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captainlunaxmen · 4 months

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Be My Queen

Chapter 6

Eddie Munson x reader x Steve Harrington

This is a repost since the old blog doesn't work anymore. 🥰

Chapter summary: someone's back

Chapter warnings: none.

The sun lingering through the hospital's windows wakes me up, luckily no unbearable nightmares, not that I remember at least... still luckily.

I slowly open my eyes, getting used to the light and I notice someone talking, or better reading something. Once I focus a little more I recognise Dustin's voice.

" 'this thing all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnats iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays Kings, ruins towns, and high mountain down. What am I?' "

Before he can go on reading I cut him off.

"Time!" I say sitting up slowly.

"Y/n!" He exclaims excited.

"Hey, boy genius. How is it going?"

"It's great. Do you feel better? Steve told me you were still in pain yesterday" he checks.

"Oh yes. Actually, it's more stingy than painful, which is good improvement" I smile at him to reassure him "where are the others?"

"Interviewed by the police..?" He mumbles.

"What for?"

"Well... for Eddie's innocence, your accident... stuff like that" he explains "they already talked to me so... I offered to be here for when you woke up" he sends me a sweet smile.

"I hope everyone realises Eddie is innocent" I chuckle "I mean... take one look at that guy and you realise he couldn't hurt a fly"

"I know right!" He laughs.

"Is that my copy of the Hobbit?" I ask looking down at the book in his hands.

"Yeah, Robin and Nancy brought it here when they arrive to drop me off and take Steve. I didn't wake you, did I?" He suddenly looks guilty and is about to apologise.

"No, no, Dustin, I think you helped getting me out of a nightmare" I reassure him.

He looks a little relieved, but soon his expression turns into a concerning one.

"I'm really sorry, Y/n" He softly says.

"Can we please invoce a council with everyone so I can make it clear that it was no one's fault?" I chuckle "you have nothing to be sorry for, just like Max and just like El. And just like everbody else."

"But..."

"Hush. Nope. I don't wanna hear it. No one's fault" I lift my hand up to stop him "repeat after me: it was no one's fault"

He stays silent, letting out a small chuckle and shaking his head.

"C'mon, Dusty, repeat after me. It was no one's fault"

"It was no one's fault" he says it, way too quietly.

"What? What did you say?" I pretend not to have heard him.

"It was no one's fault" he says a little louder.

"That's right, also next time something like this happens-"

"Hey! No! It won't happen again! And even if it does I don't think any of us will let you be the bait again" he cuts me off, with a stern look.

"Alright, alright... I was just saying-" I try to say.

"Nope"

"But-"

"Aahhh!" He uses his hands to cover his ears.

"Dustin-"

"I said no"

"Alright!" I exclaim with a laugh "alright, there won't be a next time. Got it" I raise my hands up on surrender.

"Exactly" he smiles brightly. "But, I guess you earned the right to choose the movies for the next... uh... 4 movie nights"

"Really? Yes!" I cheer then I stop "Wait... only 4? Man, I almost died! Ten at least!"

"We all almost died." He clarifies.

"Oh now you want to specify I wasn't the only one, uh!?" I scoff chuckling.

"Alright... the next 5 times"

"9"

"What? Nah, 6"

"8"

"Oh c'mon, you chose the last time too though!"

"Alright... 7, but I also get to choose what to eat" I take out my hand for him to shake.

He looks at me and let out a sigh, he grabs my hand and shakes it.

"Deal"

"Always a pleasure dealing with you" I smile at him. "I'll make pasta" I wink.

His face lightens up immediately.

"Your pasta?" He asks.

"Of course" I chuckle at his satisfied expression.

"But don't stress yourself too much" He immediately adds.

"Oh, not you too" I laugh exasperated.

"You didn't exactly went for a walk!" He exclaims.

"I'm fine" I laugh, then I calm down "I'm fine, Dusty" I say softly to him.

Dustin's face changes again, from serene to almost disconsolate.

"Dustin" I try to regain his attention "Dustin, what did we say?"

"It was no one's fault" he says.

"Good, now come here and give a good Dustin-hug" I open my arms waiting for him, letting out a sigh of relief when he finally hugs me.

When he pulls away I notice a little tear on his face, so I quickly wipe it away.

"It's all good now, okay?"

"Yes... yes you are right" he nods.

"We did it again"

We high-five and in that moment there's a knock on the door.

"Can I come in?"

It's Steve.

"Sure!" Dustin yells and I laugh.

Steve opens the door and lingers a little before entering.

"Hey, sweetheart, how do you feel?" He asks.

"I'm feeling better, thanks. Henderson here helped" I say patting Dustin's shoulder.

"Good, that's good" Steve mutters, a small smile crepping up his face, he quickly glances at the door "so... are you in the mood for a visit?"

"I guess..." I say, a little sceptical after seeing his behaviour. "What's going on?"

"Oh nothing, love" he smile and then opens the door and someone walks in.

My blood immediately runs cold, I tense immediately, as soon as Hopper walks in... I thought my hallucinations were getting better... and now he's using Hopper, too.

No no no no no... not this.

"No, no, please..." I start sobbing, and I cover my eyes.

"What's wrong?" I hear Dustin whispering to me.

"I thought the hallucinations were... were getting better... I can't." I sob.

"What are you talking about?"

"I see Hopper standing there... I... he's using Hop to torment me, " I explain. "Please... make it stop, make it stop" I sob into the pillow as I curl up in bed.

"Y/n," Steve's hand gently caresses my back. "Love? He is here."

"What?" I ask, confused.

"Hop is here." He tells me.

"What... how...no... he's..." I stutter.

"I honestly don't know, but he is here. He's alive. Do you trust me? You know I wouldn't mess with you."

I slowly look up to him, seeing how sincere he is, and even more slowly, I look to the door.

I look at Hopper standing there, a visible worried look on his face. He doesn't know what to do. He softly smiles at me, to reassure me everything is fine.

"He's really here?" I ask Steve and Dustin.

"Yes, babe,"

"Yap"

I cautiously stand up and walk to Hopper, I look up at him to check if he's actually here or not.

"Is it you? Like... for real?" I ask.

"It is" he smiles, eyes watering a little.

"Oh my god" I don't waste any more time and hug him. He immediately reciprocates.

"Everything is gonna be fine now. I'm here, kid," he says softly to me once he lets me go.

"I'm sorry... I... I thought.."

"It's okay, they told me everything." Hop reassures me "I'm sorry I wasn't here,"

"Oh don't say that to her. She hates it," Dustin chimes in.

"He's right " I say wiping away the tears "it's not like anyone could've stopped me"

"Of course" he chuckles "too stubborn for your own good."

"I wonder where I took it from" I tease.

"She's right, you know" Joyce appears from behind him, I just realise she's been here the whole time.

"Oh my god, hi" I quickly hug her too.

"Hey, sweetheart" she holds me tight, she then lets me go and cups one of my cheeks "You got us so worried"

"I'm sorry" I chuckle.

"When they told us you ended up here... God... even though you two are not related by blood, you definitely took your stubbornness from him"

"Well... I'm definitely proud of it" Hopper interferes with a big smile. "Oh... and they also let something slip"

"What?" I look from him to Steve, who has a guilty look on his face.

Before he can answer the door opens once again, only to let Eddie walk in, dressed in his own clothes, meaning he's ready to be dismissed.

"We bumped into Eddie on the way here..." Steve explains pointing to Eddie.

"Oh..." I nervously chuckle.

"Oh indeed."

"Yeah... I wanted to apologise" Eddie awkwardly scratches his neck "I knew you were dead and... you kinda spooked me... I'm sorry"

"What..?" I chuckle amused.

"He used me as a shield... and then he pushed me toward your dad.." Steve explains, rather exasperated.

"Aaw, poor baby" I joke.

"And while I was explaining to this dingus he wasn't a ghost-"

"Steve blurted out we are now.. a thing" Eddie finishes awkwardly, still avoiding eye contact with... everyone.

"That he did" Hopper says.

"And...? Do you have a problem with that?" I ask, cautiously.

"As long as they won't hurt you, I'm fine with it" he smiles, almost devilishly, "it will only mean I won't have to cover up a murder... anytime soon at least."

I see Eddie and Steve share a, not very subtle, scared look. They then turn to me asking for help, but I can't help but laugh. I know Hopper is only messing with them.

"Alright!" Joyce claps her hands to change the subject. "How about after you are dismissed we all gather around and have dinner together? Uh?"

"Definitely" I support her saving my boyfriends from Hop.

"C'mon, let's go, Jim. C'mon, you scared them enough" Joyce gently grabs Hop's Armstrong guide him out.

"Eh... not exactly enough. But there's plenty of time" he teases. "Take care, kids. Anything happens you call me, alright?"

"Sure, Hop" I smile at him.

"I'll come check on you tomorrow" he says.

I wave at them as they walk out.

"What a perfect way to say to my father we're in a relationship... Great job" I laugh.

"Yeah, you couldn't have chosen a better way, guys?" Dustin asks, with a amused grin.

"Hey don't look at me, man, he did it all" Eddie defends himself.

"Yeah yeah, it just came out... I'm sorry" he says, coming up to me and gently taking my hand in his.

"Hey, it's fine. I never thought I'd ever have to tell him something like that in the first place... so... it's actually better this way" I smile at them.

"He... he wouldn't actually.. murder us right?" Eddie asks.

"In the most brutal way" I joke and he glares at me.

"Very funny" he sarcastically says.

"I know" I wink at him.

"I came here to tell you they're dismissing me, by the way" he tells me "Wayne's outside to take me home. As a free man, nonetheless"

"Rightfully" I smile" do you feel better, though? Like actually okay?" I ask him.

"Yeah, yeah, I do, don't worry, my beautiful girl" he says getting closer to me and Steve.

"Alright, I'm still here" Dustin announces.

"Not my problem" was Eddie simple answer.

"Okay. My queue to leave. Bye, guys, get better Y/n. Bye" he quickly rushes out of the room.

"There you go... you scared Dustin" I say.

"Thankfully" Steve comments.

"You two are terrible" I laugh.

Eddie smirks before kissing me softly on the lips and then lets Steve do the same.

"About going home..." Steve starts " my parents won't be home for the next... uh... couple of months. Not surprising, I know, but... well... if you guys want to stay over and... maybe start to actually figure our whole situation out... we could"

"That's not a bad idea, Harrington." Eddie's still smirking "what do you say, sweetheart?"

"I say it's a great idea" I say and the kiss each boy on the cheek.

"And once you're out of here, we're taking you to the most amazing date you can ever imagine" Steve declares with a big loving smile.

"Easy there, Stevie... let's not create expectations we can't live up to" Eddie says making me laugh.

"Even a simple pizza and a movie at home would be absolutely perfect" I assure them.

"See?" Steve points at me looking at Eddie "she has no expectations at all. We're safe"

"Yeah... I guess you're right, man" Eddie agrees.

"C'mon, don't let your uncle wait too long." I say to Eddie kissing him.

"Oh fine fine. I'll leave." He sweetly smile down at me "you better get better soon. I can't deal with this guys here alone"

"Yeah, please, don't leave me with him" Steve begs.

"Oh c'mon, you two will be fine"

"Doesn't matter. Get better soon, we want to spoil you" Steve softly says, still playing with my fingers.

"I promise" I smile at them.

"Alright, let's get going. I'll prepare the house for the both of you" Steve says and gives me a kiss.

"Fine, I'll meet Wayne and go home to prepare my things instead" it's Eddie's turn to kiss me.

"See you two tomorrow" I wave at them as they exit.

I go sit on the bed taking everything in.

Hopper is alive... I definitely need him to tell me everything. It's so good to know it wasn't one of my hallucinations.

We're gonna be a family again, with El too. I can't believe it, it's great.

Everything is actually going to be fine.

#stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steddie x reader #steddie

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pastafossa · 1 year

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hi pasta! i just wanted to add onto your post about a physical copy of trt — for the second option, readers should be looking for handbinders who do commission work and only charge for materials, so that no profit is made; not just any printing service.

there are websites like lulu and barnes & noble self publishing that make machine bound books — who you can order a book from but would illegal to order fanfiction from. in fact, due to the rise in interest for physical copies of fics, lulu had to publish a statement saying fanfiction cannot be ordered from them. these are just a few companies in the US; there are other services in europe and i’m sure other countries as well but the same fanfiction laws apply (based on the original ip owner’s location and the platform the fic is posted on, ao3 in this case so US laws).

if anyone is interested in binding at home, i promise it isn’t as intimidating as it seems! you can make do with whatever materials you have at home — printer paper, cereal boxes, elmers glue etc. @renegadepublishing is a fantastic place to get started, they have resources like this doc with full instructions on how to make your own book. and for those who want to commission someone, @ferns.and.fabels on instagram has some really helpful highlights such as reputable handbinders who only charge for materials, and ways to check if your book is handbound or machine made!!

sorry this got so long!! i hope this helps to clarify because in another fandom there was a whole mess over this issue, where it wasn’t made clear that copyright laws are applied internationally and someone tried to mass produce and sell fics! this way, we can protect fandom spaces including the works and the fic writers ❤️❤️

No no, this is amazingly helpful! I don't want anyone to get in trouble trying to get a copy of TRT onto their shelves, so this is good to know! Especially since eventually I'd like to have a bound copy of TRT for myself and my own shelf. I've noted a lot of this down so even if this just helps me getting a bound copy, it's worth it. 😅 Honestly the copyright issue is something I'm veeery skittish of so any little bit of info that helps me keep my head down and out from the eye of the Great Mouse is appreciated.

#the mouse terrifies me #but i also want a copy of trt and i want readers to be able to get one if they wan t #so this is INCREDIBLY useful #i have no idea how to bind but maybe one day I'll try just for trt

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sanityshorror · 26 days

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IMPORTANT PSA:

Putting this heads up out March 30th/31st in regards to April 1 which is also "April Fools Day."

Every April 1, I post the Navy Seal Copypasta and put in the tags it's /j, for April fools, and to just Google "Navy seal copypasta" if you don't know what it is.

Other than that tradition, I didn't participate and ask that people refrain from involving me in any sort of April fool prank, beyond sending the Navy seal copy pasta lol.

The reason I put this up in advance is because I know I feel a deep fear and paranoia and distrust of everything said and posted on the 1st unless there's prior warning put forward.

If me posting the navy seal copypasta is going to be in any way triggering to your anxiety, paranoia, etc - block the tag #navy seal copypasta as it will be tagged as such, along with the appropriate april fools tags.

To all those who are participating in April Fools, please, please, PLEASE remember to with the appropriate trigger warnings of April Fools, to make sure to clarify when a post is just April Fools joke, and both IRL and online, keep any joke or prank light hearted sad harmless. Furthermore, it's NOT okay to send April Fools things to people who state they don't participate, as your "joke," because it's not a joke, it's harassment.

#psa

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inkofamethyst · 2 years

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September 22, 2022

Please somebody stop me I’m watching day-in-the-life videos from PhD students. I ain’t even contacted nobody yet; I ain’t even graduated.

I actually have contacted a person!!! I’m incredibly nervous about this conversation we’re going to have because I don’t know what to expect from it!!! I mean the good thing is I know her already but this interaction is far more loaded than any previous ones, she’s basically looking to see if I’m hirable. After this first one, I expect that I’ll be able to start rattling off emails left and right, I just need to push myself through this anxious block.

Pros of having four-class-days:

your one-class-days are full rest/work days

Cons of having four-class-days:

it is legitimately difficult to maintain focus by the time 3p rolls around

too tired to do anything after classes

somewhat difficult to schedule meetings

high chance of having 2+ exams on one day (ahem, next thursday)

Pros of making a full box of pasta:

don’t have to make dinner for six days straight

super filling

toppings can be anything

Cons of making a full box of pasta:

minimal variety in one week

difficult to cook on student housing stove with small burners

takes up a ton of room in a fridge shared by four people

Today I’m thankful that my ecoanth class is forcing me to write a grant proposal for a grant that I plan to apply for and that I don’t have to write the grant on ecoanth but can do ~anything I want~ and that my prof for the class actually won the grant and is willing to coach us through it if we want :D That class bores me out of my mind sometimes (these theory classes are interesting to some extent but honestly I would almost feel comfortable skipping and that’s saying something coming from me, I have never missed a class (perfect attendance is, for better or worse, bound into my personality)) but this is definitely an unexpected plus. Unfortunately the grant is the final project for the class. Fortunately the actual one is due in a month(!!!!) so as long as I save copies of my drafts as I go along, I won’t need to put too much effort into the versions I have to turn in for class. Work smarter, not harder. And don’t even mention self-plagiarism to me, I think it applies practically in very few cases (academia is one of them but like, I’m an undergrad and who cares). [edit, 1 month later: yeahhh I did not submit the application to that grant lol]

I’m also thankful for the little in-class participatory exercise my dev bio prof did today!!! I made me feel like I was in elementary school, everyone (who showed up) was given a card with a role on it related to what we’ve been learning and we had to act out our role in the cell and it was just really cute (and also clarified some stuff tbh).

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cooloddball · 3 years

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just sat through felicia’s stream. it all starts 25 minutes in. the way gen was speaking, it’s very clear she stayed at JP’s apartment often before quarantine. she was talking about leaving placenta pills there (long story lmao) and how JP must have packed them, and she got worked up about it. then he joined her and she confronted him about putting them in storage. he mentioned that he and jensen shared a storage unit in austin where they put things “from my apartment and his apartment.” a shared unit for two SEPARATE apartments, which is not weird considering they had their things uhauled from and to the same place, live close by, and storage is expensive. when JP said “we had a full sized apartment,” he was right next to gen talking about the both of them. i have no clue how J2hats got “jensen and i lived together for x number of years” from that, but i stopped trying to understand their logic a long time ago.

Thanks for taking the liberty to watch and summarizing it Nonnie. ❤

I think they either made up those allegations to either troll us or in retaliation to the fact that Misha explicitly said he lived with Jensen.

Thanks.

Copy pasta anon I hope you can see this and realize that what you were saying were lies concocted by delusional people.

Here are the facts.

#asks #anon #felicia's twitch stream #the j2 storage unit and apartment dilemma clarified #they just stored their things together #jp lived with gen period #debunking copy pasta anon #jp and gen

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h2obased · 2 years

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Call It A Thursday

Bucky Barnes One-Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Let’s just say you weren’t a fan of the holidays. A random (ish) encounter with the guy who did his grocery shopping on Thursdays - just like you - might change that.

Notes & Warnings:

Holiday angst, flirting, fluff, a bit of swearing, and very mild sexual content

Female reader, with minimal identifiers

Hang on because of shifting points of view, shifting timelines

The banner doesn't depict or describe who the reader is, apart from the fact she uses a cart when grocery shopping

I do not give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere. I only post stories here and on AO3.

Word count: 7,433 because we like to be precise

My masterlist

Call It A Thursday

Winter, a vicious one

With unmistakable holiday glee, your manager denied your request to work on Christmas.

“Never in the twelve years I’ve worked in this business has there been a reason to work on a holiday. Especially this one.”

You couldn’t take your boss seriously when he had a pointy red hat on. The one with the white ball of fluff at the end.

“I know you’re trying so hard not to roll your eyes.” He poked the camera and the screen wobbled for a couple of seconds. “This is what you get when you give me a call on the 24th, when my out of office clearly said ‘urgent matters only’ because I’m off doing dad stuff.” He gestured to the hat again. His smile was kind, and you appreciated the sincerity but the hat… you hoped his kids liked that sort of thing.

In about three minutes, your shift was ending. If you walked fast enough maybe there would still be one of those single-portion roast chickens packed with potatoes or pasta at the store. You can pick up a few vegetables for a stir fry. You’d have to look for a recipe but that’s manageable. In theory.

You’ve got this.

You logged off and grabbed a coat, a thick one that’s served you well for four New York winters. It saved you from hypothermia last year when you stood stock-still in the middle of Washington Square Park until you almost passed out. You don’t know how long you’d been standing there by yourself, not thinking, not feeling anything after your ex clarified why he wanted to cut through the park on your way home from the office Christmas party.

He didn’t have a violinist on standby and a ring in his pocket. You certainly had no need for the dress your best friend helped pick out or the torture heels that created the illusion you had legs for days. Your boyfriend of three years escorted you dutifully from your apartment to the party, where your boss announced your promotion in front of the team, and from the party to the park, with the intention of informing you this relationship did not have a future beyond that evening.

You zipped your coat up, tugged on the beanie hiding your Day Three hair, and exited the building after the last working day of the week. The weatherman believed snow wouldn’t fall until right before New Year’s, but the wind already had a serious bite. Typical of the season. It had couples snuggling and single individuals insulating themselves against loneliness.

The streets seemed busier than usual. Either that or you needed to get out more. People dashed past you, going to or coming from office parties and last-minute get-togethers with acquaintances they will not be speaking to in the next two weeks. You’ve been dodging gift bags swung around with abandon the moment you stepped out of your building.

The city was beautiful in a cold, gray, pre-slush way. Decked out shop windows and children in holiday jumpers provided color to an otherwise desaturated cityscape. The twinkling lights inject New York with new life. Everything sparkled and buzzed with activity.

See, you weren’t totally incapable of recognizing signs of life. It just didn’t translate into warm and fuzzy feelings for you this time of the year.

Your mother who was on holiday somewhere warmer with your father, halfway around the world, sent a few messages, but you decided to reply to them later. You stuffed your hands inside your coat pockets, where they would be warm and toasty unlike your nose, and kept walking.

You probably should text your brother back too. He and his wife, together with your nephew, an eight-month old Alaskan Malamute who was more than half your weight and possessed five times your energy, were spending the holidays with your sister-in-law’s family.

Jess, who once declared she was not moving out of the city for anything less than a wedding proposal, was spending her first Christmas in the suburbs of Chicago this year at her new one-story house she bought with Lisa, who was notably still not Jess’ wife or fiancé.

The doors chimed when you slipped inside the family-owned grocery store.

“We’re out!” Ricky announced from behind the counter as soon as he spotted you.

“No you’re not. Come on.” You tiptoed over the glass counter at the deli section. Behind Ricky was a whole chicken, brown and glazed, stacked over two more roasted chickens in takeaway packaging.

A whole chicken was more than you need but that’s a problem for the next few days. Today you were focused on not having ramen noodles for dinner. You may have avoided going to a couple of Christmas parties and taken your name off the department’s Secret Santa list this year, but you’ll be damned if you weren't eating something roasted tonight.

You weren’t thrilled about the yuletide season and the good tidings that clearly skipped you, but a nice dinner, followed by a box of cupcakes would be proof your ex - along with other forces of evil like taxes and global warming - did not win.

The shop assistant gave you an apologetic shrug.

“Ricky. Ricky. Rickyyyyy.” You weren’t about to give up just yet. You had cards to play.

“Those have been reserved.”

“You told me I can’t reserve chicken.” You were acting like a brat because of chicken, something you didn’t expect to be doing today, but the alternative was unacceptable.

“You can’t. The guys who bought ‘em are just picking up drinks at the back.”

“But I went to your improv show. In Yonkers!” Your pitch went up; it was intentional and you did not like yourself very much when you heard it.

He laughed, slamming his palm on the tiled counter. “Ten minutes before closing if I remember.”

“And I gave you Jess’ number.”

“Jessica your hot friend the lesbian?”

“Yeah and now you have a hot girl’s number in your phone.”

Ricky frowned and for a moment you thought you had a shot.

“You’re out of beer Ricky G!” Someone yelled a couple of aisles back.

Freaking Ricky G? Seriously? You raised an eyebrow.

“The good kind at least.” Another voice quipped.

Seconds later, two tall men in baseball hats emerged with boxes of beer. The room shrunk as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes appeared. They seemed to be arguing about something but quickly resolved it when they saw you chatting with Ricky.

It wasn’t unusual to run into the pair in this part of town. They kept to themselves and didn’t want attention, but it was pretty hard to ignore two Avengers huddled by the pasta and rice row, bickering abound carbohydrates.

“Hi.” The duo spoke at the same time.

Sam dumped the box of 24 he’d been carrying onto Bucky, who didn’t seem to realize he’s now carrying 72 cans in his arms.

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky greeted you with a friendly nod. He adjusted his grip on the boxes without breaking eye contact.

Something about the easygoing super soldier made you feel less anxious about your impending ramen meal.

You didn’t know much about him apart from what the Internet said and what you witnessed when you ran into him doing errands. Like you, he did his grocery shopping on Thursdays and but unlike you, he never bought more than five items. He always seemed to know about upcoming pop-up shops and flash sales in the neighborhood.

He had an impressive jacket collection that he wore year-round. Your favorite was a blue bomber jacket. It must have been early October, the last time you saw him wear it.

Fall, a while back

You collided into Bucky as you ran inside the store. You expected the impact to be the equivalent of slamming into a brick wall, but Bucky had an unexpected tender grip, still strong, but it wasn’t the death grip news outlets made people fear. The bomber jacket wasn’t just soft either, it smelled wonderful - clean and pressed, like he’d just taken it out of his closet that afternoon.

Your heart pounded from turning into the corner quickly and running into Bucky, chest first. He caught you without so much as a blink, and he seemed more relieved than caught off guard.

“What’s the rush?” That lazy grin tended to stick with you well into the night. Under the fluorescent store lights, his eyes were a cool, lighter blue shade, and for a brief moment you thought about watching those eyes by the fireplace.

Hey creepy girl, chill.

You don’t even have a fireplace, first of all, and surely Bucky Barnes deserved better than having people like you perving on him.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat and the fog in your head. “I’m not even sure anymore.” Must be something to do with Jess. Right. Jess invited you to have dinner with her and Lisa that evening.

“Bring wine. Something cheap,” her text message said. “We’re celebrating!”

Over home cooked steak and fries that evening your friends gave you the “we’re moving to Chicago” announcement.

Bucky released your arms and you realized he wasn’t carrying his usual five-item basket.

“Not shopping today?”

He scratched his head. The shorter hair made him look younger. Less recognizable. Like he could be any ordinary handsome neighbor. Seeing him made you regret doing your shopping in sweatpants. “Just picking up milk.”

He must live somewhere in the area but you weren’t going to ask for his home address.

“Anything new to report from your walk to the store this evening?” That was very lame. You’d have to be a little smoother than that if you planned on getting any personal information out of him.

He chuckled though and scratched his upper lip. “No, but I’ll keep an eye out on the trip back home.”

You watched him disappear into dairyland before you reluctantly headed in the opposite direction. As you tried to choose between moscato and riesling (and ended up bringing both to the dinner), you thought about the comfort these casual Thursday run-ins with Bucky brought.

They offered a sense of stability after months of feeling like everything lay on a precarious edge, like one wrong move and you’d crash and fall apart again, just like the time the guy you thought was the love of your life explained how things were different now, how you’d changed, how he couldn’t picture the two of you growing together, how his decision had nothing to do with her.

Out of the 365 days to choose from, he settled on breaking up with you a few days before Christmas and acted like you should be thankful for his honesty and initiative.

He was right about one thing - you were grateful about not spending one more minute with someone who turned out to be a complete stranger to you all this time.

Back to the alleged vicious winter

A year after the break-up, you weren’t sad anymore but the first sign of the holidays somehow stalled you; the reminder seemed to block your ability to feel festive about anything. Even the well-meaning invitations from your family and friends to spend Christmas with them did not appeal to you.

The only thing you had any passion for was roast chicken for dinner on Christmas Eve. You were supposed to be berating Ricky for not being on your side, but Bucky wished you a merry Christmas with boyish - dare you say flirtatious - twinkling eyes and before you had a handle on the situation, you found yourself saying the words you’d never uttered once this season: “Merry Christmas.”

Sam cleared his throat and leaned against the counter. “What’s Ricky G done now?”

“Hi Sam,” you added with a wave. If you didn’t know much about Bucky, you definitely knew less about Sam, other than what’s been reported on the new Captain America. He occasionally accompanied Bucky on mid-week shopping runs around the neighborhood. You ran into them sometimes when you were in the mood for overpriced coffee and a velvety muffin that just melts in your mouth.

You shot Ricky an apologetic look. “I was just hassling Ricky for roast chicken.”

“Sorry, we just bought the last one minutes before you came in.” Sam straightened up. “What do you need a whole ass chicken for anyway? Are you having a party and didn’t invite us?” He gestured to his friend, who continued to watch you with a cheerful expression.

“Oh god no, no party,” you replied quickly, unsure where the urge to make them understand you were not excluding them from some sort of organized fun came from. “It’s just - it’s more of a party for one scenario this evening.” You paused, and after a quick look at Bucky, immediately added: “That doesn’t sound like the most exciting evening but I’m celebrating with a box of cupcakes. Frosted to the heavens.” You kissed your fingertips for added emphasis.

“Ah.” Sam nodded approvingly. “Honestly, cupcakes on Christmas Eve is something I would totally be into, but you know what’s more fun? Roast chicken, a bunch of people, and a couple of beers.” He tapped the top-most box of the stack Bucky still carried. “What do you say?”

Sam’s winter deal

Sam was not taking no for an answer. He spotted the hesitation when you paused and glanced at Bucky for what seemed like the tenth time since they approached you two minutes ago. He could hear the gears in Bucky’s arm stress-whirring as the soldier awaited your response. It’s very faint, and only trained ears would pick it up, but it’s a definite tell-tale sign.

Bucky remained cool, watching you and Sam like he was just as surprised about Sam’s invitation.

“You have to make it sounds like it’s your idea and that you’re throwing the party, I’m just providing the venue,” Bucky told Sam as they left a meeting in Washington DC a week ago - coincidentally also the first time the 107 year-old man brought up wanting to host a party on Christmas Eve. Or any party ever.

“Why?” Sam kept walking down the hall. He was in a rare position of being able to help Bucky. Supporting his friend was a given but Sam wanted to see if the bullheaded senior citizen could be convinced to do other things that were in his best interest, since he was in an accommodating mood anyway. Like talk to the guys at the VA about trauma and recovery.

Bucky was a private guy, at least as private as someone with multiple intelligence agency dossiers on him could get, but in a couple of situations, he has opened up and shown good teaching instincts. Sam didn’t know anyone like Bucky who had something to say about the grief and loss that was worth listening to, that would actually transform the lives of struggling people.

Getting Bucky to share his wisdom and life experience with discharged and injured servicemen was a lost cause until Bucky met you two years ago while he was staking out a warehouse in Queens and popped into a corner grocery shop for a pack of gum.

Suddenly, the visits to Queens became a recurring event and Bucky returned to his apartment in Brooklyn, 40 minutes away by car if he’s lucky, with a bar of soap or loaf of bread and an idiotic grin plastered on his face.

Bucky finally allowed Sam to come with him one Thursday, provided he didn't say a word.

“God Sam, please, please. Do not make it weird.” Bucky made him swear before they entered the store. The summer heat was stifling and Sam was desperate to escape it and go inside, where there was air conditioning. How Bucky could survive wearing one of his jackets was beyond him.

“She’s single now right? And you’ve been single since what, the forties? A little weird is what you need, Buck.”

Push Bucky hard enough and the Winter Soldier icy stare made a rare and unwanted appearance. “Promise me.”

Bucky never asked people to make promises. Sam wiped the smile off his face and hoped that would calm his friend down. “Alright, alright. Barnes, breathe man.”

They “run into you” moments later between toilet cleaning products and laundry supplies. Bucky indulged in small talk, much to Sam’s total fascination. Bucky smiled openly. Not once did he glare at anyone. When Sam quipped about being the guy who knew Bucky too well, the super soldier laughed heartily and even replied “I could say the same thing about you,” without a hint of sarcasm.

It’s not that Bucky was a different person around you; it’s more like he let you in to see who he used to be - the carefree, effortlessly charming guy who didn’t have a reason to look over his shoulder all the time. Not even Sam had access to that side of Bucky.

Obviously, when Bucky wanted to throw a Christmas Eve party, a poorly disguised (to Sam at least) excuse to spend more time with you, Sam was raring to help.

He just wanted to see Bucky grovel a little bit more.

“What do you mean why ?”

Sam continued crossing the street without acknowledging Bucky, taking quick steps to the lot where he parked the car loaned to them by the DC Chief of Police.

Bucky matched Sam step by step. “She mentioned her family and friends were all out of town during the holidays and I just thought - she doesn’t have to be alone, right? That’s all.”

Of course that wasn’t all. Bucky might be persuaded to confess to Sam his feelings for you in the middle of a busy DC street, but Sam wouldn’t do that. He’d make Bucky spill the beans inside the car.

“I don’t know buddy. Sarah’s expecting us to arrive the day before Christmas in case you forgot. The kids were looking forward to seeing you again.”

Bucky had trouble saying no to Sam’s nephews. Piggy back rides. Crushing random household items using the metal arm just because the boys wanted to know what sound it’d make. Aluminum cans. A bundle of sticks. A whoopee cushion. “I’ll make it up to them,” Bucky immediately said. He overtook Sam the moment they reached the other side and held out a hand. “Ok Sam Wilson, I’ll bite. What do you want in return?”

Sam didn’t even pretend to think. “Sessions at the VA. At least three.” Bucky sighed. Not because he didn’t want to do it, but because he knew he would do more than what Sam asked if it meant you’d be around the apartment this holiday.

“You’d be helping out these guys immensely, Buck.” Not that anyone needed reminding, but Sam really believed Bucky had more to offer without having to pick up a gun. He’s just too thick, too hesitant to see it in himself.

Bucky stared at Sam. “She can’t know the party’s for her. Say it’s for Torres. Let’s invite Torres and the trainees over. It’ll be a team party.”

“You got yourself a deal, Mr. Barnes.” Sam walked around Bucky to hide a satisfied smile. He had not taken more than five steps when Bucky called out again.

“Oh and we gotta make sure the grocery deli runs out of chicken that day.”

Back to the vicious winter, the way Sam sees it

Sam conveyed authority even when he’s inviting a casual acquaintance to a party. “It’ll just be a few people we work with. Oh and him.” He nodded at Bucky, as if Sam had only remembered about the other guy. “I kind of have to invite him because it’s at his place.”

“Thanks pal, being kind of invited to my home makes me feel very special,” Bucky retorted.

“You’re welcome Buck,” Sam clapped his friend on the back harder than necessary.

You watched in amusement. If they weren’t arguing like an old married couple, they were smirking at each other like there was a longstanding inside joke and no, they wouldn't tell you about it. There probably was, the way Sam and Bucky exchanged eye rolls and made faces at each other all the time.

“What do you say? Come over to Brooklyn Heights for a roast and a beer?”

The surprised look on your face alerted Sam to his minor slip up. “Brooklyn?”

“Heights, yeah, where he and Steve grew up, the Smithsonian says so. Have you ever been? To the exhibit I mean?” Sam replied. “We’ll give you a lift to the apartment; we just have to get these in the back of the truck first and then we’re set.”

“It’s fine, I just thought he lived around here,” you explained with a sheepish grin. “I should probably change into something less casual than pj’s anyway.”

Bucky shook his head, letting you know it’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.

Eager to move things along, Sam rubbed his hands together. “Then it’s settled. Bucky’s loading these up and he’ll give you directions to the apartment and we’ll see you in about… an hour or so? And bring the cupcakes!” He said, heading out of the store before you could change your mind.

He needed to talk to Torres about something.

Spring

Bucky committed theft the first time he saw you nearly two years ago. You smiled at him from aisle five, juice and soft drinks, and he walked out of the grocery store having forgotten to pay for the pack of gum.

You were only trying to warn him about Ron Sr. overspeeding on his electric wheelchair out of aisle two, soups and canned goods.

The wheel dug into his shin and it hurt, but in the Bucky Barnes spectrum of pain, getting jabbed in the shin by a rubber wheel barely registered as a one.

The highly-trained field agent with enhanced eyesight, hearing, and reflexes failed to get out of Ron’s way just because somebody with kind eyes waved at him. Bucky’s leg would be sore tomorrow but he’d pay that price everyday for a chance to see those eyes. Even from this distance.

You turned to Ron as the elderly gentleman whizzed past your aisle. “Ron, you promised to take me for a spin, don’t forget!”

A middle-aged version of the speedster jogged over. Must be Ron Jr., Bucky guessed from the similar ear shape and sharp nose. “I’m so sorry-“ he froze the second he recognized Bucky.

“It’s fine.” Bucky was quick to reassure the frazzled son.

“Meat section, RJ,” you said when the man continued to gape at the Bucky.

Bucky took his eyes off you for a brief moment to address Junior. “Sure you’ve got this covered but if I can do anything…”

Ron Jr. nodded before rushing off after his father.

When he looked up, you were gone and Bucky’s shoulders dropped. He exited the store and only remembered about the pack of gum after reaching the end of the block.

He jogged back to the store and told himself it was to pay for the item. If you happened to come around the front, well that would be purely by chance but highly appreciated. He’s been watching amateur crooks move contraband into a warehouse since 6:00am that day and Bucky wanted -

Your pale pink shift dress fluttered out of the corner of his eye. Bucky caught his breath.

Get it together, he told himself. He saw beautiful people daily. He worked with elite level athletes with double degrees in science and humanities - persons who were out of his league but you were the first one who had him confessing to petty theft.

The cashier wouldn’t even let him pay for the gum, which was more embarrassing and Bucky could already hear Sam cackling if he ever found out. Just as he ran out of excuses to loiter by the entryway, you walked out with two bags.

Your eyes widened in recognition as you approached. “Our feet are safe thanks to Ron Jr.”

Bucky smiled self-consciously. “Do you need help with those?”

You shook your head and shifted a bag to your shoulder. “It’s just a short walk back home.” Bucky could tell it dug into your skin but you wouldn’t bother anyone with that. “My boyfriend won’t believe I saw you today. He’s a big fan.”

His heart plummeted. The reaction was instant and Bucky was terribly confused by his disappointment. It’s not like he was in love with you. He’s known you for all of what, five minutes? Of course someone with your compassionate eyes and confidence would be off the market. This shouldn’t be a big deal.

He’d get in the car again and keep watching people commit a felony and not do a thing about it because recon meant sitting on his ass and not doing a goddamned thing about nothing.

You misread his reaction. “I’m a fan too but I-“ You giggled and covered it up quickly by clearing your throat. It was the most beautiful sound to Bucky. “I guess I didn’t want to be creepy. Sorry. I’m thankful for what you do. You must hear that all the time. Sorry for being creepy and unoriginal.”

You’d be surprised to know how easily people forget about him and the team when aliens and criminals behaved for five consecutive days. But you meant those words and he felt that. In spite of his crushed soul, Bucky smiled back.

“Well, you have a good evening Sergeant Barnes.” Your eyes shone in the darkness as you bid him farewell with one more head tilt before walking off.

“It’s Bucky. My name’s Bucky.” He could have said that and wished you a good night too; he might be a soldier but his mother taught him better than that. Instead, he remained tongue-tied, watching in silence until you turned around the block.

Still spring

The stakeout yielded crucial information. Bucky already turned the report over but he dropped by Queens one more time to check if the warehouse had been sealed to his satisfaction. They had standards to maintain.

Call it due diligence.

Most people would call it a Thursday.

Before he started a second sweep of the grocery store, you entered with your faded cloth bags and pulled a cart on your way to the farthest aisle.

Interesting approach, Bucky thought. If he timed his “shopping” correctly, he’d pass you at the breakfast section and this time he’d remember to speak.

He couldn’t ask you out but he could ask for your name, right?

That day, you didn’t just give him your name, you told him about overnight oats and chia seeds too. Bucky’s head spun with thoughts of no-cook breakfast recipes and your animated, friendly face, practically bare although he detected a sheen on your lips.

He noticed the Little Women passage on one of the cloth bags and never has he felt gratitude for his near photographic memory until that day when he quoted the first few lines from the novel from memory.

“No way,” your jaw dropped.

Your mouth formed a delightful shape and Bucky was a miserable man. He’d stick his nose into ten moldy paperbacks just to see that look on your face again.

He returned the following week with his own reusable bag - black and plain, in keeping with his personality or so Sam joked. More importantly, Bucky was armed with details about an upcoming book fair a few blocks away from the store.

That night you spotted him first - “Bucky!” - just as he asked you to call him.

He managed to get his act together before walking over to you.

By the tenth weekly grocery shopping trip to Queens, more than two hours away from the Brooklyn apartment by foot - Bucky has been known to walk longer distances than that just because he felt like stretching his legs - Sam felt obliged to mention he was fooling nobody. “Are you gonna ask the lady out at some point instead of giving her updates like a community newsletter?”

Bucky frowned at him and then left the room. He returned two minutes later, willingly spilling the reason why he can only talk to you inside the store. He can’t resist seeing you, even if it were only for a few precious minutes each week, but he would never cause any trouble for you and the lucky bastard who never helped you with grocery shopping.

Sam felt bad for his friend, but he wasn’t about to tell Bucky Barnes how to deal with his feelings. He wasn’t worried about Bucky stealing you away. He can be obnoxious and daft; he had terrible taste in music and he’s as grumpy as old farts go, but James Buchanan Barnes was an honorable asshole.

Sam was more concerned about you breaking Bucky’s heart without even knowing how much power you wielded over a man who knew at least ten unique ways to neutralize someone with something as random as a spoon.

“Would you tell me if you needed advice or help?”

“I don’t need help,” Bucky growled. They both knew he was in over his head.

Bucky was as stubborn as he was old but Sam had the patience of a saint. It might take weeks or months, but Bucky would want his help one day.

Winter, Brooklyn

Bucky wanted to open the door for you but Torres said something about predator behavior in the wild. Instead, Bucky’s been made to wear an apron and reheat side dishes in the kitchen.

“Hi.” Your voice traveled through his apartment. Bucky’s had plenty of practice listening for your voice across rows and rows of dry goods. He grabbed the counter for support and stilled his breathing. It took zero effort to seek you out over the TV blaring, drinks clinking, and Sam’s unrestrained laughing.

You’re here.

Torres introduced you to all seven people from the base who didn’t have anything better to do that evening, and eventually found themselves in a house party with Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

“Look who’s here.” Torres ushered her to the kitchen.

It’s a modest apartment, but spacious by the city’s standards. The room came into focus, like someone adjusted the settings, sharpening shapes and brightening hues, the moment she stepped in behind the lanky lieutenant.

“Bucky’s been cooking all afternoon,” Torres reported.

Bucky didn’t mind your drawstring joggers from this afternoon but tonight’s jeans were a gift from heaven. You even had a red sweater on. You looked cozy. You looked-

Stop ogling dickhead.

“No he hasn’t.” Your gaze landed on the chicken lying on a bed of vegetables. “I’d know that chicken anywhere.”

Torres laughed as he backed away. “Cooking, re-heating, same thing.”

Bucky wiped his hands on the apron. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Your eyes lingered on a framed photo of Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and Steve over the sink. Curiosity was written all over your face. “What are you having?”

All the beer in the building would only give him gas but Bucky drank for the social aspect, not for the alcoholic benefits.

“If you thought the chicken looked familiar…” He produced a cold can from a cooler under the table. “Can I open it for you?” Wait. Should he not have said that? What if you thought he was being overbearing? You’re quite able to open a can of beer.

“Please,” you replied without looking away from the picture. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this looks like you and Sam actually enjoy each other’s company.”

Must have been six, seven years ago when the picture was taken in Wakanda. Steve flew in with Sam and Nat to meet with T’Challa but someone got the dates wrong (Steve, Bucky liked to think it was on purpose) so they had a free day to themselves. Sam wanted to go fishing. Steve was happy to sit by the water with a beer and his sketchpad. Neither Nat nor Bucky were particularly into fishing but they were particularly into messing with Sam’s quest for zen.

There’s an identical photo in the Wilson’s living room back in New Orleans.

Bucky bit his lip to stop himself from smiling too much. “Captain America’s ok I guess.” The can creaked as he pulled the tab. “Football’s on, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks.” You accepted the beer and took a quick sip. “I’m good here. Plus I have to keep an eye on the chicken in case something happens.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s supposed to be the highlight of my day. Roast chicken, cupcakes, hanging out with the best of the military. What else can a girl ask for?” You looked around the table for something to do. “Put me to work, Chef.”

Bucky hesitated. You were the guest of honor but you weren’t supposed to know that. He handed you a jar of gravy to pour into smaller bowls.

You washed your hands, stood next to Bucky by the counter, and focused on the task at hand. He watched you but not with his eyes - he listened to your careful but deliberate movement, your relaxed breathing, and sensed your quiet confidence moving around his kitchen.

Bucky’s heart lurched. He nearly stumbled backward and had to turn away to cough.

“Are you ok?” You peered at him, not alarmed but concerned.

All he could do was take a very long drink from his beer and wait for his heart to settle right back in his chest.

Satisfied he was not choking on air, you returned to your assignment. “You want me to start setting the table?”

What Bucky really wanted from you, he couldn’t tell you. Not here. Not yet. Today wasn’t about what he wants.

“Yeah, that’d be great please.” He chuckled when you saluted him before taking the dishes to the dining area, where Torres’ team set up another table and extra chairs. Someone brought mismatched reindeer and candy cane printed tablecloth. Sam found candles in the second bedroom yesterday.

Sam and Torres banished Bucky to the opposite end of the table because there were only two women and Lee, Torres’ second-in-command, already chose her seat (which was the one Torres asked her to pick).

“It upsets the balance,” the younger soldier explained, directing him to the other side where he’d have to make friends with the trainees he only met today. “Only one Avenger, one pretty lady, one cute guy on each side and we’re good over here so…”

Sam high fived you and Bucky could only sigh.

He didn’t want to have to sit six feet from you, not when he’d gone through this whole operation just to make sure you have company this evening, but he’d also grown fond of Joaquin, even though he kept calling him Torres to keep the kid on his toes. Bucky offered you a helpless smile as he settled in his seat at the end.

You returned the look from your side of the table. Sam and Torres entertained you with tall tales and anecdotes, more than half of them at Bucky’s expense, and you would turn to him with an incredulous look each time. When Sam’s spiel turned into a three-minute speech about having to sit in a car with Bucky for four hours straight, you stole another look at Bucky. “He’s not going to stop anytime soon?” you asked with your smirk.

“Sorry.” Bucky mouthed back, suppressing a laugh.

It’s the longest the two of you have been in the same room together and all Bucky had to do to see you was look in front of him.

Aside from Torres, most of the trainees were only a year or two out of basic training and if only their jaws would stop dropping every time he or Sam walked into a room, Bucky thought the young ones might learn something useful. They made fun of Redwing and asked Bucky about European camps and what it was like to jump out of a plane without a chute. They saved Bucky from having to come up with conversation topics and kept Sam from taking over the discussion.

The silent glances, not as furtive as both of you thought they were, lasted until dessert. Sam volunteered to fetch the cupcakes and Bucky casually moved into his seat when Bucky refilled your drink. Sam returned minutes later, placing a singular cupcake in front of you without a word before taking Bucky’s former seat. The kids reached for their share of dessert.

“Want to go halfsies on a lemon cupcake?” You showed Bucky a golden cupcake with pale yellow frosting.

“Halfsies?” Against his better judgement, Bucky cocked an eyebrow. He can’t not give you grief for that.

“I said what I said,” you replied with a laugh.

Winter, later that evening

The drive back to Queens was familiar. It’s Bucky’s first time navigating the streets with you sitting next to him, and it felt more comfortable than his favorite t-shirt.

He told you about one of Steve’s sketches hanging in the halls of The Met, an anonymous piece of work that Bucky visited at least once a year. Two if he was feeling particularly ancient or lonely. You explained why you’d been hassling Ricky over bird meat that day.

He listened to you overshare and at times anger flickered through his eyes but he kept quiet. He merely “hmmmed,” nodded, and kept driving. You changed the topic eventually, and the curl of his lips returned.

Bucky walked you to the entrance of your building, wondering what else he can do to stretch time.

“Thanks again for the dinner; it was a hundred times better than what I had planned today.” You stopped walking just as you reached the first step leading to the door. It had grown colder since the afternoon and your coat was zipped right up to your chin. Even Bucky had his hands shoved in his pockets, his pink cheeks made his eyes look like someone pumped more blue into them since dinner.

“I’m glad you came.” He nodded. “And you didn’t have to tell me about - I mean it’s none of my business - I - I’m happy that you’re-” You were perfect; you’re the smile on Bucky’s face first thing in the morning; your happiness meant everything to him. “I’m really happy you’re ok.”

You turned your gaze up to get a good look at him, determined to say something, but you lost courage as you opened your mouth to speak.

Instead of rushing to fill the silence, Bucky held his tongue and he waited, just as he’d been sitting on the sidelines for months on this self-assigned recon mission. His confused smile persisted as yours went from scared to mortified to “oh fuck it.”

“I figured you should know… in case you wanted to have dinner again.” You brushed your nose hurriedly as you blurted out those words. “Just us, I mean. If you wanted to,” you looked at your feet with an embarrassed smile.

He’d be lying if he said the idea of asking you at the end of the night never occurred to him. “Yeah - yeah, ‘course I’d like to but -” Bucky stammered, his mind going too slow for his body. He paused to let the rest of himself catch up. “Tonight isn’t supposed to be about that.”

“Probably, but Sam’s either a terrible spy or an amazing friend.”

Bucky laughed. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he thought about how he never pictured himself making holiday plans with Sam, bribing the shop assistant, reaching out to Torres for help, welcoming a bunch of strangers to his home, least of them all standing here with you.

You look another step toward the door and his attention snapped back to you. “Sam also said you guys were flying out to spend Christmas day with his family?”

“Right.” Bucky could already feel the distance growing as you inched your way to your building. The temperature dropped by the minute. Winter gloom hovered in the periphery, ready to jump him the second you closed the door.

You grabbed the door handle and leaned against it. “Is that going to be enough time to figure out if you want to give me call?”

Warm relief flooded Bucky’s lungs and it vanquished imaginary monsters. “More than enough time.” Bucky called out after you. “Too much time!”

“Goodnight Bucky!” You wave from the door.

There was more to say, he supposed, but tonight wasn’t about that.

Summer

The demolition announcement came as a surprise. One day you were complaining about the lack of vegetables at the vegetable section; the following week you found out you’re going to have to look for a new favorite store in six days. You don’t know what else to do on a Thursday evening.

The notice by the entrance was hardly legible, a black and white announcement on an A4-size paper, more of a memo than a poster. You only detected it because a tall, really good-looking guy in a blue bomber jacket had been staring at it.

“That’s a shame,” you said after reading the message.

Bucky draped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you to him. “Yeah.” He kissed your sticky forehead. You were enveloped in his arms and the light scent of his aftershave. “Did you run all the way here?” He kissed your hair again and his breath tickled your head when he chuckled.

You elbowed him hard and withdrew from the hug. “Sorry if I was excited to see you.”

“Hey - ow - oooow!” He rubbed his stomach, feigning hurt with sad, wide eyes. “I just saw you this morning anyway,” he pointed out, pride taking over hurt. There was a sensual swagger in Bucky’s stride as he led the way inside the grocery store, his male ego tickled by the memory of this morning back in your apartment.

Like a magnet being pulled, you automatically walk behind him, stifling a grin because that morning was fun and intense and also the reason why you were late to work, and therefore also late to meet Bucky for your regularly scheduled Thursday errand: grocery shopping.

Summer heat followed you inside. The air conditioning didn’t work as well as it did years ago. Everything about the shop seemed like it needed repairing; it’s been that way for months now, so maybe closing down made sense.

Like clockwork, Bucky grabbed a squeaky cart and made a sharp turn down the first aisle. “Are we going reverse alphabetical or by aisle this week?” He missed last week’s shopping trip because of work, which explained the puzzled look on his face. He leaned forward to rest his arms on the cart, the dark baseball cap barely containing shining eyes.

Of course his instincts were right. “By aisle,” you confirmed.

Bucky pumped his fist, like guessing right meant he’s coming home with a prize. He pushed the cart as you began pacing down the snack aisle. The squeaking behind you stopped after a minute and you figured he paused to grab something unhealthy for the cart. You reached for a bag of chips yourself.

He cleared his throat and then called your name.

“Hmmm?”

“I know where else we can pick up groceries.”

“Uh-huh.” You should probably skip this lane altogether. Too much temptation and -

“Brooklyn.”

You returned the bag of chips you’d very nearly tossed into the cart and faced Bucky with a hand on your hip. He walked around the cart, only stopping when the toes of his sneakers met yours.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded firmly. “Tons to choose from, with much better ventilation too.” He brushed a strand of your hair behind your shoulder. His eyes studied you, the way he used to while pretending to choose between chunky or creamy peanut butter on the other side of the aisle a lifetime ago.

Bucky often looked like there was something amazing he’d just discovered about you and the realization smacked him in the face. You thought that phase would pass after the first few weeks, but those weeks turned into months. Conversations changed from what plans the other person had this weekend to how many eggs someone with Bucky’s metabolism needed in a week. From figuring out who slept on which side of the bed to choosing a bigger duvet to end accusations of blanket hogging.

And months strung together formed years.

“You might be onto something there.” You tried to keep a straight face, but his grin was infectious. He already knew the answer would be yes.

I hope you're having a lovely holiday - if you're not feeling it, I hope the next year brings you a boatload of fics and... Bucky. 😉

Thanks for reading this story! Please reblog or comment if you liked it. Sometimes a girl also needs some loving.

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#holiday fic #christmas fluff #bucky barnes imagine #h2obasedfics #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader

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ireneaesthetic · 2 years

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@levok started this yr season 2 quiz and @verarin142 tagged me in it so thank you 💗

The rules are simple: copy the questions into a post and answer them to the best of your ability. Tag other people to join, if you want to, and remember to use #YR2quiz (important so your quiz answers wont get lost). Enjoy, and have fun. May the best fortuneteller win!

1. What month will season 2 be released?

September will be the month.

2. What episode will Simon and Wilhelm have their first s2 kiss (who will initiate the kiss)?

I’d say episode 3 (not excluding a previous “almost kiss” though) and it will be initiated by simon.

3. How will Simon find out about August being behind the leak?

The best thing would be to hear about it from wilhelm, but he’s most likely to find out from sara or felice herself.

4. Will there be snow in s2?

Let it be a lot of it, YES !!!

5. Will there be any physical fight (if yes, who will be involved)?

I feel like there’s still a lot of unresolved things going on with august so yes, i expect another physical fight that involves him for sure (and also simon maybe).

6. Will Wilhelm abdicate?

No, i don’t really think so.

7. Will Wilhelm make a new public statement about his sexuality?

It's definitely what i hope he will choose to do so i say yes, he will do a new public statement and i imagine it as a bit of a turning point that will clarify his position once and for all or question it again.

8. Will there be introduced another queer character (can be a s1 character - if yes, who)?

Mmmh…no.

9. Will Sara become a boarder student at Hillerska?

Nej, don’t think it will happen so soon.

10. Do we get a forehead kiss between Simon and Wilhelm (if yes, who kisses who)?

YES and wilhelm would be the one to take the initiative *internally screaming thinking about the beauty of it and their height difference*

11. Will Simon and the queen exchange any words (if yes, who will speak first)?

The chances are up and simon will speak first. It’s also not so hard for me to think about him even standing up for himself and the couple in front of her, if necessary.

12. Will there be clothes exchange between Simon and Wilhelm (if yes, what item)?

Sadly no, but i will riot to see wille in the purple hoodie at least once (who doesn’t?).

13. Will Sara speak any spanish?

Yes, maybe in the family environment.

14. Will Simon become aware of Wilhelm's anxiety?

He will, in a face to face discussion with wilhelm or in a circumstance such that he sees him struggling with anxiety and comes to know more about it, but he will, for sure.

15. Will Wilhelm break the 4th wall at some point?

Definitely yes, it will continue to be a thing. Let me say that with the desire of revolution that already fires in him he’d be able to break even the 5th wall if he could.

16. Will Alex get some sort of revenge (if yes, how)?

Someone will try to clean up his image, whether it's a boy of the society (after regretting the choice of let him take the blame) or a family member, but i really don't see it as a central plot event or one that will turn things around that much.

17. Will Erik appear in any form (letter, flashback, etc.)?

Flashback…that would be interesting.

18. How many characters will cry (with tears) - who?

Drama will be the main word for this upcoming season so there will be a lot of crying going on, i say: wilhelm, simon and sara.

19. Will Simon and/or Wilhelm say 'Jag älskar dig' (if yes, who says it first - will they both say it)?

Yes, yes and finally yes. They will both say “i love you” to each other, but simon will be the one to let wilhelm knows it first this time.

20. How many times will we see Simon eat pasta?

Don’t really know how many times, but he can eat all the pasta he wants, as long as he learns not to put ketchup on it.

21. Who will have the first kiss in season 2 (named characters)?

Sara and august.

22. Will Simon and Wilhelm have any PDA (if yes, what kind)?

Yes, holding hands and forehead touching will be their things and i’m here for it.

I had a lot of fun making assumptions. I don’t tag anyone in particular, but if you’re reading this, you support the show and don’t know how to deal with the time ahead of us before the second season airs, this is the right way to do it 💗

#YR2quiz #tagging game #young royals

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twopoppies · 3 years

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I’m glad you clarified that “copy pasta” is the intended phrase here. I thought autocorrect was messing up for everyone and then I thought that maybe everyone was on a pasta cooking competition. Apparently not lo.

Hahahaha. No, it’s just twitter stans thinking they’re being clever, but actually being super lame.

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420pogpills · 3 years

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setting that signing tits anon straight - that tweet was a joke made by a minor 😭😭😭 they clarified that they did not see that tweet and made it up as a copy pasta

well i’m not on twitter really so i haven’t seen anything about it and therefore can’t vouch. this fandom does have a very strange sense of humour sometimes though :’)

#ask #anon #cw negative #let's not talk about this anymore <3

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twdbegins · 4 years

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Easy Day Off

Pike x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language.

A/N: Season 2 can’t come fast enough. I neeeeed to know more about Pike so he’ll be easier to write for. Like I don’t even know if Pike is his real NAME. Also note: this is pre-Snowpiercer days!

Requested By: @dianitahsstuff “How about a story about Pike and the reader before the world froze and how they got to the Snowpiercer?? 👀💕”-- So this didn’t completely answer what you requested. I decided to split it into two halves (not a 2 part series, rather just make two fics out of one request) simply for length purposes.

Word Count: 1,366

“Oh, well I am honored to be up there with the best of the MLB.”

“Hey, P?” You called for the second time from where you sat in the living room.

You were curled up on the sofa as you held the morning paper. He always teased you about how you were the only one who actually still read a handheld copy of The New York Times. You preferred it that way. You were a bit old fashioned when it came to reading. It was a particularly laid back weekend. You both had a few days off from work...or at least, you were supposed to. Pike never could leave his work at the office, hence why he had a home office and an office office.

Working from home could be difficult, considering you were always wanting to talk about something. He didn’t mind, he liked talking to you.

“Yeah, love?” He called back from the next room.

You tapped the pencil in your hand on your temple as you continued to brainstorm the final answer to this crossword puzzle you were working on;

“What’s a ten letter word that starts with ‘S’ and ends with ‘D’?” You asked, beginning to feel stumped.

You heard his chair squeak, a sign that he had leaned back in his chair to think. He was silent for a moment before responding;

“Category?” He asked.

“Mode of transportation.”

He was silent again for a bit before replying;

“Skateboard.”

Your face brightened with delight at the solved puzzle that you had spent an hour or so working on;

“Oh! Thanks!” You responded gratefully.

He smiled and shook his head, returning his attention to his work in front of him. You set your pencil aside and thumbed to the next page. The title of the article caught your eye;

Scientists’ Plan to Counteract Global Warming: What We Know So Far.

You raised a brow at that. It had been talked about for years now and had been picked apart by the media, but only now had you seen that there was some action coming into play. You read the article once and scanned it again to clarify what you were actually reading. It talked about the benefits and how it could add centuries of time to the state of the planet. It caused an eerie feeling to cloud into your head;

“Pike?” You called for a third time.

“Yes?” He replied real sing-songy like.

“Have you heard about this scientist global warming thing?” You asked curiously.

“Oh, you mean the counteraction plan? Yeah, no that’s some bullshit,” He snarked; “No way they’ll actually do it. It’s just a PR stunt I’m pretty sure.”

You were a little doubtful of his words. Something wasn’t right about this. It seemed awfully risky. You were able to forget it soon after, though, when he finally entered the room. He was clad in sweatpants and a flannel that he didn’t even bother to button up. Typical Pike weekend attire. He sat next to you on the couch with a sigh;

“God almighty, I swear if I never had to go into the office again, I’d be a happy man.” He proclaimed, rubbing his face stressfully.

“You know, you don’t have to work from home. That’s why it’s called a day off,” You corrected; “Most of your stress is self-inflicted.”

He snorted at that. He was a hard worker (a little too hard in your opinion) and he rarely let a day go by where he didn’t work in some form or another.

“Things don’t get done when I’m not busy.” He replied.

“Your gray hairs grow faster when you are.” You fired back, matching his tone.

His jaw dropped slightly, he was amused but a little offended;

“Hey! I don’t have that much gray hair.” He retorted.

You pursed your lips into a smirk. He was usually clean shaven and didn’t let his facial hair grow out more than a little bit of stubble. He had always said that as long as he was afforded the luxury of choosing how he kept his hair, he would never be caught dead with a full beard. Whether that was because he didn’t want more gray hair to show or because he just preferred it clean shaven, you weren’t sure. You’d been with him for ten years, married for the last seven. But only in the last three or four had you noticed his appearance change. It seemed that the older he got, the harder he worked. Not the other way around. Not that you minded these changes. He was still just as handsome as when you first met him.

“Nothing wrong with a little silver in your hair. I find it rather attractive myself.” You purred.

He was more flattened and sunken into the couch, he looked over at you fully now;

“Is that so? Well, then maybe I should start working overtime to speed up the process.” He smirked.

You laughed lightly, leaning down to kiss him. He kissed back with a happy hum. Maybe he didn’t always love his job, but it afforded him most weekends off, which he was so grateful to have that time with you.

“So, what’s on the agenda for the day?” He asked once you pulled away.

A blankness came into your head. You hadn’t really gotten that far;

“Uhh..” You trailed off.

He laughed;

“I like the sound of that. We haven’t had a lowkey weekend in ages.” He praised.

“What happened to your whole ‘things don’t get done when you’re not busy’ motto?” You recalled.

He shrugged;

“Believe it or not, there are exceptions. Baseball games and my lawfully hot wife.” He grinned proudly.

“Oh, well I am honored to be up there with the best of the MLB.” You joked back.

He blushed at his poorly worded statement, rubbing your leg with care;

“You know what I mean. I’m just glad to have some time off with you.” He claimed.

“Me too. Maybe we’ll finally get around to trying that pasta recipe that your mom keeps sending me.” You suggested.

“Oh my God. Honey, for the sake of us both, don’t try anything my mother sends. I grew up with her cooking and I can confirm that I have had food poisoning more times than the common cold.” He criticized.

It was true. Pike’s mother was a notoriously bad chef. She tried really hard, but she just wasn’t that of Martha Stewart. You, however, were a great borderline fantastic cook. You were pretty sure she sent your recipes to learn from you without admitting her faulty cooking.

“I admire her for trying. We should have her over for dinner tonight.” You suggested differently.

He had moved now to where his head was in your lap, his eyes closed as you ran your fingers through his previously discussed hair;

“Hell no. I just saw her two days ago. Even a momma’s boy needs a break,” He ranted; “You know that all she talked about the entire time was grandkids? That woman has grandchild fever.”

You laughed sweetly;

“Did you tell her that we’ve only been trying for a few weeks?” You questioned.

He scoffed;

“Of course I did. You were right. We should’ve waited until after you got pregnant to tell her, not before,” He confessed; “Because now it’s all she talks about.”

“Awh. Let her be excited, Pike. She just loves you a lot.” You bantered.

He opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling;

“I know. She’s just a passionate lady I guess,” He ended that conversation, beginning a new one; “Speaking of trying...”

You shook your head;

“No, no, no. It literally hasn’t even been an hour since the last time.” You laughed as he sat up and pushed you into the sofa cushions.

“Alright, so this classifies as a round 2.” He cheekily said.

You laughed as he kissed you, your hands going to the waistband of his sweatpants. He stopped for moment to look at you before continuing;

“I love you.” He purred.

“I love you too, P.”

The kisses continued and the rest of the weekend went by without a hitch. It was a perfectly warm and well deserved break.

A weekend that could warm even the coldest of hearts.

#pike snowpiercer #pike x reader #pike snowpiercer imagines #pike snowpiercer x reader #Snowpiercer #snowpiercer tv

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

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The Find

Summary: Arthur and Y/N tidy up their wardrobe. What he comes across surprises him.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 3,664

A/N: This request comes from Karen - it’s the first one I ever got! Thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing and helping me improve this piece by sharing her thoughts!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will answer once it’s posted!

Instead of allowing a lazy Sunday, Y/N decided they needed to do a project together. She had too many clothes, she claimed. And Arthur could use some new ones. Though he disagreed with her assertion, never having owned much, he went along with it. Such suggestions were part of having a girlfriend, he'd learned. Sorting through the bedroom closet would be a couply activity, anyway.

It turned out to be nice, better than when he'd kept house alone. Her smile was infectious as they rearranged everything, and it grew each time they inadvertently bumped into each other. He succeeded in talking her out of donating a sheer blouse, insisting it looked good on her. She replaced the dry cleaner bags on his Carnival costume with zippered nylon ones. Then she retrieved a wooden box from the top shelf, sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to her.

Floral patterns were carved in its top and sides, and the center held a purple and yellow pansy, pressed under smooth glass. It was quite old, the corners worn, the front closure tarnished. The hinges released a quiet squeak as she lifted the lid. "These are my most important keepsakes," she said. Her degree was in there, the Christmas ornament her sister had made, and her divorce papers. The rose he'd brought when he'd come for dinner was now dried and delicate. And she'd held onto the cork from their first bottle of wine. The letter he'd written her after Murray was sealed in a clasp envelope to protect it.

Arthur's chest swelled. The small container resting on her lap was something she'd had long before they'd met, perhaps since she was a kid. It was astonishing he took up so much space in it. Maybe she'd like to keep one of the payment slips for the ring he was planning to give her. (They were currently tucked safely in his journal.) He wrapped an arm around her back and squeezed her to his side.

The bleating of the phone interrupted them, right when he was planting a kiss to her shoulder. "Wait for me," Y/N said. "I'll tell them to call back later." He watched as she left the room, admiring the slight swivel of her hips. After a minute, "Mabel, what's going on?" drifted in from the kitchen. Ah, her sister. That would take a while. Sighing, he stood and continued alone, hopping on the step stool and humming as he went.

The shelf was dusty. The old law books were likely from when she went to college. He flipped through a photo album and set it aside to go through with her later. In the back corner, there was a red, paper gift bag, its top neatly folded closed. When he retrieved it, the weight surprised him, and he studied it with a curious expression. She probably wouldn't be perturbed if he opened it - she'd shown him her mementos, after all. Gingerly, he took a peek.

A carton was in there, a foot long. Pictures of women in athletic gear were on the side. They were holding a white object to their elbow, their calf, their lower back. He read the sentences on the packaging carefully. "Helps relax muscles." "Relieves tension." "Soothing vibrations."

Oh. Oh. Arthur crumpled the top of the bag quickly as he giggled, his cheeks on fire.

On her radio show, Dr. Sally had said the massaging wand was revolutionary. That it helped educate women about their own bodies, learn what they liked. Y/N hadn't mentioned owning one. It would have troubled him a few months ago. His insecurities would have told him it meant he wasn't very good. That he wasn't enough for her and never would be. But because of his ongoing treatment and comfort with her, those concerns were minor today. And he was intrigued.

The women he'd pasted into his journal were often touching themselves, ecstasy clear on their faces. Even though he still found those pictures arousing, he wasn't stupid and knew they were staged. Experience had stripped away the illusion. But the thought of Y/N pleasuring herself made him shiver and lean against the closet's door frame. His mind filled with images of her sprawled on the bed, on the sofa, on the floor. The scenarios he'd pictured since they'd met were numerous. His mouth at the apex of her thighs while she tried to type papers for work. Her going down on him in the dressing room at Pogo's. Or his favorite, the one he'd gone back to most, joining with her completely as she fell apart, because of him and only him. If he asked, would she be willing to-

Upon hearing Y/N hang up, Arthur haphazardly tossed the bag back in its spot. He busied himself with the sweaters and shirts in the "keep" pile, folding and hanging them as needed. She started telling him about the call as soon as she came in. Caught between his natural bashfulness and the urge to blurt out what he found, listening was difficult.

She must have sensed something was off, because she stepped next to him and said, "You look warm."

He ducked away as she tried to feel his forehead. "I'm okay." That was only half true. It was going to take awhile for him to figure out how to express what he wanted. But he shot her a grin. "It's just a little hot in here, that's all."

~~~~~

Y/N's seamed stockings finally sent him over the edge three days later. He'd noticed them when she put on her heels at the door, and ogled her as she strode down the hallway after their longer-than-usual kiss goodbye. It was possible she simply wished to be pretty (which she always was, no matter what she had on), to be professional, to make herself feel good. Still. She knew those nylons turned him on, and he chose to believe she wore them for him.

He made a quick call to her at lunch and said he was looking forward to tonight. There was strain lurking beneath her kind tone when she asked, "Why? What's tonight?" Nothing, he clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. He just missed her. She sighed, told him her day had gone sideways, that she needed to go. But she couldn't wait to see him later and loved him.

Both to relieve his own nerves and to cheer her, he resolved to make everything perfect for her to come home to. That's why, rather than cooking together, he was stirring minestrone and adding pasta. Why he'd already set the table and put the bunch of pink carnations (her favorite) from the grocery store in the middle. Why the wine was open and ready to serve. The kitchen radio had been switched to the sixties and seventies music she preferred. He swayed along to it, even as he hoped one or two slower songs would play so they could dance.

He'd been trying to find the right way to broach the subject all afternoon. Stuttering through his request wasn't his preference. It'd be fun to be playful - if he could gather his courage. God, it would be absurd if he couldn't. Shouldn’t courage come naturally if he hoped to spend the rest of his life with this woman? "Y/N, I was wondering if you could-" Cocking his head, he tried anew. "I love you, Y/N, and I wanted to know if-" Rolling his eyes, he retrieved bowls from the cupboard. "It's your fault I can't think straight." He took a breath, stretched his arms, and tried to focus. Nothing felt right. He'd have to improvise.

The unlocking of the door and the thudding of her bag to the floor alerted him to her presence. He laughed lightly as he tested the soup, enjoying the thrill of anticipation. She approached in his peripheral vision. "Arthur, you didn't have to do all this," she murmured.

The gladness in her words made it worth the effort. He poured a glass of wine for them both. "You were having a busy day."

She took a sip and braced herself on the counter. "I had to run back and forth from the office to the courthouse. We were missing copies of motions for tomorrow's hearing. My typewriter's ribbon ran out and we didn't have any replacements." A puff escaped her before she turned to him. "But every thing’s lovely now. Come here.” She pulled him in for a kiss.

Arthur tried to pay attention while they ate; he disliked missing a moment of her. But she was already driving him to distraction. The way her lips pursed as she blew on the food before taking a bite. Her caresses to the petals of the flowers. How she kept touching his sleeve. When she untied the bow at the collar of her burgundy blouse, opened the neck to reveal the start of her clavicle, his stomach flipped. "I wanted to- to ask you a question," he said softly.

"I knew something was going on." She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "You haven't said much besides 'yeah' and 'mhm.'"

Damn. He'd tried to be normal. "Sorry." A sheepish smile crossed his face and he smoothed back his hair. "I'm a little nervous."

"You don't have to be." There was excitement in her voice, barely contained, and she scooted her chair closer. "I'm sure I'll say yes."

He quirked a brow at her. "Um, okay." A sharp exhale as he sat straighter. "I've been thinking about this a lot." His gaze darted to hers, seeing it sparkling and filled with affection, before falling to his lap. He fiddled with his spoon as he forced himself to speak. "I found something. When we were cleaning."

A pause. "What did you find?"

The wine was sharp on his tongue when he sipped it. "The massaging wand?"

The blush on her cheeks traveled to the rest of her face and she hid behind her palm. "Oh my god," she laughed.

Having the advantage wasn't usual for him in these situations. It was refreshing. Luckily, she didn't seem upset, so he continued. "Dr. Sally recommended it on her show. You're beautiful. We both might like it. I mean, I know I would, but... Would you show me?" Her quiet nagged at him, so he changed his approach. "You turn on the light every time we make love," he teased. "Don't you remember when you came home and surprised me?"

She peeked at him, the corner of her lip lifted. "It's never even occurred to me. I can't believe it occurred to you." After a few moments, she cleared her throat. "I won't lie - it's...an arousing idea. And all this," she gestured at the table as she spoke, "has made me pretty hot and bothered." Her hand went to his inner thigh, fiddling with the seam. "Though I have to admit, I was expecting you to ask something else."

His eyelids fluttered at her caress. "What?"

Grasping the tie at the front of his pants, she finished her drink. "Never mind. I'm sure you'll ask me later."

~~~~

This was happening. It wasn't his imagination. Y/N was taking a fantasy of his, one that belonged in dirty magazines, and turning it into a demonstration of her love for him. Was it weird to be moved by something this lewd? He should be ashamed to have asked her. But he wasn't. And when he felt her smile as they lay in bed, his throat tightened. Their breaths were harsh as the pearlescent buttons of her blouse opened halfway under his ministrations. A soft moan left her when he cupped her breast, tweaked its taut tip through her bra, and she yanked at his shirt until he pulled it off.

She ground against his clothed hard-on and hastily unzipped her black skirt to slip it down. He swallowed thickly, following her movements, huffing at the sight of her dark red garter belt and matching panties. It wasn't often she donned those, preferring more practical undergarments. Had she, by some means, known what he was thinking when she'd gotten dressed that morning? The notion was silly but warmed him anyway. Relieved, he groaned and reclaimed her lips.

The dance of her fingers across the lean muscles of his chest caused him to suck in air, which he held while she skimmed past his ribs to his stomach. "I haven't done this in front of anyone before," she said, a little uncertain.

Arthur chuckled, letting her take his hand and guide it between her thighs. "I hadn't, either." He pushed the cotton to the side and fondled her slit, reveling in how she bucked into his touch. It was almost enough to get him to forget the show, to forget about his plan, to sheathe himself inside her without a moment's pause.

But she grabbed the vibrator off the stand and switched it on. Its buzzing was louder than he'd presumed, like a hornet's nest. Amusement must have shown on his face, because Y/N smirked and turned the wand to a lower setting. "Remind me to plug the clock back in when we're done," she said, shedding her underwear and kicking it off her foot. He settled next to her hips, boosting himself on his elbow to see her. Shyly at first, then growing bolder, she swiped and pulled at her outer lips. They drew back as they swelled and she giggled, running the pads of her fingers over herself. "You're the only one who could persuade me to do this."

He grazed her inner thigh, the straps holding her stockings in place, and pressed a kiss to her leg, observing as she lay the massager's rounded end to her core. Even as her pelvis arched slightly to meet it, she kept it in one spot - he'd thought she would have moved it around. The heat flaring in his groin was, thankfully, lowering his inhibitions, and he found he could ask, without anxiety, "Did you do it a lot?"

"I did this more after we met." He laughed happily, realizing he'd been the cause of her increased desire. A whimper fell from her as she moved towards the vibrator again, her frame trembling. Her brows pinched with every increasing undulation of her hips. "It's been awhile. I'd forgotten-," she gasped, "-how intense this feels."

When she began writhing, he watched the sway of her breasts, straining against her bra. Her stomach was quivering with every shallow breath, and he felt his own ardor heighten with hers. He leaned forward to get a better look at her folds. But, upon finding the toy covered her completely, he furrowed his brow. And it registered that he didn't need a prop involved; he just needed her.

Gently, he caught it, waiting until she met his gaze to turn it off and put it on the bed. "You're enough," he said quietly. "If that's okay." She nodded lightly. One of her legs spread to the side, the other bent at the knee. He shuddered as she held herself open, fingers drifting over her sensitive nub. "Are you - Are you thinking about me?" Say yes. Please.

Her explorations went lower, tracing the edges of her entrance, open and waiting for him, then dipping below to gather slick on her fingertips. "Yes," she hissed, tapping her bud repeatedly. She jerked towards her hand as she bit her lip. It was enchanting, watching her play herself like a well-tuned instrument. She seemed to know exactly how to touch her own body. What pressure to apply. How fast to go...

Her breast spilled out when she pulled down the cup of her bra, her head falling back into the pillow. Her thumb teased her areola and she keened. "You're all the way inside me." Another tug to her pebbled nipple, and the hand at her vulva hastened. "Your cock feels so good, Arthur. You fill me so well."

"Y/N, god." He hadn't expected pornography to spill from her mouth. Groaning, he pushed his briefs away and gripped his erection, running his thumb along the tip as he glanced from her face to her center.

The glistening of her arousal was spreading, a spot forming on the blanket beneath her. Her cries were becoming frequent, her body tensing. Her eyes opened and went to his length. "Get in me."

That took him aback. "What?"

"Get in me. Please." He scrambled out of his underwear and knelt between her legs, positioning himself so her thighs rested on his, and he held the soft skin of her upper leg. After a couple of quick pumps, he sank into her entirely, grunting at the sight of her reddened, desperate sex welcoming him. She stroked herself, first pulling at the clitoral hood, then circling it, more frenzied with every rut.

This was far superior to any photograph, any adult film he may have caught a glimpse of. Because it was personal. She was devoted to him, and he to her. And she was repeating his name, the syllables strung together and becoming unintelligible. Soon she wailed sharply and stiffened, her pulses gripping his cock. "Fuck me harder," she whined.

His movements stilled. While he wanted to give in, he feared harming her - he was stronger than his skinniness suggested. But she begged for him again, and he couldn't resist pressing her wrists into the bed on either side of the pillow. Their kisses turned hard while she brought her trembling legs about him and he plunged into her. A wanton cry escaped with each inch she moved up the mattress, with every pound of his hips. The sear of her surrounding him was intoxicating, and he took her nipple in his mouth, laving and sucking at it. Her body grew rigid and bent into him and she moaned, her muscles clamping around him a second time.

Their intimacy had traversed the scale from slow to fast, loving to urgent. But Arthur had only been unrelenting with her once. Her enjoyment hadn't been a consideration; she’d been a means to an end that night. And the guilt he'd felt afterward had prompted him to promise himself to not be rough without her explicit permission. Seeing her trust in him in action, feeling it in the embrace of her body, pushed him forward to give into what they both craved.

He threw his head back and fucked her, up on his knees, slipping his grasp from her wrist to entwine her fingers. He held her neck and the side of her face as he mashed their lips together, losing himself in her as he increased the punishing pace of his thrusts. His motions stammered, seeking his climax, going deeper and deeper still.

With one final shove he came, emptying into her with each throb as they clung to each other. His brain was foggy with pleasure, breath ragged and panting. Vaguely, he was aware of her tight hold on his ass, as if she coveted every drop of him. As he came down from his high, the last tendrils of pleasure fading, he squeezed her hand. The kiss he gave her was tender, soft. A stark contrast from how they'd joined moments ago.

Y/N was giving him that dazed grin, the one she usually had after lovemaking. But he felt the need to check. "Did I hurt you?" Averting his eyes, he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone.

She pecked his nose and raked her nails through his hair, her look full of adoration. "You could never hurt me." A giggle bubbled up. "I do need a minute to recover, though." He stayed inside her while he softened, nestling in the crook of her neck. "I'm proud of you," she said.

His eyelids shut and a toothy grin appeared as his heart clenched. "Why?"

"You weren't afraid to ask me. Well, even if you were, you did it, anyway." Her arms wrapped about his torso and she palmed his back. "And you trusted yourself to let go."

He dragged his thumb along the faint stretch marks at her areola. While what she said was accurate, he usually liked it softer. During the periods in which his anger or despondency nearly consumed him, when he thought he might erupt, he was afraid he would lose the ability to be gentle. So far, her love and support had helped bring that tenderness back, even if it took a couple of days. He ached for that to continue. "You know, when I- when I see things that aren't there... I always say the right thing. I'm funny. I know how to do good." He took her hand and placed a kiss to the back of it. "But with you it's real."

Guiding him out and off her, she turned on her side. "Because that's who you are, Mr. Fleck. Don’t forget that. I won’t." She nuzzled his nose. "How else could you have broken through my shield enough to have this ridiculous pillow talk?" He chuckled as she tugged on a curl. "I lost that part of myself for a long time," she sighed. "I'd hate to lose it again."

"I won't let that happen." He pulled her closer, caressing the edge of her garter belt. "Especially if you keep wearing these," he said lowly.

Leaning forward, she pressed her breasts flush to him. "Let's be ridiculous until we're old and gray."

"Mhm." Tears prickled but he blinked them away, managing a wide smile. It was one of her hints that she wanted to be with him forever. He prayed she would accept his proposal next week. "Only if you promise to laugh at my jokes."

Y/N traced his jawline and kissed his dark brows, her gaze shining as she gave her response. "Arthur, I'll laugh with you for the rest of my life."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @howdylilflower @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Flatbush & Atlantic: part ii

Here’s part ii! Please reblog and send your thoughts, I love hearing feedback! I was doing a ton of research on American immigration law, and it doesn’t look like Canadians technically need a visa for most work circumstances, but I’m taking it as a matter of artistic license.

https://slapshot-to-the-heart.tumblr.com/post/615257287896989696/flatbush-atlantic-part-i

part ii

October 5

“Mat, I’m in the middle of a meeting,” Chris said, glancing up at him with a bemused-yet-slightly-annoyed look on his face.

Mat looked over at Cass, ducking his head and sheepishly tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Oh, yeah. For sure. I’m sorry, I should have knocked, but I got this letter, and. Yeah. I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m sorry.” Cass couldn’t help but let out a snicker at his rambling, and Mat turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. He held out his hand. She took it. “Sorry about that.” His cheeks colored. “I keep apologizing. I’m Mat Barzal.”

“Cass Cabrera Shaw,” she replied.

“Cass is our new intern, so you’ll be seeing each other around. Hopefully not too often.” Chris said, nodding to where she sat in front of him.

“I got the job?” Cass asked, her head jerking back to look at Chris.

Chris nodded like it should have been obvious. “Cassidy. You’re more than qualified, you know the sport, you understand the responsibilities. You go to a top 5 law school. Yeah, you’re hired.” She blinked, still trying to take it all in. Chris turned to Mat. “Okay, Barzal, you’re up. What’s wrong?”

Mat scratched his neck. “Okay, so I know I should have looked into it sooner and taken responsibility for it. And I do, I mean, take responsibility for it. It’s just, I was in Vancouver for the summer and then vacation and then training camp and—”

Chris cut him off. “Barzal. What is it?”

“I missed the deadline for my visa renewal.” That sounds familiar, Cass thought ruefully. At least she wouldn’t be alone in her dumbassery.

Chris put his head in his hands.

Mat held up a hand. “Wait, it’s not as bad as it seems, I promise.”

“Try me.”

“I called whoever’s in charge, they left a number on the letter—”

“State Department,” Cass said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her hair when Mat looked back at her, a hint of a smile on his face.

He nodded. “Thanks. Yeah, them. I called them and explained the situation, and they agreed to give me an extension.”

Chris cleared his throat. “And by ‘the situation,’ you mean…” He trailed off.

“That I was an NHL player who wasn’t in the country when they sent reminder letters. I might have used the Commissioner’s name once or twice.” Mat said sheepishly.

“And we all know how much weight Gary Bettman’s name carries with American immigration policy,” Chris deadpanned. “Okay, give me a second to think how we’re going to get this done. How much of the forms have you filled out?”

Mat flipped open the folder he had brought, scanning the pages. “Most of it.” At least he’s not entirely hopeless. “There were a couple things I wasn’t sure about, and some new stuff that I don’t remember from last time. I figured it was better to bring it in than try to submit it on my own and get it all horribly wrong.”

“Thank God for that,” Chris said, giving a half-smile. After another minute or so of thinking, he raised his head and looked to where Cassidy was still sitting, straight across the desk. “I saw on your transcript that you’ve taken several immigration law classes. Any fieldwork?” Chris asked.

Cass nodded. “Yeah, there was a clinic run by the school that reviewed visa applications and other paperwork for recent immigrants, I volunteered there for a few months.”

“Good. How familiar are you with O1 visas?” He asked, looking in between Cassidy and Mat.

“For extraordinary capability? I’ve studied them a little, I know that’s the kind that most NHL players are obviously on but I’m not an expert by any means,” she said.

Chris tapped his fingers on the desk, seemingly lost in thought, before his eyes flickered between her and Mat. “Okay. You’ll be running point on Mat’s visa renewal.” Cassidy’s face blanched. “It’s mostly done so it shouldn’t be too hard. But between you and me,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at Mat, “I wouldn’t trust this boy to fill out the paperwork to adopt a goldfish, so make sure you double-check everything he wrote in. Come to me or Richard with any questions, but I really do think you’ll be fine. Got it?”

Cass jerkily nodded her head, still trying to fully process. In the span of the last ten minutes, she had gotten a job that she thought she had no chance for and had been put in charge of a very delicate, very expensive, very important set of immigration paperwork for Mat Barzal. Mat Barzal, the 2018 Calder Trophy winner. Mathew Barzal, the future of the Islanders. No pressure.

“I should probably give you my number,” Mat said, pulling out his phone and holding it out to her. She looked at him with confusion, head tilted to one side. Mat’s face flushed and he rushed to clarify. “Like for the work stuff. In case I have questions about the visa or you need me to translate my chicken scratch for you.”

Now it was Cass’ turn to blush, gently taking his phone out of his hands and navigating to the messages. “I’ll text myself, that way you’ll have my number too. For questions,” she paused briefly, “or anything else.” Cass was typically never that bold, but there was something about the way Mat cracked a smile that made her sure she had made the right decision.

Chris coughed, bringing their attention back to the desk and the issue at hand. “I’ll go and make a copy of these for your records, Mat,” he said, standing up and reaching over the desk for the file with the visa forms, “and Cass, you’ll be working off of the originals.” He glanced between the pair. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Chris closed the door behind him, and Mat leaned up against one of the filing cabinets. “So, you’re working for the team now?”

“Yeah.” Cass nodded. “I’m excited, it seems like it’ll be a great position, but I think the prospect of my betrayal might be too much for my poor dad. Working for the enemy and all.”

Mat let out a laugh. “Rangers fan?”

“Big one. I’m from Connecticut so he grew up with the Whalers mostly, but when they folded the family allegiance switched. And when Mike Shaw is in on something, he’s all in. I’m fearing for my well being,” she joked dryly, the corner of her mouth twitching up.

“I think you’ll be fine,” he said, looking up at her. “Tell your dad that I promise we’re not as bad as we seem. Tito, maybe,” he added, wiggling his hand. “But I’m a good guy, as long as you promise not to sell off our training secrets and pass formations to the highest bidder.”

Cass held up three fingers. “I give you my word as a former Girl Scout that I won’t leak the absolute mountains of information I have access to.”

“Pinky promise?” Mat asked, holding out his hand.

It was Cass’ turn to laugh, and she stood up from her chair, leaning over and interlocking their fingers. “Pinky promise.”

Chris chose that particular moment to walk back in, raising his eyebrows briefly. “What’s going on here?”

Mat cleared his throat. “It took a lot of convincing, but I got Cass to pinky promise me that she won’t sell us out to the Rangers.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Apparently there was a rash of double-crossing by interns that I wasn’t aware of,” Chris said, handing over the sheaf of copies to Mat. “And Cassidy, I’ll see you tomorrow at 10?” Cass internally groaned, knowing that it would take well over an hour on the train. Still, she nodded curtly. “Of course.”

He smiled, reaching over the desk and shaking her hand. “I’ll put these,” he said, gesturing to the forms, “in your desk tomorrow. You’ll be working out in the main area, we’ll get you set up when you come in. Other than that, you’re good to go. Glad to have you on board. Genuinely.”

Cass leaned down to pick up her backpack, walking out the door and into the elevator with Mat by her side. “So, I’ll call you if I’ve got questions on any of this, right?” He asked, folding the papers and tucking them into his inside jacket pocket.

She nodded. “Yeah. This one is a little different but I’ve done a lot of filling out forms and revision for this before, so I don’t think it’ll be too much of an issue. If I don’t know the answer to something, I can find it for you. I might have some questions tomorrow, you guys have a game, right?” Cass asked. Mat nodded. “So obviously I know you’ll have morning skate and be by the arena most of the day, but try to have your phone with you when you can so we don’t have to play phone tag, y’know?”

He smiled, holding the front door open for her as they existed onto the busy street. “I’ll do my best, Cass. See you soon.”

As promised, as soon as Mat had turned the corner, Cass pulled out her phone, clicking on Samaira’s contact. She picked up on the first ring. “Samaira, you’re not going to believe what my afternoon has been like.”

She headed straight to her room after getting home, managing to squeeze in a few hours of reading before getting started on dinner. Pasta was easy to make for everyone; Alicia was lactose intolerant and Stella kept kosher, so simplicity was often key in group meals. Sautéeing some collard greens with onions and garlic, she turned her head towards the rooms and hollered to the rest of the apartment. “DINNER’S ALMOST READY!”

Much to her chagrin, Cass got up bright and early the next day, shoveling down a bowl of cereal before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

October 12 (fri)

The Islanders had a weeklong road trip, so Cass had been reassigned to contract review since she was all but done with Mat’s visa renewal. She glanced at her watch, seeing that it was nearly noon. Nearly noon meant nearly lunchtime. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to have for lunch quite yet, but food carts in New York were a dime a dozen; while she wasn’t being paid for the internship, she was given a stipend for lunch and travel expenses that she took full advantage of. Just as she flipped the page over, the office door opened. Assuming that it was some assistant coming for Chris or one of the other lawyers returning from a different office, she didn’t pay it too much mind. That was, however, until the figure stopped by her desk, coughing to get her attention. “Yeah?” She questioned, looking up and tilting her head in confusion when she saw that it was Mat.

“I had a question about one of the employment history sections, and the office said you’d be here today. I brought food,” he said, holding up a paper back emblazoned with the name of a local Chinese restaurant.

“Oh God, bless your heart,” she said, pulling over another chair. “I’m starving. Sit down, walk me through it. What’s got you confused?” It didn’t occur to Cass that he could have easily asked her over text.

October 17 (tues)

Sitting at her desk, Cass was trying (and failing) to finish her notes before midnight when her phone lit up with a text. And then another one. And then another. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up, expecting something from one of her younger siblings or a friend from back home. Instead, it was Mat. Hew brow instantly furrowed, swiping up to see what was the matter. He had sent two pictures, both screenshots from newspapers. Florida Man Arrested for Throwing Gator at Mother-in-Law, the first one read. Florida Man Charged with Reckless Endangerment for Filling Nursing Home Koi Pond with Baby Gators, said the other. Do u think it’s the same guy? He asked.

Rolling her eyes, Cass wrote out a reply. No doubt. Criminals have patterns.

So do u think all Florida men are obsessed with gators or just this one?

Gator cult. She tapped send, picking it back up almost immediately. Obviously.

October 21 (sat)

The plane back from Montréal is about to leave. Any album recs?

Mat and Cass had been texting back-and-forth for the past few days, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise that he asked her.

Wasteland, Baby - Hozier, Electric Light - James Bay. Amidst the Chaos - Sara Bareilles if ya wanna get a little spicy. I’m mostly an indie kinda girl, give me a sec and I’ll send you my playlist.

Can’t wait, Mat responded. Cass loved music, and always found it to be something intensely personal. So what was it about Mat that made her so willing to share?

October 23 (mon)

Cass hated getting up early, but there were some things better than sleep. You wanna get coffee before your classes? Mat had texted the night before. Coffee was one of them. Grabbing her backpack and tugging on her favorite pair of ankle boots, she headed out the door at 7:02.

“Where are you headed this early?” Alicia asked quizzically, her own tote slung over one shoulder. Ryanne almost always left the earliest, usually having to get to her rounds well before anyone else had woken up.

“Mat and I are going out for coffee,” she said, picking up her keys from the nail by the door.

Alicia wiggled her eyebrows. “Oooooh, Cass has a daaaateee,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Cass’s cheeks burned. “It’s not a date, I’m just helping him out with some paperwork. He’s asking me out as a friend. Just because he’s cute—”

Alicia cut her off. “AHA! So you DO admit that you think he’s cute?”

Cass groaned. “Yeah, okay, he’s cute. You happy?” Alicia nodded. “But just because I think he’s attractive doesn’t mean that this is going to be anything other than friends getting together before work, okay?”

Her friend shrugged. “Whatever you say, Cass. Have fun, be safe! Use prot—” Cass closed the door as quickly as she could without slamming it. Forty minutes later, she was walking up to the coffee shop, greeting Mat with a hug.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Cass said.

Mat shook his head. “You didn’t, don’t apologize.” He opened the door for her, hand ghosting over the small of her back as he followed her in line. A few minutes later, Mat was at the register, ordering a cappuccino. He turned to her. “What do you want, Cass?”

“Mat, you don’t have to pay for me,” Cass said, pulling out her wallet.

Mat gently pushed her hand down. “I was the one who suggested it, Cass. I’m paying the bill.” He handed over his card to the barista, turning back to her with a smile. “You can get it next time.” She laughed.

“Fine, you win. Coconut milk latté.”

Oct 25 (wed)

“Afternoon pick-me-up?” Cass looked up from her desk, confused but excited to see Mat in front of her desk.

“Huh?”

He held up a coffee cup, a speckled white-and-blue reusable. “You mentioned something about needing me to sign the last page or something? I brought you coffee, the cup’s for you too. Place says you’ll save 25¢ whenever you use it.”

“Yeah,” Cass said slowly, “and you faxed it over, right? Kristie said they got it in this morning.” Kristie was the office assistant, and had handed the page to Cass right as she had walked in the door half an hour prior.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Mat said, seemingly flustered. “I was worried I might have made a mistake on it, so I thought I’d come over and double-check.”

“You’re worried you made a mistake signing your own name?” Cass didn’t quite understand it, but there was something really endearing about him wanting to come down and check it himself rather than just calling her or emailing Chris. “Okay then,” she said, leaning over her laptop to grab the folder. She traded it for the coffee in Mat’s hand, the Post-it note on the side of the cup catching her eye. Coconut milk latté. He remembered.

Oct 26 (thurs)

What are your thoughts on sushi? Cass got a text from Mat as she was about to get out of her environmental law lecture. The professor had already started packing up her things, so she risked a message back.

As a concept or as a food?

The food haha

All positive, love sushi!

I know this great place in Chelsea, want to grab dinner later?

You don’t have a late practice or anything with the guys? From what she had gathered, even when it wasn’t a game day, Mat would usually get an extra workout in after practice or go out with Tito and some of the rest of the team.

Nope :) Nothing after 2

Cass bit her lip, weighing her options as she shut her laptop and exited the lecture hall. She wasn’t reading too much into it, was she? Friends got dinner together all the time, it wasn’t weird for him to have asked her. It was normal. Typical friend stuff. Sure, she liked him. She liked him a lot. But it wasn’t worth jeopardizing her career and reputation to try and fabricate something that probably wasn’t even there. Sounds good! I should be able to get there 6ish if that works for you?

Perfect! He wrote back, I’ll send you the address.

Les and Fiona caught up to her that afternoon after she practically ran out of their review session the second it was done. “Woah woah woah,” Fiona asked, catching Cass just as she was about to exit the library. “Where are you headed off to so quick?”

Cass tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, scrunching up her nose. “Getting dinner with Mat.”

Les wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooooh, your man?”

Cass went red. “He’s not my man! He just asked if I wanted to get sushi. And I’m hungry, and he said he’s paying. So I said yes.”

“But you like him,” Les said, as if he was stating the obvious. Which, in a way, he was?

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. It’s hard not to. But he asked me out as friends. It’s not a date. If it was a date, he would have said so? Right?” She was starting to ramble.

Fiona reached out to touch her shoulder, rubbing her thumb back and forth. “Maybe. But maybe not. It’s possible that he is into you, but you and I both know that’s a question best answered by someone other than us,” she pointed at her and Les. “And even if he doesn’t, it’s still a free dinner.”

Cass let out a small smile. “You’re right.” She glanced at her watch. “I told him I’d be there by 6, so I probably should get going if I want to catch the train in time.” She gave each of them a brief hug. “See you next week!”

“GOOD LUCK!” Tyler hollered as she turned the corner. Cass’ cheeks burned, and she was beginning to realize why.

---

Cass got home from the restaurant just after 9, trying desperately to make sense of the past few weeks. Getting ahead of herself had never led to anything good, and much though she wanted to, Cass wasn’t about to put words in Mat’s mouth. But he had been the one to suggest dinner, and he had picked up the tab again. “You’re in law school,” Mat had said with a shrug when the check came. “I’m not about to make you pay for your own food when you don’t have to.” Shaking her head and pulling out the kettle to make a cup of tea, she tried again to rationalize everything. “We’re friends. I’m doing him a solid by helping him out with this paperwork, he’s just trying to be nice and pay me back. Which he doesn’t need to do, because it’s my job. But he’s nice, so he’s doing it anyway. Because we’re friends.” Frustrated, she grabbed her mug, walking back to her bedroom and barely paying any mind to the splashes of near-boiling water that hit the ground.

Oct. 27 (fri)

It was a quarter to 6, and Cass couldn’t wait to get out of the office. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job. It was incredible and she was so thankful for the opportunity. It was the fact that Mat fucking Barzal had been on her mind all day and she had been finding it so damn hard to concentrate on research and contracts and precedent when she was busy trying to sift through her own feelings. Cass wasn’t a particularly insecure person; like anyone else, she had those days, but it wasn’t really a matter of her thinking he was “out of her league” or that she wasn’t good enough for him. She knew that the whole concept of “leagues” was dumb and classist, but there was something about the whole dynamic that she couldn’t quite shake, and couldn’t quite tell if it was something good or not. It was five minutes to six, and she couldn’t stop her fingers tapping on her desk, waiting to be set free. Waiting for her mind to stop racing. Waiting for her heart to stop pounding.

She spent the next five minutes trying in vain to get through a paper Chris had sent her — she had even broken out her neon highlighters — but nothing was working. Thankfully, Chris chose that moment to stick his head out of his office and call to her. “Cass?” Her head perked up. “I’ve got some files to email you, mind coming in for a sec before you leave?” She nodded, pushing out of her chair and crossing the room.

“How was your day?” Chris asked, pulling up the files to email her.

“Uh, pretty good!” Cass said. “Fridays are relatively light for me, I had a morning meeting with the law review and then headed over here. Mat and I got sushi last night, so that was nice.”

Chris looked up over his laptop. “You and Mat?”

Cass nodded, brows furrowing. “Yeah. Is that an issue?” It was never something she had bothered considering, but —

“Not that I can think of, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re spending a lot of time together, though, have you noticed that?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re friends, but I didn’t think that was a problem—” Chris held up a hand, cutting her off with a smile.

“I’m not so sure that what Mat wants is a friendship, Cassidy.” He paused. “My son’s about his age, and please feel free to stop me if you’d like, but this is exactly how he acted when he met Iris.”

“Iris?” Cass questioned.

“His fiancée. If I’m reading the situation right, and I think I am, the poor boy’s head over heels for you, Cass.” He clicked his mousepad. “Just sent them over, try to go through them by Monday.”

She nodded, seemingly in a daze as she picked up her bag and walked out of the office, pulling out her phone.

To: Mat

Are you free later?

Oct 28. (sat)

Tapping her foot nervously, Cass fiddled with her phone just to give her hands something to do. They had grabbed breakfast before she had to head to the office and he had to go to morning skate, and she had stolen the check while he was in the bathroom. But she still hadn’t brought up what Chris had said, or for that matter what Les or Samaira or Alicia had been pestering her about for the better part of the past month.

Mat returned to the table, snapping Cass out of her thoughts. “You ready to head out?” It was only just past nine, so the plan had been to take a walk around Prospect Park before they had to take off. Cass nodded awkwardly, grabbing her coat and scarf from the back of the chair and looping it around her neck. Mat’s brow furrowed in confusion, but if he suspected anything, he didn’t say so. He walked a few steps ahead of Cass, holding the door open for her. They walked in silence for a block or two; not an awkward silence and not a comfortable one, but some kind of strange liminal space in between the two where it was clear that neither of them was really able to read the room. Mat’s knuckles brushed up against her own.

As they crossed the street into the gardens, Cass took a deep breath and looked up at him. It’s now or never. “What are we doing?” She breathed, so softly that Mat wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been standing scarcely a foot away.

“We’re going to a park?” Mat questioned.

She wrung her hands, trying to avoid looking at him. “I mean, what are we doing. You and I.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t want you to think that I’m reading too much into things, or that I haven’t enjoyed getting to know you and spend time with you because I have, but I just need to know what there is going on between us. If there is anything going on between us.”

Mat shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning up against a lamppost. “I mean, I’d like there to be. I’m into you, Cass, I thought I had made that clear,” he added with a single laugh. Cass gave him a quizzical look. “Do you think I actually needed to come into the office every time I dropped in on you? That I’d ask just anyone for music recs? That I asked you out to coffee or dinner just as friends? Cassidy,” he said, standing upright and taking a tentative step towards her, “I don’t even know Tito’s coffee order. But I know yours.” He took another step forwards when she didn’t move back, faces so close that their noses were almost touching. “I wouldn’t ever want to push you into something you weren’t ready for. But Cass,” he tilted her chin up with his hand, “I’m all in if you are.”

She took a shaky breath, willing the voices inside of her head to still themselves for just one moment so she could gather her thoughts. “Mat, I want this,” Cass said, gesturing between the two of them with one hand, the other wound with frustration in her curls. “You have no idea how much I want this. But I work for the team. We both do. And I can’t have anyone thinking that I’m here for anything but the job, that I’m a puck bunny or will be distracted from my work and go run off with my boyfriend or whatever you are—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Trotz might get mad at you, sure. I don’t think it would really matter on your end, though. You wouldn’t face any actual consequences. I’m expendable to this team. You’re not.”

Mat’s hand came up to cup her cheek, one thumb swiping away a tear gently, so gently, that she hadn’t even realized had leaked out of her eye. “You’re not expendable, Cass. Not to me, not to the team, not to anyone who’s ever bothered getting to know you. You are such an incredible woman and I know you know it, but sometimes it doesn’t seem like you really believe it. If this is scary for me, and it is, I know it must be downright terrifying for you. And I know you’re worried how it would look, us being together, what the team or Chris or whoever would think, but you need to remember to let your talent speak for itself. If I have a shitty game, miss an easy shot or whatever, there’s always the people who say that Trotz should move me down a line, or that I should be traded, or whatever. And there’s always going to be those people. But if you keep your head in the game—”

“Alright, Troy Bolton,” Cass said, finally giving him a watery smile.

“You realize that if I’m Troy, you’re Gabriella?” Mat asked, raising one eyebrow, hand still on her cheek as the other perched on her waist. Cass leaned into his touch, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe that was a bad metaphor, but Cass, you’re brilliant. You’re such a good student and you’re so dedicated at work. You’re going to make an incredible lawyer. Everyone sees that. And I absolutely respect that you’re worried about what our relationship might do for your career,” He swallowed hard, skating his hand down her arm to hold her hand. “And I’m not sure what else I could say other than what I already have. But you’re good, so good, and they’d be idiots for letting you go over something like this.”

Cass swallowed. “They say some things are worth the risk.”

“Are we gonna do this?” Mat’s hand moved to the small of her back, leaning down so their lips were almost touching, barely, not quite.

“We’re gonna do this.” Cass closed the gap.

#hockey imagine #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine #hockey writing #nhl writing #nhl fluff #hockey fluff #islanders #new york islanders #mathew barzal #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #nhl smut #hockey smut

67 notes · View notes

stillebesat · 4 years

Text

The Interview (5/5)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Patton, Virgil, Roman Blurb: A normal day at StoryTime! Inc. takes an unexpected turn when Logan goes to investigate why his coworkers have made a bet using Crofters as the prize. Fic Type: General, Human!AU Warnings: None

To Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Logan hadn’t meant to stay for the entire negotiations on Roman’s commission. He could have easily excused himself from the room as soon as he’d pulled up the proper forms for Virgil to read through, negotiate, and then sign.

After all, he had his own pile of work that needed to be seen to before the day was over and Roman was quite capable of hiring his own employees.

And yet.

He couldn’t help but be intrigued by what Virgil requested in exchange for each character piece that his brother wanted.

Virgil hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d followed Thomas from the beginning, and Logan should have realized when their new hire admitted to having theories on there being Two Princes at StoryTime! that he would be familiar with their work and placement within the company as well.

For Virgil had set to bartering with his brother like they were traders arguing over goods in the market.

And those goods...were their respective skill sets. For every artwork Roman wanted, Virgil had ended up negotiating what had amounted to practically a month’s worth of various lessons from The Prince himself. That didn’t mean just learning more drawing or animating techniques. Their new hire had also convinced Roman to give him a handful of acting lessons, one singing lesson, a sneak peak at a couple of scripts his brother was working on, and a copy of Roman’s Broadway performances Logan had secretly recorded before they’d been hired onto StoryTime!.

How Virgil knew about those recordings Logan had no idea. He’d kept those tapes under wraps...so he’d thought.

But not once did a monetary value cross Virgil’s lips as the price for his work as he carefully took notes on his beat up phone of every detail his brother wanted.

Logan was sure their new hire could have used the cash, but to have him seeking to improve his skills was admirable. Plus, the amount of questions he asked showed that Virgil was willing to put in the work to make Roman happy, though it was very apparent that his brother, from the ragged state of his usually perfectly styled hair, hadn’t expected him to go into quite so much detail about what he wanted in each artwork.

Virgil pulled at the tie around his neck, loosening it to the point where it looked more like a shiny ribbon than a tie. “But Princey.” He argued, his eyes sparking with the fire Logan had seen down below as he leaned forward, pushing the sleeves of his suit up. “You have to pick one face of the Mayor.”

Roman buried his head in his hands. “I knoooooow, Stormcloud! Stop badgering me. I didn’t expect that I would need to!”

Virgil scoffed, tapping his phone screen. “You didn’t expe--have you ever done commissions before, Romanji? You’re basically the driving force of StoryTime! and you can’t decide on a face? Where is this ‘You push on! No matter the hardship! No matter the voice that tells you you can’t!”

His brother pointed a finger at Virgil without looking up. “Don’t you DARE quote Psycho Godfather Wars at me! GAH!”

Logan fought back a laugh as he shook his head, pulling the portfolio closer to him. “Honestly Roman, the solution to which face of the Mayor should wear is simple.”

“Simple!” Roman scoffed, twisting in his chair to him, throwing his arms out. “How can such a choice be considered simple!”

He raised an eyebrow. Well, it would have been a simple solution if he hadn’t distracted Roman from looking through Virgil’s entire portfolio. A pity. He would need to ensure his brother properly looked through it later tonight. “Virgil’s portfolio already contains the answer to your problem.”

“My artwork? Sure it’s--” Virgil ran a hand through his hair, flushing. “ah...g-good and all, but I don’t see how--”

Artists. Logan flipped open the page to the green basilisk from earlier, sliding it to them with a faint smile.

Virgil stared at it wide eyed before face palming. “OF COURSE!”

“Of course?” Roman leaned forward. “How does--”

Virgil shook his head. “It will probably take a bit of trial and error.” He said leaning forward. “But” He shifted the paper, so Roman could see the basilisk’s scales switch from green to white. “If I can get it to work on the head--”

“We can have the Mayor wear both faces at once! Virgil you genius!” Roman clapped him on the back before eagerly pulling the artwork to him. “How in the world did you do this? You gotta teach me!”

“Te--Teach you?” Virgil managed, going pale as he rubbed the spot Roman had touched.

Logan sat back, adjusting his glasses as his brother nodded, his eyes racing over the page while he shifted the paper back and forth. “It’s an ink right? But almost like paint--this is like ah!” Roman snapped his fingers. “Specs! Do you remember in school--with the gel pens?”

How could he forget? Logan pulled the pages of Virgil’s contract from the printer, ensuring they were all there and in order before he tapped them into a neat pile. “You mean the markers you filled with glitter that--”

“Caused Miss Mary Lee to sparkle for a month straight when one exploded? YES!” Roman chuckled. “She banned me from markers for the rest of the school year.”

Which was unfortunate because she couldn’t tell him and Roman apart so Logan too had been banned from them that year. He quirked an eyebrow. “Not that it stopped you from ruining the crayons, the colored pencils, the regular pencils, every pen you touched, the chalk, the--”

“Seriously?” Virgil’s brought a fist to his lips, but not before a soft laugh broke free. “Princey, are you sure you’re not a Demon? A Destroyer of Creativity?”

Roman shot to his feet with an offended gasp. “HOW DARE YOU! I AM--”

“Definitely all those and more.” Logan interceded as Virgil jerked back, wide eyed. “At least, he was as a child.” He allowed. “He’s improved slightly since then.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow to Roman. “Slightly.”

His brother jerked a hand to his heart as if he’d been stabbed. “Traitor! I haven’t broken a pen in-”

“He’s not dead, Reese.” Patton’s tiny voice piped up from Logan’s watch.

“Wanna bet your famous pasta on that?” Her voice asked into the silence. “He’s totally been taken by a Vampire.”

“Vampire?” Virgil asked, glancing around for the source of the voices.

Roman’s lowered his hands, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oooh? You didn’t tell me the others are interested in our new hire.”

Virgil paled. “Others?”

Logan exhaled, silencing his watch. He had stayed too long. He should have realized his team would get suspicious with his long absence. “And if I say yes?”

Roman’s smile grew, humor dancing in his eyes as he leaned in. “Then I would ask why exactly did you go find my new hire, Lo?”

Logan shrugged a shoulder, moving to stand so he was on the same eye level as Roman. He would need to tread carefully here. But it wasn’t like Virgil wouldn’t find out eventually. “As I told Virgil earlier, it was noted that he’d been outside for quite some time.”

“And you went to investigate?” His brother raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You don’t go outside Specs.”

Logan rolled his eyes, fiddling with his glasses. “You know for a fact that I do.”

“Not before dusk. Maybe you’re a vampire after all.”

Of course his brother would make them go through such a silly conversation. He turned away, breaking eye contact as he slipped Virgil’s contract into a folder and handed it to Roman “Make sure Virgl reads, negotiates the proper terms and signs this before he leaves as I regrettably-” and it was regrettable as watching Virgil interact with Roman was far more fascinating than crunching numbers and managing budgets. “-have to return to my own department.”

“Right right, but don’t ignore the fact that you’re avoiding my accusation brother dear.” Roman grinned, taking the contract with a nod. “Did you actually become a vampire and not tell me? Rude!”

Hardly. Though with everyone’s apparent obsession with the creatures Logan could foresee their MC being a vampire in StoryTime!’s next movie. “As Virgil can attest, I was fine standing in the sun. So obviously, I am not a vampire.”

“I dunno…” Virgil licked his lips, a careful humor all too similar to Roman’s sparking in his mismatched eyes as he pushed down his sleeves. “The forums did circle that particular rumor around for a while a couple years ago about you, Specs. But what is this...uh...bet? Why did you come outside to..well...see me…” He tilted his head, rubbing his arm as he studied Logan. “If you don’t usually leave?”

Roman suddenly smirked, laying the contract on the desk near his commission notes. “Ooooh. If I didn’t know better I would say this probably involves….” He paused for dramatic effect. “Cofters.”

Despite himself, Logan flinched. “No!” He denied, though from the way Roman’s eyes lit up, he’d negated the accusation too quickly for it to be believable.

Virgil frowned, looking between the two. “Crofters? The Movie?”

“The jam.” Roman clarified. “Lo here’s obsessed with the stuff. Come on.” He advanced around the desk as Logan took two short steps backwards towards the door to stay out of range. “Tell us brother mine. Why did Crofters make you go outside for my interviewee?”

Logan cleared his throat. “For the record I didn’t know who Virgil was or his purpose for being here when I ventured outside.”

“But you had your suspicions.” Their new hire said, shifting in his seat. “You asked if I was here for an interview.”

Logan nodded. “Yes, your portfolio was enough of an indication of that and Roman has lost people in his department recently, so it was a simple enough conjecture to assume you were here to interview with him.”

“Even so, dozens upon dozens of people holding portfolios have passed beneath our windows.” Roman stated, gesturing out his own windows. “Why then would you choose to interfere with my interview when you told, nay, you promised me you wouldn--”

“Alright!” Logan shook his head, spreading his arms in surrender. “I admit Crofters was the motivator for why I went outside but it had nothing, and I repeat, nothing.” He met Virgil’s mismatched eyes. “To do with me hiring you. You earned your spot at StoryTime!, Virgil. You have the talent and skill of one who’s worked with us for years. There’s no doubt there. Crofters had nothing to do with it.” He gestured to his watch. “While there are friendly bets that take place among the people who work here; policy, as is more fully outlined in your contract, dictates that said bets never involve work related matters. Since you are our new hire, no bets can be made about you or your work from here on out.”

Virgil let out an unsteady breath, giving a shallow nod. “Okay...good..yah...good to know…” He pulled the tie from around his neck, twisting it among his fingers. “So you...so this...bet?”

“Was between Patton and Reese on whether or not you would come inside the building, nothing more.” Logan said simply.

Roman blinked. “Come inside? Why wouldn’t he come inside?”

“Because the forums made you out to be freaking terrifying, Princey.” Virgil muttered.

His brother inhaled...hesitated then sheepishly shrugged. “Okay, That I can’t deny. I have a vision after all! I can’t settle for second rate!”

That was accurate on both accounts. Hence Roman’s intense pre-interview requirements for each application. Logan shifted a step closer to the door. “Regardless, your loitering outside drew their attention and so the bet was made.”

“Right on me...coming inside.” Virgil ran his fingers through his hair, the careful humor coming back into his eyes. “So who won?”

Roman snapped his fingers. “Patton.”

Logan nodded, not at all surprised he had guessed correctly. “Yes. He was quite adamant that Virgil would come inside. Offering up six jars of Crofters and his triple death by chocolate brownies before I was made aware of the situation.”

His brother whistled, clapping Virgil on the shoulder. “SIX. EmoKnightmare you already have Patton’s heart! He never goes above three.”

Virgil flushed, fidgeting in his chair. “So...Reese?”

“Bet that you would not come in, yes, but do not take that to heart.” Logan said. “She enjoys being contrary as you’ll find out soon enough.” Once Virgil signed the paperwork and finished the basic training, he would be given a full tour around StoryTime! and introduced to the various teams. After all, Virgil couldn’t become part of the FamILY if he didn’t meet everyone.

“Ten more minutes and I’m calling it. R.I.P to Specs. He had a good run.” Reese piped up from the watch.

Logan exhaled, straightening his tie. “That, I believe, is my cue to go assure the others that I am not dead and not a vampire.”

Virgil smirked, shoulders relaxing. “Being a vampire technically means you’re dead, well undead, but go off I guess.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Finish your commission talk you two, and Roman.” He pointed a finger at his brother. “I expect Virgil’s signed contract on my desk before I leave.”

“Easy enough.” Roman winked returning to his chair. “Considering you never leave.”

He wasn’t going to live that down anytime soon was he? Logan gave them a nod. “Virgil, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing your work here at StoryTime!.”

“Ah..yah..thanks…” Virgil rubbed the back of his head, giving him a half smile. “Cya around Specs.”

With the niceties over, Logan slipped outside, heading back to his own office. Of how he had expected his day to go, this momentary distraction with Virgil had been-

“HE LIVES!!” Callie cheered as he entered the room.

“I do indeed...why would you assume I did not?” Logan asked, briefly meeting Patton’s worried gaze and offered him a small smile.

Patton straightened, giving him a blindingly wide grin in return as he laid his sketchpad on the nearest desk.

“Because you were gone for forever that’s why!” Reese stated swiveling to him. “Soooo?”

“So?” Logan rolled down his sleeves as she threw her hands out with a scoff.

“Weeeeelllll, what happened Specs? Is the kid any good at all or did you just want Patton to win the bet?”

“Virgil has been hired on as StoryTime!’s newest member of the FamILY.” He said matter of factly, glancing to Patton and Callie as they cheered.

“YES!” Patton pumped his fist. “I knew you could do it, kiddo!” He stood, looking around. “Where is he? Can I meet him?”

Like he would be able to stop Patton from darting off to find him even if he said no. “He’s finishing filling out the forms with Roman now, so I wouldn’t interrupt them just yet. BUT.” Logan adjusted his glasses, looking to each of them in turn. “Virgil was hired based on his skills, not because I wanted Patton to win the bet. It could have easily been you, Reese, if he had been found lacking.”

Reese groaned, dropping her head to her desk with a thud. “That doesn’t make me feel better, Specs. I had could have had six. SIX. Jars of Crofters and the triple death by chocolate brownies on my desk tomorrow morning. But Noooooo. You’ve deprived me of the simple joys in life.”

Dramatic as always. “You didn’t lose everything, Reese.” He said, waiting until she lifted her head before he continued. “Virgil didn’t enter the building until I invited him in.”

“What?!” Callie gasped, eyes going wide. “No!”

Reese cackled, grinning like a demon. “YES! That means candy for me!” She spun to Callie, holding out her hand. “A handful of your-” Her lips twisted. “Christmas candy, Cals. As agreed.”

“I can’t believe he’s a vampire! He was out in the sun.” She whispered, unknowingly echoing Logan’s earlier point as she pulled open a drawer in her desk.

“Well maybe he’s a hybrid.” Reese threw out. “Times have changed since the world went from black and white to color and ARE THOSE FREAKING CANDY CANES?”

Callie blinked, holding up a dozen multicolored candy canes towards Reese. “Yes?”

“Why in the world do you have those HERE already?!” She practically screeched. “EW!! Cal! That’s an affront to all things Thanksgiving!”

Laughter danced in Callie’s eyes as she shook her head. “No it’s not. I thought it was rather festiv--”

Logan turned to Patton and tilted his head towards the door in a silent question.

Patton nodded and the two of them slipped out of the room while the girls were distracted with their argument over when holidays should be celebrated.

“So? How did it go really?” Patton asked as soon as they entered Logan’s office, eagerly taking a seat. “You took quite a while to look through the kid--ah Virgil’s work before you both came inside and then you well.” He made a small poofing noise. “Vanished.”

“It went…” Logan ran his fingers along his tie as he sat down. “Well. Virgil was nervous to face my brother and so I offered to look through his portfolio for him and after what I saw….” He looked up. “I hired him on the spot.” He confided quietly.

Patton gasped, nearly falling off his chair as he leaned forward to grab Logan’s hands, eyes wide with concern. “You?!--but after last time, you knew Roman--”

“Would be upset and he was as expected.” Logan twisted his wrists so his fingers twined with Patton’s. “But the risk I took was calculated and you know how good I am at math.” He said. “Roman was quick to change his tune when he realized that Virgil was none other than his beloved EmoKnightmare478.”

”WHAT?!” Patton shrieked, bouncing in his chair, squeezing Logan’s hands. “That--How COOL! Was Roman excited?”

Logan didn’t hold back his smile. Really the odds of Virgil being the interview had been beyond extraordinary. He was sure Roman would be gushing about this for weeks. “Beyond excited. He’s commissioning Virgil to draw the entire Nightmare Before Christmas cast in the Sallyized Jack style.”

Patton’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Whoa.” He breathed.

“Exactly. Which is why I didn’t return right away, I was overseeing their negotiations…the kid--” Logan let out a breath, squeezing Patton’s hands. “He’s got quite the unique outlook. He has amazing, innovative designs of his own make and an active eye to StoryTime!’s future that could help us continue to reach out to more audiences and I just--”

“You just?” Patton encouraged, softly, eyes shimmering as he glanced to the door, more than likely itching to go meet Virgil in person though his hands remained steady in Logan’s.

He shrugged. “I think he’ll fit in quite well here. Plus, he and Roman are actually getting along and that’s...big.” His brother didn’t always warm up quickly to the new hires and he and Virgil already had quite the dynamic going.

“If Roman likes him, then I’m sure he’ll fit in just fine here with the rest of us, Lo.” Patton said, giving him a sly wink as he gestured to the three jars of Crofters sitting on his desk. “We’ll make the kiddo feel like he’s part of the FamILY in no time. I promise.”

End

Taglist in Reblog

#The Interview #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Logan #Virgil #Roman #Patton #Logic #Anxiety #Creativity #Morality #StoryTime!

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pog-with-a-blog · 4 years

Text

People keep arguing about these posts where I make fun of French numbers and I’m here to clarify some things

First, if you don’t know how the french number system works, here’s a quick run-down

French people don’t have 17, 18, or 19. It’s ten seven, ten eight, and ten nine. They also don’t have 70, 80, or 90. The 70s are just sixty ten, sixty eleven, etc. The 80s are four twenty one, four twenty two, etc. And the 90s are four twenty ten, four twenty eleven, etc, all the way up to 99, which is four twenty ten nine.

Wanna know how to say 1997? Ten nine hundred four twenty ten nine. We gotta use PEMDAS to unpack this thing! [(10 + 9) x 100] + (4 x 20) + 10 + 7

I need a calculator just to tell you the year I was born!

I’m sorry but you cannot be good at math while also having to go “four times twenty plus ten plus nine” in your head EVERY time you wanna say 99. Every time you do that a little bit of Brain Juice leaks out of the Math Cortex of your Brain and it starts dripping out your ears.

Now, on to my next point: There are NO GOOD FRENCH MATHEMATICIANS

Please stop trying to tell me there are!

There are five NOTABLE French Mathematicians

Descartes Invented geometry (which is a very cool and useful thing I will admit!) because (French) numbers were just so confusing to him he needed to draw pictures to understand

LaPlace invented the LaPlace transform which looks like this

He takes the perfectly reasonable thing on the left and separates it into a bunch of unnecessary extra numbers on the right for the sake of """simplicity""". I wonder where he got that idea!

Fourier invented his Fourier transform thing where he was all like “yeah we’ve all seen that y=mx+b thing and tbh I think it makes too much sense. What if you had to add up a bunch of SQUIGGLY LINES to get that same thing?”

He even copied Descartes’ very clever idea of using pictures to hide the numbers. Don’t let him fool you. His his functions are made of other functions and his numbers are made of other numbers. No originality. Lame.

Pascal invented a total of two (2) things! He invented the unit of pressure Pascal which if you do any physics you might have noticed it’s a thing NOBODY uses (it's always Kilo or Mega Pascals because he was like a minimum of 3-6 orders of magnitude away from anything useful)!

And then we’re got Pascal's triangle.

Every number is the sum of the two numbers above it. He thinks if I saw how the bigger numbers are made of smaller numbers I would understand his stupid number system. Nope!

L’hôpital invented l’Hôpital’s rule which is very clever and very useful. I love this guy! It’s so useful they don’t even let you use it in part of your calc class because it’s just a shortcut around the hard math. If you look closely, though, l’hôpital’s rule only SEEMS like it simplifies things when really it ALLOWS you you to AVOID simplifying things until AFTER you do the math! This numerator and denominator? Keep ‘em separate! Who needs one number anyway! God, what a thot. This guy fucks.

I will not be counting Lagrange because he was born in Italy. Fucking pasta-ass bitch.

If you're thinking of anyone else you're wrong. If they were good I would have heard of them.

#mp #f #math #this is a joke #it does not reflect my true opinions #lagrange is still a pasta ass bitch tho

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thisgirlsays22 · 6 years

Text

Intro to Data Science: Chapter 4

Fic Rating: E / Chapter Rating: Also E

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin

Pairing(s): Eren Yeager/ Levi

Chapter Word Count: 5.3K

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, (British) Professor Levi, (American) Student Eren, Long Distance

Summary:

“You’re probably just into him for the accent.”

“It’s not that,” Eren argued. “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s so much more than that.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

Notes:

For my lovely @fluffymusketeer <3 Danni, I hope your eyes are well-rested and ready for more romance and smut.

And a big thank you to @attraversiamo19 for continuing to be an incredible beta, and to @erensjaegerbombs for coming on board as a beta/smut consultant. You guys are the best! (And to @dreamxxdream for continuing to read and give encouragement on early drafts <3333.)

Read chapter 4 on Ao3 or under the cut. Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | chapter 3 on Tumblr.

What the hell were you supposed to bring to someone’s place if they’d invited you over for tea? The thought had plagued Eren all week.

Historia, the girlfriend of one of his roommates--Ymir, the mean one from Wales--and, somewhat embarrassingly, Eren’s only friend, had suggested he have some fun and buy an assortment of tea for Levi.

“It’ll be cute,” she'd assured him. “Ymir secretly loves that sort of thing. I think she finds it disarming.”

They’d even gone to Tesco together, and he’d come away with far more than he’d planned. Or at least far more than felt appropriate to bring as a thanks for inviting me to tea, can we please fuck again, and can you say filthy things to me in that accent, thank you again for the hospitality.

Now, outside Levi’s flat, Eren stared down at the bag full of tea and realised what a dumb gift this truly was. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and worked up the nerve to buzz Levi’s apartment.

Laughter and music from the high street bars and restaurants were drowned out by Eren’s thoughts, playing on loop as he waited for Levi to let him in: Holy shit I have Levi’s address. Holy shit I am at Levi’s apartment. Holy shit I’m going to see Levi. Holy shit I’m going to fuck Levi again.

That is, if Levi wanted to fuck him after he saw his stupid bag of tea.

The door swung open. “Hi,” Levi said, cheeks flushed. “It’s a bit hot in here. I’ve got the oven on.” He patted his hands on his apron, which read Keep Calm and Set a Bloody Timer.

He’s got the oven on, Eren thought, dazed. He fucking cooked for me. “Hi,” Eren said. “Cool apron. Very British.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “A gift from a friend. Come in.”

“I, um. Here--” Eren thrust the bag at Levi, embarrassed that for some reason Levi seemed to be cooking him dinner and he’d brought...a bag of tea. He was going to have to have a talk with Historia about this.

Levi gave the bag a puzzled frown as he took it from Eren. After having a quick look through, Levi’s eyes softened and he said, “Eren, these are all awful.”

Eren burst out laughing, feeling the tension ease. It was so much better that Levi didn’t pretend to make a fuss. “Oh. Really? I thought Twinings was nice.”

Levi chuckled and shook his head. “Why did you even bring these?”

“You invited me for tea? My friend thought it would be a nice idea. In place of wine.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still embarrassed.

Levi bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

“What?”

“Tea’s not...I’ve invited you round for dinner.”

“No. No. You distinctly said tea.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled up. “Here, look. I said ‘what time should I come over for tea’, and you didn’t correct me.”

To Eren’s dismay, Levi didn’t bother to look at the textual evidence. Instead, he said, “It’s another word for dinner.”

“Fuck. Really?” Eren laughed, hoping Levi didn’t think he was a complete idiot.

“I did ask if you had any allergies or dietary restrictions. Don’t you have any British friends?” At least Levi sounded amused and was courteously trying to hold back his laughter.

“I thought you were just being kind of weird. And not really. My best friend here is also American.” And gives really bad gift advice. “I mean my flatmates are from here, but we don’t talk much. We’ve definitely never had dinner together.” Reiner drank a lot of protein shakes, and Eren had never seen Bert eat anything but pasta and peas. Annie and Ymir remained mysteries that Eren was fine not solving.

“Well, that explains it then.” Levi was still holding the bag, giving it an odd little smile.

“Do you want to keep them?” Eren asked.

“No. Please take them far away from here. Donate them to charity or give them to your flatmates.” He placed the bag down in the hallway, but he did it gently, and Eren felt that somehow the gift had still been well received. Even if it was not being kept.

Eren took off his shoes and left them on the rack next to a few pairs of Levi’s. On the other side of the hall was a closed door, and he realised it must be Levi’s bedroom. He got one of those full body heat waves that he thought he’d left behind during his teen years. Why did he have no chill over Levi’s fucking bedroom and the fact that he might end up in there later?

Levi ushered him into the main part of the apartment.

“Your place looks like one of the Ikea magazines my mom keeps in her bathroom.”

“Thank you?” Levi said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s really nice!” Eren clarified.

“Ah, right.” Levi looked pleased. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing towards the living room.

Eren had meant what he’d said, but underneath the compliment lurked a sadder observation. The apartment was gorgeous; the kitchen and living room were connected, and above the leather sofa, a wide skylight opened up to grey clouds and the fading light straining through them.

Gorgeous, but bare, missing the feeling of being home. Two book shelves flanked the television--Eren spotted Levi’s copy of The Book of Dust and felt a flush of warmth in his chest--but otherwise the place seemed cold and unlived in, like it really was just a model home made for photographs in magazines.

But of course he wasn’t going to mention that now. He didn’t want to exacerbate the awkward, tentative tension between them.

“So if tea is dinner, what are we having?” Eren asked.

“Wine,” Levi deadpanned. “Lots of wine.”

Eren laughed at Levi’s response, but a shyness crept up on him, the intimate feel of the night had thrown him off-balance. Like standing on an unsteady boat at sea.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked as he watched Levi bustling around the kitchen. It didn’t look like he was doing anything in particular, but he certainly appeared busy.

“No no. Thanks. Have a seat.”

Maybe Eren should just go kiss him or something. But hadn’t Levi invited him here to talk? Apparently tea wasn’t even really tea, so he had no fucking clue what was going to happen.

Eren took a seat at the table so he would still be close enough to hear Levi or offer help again.

“So really what’s for dinner?”

Levi, who still appeared to be doing nothing in the kitchen while looking intently focussed, smiled at the question.

“Salmon and roasted veg.”

“That sounds great!”

Silence again and more of Levi’s fussing around in the kitchen. Was Levi as nervous as Eren?

Unable to bear the tension anymore, Eren stood and walked over to Levi. He blurted out the question that had been on his mind since he left Levi’s office: “Are we going to talk about...whatever is going on here?”

“Yes.”

They stared at one another, and Levi didn’t offer any further explanation.

“I want to keep seeing you,” Eren said, exasperated.

Levi sighed. “I’d like that too.”

Eren startled. “Really? But you said you didn’t see this going anywhere.”

“Still asked you here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but what if I want to see where this goes? I want to, you know, date you or whatever.” Eren tried to keep his tone casual. He didn’t know where this could go either, really. He didn’t know if Levi would like him once he really got to know him, didn’t even know if he’d be staying in the country once he’d turned his thesis in. But still. He couldn't help that he wanted to find out where it could go.

Levi crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “I’d like to keep seeing you. May as well see what happens.”

Eren took a moment to let that sink in. It suddenly felt as though he was having a lucid dream, nothing around him real and anything was possible.

“I read the university’s policy. On students and teachers,” Eren said.

Levi sighed. “I did too. Eren look I--I need to talk to my department head.”

Eren blinked at him. “Oh.”

“You’re not okay with that?”

“No, no. It’s that I’m surprised you want to bring it up now. It feels so serious and official,” he explained.

“Even if this doesn’t go beyond tonight, I shouldn’t be on any panels to grade your work. If I am, it should be approved by the department.”

The thought of other professors knowing there was something going on between them made Eren uneasy. He didn't want Levi to be judged.

“If it makes you too uncomfortable, I won’t, but I don’t think--I don’t think anything more should happen between us if that’s the case.”

He was stunned by Levi's willingness to put himself in such an awkward position. “Okay,” Eren agreed. “What are you going to tell them?”

“That you blew me in my office, and I jerked you off.”

Eren kept his face serious, not wanting Levi to get the best of him. “That’s great. I just wanted to make sure you’d provide an accurate account of what happened. Spare no detail.”

Levi snorted. “Yes, I’ll be sure to mention the cum you wiped on my face.”

“They don’t need to hear about that.”

“Spare no detail,” Levi reminded him.

Eren swallowed, ready to seize the opportunity he saw. “You should also make sure to tell them that I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life. Your voice does things to me.”

Without any more jokes to hide behind, Eren leaned awkwardly against the counter next to Levi.

Levi turned away, tips of his ears red. “Yes, well. I’ll be sure to include that in my report.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a corkscrew in the drawer to your left if you want to get started,” he mumbled, putting on his oven mitts and pulling out the tray, full of a colourful assortment of fish, tomatoes, asparagus and carrots.

“That looks amazing,” Eren said as he searched around for the wine opener. All of Levi’s utensils and kitchen gadgets in the drawer were neatly arranged, the wine opener right on top.

“Cheers. I prepare a decent tea.”

Eren caught the smirk playing on Levi’s lips. “Hey, there’s no need to pour salt in the wound. Low blow.”

Levi rested the hot pan of food on top of the stove, slipped off the mitts, and walked over towards Eren.

“I like your voice too,” Levi said in an undertone, grey eyes dark as they met Eren’s. “Not as annoying as other American accents I’ve heard.”

Come and kiss me, Eren thought a little desperately, but Levi set the plates down on the table instead. His brain felt a little broken. Unhelpful thoughts like Are we dating now? and When are we going to make out? made it difficult to focus on his food.

As they ate, the sky opened up without warning. Rain pounded down on the skylight, leaving violent slashes of water against the glass. The nearby shops and pubs still sent in some light through the darkening sky. Eren periodically looked up to watch the rain, smiling each time.

“Do you watch the rain in here a lot?” Eren asked.

“Yes,” Levi said. “It’s quite nice to listen to the rain and read a book. I fall asleep on that armchair more often than I should.”

When they were finished eating they moved to the couch, and as the wine flowed, the conversation loosened their tongues. Soon Eren was telling Levi: “I saved up to buy these stupid Abercrombie clothes in high school. It’s silly, but I’m still proud of myself that I got them all on my own. It’s what all the cool kids were wearing.” Eren rolled his eyes, but his words were sincere.

“I shouldn’t have teased you,” Levi said apologetically. “I thought you were a bit of a lad at first.”

“A what?"

"A 'bro'" Levi said.

"Oh. Nah. Just a poor kid who will wear the same shirt until it has holes everywhere and someone in his family just throws it out for him.” Usually that someone was Mikasa.

“It’s nice you’re close to your family,” Levi said.

“Are you not?”

“I don’t have any family to be close to.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eren asked.

“Not much to say. Never met my dad, and my mum died when I was young. My uncle raised me, but he died a few years back too. Only good thing he left me was his house.” Levi’s eyes went somewhere far away, and Eren touched his hand carefully as though he were reaching for a broken bit of glass. Levi looked up at Eren in surprise, but didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Eren said. “My dad died when I was about thirteen, and it was really hard on the family. Thus the, uh, money shit I mentioned. But at least I had the rest of my family, I’m sorry you were alone.”

“Wasn’t completely alone. I grew up with two of my friends, and they’ve always been like family.”

Eren’s heart warmed at the fondness in Levi’s voice when he mentioned his friends. He liked learning these details of Levi’s life.

“What’s the rest of your family like then?” Levi asked.

“I’ve been told I have an interesting family.” Eren always felt self-conscious explaining the tedious intricacies of his family, but he might as well get it over with. “My sister Mikasa’s adopted, and my brother--half-brother--Zeke was adopted by my mom when she and our dad got married. His mom died when he was a baby.” Eren sighed. “My mom and Mikasa are the best, but Zeke is a fucking mess.”

Levi furrowed his brow. “How’s that?”

It seemed impolite to get into the fact that Zeke owed him close to a thousand dollars. Eren swallowed down the resentment and said instead, “I used to really look up to Zeke. He was my hero. I was a freshman when he was a senior in high school, and he just seemed like he had it all together. So popular, like really charismatic, head of the debate team, which sounds dorky but he made it look cool.”

Eren paused, worried that he was being a boring buzzkill, but Levi nodded for him to continue.

“Something happened after he graduated. He’s different now. It’s like he just got stuck, I don’t know.”

“Death in the family can do that to a person,” Levi said in his calm, neutral way.

“Maybe,” Eren said. The anger coming back up again. Over the years he’d heard these same explanations from his mother--“Zeke lost his mother and now his father, Eren. Cut him some slack.”--But he was tired of breaks and excuses.

He changed the subject before he began a rant that was difficult to disengage from, always a car with broken brakes. “My mom and my sister might be coming to visit me in a couple months.”

“That’s nice,” Levi said.

“Yeah, they’ve never been here before. Mikasa hasn’t even left the country, so I think it would be really cool if it works out. I’d love to show them the city.”

Levi nodded and refilled their wine glasses. Eren was at that beautiful point where he felt relaxed, funnier. He didn’t want to get sloppy tonight, not when he wanted to impress Levi. Wanted to make him feel good.

“So you like living in London then?” Levi asked.

“More than anything.” Even though the loneliness could be overwhelming sometimes, he’d lived with that feeling for most of his life. It was better here than it had ever been back home. The sense of freedom trumped all.

Levi gave him a small smile, taking a sip of wine.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Eren said, catching Levi’s eye from across the couch.

Levi knew what he meant. “Me too.”

You like me, Eren thought, the realisation knocking the air out of him all over again. The first time he’d ever hiked to the top of a mountain and stared out at the vast green forest below, the mountains in the distance, he’d had this same feeling.

Without breaking eye contact, Levi set his wine glass down with a gentle clink against the wooden table, and they moved together; Eren climbed into Levi’s lap to lick into his mouth, and Levi’s fingers slid up his shirt in reply. The only sounds in the room were the rain hitting the glass above them, the soft sounds of their lips moving together.

“What do you like, Eren?” Levi asked in an undertone that made heat coil in Eren’s belly.

“Umm a lot things,” Eren said, and then internally chastised himself for being so unsexy. Buzzed from the wine, he bit his lip and then said, “I like to be spanked sometimes. Nothing too crazy, but yeah.”

“Huh.” Levi nodded. “I wondered.”

“What? How?”

“Dunno. You seemed to really like begging for me. And there was a moment when I--” he reached over carefully and tugged Eren’s hair not too forcefully but enough that the promise of more made Eren’s cock take interest.

Amazed, Eren said, “Oh. Wow, you noticed that.”

Levi gave him a small smile. “Do you want me to take care of you, Eren?”

Wide-eyed and turned on as fuck, Eren nodded.

“Let me take you to bed?”

Eren surged forward and kissed him again, the words making him burn all over. That loop began to play through his head again. Holy fuck Levi is taking me to bed. Who even says that? Take me anywhere, fuck.

In a tangle, they made it to the bedroom, Eren unable to resist pulling Levi in for kiss after kiss.

Eren stepped back to strip off his shirt, and a thrill shot through him at Levi’s appreciative look. He reached forward and pulled Levi’s shirt off too, sighing with pleasure, running his fingers down the thick, corded muscles of Levi’s abs and arms.

“God damn,” Eren said with awe.

Levi smirked, and Eren watched eagerly as he removed the rest of his clothes, heavy cock curving up towards his belly. Hot desire flared within Eren, and he stepped forward to touch Levi again, to get his hands anywhere he could.

Eren’s cock strained against his jeans, and mercifully Levi unzipped them, tugging them down along with his boxers. The room was warm, but a shivery thrill shot through Eren as his dick sprang free.

“You make me so fucking hard,” Eren said, arousal pulsing through his whole body as he pushed Levi onto the bed and straddled him. They made out on top of Levi’s crisp, freshly washed sheets. They still smelled like detergent, and damn Eren even liked Levi’s detergent.

“Let me suck your dick this time,” Levi said lowly, gripping Eren’s ass and urging him forward until his cock bobbed in front of Levi’s lips.

Head tilted up, Levi began teasing the underside of Eren’s cock with his tongue, lapping gently as he kneaded Eren’s ass. Without warning, he began to suck, hands guiding Eren into a steady rhythm. A string of nonsensical obscenities was all Eren could manage as Levi worked his magic, taking Eren deeper and deeper.

Levi opened his eyes to meet Eren’s, holding his gaze as he angled his head and began to run his lips up and down the side.

“You ever tried that one before, Eren? The harmonica technique, apparently.”

“Fuck you.” Eren gave a shaky laugh, a little relieved to have the edge taken off. He’d thought he was already about to blow his load on Levi’s face, and just the thought of it made his dick throb.

Levi began to lick the head of Eren’s cock again, but Eren stopped him. “I want to touch you too.” And if Levi kept going, he wouldn't be able to keep it together.

He moved so they were laying side by side. He dragged a hand down the soft hair of Levi’s happy trail and through the coarser pubic hair, playing with Levi’s cock which was so hard in his hands.

“Lube’s in the bedside table to your left.” Levi sounded breathless.

Eren grabbed the lube and slicked both of their hands with it so they could fist each other’s cocks while they made out, their moans swallowed up by each searing kiss. Levi did double duty, fingering Eren open while he jerked him off until Eren couldn’t take anymore and got on all fours. “Fuck me,” he pleaded.

Levi got on his knees and pulled a condom from the bedside drawer. He ran his hands over Eren’s ass, and Eren pushed his hips back. “Come on, Levi.”

He moaned in relief when Levi pushed all the way inside, caressing Eren’s back all the while.

Buried balls deep in him, Levi stayed still. “You sure you’re ready?” he asked quietly.

“Y-yes,” Eren said.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will,” he promised.

The first slap came then, and a jolt of electricity shot to Eren’s dick. Head thrown back, he groaned. “God yeah, that’s good. More.”

Levi began to move with slow, even thrusts as he let another slap land on Eren’s other cheek.

“Fuckkk,” Eren cried, letting his hips sink down so he could grind himself against the bed. He needed that sweet friction to ease some of the throbbing in his cock. His arms were already quivering in anticipation, and he didn’t think he could support himself one-handed if he tried to touch himself.

Another smack, the sweet bite of pain and pleasure was almost too much as Levi continued to fuck him slowly. “Hips up,” Levi said. “I’ll touch you when I’m ready.”

“You’re evil,” Eren moaned as he raised himself back up, shocked by how fucked out he sounded already. They’d barely even been at it, but it was like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to do this to him. One or two people over the years had tried, but never like this. They hadn’t taken it seriously, not like Levi was.

Levi hummed in acknowledgement. “You’re doing so well, Eren,” he said as he quickened his pace. Eren never knew when the next spark of pleasure-pain was going to land. The anticipation, the inability to relieve the ache in his cock made his head dizzy with pleasure, cock leaking pearly fluid onto Levi’s sheets. Eren struggled to hold himself up, but wanted to please Levi.

He lost time like that, lost himself in the feeling of Levi inside him and the sweet, steady sting.

Levi hit that sweet, perfect spot as he thrust deep inside of him. He slapped Eren’s ass again, harder this time, and Eren nearly sobbed with torturous pleasure. He had never felt so exposed during sex before, so open about what he wanted. Never had someone give him exactly what he needed.

“Levi, I don’t know if I can--god, please, touch me.”

Levi pulled out of him and Eren whimpered.

“Turn over,” Levi commanded, voice husky as he ran his fingers down Eren’s spine, making him shiver. “On your back.”

Eren complied, body bonelessly falling back against the bed.

When he looked up, the expression on Levi’s face stole his breath away. Levi’s hair had fallen in front of his eyes, sticking to his forehead. Chest and cheeks tinted red. Lips parted as he gazed at Eren with raw desire.

“You want me.” Eren gazed up at Levi, dumbstruck by the hunger in Levi’s eyes.

Levi crawled forward, placing his hands on either side of Eren’s head. “What gave me away?” he asked dryly. Christ, that voice would be the death of him.

“Fuck me,” Eren said, somewhere between a plea and an order. “Now. I need you.”

Levi reached down and slid himself back inside of Eren.

Levi bent forward to nibble at Eren’s lips and finally wrapped a hand around his aching cock.

“You were so good for me,” Levi whispered against Eren's lips, his hand working Eren’s dick in tandem with his deep thrusts.

Eren whimpered at the praise, throwing his head back against the pillow in ecstacy. “Levi--I can’t--I’m gonna--” Eren’s orgasm crashed over him, and he cried out, fingers digging into Levi’s biceps as he came so hard he thought he might pass out.

A few more thrusts and Levi followed suit, Eren still light-headed. Their sweat-slicked chests heaved against one another as they caught their breath. Levi pulled out carefully; he brushed Eren’s hair out of his eyes before going to retrieve a towel to clean them both up.

As they lay together after, facing one another in the bed, Eren asked, “You really liked that, didn’t you?”

Levi paused, considering the question. “I liked how much you liked it.”

“Oh. I hope I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to?” The idea of anyone sacrificing their own pleasure for him was troubling.

Levi shifted closer and reached out a hand to cup Eren’s cheek. “Course not,” he said, and Eren relaxed.

“Hey, do you think we could go into the living room while it’s raining?” Eren asked. “I really like your skylight.”

“Sure.” Levi gave him a skeptical look. “You need me to carry you?”

“No, no. I’m fine,” Eren said, but he was shakier on his feet than he anticipated as he tugged on his boxers. He leaned into Levi as they walked through to the living room.

They fell asleep together on the couch as they watched the rain. Eren’s head rested on Levi’s chest as he felt gentle fingers carding through his hair, soothing him along with the pitter-patter against the roof.

Before Eren gave himself up to sleep, hints of fear crept in. Years ago there had been a small earthquake in Eren’s hometown. His dog had paced nervously around the living room, growling and whimpering in anticipation before any of them knew what was coming. It felt a bit like that. The knowing you were probably going to fall in love, that you were probably going to be heartbroken. A tsunami on the horizon.

They woke to the first rays of sunlight overhead, and Levi fucked him again. He pinned Eren’s hands above his head and moved so, so slowly. Eren writhed underneath him, trying to gain leverage to speed up the agonizing pace.

“Beg me,” Levi whispered, and Eren shivered.

“Do you like it when I beg you?” he asked.

Levi didn’t answer, but he stroked his thumb over Eren’s cheekbone, and Eren begged and begged and begged.

Please don’t make me go, Eren begged silently, later, when they were showered and dressed.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Levi offered. “What would you like?”

“Pancakes, maybe?”

Levi nodded and retrieved a pan off of the rack, but paused at the stove. “What kind of pancakes do you mean?”

“Oh. Well chocolate chip if you have them. Or fruit.”

“No. I mean, your American ‘pancakes’ or real pancakes.”

Eren furrowed his brow.

“You’d call them crepes.” Levi sighed, as though it pained him greatly to say this.

“I definitely didn’t mean crepes. Do you need a recipe? My mom emailed me her favorite one.”

“You’re head chef, then,” Levi said, stepping aside. He pulled his apron off its hook, and hung it over Eren. There it was, that full body heat again as Levi reached around to tie off the apron. “I’ve only got one, so head chef wears it.”

Eren nodded mutely. If you had asked him yesterday if one of the things he valued in a man was owning an apron, he would have thought it was a joke. Now it was a must-have, a deal-maker.

Cooking in Levi’s kitchen was so much better than in Eren’s shitty apartment. For one, there was so much room. Having the kitchen in the same area as the living room here meant he wasn’t constantly bashing into things like he was at home. There, if you tried to squeeze in more than one person, it became a huge pain in the ass to cook. Especially if it was Reiner whose shoulders took up half the room.

Levi stood by his side and measured out all the ingredients as Eren instructed, diligently converting the measurements without looking them up.

“It’s amazing you can do that so easily,” Eren said, impressed.

“I have a PhD in statistics, and I cook with my friend Hanji,” Levi said, and Eren didn’t miss the side-stepping of the compliment. “American too. They’ve lived here for a decade now and still learned next to nothing.”

“Oh, wow,” Eren said, “that’s a long time.”

Levi hummed in acknowledgement.

“I think it used to be a lot easier to stay over here,” Eren added a little sadly. He thought of all the companies he couldn’t even apply to without having a permanent visa.

“It certainly did.” Levi finished leveling out the second cup of flour, his tone neutral, unconcerned.

Eren felt a flicker of disappointment; Levi didn’t seem bothered that Eren might be leaving after the summer, but of course that was ridiculous. So they’d fucked a couple times, said they wanted to see where things went, and now they were cooking breakfast together. He thought of his dog pacing, reminded himself to slow down.

Love had always burned so bright and quick for him. Flamed in and out in the blink of an eye. A supernova. Maybe he wasn’t even capable of long-term love, so worrying about the end of the summer was a waste of time.

Eren finished mixing the batter and heated some butter in the pan. He was watching the butter slowly dissolve, so he didn’t see Levi moving closer to reach his arm around Eren’s waist and rest a hand on his hip.

“Hi,” Eren said dumbly.

“Hi,” Levi replied.

They stood like that for a moment, watching each other without a word. Levi had such beautiful, angular features. The way his grey eyes weighed on Eren, the hint of affection in them, was enough to render Eren speechless. It was only the sound of the butter sizzling that broke the spell.

The conversation between them was subdued as they ate the fluffy pancakes, Eren lost in thought over when he would see Levi again.

“Not bad.” Levi hummed with approval as he ate. “Not as good as ours, though.”

“Shut up. They’re better.” Eren smiled around his fork.

After, they cleared the plates together, and then it felt like time for Eren to head off. The oddest feeling passed through him, like a ghost. He already missed Levi.

“I should probably get going. Get out of your hair,” Eren said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted Levi to put his hands on him again, but they stayed apart.

Levi nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got papers to grade.”

He followed Eren into the entryway, quiet as Eren put his shoes on.

“What next?” Eren asked, looking up at Levi.

“I don’t know,” Levi replied. He leaned back against the wall, watching Eren, expression unreadable.

Eren stood and kissed Levi. He still felt like Levi could change his mind at any moment, and he didn’t want to waste a precious second. Pulling back, he said, “Want to--I don’t know--catch a movie later this week?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Eren smiled. “I’ll text you.”

“Right. I better get to work. Papers aren’t going to grade themselves.”

Eren was halfway home when he realised that Levi hadn’t sent him back with the crappy tea after all. The bag hadn’t been by the door when he’d left; Eren would have noticed.

He felt a stirring of hope, of possibility, in his chest. It was the same feeling he’d felt when he’d decided he needed a change in his life, when he submitted his application for his Master’s, when he’d first stepped off the plane to a new beginning.

#ereri #snkartists network #ereri fanfic #fic: intro to data science #snk #aot #my writing

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