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thesugarclubs-blog · 11 months

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Just A Taste - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: chef Bucky, pastry chef OC, second-chance romance, grumpy x sunshine, office smut, 18+

word count: 12.9 k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1351680783-just-a-taste-olivia

Masterlist

“Steve,” Olivia sighed, her feet up on the coffee table.

She was looking forward to a relaxing weekend off, swiping through Tinder and watching TV while drinking far too much wine. But Steve called her right as she sat down to unwind, begging for coverage at White Wolf.

“Look, I wouldn’t be calling if I wasn’t desperate,” Steve replied. “This isn’t exactly an ideal scenario for you or Barnes, but Parker burned his hand.”

The mention of her ex-boyfriend made her chest clench. She was more than guilty of scrolling through his Instagram to see if he had started dating again. Outwardly, she told people she wanted him to see other people, but there was always a knot of desperation in her throat whenever she typed in his username. Followed by a sigh of relief when he was still single.

She still loved him, but their obsessions with their jobs drove them apart. Olivia wanted to be friends, Bucky was the one who pushed her away. She left, it was what was best for everyone, even if it killed her.

She hadn’t had any communication with Bucky since, other than him liking her Instagram posts. It was the tiniest olive branch, but she was always afraid to ask for more.

“How?”

“Tripped and put his hand right down on a hot burner.” Olivia winced and audibly hissed. Steve chuckled. “He almost rivals you for biggest klutz of all time.”

Olivia frowned.

“You’re not exactly winning me over with compliments.”

She could hear him tapping his pen on the desk, the rhythm quick like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings.

“You know the restaurant inside and out and we need to be impressive tomorrow night.”

“Why, exactly?”

“Tony Stark.”

She almost threw up. He was the most ruthless food critic Olivia had ever read. Stark had the power to make restaurants explode in popularity or to shutter their doors- all it took was a single review of approximately 1,000 words. He was a god in the New York restaurant scene.

“Please, Liv. We’re desperate.”

She sighed.

“And?”

“You’re the best,” Steve sighed somewhat dramatically.

She grinned.

“That’s what I like to hear, Rogers.”

“I’ll pay you double—”

“No, you—”

“No arguments! You’re too nice!”

“I haven’t even said yes yet!”

“Ah! Your voice went up a partial octave, that’s a yes!”

“It so is not!”

“So is! Be here at 2:00 for prep! Byeeeee!!”

“Steve!”

The line went dead and she couldn’t help but laugh before dread crept in. Bucky wasn’t going to be happy about this, but part of Olivia was hopeful that they could repair things.

She hardly slept, was showered and pacing with her pastry kit and knife set by the door by 10 am, itching to get back into the kitchen she loved so much.

Excitement laced with apprehension, but she could be professional around Bucky and cooking for Tony Stark was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even if Bucky shut her down, she knew they could work with each other in the kitchen like clockwork. In truth, she was most excited to see him at work again after so long. A master at his craft, there was nothing like seeing Bucky with a knife in his hand.

Before she could get too hot and bothered thinking about it, she decided to just head out, getting an early start on dessert prep was never a bad thing.

The trip to the restaurant felt familiar, dangerously so. Olivia came to a halt in front of the big glass doors, gaze running the length of the steps to the classy wooden reception desk; her hands fled to the straps of her tote bag, gripping them tightly to ground herself.

Next to the desk, tinkling with his phone, stood Steve. Hair combed neatly, white chef’s uniform on. He furrowed his brows before flickering his eyes up as if he was sensing Olivia standing there and staring at him like she just saw a ghost.

He smiled then, a calming curl of his lips that allowed her to breathe out and open the door, stepping inside with purpose despite how shaky she felt.

“Lookin’ good, Rogers,” she said coolly, heart hammering away under her playful tone. “The beard is new!”

Steve cocked an eyebrow, smirking, and slipped his phone into his uniform’s pocket.

“And so is my phone,” he sighed, snaking an arm on her shoulder in a half-hug. “I’m having trouble understanding how to set it up. Peter was supposed to help me, but y’know…”

''He took a trip to klutz-town and almost singed off his hand, I know. I can help you, old man.'' Olivia chuckled as she watched the blonde man's brows furrow.

That man didn't look a day over 30 and he knew it. ''I'm gonna set up in the back.'' She turned on her heels to walk into the state of the art kitchen, when Steve called after her. ''Make sure you don't end up strangling Barnes.''

''Can't promise you that, Rogers.''

The air around her lightened a bit, the walk through starting to feel like she was back home despite the ball of nerves that had settled at the pit of her stomach at the anticipation of the rush that awaited them tonight.

You’re the best in this town, Liv. She whispered to herself as she stopped just short of the traffic door and released the tight grip she had on her tote. She smoothed down her coat and squared her shoulders before pushing the door open with a tap of her toes.

Her eyes followed the sound of soft chopping against a board. With an hour to 2 left on the clock, the kitchen was still, quiet except for the low whistles of the over 6-foot-tall man who stood at the helm of the White Wolf.

Olivia had always loved the dark, stormy shade of blue that formed in his eyes when he was angry, and despite her nerves and regret, tonight was no different. They were hypnotizing. His hair was longer, a few stray chunks falling from the bun he had pulled it into before starting his exhausting shift.

The kitchen stilled as she came into his view and the silence that fell around them was deafening.

"No," the word left Bucky's lips, dragging her eyes down to his tense jaw. The muscles in his neck flexed as he let the knife fall to the board, he floated around her like he was afraid to touch her and pushed out into the empty front of the restaurant. "Anyone else Steve."

Olive sighed, turning around and following the sound of Bucky's voice back to where Steve stood, trying to calm a furious Buck.

"Buck–" Steve rolled his eyes at the broad man storming into the office.

"I'm sorry, Liv. Just... set up and I'll talk to him."

Her heart was heavy as she nodded. Watching a tired Steve follow the man that was and still is the one her heart desired, even if he was mad at her for being here. The little whiff she caught of his cologne was enough to feel the longing knock on her heart's door.

Back in the kitchen, Olivia emptied her tote. Unfurling her knives and pulling out her apron. Peter kept the station immaculate but then Bucky wouldn’t have his kitchen any other way, she knew that.

A glance around the space told her that he still ran the place like a sergeant would his unit and a wave of nostalgia for the place suddenly hit even as she stood in the centre of it.

A flashback of hard-ass Chef Barnes, critiquing a sauce and then the sudden warmth of him as he’d slide up behind her and whisper something a tad too rude for his professional critique just to make her giggle.

She could almost feel it again, the shadow of his broad frame — until someone cleared their throat and she turned to see him, jaw set and eyes hard. His tattoos were peaking out from the sleeves of his chef's jacket, the white starchy material strained over his arms as he crossed them in front of himself.

“You can stay,” he murmured and Olivia glanced up to see a pout on his lips, “just don’t get in the way.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh, if it was relieved or not she couldn’t say. Returning her gaze to her station, she glared at the mixing bowl like it was all its fault. “We have a big night ahead.”

Okay, conversation, she thought sheepishly. Let’s start small.

“Mh-hm,” he simply hummed back, stalking to his previous spot and resuming his task. No indication whatsoever that he wanted to grace her with the sound of his voice.

The air felt so thick Olivia had actual trouble remembering what the hell she was supposed to do, opting to try and keep her breath even for just a second. She puffed her cheeks with air, somehow feeling guilty about being there even if Steve coerced her by flattering her and dropping the name every chef in town was scared about.

The doors flew open, almost knocking her off her feet from how harshly the noise pulled her out of her mind.

“Am I travelling back in time?” A voice boomed dramatically from the threshold, an amused pitch to it Olivia would recognize everywhere. Thank god.

“Did Steve even tell someone I was coming tonight?” She chuckled, glancing above her shoulder to find a smirking Sam standing with his arms folded across his chest.

''He got a new phone and apparently texting is a thing he doesn't know about yet.'' Olivia snapped her head to the snickering Bucky who was checking on the oven, the muscles in his back playing along with the movement. She remembered the way those muscles and the heat of his skin felt beneath her palms, don't you dare even go there. She shook her head from the thought, gripping the edge of the mixing bowl to ground herself.

As she heard the sound of more kitchen staff making their way through the restaurant she walked over to Sam, throwing an arm across his shoulders as she fell into his open arms.

“It’s good to see you Sammy,” she whispered.

He tightened his grip on her and nodded, “You taught the kid well but we’ve missed you in here Livvy.”

They both pulled back from the hug and Olivia looked at him, a tight-lipped smile on her face as her heart squeezed in her chest.

“I said we,” he reiterated, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll let you keep at it, I need to set up too.”

She nodded sharply and quickly turned to head over to the pantry to grab hold of all the dry ingredients to begin preparing her desserts. Mumbling beneath her breath what she needed she walked into the pantry without looking and crashed into someone making their way out. A strong hand grabbed hold of her waist as she bounced back on impact, a huff leaving her lips.

“Head up,” he grumbled, letting go of her as quickly as he had reached out.

Olivia froze as he stepped back from her leaving her feeling like she had done something unforgivable. And maybe she had at some point, stepped in the wrong direction, left him behind. But he had been pulling away long before she had the chance to tighten her grip.

She had just been the first to cut the strings that threatened to hang them.

“Sorry chef,” she nodded, swallowing the half-baked apology that rose in her throat.

The crease between Bucky's brows had gotten deeper since she last saw him. Those ocean blue eyes were dark, cascading over every part of her face, and for a split second, he let his guard down, revealing pain despite the scowl that seemed permanently etched into his features. She remembered what Sam said:

We missed you.

A tidal wave of emotion threatened to knock her over and her knees locked. Bucky’s tattooed fist clenched at his side.

“I told you not to get in the way.”

“I said I was sorry, chef,” she repeated, her face bright pink with humiliation. “It was an accident.”

Over Bucky’s shoulder, Sam was watching them. The weight of his eyes was nearly crushing. In fact, most of the kitchen was watching them, waiting for something to explode.

“This is a big night for me.” Bucky’s tone was measured. “And it’s not exactly starting the way I wanted it to. Don’t screw this up for me, Olivia.”

The use of her full first name felt like a gut punch. With a grunt, he turned and headed back toward his station while Olivia turned her back to the pantry and took a deep breath.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she whispered as she grabbed what she needed. “It’s one night, and you can cry later.”

She took a deep inhale of breath, slowly counting to five as she let it out before she continued.

When her arms were full, Olivia straightened and prepared to walk back to her station, avoiding everyone's eyes because she could feel them all. Knowing it was better to look ridiculous and carry everything in one go then have to make a trip back to the pantry and be at risk of pissing off Bucky even more.

She reached her station with measured steps and dropped everything with a loud thunk. Glancing around to make sure she hadn't disturbed anyone, her eyes caught Barnes' gaze focused on her before returning back to prepping and chopping and leaving her to curse internally at the heat flooding her face.

It was fine, everything was fine. Lemon tarte was on the menu for dessert. It was her specialty, so much so that when she was an in-house pastry chef, Bucky used to write Liv’s Lemon Lovely on the whiteboard in the kitchen and draw hearts around it like the sap he was. Tonight it just said Lemon Tarte w/ citrus and ginger crust — straight to the point.

Olivia sighed and washed her hands, up to her wrists, in between her fingers until her palms squeaked.

And then she set about prepping. Lemons first, enough zested for both the pastry cases and filling and it soon became second nature as she scraped fruit after fruit over the zester and then—

“Shit!”

Blood pooled instantly on the tip of her finger as she caught it on the blade and she squeezed it tight to try and stop the flow.

Just what she needed.

What the hell was even happening? Olivia was extremely skilled, one of the best in the field, and she earned every right to be in that kitchen by breaking her back hours a day for years— and Bucky had been there to witness the whole damn time. He was being an ass, preaching about not standing in his way, but what about Olivia’s? What about knowing well enough how she could get in her head, how dangerous it would be for his restaurant to push her like that?

Maybe he just forgot.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry chef,” she didn’t even raise her eyes to meet his cursed blue pits, because if his hoarse voice was any indication of the look on his face, Olivia was going to stop breathing altogether. “I’m gonna clean this cut up and be right back at it. No worries, everything’s under control.”

Before she could spin on her heels and stalk to the first-aid kit conveniently hanging in the far corner of the kitchen, right before the small hallway that connected the space with Bucky’s office, he grabbed her wrist.

“Let me see.”

Slowly she held out her hand. He looked at her waiting for inaudible permission to touch her. His brows furrowed as he lightly turned her hand to inspect the injury.

"Looks like you micro planed a few layers of your skin. Let me clean this off and put a bandaid on it."

"I can do it myself, James." Olivia tried to sound tough while the juice of the lemon was penetrating her wound, making it burn.

"Always the tough guy, Liv."

She watched him closely as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a navy handkerchief with JBB embroidered in the corner in gold string. Another pang shot through her chest when she saw it, that had been a part of the gift she gave him when he and Steve signed the lease for the space the White Wolf now stood.

He pressed it to her finger with a gentle hand and lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Olivia's breath caught in her throat as his eyes met hers, the strained look in them letting her see that he hadn't even noticed what he grabbed until it was already too late. He swallowed thickly and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, "Keep pressure on that and follow me." His voice was stern once more as let go of her hand and reached for the Microplane laying on the table.

“Bucky, I'm fine,” she chuckled nervously as everyone seemed to stop in their tracks. “This is kind of my M.O., remember?”

The only thing she heard was an exasperated sigh as he led her toward his office pulling the first aid kit from its place on the wall along the way.

“This ain’t a goddamn movie, kids!” He shouted to the rest of the kitchen in his thick Brooklyn accent. “Keep prepping!”

Olivia lingered near the doorframe, not wanting to come inside. The office hadn’t changed at all. On the desk was a picture of him, Steve, and her on the day they opened the restaurant. She was Bucky’s first hire. Even though they’d broken up, there were remnants of her all over this place. Bucky sighed and his massive body covered the picture as he grabbed a bandaid.

“I can't help you if you don't come here," he grumbled.

“I said I'm fine. I don’t need—“

His jaw ticked and he turned to her, eyes blazing. She could almost feel soft pops of electricity on her skin as his eyes dug into hers. Whenever Bucky looked at her, it felt like he could see everything, and right now, the only thing she wanted to do was run.

“Olivia, I’m in charge tonight. Come here and let me help you for Christ’s sake.”

With trembling legs, she took the small six steps toward the desk and stood in front of him. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he took the handkerchief away and examined the wound before wrapping a bandage around it.

“You’ll live,” he whispered.

“Was that a joke, Barnes?”

The moment the words slipped out, she bit her lip and winced. Bucky glanced back up at her, eyes icy.

“I— I mean, thank you, chef," she stammered.

Olivia didn't miss the flash of mischief in his eyes at her response, something remaining of the carefree man who just wanted to do what he loved every day with his best friends. She watched his hands as he crumpled up the bandage wrapper, tossing it over his shoulder into the trash. A perfect shot, of course, Olivia thought to herself.

"You workin' anywhere new?"

The barely audible question made her gaze snap up to his but he wasn't staring at her, just the space between them. A few strands of hair fell onto his forehead and her fingers suddenly itched to push them away like she used to. The reminder made Olivia's chest flare with heat.

"Interesting question from a man whose last words to me were "do what you want, I don't care"," Olivia remarked, crossing her arms in front of her.

Bucky pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. Olivia just wanted to see one part of him, one still gaping wound, that regretted any of the things he had said to her, or the kitchen he wrecked the last time they fought. The stress in those days built into something unbearable and their relationship was the first to crumble under the weight. Instead of waiting for his response, Olivia turned on her heel and pushed the door of the office open much wider than was necessary. Her finger throbbed with the motion but at that point, she felt like she deserved it. Just another reminder of how being around James "Bucky" Barnes would only bring her pain.

Back at her station, she cleared the contaminated lemon zest in silence and made a swift journey to the pantry for more lemons, avoiding eyes and tuning out the rest of the kitchen.

They still had a little while til service started, enough time to start over. Both with her dessert and maybe Bucky. He used to ease up a little once service was underway, helping out where needed and actually smiling.

“He’s been miserable without you, y’know. Parker doesn’t giggle like you do.”

Sam stood beside her, offering a cup of iced lemon water.

“It’s not 5 o’clock yet, Sammy,” she chuckled, sparing him a sideways glance.

“It’s water and you know it,” Sam grinned as she took it from him, gulping it back with a blissed out sigh. “And I mean it, Steve has had to reel him in a few times when things get heated back here.”

"As much as I'm sorry for you guys, being miserable and lashing out is his choice." Olivia got to work on the lemons again.

"I know. I know. But I can't help to notice the way his focus has changed ever since you came here today. The stolen glances he makes, trying to not get caught staring at you. Not on my watch, Buckeroo."

"Sam," Olivia said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Livvy. I just wish my best friend would smile more since you were the light of his life." Sam looked kind of defeated.

"Well, sometimes a light can dim until it goes out completely."

"Change the bulb," Sam knocked her gently with his elbow, "flick the breaker, have you tried turning it on and off again?" He joked.

"You've been spending too much time with that Parker kid, he's making you crazy," Liv shook her head and turned back to steal a glance at Bucky but found him leaning over the metal counter staring at her while the pan behind him smoked.

"You're on fire," she said plainly and loud enough for him to hear her. He doesn't move, he just holds his glare leaving Liv to say, "Not you, your chicken."

Finally, Bucky turned to look at the pan, swearing at himself as he went. "Like a moth to the flame," Sam chuckled and floated away from her.

Olivia continued to whip up the lemon tarte, moving with grace and ease like it was the most natural thing in the world. She caught Bucky walking past her with the still flaming pan— the only reason she knew it was him was because she could see the flames and smoke in her peripherals. She had to focus. She was notorious for being a klutz in the kitchen when she was nervous, and right now, Barnes made her feel like she was in the goddamn military.

She could feel him stop for a second, and the weight of that gaze on her, watching her work just like he used to. Olivia looked up just in time to see him heading for the dish pit. She heard a clatter and more swearing as she turned her focus back to the dessert.

“I think you’re making him nervous,” a voice announced. She glanced up to see Steve grinning at her. “He’s turning into you.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Olivia giggled. “He’ll lose his mind.” “He's all talk, you know. He really does miss--”

“Rogers! Get back to your station!” Bucky barked.

Steve turned and gave his best friend a mocking salute.

“Yes, Sir, Sergeant Barnes!” He winked at Olivia. “Good to have you back, Liv.”

“I’m not back!” She called as he walked away.

“Damn right you’re not,” Bucky grumbled as he stomped back to prep another chicken.

"Oh shut up, Buck, you know you love it!" Sam hollered across the now-bustling kitchen.

"You know what I would love, Wilson? If you could add some balsamic to those fucking dry-ass green beans," Bucky shot back, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead as he seasoned the pan.

Olivia bit her cheek to hide her smile, catching Sam's raised eyebrow through the stainless steel rack. He grabbed a whisk before sliding across the tile, barely missing Kate, one of the new prep chefs.

"Ooh baby, I'm hot just like an oven...I need some lovin'" Sam crooned into the utensil, eyes closed dramatically as snickers erupted throughout the kitchen. "And baby, I can't hold it much longer"

"Marvin Gaye, Sam? Really?" Bucky said with a shake of his head, jaw flexing as he attempted not to grin.

"Why you gotta say it like that?" Sam whined. "Who doesn't like Marvin Gaye?"

"I love Marvin Gaye, Sam!" Olivia shouted, catching Bucky's annoyed eye roll before he turned back to his pan.

Sam sauntered over, grabbing Olivia's hand and making her giggle as he spun her in a slow circle, still singing. Olivia glanced up to see Bucky watching them intently, a different kind of look on his face, one that actually made her think he really missed her just a little.

It seemed the moment was too good to be true though, the slight twitch upwards of Bucky’s lips and softening of his eyes gone not even a second later.

Was it because Olivia may have caught her foot on Sam’s and stumbled just a little? Maybe. But old Bucky would have at least chuckled at that, swooped in to steady her before murmuring a soft ‘what am I gonna do with you, my love?’ as he pressed a kiss into her hair.

This time though, he shook his head and bore his steely glare into Sam.

“Real smart dancin’ in a working kitchen, Wilson. Get back to work.”

“See! Mr. Grumpy Gills,” Sam shrugged, nudging Olivia before returning to vegetable prep.

She stole one last look at Bucky before turning back to her station. Watching him wipe his brow with a cloth from his shoulder, sweaty hair suddenly wild as it frizzed away from his face.

She fought the urge to go over there and fix it.

Olivia rolled her shoulders with resolution, chin raised defiantly to no one in particular. And eventually, falling back into character became almost natural. Working in what used to be her kitchen, surrounded by the best wingmen ever known to mankind, everything made her stomach warm just enough to forget the anxiety the tiniest bit.

After all, she was doing the thing she loved the most. Nothing works as a better therapy than that. Even when the person you love the most is glaring at you at every given chance.

A couple of doughs of buttery crust were now staring at Olivia through their cocoons of plastic wrap, cool enough to be worked on, as she lined up small tart pans to put in the fridge and start on her lemon curd. Perfectly on time. Smiling to herself, she glanced at Steve who simply shook his head with a grin.

“Whatcha laughing about, Rogers?” She called a snicker hidden beneath her tone as she pulled the wrap from one dough. “Mouth watering yet?”

Sam chuckled beside him. “We need to do a taste test, y’know?”

“A taste test,” Olivia laughed, breezy and amused despite herself. “Consider it done, boys. We gotta make sure Stark is pleased, don’t we?”

“Just hide a couple of those, Boo. Or I’m gonna steal one when you’re not looking.” Sam replied, gaze flickering beside her for a second before Steve sucked his cheeks to keep himself from smirking.

“Make it three.”

And sure enough, Bucky’s grumble rang in her ears like an alarm.

Keeping eye contact with Sam, gaining strength from Steve’s effort to not snort at his best friend's crankiness, she smirked, “Yes, sir.”

With a pastry bag filled with lemon curd, she piped the tarts and let them level out before sliding them in a neat line on her counter.

She saw Sam and Steve sneak behind her, approaching the tarts.

"Boys." she playfully scolded them.

"How did you notice? We were quieter than mice." Sam pouted as she swatted his hand away from the pastries.

"Y'all do realize you are both about 6 feet built like dump trucks, right?"

“Yeah, and we need to be fed!” He exclaimed, reaching out for one of the tarts.

Olivia slapped at his hand, earning herself a pained squawk.

“Leave them to set, you heathen. I won’t have my best work ruined by an over-eager man child.”

A subtle huff of laughter sounded from behind her and she turned just enough to catch the soft smile spread across Bucky’s face before he managed to wrangle it back into the grumpy expression that was his comfort zone.

“Ooooh!” Sam teased. “Was that laughter, Barnes? When did they program that into your brain?”

“Get fucked, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled as he turned back to his station.

“Been trying! But I spend too much time here!”

Olivia chuckled, continuing to work and make some extras for the kitchen. She knew that Bucky adored her lemon tarts. It was part of the reason why she decided to make them for tonight. She wanted to build a bridge. As she whipped up some more filling, the kitchen grew quiet and all she could hear was Sam humming Marvin Gaye.

“Wilson…”

“I can’t stop, Buck! The music’s got me!” Olivia looked up to see Sam doing a little wiggle at his station, knife in hand.

She rolled her eyes and realized she needed to grab one more thing from the cooler, some fruit to put on top of the tarts. The cooler that was right next to Bucky’s station. Olivia decided to kill two birds with one stone and headed for it, opening the door. She turned to him with a smile.

“I’m making some extras for the staff after work.”

He grunted in response, flipping the meat on his pan while sweat gathered at his hairline. Her eyes drifted down to his tattooed forearms that flexed as he worked. She missed the way those arms held her against the bed, the wall…

She cleared her throat and pretended to huff as she headed into the cooler, grateful for the cold air on her flushed face.

Leaning over, she reached down for a tray of already prepped blueberries, imagining how pretty they would look sprinkled with powdered sugar when the cooler door closed behind her. She snapped up, almost hitting her head on the shelf before turning around to face a very agitated Bucky. His cheeks were flushed and it made every freckle on his face stand out.

"Um, you locked us in the cooler, Buck," she laughed shakily, nodding behind him.

"It's a new door, has one of those stupid little buttons," Bucky gestured with one hand, the other coming up to brush his hair back with frustration. "Olivia..."

"James," she replied, mocking the raspy gravel of his voice as he stared at her incredulously.

"What do you want, Olivia?" Bucky nearly growled, frustration in every syllable. "Why did you tell Steve yes?"

Her mouth dropped open in shock. The chill of the cooler was raising bumps on her arms, but she started to sweat regardless.

"I told Steve yes because about three months ago, my asshole ex-boyfriend told me to fuck off and I've been unemployed ever since," she snarled, gesturing to Bucky with the tray of fruit. "Not that you even care. I came here to work, and right now you are keeping me from doing that."

It was petty, but Olivia needed to say it. He broke her heart by choosing all of this over them. Bucky took two steps forward and suddenly the cold metal box he'd trapped her in seemed much much smaller. His icy stare bore into her skin and warmth spread throughout her body at the sight of the flecks of grey in them.

"Yeah, well I can't do my job because I can't stop watching you."

The admission made Olivia almost break, drop the container she held and climb him like a tree in the middle of the cooler. His gaze flickered to her lips just as a knock sounded through the thick metal door.

"Uh, y’all?" Sam's voice was almost scared. "I hate to break this up, but Stark's here and Steve looks like he's gonna cry."

Bucky groaned, closed his eyes tight and with his fist clenched, muttered an angry “fuck” to no one in particular.

“We’ll be right there,” Olivia answered Sam, catching Bucky’s eye and silently asking if he was good to head back out there.

When he inhaled sharply and breathed out on a count of five — something she’d make him do when things got a little too much — she knew the answer.

“Good. Let’s go, chef.”

“Liv,” Bucky started, catching her wrist as she pushed past him. Bewildered eyes stared down at her and for the first time, Olivia could see the toll this evening was taking on him. Knowing Bucky, he probably spent the last week staying late, working and reworking the menu until it was perfect.

“Later,” she replied and Bucky sighed. “This is one of the most important nights of your career, Bucky. I’m here to help you succeed and nothing else. If it helps, for now, pretend I’m not here.”

“Easier said than done,” Bucky whispered, letting go of her wrist and running a hand over his forehead in an attempt to tame the flyaway hairs.

Before Olivia could reply, Bucky was back out in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the start of service.

You could have cut through the tension with a knife back there. I can't stop watching you.

The chaos of the kitchen swirled around her as Bucky began barking out orders and everyone fell in line. Steve looked particularly nervous as he put up the first appetizer for service, and they waited. Bucky tapped his foot against the floor and flipped his knife in his hand. He was dripping sweat, but she couldn’t stop thinking about their moment in the cooler.

She could have sworn she could see the longing in the piercing blue eyes of his; the same semblance of longing that he had when they shared a bed, when he pinned her against the wall, caging her in his warmth, in his desire. Every inch of her skin was worshipped by him.

"Earth to Liv, Barnes is about to combust. Stark sent back the appetizer. Better you go into hiding before pans start flying,” Sam announced.

She heard those words and she knew. Hurrying over to the pass she saw Bucky, his arms braced against the stainless steel countertop, staring at the barely-touched plate of food that Stark had returned. His eyebrows were drawn into the deepest scowl she had ever seen and he was almost vibrating with tension.

Without even thinking Olivia reached out and laid a palm in the space between Bucky’s shoulder blades, pressing gently, letting him know she was there without having to speak a word.

She held her breath, allowing him a moment to collect himself before she flexed her fingers slightly. The feeling of him leaning back into her hand, however subtle the movement may have been, made her heart soar. Turning his head a little, as if searching for her presence, he let out a deep sigh and then projected his voice to his kitchen.

“We’re gonna blow him away with the entrée people!” He announced.

Without thought and years of practice, Olivia fell into step beside him. Silently working together like they had so many times before she stretched the limits of her cooking knowledge, helping where she could but never hindering his movement or craftsmanship. Olivia had always been better at sweets, chocolate and pastry. Delicate hands and perfect math. Bucky was built for the chaos of a hot kitchen, he was born into wielding sharp knives and demanding attention.

Olivia had missed watching him work, missed seeing the way his massive frame became like water as he moved in and out of bodies. There was nothing like the tidal wave Bucky Barnes became when he cooked. He finished the proteins, laying across a bed of vegetables and started in on the sauce.

"There," she pointed as he cleaned the plate of any imperfections, "and that," she noted as he missed a small detail of sauce in his hurry. "It's perfect," she whispered, giving him the nudge of confidence he needed.

Bucky stared at the plate the way most people would stare at a complicated equation, searching for imperfections. He lived to beat himself up, and it was hard not to in this job. He demanded perfection out of everyone in his kitchen, but nobody was harder on Bucky Barnes than he was.

“You think so?” He asked as his throat bobbed and he turned to her, eyes aching for approval.

“I know so," she beamed.

He looked back at the plate with his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth, still searching for an imperfection and finding nothing.

“We were a hell of a team.”

She couldn’t help herself, reaching over to place her hand on his forearm. His muscles twitched but he didn't move.

“Still are.”

“Buck, I need that plate!” Steve shouted.

He sucked in a breath and his mouth opened to protest, to buy more time - but Olivia grabbed it first.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” she whispered before handing Steve the entree. “Right here, chef!”

Steve beamed when he saw the plate perfectly laid out, colorful, and decadent. He glanced up at Bucky.

“This might be your finest work yet,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

As he walked away, Olivia reached out her hand, palm up while Steve passed the plate off to a server. Bucky slapped her palm and they did their dumb little handshake, wiggling their fingers together before they collapsed into laughter. She had missed this so much.

"Ooooooo, Bishop, you smell that?" Sam asked the dark haired girl to his right with a wide grin as Bucky and Olivia separated and returned to their respective stations. "Smells like...a reunion??"

His eyebrows wiggled as Bucky walked by before dodging a slap from the man himself.

"Dude," she replied, watching Bucky help another chef chop zucchini and squash with a deft hand. "I'm not answering that while he has a knife."

“I wouldn’t,” Olivia piped up with a chuckle as she passed them, hands full of two perfectly plated lemon tartes. She weaved her way through to the pass, calls of ‘behind’ as she rounded other kitchen workers.

Bucky had left his station to see off a side order Stark had ordered last minute, a small plate of honey-glazed carrots and parsnips. They used to make them every Sunday lunch without fail and Olivia’s mouth watered a little as she caught the honey glistening under the heat lamp when one of the wait staff swiftly took them away.

“How are we doing?” She asked Bucky, squeezing in close so she could whisper as she deposited the desserts. She followed his eye line to where Stark sat in the centre of the restaurant.

“I can’t tell and I hate this. The waiting, trying to figure out if he likes it or not.”

“Everybody loves your food, ba- Bucky,” she replied softly, “you’re a genius with it, and don’t you dare deny it or you’ll have both me and Steve kicking your ass.”

Bucky laughed, finally a full, face splitting grin and he pulled her under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I missed you, peach.”

Olivia's breath hitched in her throat, feeling his arm squeeze her into him just a touch but enough to be reminded of the hardness that was disguised under his chef's coat. She glanced up at him, the smile on his face quickly faded with the realization of what he had said and their closeness.

"I--" she started before his arm dropped, cutting her off. She so badly wanted to tell him that she missed him too. That every day since she had left was filled with tiny reminders of them. Of him.

Bucky huffed out a breath in frustration that lingered between them now and went back to preparing another dish. It took a moment for her legs to move and shift her back to her station. She glanced up watching him through the line of the other chefs, his shoulders were pinned back and his voice gruff shouting directions and demands.

"That looked cozy," Sam said just loud enough for her to hear, nudging her with his elbow.

"For all of five seconds before he realized he hates me again." She muttered, angrily rearranging blueberries and tiny leaves of mint on top of the small tarts.

Sam chuckled, "Livvy, what he feels for you is far from hate."

Olivia shook her head and set the tarts aside before pulling a chocolate and raspberry cheesecake forwards. Peter had baked them the day before and she had to admit they looked fantastic.

She sliced the dessert into equal portions, her expert eye needing no measurements, and plated them up, adding fresh raspberries and raspberry coulis to the top. They’d be finished at the pass with whipped cream and a sprinkling of powdered sugar.

“You remade these from those miniature cheesecakes we had in Paris,” Bucky’s voice rumbled close to her ear. “I let Pete use the recipe.”

“You kept my recipes?” She asked, emotion gathering at the base of her throat.

“Of course, I did, Liv. They’re the best. Your name is still on the menu in the dessert section.” He turned to her and drew in a breath, and she could see his pulse thrumming in his throat. “You helped make this place what it is, it would be wrong of me to try to erase you from it completely.”

She smiled.

“Bucky, you didn’t have to—“

“Yes, I did. You helped build this place, Liv.” He shook his head as they continued to plate the desserts, working expertly. “I’m sorry I said that shit to you. I was angry and obsessed with the restaurant. I didn’t realize that I was losing you until you were walking out the door.”

There were tears in his eyes and Olivia put her hand between his shoulder blades, taking a deep breath. Bucky breathed with her.

“Why don’t we talk after service?” She asked.

He nodded.

“I’ve got a bottle of champagne in my office.”

“Well, you’d better put it on ice, because Tony Stark is smiling and devouring that entree.”

He turned to her, eyes misty as his large arm wrapped around her shoulders and he pressed a kiss against her temple. Her stomach flipped.

“You did this.”

She shook her head and gazed up at him.

“We did this.”

Nodding with a soft laugh, Bucky sniffed and shook his head.

"Fuck," he murmured, almost in disbelief before pulling away and speaking with more volume to the kitchen, Olivia's hand still resting on his back. "Alright look, that asshole out there is lovin' it and we got one more course."

He trotted off back into the fray, Olivia's face breaking out into a broad grin at the added spring in his step. Checking the plates for another table, he glanced at two of the servers before pointing at them.

"And if either of you fuck up my girl's plate-"

The servers nodded immediately in response, muttering "Yes, chef" under their breaths like they were part of the crew and not on the restaurant floor. With a snort, Olivia turned back in time to see Sam pass Steve a folded-up $100, a grin on the tall blonde's face.

“Did you plan this, Rogers?” Olivia asked with a tilt of her head, her lips betraying the tone of her voice as they curved into a smile.

She expected Steve to deny it, but instead, he shrugged, his eyes soft as he glanced over Olivia’s shoulder to where Bucky was hovering over a dish.

“I know you two,” he replied simply, “I’ve seen you fight and make up more times than I can count, and I saw a little piece of each of you turn to the shadows the moment you walked out that door. You just needed time, Livvy. Him more than you,” he added and Olivia suddenly felt Bucky behind her again, his large palm landing on her shoulder, warm and grounding like it always used to be.

“You’re such a punk, Stevie,” he chuckled, kissing the top of Olivia’s head, “and stop distracting my pastry chef, I need her, uh, to… check the quality of some berries in the cooler.”

“Smooth, chef!” Olivia heard Sam laugh as Bucky’s hand fell to the small of her back and he guided her away.

Olivia let him guide her. She opened the door stepping inside the cooler, his hand practically burning through her chef's jacket as the door clicked shut behind them. "There are no berries here, are there?" She chuckled, turning to him.

The deep shade of blue in his eyes had brightened a little, the corners of his mouth turned up as he shook his head. "Do you remember opening night?" His voice had dropped low and raspy in a way that sent goosebumps up her spine and judging by the way his grin grew, he knew exactly how it affected her.

"You mean when we got locked in here for ten minutes and Steve was convinced we did it on purpose?" She laughed, pushing away the nerves crawling up her neck.

Bucky tilted his head back and chuckled, those small tendrils of hair falling and framing his face. "To be fair, finding us lip locked wasn't a convincing scene."

Her bottom lip moved between her teeth as he took a step toward her, "I hate when you call it that." She rasped, the air in the room dissipating with each tiny movement he made toward her. She hadn't realized she was also moving until her back hit the cold metal shelving and his arms framed her in.

"I should have never let you walk out that door," he almost groaned, his eyes raking over her face and landing on her lips. Bucky lifted his thumb, running it along her chin before tugging her lip from between her teeth, "when you walked through that door tonight," his voice trailed off. Her heart hammered in her chest as the warmth of his breath fanned across her face, "I really, really, need to kiss you."

Her breath hitched again as her eyes flicked up to his own and she hadn't realized truly how much she had missed him until now, "so kiss me, Barnes." She breathed, anxiety ripping through her until a low growl left him and his lips crashed into hers, melting away every doubt she had about coming back tonight.

Olivia couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from her lips but he drank it down like the restaurant’s finest Barolo.

Her hand slipped around the back of his neck, tangling with the short hairs that had escaped his hair tie, and pulled him even closer, until there wasn’t even space for baking parchment between them.

She kissed him back feverishly and the two of them stumbled until he had her pressed up against the shelf. Something clattered to the floor and she broke the kiss, laughing as he let out a pathetic whine and unbuttoned the top half of her chef’s jacket to get at her collarbones.

“Bucky, something fell.”

“Sweetheart, this whole restaurant could collapse on us and the only thing I’d care about is kissing you."

"You lie," she giggled. He cupped her face and kissed her again. She surrendered to him completely, feeling one hand reach down to squeeze her ass. “We still have to finish service.”

Bucky let out another pained whine. She missed every single second of this, and she was embarrassed to admit that whenever she let her mind wander, this was the thing she went back to. They had incredible chemistry. It was lust at first sight, and love not long after that. He was her partner, and Olivia didn’t realize how lonely she was until she saw him tonight.

“I only need five minutes."

She cackled as he sucked on her neck.

“Well, I need a lot more than that, baby.”

This time, it wasn't a slip-up. He peppered her face with kisses and she couldn’t stop giggling, mussing up his hair despite the sweat and grease that lived in it. She liked it. It meant he was working hard.

“Baby?" He purred. "Are we finally getting somewhere?"

“Obviously," she rasped. "But we still need to talk."

“You’re right,” he breathed. “We should stop.”

“Agreed.”

But neither of them could. The second his mouth found hers again, she whimpered and hooked her leg around him.

It was the only sign he needed to ground his hips into her, pressing her between the shelf and his body until she could only think about him. The growing bulge in his pants turning Olivia's mind into mush as her hips moved like a wave over his, out of her control with his hand on her ass helping guide her.

She recalled every time they did this in the past. Stealing whatever time they could between working in the kitchen, stoking the flame until they could finally put it out at the end of the day and release all the tension. But she wanted to talk to him before they fell back into that rhythm again.

They needed to survive this service first.

Pulling back from his lips with a gasp, their eyes met and she was struck by how pretty his looked blazing down on her like that. For her.

"We really should get back out there," she whispered against his lips, voice thick with desire. Peering up at his beautifully flushed face as he took a deep breath, Olivia felt his hand run down her leg in a gentle caress before lowering it to the ground and steadying her on her feet.

"We should." He nodded.

"We'll talk?" It came out as a question. Uncertainty swirled in her mind until he lifted her chin up to look into her eyes.

"We'll talk." He affirmed. His tone leaving no doubt.

"Sounds good," she murmured back with a soft smile, Bucky leaning down to press his forehead to hers.

Olivia let a few moments pass, breathing in time with his as Bucky's fingers trailed the edge of her ribs with a featherlight touch. Without a word, she stepped around him and forced the door open.

Bucky ran into her back with a small "oof" followed by a muttered "shit" when Olivia stopped about ten feet from the sarcastic expression of the man who they had been busting their ass to impress.

Olivia tried to subtly slide to the side as Tony Stark’s gaze flitted between them, an eyebrow raised before his mouth quirked in a way that could only be interpreted as a moment of understanding.

Her efforts were in vain though, as Bucky’s hands anchored her to the spot in front of him.

“Mr. Stark, I… uh— hi, I would have come to your table, sir.”

Bucky was rambling and Olivia could feel his fingers tapping on her shoulders as he tried to keep his cool.

“Oh, I like to see backstage,” Tony replied like it was nothing. “The food is only half the story, Chef Barnes. It’s good to see where the magic happens.”

Bucky’s breath hitched as Stark winked at them, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“What, uh— how was your meal?” Bucky inquired.

“Delicious… but I gotta say, that lemon tarte? Best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. And I’ve put a lot in my mouth.”

Olivia couldn’t hide the giggle that burst from her, earning her a playful jab in the side from Bucky.

“Is this your sweet dealer?” Tony asked, his gaze falling on her expectantly.

Olivia's eyes widened for a moment until Bucky's throat cleared above her, "This is Olivia Anderson the best Pastry Chef on this side of the Atlantic." He hummed, pride dripping from his voice. Tony's eyes flickered between the two of them before landing directly on her again.

"Is that right?" His hands folded in front of him, pausing for a moment, "Well if it's not too much trouble I'd like to take a few of those tartes home." A sly grin spread across his cheeks, "inspiration for the article." His eyes finally peeled from her to pick off an imaginary piece of lint from his suit. Both of them frozen with whatever was coming next from the man in front of them.

"Chef Barnes, I must say, aside from the appetizer hiccup, You've outdone yourself tonight."

Bucky's body tensed behind her. "Th-Thank you, Mr. Stark, coming from you-"

Tony waved his hand dismissively, "I don't need compliments, Barnes, you've already got yourself a shining review. Keep up the good work."

Olivia finally glanced up to Bucky seeing the glossiness return to his eyes as his throat worked to swallow whatever lump was stuck there. "I'll have those Tartes waiting for you with Steve, sir."

“Perfect!” Tony called as he headed for the entrance. “I look forward to coming back!”

The entire kitchen stopped and before Olivia could wrap her arms around Bucky, Sam was hurdling toward him at breakneck speed, crashing into him and nearly knocking Bucky back into the cooler. The door slammed open and Bucky gripped the doorframe, trying to keep himself upright.

“Wilson!” He roared. “Get off!”

“Shut up, you idiot! Let me love you!”

Olivia cackled and Steve packed up the tartes, handing them off to a server to give to Tony’s table. Soon, the entire kitchen was in the cooler, wrapping Bucky in a giant hug. Sam made room for Olivia, who was pressed right up against Bucky’s chest, hugging him tightly.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “That’s enough. We’ve gotta debrief. Clean up your stations and let’s shut this place down.”

“I’ll go and get the good beer out of the fridge,” Steve replied.

“You guys keep beer here?” Sam asked. “How come no one ever told me?”

“Because you’d be cracking a cold one and singing Sexual Healing,” Steve chuckled as everyone let go, giving Bucky and Olivia pats on the back.

“What’s wrong with that?!” Sam barked, stomping after him.

Soon, it was just Olivia and Bucky shutting the cooler door. He smiled at her, he looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Let’s open that champagne,” she whispered.

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You come back here,” Bucky whispered. “Full time.”

“But Peter—"

“Peter will stay, we’ll make space for you. I could use an extra set of hands and we made a hell of a meal tonight.”

In all honesty, she wanted to say yes the second the words left his mouth but nerves kept her from doing so. She knew she was a great pastry chef. Had no doubt in her own abilities whatsoever. It's the fact that she and Bucky would be working together again and possibly butting heads again. Even if tonight's service was great, it wasn't without a few hiccups.

It was scary and exciting at the same time. Her heart was already beating a mile a minute at the possibilities.

"I–"

"I need you here. In this kitchen. With me." He interrupted. Blue eyes pleading with her to agree.

She gulped audibly, scared to voice her thoughts.

"Please baby, say yes?" His hands had slowly come up to her face, his thumbs running back and forth on her cheek soothingly. Temptingly.

"What about outside of the kitchen?"

Bucky glanced down at her in confusion for a split second, causing Olivia to continue.

"I mean," she whispered, nerves creeping in at his response. "What about...when we aren't here? Do you still need me?"

"If I ever don't, it's probably because I'm dead," Bucky laughed before giving her a soft smile. "And even then, I'll still be a little lost without you to guide me."

Lifting up onto her tiptoes, Olivia pressed her lips to his, the sweet taste of him and this night on his lips. She squealed as Bucky deepened the kiss with a grin, swiping his tongue along her lip and making her knees weak.

"EW."

"GET A ROOM, Y'ALL ARE GROSS."

Olivia met the smirk on Sam's face with an eye roll as he followed Steve out, both of them chatting animatedly. She felt bad for the bartender who was gonna have to deal with those two tonight.

Bucky's hands caught her waist and he looked at the door, then back to her. His eyes were softer now, a polar opposite of the man she first walked in on.

"Lemme go lock those two jerks outside and I'll meet you in the office, 'kay?"

She nodded as Bucky scurried off, opening the swinging kitchen doors to a wolf whistle and some name calling that Olivia prayed none of the younger staff heard.

She took a deep breath, letting her nerves settle as she moved through the kitchen and toward his office. Aware of the fact that the last time she was here the room was a thousand times more tense than now. Olivia pushed open the door feeling like she had stepped through a time machine. Papers were still scattered over the small wooden desk, empty water bottles filled his trash can tucked in the corner and the bulletin board screwed into the wall was covered with images of food and scribbled down recipes.

A small smile spread across her lips as she settled into his chair, spinning around slowly to take in the room that was Bucky Barnes when he wasn't behind a stove. Cluttered and chaotic but never the less organized. Her tornado of a man all wrapped up in four walls. Her feet stopped her as soon as she spotted a picture frame tucked into one corner of his desk. The photo they took of themselves under the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. Her gaze was glued to the camera and a huge smile plastered over her face from eating their way through Paris but when her eyes flickered over to Bucky in the photo, his eyes were focused on her.

Tears sprung up again in the corners of her eyes. She had missed him. Missed the laughs and even the stupid fights they had. But it was Them.

"I snagged the last two clean flutes-" Bucky pushed open the door with his shoulder, two champagne flutes in one hand and a bottle in his other, "what's wrong?" He asked, his brows furrowed as she quickly turned to him.

“You kept the pictures too,” she whispered, swallowing tears. He never forgot her, even though she tried so hard to forget him.

“What pictures?” Bucky asked. “Liv, darling—“

“Of us in Paris… of you, me, and Steve at the opening of… Goddammit, I said I wouldn’t cry today!”

She sniffled and Bucky laughed, setting the two flutes down on the desk as he wrapped her in a hug. She was crushed against his chest, smelling a concoction of sweat, herbs, and sweetness with his cologne lingering just beneath the surface. Every part of her ached for him and she buried her face in his chest.

“Of course I kept them,” he breathed. She could tell he was fighting back sobs from the way his body twitched and the tremor in his voice. “I never stopped loving you, and I never stopped wanting forever with you.”

"I just got in my head thinking.." he mumbled against her hair, arms tightening even more around her.

Her arms slowly lifted to wrap around his torso, her small fingers running up and down his spine to soothe him. His heart was beating wildly against her ear and his whole body was shaking as he tried to hold back tears.

".. I got scared, Livvy."

He pulled back, looking at her with tear stains on his flushed cheeks. His eyes were mesmerizing even when they were sad.

"Why were you so scared?" Olivia murmured her question softly. No judgement in her voice and wanting him to know that she just wanted to understand.

He huffed out a nervous breath, a hand coming to brush back the hairs falling on his face.

"The pressure got to me," he started shakily. "I was scared maybe you'd realize that there were better opportunities for you than being stuck in this place... Stuck with me."

“So I pushed you away.”

His eyes had left her face. Refusing to meet her eyes as he confessed the last part.

Olivia brought her hand up to his cheek, running a thumb over the slight dimple of his chin. Shocks of pain coursed through her chest at the sight of his beautiful blue eyes welling up. He was too much to give up again.

"And I shouldn't have let you," she replied, tears causing his handsome features to blur. "It was easier not to fight it. I knew you were in there, that what you said and did wasn't forever. I'm ready for all of it now."

With a gentle motion, his forehead bumped hers, their gazes still locked. Olivia ran her hand down his jaw and felt the tip of his nose brush hers. Her fingernails skated down his neck as he moved, pushing her back against the desk.

"Bucky?"

"Hm?”

"You are not fucking me with my apron on."

He smirked wickedly, pulling away only to untie the apron string around her neck, then at her back. Her body pressed up against the hard planes of his chest as he did it and she bit her lip in anticipation.

In theory, she should have been bitter. He was the reason she spent two years bouncing from kitchen to kitchen, never able to fit in the way she fit in at White Wolf.

But she wasn’t angry, she just wanted him.

Olivia wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him with everything she had, two years of missing him, of checking his Instagram and making sure that the restaurant was surviving. She still loved him, no matter how many times she looked at herself in the mirror and professed that she didn’t. There was no escaping him, she was tied to him forever in this place, and right now there, was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Bucky tore his lips away from hers, leaving both of them gasping for air. He lifted her up and set her down on the desk.

“You wanna toast to us now or after I make you come?” He asked as he let her apron drop to the floor and took off his chef’s jacket. “I’ve got a lot of apologizing to do, darlin’.”

She licked her lips, fire roaring through her veins.

“Mmm. Better put that mouth to good use, Barnes.”

He threw his jacket across the office, letting it land on a pile of papers.

“Yes, chef,” he purred before his mouth engulfed hers once more in a slow and sensual kiss.

There was no urgency. They had time, and Bucky kept his movements slow, caressing her thighs as he pushed them apart to make room for his massive frame. She just wanted to feel him and all of that softness that she'd dreamed about for two years.

His tongue entangled with hers, teasing her with what it could do to her. What it had done to her many times before. His kisses were always an addiction. A habit she couldn't kick easily because even now, kissing him, she found herself still craving.

His hands were roaming every inch of her body, setting her on fire and making her blood sing as he leaned over her until her back hit the desk. Arching her into him further with a hand pressing on the low of her back.

Olivia almost cried when the need for breathing hit them both and his lips left her own to trail soft, wet kisses on her jaw and down her throat, pulling moan after moan out of her.

"I've missed you so much, Liv," he rasped. Harsh breathes against her ear as he ground into her making her close her eyes at the overwhelming sensation of him all around her.

"Bucky," Olivia breathed, head falling back as he gently pulled up her shirt from where it was tucked in, undoing each button with torturously slow speed. "C'mon, I need you."

She felt his smile against each part of her chest that he exposed and knew he could feel the hammering of her heart. Blown out blue eyes on her own hooded ones, Bucky pushed it from her shoulders. His fingers trailed against her stomach as he pressed soft kisses to every freckle and mark he could find. Removing her pants so slowly, Olivia thought she was going to combust. By the time he knelt between her legs, she was a melted, writhing mess on his fucking desk.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, accent thick with home and lust, "I have waited 24 months...over six hundred fuckin' days...waiting for you."

His nose trailed the inside of her thigh and as if on muscle memory, Olivia's legs fell apart and she moaned from deep in her chest.

Large hands wrapped around her exposed thighs, tugging her to the edge of the desk as her fingers fumbled to find anything to grasp a hold of. A gasp left her when his lips pressed just above her clit, blowing cool air over her already swollen bud. “Jesus,” she moaned.

Bucky chuckled, the sound reverberated through her, lighting tiny fires across her heated skin.

“More, please,” she choked out just as the tip of his tongue dipped into her. A groan left him and she lifted her head just in time to see his eyes roll back and close before pulling back again.

“Still as sweet as I remember.” He rasped before diving back into her core, tasting her, savoring every last bit of exposed skin he could reach while his finger dug into the soft flesh of her thighs.

Olivia arched her back, the rubber band in her chest tightening with the realization that it had been way too goddamn long since she had Bucky between her legs and again breathed out the word “more” before falling back against his desk and sending his own cup to the floor with a clatter.

He devoured her like an animal, his stubble burning the insides of her thighs and making her squirm as he alternated between fucking her and teasing her with his tongue. Soft moans escaped her lips and she thanked God the door was locked. Her hands pushed more papers off of the desks, and more recipe books tumbled to the floor, but she didn’t care. She burned for him.

His tongue lashed against her swollen clit and he slowly pushed two thick fingers inside of her, making her nearly tumble over the edge. Bucky stopped and looked up at her, a big smile spread across those perfectly plump lips.

“Already?” He teased. “I’ve just started with you, darlin’.”

“You wanna carry me out of this restaurant when you’re done with me?” She laughed, reaching down to push some dark strands of hair away from his face.

“Yeah, and back to my apartment."

"Oh?"

He grinned and she saw the storm clear in his eyes.

"You’re not getting any sleep tonight. I've got two years to make up for and I don't want to waste another second doing anything other than making you scream my name.”

He crooked his fingers and she cried out, clamping her hand over her mouth as Bucky began to thrust them slowly, his mouth wrapping around her clit. A low chuckle tumbled from his mouth, making her whole body vibrate and tingle. Her eyes fluttered and rolled back while she rocked her hips against his mouth, her climax nearly reaching its peak.

It was maddening how skillful he was at eating her out, stopping right on the edge of her climax every time her moans started to get higher in pitch. She could feel the smirk against her wet folds every time Bucky slowed down to nip and suck on the apex of her thighs. Teasing her as his thick fingers thrust slowly in and out of her and curled to brush perfectly against that spot that only he could reach.

"Please!" She whined as she felt her walls clenching around his fingers, tugging harshly on his hair.

Thankfully, he only sped up, granting her the release her body craved. His satisfied groan vibrated against her sensitive clit as her taste started to flood his mouth.

"Oh god fuck!" She screamed. His tongue followed her mercilessly as her hips writhed on his desk, the waves washing over her and threatening to take her under.

As he, oh-so-slowly pulled back from her with a resounding smack when he released her clit, her eyes met his ocean ones when he got up to hover over her.

As they both caught their breath, breathing each other in, she decided that she wanted to drown in James "Bucky" Barnes. To dive head first into his waters.

"Christ," he growled, tongue darting out over his swollen lips as they practically breathed the same breath, he was so close. "I love that sound."

Olivia gave a dazed smile as he kissed her, the taste of her on his lips and restarting the fire in her belly. Her hand drifted down to Bucky's belt as she caught his tongue, sucking softly while unzipping his pants. His hips snapped closer to her hand, the head of his cock already weeping before Olivia could even start. With her other hand, she had pushed his pants down just below his ass before Bucky gripped her hips and tilted her throbbing cunt towards him.

"Bucky, please," Olivia whined and his smile only made her more frustrated. This was some kind of punishment for two years of separation and a night of desperate tension. "Fuck me."

He reached down, dragging the tip of his cock through the wetness between her legs and making her head fall back once more. With a high-pitched moan, her hips chased the sensation and his hands came to her belly, holding her still as he teased her further by barely entering where she wanted him most.

"Just remind me not to break the desk like last time," Bucky drawled.

Olivia's almost maniacal giggle turned into a breathless groan as Bucky swiftly buried himself deep inside her.

“Well, now I want you to break it.”

He laughed and discarded his shirt, tossing it aside to reveal a torso decorated with tattoos. She saw the one he got for her. Olivia. Right above his heart. When they broke up, he told her he was going to get it covered up. Bucky was right, she was embedded into every part of him.

He pushed a little deeper as his mouth eclipsed hers.

“Don’t go talking like that. New desk isn’t in the budget.”

“And I am?”

He bottomed out and they both groaned. Bucky held her tightly as her eyes rolled back, his hips setting a slow and languid rhythm. He wanted to draw this out, and she wanted to let him.

“Spending everything to get you back, Liv.” He paused. “Was there anyone else? After me?”

“No,” she breathed honestly.

She’d tried a few Tinder dates, but nothing worked. They weren’t him. They weren’t this, his strong arms holding her while he drove himself deeper and deeper, hitting that spot that made her moan his name. Bucky fit her like a puzzle piece in every conceivable way.

“Good,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

"Yes. Yours– aah" Her words were swallowed by a loud whimper as Bucky pulled back slowly and slammed back in at her words.

His cock was filling her just right. She'd missed the feeling of him inside her like this, thick and pulsing while caging her in with his big, tattoed arms and stealing her soul.

The desk was creaking under both their weights. The sound of it joining their moans and the filthy sound of their bodies slamming together. Her legs dragged up his thighs and wrapped around his back, one foot digging into his ass while Olivia's fingers scratched his back as she felt the delicious drag of his cock along her slick walls.

"Feels so good," she whined. "Please don't stop."

The deep moan that he let out as his lips sucked marks all over her neck had her shivering in response.

"Never. Never gonna stop," he swore against her skin. The sting of his bite on top of her breast increased the pleasure coursing through her body and her sweat-slicked body arched like a bow, clinging desperately to his own as he continued to drive himself into her swollen cunt.

Every snap of Bucky's hips neared her closer and closer to the end, causing her own hips to rock against him as she chased the feeling they both missed so much.

"Shit, Bucky, I'm-," Olivia whimpered, nails digging in and gripping the thin fabric of his shirt. "I'm so fucking close."

"Me too, baby, fuck you feel good."

He grasped her ass in his palms, gripping her soft skin and spreading her wider for him. With a groan, Bucky rolled his hips deeper, and faster until the desk creaked across the floor. Olivia could only hold on, the breath knocked out of her with each thrust.

"Come with me, Olivia," Bucky growled in her ear, nipping at her skin. "Gimme what's mine. I'll fill you up so fuckin' good, come on-"

With a bone rattling moan, Olivia felt as if her entire body lit up, stars dancing behind her heavy eyes as Bucky throbbed deep inside her. Her muscles went taut, the orgasm lasting for what felt like a lifetime as she simply held on. His thrusts grew sloppy and small whimpers left Bucky's mouth as it captured hers, rocking them both until they were too sensitive and spent to keep going.

He nuzzled against her neck and let out another whine as he shivered, still filling her to the brim as his muscles rippled and pleasure washed over him. She stroked his back, her fingers running up and down his spine the way she used to when he would pin her to the bed and fuck her like he owned her.

“I love you,” he rasped.

It had been far too long since she'd heard those words.

“I love you too, Buck.”

His mouth was clumsy and stumbling as he peppered messy kisses up her neck and along her jaw.

“Take me back.” Laughter filled the space between them but Bucky lifted his head, those eyes forever needing reassurance. “I’m so sorry.”

She pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

“No more sorries, okay? I’ll come back to work. I want to.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped her in another bear hug.

“I have something for you.” He kissed her temple. “Bought it a month before you left. I was gonna have Pete or Steve drop it off at your place, but I didn’t have the guts. It’s been sitting in my desk drawer.”

“Bucky, I am not marrying you—“

“No!” He laughed, pulling back. “Are you insane?!”

“No, but you are.”

He opened his mouth to protest but instead nodded.

“Fair. Hang on.”

Bucky pulled out of her, leaving her hollowed out. She watched him, shirtless, his pants shoved down his hips as he rifled through his desk drawer, tossing things behind him while he swore.

“Where the fuck— Oh!” He pulled out a long rectangular box. “Found it.”

Bucky placed it in her hands and she stared at him. He grinned, popping the champagne and pouring it into the champagne flutes.

“I didn’t get you the box, Liv. You gotta open it.”

She sighed and flicked it open with her thumbs, gasping when she saw a beautiful emerald pendant surrounded by tiny diamonds on a silver chain.

“Bucky…”

“It’s your birthstone, right?” He asked. "Please tell me I didn't fuck that up."

"You didn't."

He grabbed the box, putting the necklace on for her as he kissed her cheek. Olivia wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let him go.

“Welcome home, darling.”

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acupofqueercoffee · 2 years

Text

“Save me once and I’ll save you forever”

Part #2 “I am, darling, yours”

cw : nsfw // thigh riding // cunnilingus // light angst

ao3 — https://archiveofourown.org/works/39277077/chapters/99055242#workskin

Frantic is the hummingbird that is caught behind your bony cage as the sinfully soft lips of the warlord grace you with a flower-blooming, butterfly-inducing kiss.

Hips cradled snugly in her hands, you are gingerly repositioned on one muscular thigh. The smooth, elegant silk of the negligee that is precariously clinging to your frame is gifted to you by no other than your generous lady, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it will be torn off your body by her very own hands.

Mounted on luxuriously toned lap, with the soft material resting at your thighs, your exposed knee is licked by dewdrops hiding amongst coarse curls. A small desperate sound is bubbling in your throat, but when a sly hand snakes down your buttocks, a meek little mewl is chased out of your lips. It takes shelter in your lady’s hungry mouth.

Meanwhile on the supple swell of your cheeks, grappling the fabric reveals to the warlord a sweet delightful surprise. You are entirely bare, bar the flimsy nightgown that is leaving little to the imagination.

Velvet on diamond: where she is hard with mementos from her many wars, you are buttery smooth. If she concentrates hard enough, she can almost feel every twitch, every flutter, like a sinful, sensuous kiss of a butterfly. Greatly galvanised by the silky warmth of your folds along with liquid heat oozing out of your core, it is the warlord’s turn this time to feed your famished mouth with her delicious growls.

Erratically, your chest ascends and descends, frenzied huffs and puffs leaving your glossy, swollen lips once carmine lips bid them farewell, bridged only by a translucent thread of your combined saliva glistening under the gentle illumination. A twitch in her lips however gives rise to the crumbling of the fragile bridge.

“Naughty girl.” Her voice, smoky as whiskey and spicy as wine, douses you from head to toe in thrilling tingles.

Meek and unsure in your movements but irrevocably aching, you slowly begin rubbing yourself against your lady.

“I am yours to use.”

A choked little noise is let loosed at the words that goes tumbling down the canals of your ears. Brows knitted, eyes dewy, you search your lady’s face. Her signature snarl is absent, replaced by the softest, most dazzling smile. Not a single line is to be found between those salt and pepper eyebrows, instead something soft reflects on the calm chocolate pools of her eyes.

“So, use me, darling girl.”

A whisper-soft kiss on the very tip of your nose digs out of you a whimper.

“M-my lady Ngh-”

“Use me to your heart’s content.”

The gentle guidance of her hands on your hips together with words of encouragement that skim across your lips infuse confidence into your tentative moves. You ride her impressively toned thigh a little more desperately, a little more relentlessly. The texture of her battle scars and the rippling of muscles bring to you with them a sweet suffering, and the sensation is oh so divine that liquid lava flows in your veins.

“That’s a good girl.”

“Oh, my adorable rabbit.”

“Mmm, perfect girl.”

“You’re so wet for me.”

Rhapsodies of sweet praises drench you in intense jubilation that you feel as though you can conquer the world. Her words, your strongest armour. Her affections, your most powerful weapon. With both of them in your possession, you are peerless.

Your doe-eyed gaze, hazy with euphoria, lands on your lady’s face, oh your handsome and beautiful lady, who has only showered you with kindness and generosity. Lovingly, gingerly, a dainty hand cradles a scarred cheek before lips collide once more. This time, it is you who seek her, moaning against her lips, longing to taste her.

The warlord who is notorious for her ruthlessness and aloofness towards her opponents yields without so much as a thought. Not only is the conquest offered to you on a golden platter, she goes as far as divulging to you her secret techniques. That wicked, delicious tongue of hers expertly leads you, an amateur novice in a wild tango like a well seasoned dancer.

Untamed though they are, the meticulous ministrations leave your cunt obscenely wet, the pathetic thing practically buzzing with sweet anticipation at the idea of the thick muscle working its magic between your folds, and her fingers, in their dexterity, caressing the deepest parts of you that never in your wildest dreams will you be able to reach.

While teeth and tongue make a series of onslaughts on the warm, wet cavern, hips stuttering wildly, you see-saw your way to the sweet, tantalising ecstasy dangling before your eyes.

By the time you escape from her mouth, it is to seek refuge in the nook of her neck. You nuzzle the flesh there, feel the fluttering of her pulse on your raspberry suffused cheek. The peculiar but not unfamiliar fragrance of your lady pervades every sporadic bout of air you take which furthermore nestles deep in your nostrils.

Her scent reminds you of all the things you love. Greens of the forest. Browns of the earth. Coolness of the rain. Warmness of the sun. Lady Ambessa Medarda is mother nature personified.

Your arms are tightly twined around her neck, and when her thigh, oh her cruelly merciful thigh gives a sudden skyward thrust, “Mmmp-” you cannot help but close your lips around her pulse point. The salty sweetness seeps into your tastebuds. You savour it for now, aching to get a taste of her ambrosial nectar from its source.

Simultaneously, cool lips on the hollow of your throat do what they do best: mark you hers, colourful little artworks being painted onto your skin by virtue of spine-tingling nibbles.

“Ngh- L-lady Medarda-”

“Ah- I- hah”

The warlord holds you close as you fall apart, cooing into your ears and stamping peppermint kisses onto your haywire pulse.

“Let go, precious girl, let go.”

“Ngh-”

“I’ll be there to catch you, I promise.”

And that has been the detonator for the dam to break.

Cunt clenching and thighs trembling, your copious juices drench your lady’s expensive thigh, and your hot, ragged breath sears her skin. You leave your traces on her exquisitely chiseled body in your own way. It is in the form of your viscous nectar making a beautiful mess out of the warlord, saturating her in your scent and dripping down toned muscles to find home on the settee below.

On the other hand, since it is your first time experiencing an orgasm of this caliber, it renders you super sensitive with aftershocks wreaking tremors on your frame.

Your lady has not only been the stairway to cloud nine but also the only haven on earth for you to safely return to. Every step of the way, she is there with you — your greatest salvation. So, cradled in her arms, you take your sweet time recuperating, relishing in the way her soft lips brush your cheek in a delicate caress, while her fingers draw placating patterns on your back.

Still, there undeniably remains a blazing ball of fire deep within your core that you reckon will reduce you to ashes unless it is doused by your lady’s wickedly talented mouth or smothered by her exquisitely long digits.

Well, lucky for you, she seems to share your sentiments.

“Please, my lady. Inside. I need you inside.”

“And I want nothing more than to have you sprawled naked across my bed, helpless and quavering beneath my mouth, undone by my fingers.” She tantalises you with salacious whispers. “I will claim you over and over again until not an inch of your exquisite body is left unmarked.” Her nose nuzzles the underside of your jaw, kisses delightful red hues into your skin.

“Does my dear girl fancy the idea, hmm?”

“Yes- oh yes.” Through breathy moans, you manage to whine out your pathetic plea. “Hurry up and take me to bed. Please.”

One thing leads to another and the next thing you know, you are perched on a strong forearm, and being escorted out of the library. The chilly air follows small rivulets along the inside of your sticky thighs to your folds, moist, succulent as little shivery sensations spread through your body. You hug your lady’s neck a wee bit tighter, nuzzle your face against her fragrant throat.

True to your prediction, no sooner have you reached her chamber than your nightgown is reduced to a mere floorcloth.

“Well, aren’t you a scrumptious little morsel?”

It is the first thing she says as her eyes admire your state of wreck and ruin.

As soon as you are landed in the sea of satin, she has taken her agonisingly sweet time torturing your tender breasts. With an assortment of kisses, licks and bites, her mouth has journeyed all the way down your frame where, once she reaches your hips, releasing an almost animalistic growl, she has rewritten her very own letters over the bruises left by that bastard, signed with a particularly vibrant bloom on your hipbone.

Cheeks suffused with pretty pink and pupils blown wide, you are the loveliest thing, Medarda decides, amongst myriad of things she has in her possession.

Bare beneath her wolfish scrutiny, your blood sings sweet serenades to your hammering heart, for you are being admired like an art but not appraised like an object.

Suddenly, your hips are caged in her hands and you are being dragged, legs coaxed over her shoulders as her mouth makes a direct descent onto your glistening lips, swollen, sanguine and aching for her touch. An experimental lick that is bestowed upon your folds has your back arching and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“Please- m-more-”

Slowly but surely, your pleas are answered, and at long last, your cunt is enveloped in that wickedly clever mouth you have oh so desired.

Accompanied by a whimper, your hand flies to her head, fingers entangling in her salty peppery hair, once your clit is discovered. “Oh- hngh-” The swollen pearl is rolled around her tongue like a candy. She suckles you hard, moans at your taste which furthermore triggers electricity to zap into that sweet bundle of nerves.

You are coloured frenzied at the feeling of a wet muscle poking through your folds, abusing your tightness, effortlessly breaching your walls. It punches the air out of your lungs, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids, when her tongue wiggle and wobble, the tip of it pressing impeccably into the exquisite spot that makes your toes curl.

She explores you like she is starved, never cutting corner, only navigating through the narrow canal like an experienced adventurer, admiring every fine details. Every nook and cranny, she inspects; every ridge and furrow, she admires, for that is the only treatment you are deserving of — to be eternally cherished.

“Ngh- L-lady Medarda- ah-”

Poor little you, powerless against your own body as it goes beserk. Fingers keeping white-knuckled grip on her thick, curly tresses, your hips ascend, in pursuit of more contact with your lady’s nefariously talented tongue. The warlord chuckles at your ploy, a warm, lovely sound that pulses into your folds, into the very heart of your cunt. The vibration that hits you is painfully exquisite, colossal in its frequency as it rumbles through every stick of bone in your body.

Around her head, your thighs quaver uncontrollably.

Never in her life has Ambessa Medarda imagined herself, she thinks with fond amusement, surrendering herself to someone else, and yet here she is, bending to your every will and letting herself be used as you please. To think that a little lass has swept the ruthless warlord off her feet! How miraculous indeed. She is falling hard, falling fast, and nothing can keep you away from her, not even herself she realises, because she is in too deep.

By the time those dexterous fingers join the wicked muscle to caress that throbbing bundle of nerves, “Oh-” you are reduced to a moaning mess. They work in harmony, tongue curling at a dizzyingly delicious angle that, she has discovered, will make you flutter, digits flicking the adorable little button that is throbbing ferociously beneath her fingertips.

She can tell that you are slowly falling apart. The quietest, breathiest moans that are tumbling out of your lovely lips, the kind of sound that is ambrosia to the warlord’s ears, especially when it is the sound of her name on your lips. With an additional aim in mind, she doubles her assault on your liquidy cunt, eager to bring those lovely little noises out of you again.

Her wish is granted in no time.

“Lady Medarda- Nghh- I- ah-”

Due to your lady’s mind-blowing mastery, it does not take you long to be toppled over the edge. While outside, a sheen of sweat glistens on your quavering naked frame, inside, you smother your lady in a bone-crushing hug. As soon as you erupt into the warlord’s mouth, not a dot is spilled, for diligently, she laps up every droplet of your nectarous juice.

The sight of your lady that greets your eyes once the fog subsides is quite the vision. Like an intricate cobweb, your dew clings to her chin, and your cheeks suddenly burn, when you are reminded once again that she has eaten you out like she has done the lobster just a couple of days ago.

You are swiftly yanked out of your little stroll down memory lane by the tip of a tongue that lazily pokes through moist lips to lick the wetness, your wetness, off them, and you watch, unable to tear your gaze away, as her fingers are sucked, one by one, into her mouth.

A frustrated little noise escapes in your failed attempt to gravitate towards your lady, to be enveloped in her arms and to have her enclosed in yours. A rich, husky chuckle that leaves your lady’s lips however has flowers thriving inside your ears, but you only whine, brows furrowed and teary eyed, as you open your arms, silently beseeching, for her to fall into.

With a sweet, smile on her lips and a warm look in her eyes, the warlord crawls up the bed to take you in her arms. Instantly, she locks you in an untamed kiss. The feeling of her bare breasts against your own is a lovely queer sensation. It has you mewling into her mouth, and by the time she releases you, your heart feels as if it has been running a marathon.

Chest heaving, mind hazy, you look at your lady with big glossy eyes.

“I- i- you. What about you, my lady? I want to taste you, too.”

Lies. Not entirely per se.

Yes, it is true that you want nothing more than to get a taste of your lady.

But at the same time, you almost reveal your terrible confession.

“Patience, darling.” Her reply is accompanied by a soft kiss which falls onto your forehead. “We have all the time in the world.”

Do you? Or, is it just a poor attempt at an excuse?

Are you going to wake up in the morning only to discover that you have been left alone again?

Before you can spiral further into your somber thoughts, a gentle thumb on your cheek pulls you out of your musings.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, little shepherd....how did you come to be in the palace?”

You seek her eyes, but shy away just as quickly at the intensity of her stare.

“Nearly three years ago,” What you do not mention is that it is about four years after she has left. “my home became the target of a group of bandits. They feasted on my sheeps, ransacked my home, and yet my little possession did not please them. So, as I was being hauled out of the cottage, I had to watch all that I had burn down to ashes in front of my very own eyes.” You have made precious memories with her in that quaint little cottage that you use to call home. The drawings you have painted together. The books she has read to you. They are no more. “Exhaustion led me to pass out eventually, and by the time I woke up, my life had been turned upside down. From becoming a slave and being purchased by an aristocrat at an auction to being offered as a gift, so they labelled but merely a plaything really, to that man.”

You have surely believed that you will never see her again, but in your moment of desperation, she has appeared out of thin air like a knight in shining armour.

When you peek a look at her face, you are startled to find not your sweet, generous Lady Medarda, but the callous warlord whom you have seen in the bathhouse. Donning a snarl on her lips, there is a storm brewing behind those eyes.

You realise, as soon as a thumb gingerly trails over to your still healing wound, that her ire is not at all directed at you. It is further evident in the way she cradles your face in her hand, tilting it a tad to drop a feather-light kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“Come with me to Noxus.”

#ambessa medarda x reader #ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane smut #character x reader #fanfic

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alexelyan · 5 months

Text

Who names hummingbirds and what are they on? There's 112 different types (genera) of hummingbirds and some of them have normal names like black-bellied hummingbird, but some of them are just weird. Who decided BUFF-THIGHED PUFFLEG was going to be the official name for a newly-discovered genus? Or flame-throated sunangel??? Or shining sunbeam?????? Like I'm seriously worried about these scientists. Are they just assuming no one will notice because who's going to read a 100+ list of names of different types of hummingbird? (Sleep-deprived autists. That's who. Always assume one of us will obsess over your random list. This is both a promise and a threat.) Honestly, I think we should blame Geoff. I don't have a clue who this guy is, but someone who names a specific branch of an animal family "Geoffrey's dagerbill" just wants to create chaos. He's probably the one that got hummingbirds drunk to be able to accurately name them wine-throated hummingbirds.

#no i didn't spend hours hand-writing the 112 genera list instead of sleeping why would you ask #yes i will spend tomorrow obsessively researching who actually named each one #who needs sleep when you have hummingbirds #hummingbirds #infodump

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roguelioness · 2 years

Text

you said forever (and I almost bought it)

Fandom: Wayfarer

Pairing: (implied) Zayah Medrash/Aeran Kellis

Rating: T (angst)

Words: 1626

(read on AO3)

Nineteen, at last.

Zayah looks to where Aeran is surrounded by a group of people, several of them clapping his back and toasting him with tankards of ale. He catches her gaze, eyes bright and face flushed, and grins broad and wide. She replies in kind, hummingbird wings fluttering in her sternum at the attention.

Nearly a decade of training, and here they are at last, Wayfarers in every sense of the word.

Her smile drops, vanishes from her face as though it has been wiped away, and apprehension creeps into her stomach like a thief.

They’ll go their separate ways now, she and Aeran, as is the way for the Order. No more sneaking into the kitchens together in the dead of night. No more exploring the ruins in the basement, or grumbling at the books they had to read, or pelting each other with snowballs. No more climbing their way onto the roof after dinner to smoke the dreamweed she’d pilfered from Sero, talking about the vague, heroic dreams they wanted as their future.

No more chances for blushing, hesitantly stolen kisses beneath the starlit sky.

The air in the hall becomes stifling, and she flashes a quick, strained smile to Vesdon as they make their way towards her before fleeing to the balcony. The cold night air slaps at her face, and is a welcome respite from the sudden downturn her thoughts have taken.

Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly through pursed lips. The southern lights seem to be in full form tonight, as though they too wish to celebrate with the Spire’s inhabitants. The forest below is quiet and still, the tips of the brush-like canopy generously bathed with the moon’s gentle silver light.

For years she’s dreamed of this day, and now that it is finally here…

Zayah drums her fingers on the railing, a nervous tic she’s been unable to break. Now that they’ve graduated, they will be cast out into the world to seek their own path. She’s known this, of course - it has been drilled into her over and over. Wayfarers travel the world, and travel it alone.

I need more time, the desperate thought dries out her throat. More time with him. Aeran is her best friend, yes, but he’s more than that; he’s settled into the marrow of her bones in a way she cannot understand or explain, only accept. Sero wouldn’t approve of her line of thinking; they’ve drilled independence and self-sufficiency into her, and she’s learned the lessons, but…

Vesdon finds their way next to her. They bump their shoulder against hers, and give her a warm smile that shows off the sharpened points of their canines. “So,” they begin conversationally. “It’s finally happened, huh? Never thought that small, clumsy elf who nearly cried when she heard of Sero’s gauntlet would graduate.”

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” The pendant is warm and heavy in the valley of her breasts, and her wrist itches from the fresh tattoo.

“Shouldn’t you be in there celebrating? I hear Etris brought a flagon of wine all the way from Tol Covere just for you.”

Zayah flushes at the mention of Etris. The half-melusine - who is a few years older than her - was always polite and cordial while she was an apprentice, but the last time she saw him - a year and a half ago - there had been something in his gaze that sent sparks down her spine.

“I doubt it,” she retorts. “He just got back from hunting that slaad near Lake Parthia.”

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping tabs on him, have you?” Vesdon’s eyes twinkle with mirth.

Her flush deepens. “He was telling me about it earlier, that’s all.”

They fall into an easy silence. Finally, she asks them the question she’s been itching to ask someone all evening. “What happens next?”

Vesdon glances at her, the grin on his face sputtering out at her somber expression. From the hall behind them comes a crash, followed by great whooping and cheering. They both turn to find–

Aeran kissing a woman.

Everything around her falls into sharp, stark silence. The world blurs except for the sight of Aeran and– Meira, she thinks dimly, he’s kissing Meira, he’s kissing Meira… her chest constricts painfully tight, every muscle locked in place, and she wants to turn away, she wants to stop looking but she can’t. seem. to. move.

“Zayah.” Vesdon’s hand on her shoulder breaks her out of her frozen state, and she can’t fully hide the anguish when she look at him. They sigh, and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, Zayah. What have you done?”

“It’s nothing,” she says thinly, her heartbreak roaring in her ears. “It’s just…” she darts a look up at them, and her shoulders slump. “It’s just a crush,” she mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

They’re silent for a long while. When they speak, it’s in a tone so gentle it’s a wound unto itself. “You know there can be nothing more,” Vesdon says. “Who we are, what we are… you can’t hope for a normal life, Zayah. There’s no one out there for us.”

“But,” she tries to argue.

“Others have tried, before you. It never works out.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes her think he’s speaking from a place of experience. “You’re friends now. But you’ll go one way, and he another, and before you know it years have passed. And when you meet again, neither of you will be the same as you are now.” They exhale, their breath a white fog in the cold air. “There are no happy endings for us, Zayah,” they are so bitter it startles her, “the sooner you learn that, the better.” With that, Vesdon walks away, returning to the chaos in the hall, leaving her staring at his back.

When her gaze finally breaks from them, she searches the hall, a blade twisting in her gut when she finds that Aeran is nowhere to be seen.

As is Meira.

-----

She’s due to leave in the morning, at first light. Her pack is ready, her blade newly sharpened, and her armor is neatly stacked in a chair. She should be sleeping, but she can’t. There are too many emotions snarled in her chest, tangled up like a gordian knot, and she’s too tired to try and decipher them.

The edges of the roof tiles press into her back. She’s going to be sore come dawn, but she can’t bring herself to care. This wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to have been laughing and joking with Aeran as they packed their supplies, and in the midst of all the nervous anticipation and excitement, she would’ve worked up the courage to kiss him again, only properly this time, and it might have turned into something more, something sweeter, something better.

Instead…

Zayah tenses at the soft crunch of footsteps, then forces herself to deliberately relax. It isn’t his fault. Aeran doesn’t know how she feels, and even though there’s a sphere of polished resentment in her chest at his supposed betrayal, she knows he isn’t to blame.

“I thought you’d be playing one last prank on Sero,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice.

“Already hidden away their favorite socks,” she replies.

“They’re not going to like that.” He grunts as he seats himself next to her.

“No,” she keeps her tone light and airy, “they won’t. That’s the point though.”

He laughs. It isn’t a kind she’s familiar with, but new and different and strange seem to have been the lessons of the past few days.

The silence between them is unfamiliar too. She can sense all the unsaid things lurking at the edge of the boundary, and wonders what they hold.

“I saw you hanging out with Etris,” Aeran says with the kind of casualness that feels forced.

“He was telling me about his last job,” she glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’d have called you over but,” she lifts a shoulder and drops it, “you were spending time with Meira.”

He flushes, and clears his throat awkwardly. “She’s… interesting. Did you know she’s been to Mathara?”

“No.”

She doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but it slips out before she can stop it. Aeran frowns. “You sound like you don’t like her.”

Zayah’s fingers fold into a fist, her knuckles pressing against her thigh. “I don’t know her well enough to have an opinion.”

“Well, she's interesting," he says again, only more defensively this time. "She's seen a lot of things."

"I'm sure she has," she mutters.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She sighs, her agitation draining with the action. "Nothing," she exhales. "Look," she shifts to a sitting position and turns towards him, "I don't want to fight, okay?"

The moon lends an argent sheen to his azure eyes. "Me neither," he whispers. “Zee, I-”

“Yes?” she matches his pitch and his lean, their faces getting closer and closer with each passing second.

His gaze is a physical thing against her skin. She can feel it run along her cheekbones, down the bridge of her nose, and her lips tingle when he lingers on them. His eyes flicker back to hers, an indecipherable look in their depths. “I think we should get back down,” he pulls back with a clumsy attempt at a chuckle. “Get some rest while we can.”

The cold in her stomach isn’t from the wind. “You go ahead,” her smile is an unfamiliar territory. “I’ll be right behind you.”

There are no happy endings for us, Zayah, Vesdon’s voice reminds her sternly, the sooner you learn that, the better.

#wayfarer fic #aeran kellis/wayfarer #aeran kellis/zayah medrash #wayfarer #roguelioness writes

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rasmasandra · 1 year

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The Wildlife of Honduras

Honduras is a nation that knows the importance of preserving its natural wildlife. Making their home here are wild cats like jaguars and pumas. There are also white-tail deer and coyotes. The country has some unique birds like the quetzal and the wine-throated hummingbirds. The Honduran Emerald can only be found in Honduras. There are many interesting reptiles and amphibians like the basilisk.…

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#central america #honduras #wildlife #wildlife of honduras

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wordslivehere · 1 year

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In Heaven

No dog chained to a spike in a yard of dying grass like the dogs I grew up with, starving, overfed, punched in the face by children, no children, no firecrackers slipped down the long throats of bottles in the first days of summer, no sky exploding, no blood, no bones because we were the bones, no more Lord my God, or maps made of fire, a small blaze burning right where I grew up, so I could, if I wanted to, point to the flame that was 82nd Avenue, no milk in the fridge, no more walking through the street to the little store that sold butterfly knives, no more knives, no more honey now that all the sweetness is gone, though we were the sweetness, though we needed something for our tongues, no more cheap soap, no more washing our mouths out because Motherfucker and because Fuck Off came swimming out of us like fish from the Pacific Ocean, no hummingbirds, no Band-Aids, no scraped knees with the dirt and rock from the neighborhood because we were the dirt, no young mothers smoking cigarettes on the porch while the sky got pretty before night came on, though they were prettier and the sky turned against them. No punk rock, no prom, no cheap high heels left in the rain in a parking lot, no empty bottles of wine coolers because we were the empty bottles, no throwing them against the wall behind the school because we were the glass that was shattering. No more looking toward the west, no east, no north or south, just us standing here together, asking each other if we remember anything, what we loved, what loved us, who yelled our names first?

Matthew Dickman

#in heaven #matthew dickman #poetry #poem

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todaysbird · 3 years

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the wine-throated hummingbird is a small hummingbird species with a vibrantly colored throat, found in el salvador, guatemala, honduras, and mexico. like other hummingbirds, they use their long bills to probe into flowers to feed on nectar. they are one of the smallest birds in their range, at only 7 cm in length.

#wine throated hummingbird #hummingbird #bird #birblr

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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Gilded Cage

A/N: It’s embarrassing how long this took but oh well, happy new year to everyone and I hope you enjoy scummy yandere hawks!

Warnings: dubcon, kidnapping, abuse, toxic relationships, degradation, yandere themes

************

At first she welcomed the bright flashing lights like a breath of fresh air, but in due time it made her throat close up like the rest of the situation.

He had agreed to let her out if she behaved, and that meant no biting, scratching, screaming, flinching, temper tantrums, and worst of all, no silent treatment.

And she would take it like a champ if it meant seeing any other person in 6 months.

He had kept her here like a flightless bird in this cage of theirs, and oh how ironic it was that she was succumbed to be the prey of this ruthless hawk, with him able to soar amongst the people and buildings while Y/n stayed perched in the house, her ever-growing wings mentally becoming too much for her to control and stay silent about.

She needed space, she wanted to leave, but she didn’t dare voicing any of her wants, especially when Keigo made it so clear how her meager wants were of no match for his needs.

And his needs, as he’s made so clear thus far, include her being a pliant, quiet, yet loving little birdie who cooks, cleans, and lays with him day and night without complaint.

God forbid she speaks up about her...living conditions, as he liked to so generously supply to her the first and last time she ever had this conversation with him. She tried telling him how she originally had loved their relationship of a couple of months, and sure it might have been weird for him to push her into moving in with him only after 3 months, but it was because of how much he loved her or so he said at least, when he bashed her head repeatedly on the ground when she told him it “wasn’t normal to rush into things so fast”.

Sure, he had a big spacious penthouse lent to him by the Hero Commission so being physically cramped was never a problem, and yes okay he showered her with gifts and little trinkets, just like birds did with their mates even more so after a big fight that usually left her black and blue, with swollen lips, ripped up knees and big red welts on her wrists while the hero himself was left with not even a feather out of place.

But there were days where their movie nights and cuddling sessions didn’t cut it for her anymore. There were nights when she couldn’t take his suffocating arms around her a second longer, only to be replaced by an even heavier and darker presence when she tried turning on her side away from him.

Sometimes it would be a chain reaction caused by the smallest of catalysts, however. It would be on a day where he left the restraints on a little too tightly, and Y/n was forced to use toothpaste on her wrists instead of the salve Keigo always kept in the medicine closet. Other times it would happen when he would keep feeling up her sides and pressing into her after a long day of her cooking in hopes that the plentiful food would be enough to keep him occupied away from her, even if it was for an hour or two.

It never was, though. He always wanted her, whether it was her scent, her presence, or her clothes that he kept in his pockets on his missions.

On those days, the days where she felt too much Keigo, too many feathers and too much Hawks was when she snapped.

Down would go the plates, the expensive wine glasses, the vases filled with flowers sent by hundreds of fangirls who knew nothing about the monster that he actually was. She’d tear out her mussed hair, red-faced with tears that ruined her makeup the makeup that she liked to wear on these types of days just to piss him off, knowing that he thought “excess makeup is for whores and catfishes. I already know you’re a whore, well, my whore, but you’re not even good enough at applying makeup to be deemed a catfish so don’t even try it hummingbird” while screaming in his face to let go, for the love of god Hawks PLEASE let me go I want to go home I don’t want this anymore I don’t want YOU anymore this isn’t working out I don’t love you-

And crack would be the sound of his palm across her face, knocking her to the floor. On these types of days he wouldn’t even think she deserved a change in facial expression, staring down at her pathetic trembling body while his lips were set in a subtle casual smile, his hands stuffed in his pockets as if he never raised an arm a second ago, and his eyes remained golden and neutral, the only indication of him processing her tantrum was the black glint in his pupils that dilated every time she gasped and sobbed on the floor.

To ensure that his precious, oh-so fragile lovebird wouldn’t hurt herself any further with her stupidity, he’d crouch down inches away from her face and cock his head slightly as a real bird would do. He’d reach out and lift her chin to face him while his other hand would snake up her thigh to try and console her which only succeeded in making her shake and breath unevenly.

Leaning forward to ghost his lips over the shell of her ear, he’d relish in the way her mouth would part in terror as he would lovingly whisper every threat of what he’d do to her the next time she wanted to be like a brat, because god help her if she thought he couldn’t tame a brat after dealing with a lifetime of villains.

It was almost laughable, how easy she was to silence. He didn’t even need to use feathers to pull her to her feet when he would tell her to go to the bed and get on all fours like the bitch she was.

She had to earn her way back into being his good, obedient little dove, on days like these.

But after these days would pass and she would indeed realign with his expectations, he would reward her greatly.

Never like this, though.

Y/n is brought to the present again as another flash of light from the paparazzi snaps her out of her daze. As the spots begin to fade from her vision, she sees Keigo in front of her adorning his trademark “for the fans-only” grin, although Y/n would call it a sleazy smile, the same smile he would give her before he signaled his feathers to cut deep into her feet so she’d stop kicking at him as he dragged her on the floor and feels him squeeze her hand a little too tightly to be dubbed as endearing.

“Stop zoning out on me, you look like a ditz”, he hisses through his teeth, his grin now resembling more of a bared-teeth look.

She tries to try to fix her face and pull the corners of her mouth up, attempting to also brighten her eyes and looking interested at the blond interviewer who was now conversing with Hawks about his recent team-up with Endeavor. It takes every ounce of self-restraint to not shove past the phony smiles and flashy attire enveloping her and waltz down the red carpet to the doors of the gala. She thinks if she hears him utter another word about how he’s so incredibly blessed to have the love and support of my fans, family, and most importantly, my girlfriend who has stuck by my side through thick and thin, she’ll puke on the bedazzled yellow dress the interviewer has on.

As if. He’d probably whisk her off to the nearest bathroom and pummel her on the floor right then and there just for being distracted, but not before fucking her as well.

She feels Hawks nudge her side, and on cue she darts her head up and really plasters on a blinding smile as she focuses on the question that was just asked to her.

“Sorry, what was that? I think I got distracted by your outfit, you look lovely tonight, an absolute catch.” She winks for good measure, just to salvage the damage of ignoring the conversation and Keigo’s tight-lipped smile, which was beginning to soften.

Bingo.

“Oh you’re so sweet! I can see why Mr. Number Two here swooped in to take such a cutie like yourself.” The interviewer giggled, twirling a golden lock around her finger. “But no worries, I was just saying you should come make a public appearance more often! I mean, the media barely gets to see you with Hawks intimately, it would be a great excuse to get all glammed-up as well...I mean, if Hawks here hasn’t got his talons sunk too deep into you.” She laughs shrilly and doesn’t notice how both Y/n and Keigo tense up at her insinuation.

Yeah lady, you’re not too far from the truth. The last time I tried to look nice and go outside, I was bedridden for a week and a half while nursing frozen peas over 7 different parts of my body, inside and out.

But if Keigo can bullshit more than he can tell the truth, then so could she.

She laughs warmly and places her hand on his shoulder lightly, just to sell the “supportive girlfriend” look.

“Well, I really would love to come out and show my support for him more often, but we’ve both agreed that with all the publicity anyways, it’s just too much pressure for me to deal with. I’d rather just stick with what I know and keep it hush between him and I.” She turns her gaze to Keigo now, superficially giving him a puppy-in-love look but discreetly seeking his approval if what she said was the correct thing or not.

He merely gave her an amused smile, as if to say damn, wasn’t expecting that answer but I guess it’s fine. Yeah. Two can play at that game.

Pleased with her answer, the blond bimbo turns on her heel and sashays away, leaving the couple by themselves.

Keigo gives Y/n a side eye and cautiously holds out his elbow for her to take. A peace offering for the meantime, just to reward her for the quick save.

Don’t fuck this up for me, or you’ll regret it tenfold when we get back home.

“Shall we?” He waits for her to oblige, and of course she does.

Arm-in arm, they gracefully walk down the red carpet towards the gold plated doors. Upon entering, Y/n’s breath is taken away at the grand hall, with red banners hanging from the balconies that had navy blue and gold words of praise for the heroes engraved in the silk. Hundreds of pro heroes filled the room, much more than what she was used to from only interacting with her captor for months.

Guiding her over to the long granite bar, Keigo squeezes her arm before lightly dropping it. Before she can move, he stands directly in front of her and his vermillion wings unfurl and slightly surround the two of them, creating their own little space. To others, it might’ve just looked like two lovers embracing each other and having their own little moment. Y/N knew better, however, and suspected he had ulterior motives.

She was right.

“I’m gonna leave you here for a few minutes, ‘kay? I don’t want you moving from here,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and she had to suppress a shudder at his unwanted proximity. “The feather stays on, and I better not see or hear anything funny while I’m away.”

She nodded and touched her necklace that was indeed laced with one of his feathers, remembering the deal he made when he agreed to let you out for the day.

Ah yes, the dreaded feather.

When she had approached him on shaking legs two days prior, Hawks was brushing his hair in the bathroom, keen on meticulously keeping it styled and ruffed up in the morning. It was one of the things that Y/N would begrudgingly say was one of his finest features, along with his natural eyeliner-shaped markings and rugged yet handsome facial features.

On good days, she liked to lightly trace her fingers and across his sharp jawline and feel the stubble growing on his blushed face. She’d try to stop immediately however, when he’d open his eyes and catch her hand, moving it across his body much to her chagrin and down to his-

She had stood outside the door, fumbling with the hem of her thin nightie and desperately trying to pull the short material past her bare thighs as she mustered up the courage to bring up her proposition.

Keigo slowly ceased his brushing when he saw the meek little thing quivering outside his door, and he quirked up an amused eyebrow. He braced both arms on either side of the sink, and let out a light exhale, before addressing her.

“Something wrong hummingbird?”

She dragged her eyes from the floor up to his dilated golden irises, and blurted out what she had been rehearsing in her head for the past couple of days:

“DoyouthinkIcouldcomewithyoutothegala?”

“Huh?” he snickered, thoroughly bewildered by what incomprehensible nonsense she had stuttered out.

Y/N bit her lip and took in a shaky breath, strike one, she fumbled her first try.

“Haw- uh, Keigo,” she corrected quickly. He preferred her using his first name, his real name. He claimed it made things more intimate between them as if carving his name on her back hadn't been enough to seal their “intimacy’-she didn’t need to be told twice what to call him by after that day “I was wondering...if I’m good and I don’t give you a hard time, can I come with you to the hero's gala?”

Keigo’s brow furrowed slightly, and he cocked his head to the side like a real bird. He seemed to be contemplating it.

“Alright,” he conceded after a couple seconds. “If, and I mean if you listen to me and don’t try any funny business while we’re there I’ll let you tag along.”

Y/N darted her eyes up to him, hope swimming in her heart.

“But you have to wear the feather.”

She immediately blanched.

A major inconvenience that she had come to terms with in the duration of her stay with him had been his stupid fucking feathers that layed oh-so-casually around the floor where she walked and coincidentally clinging to her clothes wherever she went out of Keigo’s eyesight, even though she was trapped on the same floor with him.

They had special properties; they could detect any movement, sense any vibration whenever he called for it. This made for a perfect tracker for Y/N in terms of whenever he wanted an update on her heartbeat, her mood, her whereabouts, and anything in between.

Yes, it was suffocating. But she would much rather it only be a suffocating feeling rather than him actually directing hundreds of feathers to surround her and hold her down on the bed or floor to do whatever he wanted with her in any position he pleased.

She didn’t dare complain to his face, however. She’d grit her teeth, grin and bear it, listen to every whim he demanded of her if it meant one night of superficial normalcy.

And so she put on her best behavior on the days leading up to the main event. She made dozens of dishes that circulated around chicken (his favorite binge food), she let them have “cuddle time”, with no complaints whatsoever when he insisted on bathing her and dressing her up in stupid pink frilly skirts, and she even gave him little subtle looks with a batting of her eyelashes when he looked down fondly at her good mannerisms and praised her for being such a sweet little birdie.

Eventually, her acting paid off and on the morning of the gala she was merited with a silk red dress that stopped at her upper thigh, ornamented with gold earrings and a 12K necklace to really sell off the look-which was of course wrapped around one of his feathers. Hawks had even hired a makeup artist who was instructed to not ask or say anything to Y/N save for questions about the products, much to her pleasant surprise.

She was still reminded of how much she had to grovel for him every time he rewarded her that afternoon.

“You look stunning, chickadee,” Keigo leaned against the dresser with his arms crossed, and smiled warmly at Y/N. “You’re making her look like a real model, maybe she should take over my job instead. Or, actually, maybe you could stop by my agency and make me all pretty for my next photoshoot.” He directed this last tease at the makeup artist and winked, causing the oblivious employee to giggle and blush.

Ugh, barf. He’s even a sleaze when I’m right here.

Y/N feigned a roll of her eyes, which didn’t go unnoticed by the hero. She could feel his dilated eyes boring into her the rest of the 15 minutes of touch-ups. Eventually everything was done, and Hawks left praise after shameless praise fall from his lips and onto the poor fangirl’s heart as he guided her out the door, a hand on her lower back as he did so.

She took the opportunity to get up and walk to the full-length mirror, admiring how she looked for the first time in ages. Gone were the multi-colored marks that decorated her body as if she were nothing more than a mere canvas for her painter to use. Her eyes seemed a little brighter too, and it wasn’t just the makeup that caused it. She stood a little straighter and squared her shoulders, her chin tilted up more than before while she stared at her reflection. She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, and she liked it for once.

It was ridiculous, she knew it was to feel so vain but she couldn’t help but bask in her potential freedom for just one night. She looked gorgeous, she felt confident, and she had earned it all on her own.

Cocking her head to the side, she tried to practice a couple smiles to be camera-ready for when the time came. She turned the corners of her lips up, then showed her teeth, and even tried fluffing her hair up sensually. Biting her lip slightly, she threw her head back, causing her curled locks to bounce and lowered her eyelids to look sexy. She giggled at her own stupidity and poses, completely unaware that a certain winged-man had entered the room and leaned against the door for the past couple of minutes, simply watching the little show she put on.

“That's quite a look you’ve got there hun, why don’t you make those faces more often with me?”

She immediately froze, her breath hitching. She didn’t dare look at him in the eye from the mirror.

“I mean, I’m the only one who should be seeing such a slutty expression anyways, right?” He said ever-so casually, hands in his pockets as he slowly strolled up behind her, and she couldn’t help but think as her eyes darted up to meet him in the mirror that the sadistic shit-eating grin on his face didn’t suit so well with his god-like features.

She visibly wilted, her shoulders hunched and head down in contrast to the tall, powerful woman she had felt like mere seconds ago. Her breath quickened as he leaned over her shoulder, grazing his teeth over the sensitive part under her ear, and she bit her lip harshly to stop the squeak that threatened to escape her trembling lips.

“If I had known that a pretty dress and some makeup would make you act like a wanton little whore, I would’ve done this wayyy sooner. I guess you really are just another dumb bimbo bitch who does anything she’s told if she gets to feel important for a night.” He whispered in her ear, resting his head on her shoulder and looking up at her with innocent eyes, ones that imitated the mocking tone of voice he used.

It seemed like he wanted her to feel disgusting, to wilt under his cruel words that he used like knives-knives that were sharpened with his tone and body language, knives that were so intimately and carefully chosen. They worded so that they were used to their full extent to cut and carve through her heart.

“Is that what you are my little songbird, hmm? You wanna be a pretty baby and have everyone’s attention on you? I’m hurt, here I was thinking I was enough for you.” He pouted, and with every word he spoke the grip his hands had around her waist tightened.

She tried to protest but he plowed through her pitiful attempts.

“Hell, if you want some attention so bad and whore yourself out, I should call over some friends! Yeah, we can skip tonight’s gala, would you like that songbird? For me to share you with my friends so they can satiate your whorish needs?” And at his he shook her lightly, his grip around her middle choking her and cutting off her circulation. “N-no, Hawks,” she wheezed out. “I just... liked my makeup, that’s it. I only want you, I promise. I won’t cause any trouble tonight, please don’t call any friends over.”

She looked up at him in the mirror with eyes the size of saucers, blinking away tears and trying her best to show how apologetic she was at her audacity to feel good about herself.

He loosened his arms and straightened up, peering down at her disgustedly. He had absolutely no regrets about the way she sucked in air immediately when he relented, or about the way she frantically brushed the tears from her eyes, trying to preserve her mascara from running. (not that he would’ve minded). She needed to learn her lesson; he controlled her highs and lows. Only he had the permission of holding her fragile emotions in the palm of his hand, and if she didn't want that palm turning into a fist and breaking her, she would do well not to piss him off and treading carefully about flaunting what was meant for his eyes only.

She wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and cry out to her heart's content from being embarrassed and degraded like this. She kept absolutely still however, when she felt his hands lightly tracing the feather on her collarbones. It was an unspoken threat, and when their eyes met once again in the mirror, the way he sized her up confirmed it.

The feather stayed on.

Which brought her back to the present.

Y/N had already downed 3 glasses of champagne while reminiscing about earlier today, something Hawks would’ve surely tutted at. Finding herself bored, she meandered around the bar, keeping close to where he left her.

She scanned the room for her ‘lover’ and found him laughing with a group of his friends, his head thrown back and the charming sound of his deep yet lilted voice carrying through the hall, entrapping anyone who was around.

He certainly had presence, no sense in denying it.

Any girl would’ve been crazy to deny him, and Y/N wished that Hawks had fallen for a girl that didn’t want to deny him out of his hundreds of fangirls a point that was set in stone in Y/N’s mind when she saw a tall brunette clinging to his arm while she shrieked with laughter at whatever stupid story Hawks was telling.

Said fangirl seemed to also have been put under his contagious spell, from the way she so obviously threw herself on his arm and pushed her chest against his side under the pretense of shaking with laughter. Various other parts of her body seemed to be shaking against him too, but he didn’t seem to mind based on the smirk he quickly looked down at her with.

For the second time that night, Y/N wanted to throw up.

Was it jealousy? Negative. Rather, it was frustration that he literally had girls throwing themselves at him, tits hanging out and all but yet he wanted what he knew he couldn’t have. She assumed that it was this mentality of his that landed him at being Number 2, chasing after the seemingly impossible until it was tangible.

It was easier on some days to try to understand his point of view. It was much better than getting lost in the hours pondering what kind of bad karma she inherited from a past life to go through this hell. But on some mornings when she felt stone-cold sober, she remembered that she was a person, not some objective or conquest that he had rightfully won. Deciding to try and take her mind off from the trainwreck that was unfolding in front of her, Y/N aimlessly wandered to the side of the bar and down a grand hallway that was less crowded and had less Hawks.

On either side of the hall, giant bronze frames held the portraits of past heroes and had little scriptures of their accomplishments. Hawks had always talked about how he wanted his name up there, and how one day he was going to do something incredible to have his own face up on the hall of fame. His idol, Endeavor, already has taken place on the wall right next to All Might’s frame, and Y/N looks up and ponders at both of their pictures.

And how befitting is it, that Hawk’s idol is also accused of a sinister and tumultuous family past.

Maybe he doesn’t need to work too hard to follow in the footsteps of the number one hero.

“Quite the hero, Endeavor is. Even though there is controversy about the nature of his past and his redemption efforts, he set many precedents as to how a true hero should act.” Y/N’s head snaps to the right where Edgeshot had just joined her. He wore a navy blue tux with red seams, his trademark mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Yeah, you’d think his admirers would try to follow in the footsteps of changing themselves too,” she muttered bitterly. “I’ve noticed his biggest fans seem to take after his more...old brutish traits rather than the better person he’s trying to be now.”

The masked hero laughed softly, and Y/N looked at him suspiciously.

“What, you don’t think heroes have their own fair share of flaws?” She challenged.

“No no, don’t get me wrong of course. I would be on an inappropriate level of naivety to assume that, considering I’m a part of the whole corrupt system itself. I think, however, that change within a person comes after an extended time of self-reflection. You have to look within yourself and accept that you were wrong in the first place, if you want to change.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment.

“Do you think the villains are ever right? About society brushing the flipside of heroism under the carpet, I mean. It doesn’t matter if the heroes are trying to save people because it's expected of them, if they aren’t actually compassionate about their cause then is there really a point?” She asked desperately, hoping he could understand her.

Edgeshot hesitated for a moment before answering.

“In my years of experience,” he said quietly, still looking up at Endeavor’s painting, “the ones who have at heart a solid reason for acting the way they do are most always justified. It may not always be a good reason, but a foundation always gives way to a justification that can be argued for.”

All of a sudden, Y/N gasped as white hot pain sliced through her sternum. She looked down and saw the red feather on her necklace quivering as a fine line of red sprouted from the cut it made.

“Are you alright?” Edgeshot asked, looking fairly alarmed, his hand reaching for her shoulder.

“Yes, of course! My necklace is just a little sharp, a little edge just nicked me that's all.” She said shrilly, already backing away from the concerned hero. Turning on her heel, she picked up the hem of her dress and tottered out of the hall, not paying any mind to the vermillion plumage that drifted down her chest, past her waist and eventually clinging onto her leg, making little nips and stabs here and there.

Blood was pounding through her head as she navigated the way back to where Hawks had left her to be. Her palms were sweaty and she was sure her hair was becoming messy as she whipped her head around, attempting to look past tall heads and bodies that blocked her way to the bar.

Shitshitshitshit god please don’t let him be there already please please please-

But it seemed as though god wasn’t in a merciful mood, because lo and behold, the raptor was leaning against the long granite island with a glass in his hand.

He seemed to be casually grinning, swirling a maroon substance in his cup and choking it down leisurely, but as Y/N drew closer she knew-as expected- he seemed off.

The smell of alcohol was nauseating around him, he must have been drinking something strong. His wings, although lightly flapping behind him, were pointed at the edges and shaking lightly. His eyes were completely dilated, and were shifting around the room until they settled on her meek figure rushing up to him.

“Hey there birdy, long time no see. Did you have a good chat with Edgeshot? I’m sure you both enjoyed talking shit about me behind my back.” Y/N winced at how charismatic and booming his laugh was after his ominous remark. It was too carefree, a complete cover-up of how she knew he was actually feeling, and that scared her the most.

“Hawks I-”

“Keigo, sweetheart, did you forget my name already after talking with just one person? Damn, I’m hurt, guess keeping you locked up at home was the right decision after all if you’re acting like such a stone-cold bitch now.”

She stared up at him, openmouthed and thoroughly panicked now. He was talking too much, he was going to expose himself and her-

Wait. Why is she covering for him? Wouldn’t it be better if he blabbed everything else so people could realize what he’s doing? Maybe someone would intervene and save her!

But it seemed like he was three steps ahead of her and had already figured that out, because his face flushed slightly and his eyes darkened and narrowed, with lips set in a flat line. When Y/N saw this change, she tried to back away but he quickly grabbed her hand and yanked her out the room and through the exit doors. It was all happening so fast, she could hear various people call out to Hawks but he plowed through them so fast that she didn’t have time to even process that they were out of the building and in the air.

She screamed as he soared to an even higher altitude, clinging onto his neck for dear life. The wind whipped past her face, stinging her cheeks with the frigid cold and water particles that embedded on her lashes. Hawks was laughing hysterically the entire time he gained height, his talons ripping through her dress and piercing her skin, even overlapping the previous cuts his feather had made earlier.

“S-stop, what’re you doing, are you fucking crazy?” She shrieked, her words losing volume as the air was ripped out of her lungs.

“KEIGO, its KEIGO you stupid fucking cunt!” he screamed in her face. His arms loosened around her waist, and suddenly Y/N was falling, falling, falling straight for the asphalt.

She couldn’t even turn her head as her limp body plummeted down for imminent death. Her lungs begged for oxygen, fear settling like lead in her stomach, but the second she closed her eyes for what she thought was the last time, (Hawks) Keigo swooped down and yanked her back into his sinister embrace by her hair.

Ignoring the ripping strands she felt in her skull, she flailed around in midair trying to grab onto something-she reached up to grab his foot but he noticed and kicked her square in the face. Y/N had never before felt such terror and pain, mentally or physically.

Damn her pride, she wants to live for god's sake.

“Keigo,” she sobbed, remembering just in time to use his real name lest he smash her teeth in again, “please put me down, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I talked to Edgeshot but I swear it wasn’t anything bad or about you.” The warm blood streaming down her nose began to harden on her upper lip from the chilly altitude they had reached.

Abruptly, he shifted his grip and pulled her up by her hair (she winced at that painful adjustment) so that he could hold her around her waist now.

They had to have been at least 200 or so feet in the air. The pair had cleared their way through some clouds and could clearly see the full moon right in front of them. It was deathly quiet except for Y/N’s labored breathing through her fractured nose, and her fear racked even further as she looked up at Hawks and realized that he was simply staring down at her with completely dilated eyes that narrowed and gleamed at her expression. He truly looked like a bird of prey right now, a predator that was forcing her to play the part of his prey, a point that solidified when he suddenly wrapped one hand around her throat to feel her heartbeat that thumped like a rabbits’.

The light from the moon reflected off his back, causing his front to be completely shadowed so that the contours of his sharp face seemed ever more looming and dangerous. Both of them stayed suspended in the air for a minute or two like that, Y/N not daring to speak unless he granted her a sign to repent.

After a long, painstakingly suspenseful minute of studying her face, he finally growled “We’re going home.”

It seemed to take only a mere couple of minutes for the Number Two hero to travel halfway across the city. Y/N barely had time to try and drink in the beautiful colors that accented the winding streets and buildings below her, knowing that it would most probably be a long time before she saw anything else that resembled freedom again.

He finally began to descend rapidly, forcing her to cling onto his jacket and shove her face into the crook of his neck to avoid getting whiplash. Peeking through her lashes, she recognized the balcony floor of his penthouse rushing underneath their feet. Dread and anxiety surged through her veins as he finally landed and postiviley threw her off of him and onto the wooden floor. She slid a good couple of feet and skinned her legs in the process, unable to stop her momentum as she slammed back into a lamp.

Dazed, she saw stars as she rubbed her aching head. Unfortunately she didn’t see him, rushing over to her the second she landed.

He grabbed her jaw tight and wrenched her bleary eyes to look up at him.

What he saw was beautiful.

A trembling mess beneath him, makeup runny and complemented with blood that flowed from her nose like an eternal stream. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way she kept flinching any time he shifted; it made his pants tighten and caused his teeth to grit in what he measured to be the absolute last bits of self restraint he had for the night. He had truly ruined her, and he internally patted himself on the back at his work.

Was he mad? Yes, wholly and completely at her betrayal of his orders.

Did he regret losing his temper? Absolutely not. In fact, if you ask him, he should get mad at her more often like this. If it merited her pliant and vulnerable being, then who was he to deny such pleasure? Fuck he should’ve done this from the start- blowing up at mild disobediance instead of acting like a doting, patient boyfriend.

“You alive?” he roughly shook her head and her teeth chattered inside her skull while he did so.

“Yes,” she whispered, mouth popped open by his gloved fingers as he shoved a digit inside her warm and wet cavern. It was embarrassing how drool seeped through her lips and dribbled down her chin, but humility was the least concerning factor in her environment at the moment.

“Good. After acting like such a tramp you better fucking be. I told you one thing,” and he slapped her for added emphasis to his frustration, “can you repeat what I told you? Or are you so braindead that you can’t remember the one order I gave you when I trusted you to sit still and look pretty like a good little bitch?”

“Nnngh, no I rem-I remember.” Y/N panted out, attempting to talk through puckered lips and drool. “You told me to stay at the bar and not to move.”

“Exactly. So what part of that was so hard to understand, huh?” He hissed through his teeth, looking deranged.

“I just got bored, that’s all. I wanted to talk to another person…” Even though she didn’t finish her sentence, Hawks understood her perfectly.

I wanted to talk to another person apart from you.

He let out a mocking laugh, stretching his arms over his head to hide his shaking fists. Rage swept through his body like wildfire, licking up his throat and cheeks. His face was flushed and unreadable to Y/N as he sauntered around the couch and plopped down on it, spreading his legs to seem as uncouth as possible.

She sat shivering on the floor, unsure of if he wanted her to follow him or wither away on the floor like a mutt.

As he sighed loudly however, her body immediately tensed as though bracing for another painful impact. She daringly peeked over her shoulder and saw the back of his head protruding from the black and red leather couch. Lazily flicking his wrist up to a height where she could see, he vaguely beckoned her over without saying a word.

Immediately she scampered over to him and situated herself at his feet (where she belonged). Her eyes were downcast, and he begrudgingly accepted it as a form of submission on her part. No sense in beating the disobedience out of her now if she already knows what she did wrong.

Hawks heaved out another heavy sigh and let his head fall backwards. On one hand, he was slightly drunk and his head was killing him-he just wanted to go to sleep and forget today ever happened. However, there was a problem that was contributing to his growing migraine, and that problem was sitting right in front of him, practically kneeling at his feet for mercy. More than sleep, he wanted to take care of said issue and call it a night, so he decided to skip the sweet talk and warm up.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid. I’m gonna close my eyes and by the time I open them you better have already thought of a way to make tonight up to me, and you better have already put that plan in action. Then, we’re going to bed and when you wake up you’ll regret the day you even thought of talking to anyone apart from me, since you seem to have forgotten who’s been coddling your ass all this time.” He sneered, relishing at the way Y/N’s face went pale.

True to his word, he closed his eyes, glad to see his last view as the pathetic bitch who was about to service him. The feel of slight fumbling on his zipper made him feel even more drunk and giddy as it was pulled down. Maybe the entire evening wasn’t a complete wash after all.

Yeah, he should take her out a lot more.

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