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afterglowsainz · 5 months

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fresh out the slammer | max verstappen

summary: after you broke up with your boyfriend, you join your friends for a night out in monaco and decide it's a good idea to invite max

warnings: fluff, mentions of breakups, drinking

word count: 1.8k

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of a situationship with max

the tortured athletes department series

it’s been one month since you and your ex-boyfriend of one year broke up. you couldn’t say you were heartbroken because you really weren’t, like most men do at some points in their lives, he was disappointing you long before you broke up with him, so in a way, you mourn your relationship while you were still in it. now you just felt a bit lonelier than before, but you had definitely moved on.

on a saturday night, you had a few friends over to your monaco apartment for dinner and a very well deserved gossip session. you told them all about your breakup with your most recent boyfriend and how you were feeling almost too good.

“guys, what if we go out?” one of your best friends suggests. “a friend of mine is having a party at this club downtown and is supposed to be this very exclusive thing.” you thought about it for a few seconds after agreeing. it has been a while since you went out with your friends, especially in monaco where everything can happen. you got ready in less than ten minutes since you already were put together and joined your friends in the car on your way to the club.

during the quick ride you check your instagram and saw that your friend max posted a story. you and max have had this weird relationship for years, were you’re both really close friends who’ve also liked each other forever, but none of you had actually made a move on each other (except for that one time, but you’ve never talked about it). you clicked on his profile picture and the story popped up, a picture of him and his friends playing fifa on his couch. you smiled and liked the photo, putting your phone away.

once you got to the club your friend led you all to the entrance and when she gave her name to the bouncer they let you all in. the place was completely packed, but she took you all to a place on the top that was a bit less full and looked more like that exclusive event your friend was talking about. soon enough, alcohol was running through your system and your body was moving along with the blasting music at the club when a thought almost made you stop on your tracks. you looked for your best friend all over the place and ran over to her when you saw her near the bar.

“hey.” you call out loudly over the music.

“hey.” she smiled at you. “having fun?” she asks and you nod.

“can i tell you this idea i just had?” she takes a sip from her drink and nods. “would it be a good idea if i invited max?” her eyes widen with surprise and gives you a knowing smile.

“max like max verstappen?” she asks. “like your max?” you nod again, this time more euphorically.

“yes, my max.” you took a sip of your drink and cleared your throat. “he’s in monaco, so why not? the worst that can happen is he says no.” you shrug, like the idea of him not wanting to see you didn’t kill you a bit inside.

“go for it!” she exclaims. “absolutely, yes, invite him over.”

you smiled and headed over to the balcony, relieved to feel the cold air of the monaco night hit your skin, cooling you down. you took out your phone and hover over max’s contact for a moment, wondering if you should text or call first. you decided to call since that would be much more immediate. you listen to the phone ringing for a few moments and when you thought it would send you to voicemail, you heard max’s familiar voice.

“hello.” he answers.

“heyyy.” you greet him with a smile that he couldn’t see.

“y/n.” he calls your name with happiness. “how are you?”

“i’m good, how are you?” you ask. “what are you up to?”

“oh, i’m good, yeah.” he says. “just hanging out with some friends. you?”

“i’m in monaco.” you say looking at the stars. “actually, i’m at this club, i was wondering if you wanted to come? you can bring your friends, my friends are here too.”

you waited for him to answer so long you thought the line had dropped.

“what club are you in?” you gave him the name and heard some loud voices in the background. “okay, we’ll be there in twenty.”

you smiled at the sky and bit your lip.

“okay.” you answered and finished the call.

when you got back inside you met your friends again and let them know that max was coming with his friends. twenty minutes later, you were still dancing in the middle of the place when someone tapped your shoulder with tenderness. when you turned around you saw those blue eyes that you loved staring back at you.

“hello, you.” you smiled at him and he returned it.

“long time no see.” he said, giving you a small kiss on the cheek. you felt yourself flustered and were grateful that the place was mostly dark with a few colored lights.

“you should’ve told me when you got here, i would’ve gone outside to get you.” you frowned, ignoring the blush on your face.

“i wanted it to be a surprise.” he defends himself.

“it can’t be a surprise if i invited you.” you fought back and he placed his arm around your shoulders.

“you know what i mean.” he clicked his tongue, teasing you.

you spent the next hour dancing, drinking and talking with max. it was like the world around you had disappeared and it was only the two of you left in that club. when you took a quick break from dancing he got close to you and whispered in your ear.

“do you want to go outside?” he asks. you felt yourself blush again but nodded.

he was about to guide you to the balcony but you redirected him to the exit of the club. you stopped briefly to let your friend know that you were leaving with max for a moment so she wouldn’t worry and she just winked at you. you took his hand so you wouldn’t lose him while walking through all the people at the club and once you were outside you dropped his hand, even though you didn’t really wanted to, but the last thing you wanted was to make it uncomfortable for him.

“you wanna take a walk?” he asks while taking his jacket and putting it around your shoulders.

you nod and smile at him, grateful for his jacket. you both start walking along the streets, talking about nothing in particular until he makes the question you knew he wanted to ask all night.

“how’s it going with your boyfriend?” he doesn’t look at you while asking, no matter how much you wanted him to do so.

“we broke up.” you answer dryly.

“oh.” he finally looks at your face for any hint of sadness, but there is none. you’re not sad about it.

“how’s it going with your girlfriend?” you ask now, remembering the gorgeous redhead he was dating a few months ago.

it was on one of those few occasions both of you were in monaco at the same time. you were leaving from café de paris with your best friend and you crossed him at the entrance, next to him was one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen, holding his hand. you remembered she introduced herself as his girlfriend and your heart skipped a beat at the word, even though you had no right to feel anything like that since you had a boyfriend yourself. you said your goodbyes and he did too and that was the last time you saw him.

“what was her name again?” you asked. “i can’t remember.”

“we broke up.” max ignored your last question, answering the first one you asked instead.

“oh.” you frowned, sad for him for whatever reason. maybe it was the alcohol in you bringing out all the emotions. “what happened?”

“it just didn’t work out.” he answers simply, giving you a reassuring smile.

“when did you break up?” you knew you were a bit out of line meddling into his relationship. especially when he didn’t ask you these types of questions about your own breakup, but you couldn’t help it.

“a few months ago.” he said, completely unfazed by your curiosity. “actually, it was the day you met her.”

“at the café de paris?” you questioned with surprise and he nodded. “why would you break up with your girlfriend there? it’s such a lovely place.”

he wanted to laugh at your remark, but bit his lip instead.

“i saw you.” he whispered and you felt like all the air was leaving your lungs.

“you broke up with your girlfriend because you saw me?” you ask incredulously and he nods again. “why would you do that?”

“why do you think, y/n?”

he holds your eyes for a few seconds until you turn your head and continue walking. you didn’t answer him and he didn’t say anything else, his words hanging in the air while you got wrapped into a comfortable silence. you were trying to process his train of thought while also processing yours. could his words have such an impact on you? did he feel about you the same way you’ve always felt about him? would he want to try something with you? with each question you asked in your head, you felt yourself leaning more and more into max until the back of your hands brushed each other while walking. he felt so familiar in so many ways.

before you could realize it, you were both outside of your apartment building. did you really walk this much?

“well.” he said, breaking the silence. “i guess this is where i leave you.” he pointed with his chin at the building.

you looked at him for a few seconds, your mind racing ten thousand miles per hour.

“you could stay.” you whisper.

max looked at you, a sparkle in his eyes you knew too well.

“you’re drunk.” he murmured, just like you had. you shook your head and got closer to him, touching the collar of his shirt gently.

“just as much as you.” you were so close you could see every speck of color in his eyes. “i think the walk here sober me up, anyway.” you joke, taking your eyes off of him, fearing that looking at him a second longer would make you do something unexpected.

“are you sure about this?” he took your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him. the beautiful blue of his eyes was now much darker and you fell a little bit more in love just by looking at them.

“of course i’m sure.” your voice low, only for him to hear. “i’ve always been.”

his eyes went from your eyes to your lips, and then back into your eyes.

“come inside.” you ask.

he smiles at you like he just won a championship, taking your hand and pulling you into the building.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen angst #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one #formula one x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #mv33 #mv1 #the tortured athletes department #fresh out the slammer #max vertsappen gif

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highvern · 11 months

Text

Silk

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: smut, friends to lovers, established relationship

Warnings: weed mention, alcohol mention, moments of self-doubt/insecurity, oral (f. receiving), fingering, boyfriend Mingyu, making out, hickies, mentions of frat!svt, grinding, panty/pussy job, cumshot, first time together, mentions of previous partners, not seeing heaven pt II!

Length: ~4.3k

Note: another Drunk Goggles installment! this is probably gonna be the last one for a while tbh. im working on something new for my gamer boy husband wonwoo as we speak. "adamas et aurum" was written to balance the depravity that takes place.

MDNI! 18+ ONLY

read more here

Mingyu doesn’t recall the details of the first time he saw you naked. At least what your nude body actually looked like. He remembers it being at his frat’s mountain weekend junior year, that one of the other guys brought you as their date, and how Mingyu’s then girlfriend had broken up with him that morning when he came to pick her up to leave for the cabin. The second he arrived he holed up in his assigned room upstairs, listening as people arrived throughout the day from under the covers.

When he finally came down, he stumbled into an already out of hand game Truth or Dare thanks to Hoshi and his liberal drink pours. Everyone was laughing wildly, DK’s shirt was wrapped around his head, and Joshua looked like he had just taken a shower fully clothed.

“I dare you to go skinny dipping in the lake.”

Everyone knew about Jun’s crush on you so the dare just made Mingyu roll his eyes as he grabbed a beer and walked out onto the porch overlooking the water, hoping to drown his sorrows in the bottom of the bong he brought with him.

You had never been one to back down, so it was no suprise Mingyu was watching you sprint down the steps towards the lake, discarded clothes fluttering to the ground behind you. He caught sight of your bare rear seconds before you hit the surface with a splash, and that was that.

All in all, Mingyu doesn’t remember much about it.

But the first time Mingyu sees you naked as the girl he’s dating, he’s tempted to grab his phone and document the occasion so he can relive the moment again and again.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen tonight beyond the nice dinner he treated you to followed by a stroll downtown. When he walked you to your door to kiss you goodnight, you invited him in. Mingyu thought it was because you didn’t want to end the night yet, happy to oblige you’re desire to prolong his company.

You’d confessed to each other almost a month ago, and in that time Mingyu tried to be nothing less than a gentleman. Most of his behavior is ingrained in him already: holding open the car door for you, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, getting you the same small bouquet of wildflowers you love from Ms. Kwon every Saturday. All of it as easy as breathing due to his innate drive to care for those who mean the most to him.

Other less appropriate behavior, reserved for you and only you, fights tooth and nail to claw its way out of the most depraved parts of his mind.

The first time you made out, he barely stopped himself from flipping over to pin you against the couch and have his wicked way with you. When he felt you up in the back of his car at the drive in for the first time like a desperate teenager, he had to actually bite his tongue to keep from ripping your shirt off and exploring everything underneath. The few times you’ve sent him suggestive text messages, usually accompanied by a photo of you in the bath with the naughtiest bits covered by bubbles or a suggestive mirror selfie that highlighted your figure, Mingyu nearly cries when stopping himself from sending an even more suggestive response.

The issue isn’t that he thinks you’d dislike him doing those things, tempting him more and more with each passing day. But Mingyu’s worst fear at this point in your very new relationship is that you’ll think he only wants you for sex. Scared shitless that he’s misread the signals you’ve given him, confused innocent gestures as a go ahead to lust and crave. So his simple solution is to not do anything, provide nothing that can point even remotely in that direction. A perfectly PG relationship so you don’t misunderstand his interest.

To say it was a bomb to your self-esteem is an understatement. Mingyu is always the one to pull away first, the one to stop things when they verge on being more, before anything can go too far. Tonight you invited him in with the intention to ask him what his deal was. You know he’s not inexperienced; confirmed by several of your friends in college sharing details after spending a night in his bed. And it hardly seems that he’s regretting sharing his feelings with you; never missing an opportunity to inform you how beautiful he thinks you are or how much he likes spending time with you. The collection of good morning and good night texts littering your phones, each a precious reminder that you’re the first person he thinks of when he gets up and last before he goes to sleep. Down to his eagerness in planning dates, making reservations or buying tickets the second he knows your calendar is clear, effort oozing from his pores. You don’t know any guy that would try even half as much as Mingyu does if they weren’t interested.

There didn't seem to be any hardware issues on his end either. The first time you made out on your couch, the tantalizing feel of his hard cock against your bottom told you he was at least attracted to you. You just don’t get why he doesn’t seem to want to touch you the same way you yearn to touch him.

Tonight starts like it always does. Sitting a little bit too close on the couch, Mingyu’s hand finding your thigh, your own playing with his fingers as you discuss this and that. He tells you how Wonwoo finally got the courage to ask out his coworker he had a crush on. You update him on the work drama with your manager.

Eventually, someone shuffles closer, eyes meet, a head tilts, and all of a sudden your tongue grazes his as he coaxes you into his lap.

Testing the waters, you gently rock your hips against his as you nip his earlobe, releasing a stifled gasp when he rise to meet you. Embolden by his response, your fingertips skate up his chest as you arch further into him, lips searching for his.

“We should—mhm— slow down.” Mingyu pants into your mouth, making no effort to remove himself from you despite his words.

“But I want you.” You gasp as the next buck of his hips has the rough fabric of his jeans grinding against your barely covered pussy as your short dress rucks up higher and higher on your hips.

Dropping to Mingyu’s neck, you hope the rake of your teeth on his jaw will convince him to touch you the way you desperately need.

Your right hand is twisted through his hair, sending chills down his neck when your nails scratch his scalp. The other covers his as you place it on your breast, arching your chest and urging him to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, eyes trained on the way you fill his palm perfectly.

His next squeeze is answered with another moan. Mingyu knows it’ll burn his ears next time he’s alone in his room.

“Wait.” He breaths.

Mingyu’s tone tells you he’s serious. Still in his lap, you lean back to look down at his face.

His eyes are closed and long breath leaves his nose before he mutters, “We should stop.”

“Oh.” You exclaim shakily.

You try to not let the hurt that arises bleed into your voice but it’s impossible.

Crawling out of his space, you sit back on the cushion next to Mingyu, putting a foot of distance between you. You focus on anything else besides the man beside you, training your eyes on how your fingers pick at the hem of your dress. The silence between you two is uncomfortable in a way it's never been before.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Obviously it's not fine.”

“I guess I’m just,” you pause searching for the best way to explain yourself, still unable to look at him. “confused? Everytime we start, you know, you stop. Am I making you uncomfortable? Do you not want to?”

“No!” He winces, shocked by the booming volume of his own voice. “No, I just— I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Finally looking at him, you ask, “What part of putting your hand on my boobs makes you think I don’t want you to do it?”

“I,” Mingyu responds, hand dragging down his face. “I don’t wanna mess this up and push you too far o—”

“Mingyu, stop it!” You snap, annoyed with his self sacrificing. “You're not gonna mess anything up by touching me. I thought I made it pretty obvious I want you to.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do.” You try to reel in your irritation but it's impossible.

“Why are you mad?”

“Because you’re acting like I can’t make my own decisions.”

“That’s not what I–”

You jump up from the couch to stand in front of him, arms flailing as you grunt in frustration.

“Yes, it is!”

“I’m just trying to be a gentleman!”

“Well stop!”

“Fine!” he shouts, matching your own exasperation.

Mingyu throws you over his shoulder in a second, long legs carrying him towards your room. He’ll be damned if the first time he touches you, really touches you, is on the cramped lumpy couch in your living room.

“Put me down!” you yell, fist pounding at his back and kicking your legs in an attempt to get free.

A gentle slap on your ass has your breath stalling. It’s not enough to hurt, barely a brush of his hand but it has your mind reeling all the same.

“Be good.” Mingyu orders, voice rough as gravel.

Oh, wow.

“And if I’m not?”

His steps falter before he continues down the hall, “Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Well at least he hasn’t been completely possessed.

He gently sets you down on the foot of your bed, stepping back to stand in front of you with his hands on his hips which cocks to the side. You almost laugh at the way he looks like a mom about to scold her kid.

“I’m not gonna fuck you tonight.” He states simply.

“Why not?” You protest.

Shame rises in your throat like bile when Mingyu hesitates.

“I wanna take things slow.”

“Oh…okay, that's okay.” You reassure him, reach to take one of his hands in yours. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to touch you. But we’re not having sex tonight.”

“That’s okay too.” You can’t hide the way your breath stutters, flashes of his hand between your legs clouding your mind.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “whatever you want.”

“Can I take your dress off?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” You tease, smiling mischievously up at him.

Mingyu's own mouth twists as he snags the neck of his shirt, subconsciously flexing the muscles along his arms and stomach enticingly as it rises over his frame. If anyone asks, he’d deny doing it on purpose but the way your eyes scorch across his skin makes him tense just a little bit more. His vision is blacked out by the fabric as it comes over his head, but when it's gone he sees heaven.

The lilac sundress you’d worn to dinner is gone, leaving your hair ruffled from its hasty removal, fluffed around your face enticingly. But it's what was under your dress that has Mingyu’s tongue on the verge of rolling out of his mouth and heart beating like a cartoon character. Your chest is wrapped in a silky pink bra, swells of flesh threatening to spill over the cups with each breath that stretches your lungs, stiff nipples poking through the edge of the fabric. The alluring pull of a matching pair of panties across your hips, accentuating your curves in the best ways, makes his cock twitch; but when you spread your legs, unveiling a tantalizing damp spot, nearly translucent where it clings to your folds teasingly, floods each of his senses with a specific type of hunger.

Fuck.

“Pants too.” You demand, but quickly correct yourself. “If that's okay.”

You stare at one another for a beat. The clank of Mingyu’s belt being undone is the only sound beyond the duet of shaky breaths. His eyes don’t leave your face as he bares himself down to his briefs, but yours skim down his body, blazing as they trail across his form, to settle on the obvious bulge behind the cotton. When you swallow harshly, Mingyu’s ego flares.

“Come here.” You beckon.

Complying easily, Mingyu covers your body with his; arms caging you in below him as your thighs spread to cradle his hips. He settles on top of you, length nestled snugly between your folds, tip nudging your mound with each breath. It's maddening. Especially when Mingyu can feel your arousal seeping through his underwear and coating the underside of his cock.

Your noses brush gently, fleeting passes of lips as you settle against one another. You’ve only ever briefly felt Mingyu through thick layers of clothing, whether that when you wiggle your way in his lap or the few times you’ve woken up with his length pressed snugly against your ass. It gave you an idea of his size but in no way prepared you for the feel of him now, rigid as steel against your soaking center and threatening to burn you from the inside out.

“Oh wow,” you gasp into his mouth, relishing in the slow curl of his hips against you.

“I know,” he nods, mind lost in the sweltering heat between your legs threatening to consume him.

You continue to writhe against one another, mouths meeting in rough passes of teeth and tongues. Your ankles lock at the base of his spine, pulling him firmly against you as your hands flutter across his skin, unable to stay in one place for long. Mingyu’s arm propped above you keeps his weight from crushing you, his other settles on the side of your neck, thumb tilting your chin up so his tongue can delve into your mouth.

A particularly delicious grind of his hips has your head thrown back, moan aimed at the ceiling as you thrash pathetically. It lets Mingyu look at you. Cheeks and chest glowing with a rosy tint, a faint sheen of sweat blooming across your skin as you whine in his hold. The straps of your bra have fallen down your arms, one nipple peeking out from under the fabric, taunting him.

The harsh suck of his mouth across your breast pulls your back tight like a bowstring. His tongue worships your chest, laving broad strokes you imagine will feel amazing on other parts of your body. He's everywhere, consuming you like a blackhole, ripping apart your entire being and leaving you disoriented. Head tipped back, you bare as much of yourself as possible for Mingyu to touch and tease; all while your abdomen tenses as your lower half cants against his.

Arching just enough to give you room to reach around, you snag the clasp of your bra relieved that the underwire is no longer digging into your chest uncomfortably. Your arms raise to pull it off, leaving you bare from the waist up for Mingyu to admire.

“Like what you see?” You whisper, relishing in the shell shocked expression on Mingyu’s features.

He can only nod, gaze burning a hole through your chest straight to your heart.

One of his hands cup your chest gently, taking time to let the weight of the swollen flesh settle in his palm. He thumbs the stiff peak, still glossed with his spit from his earlier ministrations. Mingyu puckers his lip to blow a cool stream of air, delighting in the choke whine you release.

“Can I touch you too?”

“Please.” he moans, diving to leave a bruise on the side of your breast.

A depraved idea enters your head, whispering from the most primal parts of your mind. Mingyu said he’s not going to fuck you and you respect that wholeheartedly; the idea of waiting warming your soul. But you want to feel as much of him as possible; revel in the slide of his scorching length against you, deliver the long overdue pleasure you both want.

“If you don’t like it we can stop.”

“Okay.”

Mingyu doesn't inform you that he doubts he'll dislike anything you do to him. Instead, he stares at your hand pushing his underwear down, fingers circling his cock in awe as you touch him for the first time. His body is miles away from his brain, like he’s drowning under crashing waves and you’re the sun he can see on the surface. Your thumb smears the beads of pre-cum collected at his tip, twisting your tight grip around the head to work him up. Sweat breaks out on his forehead, muscles in his arms jumping at the feeling of your smooth palm. He knows the image of your hand wrapped around his cock is branded in his mind forever.

But then you do something he doesn’t expect. Your free hand grabs your underwear, moving the crotch to the side and uncovering your slit entirely. The flesh that peeks out from the outer folds is flushed a delicious pink, glistening in the low light with the evidence of your desire. When you hook the bulbous head of his cock under the hem he panics for a second, afraid you’re going to slip him inside. But you just wiggle you hips till he nudges your engorged clit, skin on skin with no barrier. Letting go of the fabric, Mingyu thinks he might be drooling when his cock is covered by soaked silk, sandwiching him against you. The erotic sight kills any coherent thoughts he has left.

“You’re —,” Mingyu starts, tongue heavy in his mouth. “What the fuck—”

He can’t stop watching how his cock moves, able to discern the nearly purple head of his length through the see-through silk that clings to his weeping tip. Your hand rests on your mound over your panties, pointer and middle finger forming a V to border the flared head on either side, giving him a bumper to grind against and forcing him a fraction harder against you.

“Move.” you beg, voice just as wrecked as his. “Please, Gyu.”

Who is he to deny you any longer?

Arms straining as he holds himself up, Mingyu keeps his gaze trained on where you're connected, entranced. Below him, you’re twisting in the sheets, twitching with each prod against your clit but your hand keeps him from slipping away.

Flashes of how from any other angle it looks like he’s drilling you into the bed, stuffing you with his cock rather than rutting against you pathetically, enter his mind. The firm pressure of your knees against his sides, ankles brushing his waist with each roll of his hips barely register in his conscious. Free hand scratching against his chest, your nails raise red lines and dimple his flesh with tiny crescents as he pummels your clit, slick with a mixture of his spunk and your own arousal. Needy whimpers singing into his ears are answered with his own groans, tempting him to shut his eyes and just feel if not for the vision below him.

The realization that he can feel you clench pitifully where his balls press against you, teasing him to just angle his hips a little bit lower and take you like he desperately wants has him surging against you even harder.

The sudden rush of stimulation overwhelms you, forcing your mind to shut down. It's all too much. The feeling of Mingyu above you, using your pussy to get off, fogs your brain. The crude rhythmic squelch where you meet sends shooting stars across the corners of your eyes. How his cock presses against your clit just so, dribbles of his pre-cum coating your most sensitive parts. The harsh squeezes of his hand on your breast, pinching the stiff peek of your nipple while his teeth nip your neck you feel like you might pass out.

“Mingyu!” You keen, chest pressing against his, allowing you both to revel in the drag of your skin on his.

The broken sound of his name on your lips skyrockets Mingyu to his end. Euphoria exploding in his chest, pleasure running from his balls to the tip of his cock as he loses all control of his body. His chest caves and breath stops as he jerks in your hold, rutting against you as his seed pushes through the ruined fabric of your underwear, collecting in globs above where his tip rests right on your clit; you’re fingers still pressing down on your underwear glossed in the overflowing pool of pearly fluid. Mingyu leans up as far as he can to watch, wishing to live this moment again and again.

“Fuck, fuck!” He chants horsly, unable stop his own hips, even when the friction becomes tortious.

With one last pass he finally calms, muscles spasming as he collapses onto your chest.

The heavy weight pressing you into the bed makes you shudder below, another rush of wetness escaping.

“Good?”

Mingyu just groans into your shoulder, attempting to catch his breath.

“You’re crazy.”

You give an indignant huff, jaw clenching in mock annoyance.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Yeah well you clearly liked it!”

“My beautiful girlfriend just let me get off using her panties that she’s wearing. I’d be insane if I didn’t.”

“Girlfriend?”

Suddenly, you're breathless for an entirely new reason.

“If that’s okay with you.” Mingyu mumbles, comically shy as if he didn’t just cum on you.

“That’s definitely okay with me.”

“Good.”

“Now, how about you make your girlfriend come too?”

Mingyu nearly falls off the bed in his haste to do just that. Throwing your legs wide, he bullies his way between your thighs to gape at the mess of your panties. Nothing he’s ever seen in his life can compare. Something he doesn’t think even the most debased part of his brain could have imagined but you’ve given him knowledge of a kink he didn’t even know he had. Mingyu just stares, damning his refractory period; ruining the carnal desire to cover you in his seed again and again, until the possessive part of his brain is sated and you’re both on the verge of unconsciousness.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You chide above, impatience reading its head.

“Don’t play with me right now.”

You don’t want to overwhelm him more than you have so you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you're serious. Maybe next time you’ll let him know how much the idea of him walking around with such a salacious image on his phone turns you on.

“Then touch me, Gyu.”

As pretty as you are covered in silk soaked with his cum, Mingyu knows you’re even more beautiful without the scrap of fabric. Taking a second to rub the puddle of fluids back into the fabric, you twitch as the pad of his finger massages your sensitive clit. When your hips pitch forward to seek more friction, he nearly rips your underwear with his clumsy hands in his haste to free you from them. At the sight of your bare slit, Mingyu pauses. The number of choices he’s presented with nearly drowns him; whether to taste or tease, stuff your clenching hole with his fingers or lick you from top to bottom, maybe make you show him what you like before trying it himself.

But first, Mingyu needs a better look at what he’s working with.

“Hold your legs open, baby.”

Before he can blink, your hands eagerly hook under your knees to spread yourself wide, void a timidity as you reveal yourself; unveiling every hill and valley, soft flesh dappled with pearls of his cum. Desire rushes Mingyu forward to collect the mess with his tongue, a throaty groan clawing its way out of his chest at the combination of fluids.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rasps. “You’re so hot.”

Lightening erupts in your veins under the languid heat of his tongue, every muscle twitching as he delivers maddening swirls through your folds. The fact that Mingyu is tasting the lasting traces of himself as he eats you out is like a punch to the gut. Broad strokes against your clit distract you from his hand sneaking up to circle your opening before a thick finger enters you.

But the stretch isn’t nearly enough for how wrecked you feel, already teetering on the edge.

“More!”

The hand you’ve ghosted down your front is pinned to the bed before you can even make it below your belly button.

“You’re gonna take what I give you.” He informs you, but gives you another finger all the same.

When a needy moan tickles his ears, Mingyu knows you’re waving a white flag, a wordless plea for him to continue playing with you as he pleases.

Fingers pistoning, Mingyu’s pointed tongue circles the bundle of nerves at the top of your slit. When he crooks the digits buried deep inside you, your back leaves the bed. The hand pinning your wrist abandons its grip, allowing him to use his fingers to spread your folds and keep your clit uncovered for his tongue to lash at.

“Don’t stop,” you cry, voice thick and broken. “Please, I’m so close.”

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically as the drenched squelch of Mingyu’s mouth against you fills your ears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”

Your finish is bubbling to the surface, a roaring boil in your blood that deafens all your senses except where your boyfriend plays with you. Mingyu’s arm stretches up your torso to palm your breast, fingers pulling your taunt nipple. He’s pulling out all the stops, trying his hardest to send you over the edge.

“Come on, pretty girl. Let me make you come.” he begs around your clit.

“Please!” you sob. “Please, please, please!”

You’re in a frenzy above him, ecstasy inches away. Your hips bucking is so hard they threaten to dislodge him but Mingyu takes it in stride. Elbowing your thighs apart, forcing them up and open to pin you in place so he can keep going. It tickles a part in your brain that imagines what he’ll do when he does fuck you for the first time, spreading you out before making you take his cock.

The visual paired with stretch from a third finger sets you free.

“I’m—Mingyu! Oh my god!”

The simmer in your blood boils over, starting at your core and rushing to your toes and fingertips. Wrecked moans leave your bruised lips, eyes squeezed against the licks of pleasure overwhelming you. The only thing you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears as every muscle in your quivers so hard tears gather in your eyes. He doesn’t stop as you twitch in his hold, arms flexing as he strains to keep you spread so he can work you through it. You clench so hard around his fingers his arm halts before putting in more effort to pummeling your pussy. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally relents, delivering a last long lick along your slit before moving away.

Mingyu’s face is soaked, chin and cheeks covered in your juices, nose and cheeks flushed. You just stare, mouth open in wonder as he sucks his fingers clean.

“Holy shit.”

“You okay?”

“Shhhhh.” You press a finger to his pursed lips. “Brain goo, hot boyfriend just made me cum.”

Mingyu crawls up your body, peppering gentle kisses here and there as he goes. When you're face to face you just stare at each other, expressions full of fondness and exhaustion.

“But seriously, where the fuck did you learn that?”

Mingyu’s question is answered with a maniacal giggle.

#svthub #svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu smut #dghe couple #🫡 highvern

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goldfades · 5 months

Text

𝐈 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 / 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐄 / 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 ─ JH⁸⁶

TRACK 18 ─── IMGONNAGETYOUBACK

TTPD CELLY MASTERLIST !

౨ৎ ─ summary | almost a year ago, your whole was shattered by the one person you'd never thought would hurt you. and now you were back in the city where it all started with one simple mission ─ get him back.

─ word count | 2.5k

─ warnings | oof where do i begin, angst? obviously second-chance romance, slightly suggestive, mention of drinking/getting tipsy, jack being a cocky ass, slightly fluffy? idk just a lot of word vomit but yeah!

─ taglist |

─ ev's notes | yaya! first ttpd celly fic is out!! hoorayyeeee!!! also i've been listening to this album like on fucking repeat since friday and holy shit, this is probably my third fav now (sorry speak now). i also literally can't choose a fav but according to my music app, i've listened to so high school 72 times since it came out!!!!!!!!

YOU SWORE YOU'D NEVER COME back to New Jersey ─ but, here you were.

How you ended up here, tipsy and alone in this bar? You're not exactly sure. What you do know is that the night started in your childhood home with your parent's very expensive bottle of wine. And now you were here, in downtown Jersey in one of your old high school dresses that fits a little tighter than it did almost 5 years ago.

Your lips were stained red as you ordered another glass of Blueberry Gin & Tonic. You didn't know when you had started drinking Gin & Tonic but a lot had changed in the last couple of months. You didn't even know who you really were anymore, it was blurry.

And you could blame all of that on your high-school sweetheart ─ the person you'd thought you'd spend the rest of your life with. Key word: thought, as in past-tense.

As you swirled the ice in your glass, memories flooded back like a tidal wave crashing against the shore of your mind. The late-night drives down highway roads, the whispered promises of forever, and the way your heart used to skip a beat at the sight of his smile. But somewhere along the way, those promises faded into echoes, and the smiles became almost bitter memories.

It all came crashing down a few months ago. The pain was like a dagger through your heart, leaving you gasping for air in a world suddenly devoid of color. You lost the one person in your life who made you, you. You had to relearn who you really were without him.

And in the aftermath, you tried to pick up the pieces of your shattered and almost confusing life, but the wounds were too deep, the scars too raw. So you ran, running from the memories that now haunted you, seeking solace in the anonymity of far-away cities and unfamiliar faces.

But no matter how far you ran, you couldn't outrun the ghosts of your past. They followed you like shadows, lurking in the corners of your mind, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike.

And tonight was no different.

When your eyes locked with his familiar blue ones, a particular ghost of your past appeared. And you didn't miss the way you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw his now grown-out hair (you'd never let him grow it out when you were together) and his soft stubble that you always made him shave. But it suited him, he looked more mature.

But you weren't surprised, it almost seemed like fate. Almost. If it weren't for the fact that you knew, in the back of your mind, he always liked spending his Saturdays playing pool with his friends, in this exact bar. You pretended like you hadn't planned this entire thing.

And so you feigned ignorance, pretending as if you hadn't noticed him at all. You kept gazing at him, taking him in. You felt the anger rise in your body as your nose flared, beginning to think sober up again. You took another swig of your drink and turned away from him, you could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head as he analyzed you right back.

A few moments pass and as you predicted, you felt a tap on your shoulder. "Y/N?"

You met his gaze and it felt so much different from the last time he'd looked at you. He looked... surprised? Is that even the right word? You felt his eyes scan you up and down, the tight dress fitting you perfectly in his mind.

You, too, had changed since the last time he'd saw you. Your hair was slightly shorter and more put together, you looked healthier and more mature. Less like a teenager and more like an adult now, but that's just how aging works, right? Not only did your looks change, but the way you carried yourself.

God, you were sexy. Jack always knew you were beautiful, it was undeniable. But after not seeing you for months now, you looked like a dream ─ a hauntingly beautiful vision that stirred something deep within him. He couldn't help but be mesmerized by the way you carried yourself, with a newfound confidence and poise that spoke of strength.

He was at a loss of words. But it was Jack, of course he didn't let it show. He plastered on his award-winning smirk and let his gaze fall back on to your face. "I didn't know you were back in Jersey, you shoulda texted."

Your face contorted into surprise. Was he really trying to pretend like nothing happened? Oh, two can play that game. "I was just visiting family." Your red lips turned into a tipsy smile. "But you're right, I should've texted. How have you been?"

"Awesome. Is this seat taken?" Jack didn't wait for an answer, he just pulled out a chair and sat down. He glanced down at your drink, the smirk still very much evident in face.

God, how much you wanted to just smash his face in. But you swallowed the anger with your drink, letting him study you for a few more moments.

"Since when do you drink?" His tone was amused as he watched you swallow the liquid so effortlessly, like it was water.

Since you left, you wanted to shout. "Not until recently."

You watched as he leaned back in his chair, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. "And what brought about this newfound appreciation for alcohol?" He asked, his tone still but the underlying curiosity evident in his eyes.

"Life." you said simply, your voice barely above a whisper. "Life has a funny way of changing things."

He nodded, as if he understood, but you could see the doubt flickering behind his eyes. He didn't know the half of it, didn't know the pain and the heartache you had endured in his absence. And part of you wanted to keep it that way, wanted to shield him from the truth of how much he had hurt you.

But another part of you, a smaller part buried deep within all the hurt and bitterness, wanted him to know. Wanted him to see the scars he had left on your soul, to feel the weight of the words left unsaid between you. But not to burden him, to somehow reverse all the pain he'd caused you.

"So, what have you been up to?" you asked, deflecting the conversation away from yourself. "Anything exciting?" By anything, you really meant anyone.

You saw the way Jack's smirk faltered as he shook his head. "Nope, nothin' new." But he knew that you knew the real answer.

Two months, it took him two months to move on from a 4 year relationship. "Really?" you asked, your voice laced with skepticism. "No new hobbies, no new friends, no new... interests?"

Jack chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he leaned in closer to you, his gaze locking with yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "Well, I might have picked up a few new hobbies," he admitted, his voice low. "But nothing as exciting as running into you here, that's for sure."

Despite yourself, you felt a small, genuine smile tug at the corners of your lips at his charming response. He had always had a way with words, a charisma that could disarm even the most guarded of hearts.

"There she is," his voice was soft as he watched the curves of your lips turn upward. "I missed that."

His words sent a warm flutter through your chest, a mixture of nostalgia and longing swirling within you like a whirlpool. Despite everything that had happened between you, there was still a part of you that missed the comfort of his presence, the familiarity of his smile.

"Well, don't let it get to your head," you teased, although the playful tone of your voice couldn't mask the vulnerability lurking beneath the surface. "I wouldn't want you thinking you can charm your way out of everything."

"I'm not trying to, trust me. I can't help it." Jack smirked as he shrugged. "And for the record, I did miss it. I don't remember the last time I've seen your genuine smile."

Your smile faltered as your stomach squeezed in anxiety. The last couple of months of your relationship was spent only arguing, and the smiles had become a rarity, buried beneath layers of resentment and hurt. You swallowed hard, the memories of those final days weighing heavy on your heart like a rock.

"Yeah, well, it's been a while," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you fought to push aside the memories threatening to overwhelm you. "A lot has changed since then."

"I can tell," his eyes scanned your body and you felt your heart jump. He wet his lips as his blue eyes met yours again, a grin playing on his lips. "I remember this dress. You wore it at my draft party, I remember."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, memories of that night flooding back with a rush of emotions. You remembered the excitement in the air, the pride shining in his family's eyes as he celebrated the culmination of years of hard work and dedication.

"Yeah, I remember," you said softly, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "It feels like so long ago."

Jack nodded, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his lips as he reached across the table to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I never forgot that night," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Or how beautiful you looked in this dress."

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt like the air was knocked out of you at his words. Goddamn him, his smooth-talk, and that damned cologne that made you feel high off of him. "Shut up," was all you could muster as Jack chuckled.

"Let's go take a walk."

And like always, Jack didn't wait for an answer. He just grabbed your hand and began walking toward the exit. Your mind raced as Jack's touch sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. And despite your inner turmoil and the warning bells ringing in your head, there was a part of you that couldn't resist the pull of his charm, the familiarity of his touch.

You hated how he still had this effect on you and how confident he was, he always made decisions for you. You're not sure if it's really a bad thing, because how can something so bad feel so insanely good?

"Okay," you said softly more to yourself than him, your voice barely above a whisper. You allowed him to lead you away from the dimly lit bar and out into the cool night air.

As you walked side by side, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension, you couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu wash over you. It was like stepping back in time, back to a simpler era when the world was young and full of promise.

Jack pulled you into his chest as you walked, his arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders as you leaned into him, seeking solace in his familiar warmth.

Despite everything, despite the pain and the heartache, a part of you still longed for the comfort of his embrace, for the reassurance of his presence by your side.

"The dress still fits you so well," Jack finally spoke up. You could feel practically hear the grin on his face as you rolled your eyes, a smile tugging on your lips.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing I haven't outgrown it," you replied, your voice light and teasing as you leaned into his embrace subconsciously.

Jack chuckled, his arm tightening around you. "You'd look in a garbage bag, princess. You can never outgrow anything."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Jack." You quipped.

"It's gotten me this fair, huh?" Jack's tone was amused as you felt yourself roll your eyes at his cockiness. He let out a laugh as he squeezed your arms, the way he knew you liked.

You wanted to slap the smirk off his face but instead, you just shook your head at his teasing. He still knew you so well, even after so long. As much as you wanted to resist his charm, there was a small part of you that couldn't help but be swept away by it. Jack had always had a way of getting under your skin, of finding the cracks in your armor and worming his way into your heart.

"You're insufferable," you said, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed the fondness you couldn't quite suppress.

Jack chuckled, his laughter warm and infectious as he leaned in closer to press a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary.

"But you love me anyway," he said, his voice soft as he met your gaze with a knowing smile.

You couldn't deny the truth of his words, no matter how much you wanted to. Despite everything, despite the pain and the heartache, a part of you still loved him ─ had always loved him. Would you always love him?

You gazed back at him, his grin even bigger as his hand squeezed your arms again. The more you stared, the more you slipped back right where he wanted. Fuck, you were back.

Your hands came up to touch his soft stubble, one of the many new things about him. Something you never thought you'd like, you swore his clean-face was your favorite but he proved you wrong.

"You like it?" Jack asked, his voice low and husky as he watched you trace your fingers along his stubbled jawline. There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the power he still held over you.

"Yeah," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you met his gaze, your fingers lingering against his stubble. "It suits you. You look... different, but in a good way."

A smile tugged at the corners of Jack's lips, his eyes sparkling with gratitude as he reached up to gently cup your cheek in his hand, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Thank you," he said, his voice warm with sincerity. "I'm glad you think so."

You smiled genuinely, the anger slowly dissipating as you looked into the eyes of the man you'd once loved, wholeheartedly. His face may have changed but his gaze was still the same, the same blue eyes you'd been drawn to from the beginning.

"Let's head back to the car, yeah?" His voice came out hoarse and low, you could hear practically hear the need in his voice. And again, you let him lead you back to his car and eventually, to his home.

Your lips curved into a smirk, you'd had gotten exactly what you'd sought out to do. You'd gotten him back, but who ever doubted you?

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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katyswrites · 6 months

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol use, recreational weed use, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n, not quite smut but we're getting close folks

Wordcount: 4.3k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 3

You don’t see Steve for nearly a week after that - you hang around the radio station quite a bit, as you usually do, but never manage to run into him. You should be thankful for that - for how peaceful it is. It’s not even like you want to see him - no, why would you? He’s a pain in your ass, and you should be thankful that you can do your job in peace.

No, it’s not actually at the station that you see him next - though, it’s tangentially related. You’re at perhaps your second-favorite place in the world - Varsity Vinyl, the local record shop downtown. It has some of the best selection you’d seen, and you always find yourself there - buying for your own growing record collection, or rooting through the used and discounted bin to help stock the station’s vinyl library. It’s where you find yourself on a Saturday afternoon, flipping through records while figuring how much money you actually realistically are able to spend.

You don’t see him, not at first. He’s standing further down the aisle, and when you finally look up and spot him, you nearly jump - he’s just staring at you, eyes wide. You straighten up, just holding eye contact - you feel like two wild animals sizing each other up, deciding whether to run or fight. You’re truly deciding between those two options when he clears his throat.

“Oh - uh, hey,” he says, quieter than you had expected.

“Hey.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, you both find yourselves speaking at once:

“Your party was fun the other night -”

“Are you okay -”

You both pause, and you awkwardly laugh.

“Sorry, uh - the party was fun last weekend. Thanks,” you say quietly.

Steve shrugs.

“Oh, yeah - glad you came. You… you seemed like you were having a good time.”

Like I made an absolute fool of yourself, more like, you think to yourself.

“Oh! I mean - I guess. Sorry if I got a little - uh -”

“It’s fine, don’t worry - we’ve had worse,” Steve assures.

He hasn’t said anything about bringing you home. Part of you is convinced that Eddie was misinformed, and Steve didn’t actually bring you home that night - that is, if it wasn’t for that stupid note. The note you probably should have thrown out, but stuck into a desk drawer instead - to refer to later, just to make sure you weren’t crazy, you had reasoned.

But now, Steve is standing in front of you, more quiet and withdrawn than you’ve ever seen in the past four years of knowing him.

“So, uh - thanks,” you say quickly, almost mumbling.

“For what?” he asks, confused.

“For, um, getting me home safe - I don’t really remember it, but -”

He waves you off. “Oh, that - don’t worry about it. The hardest part was getting you to tell me your address,” he says, laughing. “You were wasted.”

You groan. “That’s…embarrassing.”

He smirks. “Honestly, yeah, a little bit. But most people were gone by then, so… your secret’s safe with me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“I mean - I’m surprised you didn’t tell everybody - how I was, you know, throwing up all over your apartment, being a drunk idiot -”

Why didn’t he? It’s leverage - a way to make people lose respect for you, and gain more for him. A part of this stupid, pointless power battle you two seem to always be involved in, seeing how far you can push one another. His response is unexpected.

“You don’t actually think that little of me, do you?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

He scoffs. “Look, it’s not my fault that you can’t hold your alcohol for shit. But, I’m not going to go around telling everyone that, okay? Christ -”

He trails off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re welcome, though.”

You suddenly feel like a bit of an asshole - Steve is used to you throwing insults his way, but this time, it seems to have struck a chord with him.

“I was in a really bad way, wasn’t I?” you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact.

He nods. “Honestly? Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. You really don’t remember?”

You shake your head, face feeling flushed with embarrassment. He just sighs.

“What do you remember?”

You rack your brain for a moment, biting your lip absentmindedly as you think.

“Um - I remember playing Kings with everyone… and, uh…”

I remember you coming in from the porch with what’s-her-face on your arm -

“-and it gets fuzzy after that,” you say quickly.

“Oh, okay - wow, that’s pretty early on. Well, you did some shots with Eddie and Robin - you got on the kitchen table at one point ... I think you threw up over my balcony… and after that I, uh, hung out with you in the bathroom while you threw up some more, and brought you home.”

You freeze. “Wait - you babysat me, like, the whole time? I thought that was Eddie -”

“No way, Eddie was too high to help anyone. I was stone-cold sober by that point, thanks to you.”

“Oh,” you say, wishing you could sink into the floor. Steve fucking Harrington knew what you looked like keeled over a toilet and puking your guts out… dammit.

“It was pretty gnarly, but… it’s fine. Really, it’s okay.”

For maybe the first time in his life, it sounds like Steve is being sincere with you. Another beat of silence passes, then he’s clearing his throat again.

“So… you have any big plans tonight? A repeat of last weekend, maybe?” he asks casually. You furrow your brow, confused.

“Um - do you actually care?”

He shrugs. “So what if I do?”

“Well - no, after last weekend I’m not sure if I ever want to drink again -”

“The most famous lie ever told,” he cuts in, grinning. You just roll your eyes, and pretend to be interested in perusing the records as you return to flipping through the crates.

“-but it just so happens that I do have plans tonight,” you say quietly.

“Hot date?”

You scoff. “I’m going to Fuze Box. Nancy’s covering some bands for an article for the campus paper, and I figured I’d check out who's playing tonight.”

WAMC has a long-standing relationship with Fuze Box, a small music venue for local artists and college bands. A lot of students and station members play there, and shows at the Box get advertised a lot on the air. You try to go to local gigs as much as you can - though, you haven’t made as much of an effort lately, too overwhelmed by other responsibilities as station manager. Nancy’s article is a good excuse to go, for the first time all semester.

“So, you don’t know any of the bands playing tonight?” he asks, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.

You shake your head. “Nope - just figured I’d check it out, go in blind. Maybe I’ll even put some of the bands in my radio slot next week, if they’re selling CDs or something.”

Steve grins mischievously.

“Right - well, have fun, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, and know that any semblance of an awkward peace between you two is gone - the Steve you know and love (to hate) is back. You turn to make a clever retort, but he’s gone, having stalked off to a different aisle.

You’re not sure what he’s up to, but part of you now has a sneaking suspicion that he might show up at the venue tonight just to piss you off - it’s such a Steve move.

As you go to the checkout, you do your best to shake it - after all, what’s the worst that can happen?

*****

“Thank you - we’ve been Lime of Decision - goodnight!” the lead singer shouts, a collection of hollers and applause following. The lights go up a bit, some venue staff coming out to the stage to adjust the equipment for the next band.

“Lime Of Decision is… a choice,” Nancy says, scribbling something into her notebook.

“Yeah, that’s because their name is literally meant to be a joke,” you say absentmindedly.

“What?”

“Jason, the lead singer? His ex-girlfriend is in a band called Lemon Of Choice, so it’s like…funny. I think.”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head.

“Which band is better?”

“Definitely hers,” you say immediately.

You and Nancy both stare at each other for a moment, and break into a fit of giggles.

“I’m going to get another drink, you want anything?” she asks.

You shake your head, holding up the cup of beer you’re still nursing from the beginning of the last band’s set.

She disappears into the crowd, and you sigh, taking a drink as you once again survey the room. If Steve actually is here, you haven’t spotted him yet - maybe he decided that getting on your nerves wasn’t worth actually paying the cover at the door. Or, maybe he actually had more important plans - maybe even with that girl he was all cozy with at the party -

You stop yourself - why do you care? If anything, it should be a good thing that he doesn’t seem to be here.

There’s two more bands left to go - you had glanced at the flier on the way in, but only recognized Lime Of Decision in the lineup. So, when Nancy returns with a new drink and the lights begin to dim again, you just hope the next band is better - it can really be hit or miss at these sorts of shows.

Darius, the radio station’s tech engineer, is emceeing the show. He steps out on stage to introduce the next band, earning a smattering of cheers and hollers thrown in his direction.

“Alright, alright everyone! Settle down - that includes you, Hagan - Jesus Christ, okay - can we give it up for the amazing bands we’ve heard so far tonight?”

You clap along with the rest of the crowd, rolling our eyes at the sound of particularly rowdy hollers from the back that you just know comes from Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin.

Darius’ eyes narrow.

“Dammit, Munson - when I said a month-long ban, I meant it -”

You glance back to see Eddie flipping Darius off - famously, Corroded Coffin got a temporary suspension from Fuze Box for smoking weed in the green room. But, the ban actually being enforced… not likely.

Darius rolls his eyes, struggling to get the room back on track as he taps the microphone.

“Okay, okay - everyone, can we please - if you all can shut the fuck up - okay, whatever. The next band up tonight - you guys know and love. They’re a Fuze Box favorite - and no, they are not promising anything with the name. Give it up for Free Beer!

You can’t help but laugh at the band’s name - you instinctively turn to Nancy, who is doing her best to stifle a giggle as she writes something on her notepad, squinting in the dark.

It’s during those few seconds while you’re looking away that the band takes the stage - which is why, when you glance back, you freeze as you see who’s standing front-and-center.

Steve stands at the mic stand, an electric guitar slung over his shoulders as he smiles at the crowd.

You freeze. Other band members - including Robin and Argyle, who you know all too well from the radio station - come out onto the stage behind him. But you’re just staring at Steve, dumbfounded.

You knew he had a band - scheduling them to perform on the air was always a nightmare for you, which you knew Steve did on purpose. So, you had never learned anything about them on-principle. You hadn’t heard a lick of music, didn’t know who else was in it, or even the goddamn name - until right now.

Nancy’s eyes are on you, you can feel it. You turn briefly to look at her.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks, glancing at where Steve stands on stage. You shake your head.

“God, no! I - I’m an adult, I can be in the same room as Harrington,” you say, laughing nervously. You’re not sure how much you believe yourself. She stares at you for a moment, then just nods, turning her attention back to the stage, where Steve is stepping up to the mic.

“Hey guys - we’re Free Beer. I’m Steve -”

A few feminine voices cheer from the back. Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head that you’re worried you’ll go blind.

“Thanks, ladies, love the enthusiasm. So - let’s just get into it. Ready to hear some songs?”

There’s an eruption of cheers through the audience - one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.

“Alright - this one is called ‘Closer,’ I hope you enjoy.”

From the moment he plays the first chord, something shifts in the room. The crowd becomes less rowdy, less chatty. No - everyone is really listening. Some are even singing along - how the fuck do this many people know the words?

You want to hate it - you want the set to be something you’re tolerating, something that makes you look forward to the next band coming out. But, despite your efforts, that’s not what happens. Because the band is good. Robin is killer on bass, and Argyle is a formidable drummer, despite his perpetually laid-back persona. And Steve - it’s like he was born to do this.

Aside from having a pretty good voice, and being an excellent guitarist, he’s actually a good frontman. He’s charismatic, knows how to work the crowd, and somehow, he makes the tiny stage of the Fuze Box feel as exciting as Live Aid.

You want to scream - of course he’s good. You catch yourself moving along to the music every now and then, and immediately stop yourself, hoping nobody sees. At one point, you swear Steve sees you. His eyes land on yours - or, at least, in your direction. You think you imagine it - it’s a big enough crowd, and you’re far enough back that he probably can’t see past the first few rows. That is, until he smirks, in the way that you know he reserves only to taunt you, to challenge you.

Fuck.

*****

You find yourself heading down the hallway after Steve’s set - you’re looking for the bathroom, shouldering through the bodies packed into the narrow passage. Part of it is because your beer has finally gone through you, and more so because you need a minute of peace and quiet, just to stare at yourself in the mirror and talk some sense into yourself. Steve’s band can’t be good - that would be a problem. If you didn’t know who was part of it, they’re the kind of band you would buy records for, keep a spare CD in your car, and even include as part of your radio show. But…it's Steve.

You had purposely never gone to any of his shows - you never listened to any in-studio sessions they did at the station, and God knows you would never ask Steve about his music. What the fuck?

Part of you also wants to smack him - of course he was performing here tonight - he looked you in the eye at the record store today, heard you were coming here tonight, and said nothing. Next time you see him, you decide, you’ll ignore him - you won’t even acknowledge that you saw him perform. If he asks, you’ll tell him you left the show early, long before he came on stage. You won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you sat through his whole set, let alone enjoyed it.

You can’t exactly remember where the bathroom is - was it all the way at the end of the hallway? None of the doors are really labeled, which tracks for Fuze Box.

You knock on a few doors and jiggle the handles - one is an electrical closet, the other is locked and seemingly empty. You finally reach a door at the end, and give it a gentle knock - nobody responds. You try the knob, and it gives way. After shouldering your way inside, you wish you hadn’t.

Apparently, instead of the bathroom, you’ve managed to find the green room - although, to call the backstage area of the Fuze Box a green room is generous. It’s really a tiny room with a worn out couch, a cracked glass coffee table littered with ashtrays, and lighting so dim that you have to squint to figure out exactly where you are as you slip through the door.

It’s only once you’re inside, when it’s too late, that you realize you’ve walked in on Steve.

His back is turned to you, but he jumps slightly and turns when he hears the door open. He’s wiping his brow with a towel, and he grins when he sees you.

“Hey, sweetheart - wasn’t expecting to see you back here.”

You stand in the doorway awkwardly - why couldn’t the rest of his band be hanging out here with him? That way, you could throw out a blanket ‘you guys were great’ statement. But now it’s just him, staring at you, his face saying why the fuck are you here?

“Oh - sorry - I’m in the wrong room,” you say quickly, your face feeling hot as you start to back away.

“Okay - sure you are,” Steve says sarcastically.

“What does that mean?” you ask, stopping your retreat.

He shrugs. “Don’t know - you just seem to always conveniently stumble into me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Try to stop me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you just groan with frustration, taking a few steps towards him.

“Jesus, I - I don’t know if it’s like, a weird sick game to you, or you’re just always trying to piss me off - or if you just can’t help and flirt with everyone -”

“You think I’m flirting with you?” he asks, grinning mischievously.

You stop, folding your arms in indignation.

“No - I mean, kind of, but probably as a joke - I know what you’re up to, Harrington.”

“And what exactly am I up to?”

“This bullshit you keep pulling,” you say, gesturing between you two. “This - like, always sabotaging my shit, and getting in my way - but then like, this stupid nice-guy thing, where you drive me home when I’m drunk and don’t tell anyone, but then like you trick me into watching your stupid band perform -”

He scoffs. “Trick you? Be serious -”

“You knew I’d be here tonight - you knew, and didn’t say anything -”

“Well given your track record, sweetheart, if you had known I’d be playing, I’m sure you would’ve been front row!”

You stop mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as you try to search inwardly for a reply. Your face feels hot all of a sudden.

He’s smirking now, just like he did on stage. As always, he’s too confident, too sarcastic, too Steve. He’s taken away your ability to even come up with a halfway decent retort. It pisses you off.

“I - that’s not -”

Your blood is rushing to your head, roaring in your ears, too enraged to even let you think straight anymore. You’re marching right up to him now, prodding his chest with your finger.

“I don’t like you,” you say.

“You don’t say?” he drawls, still smiling. Why is he smiling?

“Stop doing that -”

“Doing what?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Stop distracting me -”

“I distract you?”

You want to kick yourself.

“I - well - only because you’re so -”

“Devilishly handsome?”

“-fucking annoying.”

He cocks his head, like you’ve only mildly piqued his curiosity instead of insulted him.

You sigh. “What?”

“It’s just - you didn’t seem to find me very annoying last weekend when you tried to kiss me.”

A beat. You just stand there, jaw agape as his words hang in the air between you like smoke on a hazy summer’s day.

“That’s not funny,” you manage to say.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are to him - the next band has started outside, a distant din that should be distracting. But all you can focus on is Steve - the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way you’re close enough to smell that he had just had a cigarette.

“I didn’t -”

“Sweetheart - right before you puked your guts up in my bathroom, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat. Don’t worry - I didn’t let you. I really thought you would’ve remembered, until I saw you in the record store - then I realized you didn’t remember jack shit.”

You feel like you’re making this up. He’s just saying this to get under your skin - he must be. It’s the only explanation. Because you’d never -

“You’re lying.”

But he’s just staring at you, and you’re starting to get the sickening suspicion that this isn’t a joke.

“You’re lying,” you repeat, though it sounds more like a question this time.

He’s taking another step towards you, shaking his head.

“You know what they say, sweetheart - in vino vesco, or whatever. You know - how people say and do what they’re really thinking when they’re drunk -”

“Veritas.”

He stops, furrowing his brow.

“I - what?”

You can’t help yourself - you just can’t.

“The phrase is in vino veritas - it means truth. I think vesco means food or something, you’re missing the whole -”

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re always such a -”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you’re kissing him. You don’t mean to do it, you swear - but he had gotten so close, the heat radiating off of him too much to ignore. And, he was really pissing you off - you didn’t need to hear another word out of his mouth.

You fist your hands in his t-shirt, your lips on his, messy and desperate, like you’re trying to prove a point. And he’s kissing you back.

Steve kisses the same way he argues - he’s aggressive, his hands coming up to grab your face and pull you closer. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, his aura hot and desperate as it envelops you.

The band plays out in the venue, the audience cheering and singing along - but, all you can hear is Steve’s labored breath against your lips, your own heart thudding in your chest.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, another argument you were both desperate to win. But, right now, you’re losing. Because he’s guiding your body, and you’re responding, stepping backwards until your back is hitting the cinderblock wall.

No words are spoken, just breathy moans and the sounds of your lips moving in unison. It’s not remotely romantic - it feels more like fuck you, I’m trying so hard to hate you, why can’t you let me -

One of his hands has traveled down to your waist, gripping it firmly enough to tell you that he wanted more. You feel his hand start to move, slipping under the hem of your shirt and gently brushing the warm skin of your lower back. His hands are calloused, rough against the softness of your skin. You let him start to explore, unable to stop yourself from quietly moaning against his lips.

You know you should stop - but you can’t. It’s addicting, the way he’s still fighting with you as his tongue enters your mouth. Is this really happening? Maybe this could’ve gone on for hours. That is, until -

The knock on the door makes you both jump, pulling apart as quickly as you had crashed together. Steve is staring at you, breathing heavily, his pupils blown and lips a bit swollen. You imagine you look similarly. He takes a step back, separately himself from where you’re still frozen against the wall.

“Yeah?” Steve calls, voice rougher than before.

“Are you decent?” a voice asks from the other side of the door, barely audible over the sound of the band currently on stage.

Steve looks like he’s fighting laughter, but he just shakes his head, back facing the doorway.

“Nope - you’re good,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again.

He doesn’t need to say it - the look he’s shooting your way is enough.

Not a word.

Robin enters, grinning.

“Hey, we were just going to - oh, hi.”

She’s spotted you, and you just know she has questions.

“Hey, Robin,” you say quietly. “I, uh - I was looking for the bathroom. Ended up in here - I was just telling Steve how much I liked your set.”

Robin beams. “Thanks! It’s fun to see that you came out - haven’t seen you at a gig in a while!”

You nod. “Oh, yeah - I’ve been trying to get myself out there more -”

Steve scoffs, and you want to slap him. If Robin notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“- but, um - I should go.”

Robin nods.

“Yeah - I was just coming to find Steve, we’re all going to head to WT’s for a drink - uh, do you want to come?”

She’s probably just being polite. But, you shake your head vigorously.

“No, I’m good - sounds like it’s a band thing. I should get going anyway - I’ll catch the end of this set,” you say, gesturing towards the sound of the band on stage echoing from down the hall. You still haven’t made eye contact with Steve, not since Robin entered the room. So, you just give her a curt nod, and do everything in your power to head out the door without looking like you’re bolting. You’re screwed.

author's note: thanks for your patience y'all! I'm going away to Ireland on a work trip for about 3 weeks starting tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do some writing while I'm there, but no promises! As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

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hunterrrs · 1 year

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photos from here, I NEED FOOTAGE OF THIS. also this article is a great read. he’s invited some families who lost their homes in the halifax fires to practice:

By the time you read this, Pittsburgh Penguins players will have munched on the pudding known as haggis, made from the livers, hearts and lungs of sheep. And learned how to shuck oysters, in all their slimy, gooey glory.

All courtesy of Sidney Crosby, the Pittsburgh captain, who brought team building to an entirely new level on Saturday. From the moment months ago that he learned the Penguins would be playing here, Crosby was stoked. A proud native of Cole Harbour, 10 miles from Halifax, the 36-year-old began planning out his transformation from NHL star to tour guide.

“I think just the feel of it, the people, and to see the excitement for the game,” Crosby said Friday. “And just to get around the city a little bit, those types of things.

“It’s somewhere that I’m really proud of, and I hope everyone enjoys themselves there.”

In order to do that, he set something up with a unique Maritime flavor. Welcome to “The Amazing Race: Crosby Edition.”

“When Sidney found out the team was coming here, he wanted to find a fun way to celebrate his hometown with his teammates and educate them on why it’s such a special place,” his father, Troy, said.

He seems to have done exactly that.

After a morning of golf Saturday, the unsuspecting Penguins set out on an “Amazing Race”-like scavenger-hunt competition that would take them through the streets of Cole Harbour, Dartmouth and downtown Halifax, and across Halifax Harbour on a ferry.

Under the format, the players were divided into teams. They were given instructions of where to go, what venues to visit and what tasks they were to do (e.g., eating haggis, shucking oysters), all while going up against the clock.

The instructions came on laminated cards featuring the Penguins logo and a “Welcome to Cole Harbour” greeting.

The message on one of the cards read, “Every player has to shuck two oysters and eat them or have a teammate eat them on their behalf. Careful with that knife, and don’t break any shells!”

Crosby enlisted the help of Paul Mason, one of his baseball and minor hockey coaches, to help plan the event. Mason was paramount in setting up the three Cole Harbour Stanley Cup celebrations in Crosby’s honor, and No. 87 didn’t hesitate when it came to the perfect person to set up this event.

“In organizing this, when he talked to me about it, he wants this entire weekend to be pretty special for the community, for his teammates, for everyone around him,” Mason said. “You can sense how much these few days mean to him. You could sense his anticipation for months.”

Mason said that even though Crosby is the host for his teammates this weekend, he’s going to try to win everything: golf, the scavenger hunt, the preseason game Monday, you name it.

“He’s competitive at everything, even as a little kid when I was coaching him,” Mason said. “And that hasn’t changed.

“When the NHL was shut down during COVID, his dad Troy and I played Sidney and one of his friends in a golf match. They should have won, but somehow we did. He didn’t accept that. He said it was two out of three. When we won the second one he said it was three out of five. We ended up playing seven of them. The seventh one was in December with snow on the ground. They won that one to take the series 4-3. Suddenly that was acceptable because they’d won.

“Once they’d finally won, it was over,” Mason said with a laugh.

During some of those summers, Greenwood has helped organize some of the offseason skates featuring Crosby, MacKinnon and Marchand at a local arena. The competitiveness gets intense at times, something Greenwood said helps all three drive each other.

“Yeah, they’re friends,” he said. “But when they start playing against each other at times, you’d never know it. They want to beat one another at any and all costs.

“You can see how that drive, that determination, that win-at-all-costs attitude rubs off on some of the younger guys.”

Count Drake Batherson as one of them. The 25-year-old Senators forward grew up in New Minas, 50 miles northwest of Halifax, and has been training during the offseason with Crosby, Marchand and MacKinnon since 2019. He calls those workouts “one of my favorite times of the year.”

As such, he’s looking forward to facing Crosby and the Penguins in Halifax on Monday.

“I've still got posters of the Penguins and Sid on my wall at my parents' house, so it's pretty fun now that me and Sid have built a relationship and we're buddies," Batherson said. "It's pretty cool looking back on it.”

It was a tough spring and summer for Nova Scotia.

In late May and early June, wildfires raged through the outskirts of Halifax and throughout the province. More than 16,000 people were forced to evacuate as a result, many eventually returning to find their homes were nothing more than heaps of smoldering ashes.

Less than two months later, the area was hit with record rainfall that caused historic flooding. Water did seep into Crosby’s home, though to nowhere near the extent of some others where people pretty much lost everything.

“The area has been through a lot,” he said. “But the great thing about some of these communities, and the area in general, is that everyone sticks together and everyone’s willing to help each other.

“I think when you’ve seen adverse times here over the years, you’ve seen people come together more and more. And I think we take a lot of pride in that here. The fact that people know they can depend on each other is huge. I think we’ve shown that time and time again, and there’s pride that comes with that.”

Crosby is doing his part to teach local kids exactly that.

On Sunday, the Penguins will hold a practice at Cole Harbour Place. Hundreds of children from the local minor hockey systems have been invited to attend and take part in a Q&A session with some Pittsburgh players and, with a select few kids getting to go on the ice with them.

Part of that group will be kids from minor hockey whose families lost their homes in the fires. Crosby specifically wanted them to attend, with Mason helping to make it happen. Given the trauma they and their families have gone through, it is Crosby’s way of trying to brighten up their lives, even if it’s just for one afternoon.

“That’s Sid, right?” Greenwood said. “He’s going to have an impact on these kids, both on the ice and off.”

He already has.

In 2009, Crosby established the Sidney Crosby Foundation, an organization that improves the lives of children who are sick or struggling. More recently, Crosby and several foundation board members created Nova Scotia Showdown T-shirts heading into the game Monday, with proceeds going to his foundation.

“He’s helping young kids who are going through hard times, and he’s being a role model for young hockey players in the province,” Mason said. “He’s going out of his way to show his Penguins a good time here, and he’s being a great ambassador for the community.”

Greenwood agrees.

“It’s a privilege,” he said, “to say you live in the same place as someone like that.”

#he is soooooooo #sidney crosby #pittsburgh penguins #nathan mackinnon #colorado avalanche #drake batherson #ottawa senators #ryan graves #po joseph #kris letang

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footygirl114 · 1 year

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Cervecería (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Hi friends, this is a bit late (but better late than never?) The one I was inspired to write post that champions league win with Alexia beelining it to someone in the crowd. It’s definitely not the best thing I have written but I know if i keep editing it I’ll scrap it so this is as good as it’ll get

The need to not live through another Canadian winter was the biggest draw that made you start a second business in Spain. Having started a successful craft brewery in Toronto, you knew exactly what you needed to do, when you brought the craft beer craze to Barcelona.

You had been in the city for 7 months, your restaurant had only opened a month ago but you were happy with how it was going. It was a process to get it open, but once you realised you needed to find someone who spoke both Spanish and Catalan and was familiar with the restaurant business it became a lot smoother.

You had found a spot near to the downtown without being ridiculously priced, you wanted to draw tourists but you also didn’t want to scare away any locals. The starting days were slow but as more advertising and more interest in different craft beers gre you started to get busier. Fridays and Saturdays were busy enough you had to hire extra staff, but during the week you liked to be the one behind the bar.

The whole reason you got into the brewery business in the first place, was because you loved to connect with people and share your love of beer with them. The best way you were able to do that was to be the one serving it, plus it was helping with learning Spanish.

You also drew in a unique crowd on game days, you had all the subscriptions from back home which meant you were able to play many American sports. You also always had at least one TV dedicated to women games.

About 6 weeks after you opened you were tending the bar on a slow Wednesday night, the crowd had died off after the Barca Femini game was completed, but you still had a few stragglers around. Movement caught your eye where you cleaning tables and you watched a slim female with her hair pulled in a pony tail, black hat and hoodie on walk in and settle at the end of the bar.

Moving back behind the bar she looked up and met your eyes and immediately you were drawn in to her expressive eyes. You moved toward her and said “Hola, can I get you anything?”

She smiled at you and said “Agua?”

You raise an eyebrow at her and ask “You come into a brewery sit at the bar and order water?”

She chuckles and shrugs and asks “should I sit somewhere else then?”

“no no no but let me make you a deal” you smile wanting to hear her laugh again.

She raises an eye brow as she asks “What’s the deal?”

You smirk and step back moving to pour her a glass of water, and a small taster pint of your favourite beer. You place both glasses in front of her as you tell her “I will keep pouring you the finest water all night, IF you try this small glass of my favourite beer”

She chuckles shaking her head and smiles at you as she holds out her hand and says “deal.”

You laugh and place your hand in hers, immediately feeling a tingling run up your arm, you tell her “I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Alexia” she says and releases your hand and grabs the beer glass. She slowly raises it to her lips meeting your eyes over the glass. She holds your gaze as she takes a sip.

You keep your eyes on her as she places it down and you ask “well?”

“I can see why its your favourite” she says with a smile.

Before you can say anything else another customer draws your attention away. You have to deal with an issue in the kitchen and one with the supply closets. Its almost half an hour later when you make it back behind the bar. When you get back she is standing up looking around for you.

Smiling you walk up asking her “leaving so soon?”

She chuckles and says “si, just needed some fresh air. I can grab my bill though”

You shake your head and say “it’s on the house”

“Won’t your boss be upset” she asks with a smile.

You chuckle and say “I think they’ll be okay.”

“well thank you” she says with another smile. Your name is called by another server and you turn toward them as she says “I’ll get out of your hair Y/N”

You chuckle out a bye before turning and tending to your team.The rest of the night is spent thinking about the Beautiful girl who sat at your bar. You have a feeling you recognise her but are unsure how you would. Until you are closing up and you see her face on the TV, chuckling you can’t help but think how you just embarrassed yourself in front of the queen of football.

You spend the next week elbow deep in testing a new batch of beer. It consumes you when you have an idea and you cannot put it into the taste correctly. Working late one night the bar is pretty quiet apart from a few regulars, you have taken over a table near the far side of the bar which is slightly hidden. Your notes are spread out all over the table and you are completely consumed in them until you hear your name at the bar.

You had told your staff to act like you are not here, but when you recognise the voice ask for a water you smile to your self and look up and see Alexia sitting at your bar. As you get up to walk towards her you recall that you had seen the Barca team had played earlier in the evening away.

“looking for me” you ask her as you step beside her at the bar.

Alexia and your bartender, Sam, turns towards you with their own expressions. Alexia looks happy to see you, and you bartender is giving you the raised eyebrow as she thought you didn’t want to be disturbed.

“I thought you weren’t here tonight boss” your bartender asks.

“boss?” Alexia echos.

You chuckle at them both and you say “I’m not here tonight Sam” to your bartender who gets the hint with a chuckle turning away.

“Boss?” Alexia asks you again.

Chuckling you move behind the bar and grab a small pint glasses as you tell her “I own the place.”

She looks at you and with a low whistle she says “Impressive”

“thank you” you say as you move and pour a glass of another one of your beers. You place it in front of her and say “If our deal still stands this is another one of my favourite beers”

She grabs it and asks “if you brew them all do you have a least favourite?”

You chuckle and say “not really, well just the one I cant figure out right now”

“Can I help?” she asks and takes a sip of the beer with a low moan. “sorry that one is really good” she says with a blush.

You chuckle and say “its cute” and then immediately blush and say “I just cant get what is in my head to translate into the beer. I have this taste I can imagine but I cannot find the right combination of hops and flavours to get it right” you ramble on.

“What’s the flavour?” she asks with a smile.

You blush almost forgetting she was there during your ramble and say “I am sorry you don’t want to hear me nerd out about beer”

She shakes her head and reaches across to grab your hand as she says “I kinda want to know everything you’ll share”

Before you can respond her phone buzzes and she reaches down looking at the screen and then gets up reaching for her wallet. You place your hand on her wallet and say “This one is on the house in exchange for the ramble”

“You know I can afford to pay for my beers” she says.

Immediately you shake your head and say “I know you can La reina, but I do really hope this makes you keep coming back” finishing with a wink.

She blushes at the nickname and leans across the bar and presses a kiss to your cheek as she whispers into your ear “You will make me come back.” She then turns and walks towards the door turning at the door with a wink she disappears.

You continue staring at the door when you hear Sam walk back behind you and say “Nice work boss, I thought you’d lose her with the beer talk”

You chuckle and whip your towel at her say “get back to work.”

The following two weeks you see Alexia 3 more times at your bar, always on days the Barca team plays. You looked her up after the last time and know she’s not playing yet but is very close to being back. You both have flirted but nothing else other than the one cheek kiss has happened. You both just keeping things light and flirty. She has slowly worked her way through some of your staple beers.

When the next Barca game happens and she doesn’t show up to the bar that night you have to admit that you were very disappointed. You knew that it was all just a fantasy and flirting but it definitely hurt that she decided you weren’t worth it.

You were deep in the back room tonight still trying to perfect your beer. You kept one small cask in the back room where you used it to experiment with your brews, this time being no different. Your desk back here was covered in notes and you had a white board with formulas and flavours all over it. During the day the back part of the brewery was a hive of activity keeping up with the demand of brewing beers, but at night it was quiet which is when you loved to use the time to work on your own stuff.

Tonight was no different, you were still a bit hurt and disappointed in your self for being hurt about Alexia so thats why you were staying hidden in the back not out front tonight. The staff knew you were here and knew not to bug you when you were back here.

So when you heard the door open you didn’t even look back when you said “Sam I thought I told you not to interrupt me tonight”

You hear the steps falter and someone take a deep breath as they ask “I was just looking for a glass of Aqua”

Immediately you turn and can feel your cheeks blush as you say “Alexia, what are you doing here?”

She still doesn’t come any closer as she says “I wanted to tell you something, and then if you want me to not interrupt you I will go”

You nod at her and lean back against the desk behind you.

She slowly steps towards you and says “I know you know who I am, and you should know then that I have been injured and not playing for awhile?”

You nod and smile saying softly “I do know that”

She keeps slowly stepping closer as she continues “Well that first time I walked in here, was after one of the teams away games. I still wasn’t travelling with the team and I watched them almost lose and knew that I let them down. So I needed some air and went for a walk, I saw the sign on your bar and decided to come in and have some water and then leave.”

“But you didn’t” you tell her softly as she stops in front of you.

“No I didn’t” she says. “for the first time in a very long time I forgot who I was letting down, I was able to just be me Alexia, not me the captain who let her team down. That was because of you, something about you just drew me in and I kept coming back any time we played so I could be that person again.”

You smile softly at her and say “I am glad to help.”

“Last night was my first game back Y/N” She smiles at you.

You smile back and say “I am proud of you Ale”

She steps another step closer so she is right in front of you and grabs your hands softly as she says “The only reason I was able to be back last night and not let the team down was because I kept picturing your voice in my head talking about beer. It helped to ground me and remind me that I am Alexia as well as the captain”

You close the gap even more and move your hand to her cheek as you say “I am glad that you have that then Ale. I am honoured to be able to do that for you”

She steps closer and looks down at your lips looking back up meeting your eyes you nod slightly and lean in slowly. You feel her breathe on your lips when the door slams open again and Sam walks in as she says “Sorry boss, need to change the keg.”

Immediately Alexia has sprung back from you and you both turn slightly away from each other. “It’s okay Sam come in.”

“I should go” Alexia says “I have training early tomorrow”

“You don't have to go” you say at the same time Sam says “did I interrupt?”

“No you didn’t Sam, I was just leaving” Alexia says as she flees the back room.

“sorry boss?” Sam says with a smirk.

“Sam?”

“Yeah boss?”

“how did she get back here?” you ask her.

She shrugs and grabs the keg and says “I may have told her to come back here at her own risk”

“But you still interrupted?” you ask.

She laughs and says “honestly I forgot, and needed a keg badly. I really didn’t think you would been that position though boss”

You blush and move to help her as you say “me either”

That moment was burned in your brain, every free moment you had your brain was immediately back in the store room. You watched her sit on the bench in the following champions league game, but you at least now knew why she didn’t come in to the bar on that day. You waited the rest of the week for her to show again, she didn’t.

It was just before bar opening on the day of the second leg of the champions league. You knew that it was home game and you knew that you wouldn’t see her today. You were hoping she would show tomorrow but you can only hope.

You were sat at the bar, with your note book open and three samples of your newest beer in front of you trying to decide which one would be the closest to the taste you want. You hear the door open and turn and to greet who you would think is one of your servers since you aren’t open and instead you are shocked and say “Alexia! I didn’t expect to see you today.”

She is dressed in her pre game outfit when she walks closer to you and says “I needed to see you before I go to play today.”

You look at her with a questioning look and ask “you did?”

She stops right in front of you and says “I cant get you out of my head Y/N”

“You can’t?”

She turns you and spins you towards her on your stool. She steps right in between your legs and says “I keep thinking about kissing you Y/N, and I know I should be able to focus on football, but I just keep thinking about you”

“Thats not good than Ale, what are you going to do?” you ask with a smirk.

She smiles and says “I know what I want to do but I do not have the time for that.”

You chuckle and move your hands to her hips and you ask “want to make a deal?”

Smirking she nods and says “what’s the deal?”

“You go out and with the champions league and you can kiss me as much as you want” you say with a smirk moving your hand to her cheek.

She laughs and holds out her hand between you and asks “Only if I can take you out on a date too?”

“deal” and you put your hand in hers shaking it softly.

“I have to go” she says softly

You nod and whisper “good luck Ale” before turning and grabbing your pen and writing your number down on a piece of paper. You hand it to her with a smirk saying “I hope this will help you focus now”

She smiles and presses a kiss to your cheek saying “I have an objective now I will be fully focused on completing it.” as she backs away slowly.

You chuckle watching her and say “Good luck la reina”

The month in between the day the deal was made and the champions league final was a tense one, in the best way possible. Anytime you both texted, which was any free time between her trainings and games and your bar, the flirting was relentless. You only saw her twice in the month but she confessed to you that she couldn’t see you or else she would have to, in her words, “press you against the wall and make you see stars.”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her either but you wanted to hear her voice, which lead to phone calls every single night. No matter how late you were at the bar she would sleepy wake up just to ask you about your day.

The day of the final she called you as she was about to leave in a bit of panic. She needed to hear your voice to remind her that she is Alexia too and not just the captain. All of the media and build up of her return was getting into her head and you knew she just needed to be grounded. You happily helped and reminded her of your deal and you couldn’t wait to taste her.

The bar threw a watch party and it was packed. The mood was sombre at halftime with Barca being down 2-0. You nervously paced waiting for the second half. When it started and Alexia came on at the start of half you couldn’t help but smile.

It was like the team changed with her and when immediately it sparked the team to score 2 quick goals the bar was electric cheering. When the 85th minute rolled around you were nervous, but you knew that once you saw Alexia gather a crappy clearance from the wolfsburg back line this was it. She cut in once around a defender just above the top of the 18 where she lined up and put a screamer in the top left corner.

That was it, they held on and the bar was electric and the party lasted all night. You snuck away to speak to Alexia briefly on the phone, but she couldn’t talk as she was pulled away. You turned the excitement you had and finally got the mixture right on your beer. You immediately had given samples out to have a second opinion and it was a hit.

She inspired you just like you did to her. When the parade for the team was organised and you knew they would be coming out side your bar you kept an eye out. Once it was the time for them to come this way, you pushed your way to the front of the crowd.

When the team came around the corner you hoped that you would be able to catch her. It was like when she came around the corner she could sense you, as she immediately met your eyes and her smile lit up her whole face.

You watched as she turned and almost sprinted to you, when she reached you she had placed her hands on your hips pulling you in. You placed your hand around her neck with a smile as she says “A deal is a deal Y/N”

You nod and say “You won it all Ale, time for my end of the deal” and you lean and press your lips to hers hard. She immediately presses back and you lose yourself in her forgetting about the crowd around you. You just feel the sparks only she has been able to give you.

When the need to breathe comes to much you both pull back and you slowly hear the crowd around you again, where you pull back slightly and whisper “wow.”

She smiles and says “I gotta go finish this thing” with a jerk of her thumb over her shoulder.

Nodding you say “come by after and you can finally taste my favourite beer I just finished”

She smiles wide “you finished it?”

“I did”

“Then I cannot wait, but only if it comes with the finest aqua you have” she says with a smile and you cant help but laugh and press your lips to hers one more time.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso imagines #Alexia Putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #espwnt x reader

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 months

Text

The Naughty Nanny Chapter 5

Summary: Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand. He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later. But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her. The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time. Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought.

**In this universe Steve never left, Tony never died.** **curvy reader** Warnings: talk of sexual harassment, unwanted/non-consensual touching/sexual assault, eventual smut

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The next few weeks were like clockwork. Bucky felt well-rested and lighter than he had in years as Y/N helped with Winnie. Y/N quickly became another part of the Avengers family, her calm and inviting demeanor making the others feel comfortable being open with her. She was bright and outgoing, often spouting one-liners that had the entire group doubled over laughing. Bucky could feel himself getting in dangerous territory with her as he naturally got closer to her as friends, building an emotional and at times physical connection with her. He reveled in the moments he’d muster up the courage and give her a side hug that she happily reciprocated, a lingering touch between their hands, when she would fall asleep on his shoulder as they watched a movie with Winnie, or be close to her as they both played with Winnie. If he didn’t know any better he would think that she copied his stare, catching her looking away from him hurriedly every once in a while. He didn’t want to push it, but was finding it more difficult as time went on.

“Hey Buck?” Y/N asked him one day.

“Yeah?”

“Um…I’m sorry to do this but, I need next Saturday night off,” Y/N said hesitantly.

“Oh, okay. That should be fine. May I ask why?” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m helping out a friend with something,” Y/N said, clearly not wanting to give him any details.

“Okay, yeah I can handle my kid for one night,” Bucky smirked at her.

“Psh, you sure?” Y/N teased him.

Bucky rolled his eyes. Their playful banter had become second nature to them by now and he secretly loved it. “Yes. Jesus, how little faith you have in me.”

Y/N shoved his arm playfully.

***

“We go next Saturday,” Steve announced to the room.

“Next Saturday?” Bucky asked incredulously. “I can’t, Y/N’s gonna be out that night. Who will watch Winnie?”

“I can,” Pepper piped up.

“Good,” Steve continued. “We’ll go in as patrons. Scott will take a look around while we observe the club and Kingpin’s guys. He won’t be there, he’s scheduled to be out of the country until next Sunday,” Steve continued rattling off the mission plan. Bucky’s unease didn’t let up. Something about this seemed off, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

The next Saturday Y/N had already left earlier in the day and Pepper was watching Winnie as Bucky got dressed. They were going to a fancy burlesque club downtown and they needed to look like they belonged. He wore a faux skin over his metal hand to make it look like regular flesh and an all-black outfit that was much tighter than the t-shirts and sweats he enjoyed. Steve and Scott met him downstairs, Steve dressed in a similar sharp outfit and his beard growing in, making him slightly less recognizable, and Scott in his Antman outfit so he could get tiny and spy all over the club quickly. They were looking for intel on weapons manufacturers that Kingpin was working with to deliver some previously-thought-lost alien weaponry into New York.

They arrived at the club at about 11:15 p.m. and were ushered into the VIP section, courtesy of Tony making a call ahead of time. Scott was buzzing around somewhere as Steve and Bucky ordered drinks and observed the club around them. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, the regular set up of Kingpin’s men there as bouncers and security.

“Guys, he’s here,” Scott’s voice sounded panicked through the earpieces.

“What?” Steve said, his brow furrowing, but otherwise keeping a straight face.

“A whole caravan of cars just pulled up, it’s him with his entourage. Looks like about 15 more men with him.”

“Why would he come back early?” Bucky asked, his eyes sweeping across the venue slowly. Just then Kingpin and his group entered. He was freakishly tall, bald, and burly, a mountain of a man compared to his bodyguards. He was dressed in the most expensive materials, his pearly white veneers glowing eerily between his lips, large rings on his fingers. “Typical,” Bucky sighed heavily as he watched him cross the club to his own VIP section that was front and center to the stage.

“Tell me about it,” Steve scoffed. Just then the announcer came overhead.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest for you tonight. Back for one night only, give a warm welcome to the one, the only, Big Booty Baby!”

Kingpin stood and clapped, his eyes trained on the stage territorially. Bucky and Steve shared a knowing look before looking toward the stage, noting how much the crowd was clapping excitedly as well. The curtain pulled back as the music started, a bright pink light outlining the body of the dancer who was posed with her back to the audience. She was plus size, thus the name, but it wasn’t until the spotlight came on and she turned her head to her profile that Bucky’s mouth dropped open. Steve looked at him strangely then took another look at the dancer and his eyes bulged. It was Y/N.

“Did y’all miss me?” she asked in a sultry tone, her voice being picked up by the microphone hanging over her head. The crowd cheered, whooping and hollering. She giggled then turned and posed again, looking out over the audience. The song picked up and she started to sway and move, dancing while lip syncing the lyrics to “Fever,” a song Bucky actually recognized. He squirmed in his seat as he watched her slowly pull off her glove.

“Um…did you know she was going to be here?” Steve breathed.

“No,” Bucky seethed. He was angry. Not necessarily at her, or that she didn’t tell him she would be “helping a friend” at the burlesque club, but that she was here in a dangerous situation with the likes of Kingpin. If he wasn’t already invested in this mission and ending this man, he definitely was now. Especially as he saw Kingpin watch her hungrily, whispering to his men next to him who all chuckled darkly with him. “We need to get her out of here, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said, looking around for quick exit points and options.

“I found the jackpot,” Scott’s voice crackled through. “I’m collecting it all now and I can meet you outside in 10 minutes.”

“Something came up, Scott. Take what you have and go back to the compound. We’ll meet you there,” Steve instructed lowly. Scott agreed and disconnected. “What’s the play, Buck?”

“I’ll buy a private dance. You find an exit point and get the car ready and we’ll get out of here,” Bucky said, his metal hand creaking slightly as he made a fist when she stripped off another layer of clothing. Steve gestured to one of the waiters, asking to buy a private dance with her for his friend.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, but he’ll have to wait till after Mr. Fisk has his dance,” she said sweetly. “But we can get another girl for you?”

“No, just her, uh…how long are the private dances?” Steve asked as Bucky sent a murderous glare Kingpin’s way.

“They’re scheduled anywhere from 5 minutes to 20 minutes. Mr. Fisk always takes 20,” she rattled off.

“I’ll take a 20 after him for my friend,” Steve said and paid her the money. She nodded and walked off as Steve turned back to Bucky. “Buck, you need to stay calm.”

“I am calm,” Bucky grunted. “Twenty minutes is a long time.”

“Right,” Steve said, sounding worried.

They both sputtered as Y/N took off her last layer of clothing, her nipples covered in heart shaped pasties and her nether regions barely covered by a small, glittery red bikini bottom, her full ass hanging out as she jiggled it to the audience, the fan in her hand shaking as she finished the song. She did her last pose and then smiled wide at the cheers, blowing kisses to people and bowing, covering herself with the large fan. Her eyes seemed to catch sight of Kingpin and she froze for a moment, her eyes widening and the smile dropping from her face before she quickly recovered, smiling politely as she grabbed her clothes and dollar bills and exited the stage. Bucky could tell she was scared, and it made him even angrier, and nervous.

When it was over Bucky quickly stood and marched over with Steve to the private dance area. Kingpin was right behind them. Bucky decided to try his luck as he stepped up to the podium. “Hi, I paid for a private dance with Big Booty Baby,” he said in an even, flirty tone to the woman.

“Ah, sorry, sir, our owner has first dibs,” she said, looking behind him.

Kingpin stepped forward and stood next to Bucky. He seemed to size him up, which made Bucky level him a cocked eyebrow. Kingpin was a head taller than him and bulkier, probably weighing close to 400 or more pounds. He could probably squash Bucky just by sitting on him, but Bucky didn’t let it get to him. “It’s alright, Roxy, this gentleman can take his turn first,” Kingpin said, trying to play it off as a kindness, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Oh and uh,” he leaned forward to Bucky, “she’s a spitfire. Feisty.” He winked at him.

Bucky wanted to deck him right there but just gave him a tight smile. As he turned to enter the private area he glanced at Steve who was already nodding and turning to leave to find a back door to the area. Bucky followed Roxy’s instructions and nodded to Kingpin before heading into the private room near the back, thankfully right next to the exit. When he walked in the room Y/N was pressed into a corner, dressed in a robe and turned away from him.

“Stay away from me, Wilson,” Y/N said firmly, not looking at him.

“Y/N,” Bucky said quietly. She turned, looking at Bucky in shock.

“Bucky? What?” She stared at him then held her robe tighter over her body.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” he held a hand out to her.

“I can’t,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m covering for Tiffany. He wasn’t supposed to be here,” she said, her chin trembling.

“It’s not safe, Y/N,” Bucky said, slowly approaching her. “We need to leave.”

“There’s cameras everywhere,” Y/N said. “It’s in the corner behind you.” Bucky stiffened and sighed. “They’re always watching. I have to give you a dance or the manager or Fisk will come back and do something.”

“Okay fine,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. He turned to the large, wide armchair behind him and sat in it stiffly. “Give me a dance, then we’ll head towards the door like you’re sending me off, and slip out the exit.” Y/N stared at him wide-eyed, her eyes flicking to the camera and back to him. “Come on, Y/N, we only have 18 minutes left,” Bucky urged her.

Y/N watched him for another moment then nodded solemnly. Her hands released her robe and slid it off her body, showing off her bright blue bustier top she had changed into. She was wearing a matching thong and garter set with sheer blue stockings, her feet bare. Bucky swallowed thickly as he looked at her. She swayed her way over to him, matching the beat of the music bumping around them, putting on a show for the camera.

When she reached him she pulled a leg up and set her foot on his knee, moving her hand from her thigh down to her foot slowly, tipping her body forward to show off her heavy cleavage. Her hand edged off her foot to his thigh, kneading the flesh there as she climbed onto the chair, straddling his legs, her hips slotting over his. Bucky didn’t dare move. The feelings he’d been tamping down were coming out full force, refusing to believe that it wasn’t real. Her fingers scratched up his shirt, and when she reached the top buttons she undid three of them and leaned in. She placed a kiss on his chest then dragged her mouth up to his neck and licked just under his jaw.

Bucky’s hands moved to her hips, gripping them firmly to help ground himself. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Y/N whispered into his ear, giving his earlobe a nibble as her hands roamed along his chest and arms.

“It’s okay,” Bucky breathed, his hips trembling when she started to grind down on him. “We’ll…mmh,” he moaned as she bit his neck lightly, her hands moving to his hair and scratching his scalp. “We’ll talk about it at home.”

Y/N nodded against his neck. She glanced at the timer behind him. 10 minutes. “Forgive me,” she said quietly. Bucky didn’t understand until she suddenly pulled away and got off the chair. She turned around and slapped her ass, making it jiggle in his face, then took his hands and led them to her ass, encouraging him to touch her. Bucky tried to act like he didn’t want to, but it was no use. He sat up and kneaded her ass, his face close to her right cheek. He wasn’t sure what came over him but he slapped that cheek, making her gasp, then leaned forward further and lightly kissed the welt that started forming. Y/N moaned this time, her hands tightly wrapped around his wrists. She pushed him back and sat back on his lap. She started grinding her hips into his, her hands supporting herself on his knees. Bucky helped guide her hips where he wanted them, the crack of her ass enveloping his covered cock so perfectly it had his eyes rolling.

“Buck? I found the exit nearest you. Where are you?” Steve’s voice rang in his ear.

“Almost there,” Bucky said as evenly as he could. Steve copied and Bucky silenced his earpiece. Y/N leaned back so they were cheek to cheek, Bucky’s panted breaths huffing against her face. She pulled his hands to her thighs, which he immediately started gripping roughly. “Fuck, honey,” he groaned, watching her grind against him.

“Honey?” Y/N said, her voice airy and sultry like it was on stage.

Bucky nodded as she slid across his cock just right that his hips rutted up against her. Y/N smiled and kept grinding on him that way. Bucky’s hands slipped up her body until his covered metal hand cupped her left breast and his flesh hand wrapped around her throat. He was losing all sense of self, just enjoying this pleasure while he still could, almost forgetting the danger they were in. “Sweet and smooth,” he murmured, his metal hand rubbing her breast then down her stomach, “like honey.”

Y/N whimpered as his voice dropped. She grabbed his metal hand, pausing when she saw it covered by the faux skin, but then brought it to her mouth. She stuck her tongue out and licked his pointer finger slowly, swirling around it then sucking his middle finger into her mouth with it, licking and sucking them together like it were his cock. That combined with her gyrating hips had him growling into the crook of her neck as his hips jerked and he came in his pants. Y/N gasped around his fingers but kept sucking them as he jerked a couple more times with how much he was cumming. He’d never seen something so erotic, and he kissed her neck as his breathing evened out.

Y/N slightly turned her head and looked behind him. 2 minutes.

“We need to go now,” Y/N said. She quickly stood up and put on her robe, grabbing a bag that was hiding under the couch across from them. Bucky cleared his throat and tried to fix his ruined pants as he stood. He looked at the timer and then turned his earpiece back on.

“Steve, we’re coming out now,” he grunted.

“Ready when you are,” Steve replied.

Bucky grabbed Y/N by the arm and led her to the door. He opened it and looked out into the hallway. Seeing no one coming he opened the exit door next to them and held it open for her. Just as Y/N stepped out and was one foot out the exit, Kingpin rounded the corner.

“What the fuck?!” he shouted as he started running towards them.

Y/N gasped and looked panicked as Bucky pushed her out the door. Steve was in a car right next to it and Bucky hurried her inside and slammed it behind himself. “Go!” he yelled and Steve took off.

Kingpin burst through the exit door when they were already halfway down the alley. “GET BACK HERE YOU BITCH! I OWN YOU!!” he yelled. Bucky looked back just as he saw Kingpin pull out a gun.

“Duck!” he yelled and pushed Y/N’s head down.

A shot rang out and ricocheted off the bulletproof back window, making Y/N scream. Steve peeled around the corner and they quickly drove away. They circled around, taking different twists and turns. When they were sure they weren’t being followed Steve headed back towards the compound.

Bucky couldn’t relax, his head on a swivel as Steve continued home. The car was quiet until a small sniffle came from Y/N. Bucky’s head whipped toward her and his expression softened. She was still hunched over, like she was afraid she could still get shot. Tears poured down her cheeks as she clutched her robe tight around her. She was shivering. Bucky sighed and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer to him. She flinched at first, looking at him with wide eyes, but then she melted against him, tucking her head against his chest as she cried. He held her close, rubbing her arm and whispering comforting words into her hair.

When they pulled up to the compound Steve quickly turned around in the car. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Y/N sighed and sat up, wiping at her eyes. “I’m fine, thanks Steve,” she whispered.

Steve gave her a long look then turned to Bucky. “You good?”

“As much as I can be,” Bucky shrugged.

“Alright. We’ll meet in the conference room tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. All of us,” he looked at Y/N pointedly. She hung her head and nodded. “Go clean up and get some rest, the both of you.” He exited the car and headed inside, leaving them behind.

Bucky grabbed Y/N’s bag and exited the car, holding the door open for her. She followed him out and trailed behind him as they walked inside. Thankfully everyone was either away or had gone to bed already so they weren’t bothered as they headed to their suite. The elevator ride was deafeningly silent, and the walk down the hallway was eerie with the thud of their footsteps echoing. When Bucky opened the door he let Y/N enter first and they were greeted with Pepper sitting on the couch.

“Welcome back, how–” she stopped when she saw Y/N. “Y/N? What…?” She walked over to her and reached out a hand, pushing back some of her hair.

“I’m fine,” Y/N waved off her concerned look. “It was just…a lot.”

Pepper looked over her tear stained and makeup streaked face and then down her body at her outfit. Y/N closed the robe again. “I thought you said you were done with the burlesque club.”

It sounded accusatory and Bucky stepped forward. “Pepper, don’t.”

“I was,” Y/N spoke up, giving Pepper a hard glare. “My friend needed help. I told her I’d cover this one shift so she could audition for a new place that’s not owned by the same person. He’s dangerous. I was…helping a friend,” she sniffed, her lip trembling. “I will not apologize for that. But I will apologize for not making everyone aware of what I was doing.”

Pepper nodded then turned to Bucky. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yes,” Bucky said resolutely.

“Fine. But no more,” Pepper said, looking back at Y/N. Y/N nodded. Pepper sighed then walked around her and headed for the door. “Winnie’s been fine. Fell asleep about two hours ago,” she said as she opened the door then shut it behind her.

Bucky and Y/N stood silently in the front room. Bucky walked toward Y/N’s room with her bag. She slowly followed him. He entered the room and set the bag down on her bed before turning back to look at her. She was looking anywhere but at him, her arms still wrapped around herself. Bucky watched her for a moment then stepped toward her. He lifted her chin with his finger and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Y/N gazed back at him, her makeup smeared and her cheeks still flushed. She gave him a sad lopsided smile and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m fine. Thank you, for helping me,” she whispered, her voice coming out hoarse. Bucky waited to see any lie in her eyes, but after a moment pulled his hand away.

“Okay,” he said simply. “Get some rest. We can talk about all this tomorrow.”

Y/N sighed again, closing her eyes and nodding. Bucky was about to step around her but stopped himself. He stepped closer to her again, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him with wide eyes. His eyes searched her face, flicking between her eyes to her lips and back. He leaned forward slowly, waiting for her to react or pull away. When she didn’t he took that as a good sign and closed the gap, kissing her cheek, so very close to the side of her mouth. He pulled away and stared at her lips for a moment before looking back up at her eyes. Her mouth slightly hung open, her own eyes focusing on his lips.

“Thanks for the dance,” Bucky said, a small smirk lighting up his face. He dropped his hand from her face and stepped around her as she gasped lightly. When he turned to close her door she was staring at him with a stunned expression. He winked and closed the door behind him.

@angelbabyyy99 @capswife @julvrs @bellabarnes1378 @mostlymarvelgirl @mega-kittyglitter-1 @buckitostan @drdbnkl2008 @wintrsoldrluvr @danzer8705

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #series fanfic #chapter 5 #curvy reader #plus size!reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #nanny!reader #single dad!bucky barnes

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sydnikov · 1 year

Note

saw you were asking about requests and if that’s still the case: something hurt/comfort where the reader is comforting svech when he finds out he has have to surgery, and helping him through the recovery process.

either established relationship or a feelings realization maybe? whatever you’re most comfortable with.

In Five || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov/Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Cursing (mild this time), sports injury (torn ACL/ligament), steamy kissing, bad proofreading, so much angst, but don’t worry there’s fluff at the end

A/N: I really tortured myself writing this. The emotions are still high, I hate the Bruins (sorry Bruins followers), and I hope you guys get all the feels as you read this. In all seriousness though, THANK YOU to whoever sent this in because it got me out of my writer’s block. (p.s. I’ve now opened requests to get me more inspired… so go submit stuff!!) anyways, I hope y’all enjoy 😁

It wasn’t bad. Not at first glance—at least that’s what you told yourself from the stands, clenching your fingers so hard they left nail indentations in the middle of your palms.

But you knew. You knew your best friend because you could read him like a book. Every twitch of the eye, a quirk of his lips, they all were a glimpse into his mind of what he was thinking. Andrei is your favorite book, and you just reached the chapter where everything starts to fall apart.

He was trying to hide it, the pain he was feeling from the quick stumble he took at center ice. It was just a small muscle pull, though, right? That’s what you thought, but then you saw him skate to the bench, favoring his right knee with the expression of one who knew he messed up.

Andrei played the rest of the game, but as you headed down to the locker room you couldn’t fight the feeling of dread steadily creeping up your heart.

“Hey,” you greeted a few of the girls leaning against the wall, waiting for their significant others to finish interviews. You were sort of an outcast in that manner, because Andrei wasn’t yours… No matter how much you wanted him to be. “Has he come out yet?” you asked.

The solemn shake of their heads gave you your answer, and you didn’t even bother trying to hide your worry when you leaned back against the wall with them, anxiously chewing your lip. The time came and went, seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to an hour of watching the other Hurricanes players come and go—none of them the man you wanted, no needed to see.

It was times like these where you questioned how you got here, waiting on Andrei like a girlfriend but being firmly stuck in the friend zone. He had never made you feel like anything less because of it, but you felt it aching in your very bones when he’d flash a smile to the girls at the bars you frequented, or when he’d ask you whether the blue shirt or the red shirt would look better on a date with the cute girl he met at a shopping mall.

It was funny, too, because you hadn’t met him any differently than he’s met the other girls he’s taken out. It was at a bar, actually, one in downtown Raleigh not too far of a drive from PNC Arena, and you were nursing a drink with a few friends from work when the place exploded in activity because players from the Carolina Hurricanes had just arrived.

You didn’t ask “who?” like one of your coworkers asked, because you loved hockey and went to a decent amount of games, and you could confidently answer which player had which number. In one game you’d even managed to snag glass seats, and that had been the best night of your life.

Never had you actually met any of the players, though. Odd, considering you had always made it a habit to go out at least once on the weekends, but one fateful Saturday night was when you finally were able to get a good look at the players outside of their hockey uniforms. You were content to merely watch them from a distance, but soon you realized they were just like any other regular bar patrons and soon lost interest in eyeing them a few tables back.

It was as you were ordering another drink that you caught from the corner of your eyes a body settling down on your right, too close to be convenient because there were other open seats far from you. You hadn’t been looking for a hookup that night, though, so you figured playing hard-to-get might ward off any men looking for a quick one-night stand.

“Hi,” the man suddenly spoke, accent too thick to be attributed to intoxication. A foreigner? You met his eyes, your gaze colliding with warm brown that reminded you of the hot chocolate you’d buy to keep your hands warm in the winter. “Drink not up to standards?” he said, leaning against the bar counter to get a better look at you.

Your brain had short-circuited, because wow this guy was good-looking, and it only took another minute of analyzing his features with your tipsy brain to realize you were talking to Andrei Svechnikov, or rather, he was talking to you.

“Not much of a drinker to begin with.” you had replied smoothly, shocking even yourself because talking to attractive men had never been a strong suit. “What about you? What do you drink?”

You and Andrei, who had later introduced himself and to which you responded with a cheeky quirk of your lips, “I know”, had hit it off immediately. You talked for hours that night, unable to shake the undeniable chemistry you had between you until one of your friends ran into you slurring her words and stumbling in place that signaled your outing time was up.

You exchanged numbers that night, and unbeknownst to either of you, your hearts were beating in tandem for days after, and brains spiraling with ‘what ifs’ and ‘I think they like me’. Unfortunately… It had never gone beyond that, because communication was hard to begin with for Andrei without the added challenge of having to speak English, and well–past relationships have made it a little hard for you to put your trust in people.

So, here you were. Confidently able to say that Andrei was one of your closest friends who you just so happened to be in love with, but knowing it would never go beyond that. You’d rather have Andrei in your life as a friend than not at all, right?

That’s what you told yourself when you finally heard the familiar sound of Andrei’s deep voice from the locker room, coming closer and closer as the distance between you decreased.

“No, no,” Andrei said, firmly, finally making his appearance. “No hospital. I feel fine.”

“Son, you’re favoring your knee. You need to go, now.” Head Coach Rod Brind’Amour marched in right behind the left winger. “I let you wait out the rest of the game, that’s what we agreed.”

Andrei remained in place, stubbornly glaring at the older man with the two looking like raging bulls getting ready to charge the other.

“‘Drei?” you finally found the courage to speak, hesitantly stepping forward and breaking the heated glare between the two men. You didn’t even notice until now that the athletic trainer was waiting behind them, phone held to his ear. “What’s going on?”

Immediately, the Russian’s eyes whipped towards you and he stepped back from Rod immediately. He said your name in slight confusion, even embarrassment at being caught in the metaphorical pissing match between him and his coach.

“I—” he licked his lips, struggling to find the words in English. “My knee. It is… Messed up.”

“Messed up?” you said. “What do you mean?”

That’s when Rod popped in. “He took a bit of a stumble on the ice, it didn’t look too serious at first but his knee is hurting.” He turned to glare at Andrei. “He can barely stand on it.”

Andrei clenched his jaw, attempting to shift his weight onto his right knee, but he could barely manage to stand before his face twisted up in pain and he had to use the wall to balance himself.

You stepped up to the Russian, worriedly wringing your hands together before stilling them to grab your stubborn friend's arm. “You’re too stubborn for your own good,” you smiled wryly, attempting to mask your worry with a small tease.

Andrei towered over you, but his size had always made you feel safe rather than scared, and that applied to now, roo. “I am fine, darling,” he murmured the pet name in Russian, his voice matching the softness of his eyes he could never hide when looking at you. Sometimes he’d speak in his native tongue in front of you because he knew you didn’t understand, and the scowl on your face afterward always made him laugh.

But, even though he was definitely not fine, he could barely take having to bother his teammates and coaches with his issues, nonetheless you. He didn't want you to see him so weak, at least not like this.

“My knee is just stiff. Sore.” he shot a look towards Rod, who up until this moment had been staring at the wall to give the two of you privacy. “It is not that bad, I am sure of it.”

“Then you’ll go to the hospital to get it checked out since it’s ‘not that bad’.” Rod deadpanned, finally breaking the bubble of tension that always seemed to surround you and Andrei when together.

“I agree with him, Andrei,” you said, placing another hand on his arm to gain his attention. “You need to get it looked at, at the very least.”

You gave him your best puppy eyes, peering up at him as he stood over you. You could see the hesitation on his face, knowing his protesting was mostly because he hated bothering others with his problems.

“If not for your career, do it for me?” you said, attempting to bring back his smile by poking him in the chest. “Please?”

A moment of silence, you staring at Andrei and Andrei staring at you…

“—fine.”

He agreed, but his knee was not fine as he said it was. It was bad because it wasn’t actually his knee that had been causing his pain, but rather a torn ligament connected to the knee that turned out to be the ACL in his right leg.

And Andrei was devastated. You weren’t allowed to be in the room with him while they checked him out because he needed an MRI, but Martin and Seth were and it was them who came up to you in the hallway, grim looks on their faces as they broke the news. You could hear the raised voices of both Andrei and Brind’Amour shouting from the room.

You couldn’t see Andrei’s face, but you felt your heart breaking for him anyways as the doctor probably told him how long his recovery would take, the physical therapy he would need to endure, and the amount of time he wouldn’t be able to play hockey for.

“Nine months,” Andrei said, angrily typing away on his phone to his brother, Evgeny, probably. “Maybe six if I am lucky.”

You remained silent, watching him from the kitchen counter at a loss for words. You had offered to drive Andrei home, unofficially taking on the role of caretaker since Martin lived with his girlfriend and Seth was, well… Seth.

Andrei was on the couch, dressed in an old Hurricanes hoodie with shorts, his right leg propped up on a stool wrapped in a temporary cast. His face was flushed, and his hair messy from all the times he had run his hands through it. You knew he was in pain, both mentally and physically, but it really was unfair how he still managed to look so attractive all throughout.

Leg cast and all included.

“Is that what the doctor said?” you asked, finally gaining the courage to speak as you crossed the room. You carefully sat on the couch next to him, not wanting to jostle his leg.

The Russian dropped his phone on his lap, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes before gazing at you with determination. “Yes. But I’m going to be better in five.”

You finally cracked a smile, there’s the ‘Drei you knew and loved, your first one since hearing the news and bringing him back to his house. Andrei couldn’t help but grin, feeling the fondness for you in his heart grow. You were so good to him, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his feelings to himself while you stayed with him.

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t mind having you stay with him for the rest of the year, though. Andrei was selfish, and he was also possessive, so he liked having you to himself. He considered Martin and Seth and Sebastian his good friends, his teammates, his bros if you will, but you were his. His best friend, his best girl—you were the only one he wanted, and maybe this new living situation would give him the opportunity to finally tell you.

Andrei just hoped you felt the same. He wouldn’t be able to stand losing you because he couldn’t keep his heart under control.

“Well, you know I’ll be here to help you get through it.” You stated with conviction, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze and your heart beating all the while.

You held your unspoken promise, especially on the day of his surgery a little less than a week after his prognosis. It was an early surgery on a Thursday morning, and you even called off work so you could be at the hospital with him when he woke up.

You already knew most of your friends and family were wondering why you were putting so much effort into caring for someone who was just a friend, and if you were being honest you didn’t have much of an answer to give them. They had a point after all, right?

You and Andrei were just friends. That was it. You may be in love with him (now more than ever), and you definitely omitted that little detail during past conversations, but still. Friends move in with each other to help recover from big injuries all the time.

This time with Andrei was no different, and you had to repeat this mantra over and over again in your head as the anesthesia slowly wore off and his eyes were so soft and droopy, mumbling his words and his accent was thicker than ever and your heart was beating so fast it was going to jump out of your chest–

“Thank you for being here with me,” Andrei slurred, gazing up at you with those warm, half-lidded eyes.

You grabbed his hand, gently, lacing your fingers together and squeezing once. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Andrei squeezed back once before losing consciousness, his eyes closing and his head lolling back against the pillow. “That’s normal, right?” You asked the nurse, who was busy writing on a clipboard. She only had to look up once to take in the situation before responding.

“Everyone responds to anesthesia differently. Your boyfriend is just one of many who has to sleep it off.”

You felt your stomach drop, your eyes widening only slightly at the nurse’s casual use of ‘boyfriend’. Of course, that’s what you and your best friend must have looked like to her, right? You, holding Andrei’s hand, and he gazing up at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

It was probably just the drugs in his system. Definitely.

Andrei was cleared to leave the hospital the next day, and you heard the news from the group chat you, Martin, and Seth were in. It was comically titled, ‘Andrei’s bobble-leg’, courtesy of Seth, of course, and it was essentially just the three of you coordinating who has Andrei duty on the days you weren’t able to be with him.

Unfortunately, the day he was able to go home was the day you had to be back at work, so Martin and Seth left their morning skate early to drive him home. And so, here you were now, finally off from work and driving down Capital Blvd road to Andrei’s home.

Martin, Seth, and surprisingly quite a few of the players were already there when you arrived. You knocked on the front door before letting yourself in, curiosity written all over your face as you walked closer to all the noise.

Happy shouts of your name rang across the room when you appeared in the doorway, and your face flushed red in embarrassment at all the eyes suddenly upon you. “Hey guys,” you said, eyes scanning around the room looking for the only man you really cared about.

Finally, you found him. Andrei was seated on his couch, leg safely propped up on the ottoman and wrapped in tight bandages and a brace. He had an Xbox controller in his hand, the video game he was previously playing on pause.

“How was work?” Sebastian asked from the right of Andrei, also holding a controller. There were several bags of chips laid out across the ottoman, and both men were currently snacking.

It was probably against their diet, but you weren’t going to be the one to tell them that, especially Andrei.

“Work,” you finally responded, rather dry. Most of the population, including you, unfortunately, were not lucky enough to play the sport they loved as their job.

A few chuckles and about an hour later, everyone began packing up to leave. Somehow, you had gravitated toward Andrei during this time of catching up with his teammates and ended up on the couch next to him, on his left. His arm was casually strewn across the back of the couch, fingertips playing with the ends of your hair and occasionally brushing against your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

You liked to pretend it was just you harboring feelings for him sometimes because it was less scary, but every day that fantasy was getting harder and harder to live… Especially when you would turn your head to catch a peek at his side profile, and he was already staring as if knowing the effect he had on you.

“How’s your leg feeling?” You asked once you heard the front door shut, signaling the exit of the last guest. It was silent other than the TV playing softly in the background, it having changed from Call of Duty to a rerun of Friends some time ago.

Andrei sighed, attempting to hide his emotional turmoil with a smile. Bringing his arm down from the back of the couch, he tentatively rested it on your shoulders, gauging your reaction before bringing you to his side. He’s been an affectionate person since you first met him, so you were used to the random hand-holding or hugs, but it still never failed to make you long for something more.

He patted his leg gently, careful not to disturb it from where it rested. “Hurts. But that is to be expected, no?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it can’t suck.” You said, your voice nothing more than a murmur. You rested your head against his shoulder, tugging at a loose string on one of your sleeves.

The hockey player didn’t respond, instead, he placed one of his big hands on your shoulder and squeezed, a sign he at least heard your attempt at reassurance. Time passed quickly like this; Friends continued playing, as did your position tucked into Andrei’s side.

You felt at peace, and while he didn’t say it with words you could tell the Russian beside you felt the same. Hopefully, the next few months of healing will just fly by.

And they did, at first. But even though the Carolina Hurricanes were missing one of their star players, the games must go on. His teammates went out on the ice, each and every one of them feeling Andrei’s absence keenly.

You felt it too, as the Boston Bruins scored their fourth and final goal of the night, winning the game in a shootout. The hope immediately dissipated within your chest and in rose frustration and disappointment to take its place, but you were sure that was nothing compared to what Andrei was feeling beside you.

The entirety of the game, your hand was wrapped in Andrei’s, his squeezing down when the Bruins scored their first goals in regulation and releasing to clap when we were finally able to tip the puck in. Then the team came back in the third period—you weren’t sure what Brind’Amour had said to the boys during the second intermission, but whatever he said had worked.

The Hurricanes had been controlling the puck in the Bruins’ zone, something they had failed to do in the first two periods. They were passing, aiming, shooting, scoring, first by Skjei in the corner of the net and then by Aho on a tight pass from Martinook that slipped right past Swayman’s shoulder.

It was looking so good because Andersen had finally gotten his head in the game and the defense had stepped up, but then we went past overtime scoreless, and then to the fateful shootout.

You had felt the anxiousness from every fan in the arena. If anyone was an avid Hurricanes watcher, including you, they knew shootouts had never been this hockey team’s strong suit.

Andrei’s frustration was palpable next to you. His left leg was bouncing up and down for the entirety, and you could see the muscles tensing and untensing in his right leg as if he had wanted to move. It only got worse when Brind’Amour sent Burns out first, something that had you, Andrei, and every single Hurricanes fan in the arena watching on in confusion.

“No, no,” you had heard the Russian mutter from next to you. “Why is he sending Brent? He needs to send Fishy, or Turbo—” the words then died in his mouth as Brent missed as everyone knew would happen, and sadly Teuvo, who went out next, did too.

Unfortunately for us, the Bruins had good goal-scorers. Coyle had slipped the puck past Andersen, as did DeBrusk, and then it was done. Game over. Just like that.

You finally turned to face the man next to you just as his head fell into his hands, tugging at his hair and messing up the gel you forced him to put on because no, Andrei, you can’t show up with bedhead. He was muttering words you couldn’t understand, most likely the creative Russian curses you heard him say on occasion.

If this game had been hard to watch for you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Andrei was feeling.

“‘Drei,” you said, tentatively. “Are you—”

“No. Don’t.” He snapped, rubbing at his eyes before unsteadily rising to stand. His right leg shook, but he refused the arm you held out and didn’t dare to look in your eyes to see what look they held. As he tried to reach for his crutches, his leg buckled from underneath him, and this time you ignored the hurt of him lashing out to put your arms around his back to steady him.

“Can we— Is it okay if…” he struggled to speak, his accent thick with emotion as he struggled to find the words. Andrei had never been good at communicating when upset, literally, because everything always came to him in Russian naturally, and this time was no different. “Leave? Can we leave?”

“What about—”

“No. No team. No reporters.” he said, digging his fingers into the back of his jersey you were wearing.

You softened, gently maneuvering your body so you could face him better. Now you were chest-to-chest, your arms still wrapped around his midsection to keep him steady. “What do you want then, Andrei?”

“Home,” he murmured. “Home. With you.” he wasn’t able to convey it right at this moment, but his heart was pounding as he said the words. To him, to anyone in his culture, this was the closest he could come to expressing his love without outright saying it.

He found he wasn’t scared about finally admitting this out loud, either, because you were his home. Everything about you was home because he wouldn’t dare let anyone else except his brother and mama see him so vulnerable.

Of course, you were oblivious. He normally found it cute, but right now he wanted to shake you because all he wanted right now was to hold you in his arms and kiss you as he found comfort in your presence.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, the double meaning of his words flying right over your head. But something emboldened you, gave you the courage to raise your hands to his shoulders so you could reach up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, right next to the corner of his lips.

“Let’s go home, ‘kay?”

The ride home was silent, comforting even despite the rough loss the team took. By the time you finally managed to get to the car, the two of you were struggling to keep your eyes open and also keep your hands off each other. Andrei tangling your hands together, you gently leaning against his side…

It was all surface-level, neither wanting to speak the words out loud but yet not wanting to sacrifice the innocent, physical intimacy you found with each other. This was all racing through your mind the closer you got to Andrei’s house, and you were almost positive he was thinking the same.

Andrei, in fact, was actually contemplating the one-hundred different ways he was going to kiss you, if he ever gets to that stage with you. He was currently facing the window but left enough room at the corner of his eyes to take little peeks at you, only fuelling his determination to do something about the tension between you.

And, yeah, maybe he was hyperfixating on you to distract him from the fact his team lost and if he was down on the ice he knew he would have been able to fix it, been able to score. His emotions had skyrocketed since the game ended, and everything felt so much more intense than usual.

Maybe that was just the pain medication he was on, though…

After you finally arrived at Andrei’s house, it took a little bit over an hour to finally get yourselves ready for bed. The problem? Neither of you were ready for any sort of sleeping, and you both knew it.

Currently, Andrei was leaning back into the couch, his right leg once again propped up on the ottoman and a blanket haphazardly thrown over his lap. You were next to him, legs comfortably tucked underneath you with a few inches of space left between you and Andrei.

There was half a family-sized bag of Doritos in between you that he said was in his pantry, so you were both currently snacking on them while watching the NHL channel. It was quiet other than for the TV, for neither of you were speaking a word for fear of breaking the thick silence between you.

The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, and what made it even worse is that you didn’t think Andrei even noticed. He was wrapped up in his phone, most likely watching the game recap because his face was twisted up and his whole body seemed tense.

You shoved another Dorito in your mouth. Fuck. You were so, so screwed. You needed to get it together before you said something you regretted, especially since you had temporarily become his roommate.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and spoke. “Andrei?” you said, hesitantly looking towards him.

“What?” he responded after a moment, not taking his eyes away from his phone.

Now you felt uncomfortable. Before, in the arena, he was looking at you like he loved you, but now he was snappy and tense and worse than normal because his team lost without him being able to play.

Picking at the skin around your nails, you attempted scooting down the couch before just giving up and moving to stand. “Nevermind,” you said with a mutter, feeling withdrawn and defeated. If he didn’t want to open up to you, fine, but you didn’t deserve to have him take out his frustration on you.

At least, not like this.

Andrei didn’t even respond, furthering your feelings of bitterness towards the man you had so many feelings for. Wrapping your hands in the long sleeves of his hoodie you were still wearing, you shuffled down the hallway and into the guest room you claimed as your own.

You could still hear the TV playing in the background, but that was the only sound in the otherwise silent house. You blinked the frustration from your eyes and crawled underneath the bed sheets, scrolling on your phone until you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Hours passed of restless tossing and turning, and then suddenly it was three in the morning and you were being woken up by countless knocks on your door.

“The fuck?” you muttered sleepily, crawling out of the cocoon of blankets you were in to answer your door. For whatever reason, your sleep-addled brain wasn’t able to comprehend that it was probably Andrei on the other side. “Andrei?” you said, confused as the Russian leaned against the wall.

He looked rather sheepish, slightly embarrassed. His hair was ruffled, and the TV was still playing so he probably fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh, shit,” you said, suddenly realizing that he was probably here because he needed help. Of course. That was all it was. “I’m such an idiot, sorry,” you breathed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you stepped out of the room. “C’mon, I’ll help you get in bed.”

Andrei stopped you with a hand, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find words. ��No, that is not it.” he finally settled on.

Okay, now you were curious. “Huh?”

“I am sorry.”

What?

“For what?” You asked, staring up at him wide-eyed. You were honestly too tired for a heavy conversation like this so you were struggling to keep up.

Andrei swallowed the lump in his throat. His leg was currently throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing in his heart as he looked at you. Your hair was all over the place in the most endearing way, and your eyes were droopy in a way that told him you were just sleeping.

“For not treating you right, for—” He cut himself off, sighing in frustration. Why was English so complicated? If only you understood English. “English is stupid.” he muttered, then released a big sigh and steeled his resolve.

Stepping closer, he brought the two of you chest-to-chest and brought his arms to cage you against the wall.

And you, you meanwhile, let out the most embarrassing noise possible when he suddenly got close, and then Andrei was everywhere and nowhere all at once. His body was trapping you in, and while your senses were on overdrive you strangely enough didn't feel like fleeing.

“Andrei?” You squeaked, sinking further into the wall if it was possible. Your eyes dropped, finding the center of his chest to firmly set your gaze. His eyes were so dark, intimidating, and swimming with an intention you were nervous to find out. “What are you doing?”

“Look at me, please?” A large hand smoothed against your skin, gently tilting your head up. Your eyes automatically locked with his, and the emotion on his face had you gasping. “There’s my girl,” He said.

Okay, yeah, your body was frozen, the breath leaving your lungs in a torrent of sharp breaths. This… This was new territory, for the both of you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Andrei looked so calm while you looked like a startled deer—an unattractive one, at that.

He started speaking, heart thundering while the words poured from his throat like warm, melted butter. “I’m in love with you. You are my person, I knew from the very first moment I saw you in that bar so many months ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but tonight, having you next to me… You’ve always been next to me, and I’ve taken advantage of that. Darling, I want to make up for all the times I never kissed you senseless, and I want nothing more than to have you as mine, and I yours.”

Your favorite music, your favorite voice, words so filled with emotion and yet you couldn’t even understand him as he looked at you like you were his sun, and he a plant desperately seeking your warmth. Andrei had only spoken in Russian a handful of times in front of you – most being curses or quips exchanged with Pyotr – and never had he spoken so much of it.

You’d always thought Russian was rather harsh. The sharp whistles, clicks of the tongue, hissing of certain words; you admired anyone who could speak it, but it had never been an easy language to listen to you. But, when Andrei spoke Russian… It was soft, almost musical, and expressive to the point you felt like you could understand the very subject at hand if you thought about it. Maybe you were just biased, but you swore you fell more in love with him every time he spoke it.

“No words?” he said, a grin on his face that made you realize you’d maybe been silent for a little too long.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You were breathless— literally.

“I show you, then, what I said,” Andrei brushed his fingers against the side of your neck, almost fully grasping it as he gently brought you closer. You had no complaints, though. “Yes?”

He said your name again, looking at you with those warm eyes so full of depth they hypnotized you and had you nodding yes, almost instinctively.

Andrei sucked in a breath, tightening his grip on you only slightly as he slid his hand around the back of your head. Your lips were slightly parted, shiny and red from where you’d been biting them previously, and that cupid’s bow that always drove him crazy when you smiled was quirked upwards as if it was asking him to kiss you.

He waited a moment, stared into your eyes, his fingers merely a whisper of a touch against your cheek, and finally took the leap. The first touch of his lips was shy, testing, but then you whimpered with need and tugged at his shirt to bring him closer and Andrei had an internal moment of fuck it where he realized just how crazy he was for you. Pressing you into the wall, he nipped at your bottom lip and was granted entrance with a gasp drowned out by the sound of his own groan. He put every ounce of his passion and love and relief into this kiss as if trying to convince you to stay because this, this here? It was worth it—you were worth it. Fireworks, electricity, butterflies, and everything all at once was igniting in your gut and caused you to let out a pathetic whimper the moment your lips finally detached. He was clearly skilled at this, wholeheartedly controlling the moment as his lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin that met your collarbone.

“‘Drei,” you gasped, clutching the hair right at his scalp – when did you move your arms around his neck? – as he sucked a mark under your jaw. “Hm?” he hummed, not stopping with his ministrations.

“What,” you said, throat dry and raspy as you tried to speak over the sound of your beating heart. “What did you say— oh,”

Andrei’s grin was almost feral as he drew the beautiful sound from your lips. “Found it,” he said, voice full of pride as he brushed his fingers against the newly-found sweet spot on your neck.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed his head in between your hands, bringing his head to yours so you could press a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips before pulling back to gather your thoughts because you had a lot of them.

Andrei pouted the moment you pulled him away but respected your boundaries and merely rested his hands on your waist to keep you close. He said your name gently, his tone bordering on questioning. “Did I… Did I push too far?” he said.

“No, no, not at all,” you rushed to correct him, already having caught the guilt in his eyes. “I just want to know what you said earlier, before you— you know.” It felt almost taboo to say ‘before you kissed the life out of me’, not wanting to break this delicate balance you found yourself in.

The Russian hummed, already catching on to your bashfulness and deciding to tease you for it. “No, darling, I think you need to remind me,” he brought a hand up to loosely wrap around your neck, the contact keeping you grounded. “On what I did before what?”

“Andrei,” you said, immediately dropping eye contact as your face flushed red. “You’re being a tease,” you muttered.

He dipped his head, brushing your lips together as he spoke. You felt his breath against your skin and had the sudden desire to taste him again. “I can do this all night, but the question is can you?”

You gave up at that because the moment he spoke he drew back and you couldn’t stand the feeling of not having him close to you anymore. “Andrei,” you sucked in a breath. “What did you say before you kissed me? In Russian?”

“I love you,” Andrei didn’t miss a beat as he crept his other hand farther up your waist. “That is mostly what I said. And more.”

“More?” you squeaked out as he drew closer.

The hockey player hummed, then suddenly stepped back and grabbed your hand. “Much more,” he confirmed. “Now—bed?” Short, sweet, and to the point Andrei always was…

Just one of the many things you loved about him.

Twenty minutes later you lay in Andrei’s bed, swallowed in another one of his shirts, and curled into his chest. His arm was wrapped around your waist, stroking gentle circles into the skin exposed to the room. It was silent, null except for the steady hum of the air conditioning and the gentle breathing of two humans reveling in each other’s presence.

“I miss it,” he said, suddenly speaking up. You lifted your head only slightly from his chest, already missing the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. “Hockey. And I miss playing with my brothers.”

Brothers. Your heart broke at hearing the longing in his voice, because every single player on the team he played with was his family, in one way or another, and now he was being forced to watch them play the sport he had no chance of helping them win.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he was feeling.

“I know, Andrei,” was what you finally settled on. Your voice was soft, gentle, trying to convey your understanding with actions rather than words. You drew tiny circles on his chest, taking pride in the way goosebumps rose in your fingers’ wake. “I know.”

He tightened his grip on you, holding you closer to him as if he were afraid you’d disappear. “Will you be here?” he suddenly asked, frowning. Andrei knew he was being slightly irrational, feeling so vulnerable, but he really hadn’t felt secure in himself since first tearing his ACL.

What was his purpose in life, really, if not to play hockey and have you with him?

You hadn’t yet spoken, so he quickly clarified. “In the morning. And all the mornings after.”

A smile broke across your face as you buried your head into his chest. You felt the rumble of his chest as he chuckled, and then he shifted to where you were laying on top of his chest so he could see your face. “All the mornings, huh?” you asked, feeling bashful.

Andrei grinned, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth, knowing the effect he had on you. “Every one,” he replied. “If you will have me.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

And you meant it, truly, with every fiber of your being. The next months were going to be rough, the ones where you’d have to be there for Andrei as he watched his team ultimately compete and fall through in the playoffs especially.

But you knew the two of you could do it. Andrei was nothing if not committed, even through all the arguments, tears, and emotional breakdowns, you were there for each other through the long haul.

And Andrei, meanwhile, after many difficult months down the road, had the biggest smile on his face as the doctors told him it was a miracle.

Because he had healed from his ACL injury in five.

fin

A/N: Before my medical professionals come at me, YES I KNOW acl injuries take up to a year to recover from almost all of the time, but for the sake of this fic just pls ignore that little fact 😭 in all seriousness though, I can’t wait till our favorite Russian gets to play again bc I miss him sm. As always, please leave likes, reblogs, and comments. Ily all <33

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lithepetal · 1 month

Text

Second Chance Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: Aurora’s field trip to the Smithsonian goes horribly awry.

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

Friday

6 a.m. Depart for Washington, D.C. 10 a.m. Arrival and brunch after check-in 12 - 4 p.m. Explore downtown 6 p.m. Dinner

Saturday

All Day Smithsonian

Sunday

11 a.m. Brunch Noon Depart for Manhattan

Aurora poured over the itinerary, thrumming with excitement as the bus turned onto the off-ramp at D.C. She’d never been on a trip, school-sponsored or otherwise, without her father or Pepper. To say that Tony was overbearing was the understatement of the century—made worse when he became Iron Man. She was a central figure in his life since infancy, raised single-handedly by PEOPLE magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.

She didn’t know anything about her biological mother. He never talked about her, and with Pepper filling the void by bringing her to school and scheduling doctor appointments, Aurora never bothered to ask. The paparazzi seemed particularly impressed by how classy and well-mannered she was at the best of times. At the worst, she was a petulant teenager who just wanted to live her own life.

The bus pulled up in front of the hotel, and Aurora leapt to her feet. Stepping onto the pavement, she took in her surroundings, her teacher’s instructions a backdrop against her sense of awe.

“…your belongings, and after we check in, we’ll go out for brunch.”

At the café, Aurora sat alone, a spread of fruit and pastries on the table. In one hand she held a cup of coffee, while snapping a photo with the other. She pushed send, and in the time it took to sip her latte, her phone buzzed.

Iron Dad: Looks good, honey. Have fun. Iron Dad: FYI Pepper told me to tell you that.

Shaking her head, though with a smile gracing her lips, Aurora set her phone aside to nibble on a strawberry. Sunlight seeped through her sweater, providing warmth, as she ate in silence. Most of her classmates opted to dine inside; however, loneliness couldn’t find purchase. She basked in her newfound freedom and the anticipation for tomorrow.

~ * ~

Saturday

Aurora had inherited Tony’s looks, but an aptitude for science and technology was not among the traits passed down to her. History, on the other hand, drew her in like a moth to a flame. She’d spent long hours with Steve, utterly rapt in attention as he told her all about the Forties. The way he described everything, she almost could picture herself there, wearing a shirtwaist dress, her hair styled like a pin-up.

As they approached the Captain America exhibit, she sensed her classmates’ sidelong glances, their whispers pressing around her like a tangible thing. Unfortunately, this wasn’t unusual. The class shuffled forward, and Aurora moved quietly to the glass memorial that featured Steve’s best friend, the once Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve’s stories often included Bucky. She could hear the reverence in his voice, at times punctuated by barely-contained emotion. Now that she had a face to go with the stories, Bucky seemed more real to her.

“Aurora, have you looked at your phone?” asked Marie; of her peers, one of the few who treated her like a normal person.

Caught off-guard by the absurdity of the question, Aurora deadpanned. Of course, she hadn’t. She also definitely hadn’t been staring at Bucky for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Taking longer than it should’ve to notice the urgency in Marie’s tone, once she did, she immediately retrieved her phone. Her mind flashing back to when she’d heard about her father being taken hostage by terrorists. Instead of him, she watched in horror as Steve, Natasha, and a man identified on the live feed as Sam Wilson were fighting a masked man in tactical gear.

And they were a block away.

Undeterred by her teacher shouting, Aurora sprinted past the throng of museum-goers, through the door. Following the sounds of explosions, sirens, and overflying helicopters, she raced alongside the black SUVs. Her leg muscles ached in protest, and by the time she reached the end of the sidewalk, her lungs burned.

“STEVE!” Aurora heaved a scream, as a man pointed a rifle at his head.

“Aurora, don’t!”

Too late. She crossed the road halfway, and froze, overhearing another say, “That’s Stark’s daughter. Grab her!”

Aurora took a tentative step back and tried to run, using her dancer agility to dodge several agents. But, there were simply too many. They swarmed around her, guns aimed until she, too, put up her hands in surrender. Wincing as one of them grabbed her and dragged her forcibly by the wrist, she locked eyes with the dark-haired man leering over Steve’s head.

“Looks like today is our lucky day, gentlemen.”

“Let her go, Rumlow,” Steve ordered. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Smirking, Rumlow said, “Put her up front with me.”

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Tony Stark #Winter Soldier

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pink-sparkly-witch · 10 months

Text

Just Like This

Summary: Working a second job in a bar to help pay for Sammy’s education, Dean finds a kindred spirit in bar manager Y/N. When a drunk Douchebag gets too handsy with her, Dean quickly jumps to her defence but faces harsh consequences.

Pairing: Bartender!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Rating: Teen

Bingo Square: Getting Fired for @j3bingo

Warnings: tw: sexual assault (groping), fluff, angst, fighting, minor violence, Chuck is a complete and utter asshole in this, getting fired, quitting in solidarity, first kiss, friends to lovers

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Okay, it feels like an age since I’ve written anything that’s just pure floof. I hope you enjoy this fluffy, protective, besotted Dean fic. Please be kind. I’ve had my angst hat on for a long time, and though this was really refreshing, it’s also a little daunting!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

It wasn’t the best job in the world, but as part-time work went, Dean knew it could be a hell of a lot worse than this. He worked with his dad in the garage during the day and worked four nights a week and two shifts at the weekend in Shurley’s Sports Bar. His wages and tips went to his dad to help pay for Sammy’s education. Sure, the kid had a full ride to Stanford; however, he still needed to pay for accommodation after freshman year and the thousands of books he needed for his coursework. And at least this way, his dad didn’t put himself in an early grave by working all the hours God gave him. Lord knows he’d done enough of that when they were kids.

Shurley’s was a decent bar. It had a prime location between the University of Kansas campus and downtown, so it always has a steady stream of customers. It quietened during the summer when the students went home or on their travels, but the locals still made trade steady enough. The owner, Chuck, was a bit of a dick, but he barely showed his face around the place, and the other staff were decent, making it a great place to work.

“Hey, Dean,” Y/N said as she came out of the back office. Y/N was the bar manager and a great girl. They had a lot in common; both lost their mothers when they were young and looked after their younger siblings while their fathers worked three jobs to try and make ends meet. Y/N’d had to drop out of college when her father took unexpectedly sick, having to take care of him and her little sister. Now that her father had passed and her sister had a full ride to another prestigious college, Harvard, Y/N lived in the tiny apartment above the bakery where she worked four days a week and in the bar four nights a week and every Saturday night. The rest of the time, she studied part-time to finish her college education and sent every spare cent she had to her sister in Boston.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled at her. She was pretty, too, and Dean wasn’t afraid to admit that he had a massive crush on her. Not that anything would ever happen because she was her, and he was… well, he wasn’t good enough for a girl like that. “How are ya, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Dean. How are you? Oh! Did you manage to get Sam’s apartment sorted?” Y/N asked, and he smiled that she’d remember such a thing.

“Yeah, it’s all good now. We managed to get the rest of the deposit together,” Dean said. “Thanks for the extra shifts, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Y/N smiled. “I still can’t believe landlords can actually do that,” Y/N shook her head as she headed behind the bar and started filling the refrigerators with bottles of beer and wine to prepare for the busy Friday night shift.

“Yeah, us either. But it’s done, and he has somewhere to live,” Dean said as he put the last menus and condiment buckets on the tables. “What needs to be done next, boss?” he asked, smirking when Y/N chuckled. She hated being called that, but he seemed to be the only one she didn’t scold for it.

“I could use a hand changing over the barrels if you’ve got time?” she said, breaking up the cardboard that the bottles had been housed in.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Dean headed into the storeroom and started shifting the beer barrels behind the bar as Y/N continued putting bottles in the fridges and replacing the almost empty spirit bottles with full ones to accommodate the busiest night of the year: Friday night football and Freshers Week.

The bar was packed with customers, the warm, sunny weather drawing even more of them in than usual, and of course, Chuck had decided tonight was a good night to show face and ‘help’, putting the staff on edge. Dean had gone with the head down and get on with it attitude, glad it was three deep at the bar so he had an excuse not to have to entertain Chuck for very long.

Y/N had been running around after Chuck all night, finding this paperwork and that invoice and the employee payroll for the past six weeks. Eventually, when he couldn’t possibly ask for anything more, she’d escaped the office, having brazenly told her boss that she was needed front of house to help serve customers.

“I swear,” she’d said as she tied her little black server’s apron around her waist, “It’s like he fucking knew tonight would be the busiest night but still came to check months old paperwork! God, that man is insufferable!”

It wasn’t often that Y/N showed her annoyance, and Dean couldn’t help but think it was cute. Though, admittedly, that could be his crush talking, her furrowed brow and tiny pout were adorable.

“What can I do to help?” he asked as she took her place behind the bar.

“I should be asking you that question!” she giggled. “What do you need me to do?”

“We could do with someone collecting and cleaning the empty glasses, if you wouldn’t mind?” he responded, smiling as she picked up a basket, cleaning spray, and a cloth before he’d finished his sentence.

“You got it,” she winked and headed onto the floor to clear and wipe the tables down. And that, Dean thought, is what makes a good boss. Someone who works with the team to achieve the same goal. Someone who isn’t afraid of stepping in to help by doing the most mundane tasks that are below their pay grade.

Y/N was a breath of fresh air for him in so many ways. She was bubbly and caring, and no matter what was thrown her way, she responded with an air of calmness and dignity that he admired.

“Hey, man. What can I get ya?” Dean asked the next patron, finally taking his eyes off the girl slowly taking over his every thought.

“Be careful,” Dean said as Y/N headed back onto the floor to clear more glasses and tables. “It’s getting rowdy out there. You know what those college boys can be like.”

“Thanks, Dean,” she smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He knew she would be. He’d seen her handling every kind of drunk customer. Still, he’d watch her closely because he was more worried than usual. The crowd tonight seemed even more enthused thanks to the local sports team playing. It still surprised him how often the female staff got touched inappropriately and had the most vulgar things said to them by too drunk and far too confident men. More than once Dean had had to step in and stop something from going too far, and he’d do it as many times as he needed to for Y/N or any of the other female staff.

Y/N managed to get around most of the bar unscathed, but there was a particularly boisterous table of men who only frequented the bar when the Chiefs played. Dean had been watching them all night because they seemed to have forgotten their age and tried to out-drink their much younger counterparts. They’d already run their mouths off to the bar staff, and now one of them in particular had their beady eye on Y/N as she moved from table to table, collecting empty glasses and bottles.

Swapping her tray out for an empty one, Y/N made her way over to their table, and the second she got close enough, the balding guy with the beady eye was quick to rear his hand back and smack her ass. Dean’s hackles rose, and he was on high alert as he watched her give the douchebag a piece of her mind. But he didn’t stop. Douchebag wrapped his arms around her waist and tried pulling her onto his lap. All the while, his douchebag little friends laughed and cheered him on like he’d won a fucking prize.

Dean saw red as he ran around the bar and strode purposely over to the group of middle-aged men amid a mid-life crisis and pulled Y/N from his hold, dragging her behind him to protect her.

“The lady told you to leave her alone. I suggest you do that,” Dean fumed, only getting angrier at Douchebag’s smirk.

“Oh, ladies and gentlemen, we have a jealous boyfriend trying to protect his girl! You know, if she were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t let her out the house wearing something so…” he paused as he leered up and down Y/N’s body, “revealing.”

“Listen, asshole, you don’t want to piss me off right now. Why don’t you and your buddies call it a night and go home? You’ve clearly had too much to drink, and we don’t take kindly to people assaulting our staff here,” Dean’s jaw was clenched, but he’d somehow managed to keep his voice steady.

“Sorry, man,” Douchebag smirked as he stood. “Just can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl showing off half her body like a Goddamn little tease. She’s asking for it, really.”

That was the last straw, and as Douchebag made one final (and unfortunately successful) attempt to get his hands on Y/N, Dean pulled his fist back and punched him square on the nose. The resounding crack as Dean broke the guy’s nose was satisfying, as were the synchronised grimacing ‘oohs’ that the audience this little corner of the bar had attracted.

“You broke my nose, asshole!” Douchebag spluttered. “I’m reporting you for assault!”

“You do that,” Y/N said, “and I’ll have you arrested, too. This whole bar and the CCTV saw you grope me twice and clearly saw me trying to get you off me! What he did,” she pointed at Dean, “was save me from being sexually assaulted!”

“Come on, man,” one of Douchebag’s friends said, patting him on the back. “Let’s get you to the hospital. It’s not worth it.”

“Damn straight it’s not!” Dean yelled. “Any way you spin this, he doesn’t win, so get the hell out and don’t come back!”

Tail between their legs, Douchebag and his friends left the bar. The second the door shut behind them, Dean was next to Y/N, checking her for injuries.

“I’m fine, Dean,” she insisted, but her eyes told a different story. The encounter had shaken her up, and Dean wanted to fix it, needed to fix it.

“No, sweetheart, you’re not. You’re–” Dean began but was interrupted by the shrill voice of Chuck.

“Winchester, my office, now! You too, Y/N.”

Seeing Y/N sitting beside him on the other side of the desk was strange. This was where she did all the paperwork, payroll, ordering, and invoicing, so to see Chuck on her chair was disconcerting. And not good.

“I don’t know what was going on out there–” Chuck began, and Dean scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re bar manager was sexually assaulted by a customer. That’s what happened!” Dean sat forward on his chair, raising his voice. He only calmed when Y/N placed her hand on his forearm.

Chuck pursed his lips at his outburst and continued speaking as if Dean hadn’t interrupted.

“I don’t know what happened, but whatever it was, sexual assault or not,” Chuck looked pointedly at Y/N before he continued. “It’s no excuse for my staff to behave violently.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Dean fumed. “That… scumbag… touched her ass and her breasts and tried to force her into his lap! You see those bruises, right?” he asked as he pointed to the dark purple fingerprint marks on her arms.

“Inappropriate comments, slurs, even touching, is to be expected when you work in a bar–” Chuck was interrupted again, this time by Y/N.

“There are no touching policies in every strip club in the country for a reason, Chuck! You cannot expect it to be any different in a fratboy sports bar! No one should go to work expecting that being sexually assaulted is okay!”

“For God’s sake, Y/N! So what a guy touched your ass and tits! You should be flattered!”

“It was sexual assault, Chuck! That guy,” Y/N pointed behind her in the general direction of the bar, “touched me without permission, and I could have him charged! You too with how you’re behaving!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic! I feel sorry for your boyfriend if this is how prudish you are!”

“Hey, that is–” Dean interjected, but Chuck kept talking.

“Dean, you’re fired. I cannot, and will not, allow a violent brute to work in my bar.”

“You can’t do that!” Y/N protested.

“Watch it, or you’ll be gone, too!” Chuck threatened, but Dean knew it was an empty one with her. He needed her too much. The bar would burn to the ground without her in charge.

“No need. I quit. Effective immediately. I cannot, and will not,” Y/N glared at Chuck as she repeated his words to him, “work in a place where I’m expected to be sexually harassed and assaulted and ignore it. I cannot, and will not, work for a man who fires a good person for helping someone in need.”

Standing, Y/N took off her apron and name tag and threw them on the desk. She unhooked the keys from her belt and pulled the cash box towards her, opening it and pulling out two brown envelopes, handing one to Dean and putting the other in her pocket. Once she’d locked the cash box, she tossed her keys down on the cheap metal desk with a satisfying clang.

“Really? You’re going to quit over him?” Chuck scoffed.

“Yes. Dean is worth a thousand shitty bar jobs like this one, and I’d choose him over any of them in a heartbeat,” Y/N said with her head held high. “I hope you know you’ve just lost your two best workers on the busiest night of the year. Come on, Dean. Let’s get out of this shithole.”

Dean didn’t protest. He stood up, smirked at Chuck because he just couldn’t help himself, and followed Y/N out of the bar and onto the street.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need to do that. I’m a big boy, and I can look after myself,” Dean said after walking in silence for a few minutes.

“I know you can, and yes, I did. That was unfair and undeserved. Especially because it was my fault,” Y/N responded.

“Hey, don’t ever… it wasn’t your fault. Things like that are never the woman’s fault, you know that, right?” Dean couldn’t believe she’d ever think something like that would be her own doing.

“I know, but if I’d listened to you and let Marcus clear tables instead of me, none of this would’ve happened.”

“No. I won’t hear it. You didn’t ask to be groped by a balding douchebag going through a mid-life crisis, sweetheart. Don’t ever apologise for someone else’s wrongdoing,” he reassured her.

“So, what do we do now? We both kinda needed that job,” Y/N chuckled, but it held no humour.

“Well, I might know a guy who owns a wine bar downtown. A classy establishment, so the tips are better. And we’d be treated right,” Dean said, thinking of the bar Cas had tried to get him to work in for months.

“You have a buddy with a bar, and you chose to stay working in that shithole?” Y/N asked in disbelief. “Why? What would possess you to stay there? Willingly?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Dean smirked. This wasn’t where he envisioned this conversation going–if it ever happened at all, that is–but the perfect opportunity had presented itself and he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take it. “I got to see you almost every day.”

“Come on! You did not stay there for me!” Y/N scoffed, and Dean shrugged his shoulders, his lips tugging upwards in a shy smile.

“I did, actually. Can’t think of anyone better to spend so much time with.”

“Dean Winchester,” she grinned. “Are you flirting with me?” The teasing tone in her words was one he’d never heard before, and he liked it.

“Do you want me to be flirting with you?” he’d asked, needing to hear her say it before he did something stupid because he’d misread the signals.

“Yeah… I think I do,” Y/N giggled, stepping closer to him, bumping their arms together as they stepped in sync down the sidewalk.

“Yeah?” he asked, checking again because, quite frankly, she was her and he was him.

“Yeah.”

Dean stopped walking and gently grabbed her forearm to stop her from walking ahead. Feeling brave, Dean placed his hands on her cheeks and dipped his head, slowly lowering his lips to hers. Every inch closer he got, he switched his gaze between her lips and her eyes, making sure this was what she wanted.

When there was no hesitation and nowhere else to go, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers. They were as soft as they always looked, softer even, and tasted as sweet as he’d imagined they would.

Y/N pressed herself closer to him with a low hum and slid her arms up his chest, resting one hand on his pec and the other curling around his neck. Dean licked her bottom lip, encouraging her to open her mouth and let him deepen their kiss.

He failed to hold back a groan when his tongue met hers, the feeling so much better than anything his mind could’ve conjured up. Dean couldn’t remember how long he’d wanted this, and now that it was happening, he knew he’d do whatever he could to keep her in his arms, just like this.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#j3bingo #just like this #au dean winchester x reader #bartender!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #fluff

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selfetishizing · 2 months

Text

the nearness of you

loid forger/yor briar | rated T | oneshot | 5.7k words

mild hurt/comfort, mutual pining, romantic tension, scars, tending to wounds, identity reveal (sort of)

A wife in tatters.

AO3

In the hour before Anya’s bedtime, Twilight had come to the startling realization that his daughter is growing up. The hem of her favorite onesie had hiked up to the bump of her ankle, bump of her wrist. Anya, heedless to many things, the intricate and crucial things—a father’s silent suffering, a mother’s concerning absence—hugged him good night, telling him that he’d be in “big, hugiant trouble” if she caught him staying past midnight waiting for Mama. Bond, whom he wished could speak and voice the wisdom that seemed to be held within his marble eyes, nudged his nose against his calf as if to show his sympathy for his companion’s indifference. Then, they had left him in a quiet apartment to fill the Yor-shaped spaces with his thoughts.

The first hour after the first snore, Twilight contemplated calling Yor, whom he presumed sat lonely at her desk, saving the country one file, one staple, one document at a time. It could be no one else. It had to be Yor to help carry this obfuscating weight that their precious girl was outgrowing her clothes—that they were becoming older themselves. That they were drifting apart.

Tomorrow, he'd tell her, they’ll go shopping together as a family for shiny new dresses, skirts, blouses, and pajamas. He will buy them in bulks—small, medium, large—so that he will never have to experience this silent heartbreak, this wearying awareness that he, shrewd and tenacious as he was, was powerless against the hands of Time. WISE would have to understand the incoming banknotes; this agony would last him for the entirety of Operation Strix.

Twilight dialed the phone and watched the numbers reel back and reset. He listened to each ring and hung up, assuming that Yor must have been on her way home.

He grieved the onesie in his lonesome. It would have been nice to hear Yor’s voice.

The second hour, he tidied up the apartment. Watered the plants. Wrapped leftovers in plastic. Played with his daughter’s toys. He created homes out of blocks, families out of plush—a fox, a bunny, a kitten.

Hearing footsteps outside, Twilight darted to the door, knocking the blocks over in his haste. His hand hovered over the knob. He listened a beat longer and knew by the slow drag of feet, by their unhurried stride that it was not Yor. Yes, he knew her by step, by breath. She would have silently stepped across the hall, keys jangling in her pocket. She would hum on particularly nice nights or mumble to herself when she was especially exhausted.

It was past midnight. Yor was not home.

Twilight wasn’t sure why he had decided to stay up that particular night. Yor had been late before. He knew that she could take care of herself. She had brought an umbrella to work that morning. She wouldn’t come home shivering. No colds would be carelessly caught.

As he cleared the rest of the dinner table—a silver candelabra, blown-out candles, unopened wine bottles—the answer he had swallowed whole made itself known. Somewhere, deep in the pit of his stomach, it was there anchored by reason. It would tremble at the raise of her lip, travel far enough to the heart where hundreds of buzzing bees would prick at his arterial lining for the chance of release.

Release had come close many times: mornings when she’d asked how he’d like his coffee; Saturday afternoons as she napped on the couch; nights he’d bandage the tip of her fingers after prepping dinner. It was a seed burgeoning into honeysuckles—honeysuckles that, as far as Twilight knew, had already grown in parts of his body and made his blood sweet as sap. They were honeysuckles that nearly sprouted from his mouth at the sound of his name or the touch of her palm.

Twilight could cut the vines and twine the flowers. He could dress up, slick his hair back, and have his shoes shined downtown. He could bow down like a gentleman, kiss each of his darlings’ dainty hands. A bouquet for Anya and a bouquet for Yor—their names written in his neatest penmanship on parchment. Anya would snap the honeysuckles from the vine and break their pistols off, supping them of their nectar. Yor would bring the flowers to her face and take in their scent, and Twilight, absently staring, would catch himself and clutch at his chest. Then, they would know everything. They would know all of the words he doesn't say.

It would be so simple to tie those feelings up with chiffon lace. Surely, it would save him the embarrassment of voicing those stubborn emotions that more often than not translate to knuckle biting, bedroom pacing, and worried, sleepless nights like tonight. But he knew by now that every day spent with them had watered the garden hardly contained within the bed of his skin. Giving each of them a bouquet would not capture even a fraction of how much he yearned to truly be on their side of the world.

──────────⊹⊱❀⊰⊹──────────

Yor returned home at three in the morning.

The rain had stopped two hours ago. She was drenched. Her umbrella, dry, dropped to the floor as she stumbled in her heels looking for her lost balance in the lightless apartment. Before Twilight could open his mouth to speak, she clutched at the breast of his shirt with the abject fear of falling, pleading with him through ragged breaths to hold her, to not let go.

He didn't. Twilight hugged her close, arms fastened around her back just beneath her coat. She winced. Her body burned hot from shivering, and her cheek, pale and wan, was cold on his collarbone.

Twilight called to her softly, called again to stir her. She could only sigh.

A hand slid from her back, up to her side, trailing to trace the curve of her face. Twilight hesitated. Yor pushed herself against him as if to feel for pressure, for validation that this warmth was his. The grip on his shirt loosened when she was sure that she had made it home. After a deep breath, Twilight stroked her jaw, coaxing her to spare him a look—just one—to know that all was right.

All was not right.

When she finally moved her head up to stare at him, Twilight nearly gasped. The color had wrung from her skin. Her eyes, usually so bright with curious wonder, had shrunk half a flame. The lip that would whisper his name could only quiver with dread. She shook in his embrace as she discerned his expression, anticipating a question and readying a stolid defense. Twilight would not have it. Yor, always so strong and resolute, felt so small in his arms. He absolutely would not have it.

He caressed her cheek and he swore his heart had stopped. Red smeared over her skin. But where? How? His hands cautiously slipped down the plane of her back. Yor mewled, and he knew.

All at once the corpuscles in his body rushed in surges to the tips of his fingers down to his toes, to the heart, the head. He must have been flushed red with how quickly the blood ran in his veins—how quickly rage consumed him. Twilight inhaled shakily, tempering those thoughts of twisted necks, mutilated legs, snapped elbows, and headless torsos; of bodies cold and ashen as Yor was now in his hold.

“Who?” he whispered sharply, using the last of his constraint as he eyed the front door. Ask, and she’ll answer.

“An accident.” Ask, and she’ll lie. But the eyes? No, they never lie. She smiled despite it all. This he knew was true. He slipped her coat off from her shoulders, letting it pool at her ankles. She held on tighter. “I’m so tired. I just wanted to come home.”

Twilight could have cried from the tenderness she seemed to have saved just for him. Gone was the wickedness in his body, relinquished to the dark, dark, night. He took her face in his palms, tucking the errant strands of her disheveled hair behind an ear. One of her earrings was missing. Twilight, shattered by this disquieting and crucial detail, waited for his tears to come. They never did.

“I’m sorry, Loid. You must've waited so long,” she murmured in his neck as he delicately lifted her up into his arms. “You even lit the candles for dinner.”

“How did you know?” Twilight asked, redirecting her guilt to the shadows where it could vanish alongside vice. He clung to softheartedness, to goodness, to kindness. Tonight, he'd give it all to her.

“I smell smoke on you.”

“You can?”

Yor cupped her hand over her mouth. “You haven't been doing anything naughty, have you?”

“Heavens, no.” Twilight forced a chuckle. “I guess I should have put on cologne before welcoming you home this evening. You're exhausted, and you come back to a reeking husband. How flippant of me.”

“Silly.” She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as he carried her to the couch. “It’ll stain,” she rasped, too exhausted to put up much of a protest. Yor sunk into the cushions.

Twilight kneeled down to remove the heels from her throbbing feet. His fingers glided down the bend of her calf, noting the runs in her black stocking that weren’t there this morning. The heels, he imagined, had worn down from frantic mad dashes down crowded hallways to deliver reports and proposals. Yor must have tripped somewhere along the way knowing how clumsy she could be. It would explain the scrape on her right knee.

Twilight didn’t allow himself to think anything else of it. He'd crumble the very second he did.

“May I go into your room, Yor?”

She seemed to have enough energy left to flinch at the otherwise innocent query. “I’m sorry?”

“Your clothes. Surely you weren’t thinking of changing without me tending to your…?” He could not bring himself to say it. To speak the very thing into existence would mean acknowledging the suppositions he had previously dismissed as soon as they were conceived.

Twilight, insisting that she give in to his request, kept his hands on her knees as looked up at her imploringly. The more she turned his words in her head, the more flustered she became. The implication made the hairs on the back of Twilight’s neck stand. Surely, she wasn’t thinking something so unseemly.

He counted the moles dotting along the sides of her face and neck—five—as she pondered the question, connecting them to constellations he’d read about as a boy.

Cassiopeia—Queen of Ethiopia. Boastful and vain, she had boasted that she and her daughter, Andromeda, were more beautiful than the Nereids. Angered by Cassopeia’s remarks, Poseidon, god of the sea, had unleashed a disgustingly powerful sea creature, Cetus, onto her kingdom. Ethiopia would sacrifice Andromeda to the beast by chaining her to a boulder by the sea to restore order to the kingdom.

Twilight pondered the tale—the bonds between a mother and her child, the consequence of vanity, the peace offering that is a daughter. He thinks of Cassiopeia and Andromeda, Yor and Anya. The hero Perseus, who had rode upon the Flying Horse to save the princess, would cease to exist. Had Yor been Cassopeia, Twilight knew, she alone could have protected Andromeda. There would be no need for epic knights in shining armor. A mother would have been enough.

Twilight imagined a woman with Yor’s features—a pale woman with a black cape for hair, pursed red lips, crows feet at her eyes. He thought about a mother, about death, and the selfishness in succumbing to it. Does Yor forgive her mother? Does he forgive his own?

And perhaps Yor had been Andromeda this entire time, chained against a rock as the sea rages and tears her hosiery, her skirt, her skin. Her kingdom—the house she once knew with the iron fences and rose bushes— was reduced to rubble by manmade terrors unbeknownst to myths and their slithery beasts. Only a cellar with a frightened boy cowered in its dark corners remained, waiting for his dear sister to come back.

Yor didn’t need a Perseus to fight this battle for her. But maybe, Twilight naively supposed, it wouldn’t be so bad to have one fight alongside her. A Perseus to patch her wounds. A Perseus to listen and to hold her when words succumbed to sobs.

"There’s a nightgown folded on my bed,” she instructed carefully, voice hoarse, as if it were some secret mission.

“Alright.”

“My pillows and blanket too, if you could.” She bit her bottom lip, thinking a request as simple as that could be a burden to him. “I think I’d like to sleep here tonight.”

“I can carry you to your bed, you know.”

“I’m so heavy, and—”

“Light as a feather.”

“But if you touch me again, Loid, who knows what I’ll do? I could kick you, or, or… I could slap you! You’d definitely bruise or bleed.” She was hysterical. From blood loss? Fatigue? “And if I melt?”

Twilight raised a brow, amused. “Melt?”

“Yes. If you touch me again, I fear my flesh might slide right off my bones. Might turn to goo.” Yor looked down at her lap, making sure that she was still all together. Then, she imagined herself liquified—a wash of taupe and pinks sluiced over the carpet—and gasped. “It would take forever to clean me up.”

Yor shifted on the couch, letting all of her weight fall to one side. Her eyes fluttered shut.

The entire room stilled. An austere foreboding, cold and misty, crept into the chasm that separated them. Moonlight caught in the dark curtain of her undone hair, sanctifying her with faint halation. Twilight clasped his hands together and called upon the angels—pulled them down by those golden threads stitched to billowing clouds— to do everything in their power to keep Yor awake.

“You mustn't fall asleep,” he said. “Not until I’ve dressed you.”

“Just a little tired.”

“Yes, darling, I know,” cooed Twilight, slipping her hand in his. He rubbed the smooth swath of skin above her knuckles with his thumb, absolving her of the unspoken remorse that was written all over her, that was slashed onto her back. He would take it from her. He would bear it all. “It will only take me a moment.”

The fondness that he never knew he could possess with Yor shocked him, terrified him. What would be more difficult, he wondered? To turn his shoulder and leave this sentimental mood? Or for a subliminal confession he so desperately wanted her to understand to plague her mind?

Every red flag was raised and yet here he was, groveling before his fallen Madonna. One word and it would be done. Yes—Twilight took that risk, a leap of faith. He chose the latter—the novelty of infatuation, of being completely and thoroughly consumed by the off-chance that Yor, too, harbored symptoms of a heart starved of the kind of feelings reserved for two.

Yor swallowed thick and squeezed his hand weakly. She nodded, and Twilight, the ever loyal husband, obeyed her command.

Quickly, he minced to his room, careful to not wake Anya. Underneath his bed was his personal first aid kit of gauze, sterilized needles, tourniquets, adhesive plaster, tweezers, wound washes, and antibiotic creams in a worn cardboard box so cleverly labeled “TOOLS'' in hasty print. Somehow one of Anya’s pink star-printed bandaids had made its way inside. The alarms went off in Twilight’s mind before he remembered that he had absently slipped an extra band aid that was in his pocket in there after he had patched up Anya’s knee. (Just the other weekend, she had somehow fallen off a bicycle with training wheels. It was an understated art how kids seemed to find the danger in otherwise safe devices.) He gathered an arm-full of these things and pushed past his bedroom door with his back.

Then, Twilight’s hand hovered over the doorknob of Yor’s bedroom, bracing himself for the metaphorical crossing between flatmates and something more. Her room, steeped in the indigo night, pulled him in before he could reconsider. The lace curtains billowed out toward him, swathed him in dove white. Before he knew it, he was caught in a whir of Yor.

This room was indisputably her. It was furnished simply: a bed, a dresser, a cabinet, and a vanity. A patched pilled quilt Twilight presumed had been from her childhood was tightly tucked down under the sides of her mattress. Her uniform—an impeccably ironed button down, a green vest and skirt—hung from a hanger on the corner of her cabinet. Anya seemed to imprint herself here too; another fox plush toy sat against her fluffed pillows, waiting to be cozied up against a warm, beating heart. Adorned on the walls were not posters or prints, but rather Anya originals in crayon, pastel, pencil, and acrylic.

Yor didn’t seem to hold on to a lot of things—or perhaps there wasn’t a lot of things to hold on to—before she lived here, but he knew by the multiplying photo frames—water-stained shots of Yuri, Forger and Briar family portraits, picture day at Eden Academy— that slowly, she was carving a permanent home here.

Capless tubes of lipstick—reds, pinks, nudes— were strewn across her vanity along with ticket stubs to matinees they’d seen together after work. Lacquered dishes with tableaus of rolling fields and carnivals held her precious pearls, her golds, her handmade beaded bracelets. A green perfume bottle with a tasseled pump spray shimmered under starlight. Like a gem, its glean enchanted him into a sandalwood-induced stupor.

Twilight stared into the looking glass as a mirage of Yor nimbly braided her hair into a neat side-plait. She patted her face with loose powder and slid pink lipstick over puckered lips. Yor then dabbed the pad of her finger on rouge, dotting along the curves of her cheekbones and tapping the excess at the corners of her eyes. So mundane was the act, so effortless and easy, that Twilight felt apologetic for having peered into such a private ritual.

Clearly, he had overstayed his welcome. Twilight nearly tripped over his feet as he moved to gather her beige nightgown and pillows, refusing to let curiosity get the better of him. Beneath her pillows, however, was a familiar trinket.

His engagement ring to her—that grenade pin! Twilight was unsure why she had decided to keep it after all of this time: he had wedded her properly thereafter with golden bands and bridal bouquets. He blushed immediately at the prospect that Yor wanted him to see it. Though slim, there was still the statistical probability that her request for her pillows was a subtle declaration of love—that the ring signified everything she had locked away in her heart and in his own. Could she have planned this? Left the ring under her pillow that morning for him to find? Did she anticipate working off hours so late into the evening? Orchestrate this entire scenario down to the last cut?

It was no accident, this much he knew. But how else would one rationalize those injuries? Why was she soaked when it had stopped raining hours ago? If someone had attacked her tonight, did she not have enough trust to confide in him? If she did not care enough to tell him, then what was that grenade pin doing under her pillow?

Twilight all but stumbled out of her room. He was WISE’s most cunning agent—its most calm and calculated—yet his mind could not quite wrap itself around the idea of Yor potentially reciprocating the feeling he knew he had concealed in some taped-up cardboard box tucked away in his house of bones. There, compartmentalized, were all of the trinkets he thought he'd forgotten: wooden guns, jazz records, a bloodied eyepatch, and burned polaroids. Underneath the old items lay a letter with his heart, scrawled and signed with a name long discarded:

Yor,

I love you most ardently.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Rowan

──────────⊹⊱❀⊰⊹──────────

Wound wash in popcorn bowls. Heart-printed face towels for rags. Gauze cut by pink blunt-tip kiddie scissors. A wife in tatters and a husband desperately attempting to stitch the remnants back together.

“I have to—”

“You can't.”

And for five minutes, they exchanged various iterations of these very words. Yor had managed to unbutton the first three buttons of her blouse before stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest, refusing any treatment from Twilight.

Twilight scooted to the edge of the wooden table he sat on, close enough for their knees to nudge. Their eyes met briefly.

Yor much preferred the Moon’s gaze. Moonglow, Twilight figured, could not touch Yor in those damning ways she'd come to know about during the war or in cautionary tales. It could not bruise, breach, break skin. It could not promise her love but at least it gave her assurance of forever. And who was Twilight to contend?

“Yor,” he started futilely, voice softer than he would have liked, “you can trust me.”

The words, like steam, evaporated from her tongue. She clutched the bust of her blouse shut.

“I do.” She was red in the face. He could feel her jittering. “It's just—oh!—I don't know! You weren't supposed to… No, not like this.”

“I’ll close my eyes, touch you only where I should. I’ll be gentle, quick, so please,” plead Twilight, weary and desperate, “let me care for you.”

“You've cared for me the entire night—every day I’ve lived with you. You've welcomed me so into your home, your family, and yet here I am,” she rasped, voice caught on a chord, “proving time and time again that I—”

Twilight's heart dropped to his belly; he felt as though he ought to apologize. For what, he was unsure. There must have been some kind of shortcoming from within him if Yor was unable to articulate her troubles.

Her vagueness, though, seemed purposeful: she would trail off before giving him any indication as to where the root of her problems lay. Twilight secretly thanked her for it. They could, even for a while longer, keep up this charade. He could still love her with her back turned—love her in sight.

“You’ll hate me,” whispered Yor. “You'll despise me. I know it.”

“There’s nothing in this world that could ever make me hate you.” The statement unknowingly gave way to the garden tucked away underneath the surface of his skin. Could she smell the roses on him? The freesias? Yor could not be so dense to not understand his heart with the way he leapt at her assumption, fitting himself to the gentle carve of her profile. Twilight is close, so close that he catches the moon’s glimmer on her eyelashes. He resists the temptation to eclipse it with a kiss.

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Then help me to.” Twilight just could not stop at words, no. When did his hand connect with her knee? When did his fingers move to guide her face back to him?

Yor forced herself to look once more at his gaze, agonizingly adamantine. Resolute. She began the process of unbuttoning her shirt once more, keeping her eyes trained on him.

“Anya grew out of her pajamas, you know,” he droned—a distraction—as he anxiously watched the tips of her fingers. “Wrists and ankles and all. They’re poking out the sleeves. I was thinking,” Twilight swallows thickly, “we should all go out this weekend. Buy some new clothes for her.”

Yor stilled, staring at him with unblinking eyes. She bit her lip and, almost as if to present herself to him, laid her hands beside her thighs. The dark sweep of her hair fell over the hunch of her shoulders. Twilight followed its movement.

Anger was a lit match that burned through the sprawling cord that maps over the expanse of her skin. He stared at the curve of the chest, her heart. Twilight traced the long jagged line of white raised skin down to her right side. Pink stars exploded and dwindled down her hip, dying dust disappearing underneath the waistband of her skirt.

Twilight could stitch a disjointed timeline from the color of her scars alone: faded cat-scratches from her childhood, raised cuts from debris, bullet wounds red and unforgiving, and knife lacerations that had just begun to scab over washes of blue and purple.

Perhaps she could see it on his face, his steely countenance. He had become all hard edges and wrinkles as he scrutinized the marred canvas of her skin. The irony was cruel. Yor, always so gracious, so kind, was seamed with silvery stitches, stained with colors that belonged on sprigs. He was in pieces.

“They grow up so fast,” said Yor wistfully, almost as if to lament the skin she had no choice in claiming. “They come and they go, don’t they?”

Twilight knew all too well that her words meant much more. Yes, he wanted to say, we did. And he’d hold her the way his mother had when days were brighter—the way he holds his daughter now. He’d hold the girl as long as she needed to be held: late into the morning, late for work; in the afternoon when the sun laid over them thickly; into dusk with the stars shut off, dark and still.

There were things Twilight could never understand about Yor, things that she would never divulge to him. But there was nothing as certain and true as the kindness of skin, of a hand over hers, of a brush on the curve of her cheek.

“I’m going to take your…” Bra felt too vulgar of a word. He improvised. “This off.”

Resigned from her initial embarrassment, Yor simply nodded, moving to rest her chin on Twilight’s shoulder. She held onto the sides of his shirt, a half-hug.

Faceless women. Powdery perfume. Wine-stained lips agape, mouthing different names on the nape of his neck. Bodies full in contour, stuffed with down in all the places meant for squeezing. It was muscle memory at this point—the snap of a clasp, the inevitable plunge into passion, and the hangover in the morning. But when it came to Yor, he couldn’t help but feel as though it was an act most sacred. There was no other urge than to press her wholly against him, to feel the pressure of her entire being on him as he wraps his arms around her, merging into one. Deeper than lust, than desire. This much, he longed for Yor Briar.

The straps slid off her shoulders, leaving pink indents in her flesh. His mind blanked. He stopped breathing.

Hands moved on their own, wetting towels in washes, laving it over her back. She’d wince. He’d whisper something sweet. Rinse and repeat. He created a cage out of action, keeping all thoughts and emotion locked away.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Not so bad,” Twilight assured. “Nothing that needs stitches, at least.”

“Oh.” It was empty exchanges like this as more and more questions hung over them. Together they cowered under their weight.

“I know that this is… uncomfortable.” It was awkward, to say the least. He tended to her back, arms rigid so as to not touch her more than he needed to. She leaned forward, chest to chest, so that he could somewhat peer over her shoulder to see what he was doing. Skinship didn’t seem to bother her—rather, she was too exhausted to care or give it any deeper thought. The turmoil within Twilight, though, waged. “Just a while longer. I need to dress your wound. You’ve been a very good patient up to now.”

“I’ve been good?” It warranted a chuckle from Yor.

Twilight flushed, conscious of his entire existence. Too embarrassed by his words, he froze, hands dropping down to the small of her back. “Are you…making fun of me?”

“No. Not at all.” She laughed halfheartedly once more, pulling back slightly to look at him. “So this is what you’re like with your patients. You’re kind and your hands are warm. It’s hard to not like you.”

“Oh, please.” Briefly, he met her gaze, tore from her immediately once he remembered the precarious position they found themselves in. He looked past her. He would be a gentleman.

“That’s who you are. You’re warm wherever you go. You’re warm when you’re here, warm when you’re away.” He looked past her even as she moved to touch his face. “You’re warm even now, when I’ve been so cold. Yes, I’ve been cold to you, haven’t I?”

He said her name, so he thought. She closed her eyes. All it took was this for Twilight see her for who she was. Goodness, through and through.

“Sometimes I think… I think I was born like this. Cold-blooded. ” A beat of silence. “That I might be the way I am forever.”

“I know you, Yor.” He blazed a trail to the side of her face, flames lapping her skin. She shuddered as he whispered low against her ear, lips brushing with every word. “I know you. And if... If you're cold now,” Twilight said, “I'll wrap your blanket around you.” It sounded like a promise—one Yor was sure she would not be able to keep.

“That's the thing.” She shook her head. “I’m not so sure you do.”

This he could not refute. Her past was a mystery to him. Dead parents and a younger brother. She had only herself. Twilight often chose not to speculate about her life; he knew he’d go down a downward spiral coming up with many iterations of her girlhood—rather, lack thereof. What kind of jobs did she take to support her younger brother? Who did she meet? How did she remain soft despite it all—the war that had unknowingly brought them together?

How did she get hurt tonight?

Who had hurt her?

Her eyes, glassy, stared at him in resignation. “I’m scared, Loid. Terrified that one day, you'll come to realize who I truly am."

Yes, he did not know the crucial makings of Yor. Didn’t know the smell of her childhood bedroom. The names of lovesick suitors that, over the years, tried to win her hand. He didn’t know the stations she’d tune in to as a girl on lazy Sunday afternoons under the syrup sun when all the initial excitement of the weekend had worn off. But what Twilight did know was the scent of her shampoo as they drove down cobblestone paths, top down, hair tickling his face as she watched the scrolling scenery in awe. He knew the way her face would glow as she smiled, how everything about her flowered. The feelings Anya, he harbored were certain. Wasn’t this enough?

Twilight gently wrapped around her. It was the best he could do despite the uncertainties that continued to gnaw at him. She melded into him, and, perhaps swept by the moment, did exactly what he had been thinking of doing the entire night.

They kindled, and the fire spread.

──────────⊹⊱❀⊰⊹──────────

It was relatively quiet as he cared for Yor. The small cuts she visibly had on her arms were covered in Anya’s pastel bandaids. He tied the wedding white gauze around her bust as if it were a ribbon to a gown. She was pink in the night, hot with pining much like Twilight.

Sucking on a breath, Yor raised her worn arms as Twilight slipped her nightgown over her head.

“You’re staying home tomorrow. No ifs or buts,” he directed as he slipped her skirt off from underneath.

Yor hummed in compliance, refusing to look him in the eye, refusing to acknowledge the audacity of that act of utmost affinity—the chaste press of lips.

Twilight was no better. He’d gone too soft, sappy. Too stupid. To make up for the many missteps of the night, he would be calm, collected. The anger and contentment conflicting within him would have to wait until he’s in the confines of his room where he could turn in his bed over thoughts of Yor.

He tossed the blood-soaked rags in the bowl and stood up, moving to position her pillow near the arm of the sofa so that she could finally lay. Twilight pulled the pilled quilt from her room over her body. She looked so small, so snug.

“You were out in the rain too. You most definitely caught a cold.”

“Definitely?”

“Yes.” Twilight swept his palm over her forehead. “Definitely. I’ll be here with you, though. I need you there with me this time. I need you strong when you see how fast Anya has grown.”

“It must have been hard on your own, seeing Anya grow.” Yor smiled with mirth and his heart swelled. He looked away, lifted his chin, and cleared his throat. “I’ve always been strong, though, so you don't have to worry—"

“No,” he interjected, a little too strongly. He kneeled down next to her, and he said, in the most tender voice he could muster, “Did you forget that you’re married? Married to me?”

“I didn’t,” she mumbled timidly. “But there's no one here to watch us. Nothing to prove to anyone.”

With a knowing smile, Twilight responded, “Precisely.” Yor blushed, turning to the other side to face away from him. He reached out one last time before retracting his hand out of contemplated bashfulness. “Get some rest. I’ll be in my room reading. Don’t hesitate to call out to me if there’s anything you need, alright?”

He waited ten heartbeats, waited for a last minute request. Waited to hear the inflection of her voice just before she’s taken by slumber—the voice that would lull him to rose-scented dreams.

As he got up, he imagined that she had said his name. Then, again, “Loid?”

“Yes?”

Her back was still turned away from him, face toward the back cushions.

“I’ve got so much to tell you, but I don't know where to begin."

“We’ve got the morning,” he told her, himself. “We’ve got the rest of our lives for me to learn all of you.”

Yor turned to him. Twilight bowed before her, laced their hands together. She squeezed.

"For now," Yor said, closing her eyes, "thank you."

He leaned down and tucked a flower behind her ear. A wind overtakes them. Pink petals flitted.

#my writing #fic #loidyor #twiyor #sxf #sxf fic #spy x family #loid forger #yor briar #this is an old fic #but i'll post it here anyway!#yknow. for The Archives #header is “a continent bridged” by franklin booth #listened to a lot of laufey for this one #fic named after laufey's cover of the song

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