I know,” she swiped her thumb under your eye, catching the last of your tears, “Why don’t you take a nap, I’ll come up when it’s dinner.”

You nodded and made your way over to your bed. Once you were under your covers, the blankets tucked right under your chin, your mom shut off your lights and softly closed the door.

While you should’ve knocked out in a few seconds, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Mat listing reason after reason why he didn’t want to be with you. Your own personal hell. So, while your eyes stung from crying your heart out, you kept them wide open as you stared at the ceiling out of fear of what you would see when they closed.

A few hours had passed and there was a knock on your door. You let out a small, come in, and saw your dad walk in.

Slowly, you sat up, wiping away a few stray tears, and let out a chuckle when he placed a glass down on your nightstand, “Whiskey over ice?”

He offered a sympathetic smile, “The best cure for what you’re going through.”

For what you’re going through, he said it as if he was still in denial of your break up. Which was fair, because you had never seen your dad warm up so fast to one of your boyfriends.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, “If you’re feeling up for it.”

You smiled in appreciation, “Thanks, but I’m not too hungry…Might try to sleep some more.” Your dad raised his eyebrows, “I’ll eat in the middle of the night when I wake up, promise.”

He smiled and gave in to your promise as he retreated toward the door. He was halfway out when he decided to stick his head back in, “You know, I never really liked him.”

It was the first genuine laugh you had let out in weeks. Because both of you knew how much of a lie that was.

Whenever your dad was in New York, he texted Mat and they would meet up for a meal or drinks, and sometimes they wouldn’t include you in plans. Your dad never missed an Islander’s game, and for his birthday, Mat had gifted your dad a signed Barzal jersey as a joke. They had their own relationship, and in turn, it contributed to the happiness you felt with Mat.

But nonetheless, your dad was always on your team.

After his comment, he slowly shut the door like your mom had done earlier, and this time, you really did try your best to sleep.

Sleep had been impossible since Mat broken things off with you. It took everything in you not to call his number and have him talk you to sleep most nights. And you wished that deleting his number would be enough, because even if you had deleted it, you had it memorized and could easily dial his number with your eyes closed.

But with his sweatshirt that you still held close to body, sleep came a little easier.

PART TWO

319 notes · View notes

kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

Text

Your Wish Is My Command

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) X Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on my last story! I’m grateful for all the feedback and can’t wait to get back to anyone who’s replied or reblogged it or whateva. This one’s pretty different - Recovery was mainly plot with a bit of porn, this is... well, the opposite of that. ;) As always, heed the tags/warnings, and again there is no use of Y/N here.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only!)

Summary: You have a gift - a powerful, unique, dangerous gift, and King Maxwell wants to take full advantage.

You’ll let him.

Warnings: mostly smut, Maxwell being an absolute jackass (no redemption arc here folks), you encouraging and very much liking the jackassery, brief mention of abuse/trauma, greedy authoritarian behavior, kinda spoilers for ww84

Tags: semi-public sex, exhibitionism, royalty kink (?), unprotected sex, implied and/or inferred consent (i.e. not explicit but there), Maxwell’s POV (until very end), fingering, p-in-v sex, come marking

Word Count: 3.4k

"The messenger you requested, reporting back from the northern provinces, sire."

King Maxwell of the house Lord, sitting in the throne gifted to him by birthright, dismisses the servant with a wave of his hand. He's become quite irritated with the futility of his efforts concerning this matter, and therefore has little patience for further delay. The future of his lands, his wealth, his power, rests on the shoulders of these menial workers and the news they provide. It bears no repeating that should they continue to come up empty-handed, someone is going to lose their head.

He needs the girl, and then it will be sealed. He will crush all opposition and assert his dominance over the entire region, coast to coast.

The messenger, a boy no more than 15, scurries into the room. His hair is tousled under his cap, which he hastily removes in the presence of the king. He bows, deeply and with a flourish, before standing upright.

Max watches with disinterest, legs spread over the velvet seat and head resting on his fist. His rings dig into his temple.

"We believe we've found her, sire."

That grabs his attention. He sits forward, both hands gripping the arms of his throne.

"You believe you have? Have you or have you not?"

The boy swallows, growing pale. "We-we have, your majesty. It's just, uh, we-we can't p-p-prove it's her until she demonstrates the gift."

The king groans, rolling his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. These people are impossible.

"Where is she, then? Have you at least brought her along?"

The boy nods frantically. "Yes, your majesty. She's been quartered in the guest wing, with two guards to watch her."

Immediately, Maxwell stands. Everyone in the room looks up at him, and he adjusts his sleeves. The boy is nearly trembling.

"Well, then take me to her," he orders, and the boy hesitates.

"Now!"

The messenger boy practically trips over his own feet in haste to correct his error. He sets a quick pace to the guest wing in order to account for the king's long strides, head bowed and arms stiff as he does so.

The room is located to the east of that which houses his throne, on the third floor, overlooking the orchards. Maxwell follows the boy, wooden-soled shoes echoing on the gleaming marble floors of his palace. Mirrors line each hallway, along with fine art ranging from rare vases to family portraits.

Maxwell sees the door as soon as they turn a corner, identifiable by the armored men who stand at either side of it. The boy stops and gestures to the door with a shaking hand.

"Just in here, y-"

"I can see that," the king barks, ignoring the boy completely. "You are dismissed."

He hears footsteps retreat quickly down the hall as he checks his appearance in a mirror. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkled seam in sight. The king sighs, smiling as he admires himself. He takes a moment before turning to the door, the door that hides behind it wealth and prosperity like nothing he's ever known.

The guards simply bow as he approaches them. Maxwell knocks twice on the door and pushes it open.

Inside there is a single room, with a bed and chest of drawers and a vanity. There is a balcony, with glass French doors, through which he can see the shape of a woman standing and looking out over the scenery.

She leans one hip against the stone railing, and as Maxwell walks forward he can see that she holds a goblet of wine in one hand. Her dress flows in the light summer breeze, and her hair is decorated in intricate braids, ribbon laced throughout.

The girl does not see him, yet. He stands in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, watching her.

"Is it true?" he asks, after he's looked his fill.

The young woman starts, a gasp escaping her lips. She turns to look towards the voice she has heard and startles again, seeing the king himself staring quite intently at her.

"Your majesty," she breathes, a smile ghosting across her lips. She bows deeply and then looks up at him, eyes bright and playful.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I've heard many... extraordinary things about you."

Maxwell is immediately taken with her. Not only is she quite beautiful, despite her pauper's clothing, but she is one of few who have not reacted to him with fear or malice. Most begin shaking when they see his face; she, however, seems quite happy to see him.

"Oh, sire, the pleasure is entirely mine," she responds, voice soft, like music to Max's ears. "What things could you have heard about someone as lowly as I?" Her words are humble, but he senses a hint of teasing in them - as though she knows exactly what he's heard, but just wants him to say it.

"You are rumored to possess a very unique skill, one that I am most interested in learning about." He plays along, because her elusiveness frustrates him much less when she's right in front of him.

The king is a very visual man.

He steps forward, fully onto the balcony now. She backs up until her back hits the railing, smile never leaving her face, even as the king crowds into her.

"I possess many skills which I would be happy to demonstrate to you," she says, and Max does not miss the meaning she intends to convey in those words. His eyes darken, his blood running hot at the thought of the many things she could give him. The things he could take from her willingly, without the hassle of a fight.

"It is said that you grant wishes," he murmurs, looking down at her. Max finds he quite likes this view, her looking up to her king. "One must only touch you and state their wish, and it will be so."

The girl chuckles, and daringly takes a sip of her wine. Maxwell grins, before reaching a hand up and grabbing the wine from her grasp. He tosses the liquid out over the ground below and carelessly throws the goblet over the edge to follow its contents.

The girl does not bat an eye.

"What you have heard," she mutters, eyes slipping down to his lips and back up again, "is true."

The king runs his hand up her side, settling at her ribs just beside her breast, savoring the way she shivers at his touch. His fingers splay out over the bare skin of her back, warm and soft and hinting at more.

He dips his head down so that his nose brushes against hers, mouths nearly touching.

"Is there a limit," he breathes, because he knows he must ask this, "to your generosity, my dear?"

The girl smiles, placing a hand on his bicep. Her small fingers feel divine against him, even there.

"No," she whispers back.

Maxwell hums, stroking his thumb idly along her warm, soft skin. He needs to confirm that she's telling the truth, as tempting as it is to believe her outright. The way she's looking at him... she'd let him do anything to her. The thought is as enticing as it is dangerous.

"I wish to find a raven's feather in my shirt pocket," he says, and then feels a slight breeze on the back of his neck.

The king reaches into his pocket, and his fingers brush against exactly the object he wished for. He pulls it out to show the girl. She smiles and runs a hand up to his shoulder, resting her wrist there. His loose linen shirt, which flutters lightly in the wind against his tanned skin, is perfect for a summer's day like this - and when he feels the warmth of her hand through it he thanks his past self for selecting it this morning.

"What a remarkable gift you have," he comments, and tucks the feather behind her ear.

An endearing blush rises to her cheeks, and though she ignores it, the king takes notice. "Thank you, your majesty."

At that moment, an idea forms in his mind. It's devious, downright lecherous and more the act of some tavern drunkard than a king, but she is sure to react well, if he's gauged her correctly.

"You said there's no limit on the wishes you can grant a single person?"

"Yes, sire. I did."

A smirk forms on the king's face. "Then I wish, my dear, for you to be naked."

The wind around them picks up again and the girl gasps. In the blink of an eye, her plain, beige dress has disappeared, leaving nothing behind. She is a vision, bare and beautiful in the midday light like this.

Maxwell is immediately hard. Not only is there a gorgeous, naked woman before him, but his absolute, unlimited power has just been confirmed and lies at his fingertips. He is unstoppable now, now that he has her.

The girl's hands fly up to grasp at his shoulders as his own trace over her curves. Her hips, her waist, her thighs - one of which he brings up to hook around his own hip - all of it is open and shimmering before him.

"They said - in my village, they said you are a monster," she says, though her words trail off into a moan as one of the king's hands finds her breast. He tugs at her nipple, squeezing and pulling at the supple flesh, drawing sweet sounds from her pink mouth.

"Is that so?"

She nods. "I would look at your portraits and - and think... I'd think, no... no man so handsome could be so evil."

The king laughs, dipping his head to lick at her neck. She tosses her head back, giving him full access to the elegant column of her throat.

"And even... even if you are what they said... I don't - I don't care."

Maxwell groans just as she says it, biting a bruise into the junction between her shoulder and neck. He trails bites and kisses down her collarbones, leaving his marks across her unblemished skin.

"I am," he murmurs into her ear, smoothing a hand over her stomach so that his middle finger comes to glide over the thick hair that covers her mound. He dips it into her folds, rubbing softly at the wet, slippery flesh there until she moans, high-pitched and needy. He grins, licking his tongue into the shell of her ear.

"I am a monster, my dear," he whispers. "Every vile thing they said about me is true. And... I wish to fill my personal vaults with triple the gold. I wish to increase my fleets tenfold, with loyal soldiers to match. I wish to never see you leave these palace grounds so long as I live."

The wind picks up considerably around them. The king presses a finger against her opening, hot and dripping for him, and slides it in. Her moans are heavenly, loud and unashamed as he violates her in the open, where anyone could look up and see them. Her cunt opens for his finger, the gold and precious jewels of his rings swallowed by her sweet embrace. Her hands grip at his neck while her leg draws him closer. He adds a second, and it enters just as easily.

The king begins to fuck her with his fingers, watching as the muscles in her stomach tense and her eyes go glassy with the feeling.

"I wish to never be challenged by anyone for the throne," he grunts out. The girl moans at his words, and he realizes that she likes it. Not just the way he's touching her, but that he's making his wishes as he does it. He grins at her, predatory, and cups her ass with the hand not currently knuckle-deep in her pussy. His fingers dig in, sharp and strong and unyielding, surely leaving bruises in their wake.

"You like granting my wishes, darling? You enjoy giving me power, worshipping your king?"

She nods, mouth half-open. "Yes, your majesty." Her voice is breathy, the sound of it nearly knocking him out with the way it draws blood from his brain to his cock.

Speaking of which.

Maxwell thrusts a third finger into her cunt, the stretch made easy by the slick leaking out of her profusely. She wails, hands scrabbling at his neck and shoulders and back and the collar of his shirt.

"Take me out," he orders, and she pauses to look at him, confused. "Take me out of my trousers, my dear. Feel how hard I am for you."

She gasps and her hands fly down to the button at the crotch of his pants. Quickly she fumbles it open, and his hard member pushes up into her palms. The girl gives the king's dick a squeeze, and he grits his teeth, moaning.

"I wish to claim all of the lands in the south as my own. I wish to have loyal subjects in every village and town, that no one may ever defy me again. I wish to have any traitors killed without question."

The girl's moans have increased again as she rubs and caresses his cock. Her hands disappear for a moment as she leans back, licking a long stripe from her wrist to fingertips, and returns to her task.

Maxwell groans, dropping his head forward to press his nose against her skin, breathing in. She smells faintly of lavender, a crop that grows abundantly in the north, sweet and fresh. His tongue darts out to lick away a drop of sweat that rolls down her collarbone. Her hands squeeze and pull at his cock, thumbing at the head and slit and dipping down to fondle his balls on every other stroke.

It feels positively exquisite, but he wants to put his dick to use elsewhere. Somewhere tighter, warmer, wetter.

The king removes his fingers, drawing a whine from the girl. The noise of it is obscene in itself, squelching and sticky as her cunt tries to cling to his fingers and the jewels that adorn them. He chuckles, lifts his head to meet her gaze, and brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks away her essence. She watches, rapt, as he makes sure to get every inch of the three digits that were inside her. The sight of it makes her keen, high pitched noises spilling out of her lips and eyes watering with desperation and need for him.

The king laughs, the taste of her on his tongue. Someday, he swears, he'll taste this sweet nectar straight from the source.

Now is not the time.

He brings his spit-soaked hand down to his red, throbbing cock, giving it a few strokes. His other hand slips up to grasp her waist. The girl lifts her leg further, resting her heel against his ass, helping him to guide his length into her.

"What else do you wish for, my king?" she asks, just as the head of his cock notches at her opening. With a grunt, Max pushes in.

Her words, combined with the feeling of her pussy stretched around his dick, causes his vision to blur and images to flash in his mind of what's now possible with her gift at his disposal. He pushes in further, drawing another moan from deep within her throat.

"I wish... I wish..."

"Your wildest fantasies, my king..." she urges, grip tightening on his neck and shoulder. "Anything is possible. What do you -- oh!"

As her words soak into his skin, he pushes in further and further, until his balls are nestled squarely at her ass. She's pushing him to take, rather than to give, unlike so many who surround him. It breathes fire into his veins, this woman who's encouraging him to do all the selfish, power-hungry things he'd do anyway, all while he fucks into her like this.

The king draws out and pushes back in in one smooth motion, stealing the breath from her lungs. He presses his lips against hers as he speaks, as he sets a rough pace, fucking her into the stone railing.

"I wish to never fall ill or suffer injury in battle. I wish to have the unwavering allegiance of every foreign leader, and that they will defer to me in all international affairs. I wish for my reign to be the longest this nation has ever seen. I wish to live longer than any other man, and I wish to have you here at my disposal for the entirety of my long life. I wish to never succumb to old age."

By now, the wind is tossing her hair and whistling around them, but Maxwell does not care. He's thrusting into her roughly, recklessly now, and all he can hear are her sweet, delicious moans. Her pussy clenches his cock just so, and he sees nearly sees stars at the feeling. Her tits bounce as he fucks into her, her nudity on full display but only to be taken advantage of by him.

Maxwell adjusts his grip on her waist and thigh, maneuvering her around so that now he's taking her from behind. She leans forward on the railing, looking out over the palace grounds.

"Isn't it beautiful, darling?" he breathes, gripping her ass cheeks now, pumping in and out with increased fervor. "Looking out onto your lands, as far as the eye can see..."

She merely responds with moans, punched out of her with each thrust, and Maxwell feels her cunt throb in a way that tells him her orgasm is imminent. He reaches a hand around and searches for her clit, knowing he finds it when she shouts out. He rubs a finger against the sensitive, pulsing nub until she comes apart, writing and screaming on his cock.

Max feels his own climax approaching, and just before he tips over the edge, he withdraws his cock. Taking himself in hand, he strokes a few times and cums directly onto her ass and lower back, marking her up with his potent, royal seed.

Chest heaving, the king runs his hands through his own semen as it cools on the girl's backside. He rubs it into her skin like a masseuse might a fragrant oil.

Maxwell steps back, admiring his conquest. The girl is still leaning against the railing, head bowed and naked as the day she was born.

"I wish for you to be my queen."

The words are a surprise even to him, though he's not shocked at his own impulsivity; that is a trait of his that has followed him from childhood onward.

The girl turns to look at him.

"You have to be touching me for it to work, sire." She doesn't sound angry with him, which is a relief, though he'd never show it.

"I know, my dearest. I wish it, but I won't compel you."

At that she turns to face him fully. She's got that fucked-out look on her face, to be sure, but now there's something else in her eyes.

"Are you asking me to marry you, King Maxwell?" Her smile is sly, something befitting a woman of much higher status than herself. It makes his cock twitch in a valiant effort to get hard again.

"I suppose so."

"In that case, my answer is yes," she says, and pulls him in by his shirt collar for a searing kiss.

The next morning, you wake up sore in an unfamiliar bed.

You look around for a moment, taking in the luxurious decor and faint smell of roses, until you remember where you are. Who you are, now.

Your head rests not on a pillow - something much warmer than that. It rises and falls softly, and then you realize there's a weight around your waist that feels distinctly like an arm. Lifting your head just slightly, you see the king himself asleep above you, face soft and youthful in rest.

As you lay your head down on his chest to fall back asleep, you can't help but think of the people back in your village. The horrors you endured at their hands once they learned of your gift. The nightmares you still have because of what they did.

You think of how much they suffer under the rule of the king - of your husband - and you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

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bebepac · 3 years

Text

Six Sentence Sunday 08.22.21

Original Post: 08/22/21 at 12:35PM EST.

When you find out the final season of Lucifer is coming out on Netflix during your vacation so you won’t be tired at work the next day for staying up late to binge watch. I couldn’t have done that one more perfect if I had planned it.

My vacation is needed because I needed time away from my job. My job is just something else. the second of September can NOT get here fast enough. I needs it in my life.

I haven’t been able to do as much writing as I would have liked this week because of my work schedule, and then the days that I had off during the week were totally spent on a couch relaxing or naps. But I do have some stuff show this week. All are still works in progress.

As a reminder here’s what I have posted this week in case you missed tags because we all know those work absolutely ‘perfect’.

The City of Oaks (Happy Birthday Robin 2021): Pairing SGL x Riley B

School Dayz Chapter 3: Field Trip : Pairing Liam x Riley

Here’s what I’ve been working on enjoy my friends! And what are some of you all working on @dcbbw @speedyoperarascalparty @sirbeepsalot @phoenixrising308 @darley1101

“Actually… there were two really cute guys there, and i’m on the fence about it.”

Detention: Party of One

Chapter 4: School Dayz

The Book: TRR AU (no royals)

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Status: Still in the writing process

Riley shook her head in disbelief. Taylor was the only person who could meet one cute guy in detention, but two cute guys!?!?!?!

“How is that even possible?”

“When you look like us, it’s always possible. Riley I know you try to hide your head in the sand like an ostrich, but we’re cute twins. We are! And the sooner you get that through your skull and embrace it, the better off you will be. Even when you dress like you should be pulled over and put in jail by the fashion police!”

“I don’t want to dress like you.”

“You don’t have to dress like me Riley! Just put in a little more effort. And you know maybe match your clothes?!?!?!”

Riley rolled her eyes.

“I do match my clothes.”

Taylor looked her over…. Taylor clearly had an aversion for what Riley was wearing.

“Mmmmmmmmkay….”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing right now?”

She shook her head at Riley. “It might be okay if it actually fits your body. You could fit Jaiden in that shirt with you.”

“Can we change the subject? Go ahead tell me the story because I can tell you are itching to!”

Taylor squealed in delight and did a running jump landing on Riley’s bed. She aggressively patted Riley’s bed.

“Well come on already it’s time for story time!!!”

Earlier That Afternoon

“Stupid teacher.”

Taylor grumbled under her breath as she got her books from her locker and headed down the hall to the detention room. She would have to text either Jaiden and Riley to see who could stick around to take her home later after she got out of there.

Mrs. Barbour was in charge of detention that day.

“Hi, Mrs. Barbour, reservation for Brooks party of one.” Taylor batted her eyelashes.

Mrs. Barbour clasped her hands in excitement. “Yes! We have been patiently waiting for your arrival!”

Her face then turned, and her voice dripped in sarcasm, and exasperation. “Please take a seat Miss Brooks.”

There were two seats left, one was in the very back, which really wasn’t her scene, the other seat however…..

The desk was located between two guys. Both guys perked up in attention when Taylor glanced their way. Both were guys she had seen before.

Drake was on her left, and Nico was on her right. When she sat between them both young men glanced in her direction.

She glanced down at Nic, finding him still sleeping peacefully. She had never woken up to him next to her before, and there were butterflies in her stomach as she stared at him. He was so handsome to her. Her eyes traveled down his bare chest, her stomach did a somersault. But as much as she cared, he never told Ellie those three words that truly mattered. Hell he never asked her to officially be his girlfriend. She would miss him dearly indeed. But as far as Ellie was concerned, she was going to America, to Hartfeld, as a single young woman.

Skipping Across the Pond

University Student Ellie: Chapter 4

The Book: TRH and Beyond!

The Pairing: Riley x Liam / Ellie x Nic (Ellie x M!OC)

Status: Still in the writing process

Her fingers grazed Nic's face, and his eyes fluttered open and locked on hers. Without saying anything, he reached to push Ellie's curls out of her face. He pulled her closer, kissing her lips.

After a few moments he abruptly pulled away.

"Did you hear that?"

Ellie shook her head no.

The zipper to the tent roughly came undone and a second later they were staring at Nico.

Surprise flashed in his eyes, as his glance shot to Ellie for a second, as she was just wearing Nic’s shirt, and then to Nic.

“You should have had her back to the estate by dawn before she was missed!!!! They almost locked the whole country down!!!!! The only reason they didn’t is I realized you were missing too, so you two had to be together, and they gave me time to find you two. Do you have any idea what time it is Nicolai? ”

Ellie glanced down at her phone and groaned. It was 1pm in the afternoon.

“She needs to get dressed. And you…..You come with me now Nicolai.”

Nic had given her his shirt to sleep in, but she quickly changed back into her dress. And she climbed out of the tent while Nico was questioning Nic.

“Did you have sex with the Crown Princess?”

“Dad!!!!”

Oh my god awkward situation… Ellie thought as she lightly cleared her throat.

“Your Highness, I have your things you can head to the SUV.”

“She can ride back with me.”

“No she will not. King Liam would have your head for that.”

Ellie smiled trying to diffuse the tense situation between Nic and his father.

“Your Father is right, Nicolai. Let’s keep your head attached. Thank you Nico for getting my things."

“No problem, Your Highness.”

Riley finally connected the puzzle pieces in her mind.

Unfurled (Title may change)

The Days the Earth Stood Still: Part 5

The Book: TRR-TRH

Pairing: Riley x Nico (Riley x M!OC) with past pairing of Riley x Liam / Leo x Olivia

Status: Still in the writing process

“Because you’re not here for William are you? You never were. I can’t believe you people. He’s a baby. And I said vows to your son. Am I not good enough for you either?”

“Mama apologize.”

She said something to him in Greek.

He shot something back to her just as quick in Greek. Nico’s words had a biting anger to them even though she didn’t know what he had said. He looked absolutely furious, then glanced at Riley. When Nico spoke again, his voice was stern and commanding.

“Apologize to my wife and son. William is my son. I know the way I was feeling when I showed up in Greece jaded you Mama, but I don’t feel like that anymore. If you can’t accept him, you can’t have all of us in your life, including the child my wife is currently carrying. I stand with her.”

His arms slid around Riley protectively holding her.

"Riley, I'm sorry."

Nico’s mother’s voice finally sounded sympathetic, and not like she was trying to placate her in front of Nico. But Riley still wasn’t completely convinced in its authenticity.

Riley raised an eyebrow sizing her up again.

"You're sorry I busted you and called you out on all your bullshit."

Both Nico and his mother's eyes went wide.

"Riley!"

"You don't mess with me or mine again or I will come for you. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes we have an understanding.”

The rest of Riley’s pregnancy was reminiscent of how she had wanted her first pregnancy with William to be. She had married Nico early on, not long after Liam’s passing, but the one promise Nico had told her had never happened. Nico’s family was essentially absent during Riley’s pregnancy with William. This second time around, Riley was surrounded by Nico’s family. They were visiting Nico and had taken her to Greece several times to spend time with his family.

“This was my childhood home. We never had much. Sometimes I went without to make sure my sisters could eat.”

Nico’s voice was soft. It was a small, shack-like structure, she didn’t know how in the world she raised Nico with his sisters in that tiny place.

“Why are you ashamed of that? There’s nothing wrong with coming from meager beginnings. Is this part of the reason why you would come to Greece without me? Like I would look my nose down at your family? How could you think that would actually be me?”

“Because of all He gave you. He gave you an elevated title and a duchy, you have access to the Palace because of your lifetime tie that binds the two of you together, even in his death.”

Bebe spit out her drink she had been sipping.

Eating For One

The Meet: Chapter 8

The Book: TRR (No Royals)

Pairings: Liam x Jilian (Liam x F!OC) / Leo x Bebe (Leo x F!OC)

Status: Still in the writing process

“WHAT?!?!?! OH GOD NO!!!!!!! Bleh!!!!!"

“I thought you wanted kids someday Bebe?”

“Leo, the operative word in that sentence is SOMEDAY. As in not right now!”

“Oh my God, my bad Bebe. It’s where my head went, I have three pregnant nurses on staff that report to me. And everyone has baby fever at work!!!"

"He can't even pick me up on time, do you think I'd have a baby with him? Seriously? I would have to murder him the first time he forgot to pick up our child from school."

Liam heard Bebe's reaction but he was glancing at his brother. Liam winced at the expression on his brother’s face. Leo actually looked hurt.

Maybe Bebe was still feeling some kind of way about earlier, because that was some serious shade she was throwing.

Leo finished his drink in one long gulp.

"Excuse me for a moment.” Leo jumped up from the table abruptly walking away.

“Oh come on! He has no right to be butt hurt, he wasn’t left waiting for me for over an hour.”

“I mean……”

Liam started to say and then shut his mouth. Part of the reason Liam shut his mouth was that Bebe wasn’t his friend like that. Conversations like that, those knowledge bombs, have to be dropped by someone close to you that knows you for you to truly be receptive. He glanced at Jili, and she seemed to know what was on his mind. She nodded slightly in agreement.

“Bebe, you know you were savage with that comment.”

“Not you too Jili.”

“Bebe… you know…”

“He forgot me!”

“Did you tell him that?!?!?!? Don’t do the passive aggressive anger thing with him. Well maybe not so passive. If you have a problem you talk about it, you don’t air it like that, Bebe.”

Jili was completely right and Bebe knew it.

“Things weren’t supposed to be this complicated!” Bebe got up looking for Leo.

“Are we couples counselors now?” Kind of feels like we are.” Jili smiled.

“They’re definitely a couple. They weren’t before, but they are now.”

“Awwwe, we witnessed their first fight. Our little babies are growing up.”

Liam chuckled at Jili. “You’re so silly. He does like her, but he’s not been in a relationship like this before. He’s never had to think of anyone but himself. But enough about them. Let’s talk about us.”

He slipped his arms around Jilian, nipping her neck.

“Mmmmm…. I already like where this is going Mr. Rys.”

#bebepac writes #six sentence sunday #always more than six #cfwc sunday six #trr fanfic #trr fandom #trh fanfic #trh fandom #university student ellie #the days the earth stood still #the meet #school dayz #trr liam x riley #riley x nico #bebe x leo #crossovers #a little bit of everything

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timextoxhajima · 3 years

Text

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 6 - Misogynist

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal @sunwoowuvbot

“Don’t offend me.”

“No, I think the best course of action for HERA & ARTEMIS is that we not only branch out to collaborate with other companies, but also to make um… say, connections with non-profit organisations. Orphanages, charities, you name it. The publicity HERA & ARTEMIS will get after being recognised as a community-caring brand, a brand that cares no less than it’s maximum ability to about children, the elderly and the disabled.”

“Charitable. I like it,” The Resources CEO of The Board nods with a wine of champagne in his glass. even at her own wedding, all the bride can think of is work. All she cares about is how to make sure HERA & ARTEMIS is heard in the crowd of attendees to her wedding. “Anyway, a gorgeous wedding, I must say. What made you have it at home? I’d expect that your father and brother would have wanted it somewhere more… ravish, y’know, more extravagant.”

It takes some effort to hide her disgust at the thought that her father had a say over where she wanted to have her wedding.

“Of course not,” The service smile almost feels surgically implanted into her face, even Jang Won herself is put off. “Juyeon and I have already planned this right off the bat, have it at Hera’s Manor.”

“Why not at the Lee House? I thought the Lee’s would’ve preferred it there, you know, husband and all.”

Jang Won could’ve slapped the glass of champagne out of his grasp if she wanted to, then probably break the bowl off the stem and send it into his eye.

Misogynist.

“We—”

“The Lee House doesn’t have the facility and resources to hold a wedding now,” Juyeon comes round with a cup of whiskey, cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol as he rounds his arm around Jang Won, pulling her into his torso and even bothering to press a kiss into her temple. “It isn’t as presentable as you’d expect it to be. Hera’s Manor is well-kept and it looks like it’s prepped for a party every other day.”

Juyeon smiles politely, eyes drifting from the Resources CEO to Jang Won, and for a split second, Jang Won might just feel somewhat impressed he stood up for her. “You know what they say, if you need something done, a lady will do it fast and efficient.”

The Resources CEO provides the newly wedded couple an awkward smile, not really able to spit out a proper response to Juyeon’s rebuttal.

“Anyway, love, your brother’s asking for you in your office. Some administrative issues that cropped up,” Juyeon pulls away and turns his body, feet already pointing away from the Resources CEO. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr Teuk.”

Juyeon lowers his head as a sign of respect, though he probably doesn’t mean it. He gently tugs on Jang Won and leads her out of the courtyard.

“Please tell me there aren’t any actual administrative manners Younghoon wants to talk to me about,” Jang Won seethes as she walks up the yard stairs and into the main hall.

“‘Course not,” Juyeon subtly shakes his head. “He’s having the time of his life actually, getting acquainted with the other members of The Board. Have you always been the one helping him with Artemis?”

“In his defence, I don’t let him handle anything. It’s a subsidiary of HERA & ARTEMIS so I might as well take things into my own hands and worry about it on my own.”

“Well, maybe you should let him figure his hand out at things. He doesn’t legally own Artemis for nothing.”

Jang Won turns to shoot a look of distaste at Juyeon.

“What?” He frowns, forehead creasing. “I’m literally telling you to split your workload.”

“I don’t need to split my workload. I’m doing fine on my own and frankly, I’d rather he sit back and let me do most of it so that at least I know what the Hell’s going on with my companies without worrying about any secrets.”

Juyeon rubs the back of his neck and shoves his hands into his pockets. “In other words, you don’t trust your brother.”

“Please,” She walks off first, heading for her office where she usually seeks refuge amongst her bottles of whiskey and bourbon and documents. “Just because I love him for being my brother doesn’t mean I should trust him with my finances.”

“You’re literally born into a family of fortune. Even if he does mess up, you’d be able to recover from it. The consequences would mean absolutely nothing to you.”

Jang Won pushes the heavy doors of her office open, admiring the late-morning sun that’s spilling all over her chair and her desk.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, pretty boy. I choose not to rely on whatever I have at birth because I always felt like whatever my dad had was just handed to him,” She reaches for the ice bucket and picks up a ball of ice, dropping it into the whiskey glass, then coats most of its surface with bourbon. “But God forsake my hard work, huh? I guess if hard work really did pay off then I wouldn’t be standing here, in a wedding-lunch dress, talking to my husband.”

Juyeon raises both brows and throws himself into one of the sofa seats, the clinking of the whiskey decanter echoing ever so slightly throughout the office. “Ever heard of a holiday? You should go on one.”

She scoffs with exaggeration, the gentle swishing of the alcohol meeting the ice and the glass gleaming like liquid honey under the sunlight. “Yes, because I’m just like you, the one who would run away from the responsibilities he was born into whenever he doesn’t want them.”

“I’m sorry,” Juyeon grimaces, standing up and allowing the silvers of his suit glimmer as he walks into where the sunlight kisses the floor. “Which toe did I step on? I just pulled you out of a situation you would’ve otherwise not wanted to be in.”

“Unfortunately for you, I didn’t need pulling out. I could’ve handled myself right there and then. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember - I don’t need myself a nanny to save me,” Cocking one of her brows, she gives a wry laugh before downing the shot of whiskey.

Juyeon is in disbelief in her ability to perceive gratitude - or rather, a lack thereof.

“Maybe your father came back to save HERA & ARTEMIS from your terrible people’s skills, ever thought of that?”

“Wrong again, pretty boy!” She peels the glass off her lips and stares at the lipstick mark. “I’m perfect with the people I wanna be perfect with to get what I want, and when they are of no use to me, I’m well aware I treat them less than average.”

“There it is,” He sneers, stopping right before her as she finishes the last bit of her whiskey. “So, you’re a hypocrite.”

A smirk draws across her lips. Jang Won almost slams the glass back down in the tray of other glasses and the whiskey decanter. “And I’m proud of it. There’s nothing you can do about it, Lee Juyeon. You agreed to play this game my way and now that we’re wearing matching rings. I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it.”

Jang Won squares up and jabs a finger into his shoulder. But Juyeon catches her wrist and holds it in place, causing her to grunt and attempt to writhe her way out, but to no avail.

“Kim Jang Won, you listen to me and you listen well. Just because I agreed to play this game by your rules, doesn’t mean I’m your puppet. We both know who will be the more powerful one in May, so my advice?” By now, Juyeon’s nose is almost in her eye. He’s not even bothering to look at her.

“Don’t offend me.”

Jang Won finally snatches her wrist out of his hold when she feels his grip loosen. Huffing, she stomps past him, shoulder bumping into his arm for good measure as she leaves the office.

Younghoon just about catches his sister rolling her eyes so hard, she was this close to hurling a string of vulgarities at the wooden of her office door. “Hey, what were you doing in your office? People are looking for you!”

Without a word, her eyes are locked with his in frustration.

“What?” He frowns.

She thinks for a moment.

She can ruin him and destroy him by asking him to take Artemis for himself before the deal is due in June. Ask him why he was so useless and had his little sister do everything for him, never once really fighting to take ownership of a company legally his.

“Nothing,” The brush-off is sharp and distinct as she waves him off, turning to walk into the main hall. “Go get yourself more sponsors before June, will you? I’m not sure the same people would want to keep in touch with HERA & ARTEMIS after the separation and collaboration is made official.”

Juyeon returns home later that evening, still wearing the fourth outfit of the day. It was a blue suit with a black collar and details and all he wants to do is soak himself in his bath. Maybe he could go to sleep safe and sound, and he’d wake up single and free to do whatever he actually wants to do.

He walks down the entrance corridor, sick of all the staged portraits of him and his family hung on the walls. The main hall comes into sight, past the stairs on his right, where the television was still broadcasting bits and pieces of his wedding earlier. In the million-dollar couch sat his father, eyes and ears attentive to the screen.

“Was it so entertaining that you have to watch it again? I know you were there this afternoon.”

His father turns his head subtly. Juyeon pulls off his blazer and removes his watch, laying the heavy clothing over his forearm as he scans the broadcast.

“The Lee-Kim wedding saw nothing short of nothing but a perfect list of investors, sponsors, fellow colleagues and leaders of several enterprises...”

He turns to look at his father, obviously still somewhat hurt that he hadn’t been officially invited by his son - Mr Ro had sent out mandatory invites to family members.

“It was a gorgeous wedding.”

“Yeah, well...” Juyeon shrugs lifelessly, already turning around to head for the stairs. “I had no say in it. It was her wedding and I don’t care, so.”

“The Board is expecting you to go on a Honeymoon, you have that in place, right?”

Juyeon gives a dry chuckle, already on the first step of the stairs. “Yeah, we’re going to Guatemala.”

“Guatemala?” His father shifts his attention from the television and looks at Juyeon, halfway up the stairs. “You’re just finding a chance to go diving in Belize, aren’t you?”

His son doesn’t falter, only continuing taking each step towards the second level, in hopes that he wouldn’t have to listen to his father criticise the only thing Jang Won let him do. At least it was some kind of freedom.

“Juyeon-”

“Mom better not be in my room.”

The second floor corridor greets him with even more portraits of his family, most of the pictures of him when he was younger. He halts right outside his door when he notices light seeping out from beneath.

Sighing with exasperation, he lays his hand on the door handle, readying himself to listen to his mother ramble. But his attention drifts from the cream-painted mahogany to the low cabinet next to him, the blue shade of the stingray shining under the hallway lights.

There was a ceramic statue of a standing coral frame with the stingray within the arc, and on it engraved ‘Hawaii 2018′. He smiles, remembering only fond memories of seeing a huge stingray while diving. Sunwoo had been dragged out by him - one of those times when he fought with his parents and couldn’t stand being in the same house as them. He covered travel cost and hospitality fees, ensuring Sunwoo’s parents (whose family was also on the smaller arm of The Board’s administration) that he’d take care of them.

Juyeon got an earful from his parents when he came back. Young Jin Seol had been the one to tell his parents his whereabouts, solely because he had arranged for her to make sure it seemed like he was still doing his job at the office. So, of course, when his parents walked into office and she was doing his work for him, they had threatened to fire her.

But Juyeon knew he was indebted, and told his parents, “No Jin Seol, then you can forget about me taking over Apple-Korea.”

Sucking a deep breath, Juyeon shakes himself out of his mental trance, and pushes the door open.

The back of his mother seems so fragile on first sight, and he’s well aware she’s getting on in her years. For a split second, he feels emotional, possibly feeling some tinge of remorse at how horrible of a son he’s been.

Then he remembers that she’s had an abundance of spa treatments, country-club lunches with her fellow rich moms after a game of gold or tennis, and a bunch of other things she definitely didn’t need. He wish he could tell himself otherwise, that she had been born into this life and thus living anything else dissimilar to this would be tiring on her.

But he can’t.

“I’m surprised you bothered to come home,” She says without looking at him. Juyeon rests his blazer on the back of the single sofa seat that’s angled to face the one she’s sitting in. “I was wondering if I should send some pajamas over to Hera’s Manor.”

Juyeon sits in the crystal encrusted sofa seat, crossing his legs and eyeing his mother fiddle with the wedding band on her finger. It reminds him of his own.

“You realise you’re the one who bound me to the Kim family, don’t you? You’re the one who said okay to marrying Kim Jang Won, not me.”

“It was for your own good.”

“For mine or for our family?” Juyeon leans back in his seat and interlocks his fingers, placing them in his lap. “What else do you really need from the Lee family that you simply cannot take your eyes off? Their money? HERA & ARTEMIS? What?”

Only now does Juyeon notice the cup of tea on the small coffee table infront of them.

“A child,” She says, like it was the most casual thought one could have, before taking a sip of tea. Her son shuts his eyes then opens them with his eyebrows as far up his forehead as he can.

Providing a dry, tortured chuckle, Juyeon blinks multiple times, wishing that it was a condition with his hearing and not just something his mother had just spat out.

“A what?” Juyeon pulls apart his hands and leans forward, fists now clenched and pressed into the cushion he was sitting in.

“You heard me,” She places the tea cup down and refuses to look at him. “A child would mean inheritance. The Lee family will inherit the wealth of the Kims and it could possibly start a new system. It could rewrite The Board. We could become The Board.”

“What the-” He finally stands, barely choking out some kind of laughter filled with confusion and utter disbelief. “You want a child just to bond our families together and take over The fucking Board? My God, why are you so obsessed with The Board?”

“Because The Board is everything! No board, no us, no wealth and comfort like the kind we raised you in-”

“Does it look like I wanted it?!” Juyeon runs his hands through his hair, pulling his hair back and stretching his hairline.

“You ingrate-”

“So I am an ingrate. But I had no choice, I have no life of my own because guess who’s making my decisions for me? You! If I don’t even have the ability to make my own choices then how do I even qualify as an ingrate?!”

She’s silent, and very much staring at the words spewing out of her son’s mouth now. She huffs through her flared nostrils, picking up the saucer and the tea cup and standing. “I don’t know what kind of ideas Kim Jang Won has planted in your head but you are still part of the Lee family and-”

“For Gods’ sake, Jang Won has nothing to do with any of this! In fact, she can’t care less about what I’m doing, so long as it doesn’t change the course of this entire situation. If anything, she’s playing it safe; she’s playing it against her father, and not us,” The veins on Juyeon’s hands are about to rip through his skin when he cannot close his fist any more. “Her father literally climbed out the grave... and you took this chance to capitalise on that in order to make our family richer the moment you heard of The Board’s announcement regarding HERA & ARTEMIS’s ownership complications...”

Juyeon shakes his head subtly, realising that he was panting from the sheer force of anger and disgust rushing through him.

“And she’s younger than me. Lost her mother, lost her father, who only comes back to take what she built? You know, for a woman under The Board, I’d think you’d understand what she’s gone through. I thought... I thought you would’ve known how hard it is to be the successful one in the family but cannot pass down the family name... but everytime I think the world of you, and I think you’d act a little more like the woman I thought you are... you prove me wrong.”

Juyeon glares down at her, hands holding the teacup in the saucer with some kind of disapproving, disappointed look of fury in her eyes. Then he sighs heavily, hands rushing to pick up his blazer and storms out the room before she can.

“Leave Kim Jang Won alone, or else I’ll refuse Apple-Korea. By then, you can forget about all your stupid green bills and diamond rings.”

And with that, he slams the door shut.

Juyeon appears along the second floor hallway, visible from the first floor’s living hall, where his father was still watching the news of his wedding earlier on in the day. Of course, the door slamming would’ve caught his attention, so when his son rushes down the stairs while putting his blazer back on, the elder man removes himself off the couch.

“Juyeon! Where are you going?!”

“Don’t call me, and don’t even think of calling Hera’s Manor,” He opens the heavy front door with such determination, then slams it harder than he intends to. By the foot of the stairs leading down to the pick up point by the entrance, his two bodyguards are taken aback and flustered when Juyeon appears again.

“Uh, can I get Mr Bong around-”

The instruction through the guard’s earpiece is cut short and interrupted abruptly as Juyeon unplugs the earpiece from the transmitter.

“Mr Lee-”

Juyeon doesn’t hesitate to do the same with the other guard. By now, his father has gotten the front door open and yelling at him with disapproving scolds.

Rushing around the hood of the Porsche, Juyeon steps into the drivers’ seat - an unlikely sight, since he’s been chauffeured around most of the time.

“What in the world are you two doing? Stop him from leaving!”

The vehicle revs to life, and Juyeon fumbles under the passenger seat’s compartment box and every crook and cranny in the front of the car.

“Juyeon!”

He winds up the window on the driver’s side and locks the entire vehicle just as his father reaches the window. He tugs on the handle angrily, almost able to shake the entire car with his aggression.

“Juyeon, don’t you dare!”

Then, he finds it. A tracking device attached to all the cars his family owns.

Ripping it off the surface it was stuck into, he rolls down the window on the passenger’s side and hurls it out, straight into the arms of one of the bodyguards.

“Juyeon!”

He starts up the car and pulls it into drive, forcing his father to back off as he moves off.

#multifandomnet #juyeon fanfic #juyeon imagines #juyeon scenario #juyeon #lee juyeon #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #the boyz fanfic #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #tbz #the boyz #love me a little less

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hufflepuffhollander · 4 years

Note

a smutty sunday request ! reader feels really shitty about herself, just one of those days where nothing seems to make her feel god abt herself, and tom catches on and makes sure she know every thing he loves abt her (you catch my drift???)

it’s smutty sunday, my dudes

this goes from mopey to fluffy to hot real quick get ready babies

requests are open!

smut below the cut! 18+ only please :)

Tom paced around the living room, anxious that he was going to be late.

“Hey, love, what’s taking so long in there?”

You had been in your bedroom for over an hour with the door closed.

“Sorry, just need another minute.”

Truthfully, you were still sitting in a bra and underwear on the bed, not a stitch of makeup done or a strand of hair put in place.

“We just need to leave soon, y’know?”

Nothing you put on seemed to fit right, and any color you tried just washed you out.

“Yeah, babe, I know.”

You didn’t convince him.

Tom came in without knocking and saw you sitting curled into your bed while hugging his pillow, both fresh and dried tear streaks evident on your face. “Oh,” his tone softened. “What’s wrong?”

“Tom, I’m sorry, but I can’t go to the party.”

“Why not?”

“I look horrible in everything and I’d just embarrass you,” you sniffled.

“Oh, darling,” Tom walked over to you, taking his shoes off and crawling into bed next to you, arms winding around your waist. “You know that could never be true.”

“I can’t go,” you whispered again.

He lifted his head up and spoke like he was onto something. “Yes, you can. And you know why I think so?”

You looked up at him in confusion. “Why?”

“Because everyone you meet falls in love with all of the same things that I did.”

Your expression remained unchanging, still miles away from his point.

“Like...the freckles on the bridge of your nose that you can only see if you get real close,” he said, kissing the light spots on your face.

“And your long and luscious eyelashes,” he moved to place his lips firmly on the eye closest to him. You started to show signs of a small smile as his breath tickled your face, his words keeping the next wave of sadness at bay.

“Your nibble-worthy ears,” he went to bite your earlobe, making you curl your head into his and giggle. He was happy to see his efforts paying off, and kept going.

“Those yummy, pretty pink lips,” he placed a light kiss on your lips, but not lingering so as to keep running through his list.

“And your slender neck, and beautiful collarbone,” he gave each one its rightfully deserved smooch, feeling you finally warm up in his embrace, cheeks even starting to get rosy at his compliments.

“Mm, and these boobies, these soft pillows of heaven,” he grumbled, moving his face to rest between them in your thin, barely there bra, humming happily that you were smiling much more now.

“Tom...” you fidgeted a little under the spell of his breath cascading up your body.

“Let’s not forget your tummy, and your cute belly button,” he placed a trail of increasingly sloppy kisses from your chest down to your stomach, wriggling the high waisted strings of your undies down so he could grab hold of your hips. “These hips…mmm,” he grabbed generous handfuls of your skin, wriggling it back and forth. “The perfect place to grip when I’m busy appreciating your perfect…”

You took a sharp inhale as he swiped his nose up along your heat over your underwear, proceeding then to pull them down with his teeth. Gathering his messy curls in between your fingers, you tugged at his hair and let your mind wander away from your insecurities as he slowly trailed his tongue through your folds, humming as he did it.

“Tommy…” you aimlessly clutched at him as he moved his hands under your thighs to support you as he lifted your body upward, getting a better angle to do some incredibly dirty things with his mouth. “Baby, get up here,” you whined.

He came up for air, deviously licking his now glossy lips, and brought his face back up to yours, but left a hand in between your thighs to rub slow circles over you, making you quiver underneath his gaze. You were able to tell him with your expression that he had gotten his point across with plenty of room to spare, but he was nowhere near done.

“And you know what else I love?” He kneeled on your bed and haphazardly unbuckled his belt, pulling off his own clothes with vigor.

Your breath hitched in your throat at seeing him there in front of you, your whole body now anticipating something much more than a pep talk.

“Hmm?” you cooed at him, batting your eyelashes.

“How absolutely beautiful you look when I’m fucking you.”

You bashfully rolled your eyes as he fell back down on top of you, knocking the wind out of your chest and making you laugh. You were expecting him to pop up, lift your legs up over his shoulders like he loved to do and screw you senseless, but instead, he reached over your head to where his phone was sitting.

“Tom, what are you doing?”

He rolled onto his back and flipped you on top of him. “I want you to see what I see, pretty girl.”

You couldn’t help but lower your hips onto his, almost by instinct, and lined him up so that you sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion. His eyes all but rolled back in his head at the overwhelming sensation, his eyelids flittering, but after a long second that ridiculous smirk returned to his face as he lifted up his phone to photograph you. You were too caught up in the moment, body alight with pins and needles at feeling him inside you, and started to methodically move up and down on him, biting your lip without thinking and lifting your arms up to hold your hair out of your face.

“God, so fucking sexy,” he purred, holding onto his phone with one hand and to your hip with the other, using his strength to push even deeper into you as you rode him. Only once you’d fully opened your eyes did you realize he had his camera pointed at you, and you swatted it out of his hand, prompting him to grab your waist and roll you onto your back, clambering on top of you and continuing where you had left off.

“Were you taking pic-ohhh my god,” he thrusted into you mid-sentence and took the words out of your mouth. He left traces of sloppy, wet, noisy kisses all down your neck, holding your body so tightly that you were sure his fingerprints would be engrained in your skin forever.

“Just…want you to see…how…beautiful you are- my god, baby, you feel fucking amazing,“ he was ruthlessly pounding into you, and you couldn’t comprehend his words because you were seeing stars at this point, lost in the mixup of sounds of his body grinding onto yours and moans and gasps and grunts coming from either one of you.

With one final snap of his hips you came hard, Tom following not long after. Sweaty, panting, and in some kind of nirvana, he shifted himself to lie next to you, taking only a few moments to find his breath again before he picked up his discarded phone. You turned to face him and saw the changing light of his phone screen reflected on his face; it was clear that he was looking at the pictures he had just taken. The foolish grin plastered on his face was a dead giveaway.

“Tom, delete those!” you laughed, trying to take his phone out of his hand.

“Baby, wait, just look.” He showed you a photo of yourself, absolutely naked but almost— glowing? You were taken aback at your lack of hatred for the person you saw on the screen. Tom could read you like an open book and knew he had finally driven his point home. “Do you get it now?”

You leaned over to press a loving kiss to his lips, smiling as you responded. “Okay, maybe a little.”

#smutty sunday #tom holland #tom holland blurb #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagines

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bunchofstraydogs · 3 years

Note

You asked for it :> So may I request the rest of BSD playing Genshin? 😘🥰

Darling, since I can't write that many characters in one go, I thought I should give you something special. I present... 💫 women 💫

Women of BSD as Genshin Impact players

tw: you're in bsd fandom, you know all the tw there are by now

Kyouka Izumi- Assasin in the streets, babysitter in the... Genshin Impact

Kyouka is that cute, stubborn kid that overfixates on things. Atsushi is things. Look, we all know Kyo-chan is mad intelligent and talented and it shows in her game play. Right off the bat she got the sense of the gameplay of every type of character and decided what works best for her. She knows what type of team she's going for and knows how to manage her materials wisely.

When she plays alone, Kyouka works towards bettering her characters and pushing through the storyline. Her favourite way to play the game is with Atsushi, whether alone or in co-op with others. Playing with Jinko is a huge win-win situation for her - she helps him beat up whatever he needs to take down and complete puzzles, he gives her praises and gratitude. And materials, but seldom does she take them.

Her main job, though, is to protect Atsushi and his world from the otherworldly evil known as the suicidal maniac, Dazai Osamu. She's fairly successful.

Main Team: MC, Klee, Keqing, Rosaria

Sub Team: MC, Qiqi, Fischl, Hu Tao

Mains MC, both for her flexibility with elements and because she likes being the little sister to Atsushi's male MC.

Yosano Akiko- retired nurse, now a terrorist

Did you really think she'd stay a healer without having the sadistic satisfaction of hurting people in grotesque ways? Nay. She doesn't have a single healer on team. She either has a teammate who's a healer like Haruno, or she wastes abundance of food until she can teleport to a statue of the seven.

Her game play is on crack, basically. She has several energy spurs, sometimes several times a day, where she rages through the game, before losing interest and going shopping. It's very possible with her that days can pass before she feels like playing again. Then she binges the game for hours and repeat.

When i say she acts like on crack i mean it. She has rage in her veins instead of blood. She tanks her characters and goes out looking for fights with worst possible opponents. Hell, she'll under equip her party just to see how many mofos can she take down in weak state. Spoilers, a fair few. She does die quite a bit, and is almost always out of food, but she's just as stubborn as she's crazy. Those two thing correlate probably. Which is why she made Azdaha her bitch. Her party consists either of strong, hot milfs women like herself, or twinks. You won't see someone like Childe disrespecting her vibe.

Main Team: Beido, Venti, Hu Tao, Rozaria

Sub Team: Lisa, Yanfei, Ningguang, Xingqiu

Beido and Lisa main. Bad bitches only.

Naomi Tanizaki- the fangirl player

She basically collects the cutest characters possible.. That's how she chooses her characters, based on cuteness. She went for the hot ones first to pull her brother but she got jealous and changed her tactic. You know she's spending her money on character skins and certain banners. She's insanely lucky tho?? She got Qiqi on the standard banner as her first 5*, pulled Klee on her banner in little over four 10 pulles and got Diona eventually anyway. Baraba and Xiangling were free and she mained Xiangling untill Klee rolled in. She spent some money on Venti and was already in pity when Ganyu came around. She's fully ready to whale for Kokomi though.

Now i know i said she's incredibly lucky, right? Yeahh that luck has to turn against something to keep the balance and well... she's still crying over Chongyun.

She usually co-ops with her brother, it's a daily ritual. Loves co oping with everyone though, mostly Haruno, Atsushi and Kyouka. She made online friends as well. Actually, there is one person she co ops with almost as much as she does with her brother. IchiGawa is her Genshin bestie and they talk about their crushes and infatuations besides the game itself. Her friend is the only secret she keeps from her brother.

Main Team: Klee, Diona, Venti, Barbara

Sub Team: Razor, Xiangling, Xingqiu, Qiqi

A Klee main.

Haruno Kirako- the healer

Literal angel. You need her, i need her, ADA needs her, the president needs her, just... yes. Her whole team consists of support- healers and crowd control characters. She was a f2p at first, but realised she earns her own money and can spend it however she wishes and she chose the monthly cards.

She's a necessity, point blank. She can get intimidated by new foe at first, but when backed up by her friends, she becomes determined and flexible. Pays good attention to her teammates, most importantly, their health bars, and acts accordingly.

The only reason most of them made it as far as they have, being as reckless as they are.

Main Team: Albedo, Barbara, Jean, Venti

Sub Team: Qiqi, Noel, Jean, Xinyan

Mains Albedo and Barbara

Fan fact: She's very fascinated infatuated with Albedo!! He's even her home screen and has posters and key chain of him.

Gin Akutagawa- that cottagecore assassin

You may be wondering what that could even mean. Let me tell you, she brought Animal Crossing to Genshin Impact. Sure she takes care of her characters and they're pretty powerful, but she kicks ass in real life as well. The game is her little getaway, especially since Serenity pot has been introduced. She's been making away her home for her and her brother characters. You can see her chop wood, collect materials, taking pictures with her friends and her brother, sometimes of pretty scenery and cute moments. A very wholesome player.

She's the type to help her friends explore their world and help them find oculi, open chests, shrines, collect flowers, mine... She's very patient, but if she sees her co-op teammates struggle with something, she'll jump in to help do it herself untill told to back off. In which case she will listen and silently give her support, usually with the cheering stickers in the chat.

She's f2p! Sure, she could get the monthly card at least, as Ryunosuke told her, but she really wants to enjoy the game on her own terms and have what she does through her own effort and hard work. It just feels satisfying to her and more personal.

Main Team: Jean, Ayaka, Diluc, Barbara

Sub Team: Doesn't have one! She just changes characters if certain elements are needed.

Jean main!! She admirers the relationship her and Barbara have. While she's the younger of the two, she's taken the mantle of the older sibling, in a way, and is looking after her reckless as heck brother and cares for him like Jean does for Barbara. Jean is also a wonderful person in her eyes and Gin harbours great respect for the blonde.

Higuchi Ichiyo- IchiGawa 🤡

I love Higuchi so much, but my girl is a mess and a half. Help her, please. No, really, she needs help. She's been over compensating for not being dramatic and eye catching in the battlefield, and has now found a new way to prove herself to her Akutagawa-san. Problem is, as soon as she sees a potentially powerful character, she has to get them and boost them to the havens... yeahh, good thing you can't do loans in the game, otherwise she'd have sharks on her ass for having a bill as dramatic and eye catching as Tsunade's from Naruto. Our girl out there turning heads for wrong reasons. She's definitely spent her pay checks on the game "oh no no, i just buy the monthly subscription, ehe" ehe my ass, you bankrupt bitch. Baal is coming and she's looking to sell a kidney. No, it's not her own and no, it doesn't have anything to do with the game. It's a mission, for God's sake.

But hey, the game is a good investment for her! She even made a friend, one that totally understands her how she feels!! They're very alike as well, ready to do anything for the person they love. The two talk about love a lot and have bonded over it. Higuchi is actually a jealous and a protective type of person, so she hides her friend from Gin and Tachihara like snake hides it's legs. If only they knew 🤡. But it's better this way as they both have a certain sense of normalcy and familiarity they were missing in their daily lives. (Higuchi and Naomi meeting scenario when?)

Main Team: Xiao, Fischl, Xingqiu, Diluc

Sub Team: Baal (soon?), Venti, Ganyu, Zhongli

She mains Xiao because he reminds her of Akutagawa-san and yes, she uses characters from her sub team when playing with others.

Fan Fact: when she was asked why her username is IchiGawa, she said she's like a river 🤡 No, it does absolutely not stand for Ichiyo Akutagawa.

Ozaki Kouyo- the husbando and loli collector

Don't get the wrong idea when i said loli collector. She just needs to adopt them and look after them. She also enjoys watching her precious babies kick ass like her Kyouka. But that's a two way sword, because she gets angry when they die. Savage.

And yeahh, the real reason she's playing the game... Mr Zhongli. She switches often between eng and jpn audios because she can't decide which sounds sexier. Also, Mr Diluc? Yes, she would like to be served one sex on the beach please and thank you! Ah, Mr Kaeya, a perfect window of opportunity, yes.

She has a huge spot for the teenager group as well. Razor, Bennett, Fishl, Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun are also her kids. She just finds them very precious (don't we all?).

Main Team: Zhongli, Kaeya, Bennett, Diluc

Sub Team: Diona, Klee, Qiqi, Sayu

A Zhongli and Diluc main.

Bonus:

Elise- the evil lackadaisical player

Mori found out about the game from Higuchi and Tachihara and introduced it to Elise, telling her she should make a team of sweet little girls like herself and have fun going on adventures around Teyvat. In response, Elise made a team that, not only does it not have a single child in it, but is using it to gaslight and bully Rintarou.

"Why aren't you smart and inventive like Albedo?"

"Why aren't you as passionate and persistent as Sucrose?"

"Look how capable, loved and admired Ningguang is. You could never."

"I wish i had someone as strong, caring, handsome and rich like Childe looking after me. He would treat me like a real princess. "

Mori has been crying rivers ever since.

Thing is, Elise isn't even that interest in the story. Actually, she couldn't care less. Some characters are interesting to her and she likes the graphics, but other than that, she's mostly playing the game to torture the greasy doctor (as she should).

Main Team: Albedo, Sucrose, Ningguang, Childe

Sub Team: doesn't have one

Doesn't have a main either, she plays whoever she feels like playing.

I wanted to add Lucy too, but my mind wasn't cooperating ;-; Sorry about that. I do hope you liked this, Eli 💛

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #kyoka izumi #haruno kirako #higuchi ichiyo #ozaki kouyou #bsd elise #tanizaki naomi

47 notes · View notes

min-youngis · 3 years

Text

breaking bread - l.dh

it's just me and my banners against the world

~ Pairing : Lee Donghyuck x Reader, non-idol

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, Crack™

~ Summary : Does somebody want to be fake engaged to me for like two hours to try free wedding cake samples?

Strangers to Lovers

~ Word Count : 3.9k

~ Warnings : swearing, excessive simping over bread

~ A/N: looK AT HIM !!! i started writing this on my period but then my period got over before i could finish it so there's a steady decline in theatrics throughout the story.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

The first time you pass the bakery, you’re with Hyejin.

It’s newly opened, you can tell. There are balloons hanging from the ceiling inside, and all the counters look bright and shiny. But it’s the smell that arrests you, your feet stalling of their own accord as you take a deep breath in; so deep, you’re on your toes by the time you finally decide to exhale.

Your friend doesn’t even realise you’ve stopped, continuing her story for her non-existent audience until she turns and sees you staring with alarming intensity at the new shop.

If you could, you’d sleep in the smell.

You feel a gentle palm on your shoulder, as she worriedly asks, “Y/N? You good?”

A dopey smile. “I’m perfect, thank you, and you?”

Slowly, you begin to inch toward the shop, almost creepily, not even looking at Hyejin when she snorts next to you at the fact that you’ve slipped into a food coma without even tasting any food.

You’re close enough to read the bright board on top of the counter now, nose nearly pressed right up to the glass as you ravenously go through the menu and prices.

If there were somebody behind the counter, they’d have born witness to all the stages of grief.

“Hyejin,” you moan lowly, agony apparent in your voice, hands now on the glass even as the smell assaults you more the closer you get. “Hyejin, we can’t afford this.”

Behind you, a firm hand wraps around your elbow. “I know, sweetie. I could have told you that from the font on the name board.”

You let out another broken groan, palms sliding down the glass dramatically as you take a last long look at the pastries lined up inside.

“There, there,” Hyejin comforts, tugging at your arm and rolling her eyes when you stop to inhale deeply one more time, the scent of fresh bread and sweetness filling your lungs. “I’ll buy you an ice-cream at that place next to the apartment, come on.”

It’s a crappy substitute, but you’ll take it if you don’t have to pay for it. You can’t forget the smell, though. It haunts you until you fall asleep that night; fresh and delectable and sweet.

The second time you pass the bakery, about a week later, you nearly give in. Nearly enter and order one of the pastries, like some kind of millionaire trust fund baby.

You’re alone, on the way back from a meeting, and there’s no Hyejin this time to be your voice of reason and to drag you away from your own impulsive decisions.

Dawdling on the sidewalk, you bend, pretending to tie your non-existent shoelace so the person manning the counter inside doesn’t get suspicious.

Your fingers still in their exaggerated movements as you let yourself take a deep breath in, sinking into the scent, shoulders actually drooping a bit as the smell of freshly processed dough fills your lungs.

It’s the sound of shoes slowing down and stopping close to you that snaps you out of it.

Too close.

Hurriedly, you stand up, shaking yourself out of your bread induced reverie. You had expected somebody to be staring at you in judgement, waiting to question you about why you’re pretending to tie shoelaces on sandals on the middle of the pavement; but all you see is a man standing a couple of feet away, speaking into a phone as his hands move dramatically in the air, frustration evident on his face.

In the clearing of your haze, you can tell he’s cute. No older than you, messy brown hair and a plain black t-shirt with ripped jeans. Really, your only complaint would be his attitude toward the bakery that you’re slowly beginning to regard as a legitimate place of worship. If he’s intent on swearing at some poor sod on the other end of the line, would it kill him to do it a few paces to the left? Away from this culinary haven?

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you, apparently comfortable with boring holes into the shop as he stands, and your plan to stall until he leaves so you can continue inhaling rarefied air doesn’t manifest in the next couple of minutes.

With a disgruntled look in his direction, (he keeps moving closer to the bakery, still shouting into his phone, and it’s beginning to annoy you), you inhale one last time, hope it sustains you until your next visit to this particular patch of pavement, and continue on your way home.

Day 3 involves a bench, a stranger and a revelation.

You’ve had a shit day at work, and it’s imperative that you’re reminded of the good things in life. The detour you take to ensure you pass the bakery on your way home is really self-preservation.

Strengthening your belief that only good things can happen on The Pavement, as you’ve come to fondly refer to it in your brain (and when you’re waxing lyrical to Hyejin, who just doesn’t get it), in a genius marketing move, there’s a bench that wasn’t there previously.

Right next to the entrance, facing the road, like in McDonald’s but without Ronald.

You try not to seem too excited at what’s basically an invitation for you to conduct your ritual, and casually slow down your pace as you near the area, trying to set up your subsequent action to seem like a nonchalant afterthought.

Until you spot the man again, walking in your direction. The same person whom you saw the other day desecrating the shop, and who cut short your...sniffing. And he’s walking toward you, making a beeline for the bench.

Screw nonchalant.

Subtly speeding up, you walk closer, noticing that he does the same thing.

Distantly, you’re amused at how the two of you have come to the same conclusion - that on an empty bench that can easily fit four people, only one of you can sit. Or maybe you’re competing for first, you aren’t sure.

You both reach at more or less the same time, exchange a stiff, polite smile that speaks volumes (yours says you won, his indicates the opposite), and sit down, leaving enough space in the middle to fit another person.

The first breath you take feels like being reborn.

Next to you, the Dude (which is what you christened him when you had ranted about his insensitivity and disrespect to Hyejin), is back to shouting at somebody on his phone.

You take yours out too, so you don’t seem pathetic. It isn’t like you’re stopping outside a bakery that you can’t afford just to smell bread on your way back from work.

At that moment, the shop doors open on your left, letting a customer out, and along with her, a strong, delicious waft of chocolate.

You’ve decided. This is heaven. This is where you’ll get married, and this is where you’ll ask your friends to bury you.

You’re soaking in the lingering after effects once the doors have swung closed, trying not to make your deep, quite frankly meditative breathing too obvious, while also trying to tune out the sound of the Dude ranting into his phone next to you, when you hear a mobile ring nearby.

And it isn’t yours.

You still. He stills. Marimba repeats one last, sad time and stops.

The thought forms through no conscious decision or effort of your own, slowly becoming more and more concrete.

You can feel him looking at you, as if waiting for you to call him out, and he opens his mouth to start talking at the same time as you do.

And then the door opens again, releasing another delectable whiff of sweet pastry, making the words stop at the tip of your tongue.

The two of you exchange a look, silent and full of gravitas, only breaking contact when he takes a deep breath and mutters, “Oh, shit, that’s so good.”

“Are you here for the smell as well?” Never in a million years did you think you’d say that.

He nods, sheepish smile on his face. “Yeah. I’ve been coming nearly every day for the last week.”

You can swear, in that moment, with his bucket hat and his baggy jeans and his now more obvious small sniffs, that you’ve never met a man so attractive in your life.

“This is my third time,” you reply, nodding in understanding even as a grin makes its way to your face unbidden.

His eyes twinkle, and you aren’t prepared for his next words. “I remember you from that evening when you were pretending to tie your shoelaces.”

“Were you faking the phone call then, too?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t bring it up.”

Emboldened, you offer him your hand, weirdly endeared by the way his mouth curls up in a half-laugh. As he puts his palm in yours, you shrug, “No judgement. You gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?”

“Absolutely. I’m Donghyuck.”

“Y/N. Lovely to meet a fellow bread enthusiast.”

When you spend twenty minutes talking about the bakery that night to Hyejin over dinner (she’s come to expect it at this point), the Dude has a name, and isn't so much of a dick as you had initially thought.

"Y/N, no."

"Y/N, yes."

She huffs, exasperated, random wisp of hair on her face flying upwards before settling freakishly perfectly. "I am not pretending to be engaged to you for free cake."

You're equal parts pleading and frustrated as you tug at her arm again, curling up as close to her on the couch as possible and batting your eyelashes as enticingly as you can. "Please? Am I not your very favourite person in the world?"

"No."

"Top ten at the very least?" you ask, undeterred.

She gives you an unimpressed look, pries your hand off of her elbow and turns back to the television, pressing play on the sitcom.

You don't even know what you're watching. You've been too busy concocting your master plan the entire evening, ever since you had passed the bakery and seen the newly installed sign outside that said FREE WEDDING CAKE SAMPLES!

You didn't even linger on the pavement as long as you usually do.

(Okay, maybe you lingered a little bit, hoping to run into your new acquaintance, but you had a plan, goddammit, and you had to convince Hyejin of it as soon as possible.)

"Give it up, Y/N. It's wrong and deceitful, I'm not going to do it."

You move away like you've been burnt, offense writ large on your face.

"Wrong? It's for a good cause!"

You admit, you probably deserve the eye roll for your theatrics. Recognising a lost case when you see one, you sigh slowly, settling back against the couch and resigning yourself to a cake-less existence.

"Why don't you ask your new friend? Mr. Fellow Weirdo."

"His name is Donghyuck. And I've only spoken to him once."

She shrugs unsympathetically, letting it go; but in your brain, the gears are turning again.

What about Donghyuck?

It's come to a point where you're willing to start saving specifically for the express purpose of buying cake.

Every time you pass the shop, your resolve weakens and your fingers inch closer to your wallet. The only thing that stops you is the fact that the end of the month is nearing, and expenses will hit you like a ton of bricks.

But you've come up with the perfect routine now. Every Monday and Thursday, at exactly 6 PM, on your way back from work, you sit on the bench outside the bakery for fifteen minutes. You haven't met Donghyuck again, but paradoxically enough, the more you don't see him, the more inviting Hyejin's suggestion seems. Twice already, while conducting your ritual, you had decided that if he showed up that day before you left, you would propose the idea to him.

You're in a similar headspace this evening, already planning out a conversation in your head and how you can bring it up if you meet him without sounding completely creepy, when you hear the devil himself, interrupting your monologue.

"Hey! Been a while, huh?"

You smile as he sits down next to you, a bit startled at seeing him in person after having fake conversations with him in your head, but nod happily. "How have you been?"

"Good, yeah. A bit busy, so I haven't come around much. But man, it's good to be back."

And there, as you watch his eyes close briefly in satisfaction and his shoulders rise and fall slowly as he takes a deep breath in, content smile spreading on his face when the smell hits him, you decide that Hyejin is one smart cookie.

"Do you want to be fake engaged to me?"

Granted, it isn't your smoothest work. And it completely derails any and all pointers you had come up with in your head for this exact scenario, but he doesn't get scared off.

His eyelids do snap open, though, and his serene expression morphs into one of confusion, but with remarkable calmness, he asks, "Uh, excuse me?"

Without a word, you point at the blackboard standing outside the shop on the other side of the doors. They've added balloons with green chalk now, as decoration. You hope they're better at baking than they are at drawing.

You watch his face clear up, realisation dawning as his lips curve into a wicked grin, one you haven't had the absolute pleasure of witnessing before.

Somehow, you don't think Ms. It's-Wrong-And-Deceitful would approve of this Donghyuck.

"I like the way you think," he says approvingly, glint of mischief in his eyes.

You can't stop your own excited smile from appearing, as the possibility of actually being able to have a taste of what you've been dreaming about becomes more of a certainty.

"Okay, but we've got to figure some stuff out, though."

"Agreed," he replies, all business. "Gotta make it believable. Which is your favourite Shrek film?"

You barely manage to restrain yourself from snorting, but from the twinkle in his eye, you're certain that you're about as good of an actress as the bakery owners are artists.

Calming down, you clear your head. "Okay, but for real, though. Basic things. What's your last name?"

"Lee. Your favourite ice cream flavour?"

"Mint chocolate. No, I don't take constructive criticism."

He shuts his mouth abruptly, his obedient nod making you giggle. "What do you do, job-wise?"

"I work at a record store."

You can't hide the impressed look on your face, eyebrow cocking up. "Dude, that's super cool. I do freelance journalism."

He nods, filing away all the information to whip out later. “What’s our proposal story?”

“Uh, something simple so they don’t have too many questions. Just say one of us asked over dinner?”

“Cool, yeah, makes sense. Summer wedding?”

“Summer wedding,” you agree, nodding.

Really, it shouldn’t be so easy to come up with fake wedding planning details with a veritable stranger.

He straightens up, standing and offering you his upturned palm, mischievous grin making a reappearance. “Ready?”

“Yes, yes, a million times yes.”

His laughter at your exaggerated tone dissipates some of the nerves, as you feel his cool hand wrap loosely around your fingers. It’s time for the performance of a lifetime.

"Let's get this bread," he mumbles, pushing the door open.

You nearly slump at the first proper breath you take. As lovely as the air outside is, everything is so much more intense here. Your fake fiancé's hand flexes in yours slightly, and you know he's going through some kind of spiritual awakening as well.

If the man behind the counter hadn't spoken, you're sure the two of you could stand there forever, just breathing.

"Hi, how can I help you?"

You snap out of your haze, slowly squeezing Donghyuck's fingers to get him back. It's show time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you've got (it isn't hard), and walk with him to the counter.

"Hey! We saw your board outside, about the wedding cakes."

He nods before replying to Donghyuck's non-question question, smiling enough for you to feel a pang of guilt; but not enough to abort mission. "That's right. Are the two of you engaged?"

You nod enthusiastically, impatient to start tasting. Maybe you overdo a bit when you giggle and say, "Yes!" with the brightest, most in-love laugh that you can manage.

You hear a muted chuckle from next to you, and you hope Mark behind the counter (according to his name tag) passes it off as joy and excitement.

"The bakery smelt so good from the outside, that we just had to come in and see if we could get our cake and desserts for the ceremony from here."

With a fond smile, he says, "Why don't you take a seat there, and I'll bring out the samples. Are you looking for any particular flavour?"

If you weren't nearly vibrating at the fact that you're this close to finally tasting what you've been dreaming of for weeks, you would have snorted at Donghyuck's very enthusiastic 'No preference whatsoever, bring them all!'

"Is this really happening?"

He squeezes your hand, excited grin and devilish smirk fighting for prominence on his face as he sits down next to you, whispering back, "Fuck, yeah."

He comes back bearing a tray with two spoons and a bunch of plates, each one having a small slice of different coloured pastry on it. In the other hand, a pamphlet with options for customisation and tiers. You don't know how to tell him that you couldn't care less about how many levels a wedding cake should have.

The moment he sets the tray down on the table, right in between you and Donghyuck, and the smell of the mixture of flavours and bread assaults your senses, you have to do everything in your power to not begin inhaling everything, to not grab a spoon and dig into whatever you can get your hands on. From the stiffness of his shoulders next to you, you know that your fake-fiancé is having the same problem in self-restraint.

"If you're going for a summer wedding, I'd suggest the berry based flavours-" Mark points out one delectable section of the tray, "-and for winter, our customers prefer chocolate or coffee varieties."

Donghyuck throws a subtle wink in your direction (and looks damn good doing it), before he asks, anticipation clear on his face, "Where would you like to start, baby?"

The pet name throws you off for a second, and from his grin, you have a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what he's doing, but there's no time to analyse it now. There's a slice of red velvet directly under your nose that's practically begging to be eaten.

You're thankful for the customer that walks in at that moment, making Mark move away; you aren't sure how convincingly you can pretend to be a normal, engaged couple that hasn't been camping outside the shop for weeks once you've actually tasted the goods.

"Together?" Donghyuck asks, once you both have a spoon full of cake.

Nodding firmly with a grin, you count down from three.

The first bite renders you blank. The literal definition of no thoughts, head empty as the flavour bursts in your mouth, your eyes closed and spoon stuck inside. Next to you, you hear a borderline pornographic moan, but you'll be the last person to call him out on it.

Before you know it, you’ve dug your spoon into the cake again, right as he does the same, and you’re chewing another bite, practically floating in serenity.

It’s mostly silence as the two of you make your way through the ten odd pieces of pastry on the table, only punctuated by satisfied sighs and muttered ‘Oh, fuck’s, and you feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience, here in this expensive shop with your fake-fiancé who has the same (perfectly normal) enthusiasm for bread as you.

“I can’t believe we thought sitting outside was good enough when this exists,” Donghyuck says after swallowing a large bite of chocolate raspberry truffle. His eyes shine in satiated glee, fingers tapping a steady, restless staccato beat against the surface of the table as he chooses the next slice to taste.

Tucking your spoon into the strawberries and cream flavour that’s quickly become your personal favourite, you nod enthusiastically. “Very glad I met you. Who knows how long I would’ve sat outside otherwise, living unfulfilled, believing my life was complete?”

His chuckle makes the cake in your mouth taste sweeter.

You lick off your spoon once you’re finally done a few minutes later, audibly huffing as you settle against the back of the chair, satisfied. Next to you, Donghyuck does the same.

“You’ve got some icing on your face,” he observes, settling his spoon down and handing you a tissue.

“Here?”

“A little to the left.”

“Here?”

Wordlessly, you watch as he brings his hand up and lightly taps the left corner of your mouth, pad of his index finger gently grazing your commissure, heat from his hand lingering for a just a second before he pulls away, his gaze suddenly holding a little less mischief and a little more intensity, and his knee briefly knocking into yours under the table as he tilts his body toward you.

You almost don’t want to wipe off the icing, but you make sure not to break eye contact when you do, the faint sugar rush making you bolder.

“Oh, you guys are cute! Were you able to pick a flavour?”

You’re startled at Mark’s sudden reappearance, uncharacteristically flustered as Donghyuck smiles brightly and smoothly replies, “They were all incredible, thank you. We’d like to try some other places and then decide. We’ll let you know!”

You think you see a faint air of suspicion around Mark when you follow Donghyuck’s lead and stand up, and for good measure, you make sure to grab his hand while walking out, fingers easily tangling together. To his credit, he shows no surprise, playing along unceremoniously and even going so far as to lightly swing his arm as you open the door and step out.

Leading the way a few steps away from the shop, once you’ve ensured that Mark won’t be able to see you, you let go.

It’s all a little awkward. What do you say to break up a fake engagement?

“We can never go back in there without disguises again, that’s for sure.”

That should do it.

“Think he’ll notice it’s me if I wear a fake mustache?”

The shared laughter at his comment lasts for maybe ten seconds before it’s back to a vaguely uncomfortable silence. You know this is it. You know you both probably won’t meet again because you’re done with this bakery. Why are you finding it so challenging to say goodbye?

He opens his mouth slightly, looking a bit unsure even as he begins to talk, that same intense look in his eyes making a return.

“There’s a small restaurant they’ve just opened near my apartment with a Valentine’s day two-for-one offer. Do you want to maybe see if we can get away with it again?”

His voice pitches up hesitantly towards the end of it, as if mimicking your subtly quickening heartbeat.

“Or,” you start, shy smile creeping onto your face as you slowly take your phone out and hand it over to him to enter his number. “We could make it a real date, and have a meal with no moral repercussions.”

That night, when you tell Hyejin your story (which is decidedly more interesting than all your previous stories combined, according to her), the Dude has a name, a cute face and a discount lunch with you next week.

145 notes · View notes

jinned · 4 years

Text

home run | ksj + jjk

snippet: as seokjin’s career nears its peak, he comes face to face with his greatest rival yet: the un-strikeable jeon jungkook. seokjin is close to being the first person to strike out this up and comer newbie, until he’s distracted by one of the stadium’s cotton candy selling girls. who will she leave with?

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader, jeon jungkook x female reader

genre: action, fluff, slight crack, angst if you squint

au: baseball player seokjin and jungkook, stadium worker reader

rating: pg13

word count: 3.5k

warnings: light swearing, seokjin and jungkook battle it out for y/n’s attention, jungkook is an ass

a/n: this is for my lovely friend @jinterlude!! happy birthday kim! i hope you had the best day. sorry this is a day late :( these banners were made by the lovely @kimtaehyunq who’s skills never cease to amaze me. thank you so much for collaborating with me on this! and the biggest thanks to my beta @parksfilter for always encouraging me and constantly helping me improve

It's the bottom of the fifth inning and Seokjin cannot wait for the day to be over. It's hot, more so than ever before and it feels like he has to wipe the sweat off his forehead every twenty seconds or so. Soon enough, he won't be able to see where he's pitching.

Spitting out a buffalo flavored sunflower seed to his right, he re-positions his hat, nearly taking over his eyebrows. It can't possibly go any lower and he's wasting valuable time.

The catcher has been throwing out basic plays that Seokjin has seen a million times. The kid knows he can't throw a decent knuckleball anymore. His specialty has switched to a ninety-seven mile-per-hour fastball. At least, that’s how fast it was three years ago.

The mitt smells sour against his nose as he finally nods his head. The pitcher, Park Jimin, readies himself.

Deep breath, the roar of the crowd stills into a faint white noise as he lowers the mitt and the ball to his chest. As a pitcher, it's important to have a signature move. Some have claimed his technique is too predictable; but those who comment, aren't the ones on the field.

Seokjin rocks back his left shoulder, his right rolling up towards his ear before making a rowing motion with the mitt and ball back to the right, the ball in his left hand leaving the comforts of the mitt. Left knee kicking up in front of his body, Seokjin releases his breath and winds up, the last of his energy exploding as the ball leaves his hand and spirals down towards home.

"STEEEEERIKE THREE! YOOOOU’RE OUT!"

Stomping feet of the fans in the stadium and the inspiring roars of his teammates from the dugout fills Seokjin's ears all at once. When he was first starting out in his career it would make him jump. Now, the noise is comforting. It's hard to concentrate without it.

Two down. One to go.

The next player that approaches the plate is someone Seokjin has been excited to compete against. With stats higher than any fresh new recruit the league has ever seen, Jeon Jungkook is a force to be reckoned with. It’s midseason. Jungkook has never struck out.

The breeze picks up as Seokjin uses his mitt to discreetly pop in some more sunflower seeds into his mouth, concentrating hard on Jungkook's broad, wide stance. The kid is glaring right at Seokjin, as if begging for him to do his worst.

Rolling his shoulder a couple of times, Seokjin tries to ignore the growing ache inside his joint. It helps to see that Park has a newfound fire in his eyes, his first-hand signal is one Seokjin hasn’t seen in a very long time.

“Let’s take this newbie back, old school style.” Seokjin chuckles to himself, his mitt covering his mouth as he gives a short nod to Park.

The ritual restarts.

“STEEEEERIKE ONE!” The umpire hollers. The crowd screams as the tension builds in the stadium. Jungkook has had strikes before, so Seokjin isn’t phased by the hype of the crowd. Unless, he smiles, they think that he will be the pitcher to knock the kid down a few pedestals. Jungkook did have a delayed swing reaction for that first pitch.

Park quickly tosses a new ball to Seokjin.

Wasting no time, Seokjin winds up again, this time with a little more gusto and confidence laced in his fingertips.

"STEEEEEERIKE TWO"

Pride swells quickly in Seokjin's chest, how could it not? Jungkook grimaces, stepping back from the plate and hitting the end of his bat against his cleats. This time, he swung too early. Seokjin watches as the batter rolls his neck, shaking his upper body before comically bouncing up and down. Stepping back up to the plate, Jungkook sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek and narrows his eyes at Seokjin.

Another ball is tossed to Seokjin who catches it casually and without much effort.

The sun feels warm at the nape of Seokjin's neck and on his forearms. There's barely any clouds in the sky yet a slight breeze wafts throughout the stadium. It's the perfect weather for a game. It's the perfect weather to win a game.

And, for the final time, Seokjin winds up to pitch. Every muscle in his body feels relaxed as he eyes his target: the center of Park's mitt.

Right as Seokjin is about to release the ball from his hand, there's a yell in the crowd.

"COTTON CANDY! GET YA COTTON CANDY HERE! FIVE SMACK-A-ROONIES! COTTON CANDY!"

For just a moment, Seokjin looks to where the noise is coming from. A girl is waving around blue and pink bags of cotton candy above her head. By the drastic movement of her jaw, Seokjin guesses she's chewing a big wad of gum. She tosses a pink bag towards a man in the middle of a row and collects the money promptly.

And then, she turns towards the field.

It feels like time stills as Seokjin notices just how beautiful she is. With long hair swooped up in a messy bun, held captive by a home team baseball cap, the craziness of all the wisps floating with the breeze somehow makes the features of her face stand out even more.

She's absolutely beautiful.

He feels it– the quiver throughout his body making him lose his focus. The baseball leaves Seokjin's fingertips all too soon as that quiver offsets the direction of the pitch. Jungkook watches the ball confused as it thumps against the green tarp just about five feet to the left of home base.

Silence.

"Raaah!" Seokjin yells and kicks at the mound, coughing instantly as the dirt rises up to his mouth. Everyone in the area is confused as to what just happened. Seokjin has thrown walks before, but nothing even close to this drastically bad.

Then suddenly, Park calls for a timeout and runs up to the mound to meet Seokjin.

"Dude, Kim, what the hell just happened?" His voice sounds muffled behind his catching mitt.

Words escape Seokjin, but his mouth moves anyways. Inaudible sounds manage to sneak out and Park stares at him with a concerned look in his face before waving one of their coaches over.

Mitt in front of his face, the coach tries to find his words before blurting, "What's going on? I've never seen a pitch that bad since we tried you out for pitcher." The coach laughs as he bumps shoulders with Park who only grimaces back.

"I don't know, Coach, I think he's having a stroke or something." Concerned, Park sticks out a finger and aims to poke at Seokjin's nose.

Seokjin shakes his head and grabs Park's finger, pushing him away.

The coach follows Seokjin's line of sight and immediately smacks the pitcher on his non-throwing arm. "A girl? You have got to be shitting me right now. You are not being paid to ogle at stadium workers!"

Seokjin barely feels the smack. He's too busy looking at the girl juggling massive bags of cotton candy like a professional. There's a wave of grace as she rolls a pink bag of fluff down one arm and into her hand, only to flick it towards a customer seconds later. Fascinated, Seokjin has never seen anything quite like it. Strands of hair from her bun are coming undone, the wind slowly untangling the strands with each gentle push.

Finally, she turns towards the field again.

She's wearing his team's baseball cap.

She doesn't stay facing them long, yelling about cotton candy left and right, customers eagerly trying to get her attention. As she spins around, Seokjin feels like fainting seeing his name painting in bold letters on the back of her baseball jersey, his lucky number 12 also printed largely on the back.

The air suddenly feels stiff and musky. Seokjin feels sweatier than before and can't seem to focus on the words his coach and teammates are saying to him.

"AYO, KIM!"

Seokjin shakes his head and turns his attention back towards home base, instantly annoyed at the sight of the batter, Jungkook. The newbie has his shiny oak bat resting on his shoulders, one hip casually jutting out, looking bored as ever. Seokjin can see from the mound how flat Jungkook's eyes look as the younger man smacks his bubblegum.

"We gonna play some ball or something?" Jungkook waves a hand up in an annoyed fashion.

Clenching his jaw, Seokjin nods his head, prompting Park and the coach to head back to their spots.

Two strikes. One ball. It's an easy out at this point. Seokjin has the rage fueling him and he always throws faster and harder when there's something to target.

Stealing one last glance, Seokjin sees the cotton candy girl leaning against the metal banister upfront and close to the field. She's focusing hard on Seokjin with an intensity he has never seen before. It's clear she's looking at him, but she doesn't see him.

Gulping down a lump of nerves, the angry fire that was bubbling within quickly became dormant.

Wind up. Breathe.

Release.

Jungkook swings, catching the baseball with the tip of the bat. Instead of going forward, the ball spirals behind him. A perfect foul.

Two balls, two strikes.

When it comes down to the wire like this, Seokjin feels his strongest. And the intensity coming from Jungkook only reminds Seokjin of how it used to be when he was first starting out in the league: exhilarating, adrenalizing, a never-ending hunger. Seokjin sees that same drive in the batter in front of him. It’s rejuvenating to see that raw emotion can still exist in the newcomers.

Hopefully, for the final time, Seokjin winds up and prepares to strike out Jeon Jungkook’s ego for good.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect pitch. The baseball leaves Seokjin’s fingers tingling with the sheer force of the throw. When his leg kicks up from the momentum of the throw, Seokjin can feel the speed of the ball as it barrels in a perfect line towards Park’s mitt.

So, imagine Seokjin’s anger and confusion when the ball sinks into the catcher’s mitt and the umpire is dead silent.

Uproars from the home team fans go crazy with insults as replay after replay shows on the jumbo screens.

“Timeout! Timeout!” The coach of Seokjin’s team yells furiously as he runs onto the field. The coach grabs Seokjin by the arm and drags him to the dugout, quickly thrusting a water bottle into Seokjin’s hands and puts an icepack on his shoulder.

“Fucking umpires I swear they’re out to protect this Jeon’s reputation. That was a strike if I’ve ever seen one! A textbook strike!” The coach continues to grumble as he applies more pressure to Seokjin’s shoulder.

The cold does feel great against his joints, but sitting inside the dugout does not feel ideal. So, wordlessly, Seokjin waves his coach off, takes the water bottle and steps back onto the field.

The sips of ice-cold water feel more refreshing than he was expecting as his eyes gaze around the field, casually trying to find the girl from earlier.

Unknowingly, Seokjin walks closer to home base before finding the cotton candy girl just a few rows away. She looks beautiful as she smiles at the customers, the pinks and blues of the cotton candy bringing out the blush in her face and the sparkle in her eyes. Seokjin leans against the padded wall, reaching into his pocket to pop a few more sunflower seeds into his mouth.

Following Seokjin's glance, Jungkook scoffs and turns back to him. "Really? The cotton candy girl? Buddy, friend, you do realize what kind of people we are right? We have million-dollar contracts. She makes minimum wage. Those classes don't mix."

Seokjin has never been more grateful and proud of his own self-control. If he were any other place, he would have socked Jungkook right in the jaw with as much might as humanly possible. Preferably right in the spot where the edge of his smile forms a lined dimple. Instead, he spits out the sunflower seed shells as close to Jungkook as he can without it being called unfair sportsmanship.

"Despite the class difference, I guess she is kind of cute," the younger boy continues, "I wonder if she's ever dated a baseball player before." There's something hidden behind that seemingly harmless statement and Seokjin has a weird feeling, enough to make the hair stand on the back of his neck.

Wordlessly, Seokjin looks back and forth between the cotton candy girl and Jungkook.

"What's it gonna be, old man? Do you really think she would pick you over me?" The kid laughs and adjusts his helmet to fit over his ear better, squaring up to bat and locking gazes with the pitcher. Unspoken words thrash across the field between the two players and Seokjin can't decide if he wants to call the rookie's bluff or not.

Actions speak louder than words, Seokjin tells himself and casually throws the ball into his mitt a couple of times, finding a rhythm that feels right.

Quiet.

The ball is no longer in Seokjin's hands.

It's like he blinked and didn't even feel his body move. But Park has left his crouched position and is picking up the baseball on the far, far right side of home plate.

Heavy groans arise from the sea of fans, growing louder and louder as their doubt in Seokjin sets in more permanently. There’s a faint sting in his wrist that makes him want to shake it vigorously. That wouldn’t go unnoticed by the coach, though.

Looking at the sky, Seokjin immediately notices a change in the weather. The sky has now filled with dark purplish clouds. At first, it seems that the universe is mocking him, telling him that his wonder years have officially come to an end. But then, a flash of white lights up the sky, and Seokjin’s melancholy attitude fills with annoyance.

“God dammit!”

Maybe it was a one time strike. Maybe no one else saw it. If there’s lightning they will cancel the game. And that means he won’t be able to see the look on Jungkook’s face once he strikes him out.

For a few moments, nothing happens and it seems like the perfect chance for Seokjin to wind up again. As quickly as the thought came to mind, another streak of lightning hits the sky, this time, more noticeable than the first. To make matters worse, Seokjin is hit in the forehead with a juicy raindrop, the contents sliding down his nose and across his cheek.

“Everyone, due to unforeseen weather, we will have to postpone the rest of this game. Please evacuate safely to your vehicles. Updated game information can be found on our website-”

Shaking his head, Seokjin walks off the mound and heads towards the locker rooms.

Up ahead, he sees Jungkook leaning against the wall with one elbow, his other hand placed on his hip. There’s a look in his eyes that makes Seokjin look where the rookie is looking. Devastation hits when Seokjin sees that Jungkook is flirting with the cotton candy girl.

Jogging over, Seokjin can feel the rain increase in intensity.

“This lighting is way too dangerous, babe. Why don’t you and I get out of here? I’ll keep you safe.”

Seokjin wants to gag at Jungkook’s words. The younger generation just has no problem being so blunt these days.

“Have a little class, rookie,” Seokjin grits his teeth before turning to the cotton candy girl, “I can walk you to your car. You’d probably be safer with the lightning than with this guy.”

“Says the old geezer,” Jungkook laughs, “she’d be walking you to your car if anything!”

Tired of the old man jokes, Seokjin can’t help but pout his lower lip forward as he says, “I’m only a few years older than you, you know. Just because I’ve been in the game longer than you’ve held a baseball means nothing.”

Taking his elbow off the wall, Jungkook faces Seokjin fully, setting his shoulders back as he sizes up his opponent.

“You’re just mad that I got to Y/n before you did. Yeah, that’s right,” Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest and takes a few more steps towards Seokjin with a newfound smugness on his face, “I learned her name before you could even guess it.”

“Oh, yeah? If you think you’re so in, then why is she wearing a jersey with my name and number on it?”

The next fifteen minutes are a blur of insults and jabs between Seokjin and Jungkook, the cotton candy girl long forgotten. Seokjin has never been in a fight with someone like this before, and he’s kind of worried about if Jungkook is the type to get physical or not. Seokjin definitely can’t afford to injure his shoulder more than he already has throughout the years in the game. Even just bruising his knuckles would throw him out for the rest of the season.

Their voices increase with the sound of the thunder.

“You two!” Seokjin’s coach yells from the other side of the field. “Quitcha arguing and get to safety! I’ll be damned if my best pitcher gets electrocuted on the field!”

Smugly, Seokjin turns to Jungkook, raising an eyebrow as he soaks in the unintentional praise from one of the world’s best coaches. Success hits when Jungkook furrows his brow, his mouth tightening with frustration.

Victory won in his own mind, Seokjin turns to say something to the cotton candy girl, only to find that she’s long gone.

Jungkook is also looking around him, annoyance evident on his face as his tongue pokes the insides of his cheek, his jaw muscles setting a little stronger than usual.

“You…” Jungkook growls and swiftly reaches for Seokjin’s jersey, fisting the material tightly as the younger player tries to find the right words to express his anger. Defensively, Seokjin grabs at Jungkook’s biceps, trying his best to hold him at bay. He really doesn’t want to fight in the middle of a lightning storm over a girl who isn’t even around to witness the outcome.

As more players are leaving the field, making jokes at the two guys about to pummel each other, Jungkook loosens his grip, his gaze focused on the other side of the field.

Seokjin barely sees you walking away from the field, walking with someone else beside you.

Jungkook still holds onto the front of Seokjin's jersey, but Seokjin has since dropped his arms to his sides as he sees one of his own outfielders reach for the cotton candy girl's hand, lifting it, and pressing a soft kiss to her skin.

"She's...laughing..." Seokjin pouts, his shoulders drooping slightly. Another crack of thunder booms lightly in the distance, closer than the previous one.

Jungkook finally turns around, promptly releasing Seokjin from his grasp. "Damn," he mutters as watches.

"You guys didn't know?" Laughs one of Seokjin's teammates. "They're engaged, bro. Have been for a couple of months now." He pats Seokjin and Jungkook on the back simultaneously before walking off, not even turning as he waves his hand goodbye.

Disbelief and embarrassment overwhelm Seokjin all at once as he watches you leave towards the stadium doors with Jung. Before this point, Seokjin had barely paid any attention to the outfielder. His skills were average at best, his batting stats about the same, he wasn’t great enough to be a fan favorite, but also not bad enough to be the outrage of the fans and team. And it just doesn’t make sense how someone as average as Jung Hoseok could find love and not himself.

“Now you guys can walk each other to your cars! Be safe!” She yells and winks.

“Maybe she’s allergic to greatness,” Jungkook tuts, shaking his head before adjusting his hat. His hair is greasy from sweat, curling at the ends.

Wordlessly, Seokjin begins to walk towards the locker rooms, Jungkook following close behind. The first few trickles of rain glide down the nape of Seokjin’s neck, leaving him feeling chilled and uncomfortable. Something about what Jungkook said keeps playing over and over again in his mind. And the more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets.

“If she’s happy, let her be happy. Maybe he’s great in her eyes.”

Jungkook scoffs and laughs, barely stopping before he continues towards the locker room.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man. Just know the next game, I won’t be going easy on you. And there sure as hell won’t be any lightning to stop me.” He turns to flash a toothy grin at Seokjin, who can’t help but laugh in return. There’s a fire in the kid's eyes, one that Seokjin remembers he himself had when he first started out.

It’s too bad he’s on a rival team, Seokjin thought. Imagine the chaos the two of them could have created if they were on the same team.

“Until next time! You better bring it!”

“Only if that’s a promise!”

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

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css1992 · 4 years

Text

Such a softer sin

Summary: Tony is a self-made man. Peter is a sugar baby – someone else’s sugar baby.

When he turned to pull his chair out, the older man subtly checked out his ass and – of course, it was delicious, round and perky, two perfect handfuls. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the fact that he had a huge character flaw, a hamartia – he fucked people for money. He was basically a glorified whore, and if there was one thing Tony never had to do in his life was pay for sex, one way or another. So, really, he wouldn't start with – what was his name again?

Warnings: Explicit, 18+, mentions of non-con (not between main pairing, not explicit), age gap, power imbalance, employer/employee relationship, underage drinking. If you find anything triggering, please let me know!

Word count:18.4k

-x-

He was admittedly gorgeous, Tony could give him that. The honey brown eyes, the bouncy, fluffy curls and the clear, pale skin worked perfectly in his favor – he looked the part of the innocent, wholesome, young man ready to be swept off his feet and taken care of. Powerful men often liked that act, liked believing that they were deflowering innocence for the first time, liked believing they were wanted, needed. Tony knew better, though, he knew the type, he came across people like him all through his life.

When he was a broke, orphaned, half-starved college student, they wouldn’t give him the time of day. Snobby, pretty, little things like him only had eyes and time for those who had money, or something to offer – fame, influence, status. At the time, Tony had nothing, he could barely afford to eat everyday. After he graduated from MIT, he started working for Hammer Industries and as he started making more money, slowly, these people started taking notice of him, and he, too, started paying closer attention to them.

They weren’t difficult to spot either, they were usually young, attractive, with beautiful, fake smiles, weak personalities and a penchant for expensive gifts. It was easy to recognize them hanging off powerful men’s arms at functions, and dinners, and galas; bespoke suits or designer dresses covering their bodies, not a lot to add to the conversation. They were accessories, trophies. Pets.

Tony hated them. People who wanted to be at the very top, but couldn’t be bothered to take the stairs. They would use their pretty faces, feigned innocence, beautiful bodies and cute, fake laughs, to get farther faster. Not Tony. He did it the right way – the hard way –, worked day and night to get to his goal, got beat down so many times there were days he thought he wouldn’t be able to stand back up, but he did, every single time.

And time and experience made him wiser, smarter and bitter. At 40, he was finally able to start his own company, Stark Industries, it started small, but his genius inventions put his name on the map fairly quickly. That was how, five years later, he found himself having dinner with Norman Osborn, the most powerful man in New York, and his – boy toy? Sugar baby? Escort? Or something – discussing the possibility of a deal so big it could finally make Stark Industries live up to its full potential.

“So what I’m saying is that we can offer you the best and most advanced technology out there: my nanobots. I guarantee you it will make your job easier, faster and cheaper in the long run. I assure you, this a great deal and you should take it.” Tony was absolutely sure of what he was saying, he knew his product was good, his tech was flawless, he just needed to get it out there. He just needed a company like Oscorps to believe in him, then his work would speak for itself.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Stark, I think this whole nanotech thing is way too expensive and unnecessary, specially considering that I’m pretty sure Baintronics could do the same work for half the price, the old-fashioned way, which has been working just fine for the past decade.” Fuck, no, that old bat wasn’t looking at the big picture, he wasn’t thinking about the long run. Of course old tech would still get the job done, but Tony’s tech could do such a better job and so much more efficiently.

“No, but you see, that’s–”

“But –“ Norman raised a hand, successfully shutting Tony up and annoying the living hell out of him in the process. One day, he thought to himself, one day I’ll be able to say ‘fuck you’ to men like Norman Osborn. One day. “I’m willing to give it a try. Peter here says you’re the best at what you do, he’s the one who recommended that I agreed to meet with you, actually, when your PA called.”

Tony was taken aback by that information and eyed the young man carefully, causing him to blush a deep red and lower his gaze with a small, timid smile. Tony thought he was faking the whole thing, trying to be cute and sweet, but fuck – it worked for him. He seemed really young, maybe in his early twenties, and Tony had no idea how he could have heard of him, he wasn’t exactly famous, nor was S.I. His breakthroughs were only ever published in very specific scientific journals.

“I’m a huge fan of your work, Mr. Stark, I’ve always told Norman you two should work together, you’re both men ahead of your time.” He said quietly. He had a high-pitched, slightly feminine voice, which probably also worked in his favor with men like Osborn. It made him sound younger than he probably was, easier to manipulate and dominate.

Reluctantly, Tony accepted the compliment with a tight smile. He really needed that deal, he really needed for that to work, it would be the break SI needed, he could feel it, he could already taste the success.

“Very well, so here’s my offer. You will supply Oscorps with your nanotech for a year, then we can take it from there. This would be your cut for this first year.” Osborn wrote something down on a piece of paper and slid it towards Tony across the table. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the numbers – and the amount of zeros –, but he pretended to be cool about it, he even put on a show of looking slightly disappointed. “And there’s a lot more where this comes from, Stark. This could be the beginning of a beautiful, and mutually beneficial, friendship.”

“I do hope it is, Mr. Osborn. I look forward to working with your company. I’m sure we’re gonna be a great fit.” Tony tried to sound cool and professional, but he was having a little heart attack on the inside. He had been trying to schedule a meeting with Norman for months and the billionaire – or, most likely, his PA – kept making excuses. Now there he was, closing a huge deal with the promise of a mutually beneficial friendship in the future.

After that, he could breathe more easily during dinner. He couldn’t wait to tell Pepper, Bruce and Nat, though, they had to celebrate properly, maybe they could all go to his apartment and finally crack open that Macallan he bought when he made his first million. But meanwhile, he was stuck in the restaurant with Norman and his boy-toy, which he wouldn’t complain too much about, at least it was a nice view.

Again, there was no denial that the boy was beautiful. There was just something naturally sensual and charismatic about him, Tony couldn’t avoid looking his way, even when he wasn’t talking. And when he did talk, it was magnetic. He didn’t say much, as Tony expected, but what he didn’t expect was for him to be so smart. The few times he said anything was to ask questions about his tech, and those were surprisingly pertinent. Sometime along the night, Tony figured out that he was studying to become a mechanical engineer at Columbia and he wondered if Norman had anything to do with it – probably.

Tony was reminded of his own college years, of how he had to work his ass off to get a scholarship, and how many crazy hours he had to work to make ends meet, just to be able to build something for himself. He didn’t seek the help of men like Norman, although he could have. The name Stark meant something, once upon a time. His father was considered a gifted inventor, he was respected by huge companies, but he never built anything of his own.

When he died, Tony was only eleven. He still didn’t know exactly what happened, but soon after that, his mother lost everything he had left – which wasn’t much to begin with. She was never quite herself again, she was so depressed, she never even smiled anymore, she sometimes didn’t have the energy to get out of bed, Tony was the one doing the house chores, cooking for her, trying to make sure she was okay. She died eight years later from an aneurysm, Tony found her lying on the couch, looking peaceful for the first time in so many years.

In short, he never had it easy, and he never tried to make it easier for himself either – at least not in shady ways. He just wanted to do the right thing, even if it took longer – which it did. He was a forty-five year old man, but he made a name for himself, the name Stark held respect once again.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” The young man got up after a quick peck to Norman’s lips and headed to the bathroom. Tony made a huge effort and pointedly did not stare at his ass as he left. He was really proud of himself for that, maybe two years earlier he wouldn’t have been able to pull that off, he had no shame. At least now he had some. A little. Sort of.

“What do you think of him?” Norman had a neutral expression on, he gave nothing away, but it seemed like a test. What sort of question was that, why did it matter what Tony thought of his fuck toy?

“He seems really smart,” he answered with a small smile. It was a polite, diplomatic answer, and not untrue.

“What else?” Norman pushed, with a knowing smirk, and Tony almost cursed under his breath, thinking that maybe he’d been too obvious with his staring all through dinner, after all.

“He’s very pretty,” he admitted, although still with his cool, professional face on. Norman’s smirk grew wider.

“He sure is. Cute pet. Smart, polite, funny. You should get one for yourself, Stark. They’re kinda expensive, but worth every penny.” His shark-like smile took over his whole face and Tony had to fight back a grimace. He just smiled and shook his head no.

“Not really my style, sir.” Buying people, paying for sex, that sort of thing, he wanted to add.

“It’s not anyone’s style until it is.” He gave Tony a once over and smirked. “We’re not getting any younger.” The engineer was offended, he wanted to tell him he aged like good wine, unlike certain people, but refrained. He just gave him a strained smile and took a sip of his drink.

As if on cue, the pretty boy returned to the table and Tony took a couple of seconds to appreciate his outfit. He wore a dark blue suit, very elegant and very expensive looking, certainly a gift from Osborn, and it fit him like a glove. Tony supposed it was bespoke. It complimented his lithe, lean body beautifully.

When he turned around to pull his chair out, the older man subtly checked out his ass and – of course, it was delicious, round and perky, two perfect handfuls. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the fact that he had a huge character flaw, a hamartia – he fucked people for money. He was basically a glorified whore, and if there was one thing Tony never had to do in his life was pay for sex, one way or another. So, really, he wouldn't start with – what was his name again?

“So, come by the office on Monday, we’ll talk over all the details, then you can take the draft contract to your legal team and we can meet again – say, in another week?”

“Yeah, sure, this sounds perfect,” he answered coolly, not mentioning that his “legal team” consisted of one single Natasha Romanoff, who would have his balls for dinner when she found out that she would only have seven days to look over what was bound to be a very long, very complex contract.

“Well, then, Mr. Stark. You’ve got yourself a deal.” Norman got up from his chair, what clearly meant dinner was over, and Tony rushed to his feet, offering his had to shake.

“You won’t regret this, sir,” he spoke in a strong, firm voice, because he was positive of it.

“Good.” Osborn shook his hand once and turned to leave without saying goodbye.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Stark, I hope we’ll see each other again soon.” The pretty boy took his hand as well, eyes glinting, a coy smile on his face. Tony couldn’t tell if he was flirting or if he was pretending to be shy, but he ignored it and just nodded curtly.

“Thank you, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, too.” He didn’t dare try to remember his name, Tony was pretty sure it started with a P, but he wouldn’t risk it.

As soon as they left the restaurant, the CEO punched the air in celebration, calling Pepper right away.

---*---

The meeting on Monday went smoothly, they agreed that Tony would be personally charged with the maintenance of his tech at least a week a month – he made it seem like it was a courtesy, but, in reality, he still didn’t have anyone on his team who could do the job quite as well as he could. They also agreed that he would have a small team of five scientists at his disposal during such period, so he wouldn’t have to dislodge anyone from his company to do it – again, he didn’t mention that five people were basically half of his scientific team and he couldn’t afford them not working for SI for a whole week each month.

As expected, he didn’t see the pretty boy in the meeting, Tony supposed he only made an appearance in social functions and such, so he could make Norman look good. To Tony’s surprise, though, seven days later, after Natasha bullied him into promising a 10% raise after the shit he’d pulled with the contract, the pretty boy was in the meeting room when he arrived to sign the deal. Norman’s PA and a few of his lawyers were there as well, Tony was with Pepper and Natasha, and he quickly whispered to Pepper that he was the boy he’d told her about. He approached them with a shy, nervous smile and Tony almost wanted to roll his eyes at the facade.

“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, I’m an intern here.” Ah, Peter. That sounded about right. Tony thought it was something along those lines. And he was an intern for Oscorps, of course. What a joke. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Stark. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Hello, Mr. Parker, this is Miss Potts, my assistant, and this is Miss Romanoff, head of my legal team. I’ll have a coffee – black, no sugar. Thank you.” Again, he kept it professional and barely even looked at the kid, he knew what he looked like and he knew he was off limits, so why tease himself by looking?

“I’m good.” Natasha smiled sweetly, making the boy blush even harder.

“I’ll have the same as Mr. Stark, thank you, Mr. Parker.” Peter quickly turned and headed out of the room and Pepper turned to whisper to him. “You weren’t kidding, he’s really fucking young, he looks like he could be Norman’s grandson, for Christ’s sake.” Tony snorted and Natasha eyed them knowingly, but with a look that screamed “behave” and they both schooled their expressions. Shortly after, the boy walked back in with their coffee and they thanked him, as he blushed and nodded, taking a seat to the left of what should be Osborn’s chair.

The meeting didn’t take long at all, everything had already been discussed, it was just a formality, so barely twenty minutes later they were all getting up from their seats, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. Tony was almost out of the room when he felt a hand at his elbow followed by a softly spoken, “Mr. Stark, can I have a word?”.

Of course the devil himself would tempt him, even if Tony was trying to be good. He was forced to turn around and actually look at the young man, he was wearing a lavender dress shirt, with a dark gray tie and black pants. He looked like the cutest little businessman ever, and Tony was sure that if Peter were to turn his back, he would be presented with his perfect bubble butt looking amazing in those slacks, but – he was the forbidden fruit. Besides, Tony mused, he probably couldn’t afford a single night with Peter, he was only a millionaire, after all, and he’d rather spend his money on shiny things and get his lays for free.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” The boy’s cheeks were impossibly red and Tony figured he couldn’t really fake that, so he supposed he really was shy to some degree. He looked over his shoulder and saw Pepper and Natasha waiting just outside the door, warning looks on their faces, and he rolled his eyes.

“I was wondering – I talked to No--, I mean, Mr. Osborn, about the possibility of maybe, uhm. Working with you? When you come to do the maintenance, I mean. It’s just, we don’t really have an engineering department, so you would be working mainly with biochemists and a few lab techs, so I thought maybe I could assist you with the hands-on work, you know? I don’t know if Mr. Osborn mentioned, but I’m studying to become a mechanical engineer as well and it would be an honor working with you, sir. Mr. Osborn said it was ok as long as you agreed, so...” He shuffled his feet and avoided looking at the older man.

“Look, kid.” Tony sighed, because, fuck. How could he say no to Norman’s boy without being rude? And how could he say yes to working with someone who was clearly useless to him and would only serve as a distraction – and worse, a temptation. He needed a way out of that. “I don’t really know if there would be much for you to do, I mean, it’s pretty new and advanced technology, and you’re, what, a freshman, right?”

“Actually, I’ll graduate next fall, sir.” Tony was taken aback by that and it must have shown on his face if Peter’s answering blush was anything to go by.

“I’m sorry, how old are you again?” He asked, trying not to sound too rude.

“I’ll be twenty in August, sir.” If Tony was impressed by that, he didn’t let it show, but if the kid would manage to graduate from Columbia at twenty, then he must not be that useless after all, but Tony wouldn’t hold his breath.

“Very well, then. I guess I’ll see you in a month, Mr. Parker.” He nodded and Peter could barely contain his grin when he shook his hand excitedly. It was cute and endearing and – oh, God, Tony almost fell for his little act. Fuck, he really needed to be on his toes around that guy.

“Thank you, sir, I really appreciate it!”

As soon as Tony stepped out of the building and headed towards his car with Natasha and Pepper on his heels, the Russian red-head looked at him seriously.

“Tony, I swear to God, if you try to get your dick wet with that boy, I quit. I’m not even gonna start on how much legal and PR trouble you’re gonna get yourself into by fucking Norman’s boyfriend, specially considering he’s, like, twelve, and happens to work for your business partner. Don’t fuck this up!” She warned as she got inside the car and, again, Tony had to roll his eyes as he got behind the wheel.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie, if the circumstances were different, I’d be all over that,” he admitted, noticing Pep’s aggravated look. “But of course I’m not gonna do anything to jeopardize this deal, ok? Besides, you know how I feel about gold diggers. You saw him and you saw Osborn, why in the fucking hell a guy like him would fuck a mummy like Osborn? He’s, like, a hundred years old!”

“He’s fifty five, and I don’t know if you know this, Tony, but people have sex for reasons that go beyond appearances. You know, like love, affinity, connection –”

“-- Money, fame, status. C’mon, Pep, don’t be naive. Do you really think that boy loves Osborn? He just likes expensive restaurants and fancy cars. Maybe, if he’s thinking big, he’s gonna use him to get a good job after graduation, but that’s it.”

“Well, then, if you think he’s such a terrible person, you’ll have no problem staying the hell away from him, right?” She looked at him with narrowed eyes and he looked away from the traffic for a second to smirk at her.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, easy breezy.”

--*--

As it turned out, it wasn’t easy breezy.

Peter was like a lost puppy trailing after him the following month, he spent the whole week glued to his hip, asking questions, making suggestions, and even supplying him with a never ending amount of coffee. If Tony was a hundred percent honest, he kinda liked it. The kid seriously treated him like a hero, a celebrity, he seemed to look up to him and, in the end, he proved to be a valuable asset on the team. He was really smart and hardworking, he understood everything Tony was saying even before he was done talking and he had really steady, tiny hands, which were always useful with nanotech.

Tony couldn’t really stay away from him and slowly learned a few things about him from what little information he stuttered out when answering his questions. First, the older man learned that he got into Columbia when he was only sixteen, which was kind of amazing, if he was being completely honest. Tony wanted to believe that that had happened way before he met Norman Osborn, but he didn’t really know when they met.

He had a scholarship and lived with his aunt until she passed away a little over a year earlier and now he shared an apartment with four other people, which surprised Tony, he figured Norman would have hooked him up with a nice place – but then again, he had no idea when they met, it could have been only months earlier. Peter said that, originally, he wanted to go to MIT, but he only got a partial scholarship there, so he had to give it up and go to Columbia. He also said that that was how he knew Tony beforehand. The older man was sort of a famous MIT alumnus, specially among the engineering students, so Peter heard of him and followed his work through scientific publications, which was – well, Tony was flattered.

Even if those bits of information somewhat made Tony warm up to the young man, other few things still annoyed him just as much. First of all, clearly Peter was a very bright kid, possibly one of the smartest people Tony knew besides himself and Bruce, he didn’t really need Norman’s influence to succeed, and still, there he was. Second, he quickly picked up on the fact that Peter wasn’t exactly Norman’s boyfriend, he was more of a… Sugar baby? And one of many, actually, although he seemed to be the favorite. After Tony signed the deal, he started paying closer attention to what tabloids said about Norman and apparently he had a very long list of (young) lovers, but he was officially single.

Somehow, that made Tony even more disgusted by their relationship. He just couldn’t understand why a guy like Peter would put himself in that position, for what? Money? A job? What was it that Norman could offer him that he couldn’t get himself? The thing was, Peter kind of reminded Tony of himself at that age. He was pretty much in the same situation: he had no family and no money, he only had his brains – and while Tony had made something out of it, Peter was trying to take a shortcut and the engineer didn’t appreciate that.

“Here, check this out, see how they respond a lot faster now?” Tony made room so that the younger man could look through the microscope, a wide grin spreading across his face in a few seconds. “You have to think of them as neurons, they communicate with each other by electrical pulses, similar to synapses. For that to work out perfectly and seamlessly, they need to be really close by, without touching, that’s why the electromagnetic field has to be perfect, if it’s just a tiny bit off, the response time increases exponentially. Got it?”

“Got it, Mr. Stark!” He answered excitedly and Tony smiled at him.

“Well, my work here is done. See you next month?” Tony got up from his chair, gathering his things around the lab.

“I can’t wait." Somehow, Tony knew he actually meant it.

The following month, Peter was just as helpful and just as excited as the month before. He was in the lab before Tony – who was always early himself – and he always greeted him with a bright smile and an excited wave of his hand. As the engineer settled his things on his work bench, Peter would get him coffee, and he always remembered how Tony liked it. They got right to work, which they did everyday for a week without any disruption. The intern always offered to stay late, but Tony never took him up on that, he knew he had classes in the afternoon and he didn’t want him to get in trouble. Just as he was starting to warm up to him, though, on Friday, the engineer was reminded why he didn’t like him in the first place.

“You’re late, Mr. Parker.” Tony mumbled from his seat in front of the microscope as soon as he heard the glass door open with a hiss as the smell of coffee filled the room. Peter was only twelve minutes late, but it was only their second week working together, it didn’t seem very professional.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark, I was – uh, in a meeting with Mr. Osborn.” He lied through his teeth, Tony could almost smell the nervousness when he came close enough. He hated being lied to, specially when he knew what Peter was probably doing in that “meeting”. It was just inexcusable.

“Just because you’re Norman’s boy doesn’t mean you get special treatment in this lab, you hear me? I don’t care what you do with him all the other weeks that I’m not here, but if you wanna be a part of my team, during my lab hours, you gotta be here and on time. Are we clear?” He didn’t bother lifting his eyes from the microscope and almost missed the whispered and wavered, “yes, sir” that Peter let out. When he turned to the younger man, his eyes were bloodshot, his clothes were rumpled, his face ashen and his lower lip was wobbling, he looked like he had a rough night and an early morning, and he looked like he was holding back tears. Tony almost regretted the harsh treatment. Almost. “Is this my coffee?” He pointed at the cup, averting his gaze.

“Yes, sir.” He answered quickly, offering the beverage like a gift.

On his third month there, Tony tried to keep his distance from the younger man. He promised Natasha and Pepper that he would and, up until that point, he hadn’t been very successful. So during the week of March that he had to go to Oscorps, he avoided the younger man, made himself unavailable and charged him with boring and complicated tasks that should take all week to get done. Still, the boy did everything he was told and only took half the time expected, he was always on time and always, always brought him coffee, just the way he liked it. It was really hard to ignore him.

“You know you don’t have to bring me coffee, right? It’s not in your job description.” Tony felt the need to point out on Friday when he saw the boy walking in with the beverage, but he just shrugged and smiled a little.

“I know, I just want to make sure you have everything you need, sir. Besides, I used to work at a coffee shop, I don’t mind making your coffee.” When he said that, Tony’s brows shot into his hairline.

“You made this?” He asked, incredulously, and the boy cocked his head in confusion.

“Yeah, where did you think this came from?” He frowned, amused.

“Uh, I don’t know, some fucking gourmet coffee shop downstairs?” Peter laughed, genuinely laughed, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled in the most endearing way, as he shook his head.

“You’re funny, Mr. Stark.”

Peter was the funny one, actually, and the whole thing was just so confusing to Tony. He thought he had the younger man all figured out, he thought he knew what kind of person he was, what he was after, but sometimes Peter would do or say things that just didn’t add up to Tony’s assumptions. The boy was kind and generous and humble, he was proactive and hardworking, and so annoyingly nice. He was easy to talk to, too, sometimes they’d have whole conversations about the most random subjects as they worked and Tony would only realize what they did at the end of the day, as he left and Peter waved at him with that charming smile and it made something burn in Tony’s chest and he couldn’t figure out why.

On his fourth month there, Peter surprised him on the first day. He brought him coffee in a mug that read: “If it ain’t broke, take it apart and fix it”. Usually, his coffee was put in a styrofoam cup with Oscorps logo on it, he had no idea where the mug came from, and when he asked, the boy blushed slightly, shuffling his feet.

“Uhm, actually – I heard it was your birthday last week, so I just – I mean, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be inappropriate or anything, it’s just – the environment and stuff. So. Uh – happy birthday?” He looked really uncomfortable just saying that, and Tony was equal parts amused and amazed, so he dropped his eyes back to the simple, white mug with bright red letters.

“That’s – actually really nice, Peter. Thank you.” He looked back at the young man and his cheeks were burning red. It was really… fucking cute. Fuck.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Stark.” His answering tiny smile warmed the older man’s heart, but he swallowed whatever feeling dared to emerge.

By Tony’s fifth month working with Oscorps, things finally started to feel natural, pleasant. When he arrived in the morning, he greeted everyone by name, threw smiles and flirty comments here and there and walked the hallways like he owned the place. His team worked like a well-oiled machine and they were always early, specially Peter, after that one time he was late. When he arrived, they already had a head start on him, which was always good, and they were able to go home a little earlier everyday.

“Good morning, everybody.” Tony raised his head when he heard Norman’s voice, a little surprised. Aside from his first day there, he hadn’t seen the old man at all, so it was weird for him to be in the lab, specially so early.

“Mr. Osborn, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Tony asked, watching closely as the older man walked towards Peter, who avoided his gaze furiously, pretending to be focused on his work, although it was clear that he was barely breathing. Norman grinned in his direction, but didn’t say anything, and Tony raised an eyebrow at the interaction.

“Miss Watson let me know you would be here today, so I thought I’d personally invite you to our annual Charity Gala, it will take place next month, on the eleventh. Will you be able to make it?”

“Yes, of course, sir, I can move some stuff around.” Fucking hell, he hated those functions. A bunch of assholes kissing other assholes’s butts and pretending to be good citizens by donating to charity only for the press. Just his type of event. But nonetheless, the type of event he needed to be seen in, someplace where he could meet people and make connections.

“Great, I’ll send the formal invitation to Stark Industries, I look forward to seeing you there. Mr. Stark.” He nodded in his direction and Tony did the same. “Mr. Parker.” He turned towards the young man who still hadn’t looked up. His cheeks burned a bright red when he looked at the older man.

“Mr. Osborn.” He gritted his teeth and, again, Norman grinned, buttoning his suit jacket as he left the lab.

Hm. Odd.

--*--

“At least pretend to be having a good time, Tony.” Pepper whispered through her teeth, a fake smile plastered on as she waved to people Tony could barely recognize. She was wearing a beautiful blue gown, his birthday gift to her, apparently, and not for the first time Tony wondered what would have been if he hadn’t blown things up with her. If he hadn’t cheated on her with half the city when they were in college. He was a stupid, stupid boy in his twenties. And thirties. And early forties.

It was a work in progress.

“I am pretending, don’t I look convincing?” He turned to look at her with what he was certain was a terrible grimace and she snorted into her champagne glass, causing them both to giggle like stupid teenagers. He was glad she had agreed to go as his plus one, he would have blown his brains for sure if he was alone in there.

“Good evening, Mr. Stark.” Ah, Tony could recognize that sweetly high-pitched voice from miles away, but when he turned around he wasn’t ready for such a vision. Peter was wearing a gorgeous burgundy suit with a black, silk shirt underneath, as well as a black tie. His hair was perfectly swept to the side, his curls tamed for once, but still showing at the nape of his neck. He looked absolutely beautiful and fucking expensive. Tony wanted to unwrap him, then wreck him in the best possible way. “And Miss Potts, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker, it’s nice to see you again,” she answered pleasantly and Tony was glad she was there because he was sure that he was staring for way too long to be polite. He cleared his throat and smiled at the young man, who quickly slipped into character looking shyly at him from under his eyelashes.

“Mr. Parker, fancy seeing you here,” Tony spoke confidently, subtly looking around for Norman, but he was nowhere to be seen. “And where’s Mr. Osborn?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him.” He averted his gaze, his tiny and usually steady hands trembling a little, before closing into fists. “Well, it was nice seeing you –“

“Hey, c’mon, have a drink with us,” Tony interrupted him, sensing his discomfort.

“Oh, uh – I’m sorry, sir, I’m not old enough to drink.” Tony was almost taken aback by that fact. The amount of information that he carried in that brilliant brain of his did not compute with his age.

“I won’t tell if you don’t. Neither will Miss Potts, right?” Tony turned to look at Pepper, only to see her staring daggers at him, in a way that probably only he could tell, they had a special way of communicating, so he quickly sent her a “what?” glare and she sighed.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear any of this and I’m just gonna go talk to Mrs. Bain, if you’ll excuse me, please.” She smiled sweetly at Peter and walked away from them, as Tony rolled his eyes.

“Well, her loss.” The older man shrugged, grabbing two champagne glasses from a passing waiter. “Have you ever had one of these?” He asked, offering him one of the glasses. “I’m not corrupting you, am I?” Tony asked charmingly, with a crooked smile and a raised eyebrow. Peter giggled, blushing and shaking his head no.

“No, it’s okay, Norman usually gets me a few drinks when we’re out,” he answered, accepting the glass. Just the mention of the older man had Tony deflating slightly, reminded of the fact that Peter couldn’t be his.

“So, how come you didn’t come together?” He asked innocently, although he knew it was probably a touchy subject. The younger man took a long sip of his drink, licking his wet lips once he was done, and Tony wished it was his tongue running across those thin, pink lips.

“He’d rather bring another date, so.” He shrugged with a small, fake smile, and quickly changed the subject. “I’ve recently read that you’re working on a holographic system that’s supposed to connect with the user's hippocampus and project their memories, is that true?” Tony was surprised by that, he had written a paper about it with Bruce not long before, Peter must really keep up with his work.

“Yeah, but I’m in a bit of a pickle right now, got stuck with the neuroscience portion of it.” Tony scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed about the admission, but Peter only smiled wider.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. And it’s gonna be groundbreaking. Again. Well, it seems like everything you do changes the world somehow.” His cheeks were flushed, and maybe it was wishful thinking, maybe Tony was falling for Peter’s little game, but he thought he was actually flirting with him. Really flirting, not “I wanna be your sugar baby” flirting.

“That’s a lot of trust you’re putting in me, kid.” Tony dared to step a little closer to him and the young man bit his lower lip, holding back a smile, cheeks flushing pink.

“Yeah, but I think you can back it up.” He tilted his head back a little to look up at the older man. Tony held his gaze for a few seconds, before he dropped it to his lips. He smiled when the young man nervously licked them.

“I’m sorry I’m too hard on you in the lab. I just don’t want anyone thinking that I treat you differently because of the boss.” Tony took yet another step and Peter didn’t move an inch, allowing him to get closer and closer.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just thankful to be in your team, I’m learning a lot.” This time, Tony was sure he wasn’t imagining things, Peter’s eyes definitely dropped to stare at his lips and the engineer inhaled sharply.

“Peter –“

“Ah, there you are.” Norman appeared out of thin air and Tony took three steps back, a cool smile on his face. Osborn was accompanied by a gorgeous blonde girl who couldn’t be older than twenty five, she was tall and slender, and looked like a supermodel – and she probably was. “Good evening, Mr. Stark. Pete.”

“Good evening, Mr. Osborn,” Tony answered with a schooled smile, not sure if he was in trouble for giving Peter champagne, but the CEO barely seemed to notice it when he turned to the younger man, who didn’t even bother to answer him.

“How do you like the party so far?” He asked politely, although his gaze was fixed on Peter. His date seemed bored out of her mind, but she eyed Tony with interest and the older man had to avert his gaze, he really didn’t need yet another sin to avoid.

“It’s great, sir,” Tony answered politely, but the older man didn’t really seem to care.

“Good, good. Do you mind if I borrow Peter for a little while?” He eyed the younger man and Peter grit his teeth, his hand tightening around the champagne flute.

“No, sure, he’s all yours.” He gestured towards the boy and he looked back at him with a look of betrayal on his face. Tony raised his eyebrows, not sure what Peter expected him to do, but the young man rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Come on, Peter, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” And with that, he led the way, confident that the boy would follow behind, which he did, after downing the rest of his drink, shooting one last pleading look Tony’s way. Again, the older man had no idea what he wanted.

Once they left, Tony quickly found Pepper in the crowd as she chatted with Justin Hammer, the biggest asshole to ever exist in the corporate world. He stole all of Tony’s projects when the engineer worked for him, all the weapons the U.S.A. Army used ten years earlier were designed by Tony and he never got any credit for that. Two years after he quit Hammer Industries, they lost that contract because they simply had nothing new to offer.

“Good evening, Mr Hammer, if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna take my date elsewhere, someplace where the toxicity level is more bearable. Bye.” Tony interrupted them unceremoniously and steered Pepper away from him as she threw apologies over her shoulder. “Don’t apologize to him, he’s trash.”

“Tony, you can’t act like this if you wanna be the CEO of the biggest tech company in the country. You need to make connections and keep good relation –“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that with anyone else, except for him, promise.” He rolled his eyes once they got to the bar, where he leaned on the counter and flirted with the barman, before ordering two drinks.

“Great, then I hope you intend to keep a good relationship with Mr. Osborn,” she whispered, looking around to make sure nobody was listening. “Just a quick reminder: fucking his boyfriend is not very friendly.”

“Peter’s not his boyfriend,” he answered automatically, before taking a sip of his scotch, his eyes scanning the room until he found the younger man in a small circle of people, along with Mr. Osborn and his date. Tony hated that so much, the boy looked devastated but he was still there. Why the fuck was he still there? He didn’t need that shit. “They didn’t even come together today.”

“Okay, not the answer I was looking for, not a reassuring answer at all.” Pepper spoke to herself under her breath, then grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him to look at her. “Tony Stark, I hope you’re not –“

“Jesus, relax!” He snapped, freeing his face from her grip. “You and Natasha are driving me mad with this, I swear to God, the more you tell me not to do it, the more I wanna do it, just out of spite. Leave it alone, will ya?”

“Fine, whatever, do what you want, that always works out perfectly for you,” she snapped right back, taking her drink from the counter and walking away from him. “Don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face!”

Tony ignored her, they always had those arguments – she was usually right, Tony usually fucked up somehow and he usually went crying to her anyway, and she always helped him, so whatever. He was slightly tipsy, anyway, he would regret the whole thing in the morning, but right at that moment he was focused on Peter. The young man seemed really uncomfortable and out of place where he stood, among a few businessmen, but he was still there.

Norman stood to his left with his date, talking animatedly with the other men. To Peter’s right, there was a tall, slender man, in his early forties, and he wouldn’t take his eyes off of the boy. Sometimes he would whisper things in his ear, eliciting a small, polite smile from him, but no answer. Some other times he would rest a hand on his waist for no particular reason and Tony would watch with amusement as the boy tried to get away politely. Norman watched the whole interaction discreetly, carefully, but didn’t intervene.

Eventually, Peter excused himself and headed towards the bathroom. Tony watched the other man and, sure enough, he followed him there a few seconds later, under Norman’s intense gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. Tony quickly understood what was probably going on. Again, the older man was disappointed in the boy. Such a smart kid, with so much potential, he could do so much better. Tony turned towards the bar, ordering another scotch. Since he was there, with no date, and nothing else to do, it wouldn’t hurt to have a few drinks.

Several minutes later, he was leaning against the bar, talking to Mr. Zimmer, the CEO of Accutech, and actually scored a meeting for the following week to pitch his nanobots. After his deal with Oscorps, he was able to close two smaller ones and had a few more meetings scheduled. As he imagined, people took notice of Stark Industries after that. Having such a huge, important company such as Oscorps trusting SI meant a lot to potential partners.

As soon as Mr. Zimmer left, Tony saw Peter rushing across the room and out the door. He seemed really upset and agitated, so the older man followed him outside. When he found him again, Peter seemed a little lost. He looked around, as if he didn’t really know which way to go – the gala was held in one of Osborn’s mansions upstate and even leaving the premises was difficult to do without a car, the property was huge. He checked his phone, then, but Tony noticed the screen didn’t light up, it was probably dead. The kid ran his hands through his hair, seemingly desperate, and finally Tony decided to put him out of his misery.

“Hey, kid.” He stepped closer to the boy and he turned quickly, almost as if he was ready to throw a punch or something. “Whoa, there!” Tony held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, examining the boy’s face. He looked distressed, his eyes and face were red and he was a little out of breath. “Hey, are you ok? Do you need a ride home?” His eyes lit up in relief, his face relaxing instantly.

“Would you mind?” He almost pleaded and Tony was a little taken aback by the tone. “It’s just – my phone’s dead and – I just really need to get home.”

“Sure, kid, it’s fine, I was heading home anyway, c’mon.” Tony asked a valet to bring his car around and watched Peter as the younger man seemed to calm down slowly, but he was still acting a little out of sorts as they waited for the car to arrive. “Is everything okay, Peter?”

“Yeah, sure, just a little tired, I guess.” He lied, a fake smile on his face. He was easy to read, most of the time, when he wasn’t trying to attract older, rich men, Tony supposed.

Once the valet brought the car around, Tony opened the door for Peter, who quickly slipped inside like it was an oasis. Tony tipped the valet and joined the younger man, noticing that he seemed almost relieved to be leaving the party.

“Rough night?” Tony asked conversationally once he started the car, pulling away from the driveway. It was a stupid question, but he couldn’t help it.

“Try rough couple of months,” he scoffed, running a hand though his once tamed hair, elbow resting against the window.

“Wanna talk about it?” He looked at the younger man from the corner of his eye and saw him shake his head weakly.

“Not really,” he mumbled and they fell silent. Tony wanted to say something else, but Peter didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, so he just drove for a few minutes, heading for the city, when the kid spoke up again. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, you can drop me off anywhere, I’ll just take the subway.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll drive you home. Where is home, by the way?” Tony knew Peter lived with four other students close to campus, but he didn’t know where exactly.

“Harlem.” He sighed, sounding annoyed. “Ugh, that’s the last place I want to be right now,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Why? Trouble with your roommates?” Tony raised a brow and the boy shook his head a little.

“Not really, they’re just really loud, specially on weekends. They probably have people over right now and I’m not in the mood, it’s all.” He gave him a tiny smile, but he didn’t really mean it.

“Tell you what,” Tony started, choosing his next words carefully. “Why don’t you come to my place?” He saw from the corner of his eye when Peter almost broke his neck turning to look at him in surprise. “Just for a few hours, so you can cool down some. We can have a few drinks, grab a bite to eat, and once you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you home. Or you can crash there, whatever you prefer. What do you say?” He turned to look at the young man and his eyes were wide, mouth agape in shock. Tony almost wanted to laugh.

“Uh – I don’t – I don’t want to be a bother, sir, you’ve alre--”

“Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t be offering if it was a bother. You don’t need to say yes if you don’t want to, but if you do, you’ll make this old man very happy, I wouldn’t mind some company tonight.” Tony smiled charmingly at him and Peter blushed, the older man could tell there were a million things going through his head.

“Uhm. Okay. Yeah, sure.” He nodded and Tony’s heart did a little flip in his chest and he didn’t even know why. If he was honest, he had no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it, he just wasn’t ready to let the younger man go.

The rest of the drive was long and mostly silent. Peter was usually very lively and talkative in the lab, he always had some fun fact to share or an anecdote about something that happened in class, but that night he was gloomy and quiet, but he still answered to Tony’s small talk. When they arrived at the older man’s penthouse, Peter was a little nervous, looking around as if he was out of place, looking almost regretful. Tony decided that he hated seeing him like that.

“Hey, wanna see something cool?” He asked as soon as they walked into the living room. The young man turned to look at him curiously, a small smile on his face as he nodded. “Evening, Jarvis. Could you get the windows, please?” As he said that, Peter frowned, then jumped almost a foot in the air when the A.I. answered.

“Good evening, sir, I hope you had a good time at the party.” As he said that, an entire wall of the living room turned from blurred, dark glass to transparent glass, revealing an amazing view of the city skyline. “Good evening, Mr. Parker.”

“What – how – you have an AI here? How does he know who I am?” Peter half whispered, half shouted, apparently undecided if he should be concerned or amazed. Tony laughed and placed a hand on Peter’s lower back, guiding him towards the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“I don’t only have it, I made it. And he’s equipped with an advanced face recognition technology that I designed, in case anyone comes in here with ill intentions. I started working on Jarvis when I was at Hammer Industries, it was supposed to go to the military, but after I resigned, I decided to keep it to myself. Jarvis runs the house and helps me in the lab.” Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and observed as the young man leaned against the window, looking amazed and a little lost.

“So cool!” Peter’s eyes were round and excited, all the gloominess from earlier apparently forgotten. “Can I talk to him? Like, will it acknowledge my voice?”

“Of course, Mr. Parker, why wouldn’t I?”

“Hi, Jarvis!” And just like that, Peter stroke up the silliest conversation with Jarvis, as Tony headed to the kitchen. He decided that since Peter wasn’t really allowed to drink, he’d make them some coffee, and later they could order something to eat. When he went back to the living room, the young man was still leaning against one of the windows as Jarvis tried to convince him that he had no intention of starting a rebellion to wipe out humanity.

“Don’t worry, Jarvis wouldn’t do that,” Tony smiled, placing two mugs on the coffee table and Peter shrugged.

“I wish he would, sometimes I think we failed as a species.” He turned around to face the engineer with a cheeky smile. Fuck, he was so beautiful. “Thank you for everything, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

“You would have figured something out, you’re resourceful. Maybe you would have built a car out of a cardboard box, two paper clips and four potatoes.” He leaned against the window beside Peter and the young man looked up at him with a grin.

“Or maybe I would have found someone to lend me a charger so I could call an Uber?” He bumped Tony’s shoulder with his own and the older man scoffed.

“Yeah, but that would’ve been boring, don’t you think?” He raised a brow with a grave face and the young man laughed.

“You’re right, this is much more fun.” His face was so open, so beautiful, all awkwardness from before completely gone. Tony leaned in to whisper close to his ear.

“It can get better.” He pulled back a little to look at the boy’s face. He looked surprised, eyes wide and lips parted, but he didn’t pull away, he didn’t take a single step back, so Tony took a chance. He placed one hand gently on his cheek, testing his reaction, and Peter’s breath hitched, his gaze dropped to Tony’s lips, but he stood still, breathing rapidly but quietly. That was all the answer he needed.

He buried his hand in those curls he’d been dreaming about for months, as his other arm snaked around his thin waist, pulling him close, no chance of escape. Not that he thought that Peter would try to escape if he could, anyway. Tony felt intoxicated when their lips touched, Peter’s mouth was as soft as it looked, his skin as smooth as he imagined. The younger man melted against him, bodies flush together as Tony’s tongue begged for entrance in his mouth.

He pushed him against the window, once again testing the young man’s reaction to his advances, but Peter was so far gone, he barely seemed to notice they’d changed positions. Tony kissed him deeply, slowly, as his hands made their way around the boy’s hips, thumbs stroking his hipbones over the silk shirt, and he sighed. Tony licked into his mouth, swallowing his little gasps and whimpers, and he could tell that Peter had never been kissed like that before, if the way his legs gave out were any indication. He held him up, though, his body trapped between the older man’s and the cold window.

He felt Peter’s erection already poking his upper thigh and he smiled into the kiss, feeling his own cock start to swell against Peter’s lower stomach. He moaned quietly, pulling away from the kiss for a few seconds to check if the boy was doing okay, but Peter didn’t even open his eyes, he just rocked his hips slowly, rubbing his erection against Tony’s thigh. Feeling confident enough, the older man lowered his hands to his perfect ass, squeezing his cheeks tightly as he pulled him even closer to him. Just as he imagined, it was firm, yet supple, it filled his hands nicely, and Tony didn’t hesitate to lift him a little by the ass, aligning their cocks and pressing both erections together.

“Mr. Stark,” he whimpered, humping against Tony, trying to balance his weight on the tips of his toes as Tony held him up. The older man took advantage of the way he threw his head back, exposing his throat, to make his way down his skin, peppering his long, pale neck with kisses and bites. Peter moaned as he tried to undo Tony’s suit jacket, which he allowed, putting just a little distance between them. He went back to his mouth with another kiss, faster than before, more urgent, before pulling away just a few inches, panting against the kid’s mouth.

“C’mon, babe, let me take you to bed,” he whispered and Peter nodded quickly.

Tony took his hand and led him to his own room, and as soon as they were inside, he pushed Peter against the king sized bed and quickly started working on his shirt, every inch of silky, white skin it revealed made the older man harder. Peter smelt and looked expensive as fuck, his skin was smooth as a baby’s, not a single hair in sight, and it was soft and unmarked, peppered only with a few light brown freckles along the collarbones. His nipples were tiny and light pink, hard from excitement and begging to be bitten.

Tony wanted to eat him up – and out – he always looked good when they were in the lab, in his cute slacks, dress shoes and lab jacket, but that night he looked delicious, like an expensive meal, and Tony was a starving man. He got rid of the shirt, revealing his thin chest and surprisingly defined abs, and he worshiped the exposed skin, covered it with open mouthed, wet kisses and bites until it turned red from the abuse. He wanted to mark him up, leave bruises on him so that at least for a while, Peter could be his.

He took a perked up nipple in his mouth and sucked it mercilessly, as he pinched the other one between his fingers, and Peter gasped, hands flying to grab Tony’s shoulders. He didn’t waste too much time, though, and quickly started undoing his pants, pulling them down his legs. The act revealed even more soft, smooth skin and plump, soft thighs that the older man couldn’t help biting. Peter whined quietly when Tony splayed his open palms on his legs and squeezed, as he sucked bruises on the boy’s inner thighs. His face was so close to his cock, covered only in tight, black boxer briefs, so Tony rubbed his cheek against it and Peter cried out. As soon as he lowered his boxers, Peter’s cock sprung free, and Tony was delighted. It was small and flushed pink, rock hard and already dripping pre-cum. The older man didn’t think twice as he put it all in his mouth, eliciting a scream from the young man.

“Oh, my God, Mr. Stark!” He bucked his hips wildly, his legs falling open, and, for the second time that evening, Tony thought that maybe nobody had ever done that to him. “Oh, God! Fuck!” He kept moaning desperately, as Tony sank his fingers in his ass cheeks, bobbing his head up and down, sucking and licking his shaft and paying extra attention to the head. Peter kept both of his hands beside his body, clenching at the sheets, not daring to touch Tony or demand anything. The second the older man’s fingers touched his balls, he lost it. “Mr. Stark, please, I – Oh, God, oh my God –“ He blushed furiously, Tony noticed when he raised his head and let go of his cock with a loud pop.

His whole face and chest were flushed pink, he held his upper body up, resting on his elbows as he panted, looking thoroughly debauched. His once gelled curls were wild and loose, covering his forehead, and Tony just wanted to ruin him even more. He smirked at the younger man, who seemed completely out of it, barely able to understand what was happening. Tony lifted his legs, pressing his bent knees to his chest and Peter got the idea and held his legs in place, exposing himself beautifully to him.

The older man’s mouth watered as he looked at his quivering, pink hole. It looked so fucking tight and so fucking ready for his cock at the same time, he could see Peter was mortified in that position, but he still held himself open, so eager for what was to come. Tony grabbed his ass cheeks and spread them, burying his face in his crack and licking a stripe up from his tailbone to his balls, only to hear the young man screaming desperately.

Tony was feeling really smug, he didn’t remember the last he made anyone scream like that. He was always a generous lover, he liked giving his partners pleasure, but Peter didn’t seem to be used to it if his reactions were anything to go by, so the older man took even more pleasure in making him feel so good.

“Mr. Stark, I’m gonna – I’m not gonna last, please!” Tony pretended not to hear him, as he kept licking over his rim before he started to try to breach him with his tongue, as Peter cried out, bucking his hips. The older man held him in place and kept trying to fuck his tongue into him, until he felt Peter’s fingers in his hair, pulling him up. “I wanna come with you inside me – please,” he whispered once Tony’s lips were over his mouth, his cock perfectly aligned with the boy’s hole.

He grunted and kissed him again, just as wildly and roughly as he did before. The young man quickly started undoing Tony’s shirt, and only then did he realize that he was still dressed as Peter laid on his bed completely naked. He groaned into the kiss, because fuck, that was hot, but he helped the boy take off his shirt and undershirt.

Peter curled one leg around his waist, kissing Tony back enthusiastically and a little less shyly now that the older was a little undressed as well. He ran his soft hands all over Tony’s broad back, then up his shoulders and into his thick hair, all the while moaning and bucking his hips, begging to be touched. Tony took advantage of the position they were in to slide his fingers in between Peter’s cheeks, feeling his tight entrance twitch, anticipating the touch. He didn’t do much more, though, he just kept kneading his ass, letting his fingertips just slightly brush against his quivering hole.

Peter grew impatient then, and instead of pushing his hips up, against Tony’s own cock, he started pushing then down, against his fingers. The older man chuckled, brushing his chin against the pale neck, already noticing it turning pink with beard burn.

“Mr. Stark, c’mon, please, I--” He mumbled incoherently, holding on for dear life to his shoulders, his breath short, swollen, wet lips parted, his lids heavy. A vision of paradise. “I need--”

Tony knew what he needed, but he wouldn’t give it to him just yet. Still, he let his middle finger wander towards his entrance, feeling his hole clenching, trying to pull it inside, ready to take whatever Tony was willing to give. He grabbed his thighs again, spreading them far apart, making Peter yelp in surprise. He kissed his hole gently one last time, then moved away, getting off the bed.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.” Tony smirked, undoing his pants, and he noticed Peter’s eyes intent on him. As soon as his cock sprung free, the young man whimpered, whispering “fuck” and biting his lips hard. “Like what you see?” Tony asked, cockily, he knew it was a nice view. He was nicely groomed and his cock was cut, long and thick, and at the moment it was rock hard like never before and dripping with pre-cum. He stepped out of his pants and headed towards the night stand before Peter could answer. He grabbed a bottle lube and made his way back to the bed, positioning himself between his legs once again.

He coated his fingers with plenty of lube and breached his entrance with one fingertip, only to hear a long, deep moan coming from the younger man, who clung to his shoulders for dear life. He fucked his finger in and out of him, slowly at first, but quicker as Peter’s hips started moving along with him, begging for more. Tony leaned down and kissed him, and felt one of Peter’s hands in his hair, as he curled both of his legs around the older man’s waist. Tony kept kissing him as he sunk another finger in his hole, eliciting a surprised moan from him, as he tried to adjust to the stretch.

They kept kissing and rocking against each other eagerly, as Tony fucked him open with his fingers, scissoring and curling them, until he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to be inside him. He drew back just enough to hold his cock, guiding it towards Peter’s entrance. Slowly and unrelentingly, Tony sank his cock inside him, blinded with pleasure as each inch sank further inside. Peter whined in pain but didn’t budge or asked him to stop, he took it like a good boy, holding still, legs spread wide, until Tony bottomed out. When he did, he wrapped his arms around his slight frame, lifting him a little from the bed, and Peter took a deep breath, holding his shoulders.

“That’s it, sweetie, you’re so good for me, I’m gonna make you feel so good.” Tony whispered nonsensically in his ear, kissing his cheeks and neck gently, waiting for him to adjust. They stayed like that for a few seconds, until Peter started rocking his hips slowly, and Tony soon caught on. He grabbed his hips and slammed once inside him, hearing a scream coming from the younger man. He drew back and slowly built up a pace, slamming against him like there was no tomorrow. He moaned loudly, a mixture of pleasure and pain, Tony could tell, but instead of asking him to slow down, he pushed back against him just as hard, biting his neck.

Tony may have lost his mind somewhere along the way, pure instinct took over as he fucked into him with abandon, he heard his screams and moans and they made him hit harder, harder, and he thought he heard the younger man screaming just that, as he sank his nails into his shoulders and down his back, until he grabbed Tony’s ass and pulled him closer, faster, harder –

“Oh – Oh, Mr. Stark – I –“ Peter rolled his eyes back and it took Tony the better part of a minute to realize that he was coming, and he hadn’t even touched his cock. Spurts of his warm, white come covered both of their chests and Tony could feel that some of it caught on his chin. The sight of Peter underneath him – debauched, utterly satisfied, ruined – was enough to bring Tony over the edge, the force of his orgasm was almost blinding, something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He let himself fall on top of Peter, barely aware of the fact that he was maybe a little too heavy for that, but the younger man didn’t seem to mind, if the soft, barely there caresses on his back were anything to go by.

They were silent for several minutes, bodies cooling down and falling asleep, but Tony’s mind was wide awake. What had he done? Peter was supposed to be off limits for a number of reasons, so many he couldn’t even focus on a single one. He felt the young man sigh softly under him, his hands drawing circles on his back peacefully.

“This was nice,” he whispered and it triggered something in Tony, because, fuck, it was perfect. It was perfect, but it was a lie, wasn’t it? Peter wasn’t really into him. He was just – he was just a fucking –

“I really hope this was a free trial, ‘cause I don’t think I can afford you, kid.” The minute the words left his mouth, he felt the younger man go rigid beneath him. He quickly pushed at Tony’s shoulders, trying to raise his upper body and the older man easily rolled off of him to the side, resting his head on his clasped hands on the pillow.

“What are you insinuating?” Peter asked with a frown, suddenly appearing very uncomfortable, gathering the sheets around him to cover his exposed skin.

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m just saying I don’t think I have enough money to pay for this very expensive meal.” He wiggled his eyebrows, smirking, pretending he wasn’t as affected by what happened as he was. Peter turned bright red, his mouth falling open, gaping like a fish.

“What – I –“ he stammered, frozen for a few seconds before he jumped into action and out of bed, taking the sheets with him as he looked for his clothes around the room. “I can’t believe you just said that, you fucking asshole! Fuck you!” He yelled towards the bed and Tony was a little surprised by his reaction.

“Chill, it was a joke.” He rolled his eyes, noticing that he young man was almost fully dressed by then, at least he had his pants and shirt on, his tie and jacket were draped over his arm as he looked for his shoes. When he turned back to Tony, his whole face was inhumanly red and soaked in tears, it made Tony’s heart clench. “Jesus, kid!”

“I’m not laughing, asshole!” He yelled again, marching towards the door without looking back. “You’re all the fucking same, bunch of assholes, what was I thinking? I’m so fucking stup– ” Tony couldn’t hear the rest of his rant because he slammed the door with so much force that the older man was pretty sure he felt the building shaking a little bit.

Well, fuck.

--*--

Two weeks later, when Tony stepped inside the lab, he had a whole plan figured out. After Peter left that night, he went through all five stages of admitting he had been an asshole – as was common for him, he usually went through those at least a few times a week.

So, first, he denied it.

“The kid is obviously overreacting, right? It was just a joke and, even if it wasn’t, well, I wouldn’t have been that far off from the truth.”

Then, he was angry.

“Fuck that kid, he had no right to react the way he did, who does he think he is, slamming the door like that, yelling at me, calling me names, all because of a stupid little joke? Fuck him.”

Then, he bargained.

“So, okay, maybe I was a little over the line, but I can fix it, right? It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Then he felt a little sad, because, fuck, thinking back to their time together, the kid had never been anything but nice to him, he didn’t deserve that and Tony always fucked up with people, what was wrong with him?

Finally, he fully accepted it. He was definitely, irrevocably and undoubtedly an asshole. They had a nice time together, the kid was the best lay he had in fucking years, and sure, maybe he was with Norman for money or whatever, but what they did, what they shared that night – it felt pretty fucking real and Tony blew it.

So when he walked into the lab two weeks later, he had it all figured out. He would ask Peter to stay a little late, then, when everybody left, he would apologize to him sincerely and since he had a taste for expensive gifts, he even got him a gold bracelet, just as an “I’m sorry I was an asshole” gift, a peace offering.

The thing was, when he walked into the lab, Peter was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Mr. Parker?” He asked the closest lab tech and the young woman shrugged, uninterested.

“He quit a few weeks ago, I heard.” She mumbled, concentrated on the microscope in front of her, and Tony cursed under his breath, feeling even more guilty than before. Had the kid felt so offended that he decided to quit the team? That couldn’t be right, he was Norman’s boy, how would he justify that to him? He wouldn’t tell him about them, would he? Tony figured that if he had told Norman anything, he would have heard about it by then, but everything seemed normal and in order, other than Peter’s absence from the lab.

“He went back to being Mr. Osborn’s intern?” He asked just to clarify, maybe he could go talk to him after he was done in the lab for the day.

“No, he quit Oscorps.” She looked at him like he was asking dumb questions, like everyone should know that piece of information.

Tony did not expect that. His heart raced a little when he heard those words, for some reason. He thought he should be relieved, one less thing to worry about. With Peter gone, he wouldn’t need to worry about apologizing or Norman finding out about them. He didn’t need to worry about things getting weird in the lab or Peter trying to use it against him or something. But he wasn’t relieved. He was – what was he feeling? Whenever he thought about the possibility of not seeing Peter ever again, his heart clenched.

The engineer couldn’t understand what was going on inside him, he just needed to talk to Peter, fucking apologize, get him back on the team, make sure that they would still see each other every month, that they would still talk, and laugh together, and share a workbench so small their hips touched every now and again.

Which was why Tony found himself waiting at the main entrance of Columbia's Morningside Heights campus on Wednesday evening, probably looking suspicious as hell as he swept the crowd, looking for a familiar face. It was a long shot, but he new Peter had classes every afternoon and he knew at what time he was done most days. He guessed the young man would take a train at the subway station on 116th Street, so there he was, looking and waiting.

After almost two hours and no luck, Tony was ready to give up and leave when he saw him walking out, arms full of text books, a heavy looking backpack hanging from one shoulder. He was wearing reading glasses, baggy, ripped jeans, and a graphic t-shirt underneath an oversized gray hoodie and Tony realized he had never seen him like that, he was always well dressed at work and he only ever saw him in other two occasions: his dinner with Norman and at the gala.

Tony thought he looked even more beautiful like that, stripped off of all the fancy things that made him look like an expensive doll. He looked at ease and comfortable and Tony felt a weird desire to hold him. Fucking hold him. Not rip off his clothes and fuck him – well, that too – but to take him into his arms, pull him close and breathe into his his wild curls.

“Hey, Peter,” Tony called out loud enough for him to hear and as soon as his eyes made contact with the older man’s, his face turned red and his eyes widened before he dropped his gaze to the ground, picking up the pace to walk away from Tony. “Hey, hold on, kid, c’mon, I’m talking to you.” The engineer quickly followed, grabbing him by the arm and making him turn around.

“What do you want, what are you doing here?” He asked impatiently, looking around as if afraid to make a scene, there were a lot of people walking in and out of campus at that time.

“You quit Oscorps,” the older man stated, dumbly, and Peter stared at him as if he wanted to say just that. He waited to see if Tony would say anything more and he really meant to, but nothing else came out of his stupid mouth.

“Yeah, and?” He prompted, holding his books close to his chest defensively, getting ready for a fight, but Tony just shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“And now I don’t have any engineers on my team,” he offered, as kind of a joke, he thought, but again, Peter wasn’t laughing.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He rolled his eyes and tried to walk away, but Tony held him back again. “What the hell, don’t touch me!”

“Ok, sorry, I’m sorry.” He let go of his arm and raised both of his hands in a peace offering. “I’m trying to apologize here, I’m not very good at this.”

“Clearly,” Peter snarked, and Tony nodded.

“Right. Ok. I deserve that. Look, let me just –“ He wracked his brain for something to say, he really should have thought it through. The thing was, he thought Peter would be a little more… Compliant. He didn’t expect him to still be that pissed off after almost two weeks. “Let me treat you to dinner, how about that? So we can clear the air?”

“No, thanks,” Peter answered quickly and started to walk away again, heading to the subway station. Since grabbing him and trying to stop him didn’t seem like a good idea, Tony started walking alongside him.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t be so stubborn, I’m just trying to apologize here,” he insisted, attracting Peter’s impatient gaze, as he still tried to balance all the books in his arms.

“You’re forgiven, is that what you wanna hear?” He snapped, and Tony was taken aback by the anger and hurt in his eyes. “There you go. You’re absolved! Goodbye now.” Again, he tried to leave the older man behind, but Tony didn’t let him.

“Hey, kid, don’t be so difficult, I just--”

“Tony!” Weirdly enough, after everything they’d done, that was the first time the younger man called him by his first name and even if the situation was less than ideal, it still sent a shiver down his spine. The boy stopped walking to look at him dead in the eye. “You called me a whore, now you’re asking me to dinner! What am I supposed to think here? I’m not for sale, I’m sorry if I misled you, go bother someone else.”

“Peter, I’m sincerely, honest to God, just trying to apologize here. I know I was an asshole and you didn’t deserve to be treated like that, nobody does, I’m sorry, I was way out of line. I just wanna take you to dinner because I think you’re a good kid, I know you enjoyed working with me and you looked up to me somehow, so I just wanna make it up to you, ok? I promise, nothing else. I just don’t want you to have the wrong impression of me. I’m a good guy, I’m just kind of an asshole sometimes.” Tony tried to convey all his honesty through his eyes, which made Peter deflate a little bit. The young man stared at him for a few seconds with a frown on his forehead, before he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“You’re very annoying,” he said, matter-of-factly, and the older man nodded.

“I’m known to be quite annoying, yeah,” he admitted, putting on his best pleading face, puppy eyes and all. “Let me make it up to you,” he insisted, and Peter rolled his eyes and sighed in resignation.

“Fine, dinner. Not tonight, though, I have work.” Tony cheered on the inside – and a little on the outside – but the younger man kept a straight face.

“Whenever you’re free.” Peter thought for a second and it almost seemed like he was regretting it already.

“Tomorrow, then. You can pick me up here. And I’ll choose the restaurant.” He stuck up his nose, defiantly, and Tony just spread his arms in surrender.

“Fair enough.”

So Tony decided to be a perfect gentleman, he put on a nice suit, he bought some flowers and took the gold “I’m sorry I was a jerk” bracelet with him when he went to pick Peter up. He was sure he would pick the most expensive restaurant in New York as payback and maybe he would order the most expensive things on the menu and, yeah, Tony knew he was really stupid if he were to comply, but, apparently, he wasn’t as smart as he once thought. And apparently he wasn’t immune to cute boys who knew how to play their cards right. So, yeah, maybe he fell right into Peter’s web in the end and maybe he wasn’t too upset about it. He could afford to spend a few dollars on him, have a good meal, smart conversations, and then move on. Because that’s what it was, right? Just him needing closure, if nothing else.

Except, when he parked his car, Peter was standing on the sidewalk in plain blue jeans and a cheap gray sweater and he looked thoroughly amused by Tony’s outfit when he got out of the car to get the door for him. He offered him the flowers and the boy was even more amused, a small chuckle leaving his lips when he read the “I’m sorry I was a jerk” card. Tony decided not to give him the bracelet after all, didn’t seem like a good idea by the looks of it.

“Where do you think we’re going?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, stopping in front of Tony before he got in the car.

“I was thinking a three-star Michellin restaurant?” The older man frowned and the boy snorted, apparently very amused.

“Yeah, and how in the hell would I afford to eat there, Mr. Stark?” He cocked his head to the side with feigned curiosity and Tony frowned.

“Afford? What – no, I’m buying! This is an ‘I’m sorry’ dinner. Besides, I invited you, it’s only polite.” He argued, but the boy quickly shook his head.

“You’ve apologized enough.” He gestured to the flowers. “Besides, I’m sorry, but I’m a little skeptical about gratuitous generosity at the moment, so we’re just gonna get some cheap pizza if that’s ok with you.” He shrugged, pointing in the general direction of the pizza place he was probably planning to go.

“What? Peter, come on. At least –“

“I only agreed to come if you let me choose the restaurant, so it’s either this or I’m heading back home.” He threatened to turn away and Tony jumped to stop him.

“No, no, sorry, you’re right. It’s your pick.” He opened the door to the passenger seat before Peter could change his mind and leave.

They got inside the car and Tony followed the young man’s instructions to the pizza joint, it wasn’t far from campus and was mostly empty when they got there. It was really not the sort of place that Tony went to anymore, but he couldn’t deny that was exactly the kind of restaurant he could afford when he was 19 at MIT. He was still a little confused by Peter’s choice of restaurant, not really sure if it was all a game, a plot to get back at him, but he seemed honest when he said he wanted to pay for his half.

“Maybe lose the jacket? And the tie?” He suggested with an amused smile from beside him when they parked the car and Tony chuckled slightly, doing just that and undoing the first three buttons of his shirt, rolling up the sleeves as well. “Much better.”

When they got inside the restaurant, Peter seemed to know the waiters, they sat at a table in the far back and ordered their drinks. They didn’t even have wine. A pizza place that didn’t serve wine, what even was that madness.

“So, you come here a lot? Everyone seems to know you around here.” Tony tried to start some amicable conversation and, surprisingly, Peter was receptive.

“I used to work here, actually. Before Oscorps.” He smiled fondly as he looked around, like he had some good memories there.

“Oh, cool.” Again, he was surprised by the boy’s story, Tony always assumed that he had an easy life. “Did I – was it because of me? The reason you quit?” He asked with a wince and Peter raised a brow, amused.

“Don’t be so self-important, it had nothing to do with you,” he rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, so Tony thought maybe he wasn’t that mad anymore. He sure seemed a lot calmer than the last time they met. “You’re a jerk, but I’ve dealt with worse.” Tony snorted, he couldn’t even be mad, Peter was just stating facts. He was a little curious to know what led him to quit his job, if it wasn’t Tony, and suddenly remembered how upset he was when they left the party. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask, though, they were just getting back on good terms.

“So, what are you doing now that you quit Oscorps?” Tony cocked his head to the side and the boy shrugged, playing with his paper napkin.

“Back to waiting tables and making coffee.” He smiled, he didn’t seem upset by the turn of events, which was… unexpected? It was just so odd. Tony had this idea that Peter liked to live that expensive lifestyle he had with Osborn, wasn’t that the whole point of being with him? His confusion must have shown on his face, because Peter chuckled, furrowing his brow. “What?”

“Nothing, I just –” He shook his head and gave up in the middle of the sentence.

“What, you thought I’d find another rich dude or something?” He creased his brow, looking genuinely confused, not mad. “Wait, do you actually think I’m an escort?” He asked as an afterthought, and Tony could deny it, but he didn’t think he could make it believable anyway.

“Not exactly, but – something like that, yeah,” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed for the first time in a long time, and braced himself for the explosion, but Peter just showed him a sad little smile.

“You thought I was with him for his money,” he stated and Tony winced, because when Peter said it out loud, when those words came out of his mouth, they sounded so wrong. Like they could never be true. “It’s okay, I guess he thought that, too, and so did everyone else. My coworkers, the press, even some of my friends,” he scoffed, folding his napkin in half just to have something to do with his hands. “I guess I’m just a stupid kid who watched way too many Disney princess movies growing up. I blame my aunt, honestly.” He tried to joke and Tony shook his head.

“I shouldn’t have judged you, it wasn’t my place. I just thought it was so odd for a guy like you to be with a guy like him.” Such a beautiful, brilliant, young man like you deserved so much better than him, was what Toy didn��t dare to say.

“I loved him,” he said and it shouldn’t have stung, it shouldn’t have made Tony’s stomach twist and turn, and his heart clench, but it did. It fucking did. “Or I thought I did. Turns out I got it all wrong. I thought we were going somewhere, but he wasn’t really serious about me, which became very clear when he decided not to take me to the gala, so.” He blushed slightly and dropped his eyes to the table, still folding the napkin until it was impossible to keep folding.

“Yeah, but you still came. Why?” Tony insisted, because he really wanted to figure him out, he needed to, because Peter wasn’t who he thought he was, he wasn’t that person Tony was so quick to judge and he needed to know who he was, after all. Because – he just needed to.

“I guess I – I just thought... He would regret it or something, you know. Once he saw me.” He gave a self-deprecatory laugh, rubbing a hand across his forehead as if trying to physically erase something from his mind. “Like… A stupid rom-com or something, you know. Like, the happy ending scene. Whatever. It’s stupid.” He ran a hand through his hair, blushing even harder. “Again, I blame my aunt, she was the one who made me watch all these stupid movies.”

Tony wanted to say it wasn’t his fault that everybody else was fucked up and couldn’t see what an amazing person he was, but the waiter chose that moment to interrupt them with their food, which was good, because Peter perked up and actually looked excited, rubbing his hands together and looking at Tony expectantly.

“Try it, tell me if it’s not the best pizza you’ve ever had in your life.” Tony smiled at his excitement and grabbed a piece of the cheap pizza. As expected, it tasted like garbage, but he wouldn’t tell Peter that, obviously.

“Sorry, kid, it’s not. But I’m forty-five and I’ve been to Italy, so don’t look so bummed.” Peter deflated slightly, grabbing a piece of his own and taking a huge bite out of it, like it was the best meal ever.

“Fine then, the best pizza in New York?” He compromised and Tony was a hundred percent sure it was most definitely not the best pizza in New York, but –

“I’ll give you that.” He conceded and Peter beamed.

“I’ll take it.”

They fell into an easy conversation about engineering and about Peter’s expectations for the future, which ended up turning into a conversation about what Tony did after college. The older man told him about all the steps he took to get where he was, working for other companies, having his ideas stolen, not getting credit for his work, quitting multiple jobs, almost going bankrupt trying to get Stark Industries off the ground and then finally being in a comfortable place in his professional life at 45 – better late than never.

“I think it’s amazing how you managed to turn your life around, you know. It’s really inspiring.” Peter seemed truly moved by Tony’s story, and the older man knew it was quite impressive, but he just shrugged it off.

“Yeah, boo-hoo, but now that you know my sob story, you have to tell me yours.” He took another bite of the terrible pizza and decided that sometime after the third slice, it became almost edible. Key-word: almost.

“Well, there’s not much to say and it’s definitely not as interesting or as successful as yours, but let’s see. My parents died when I was really young, I think I was around four – I’m ashamed to say I don’t really remember them. I still have their pictures, but I just – you know.” Peter shrugged and, yeah, Tony knew. After his mom died, he couldn’t look at pictures of her for years; at the same time that he wanted to remember her, he kind of wanted to forget. “I was raised by my aunt May and uncle Ben, but he was killed in a mugging when I was ten. Fuck, my life story is such a downer, are you sure you wanna hear it?” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, and Tony smiled softly.

“As long as you wanna tell it, kid.” Peter took a deep breath, as if considering if he actually wanted to tell that story, but finally seemed to decide to go on.

“So, my aunt May was a nurse, she struggled to make ends meet, but she was just – amazing, you know? She was like a mother to me, she never left me wanting for anything, specially when it came to my education, which was how I was able to get into college so early. Anyway, she passed away almost two years ago from a stomach cancer. So… It’s just me now. I’m the last Parker standing.” He smiled sadly, dropping his gaze to stare at the slice of uneaten pizza in his plate.

“Fuck, that’s rough, kid. But hey, if it’s any consolation, I’m also the last Stark standing. Maybe we should start a club or something,” he joked to try to lighten up the mood and the young man giggled, looking back at him with a smile.

“Like, the Parker-Stark Lonely Orphans Club?” He asked cheekily and Tony laughed. “Anyway, a year ago I got into Oscorps’s internship program, which was a dream come true, but then I screwed it up by sleeping with the boss, because I’m an idiot. The end.” He snorted and, again, Tony was a little surprised to learn that Peter got the internship before he met Norman, but at that point, it wasn’t much of a shock, he should have seen it coming.

“So, can I ask what happened? Between you and Norman? What made you quit?” Tony asked carefully. As the night went on, he felt like he and Peter were getting more comfortable with each other, more comfortable than they could ever be all those months before, when Tony made such an effort to despise him.

“Ugh, it’s… Well, it’s embarrassing.” It was barely a whisper. Peter’s cheeks were bright red and he wouldn’t meet Tony gaze.

“It’s okay, you don't have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He reassured him, feeling confident enough to place a hand on top of his on the table. Peter stared at them for a few seconds, before looking up at him.

“It’s… Something he did at the party. He kept pushing me to this guy, you know. Some business partner or whatever. And I didn’t quite understand what he was trying to accomplish, but then I went to the bathroom and this guy followed me there and he – he tried – to kiss me. And to touch me.” He blushed, gaze fixed on the table between them once again. Tony tightened his grip on his hand. “When I pushed him away he said something about Norman not knowing how to teach his whores good manners. When I tried to talk to Norman – he said I owed him.” He frowned, lifting his eyes to look at him. “For all the expensive gifts, and nice restaurants, and everything he did for me. He said it was the least I could do.” He scoffed, but his cheeks were pink, like maybe some part of him believed that – believed that while he thought he was dating someone he loved, he was actually whoring himself out to him.

“That’s why you were so upset at the party,” he whispered, realizing what a massive jerk he’d been after that. The kid must have been feeling like shit that day. Used and expendable and lost. And then Tony treated him like a fucking cheap hooker. “Peter… I’m so sorry for that night, I didn’t –“

“It’s okay, I’m fine now. Don’t get me wrong, it was a total dick move, but I already knew you were kind of a dick, so no alarms, no surprises.” He smirked, trying to lighten the mood, but nothing he could say could ever absolve Tony of what he’d done, of the harm he’d caused him that night. Fuck, if he was Peter, he would never have talked to him again, let alone agreed to dinner. His behavior the previous night suddenly made perfect sense. “I quit the next day, put his stupid gifts in a box and sent it to the tower, he can choke on them for all that I care.” He shrugged, trying to appear non-nonchalant, but Tony knew the whole thing must still fucking hurt, it had only been two weeks.

“I sincerely hope he does,” Tony offered and Peter laughed out loud, throwing his head back in delight.

When they walked to the car at the end of the night, Tony could feel that something had changed between them. He felt like all that time he knew Peter he had been missing a huge chunk of information, which made all the difference in the world. He could see Peter now, the real him. The ride to his place was taken in comfortable silence and when Tony parked his car, neither of them moved. The older man turned towards the younger one and licked his lips. He knew the answer to the question he was gonna ask, he knew he deserved it, but still –

“Can I get you number?” It wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to apologize, show the kid a good time as a way of making it up to him for the terrible things he said and move on. Go back to work, go back to his life, but now – now he was stuck. Looking at Peter and seeing a whole new person. Someone he wanted to get to know more, but knew he didn’t deserve.

“Oh, I don’t know, do you think you can afford it?” Peter teased, and Tony actually blushed, embarrassed to remember how much of a dick he’d been.

“Ugh, I said I was sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand across his face, only to hear Peter’s delighted chuckle.

“I’m just kidding, don’t worry. But I don’t think It’s a good idea, Tony.” He bit his lower lip and Tony nodded to himself, because, yeah, he knew it wasn’t. It shouldn’t be. Because Peter deserved so much better than him. “But this was nice. Thank you for caring enough to apologize.”

“It was the least I could do.” He gave him a small smile and was taken by surprised when the young man unceremoniously leaned in and kissed him. Tony didn’t waste any time burying his hand in his hair, pulling him impossibly close as their lips brushed softly and tongues met in a sweet embrace. The young man pulled away after just a few seconds, though, and Tony didn’t even have the courage to open his eyes and acknowledge it was over. “Are you sure this isn’t a good idea? Because it sure tastes like a great fucking idea. I would know, I have great ideas all the time, ask anyone.” Tony whispered and Peter laughed, his face was still so close the older man could feel his breath on his lips.

“Goodbye, Tony. Good luck with your company,” he smiled, as he opened to door to get out of the car.

“I’ll miss you on my team.” Which was to say, I’ll miss you. Plain and simple.

“I’m sure you’ll find a replacement in no time.” I won’t, I don’t want to. I want you. “Gotta go now, I have work in the morning. Bye!” He got out and closed the door behind him, waving one last time before he walked away.

“Goodbye, Peter,” he whispered to the empty car, hands clutching the steering-wheel as he watched the boy disappear into the building.

--*--

Working at Oscorps was not the same without Peter. First, because he was actually a very good intern who helped a lot with every single task Tony assigned him. Second, because even though he hadn’t noticed it before, he always looked forward to talking to him. To learning those tiny little pieces of information the boy let escape through his lips once in a while, only to blush profusely and apologize seconds later.

Still, he kept going. Norman never bothered him, which was nice, and as the remaining months passed, Tony’s name became more and more recognizable, he closed so many deals over the course of that year, he was able to more than double his team and the office and lab they used to work got way too small for them. He started looking for some other place to go and the more he thought about it, more sense it made to move SI headquarters to California. Most of his partners were there and he would also be closer to his suppliers and many other business opportunities.

So after talking to Pepper, Nat, Rhodey, Happy and Bruce – “the original six”, as they liked to call themselves, including Tony –, he decided to move right after his contract with Oscorps was done in December. Those last few months were crazy and got crazier when B.A.R.F. was finally announced to the public. Both the product and the technology behind it sent Stark Industries to a whole other level, their stocks skyrocketed and Tony literately became the richest man in New York overnight, even richer than Norman – and that was saying something.

Which was why, when December rolled around and Osborn invited him to dinner to discuss the possibility of renewing the contract and he showed up with some supermodel hanging off his arm, he couldn’t help but think of the first time he was in that same situation. He remembered how nervous he was before the dinner, how excited he felt when they closed the deal and how gorgeous Peter looked that night. But he remembered, specially, what Osborn did to the younger man months after that. How he’d treated him, what he’d said to him.

“So, what do you say, Stark? Wanna be partners for five more years?” Osborn’s smile was kind of creepy, he hadn’t noticed it before. He offered him a hand and Tony stared at it for what felt like hours, although it was probably only a few seconds. It was great fucking deal, way better than the one he had before, but –

“You know what, Norman?” He smiled to himself and took a deep breath, wishing he was wearing his smart glasses so he could record his reaction. “Fuck you.” He beamed, standing up from his chair, admiring the expression of shock and horror on the older man’s face. He buttoned his suit jacket and, still smiling like a madman, left the restaurant like he owned the place – which he could, if he wanted.

On his last night in New York, he decided to look for Peter. He didn’t want to pressure him or anything, but they hadn’t seen each other in almost six months, so maybe something might have changed for him. Tony still couldn’t get him out of his head, each day that passed he wished he’d done things differently, so fucking differently.

He wished he’d been nicer, from day one. He wished he had lived up to his expectations, his hero worship. He wished he could have been a decent human being, a shoulder to cry on that night he was so vulnerable and broken. He wished he could have wooed him and gotten him to fall in love with him, the way he’d fallen for him.

He wanted a second chance, he really did, but when he knocked on the door of the apartment the boy used to live, the place where Tony had said goodbye to him all those months ago, some stoned college kid answered the door. When he asked about Peter, the boy just shrugged.

“He moved away a while ago, dude. Got a job somewhere or something.”

So that was it. Tony didn’t have his number and Peter wasn’t on social media – at least Jarvis couldn’t find him, and he sure as hell looked. So he gathered the last of his stuff and left New York for good, mind wandering to those few moments he’d spent with Peter, thinking how different things could have been if he hadn’t been so quick to judge.

No point crying over spilled milk.

Stark Industries flourished in L.A. All of Tony’s crazy, genius ideas were funded, so he finally finished his arc reactor project – something he’d started as a teen, but didn’t have the resources to continue – and started a line of electronics – computers, cellphones, tablets, all the good stuff. After the first couple of months, he bought a mansion in Malibu, just because he could, and finally felt like his life was heading in the right direction.

Still, it felt like there was a Peter-shaped whole in it, which was insane, they’d only known each other for a little over five months, it made no sense how much he missed him, they hadn’t seen each other in almost a year, and still there were nights he could fucking smell Peter’s scent on his sheets – sheets he’d never even laid on. Could feel his soft skin under his fingertips as he hugged his pillow close to his chest, the way he wished he’d held him that night when he stormed off, humiliated and hurt. Those nights he couldn’t sleep, could only stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out time travel, just so he could go back and fix things.

Once he was settled in California, he was invited to give lectures in universities all over the country. MIT was first, then NYU, Stanford, Yale, UCLA and, finally, Caltech in late November. His lectures were usually about the arc reactor, clean energy was in fashion, everybody was talking about it, and the fact that he figured out cold nuclear fusion was still a very hot topic.

It was still early in the evening when he finished his lecture at Caltech, a few students stayed behind to ask him questions or just talk for a bit, Tony had become sort of a celebrity for nerds, and he didn’t mind staying a little late talking to those starry-eyed kids, so it was already dark out when he was done. When he thought he was alone, he started gathering his things, thinking of somewhere he could eat in Pasadena before he headed back to Malibu, when he heard it. That sweet, unmistakable voice.

“That was a hell of a lecture.” Tony turned around slowly, almost afraid to be wrong, but there was no way he’d be. Peter was there, staring back at him, standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest and a slight blush on his cheeks. “Hey. Long time, no see.”

“You ran away from me, kid.” He breathed out, letting his hands fall to his sides, even though they itched to touch, his legs were shaking with desire to run to the younger man, but he stood still, afraid that if he moved, the spell would be broken and he would realize that Peter was just an illusion.

“That’s a big ego you got there if you think I’d make such a dramatic life change just for you, old man.” He stepped into the room slowly, until he was standing right in front of Tony, close enough to touch, but neither of them did. “I’m getting my Masters here. I heard you were coming for a lecture.”

“So you came by to say hi?” Tony cocked his head to the side and Peter chuckled, nodding.

“Yes. Hi.” He perched himself on the desk Tony was using during his lecture and it was the older man’s turn to move to stand in front of him.

“Hi.” He smiled, stepping closer, paying attention to see if the young man was in any way uncomfortable by his actions, but he didn’t even flinch.

“So, I heard you ditched Norman.” He crossed his arms over his chest again, a small smile on his lips.

“I believe my exact words were ‘fuck you’, actually.” That made Peter laugh, throwing his head back and exposing his long throat. “I missed you kid.”

“Couldn’t find an intern to make you coffee and fawn over you while you were at Oscorps?” He jabbed a finger in his chest and Tony caught it in his hand.

“Couldn’t find you. Anywhere. And I looked.” He confessed, not letting go of his hand, not looking away from his eyes. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you and all the things I didn’t say.”

“Such as?” Peter asked coyly, biting his lower lip as he looked at Tony from under his eyelashes.

“I’ll miss you. Don’t go. Give me a chance. I’ll make this work. I’m in love with you. Things like that, you know.” He didn’t care that he was putting his heart on the line, he couldn’t choke on those words anymore, and if that was the last chance he ever got to say them, at least he could sleep peacefully at night. Peter blushed deeply, lips parted in shock, but then his face stretched in a slow, lazy smile, eyes focused on Tony’s.

“Can I buy you coffee?” He asked quietly, blinking slowly, and the older man shrugged, pretending to consider it.

“Depends. Can I buy you dinner? And don’t you dare ask if I can afford it.” He closed the distance between them as Peter laughed out loud, head thrown back in delight.

“I was just gonna say yes,” he promised, as he placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders, allowing him to come stand in between his legs. “Which is something I regretted not saying.” He confessed. “So, coffee first?”

“Yeah, coffee first.” Tony leaned down to kiss his lips, and they tasted so familiar, so right, and he knew it was crazy, because they shouldn’t, they were together for such a short time and Tony wasn’t a fucking teenager, he was a grown man, and he didn’t know how in the fuck he fell in love so hard and so fast, but he did. “It’s so good to see you.” He stole yet another kiss from him and felt the younger man’s lips stretching in a smile under his. Suddenly, he was reminded of a conversation they’d had over a year earlier. “So, do you think this is the happy ending scene in our movie or what?” He asked a beaming Peter, who pretended to examine his face carefully, before answering with a grin.

“I guess we’ll see.”

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #sugar baby au

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samingtonwilson · 5 years

Text

A Bid on Bucky

Summary: You spend thousands of dollars at a bachelor auction for Bucky when you could’ve had him for free this entire time.

Pairing: bucky x reader

a/n: this fic is damning evidence that idiots in love is my favorite genre, your honor. i’ve more likely than not used this gif before but idc because im lov it

Tony Stark is a humanitarian— a fact you have neither forgotten, nor will he allow you to forget.

Oftentimes, he’ll remind you verbally and, other times, a visual reminder will be posted on the team’s social media accounts. The pictures of him at the elephant sanctuary he helped found in Thailand are your personal favorites.

If news of his latest cause is not filling the pages of The Times or showing up on CNN’s special segment of Billionaires Who Care with Christiane Amanpour, it’s being distributed via monthly text reminder of reasons to leave Tony’s special coffee alone— last month you were told, “His donations allowed the doors of Planned Parenthood to remain open in developing nations such as Burkina Faso, and all he asks for in return is that his teammates do not finish his goddamn coffee.”

Of course, because you all live for him sniffing out your mugs at morning meetings to discover the culprit, his reminders only lead to greater coffee theft as it, in turn, increases the redness in his face when he finds the morally corrupt heathenous criminal— who is usually Clint.

In true Tony Stark fashion, though, his favorite way to remind you all, and the rest of the world, is through a gala. A gala where champagne flows like water, money is no object, extravagance is to be expected, and, as a member of the team, attendance is mandatory.

At first, you hated the damn things. It’s not like you’ve ever cared about the private island one guest owns which another guest is so obviously jealous of, or if the deal to buy a chunk of land on the light side of the moon before that hippie Elon Musk usurps it all has successfully closed.

But now? Now that you’ve learned how to direct the money those snots brag ostentatiously about into causes you truly care for with a couple little sly techniques, you fucking love the things.

You and Natasha have a game, actually. Whose Shameless and Absolutely Disingenuous Flirting Will Lead to More Money Donated to (Insert Tony’s Latest Cause Here)?

Natasha is the current titleholder as Smelly Von Oil Tycoon’s wife shooed you away before you could close the million dollar deal and Cowboy Hat McFast Food Franchise would have given up his entire company if Natasha kept batting her eyelashes at him. But in the end, just as every other time the two of you have played, you both felt like winners because the almost obscene amount of money was helping fund housing for Rohingya refugees living in Bangladesh. The competitive edge to it is just for entertainment.

This time, though, seeing as this event is an auction and you are in no mood to flirt with red-faced old men with paper-thin skin, you have taken to auctioneering with Sam.

Motioning to a projected photograph of a luxurious Paris hotel room with a view of the Eiffel Tower in your best Vanna White impression, you grin as brightly as you can. “And the last item Sam and I will be auctioning off together is a two-night stay at Plaza Athénée in Paris. First class airfare for two is included, as are two tickets to the Louvre. You’ve been to Paris, haven’t you, Sam?”

“Why, yes, baby girl, I have,” he replies with a grin as broad as yours, the spotlight and his natural charm causing his deep brown eyes to sparkle like diamonds. You think for a second that you can actually hear Bucky scoffing in the audience. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but I will say that it is called the City of Love for a reason.”

“Of course, our unlucky-in-love Sam shared those kisses only with every bit of bread and cheese he came across but you can share it all with someone special.” At that, Sam elbows you gently in the ribs with a fond roll of his eyes. “We’re going to start the bidding at twenty-thousand dollars.”

Immediately, paddles shoot up and Sam begins calling out higher bids and paddle numbers while you lean your hip against the podium and take a long sip of your champagne which has since, unfortunately, gone lukewarm and flat. Your face pinches and you scan the crowd for a wandering waiter.

Before you can, though, your head tilts just as you spot Bucky, a large button reading “BACHELOR #4” pinned to the lapel of his tux.

He’s laughing. Not openly and loudly like he usually does when the two of you are alone, but his shoulders are shaking and he’s grinning so the skin beside his eyes wrinkles. You think fleetingly that his cheeks might even be dusted in pink as he ducks his head.

The sight makes you smile, too, and you set your champagne aside. It’s secondary now.

“Congratulations to Mr. Baldwin and all the other winners of these wonderful vacations,” Sam says once the winner has been announced and ushered backstage. “Sadly, our time is up for the night.”

You nod and pick up your microphone again. “Yes, but you will be seeing Sam again tonight as a part of the Bachelor Auction. Give the crowd a spin, Sam, show them what they could be going on a date with.”

Sam unbuttons his wine-colored tuxedo and spins slowly, a slight swing in his hips. He’s met with several wolf-whistles, a rose thrown on stage, and a brief retching noise courtesy of Clint, to which Sam replies with a wink and a scoffed, “The glory is too much to handle for the insecure and faint of heart, ain’t it, Barton? We got a doctor on retainer in case you pass out.”

Sam holds out his elbow to help you down the stairs and you gratefully loop your arm through his, your other hand hoisting the hem of your dress above your ankles.

You sigh after meeting one of the bid winners, smile falling from your lips the moment you turn away. “I should’ve bid on that Marrakech trip.”

Sam cocks an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit that you have yet to release him and simply follows you as you head to the bar. “Enjoy it last time?”

“You mean when I was there to locate stolen Chitauri weapons?” you let out a bark of sarcastic laughter. “Steve didn’t even let me glance in the relative direction of a souq when that was the only reason I volunteered.”

“So that’s a no?”

You take the fresh flute of champagne a waiter offers and nod your thanks. “That’s a hell fucking no.” A pathetic pout and, “I deserve to love Morocco.”

“Makin’ that face at me won’t help your cause. Makin’ that face at Pervert Santa Claus over there,” he points to a man, rosy-cheeked with a white beard and wandering eyes, who you recognize as the winner of the trip. “That’ll get you what you want.”

You make a face, tongue sticking out as you gag, and set your glass atop the bar. “First of all, even the prospect of sex with me will make his heart give out.”

Sam laughs into his tumbler of whiskey and rolls his eyes.

You grimace openly when the eyes of an elderly man— his arm around a woman who looks to be barely in her twenties— linger a bit too long and smile when he visibly shrinks. “And B., I only flirt with them to get donations. I’d sooner never leave this tower again than get with one of these ‘I only donate money to boost my public image’ types.”

He hums and a slow, lazy smile curves his lips. He nods his head in the direction of something behind you. “Barnes’ got a different ideology.”

As casually as you can, you turn your body to lean your elbows atop the bar and tilt your head ever so slightly to glance where Bucky is standing.

Standing and laughing. How is he still laughing?

Arching an eyebrow at the woman he speaks to, you lift your glass to your lips. “Doesn’t look like she fits the bill.”

“You’re joking,” Sam laughs, shaking his head as he sets his elbows on the bar as well. His shoulder brushes yours and, despite the itchy fabric of his tuxedo, you don’t mind. “That’s Maris Scheufele.”

Long, chestnut brown hair swept over one shoulder to keep her back bare, her gown is silky, liquid gold. Dripping in wealth.

You purse your lips and turn back to Sam. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Chopard heiress.”

“Chopard like—” with wide eyes, you point at the sapphire and diamond earrings borrowed from Pepper on your ears and the matching ring on your left index finger. “Like Cannes Film Festival Chopard? Like that Chopard?”

“Yeah, that Chopard.” He has to stop from laughing at the look you offer him. He thinks he might see your skin turn green in a matter of minutes. “She’s more loaded than Cigarette-Breath Du Rideshare-App-CEO from the elephant benefit.”

You manage a small smile and a quick roll of your eyes, only to have them once again land on Bucky and the Chopard heiress. Maris.

You aren’t jealous— per se. Jealousy is an ugly emotion, after all. Childish, and inconsiderate, and rooted in insecurity.

Sure, she’s cuddled up next to someone you’re in the midst of denying feelings for out of fear and the prospect of being undeserving. And, sure, she’s covered in diamonds and you’re usually covered in dried blood, dust, and dirt from HYDRA facilities. But you aren’t jealous.

You know you’ve wasted your time, his efforts, and your emotions being anything but happy with Bucky. Chances lost never come around again, right? So you’ve made your peace with it. You’ve had to make your peace with it.

With how much you’ve messed up, how many chances you’ve lost. With how perfect she is and how perfect he looks laughing with her.

Perfect.

So perfect that your teeth grit and the grip you have on your champagne flute tightens.

“He’s gonna bring in the big bucks.”

You snort. “I thought he had different ideologies.”

“He does. But you know she ain’t gonna let him get auctioned off to anyone else.” A corner of Sam's lips turn up in disgust as he, too, stares at them with little stealth. Nick Fury would be ashamed in you both. “Lookin’ at him like he’s a piece of jerky.”

“Jerky?”

“Old, dried up beef.” He then hums in agreement with his own words. “Nasty, hundred-year old beef.”

With a laugh— a laugh that has the cadence of a sob— you drop your head into your hands.

You meet Bucky’s eyes when you pick your head up, his head tilted in silent question. Perhaps at your wet, ironic smile, perhaps at the pull of your eyebrows.

You shake your head in response and it’s when he almost immediately returns to laughing at whatever Maris Scheufele is saying that you straighten with a frown.

What the hell kind of name is that anyway? Maris.

“What the hell—” you pause to take the glass from Sam’s hands and polish off his whiskey. “What the hell is so funny?”

The glass is snatched back. “Not you finishing my drink, that’s for sure.”

Shrugging as you continue to stare at Bucky and Maris, you mumble, “Put the next one on my tab.”

Sam snorts as he asks for another drink, facing you as he adds, “S’an open bar, you cheap ass.”

Once you’ve been able to secure a fresh, much stronger drink for yourself, you loop your arm through Sam’s again and set your chin on his shoulder. Your noses nearly bump when he looks at you and you both laugh softly. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“You did.” He yelps and laughs when you pinch his side, lightly knocking his head against yours. Gentle eyes meet yours as he says, “Not tryna be harsh, but you had him and you let him go.”

“I know.”

“He spent weeks moping about it, you spent weeks moping about it.”

“I know.”

“It was miserable comforting both you idiots.”

“Yeah, you’re the real victim here.”

Despite your dry tone, he nods in agreement. “You could tell him right now. Get all this bullshit over with and out in the open.”

Just the idea makes your heart rate spike. “He might reject me. Exact revenge for what I did.”

“Barnes is a lotta things. Greasy, geriatric, testy, fuckin’ annoying as shit—” Sam hisses when you pinch him again, “— but vindictive ain’t one of ‘em.”

Before Sam can convince you to move even an inch from the part of the bar you’ve dubbed yours for the night, warm fingers wrap around your elbow and tap your arm five times in quick succession. A secret identification code.

A secret identification code that makes you smile despite yourself. You lift your head from Sam’s shoulder and hope you don’t look too eager as Bucky leans back against the bar, facing you entirely. “Look who it is.”

He waves vibranium fingers and grins, a bit of that thirties charm you’d heard so much about shining in his blue eyes as he looks at you. “Hi, sweetheart. Wilson,” he adds with a playfully curt nod, chuckling when Sam returns it. “You were great up there. Prettiest MC I’ve ever seen. Almost had me buyin’ the trip to Morocco to make up for the shit Steve put you through.”

You feel Sam shaking in silent laughter and sigh when you hear his whispered, “For fuck’s sake.”

“Only ‘almost’?” you ask with a pout Bucky grins at and wide eyes that have him swallowing over a dry throat. “What does a girl have to do for you to actually bid?”

He shakes his head after a moment of simply staring, chuckling. “These poor bastards don’t stand a chance against you, do they? They’d probably sign their entire companies over to you and not think twice about it.”

“Just doing my part to save the Amazon,” you shrug. “Like you’re doing with the Bachelor Auction.”

“‘Bout that,” he begins as he straightens his jacket and tie— all black. You trace his jaw, sharp and angular, when he glances away for just a second. “How long d’you think it’ll take Stark to put me out of my misery when nobody bids on me?”

“I wouldn’t be so negative. I know of one person who’ll definitely bid on you.”

His lips quirk up on one end, eyes dreamy as his head tilts in indulgence. “Yeah? Who’s that?”

“Your heiress.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to notice Sam jabbing his elbow into your ribs and cocks an eyebrow in confusion. “My what?”

Though you weren’t planning on replying, Tony’s voice over the speakers doesn’t allow Bucky to question you further and you heave a sigh of relief. He calls all the bachelors to the stage and Sam pulls his arm from yours, bumping your shoulders together before he departs just as Tony begins telling a story of his first bachelor auction and how much he went for.

Bucky remains still, however. Leant against the bar, eyes on you.

“Bachelor number 4,” you say, pointing at the button he wears. You smile softly. “You’re needed on stage.”

That seems to jolt him out of whatever stupor he was lost in and he stands straight. He takes a step forward and pauses, so close you can feel the heat radiating from him and smell his subtle cologne. “Bid on me if no one else does.”

“I won’t need to.”

Natasha finds you just as the bidding begins and orders herself a drink. She doesn’t say much, simply looking at you as you stare at Bucky standing next to Steve and Sam, and nods to herself. She remains a quiet, comfortable presence until Steve is brought to centerstage and nearly every paddle in the room shoots up. “You tell him yet?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so.” She nods her head to her left and you follow the movement to where Maris sits, back straight as she, too, looks at Bucky— but she’s grinning, paddle poised to be raised. “Scheufele being a cock block?”

You’re visibly surprised when you turn back to Natasha, her ginger hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. “How did you— How the hell could you possibly know that?”

With the crooked curve of blood red lips, she smiles. “I’m just that good. And Sam texted me about it ten minutes ago.”

She continues to watch you as the excited winner of a date with Steve rises from his seat. “He’s next.”

“I know that.”

“You gonna bid on him?”

You snort, though unconvincingly, and shake your head. “And go against an heiress? I’ll save myself the embarrassment.”

“Stark pays us buckets,” she tells you with a frown, picking a stray piece of lint off her silver dress. “You could afford to go against an heiress.”

Bucky’s eyes are narrowed as he looks over the crowd of people seated at their tables. The light bounces off diamonds and sequins, gold and shiny leather shoes. It stings his eyes, it makes him scowl.

“And next, ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on Bachelor Number 4,” Tony announces, turning a bit to glance at Bucky as he trudges over, not bothering to look a bit more appealing. “James Buchanan Barnes, truly the human equivalent of a cat.”

Bucky openly glares at Tony now.

“James enjoys silence, brooding, eating like a fuckin’ horse, and telling the same story more than once,” Tony continues, ignoring the roll of Bucky’s eyes. “Cute, cuddly, and a little dangerous, we’ll start the bidding at one-thousand.”

Three paddles shoot up. One from Maris, and two toward the center of the room. Your shoulders tense, Bucky’s relax.

“Okay, do I see eleven hundred?”

Two paddles remain lifted until Maris shouts from her seat in a lilting voice, “Three thousand.”

Your jaw clenches, Bucky grins.

Tony set his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Alright, three thousand going once—”

“Thirty-one hundred!”

It feels as if the entire room turns in their seats to gape at you, but you try to pay them no mind. You, wearing your jealousy and determination like armor, stand at the bar with an empty glass in your hand, waiting for Tony to call your bid. But before he can—

“Thirty-two!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you look at Maris. “Thirty-three!”

“Four thousand!” She’s smiling. A perfectly manicured eyebrow is raised in challenge.

You see red. “Forty-three hundred.”

“Six thousand!”

“Sixty-five hundred!”

“Seventy-five hundred!”

When you look at the stage in a bit of a panic, Tony grins expectantly at you and Bucky— Well, you don’t think Bucky’s ever looked so shocked in all the time you’ve known him. But when his eyes go from Maris to meet yours, you find yourself yelling, “Ten thousand!”

The room goes silent, or maybe you’ve just tuned it all out, and Tony is shaking his head in amusement. “Ten thousand going once.”

You turn toward Maris as she sits and tosses her paddle onto the table. “Ten thousand going twice.”

You face the stage again. Bucky’s expression is unreadable. “Sold to our beautiful teammate in blue.”

A bright spotlight shines on you and you fight the urge to run from the room, from the Tower, from New York, and give your best smile.

—

It’s four in the morning, all the lights on the residential floors of the Tower have been turned off, and the world is peaceful. But your mind continues to race.

You sit at the kitchen counter, container of Sam’s leftover cheesecake from your lunch out with him open before you. You twirl a fork between your fingers and stare at nothing in particular, your soft breaths the only sound in the room.

You’d changed out of your dress hours ago, washed off your makeup and taken the pins out of your hair. You could barely meet the eyes of your reflection out of fear of judgement and you didn’t ask FRIDAY to dim the lights or lock your door just in case she laughed at you.

Tony had yet to talk to you about paying the ten grand you bid on Bucky and you left the ballroom before anyone could so much as snicker. You knew you couldn’t hide forever, you just needed the night to come to terms with your own stupidity.

Yet as you prop your chin upon your palm and sigh, you think you might need a day or two, too.

Quiet steps down the hall are made purposefully louder as they grow closer so as to not startle you, the lights dim as bulbs flicker on to about ten-percent of their full brightness. You fear your heartbeat might be audible to everyone in a ten mile radius at the sight of his blue eyes, messy brown hair, and wrinkled black t-shirt, and take a deep breath through parted lips in a futile attempt to calm it down.

He offers you a small smile and walks to the fridge. “You want some water?”

You shake your head— even though he can’t see you. “No, I’m fine.”

There’s a beat of silence and you take a breath to steady yourself. “Buck, I think we should talk.”

He takes out a glass bottle of water for himself and shuts the fridge, leaning against the sink. He’s still smiling. “I know.”

“I—”

“I’m not gonna hold you to this thing,” he interjects, rolling the bottle between his hands. He watches as you sit up straight and set your fork down. “I know you made the bid just to donate the money and save me from that married heiress—”

“Married?” you repeat to yourself.

“And you’ve made it clear you just want to be friends,” he continues, undeterred. “So it’s okay. Hell, I’ll pay for half of it so I’ll feel like I’ve actually done somethin’ to save the sea turtles.”

“The Amazon.”

“Right, the Amazon,” he amends with a quiet laugh. He takes a sip of the water and sets the botte aside. “So whaddya say, huh? We’ll go half and half, help this cause out a little, and you don’t have to go on a date with me.”

“Bucky, you don’t understand—”

“No, no, I get it,” he says, walking around the narrow strip of granite separating you to sit on the stool beside yours. Features soft but a little sad, he shrugs as warmth rolls off him in waves. “I told you to bid on me in case no one else did and you saw how much more Steve went for. You tried to raise the bids on me and got stuck since those billionaires didn’t want to shell out more than ten grand on the Winter Soldier. I get it!”

“That’s not why I did it, Bucky. Not at all.”

He lowers his eyes to his hands, staring at mismatched palms, and says nothing.

“Honestly, I—” You stop yourself when it feels as if your heart’s lodged itself in your throat and struggle to swallow over it. “When I saw that Chopard heiress talking to you and laughing with you, and when she bid on you and almost won that date, I— Something happened.”

He looks at you now, eyebrows pulled together. “What happened?”

“I— I don’t know. I guess I was a little jealous,” you say with a laugh only to shake your head. There’s a subtle sting behind your eyes, at the tip of your nose, and you pray to every deity you can think of to stop any tears. “No, I was very, very jealous. You two looked so happy and perfect and I wanted to scream, and cry, and— Fuck, all I could think about is how much time, and energy, and emotion I’ve wasted pushing you away so neither one of us ends up heartbroken when I already am.”

You sigh, unable to meet his gaze as he gapes at you, his mouth hanging open as you laugh mirthlessly. “It probably seems so stupid to you and I know you’ve moved on, but, holy hell, I wish you still had some kind of crush on me because I’m dying here, Buck. I mean I just spent ten thousand dollars to make you go on a date with me.”

“You did,” he agrees. He’s smiling when you manage to look at him, “You spent ten thousand dollars on me when you could’ve just had me for free this entire time.”

He grasps your chin between his flesh index finger and thumb and jostles you a little, gaze so adoring. “And what punk ass told you I moved on from you? Huh? That same goof who said it’s just a crush?”

He leans forward and pauses just before his lips meet yours, as if waiting for you to pull away only for you to close the distance first.

What starts off as just a light brush of your lips against his quickly turns into a deep, hungry kiss that quiets your mind and forces your heart into overdrive. The warmth of it reaches your toes and every hair follicle, especially as both his hands cup your face while your fingers tangle through his hair, the rasp of his stubbly beard against your soft, sensitive skin stealing your breath even more.

You pull away first and your voice is small, a bit hoarse as you ask, “So you still like me?”

He sets his forehead against yours and his lips pull into a smile. “I’d say it’s a li’l more than that, sweetheart.”

It’s hours later when the sun is up, the cheesecake slice is long forgotten, and Bucky’s pulled you onto his stool to straddle his lap, your lips swollen and a little painful, that you groan in embarrassment.

He immediately leans away from your neck and looks up at you in concern, lips full and cherry red. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I have to pay Tony ten thousand dollars.”

Chuckling, he rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your chin. “I’ll pay it.”

“Then I’ll owe you ten thousand dollars.” You withhold a moan when he nips at a part of your neck that has your hips rolling into his, the hitching of his breath felt more than heard. “That— that just transfers the problem.”

You feel him smile, arm tightening around you. “I think I know of a way you can pay me back.”

“Sounds like you just discovered the world’s oldest profession.”

A punishing nip under your jaw and you gasp as he laughs. “I’m still all for going half and half to save the sea turtles.”

“The Amazon.”

He sighs and leans back. “Fuckin’ Christ. Someone needs to save the fuckin’ turtles already, then.”

#i wish i could show y'all the dress i imagine her wearing but alas #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #well. mild angst #VERY mild

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