#steve would be taking it seriously like contemplating the outfits and everything

[youwillfindilluminating]

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Porcelain Doll

A/N: My first Steve story on Tumblr! And I think my first every Mafia AU for Steve ever... lets hope this goes well. Enjoy! Pairing: Mafia!Steve x F!Reader Word count: 2,909 Warnings: Mentions of weapons, swearing, angst.

(I don’t know the owner of this Gif, but it’s not mine. Just wanted to mention that.)

Being weaved within the world of mafia was a choice that you had willingly made.

When you said 'I do' you vowed to be with Steve til death do you part. Literally. Divorces were not only unheard of within the culture of bosses, it was a death wish. No secret could be leaked by an unhappy wife.

Granted, you had never dreamed of leaving Steve. The perfect man, who was stubborn at times, but you could always break past those barriers of ignorance he occasionally put up. In fact, you could bulldoze right through.

And you were the only one that could. Not Bucky, Sam, or Nat could compare to your ability to have that man breaking down every little secret he had stored in that mind of his. At the snap of your finger with him, your wish was his command.

You only had one duty to do, other than be faithful and loving to your husband: you had to oblige by mafia rules that were set for you. They weren't too overwhelming, it was a very limited amount. But it was enough so Steve could watch you like a vulture, if he wanted to.

And technically speaking, you could play his puppet whenever he pleased, and you wouldn't have the option to say no. He never enforced such power, always honoring your freedom and independence. But right now, he didn't have a choice.

"Babe, I need you to do this." He begged from behind his large wood desk, his study lit by antique lamps which cascaded their light onto polished mahogany surfaces.

"Steve, I will not be in another man's arms." You stated, fighting right back. Your arms over your chest, bottom lip easing out of it's hold with a pout.

"Sweetheart, you have to do this!" He elaborated, on the verge of defeat, his face now looking at the floor as his blue eyes scanned over his two feet, contemplating his next move.

"Do I have to though? Why not Nat, or- or someone else!" You threw your hands up in frustration. "I mean, seriously Steven, you cannot be for real right now-"

"Enough!" He rose his voice, the lion's roar booming through the room and ricocheting on the books and stained glass right into your chest. "You will be doing this. And you do not have an option." He emphasized, slamming his fist down. You flinched at the 'thump' that came as a result of the impact. He took a deep breath settling down, his gaze still facing downwards.

He took a few more breaths, moving his head up to meet your face. His eyes filled with a black void of heartlessness and atrocious intentions transitioned into a wave of calming blue, his pupils frantically searching your face as he realized he had scared you beyond your wildest thoughts. "Baby I-" He began but you stopped him soon after.

"I- I will do it." You choked out, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes filling with warm tears that began to fall gracefully down your cheeks, smudging your perfectly done makeup. You took a deep breath yourself, sniffling just a bit, before turning around and walking out of the study, arms now crossed tighter across your chest, and your feet setting off small pitter patters as you hurried yourself across of the rustic hardwood flooring.

Closing the grand doors behind you, Steve let out a sigh and a huff, turning around "Damn it!" He yelled, taking his large fist to the wall. He never intended to hurt you in any capacity, just like he never intended to punch that now crumbling hole in the plaster wall behind his desk, but mistakes happen. Only this was a grave mistake on his part.

You were rushing to your shared bedroom, quiet sobs leaving your mouth. Covering your face as best you could to try and prevent anyone from knowing, your ran up the glass stairs and to the second floor. "Y/N/N?" You heard Bucky's voice coo. You chose to ignore him and moved even faster than before to your room, where you locked the door. Crashing on the Egyptian cotton sheets, which swallowed you in great warmth and comfort, you sobbed into one of your sleeves, choosing not to subject your pillow to such a burden.

"What the fuck did you do?" Bucky marched into Steve's office, uninvited but not giving a thought to it. Looking behind where his boss and best friend sat, head in his hand, was the very hole in the wall Steve had just caused. “You idiot!” He scoffed, walking over and leaning over his desk. “Why was Y/N just running down the hall sobbing?” Steve took a heavy sigh, not looking up.

“I fucked up, big time.” Steve explained. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“So you told her?” He asked and Steve nodded. “How did you do it?” “How do you think, Buck?” Steve fired back.

“Judging by your crying wife and the whole in the wall, you fought.” “Yes, I fought.” He clarified, “I yelled at her. She fought back saying she didn’t wanna do it, I lost my patience.” “You stupid Punk.” Bucky laughed a bit, Steve looking up with a confused look, “You thought she would react any differently?”

“Well, maybe more cooperatively-” Steve began, but was interrupted.

“You’re asking your wife to go and flirt with your rival in a sleazy little dress that’s basically lingerie with a few pieces of fabric connecting it.” He sighed, “You’re asking the woman who loves you, who would literally die for you to go out with another man, and you expect her to be on board? If she reacted positively I would be more concerned.” “Well I didn’t think she would react positively, per se.” Steve rebutted, “Maybe just a little more willingly.” “You still don’t know a damn thing about women.” Bucky sighed, “You have the most loyal, loving, beautiful wife probably sobbing in bed right now because you scared the shit out of her. And you’re gonna sit here and just act like a fool?” He asked, “Why don’t you go apologize? That would be a good place to start.” “I probably should.” Steve leaned back in his chair, getting up and marching out.

He powered through your spacious and modern penthouse, making haste knowing the time was ticking. Approaching your bedroom door he took a deep breath, standing outside and giving it a soft knock. “Baby?” He cooed outside, leaning into the door to hear you soft sobs, “Doll?” He twisted the knob on the door, noticing it was locked. He sighed with annoyance. “Baby, c’mon now let me in.” “No.” You responded, holding your pillow in your lap like a child.

“Baby doll,” He softly said, “C’mon now, I just wanna apologize.”

“I said no.” You repeated again, this time more aggravation in your voice. He took a sigh.

“If you don’t willingly open this door up, I’ll open it up for you.” He warned. You huffed, still firm on your decision. “Fine.” He murmured, running back downstairs and into one of the side rooms, where he went in one of the drawers, picking up a key. Running right back, and up stairs, he placed the small metal object in the key hole, turning it and letting himself in.

You groaned, sitting back on the back of the bed, rolling your eyes. “Fuck you.” You spat out at him. He scoffed.

“C’mon babe, we both know you don’t mean that.” “Please,” You scoffed right back, “If I didn’t mean it then why did I say it?”

“Baby doll,” He sighed, smirking at you, “I love you. And I came here to apologize.” You pouted at him, keeping a straight face.

“Do you mean it?” You questioned, raising one of your eyebrows, looking at him. He nodded. “How do I know?” Your husband walked over to you, laying in bed on his side. You scooted further over to yours, trying to expand the space between you two.

“Baby,” He said softly, his words sounding like music to your ears, but you refused to look at him, “Sweetheart.” He said again, you still refused to move. He took your chin, softly in his large, warm hand. Moving your head to face his, he bent down and kissed you softly. Fireworks of tenderness exploded in your chest, as you hummed out of instinct. He smile lightly into the kiss.

“Because I love you, more than anything in this world.”

“Fine.” You reluctantly sighed, “I forgive you.” You stated, swallowing roughly. “I’m sorry I fought back, I should have gone with the plan.” “No, I understand why you did.” He nodded, “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you and let you see that side of me. You don’t deserve anything near that.” You nodded, leaning your head onto his shoulder. He tenderly kissed the top of your head, taking your smaller hand in his.

“How do you feel?” Bucky asked with a heavy sigh of disapproval as you looked in the mirror at this tiny black fabric that was a disgrace of a dress.

“Exposed, slutty, sleazy, whore-ish, should I continue?” You turned back to he and Steve, your husband clearly enjoying the view, taking his bottom lip in his mouth, “Hey!” You snapped at him, to which he escaped his trance, “Eyes on mine, not my ass.”

“C’mon now.” Bucky got up, sighing again in frustration. “We gotta go.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and walking out feeling beyond embarrassed for this apparel. A lot of mafia wives wore similar outfits to the one you had on, borderline stripper. You preferred classy and elegant, this was far from your cup of tea.

Getting out of the solid black car, you took a final deep breath, stepping out to begin playing your loose persona. Black pumps pattered on the ground as your walked into the mansion, your red lipstick curling up into a nice smile as you began greeting people.

The women were green with envy, their eyes filled with both red flames of jealousy and blue waves of fear. The men acted like dogs and pigs, looking you up and down like the cheap piece of meat you were acting out. You hated it, you truly did. Everything about the ordeal was already wrenching enough.

You were greeted by one of the server’s and a glass of much needed champagne. You wanted to down it, let the pain simmer away, but you slowly sipped as a proper lady would. Ironic with the outfit.

Looking around at the large ball room of people chatting, you finally found your target. His ridiculously untamed black hair, barely shaved face lined with wrinkles and harsh eyes were enough to let you know that was Brock Rumlow.

You walked over to him, a small smile on your face despite the pure growl underneath it. Making sure to jut your hips out a bit more, you immediately caught his attention.

“Well, well, well,” His voice echoed to you, as you kindly smiled now across from him, his suit not fitted well you noticed. “If it isn’t Mrs. Rogers.” “Please, Mr. Rumlow.” You played your character, “No formalities needed, Y/N, is just fine.”

“Hm,” He hummed with brief thought, “I thought the Rogers’ clan always took great pride in the name.” “Well,” You sighed, taking a sip of your drink, “Some things change.” “Oh?” He asked, “Like what?”

“Loyalty, trust, one’s pleasure.” You smirked, he clearly caught on. Fast.

“Pleasure, you say?” He inquired.

“You heard me right.” You sighed.

“So why’d you come to me?” He asked again, trying to act dumbfounded.

“You know why, Mr. Rumlow.” You stated. He hummed and nodded once.

“Follow me.”

He guided you through the winding whirlwinds of people, up one of the various grand staircases. Down the darkly lit hallway and into one of the bedrooms.

You didn’t want to jinx yourself, but so far this was too easy. Granted, it was Brock Rumlow. He was a loose cannon, the opposite of Steve. Steve ran a tight ship, the organization was established with concrete and stone foundations. Rumlow was some sticks put together. He left paper trails and greasy fingerprint all over his business, leaving Steve a laundry list of reasons to get rid of his rival.

His hands grabbed your hips, and as much as you wanted to pull away, you had to let him have you, if even for the next minute. You pretended to be okay, but no enjoyment was very much visible. He didn’t seem to notice. His hands reached down along your curves, moving and grabbing your ass. You could feel his breath reach your face, his lips inches away from yours.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were about to engage in a kiss with a man you despised, the next you were held at gunpoint in a headlock by the very same man. You opened you eyes calmly, looking around to see a dozen of Steve’s men from all angles, guns pointed at Rumlow’s head. The cool point of the weapon was on the side of your head, your hands tightly at your sides. “Let her go, Rumlow.” Steve walked in, staring at him. “If you wanna make it out alive, let her go.”

He harshly laughed, “Oh please,” He stated, “It’s not like I’d want to make it out alive by your dirty hands anyways.” “I’m pretty sure I’m not the one stealing other peoples property.” He barked, “So stop touching mine.” You remained calm, keeping your breath steady just like Steve had always told you to do.

The room fell silent. You could feel Rumlow’s fingers move on the gun ever so slightly, prompting you to know he was cocking it. With one easy move, you took your left elbow, smashing it into his chin behind you. He fell back with a groan, gun being thrown which you managed to catch with ease, like Nat had taught you. Cocking it yourself, you pointed it at the man now on the ground.

Looking back, Steve stood in partial awe and confusion at the site. You with the very gun you were threatened with now pointed at your attacker. “Take ‘em.” Steve stated, as numerous men went and grabbed him up, tying him with duct tape as he wailed for help. You walked over to Steve as he walked over to you, his fingertips tracing your jawline, “Are you alright?” He asked, face turning to concern. You nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He grabbed your waist, giving you a deep kiss, using one of his hands to run it through your once perfectly done hair.

“Where did you learn that?” He muttered, you lightly laughed.

“Nat.” You smirked into his ear.

“Doll you could’ve hurt yourself-” “Steve.” You insisted, placing one of your hands on his chest, “I’m not a porcelain doll. I married into mafia, I can’t be.” He sighed, looking away only for a brief moment of thought before turning back to you.

“I know you’re not.” He muttered, “I’m just worried.” You nodded.

“I know.” You caressed his cheek with your hand, “You always are.” You both lightly laughed, smiling at each other and lost in each other’s passion for one another despite little to no conversation taking place.

“Uh, hey boss.” Sam walked in somewhat awkwardly, knocking on the door. Steve turned around, hands still placed on your hips as your attention was now on Sam as well, “We might wanna go, like, now, so no one suspects anything.” “Yeah, right.” Steve dropped his hands from you, grabbing one of yours to lead you out one of the secret back doors and into one of the cars. You squeezed in next to Steve, him placing a hand on your thigh lovingly.

“So, when do I get a raise?” You gazed out the window at the various cars passing by.

“Your raise?” Steve scoffed, “What raise?” You sighed heavily.

“I did most of that job for you.” You rolled your eyes. “Got the target, took his weapon, got him on the ground.”

“Doll, it wasn’t that easy-” “It seemed that easy.” He sarcastically laughed.

“You’re insatiable sometimes.” He rolled his eyes.

“Using big words now, are we?” You turned to him, “I could use a bigger pay too.” “Fine.” He gave in, “What do you want.”

“A long weekend, just you and me, no work, in Napa Valley.” He gave you a confused look, “You heard me.” “Doll that’s a little much don’t you think-” “Four days.” “Sweetheart-” “Five.” “Honey I can’t-” “Six.”

“There’s not even that many wineries, I-” “One week.” “Fine!” He huffed, “One fucking week in Napa, no work no nothing. Excluding emergencies, where I will make it up to you somehow. Good enough?”

“Nat and Bucky need to be there too.” You retorted, “Staying at a different house, keep in mind.” “Babe, where will they stay?” “Steven, you have three houses out there, figure it out.” You scoffed.

“Fine. But that’s it.” He began, “This is your reward for your hard work.”

“Hard work? I would describe it more as flawless.” He eyed you, shooting a glare. “I love you.” You kindly smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Now when we get home you’re gonna plan that trip, right?” “What do you mean I-” “Well, it’s not like it’ll plan itself.”

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter ix

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe you invited Ransom Drysdale to come to the bar with us.” I rolled my eyes, already used to Ana’s whining, and turned away from the bar to scoop my surroundings. Still no sign of him. But it was early, and he’d warned me he probably wouldn’t be able to get here until at least 8pm, so really, I shouldn’t be looking for him like some sort of lovesick teenager.

I didn’t even know why I was so eager to see him again.

“He’s the father of my child, what did you expect me to do?” That finally had Ana looking away from her shots to glance at my body, perfectly squeezed in one of my tightest dresses, showing just enough cleavage and legs to make it one of my favorite get-lucky items in my wardrobe.

“You’re right. I keep forgetting the reason he’s in your life is because you’re pregnant. Seriously, I was about to offer you a shot and everything!” I shook my head, chuckling to myself at her ways. “I mean, can you blame me? It’s not like you’ve started showing or anything!”

Well, she had a point there. It was also the reason why 1) I had agreed to come out with her tonight and 2) chose this dress to wear. I had to take advantage of this body while it was still like this. Soon enough, I’d be too heavy to handle high heels or crowded pubs, not to mention the fact that I would most definitely not fit into these already uncomfortably tight outfits.

“I’ll give you that,” I grinned, tapping her hand teasingly, like I was trying to calm her down. “Sometimes I forget it too. What the fuck is he doing here?” I added as a familiar man made his way into the bar, Ana’s head whipping around to look at where I was staring at a blond, well-built guy, grinning widely at me. 

“Who’s that?” I was too busy grinding my teeth together as I watched him approach, but as he came closer and closer to where we were standing, I knew it was better to let her know who he was right off the bat, so she could help me try to keep him away.

“Steven fucking Rogers.” Ana’s exclamation of surprise was cut short by his arrival, his stupidly handsome face going from me to her as if he waited for a formal introduction. “What are you doing here, Rogers?” My usual irritation at his presence was intensified by a thousand, and I had no idea why. Even he seemed surprised, if his eyebrows raised high were any indication.

As much as I made sure to avoid him, I’d never had any reason to be outwardly aggressive towards him before.

“Same as you, minus the dress.” He made a show out of undressing me with his eyes, and I rolled mine while fighting off the urge to dry heave. Why do men just assume our choice in clothing has anything to do with what we actually intend to do for the evening?

“You know, for someone who’s a university professor, you can be pretty daft.” Unfortunately for me, my comment only made the man towering over my smaller frame start to laugh. “Excuse me, I’m gonna see if Ransom texted me,” I told Ana, while giving Steve a side-eye as I made my way towards the back of the bar. 

There was a door to some sort of patio, and so that’s where I went, breathing in relief at the absence of loud music, as the walls made it pretty muted back here. The nice, cold air of the evening was also a blessing. 

I looked at the purse on my shoulder and considered if I actually wanted to reach out to Ransom. It was only half past seven, there was a lot of time for him to get here and absolutely no reason for me to make myself look like a clingy girlfriend. I just needed an excuse to put some distance between Steve and I.

But just as I thought that my mission had been accomplished, the sounds of the bar became louder, indicating someone had opened the door and joined me out here. Lucky as I was, I could imagine who that person might be.

“C’mon, honey…” Steve’s voice had me freezing every single one of my muscles, as I refused to turn around and look at him. “You can’t pretend to be some innocent little thing while you’re wearing a dress like that.”

God, I wish I could puke. It was times like these where my pregnancy sickness didn’t appear and for once, I wanted it to. So maybe then I could paint his pretty face or at the very least, his expensive shoes in a pale yellow color and erase that smug look on his face.

I didn’t even have to look to know it was there.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“You know, I could get used to seeing your skin this exposed…” I stopped dead on my tracks behind the couple I’d followed into the back exit. I’d looked for her everywhere ever since I arrived, she had to be there or I would start to think she had been playing a prank on me.

But seeing Y/N didn’t bring the relief I was expecting, because there was a man with her. And I didn’t know why the sight made my blood boil, but it did. They hadn’t noticed me yet, and so I stayed back in the shadows, contemplating just turning around and going back to my car, but I wanted to be sure of what was actually going on.

“It makes me think about what you’d look like naked.” I saw her shook her head, back still turned to the man behind her (and to me), but then his hands reached out and captured her waist, and I saw her flinch. 

“You look so hot, I want to take you right here in this back alley…”

“Steve, let me go.” At the sound of the disgust in her voice, I sprung into action, barely processing my own feelings or noticing how she was squirming in his hands as I hauled his body from hers. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I asked the guy, chest already heaving from anger. Beside me, Y/N looked scared, obviously startled at seeing me, and especially in this state. But I was too far gone to care.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” If I wasn’t so angry, maybe I would have considered the next words that fell from my lips. But my track record wasn’t the best, even in a calm mindset, so not even I believed I would have been able to hold back.

“I’m her man. She’s mine and she’s having my baby, so how about you back off?” A cold hand wrapped around my wrist had me snapping back into reality, looking down to see her staring at me with wide eyes. Oh, shit.

“What is he on about?” The man yelled, this time directing his words to Y/N, who very patiently turned to look at him and say, “Would you care to shut up?” Finally, seeing as he truly wasn’t going to have a chance with her, he decided to leave, huffing to himself the entire time.

“Y/N…” I started trying to explain myself, but she cut me off with a simple shake of her head.

“Not here, Ransom. Can you drive me home?” I closed my mouth and stared back at her, a feeling of defeat filling my chest before I finally nodded. It was the least I could do, after all.

We walked back into the bar together, and together we went to say goodbye to her friend, to whom she very quickly introduced me to. I could barely find it in me to smile at the woman, too busy beating myself up for my behavior tonight.

The drive back to her place was silent. I was wrecking my brain for what I could say to justify my behavior, but couldn’t find anything. I’d failed. I’d apologized to her only this morning, and now I’d already screwed up again.

Why should she want me around? I wasn’t even capable of being a good friend, much less an actual co-parent with her. How could she rely on me if I kept letting my most immature instincts take over?

I stopped the car in front of her building, still struggling with what to say, but to my surprise, she didn’t make any immediate movements towards leaving. It seemed as if she was lost in her thoughts too, and the idea that I might have the chance to change this gave me just the push I needed to say something.

“I’m sorry,” I spilled out, and her eyes darted up to meet mine, slightly wider than usual. “For overstepping. I-I don’t know what happened. I just saw you with him and you looked scared and I… God, you must hate me right now.”

I had to cover my face so I could concentrate, I could feel a headache coming. But just when all seemed lost,  I felt a warm hand over my thigh, squeezing the muscle, calling for my attention.

“It’s alright, Ransom. This is new for me too.” I didn’t know relief could feel this relaxing. Finally finding the courage to look her in the eyes again, I chanced a small smile that she quickly reciprocated, her hand still connecting us.

“I- It was actually really nice to hear your voice when I thought I’d have to scream for help. You did good, you were… you were very good back there. Thank you.” Silence fell between us once again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. For my part, I seemed to have forgotten how to speak. But she didn’t remain quiet for long.

“I just think we have to talk about what you said…” And that was all I needed to jump into explanation mode again.

“I know, I know. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean it, obviously.” And to my surprise, she just smiled, not seeming bothered in the slightest by what I had done earlier that night.

“Believe it or not, I understand. I know I seem quick to jump into conclusions and that hasn’t been a good thing for our relationship so far… but this time I understand where you’re coming from.” It was a good thing that she did, I realized as she let go of my thigh to reach out for my hand instead. Because I had absolutely no idea why I’d said that she was mine. “But we do have to set some boundaries.”

I nodded, despite all of the confusing and conflicting emotions inside of me, starting with the feeling of warmth that appeared to be caused by her holding my hand. “You have to control yourself,” she continued, tone making it clear that she wanted me to give any sort of indication of my understanding of her words.

Deciding to hold back on the comment about how it was impossible, considering just the sight of her made me horny, I opted to go with a more mature, if slightly vulnerable response. “It’s not that easy… I don’t know how to keep those feelings in check. I’ve never felt them before.”

She nodded understandingly, and it didn’t seem patronizing. Before I could further clarify what I meant - or put my foot in my mouth, probably -  she filled in the blanks for me. “The feelings of protectiveness.” My mouth opened as I almost let the wrong thing escape, but I reeled it in at the last second.

“Yeah…” I trailed off. “Let’s go with that.” She frowned before her eyes widened in surprise, but then she started laughing, although shaking her head at my antics.

“You’re too much, Ransom Drysdale.” But instead of saying it in a disappointed tone, she just leaned over the console and hugged me, taking me by surprise. I didn’t even have the time to enjoy it, because in seconds she had leaned back and was unbuckling her seatbelt so she could leave.

“Hey,” I called out for her attention, wanting to get one last word in before she left. “You do look extremely hot in that little dress of yours. I didn’t have the opportunity to tell you before.” She narrowed her eyes at my words, but pursed her lips at the same time, like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

“As charming as that is, I think it’s a bit too late for you to try to flirt with me. I’m already carrying your child, aren’t I?” My smile dropped immediately, heart pounding in my chest with fear at her words.

“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I…” but she cleared all of my worries with a single cheeky wink, making me chuckle in relief as I slumped back against the driver’s seat.

“Thanks. I wanted to take advantage of my body while it’s still like this.” I watched as she gathered her stuff to leave, mind travelling to the future and imagining all of the changes she would go through because of this pregnancy.

I decided not to tell her that just the thought of her larger belly and heavier breasts was enough to get me hard. This version of her body, as hot as it was, wouldn’t be missed by me.

“Oh, hey,” she stopped just before closing the door, biting her lower lip as she pondered over something. “I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled for tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?”

The warm feeling that had appeared when she held my hand spread over my chest as I excitedly grinned at the woman before me, taking notice of the way she smiled back just as eagerly. I couldn’t help but notice there was a little bit of relief in the way she let her breathing escape after my affirmative answer, too.

“Text me the details?” She nodded.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I watched as she got safely inside her building, before finally allowing myself to think back on the events of the night - and particularly, on the way I felt seeing her in that dress, being touched by another man, and talking about the changes she feared she’d see in her body. One thing was perfectly clear to me then: being just friends with the mother of my child would be no easy task.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 11)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3245 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 10 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

It was cold. No, that was a massive understatement. It was freezing. It was the type of weather that caused a chill to settle in your bones before you had even stepped outside, and you definitely did not want to be outside. Not when the mere action of standing outside for more than one second caused your face to burn from the frigid winds.

You forgo style, bundling up in the thickest jacket you have with gloves, scarves and a hat. You were sweating under all your layers but it was better than freezing. Thankfully the wine bar you were meeting Wanda at was only a few more frozen steps away.

It’s warm in the small restaurant, packed with people looking to escape the cold just as you were. Wanda waves at you from a table and you questioned how she was even seated before you had shown up, considering the crowd this seemed like the type of place that wants your whole party available before seating.

“The owner is Sokovian,” she smiled, shrugging her shoulders proudly. “And we’re going to order the paprikash.”

There was no arguing with Wanda, though you did choose the other menu item you would be sharing. You liked tapas and sharing so you could have a bit of everything but what you wanted the most right now was some wine.

Time seemed to move by so slowly at the hospital today and you really couldn’t wait to get out. It was Saturday night but only you and Wanda were available to hang out and you didn’t mind that at all, in fact you really wanted to speak with her.

“So I wanted to talk to you…” You took a dramatic pause, taking a sip of wine for courage. “...about Bucky.”

Wanda’s eyes widened with intrigue as she leaned closer, a smile spreading across her face as she was ready to listen.

“That kiss on New Year’s was…”

Her hands shook with glee. “Oh my god I knew it!”

Your face scrunched with confusion. “What do you know?”

“You and Bucky! I knew this would happen. I called it and ahh I’m so excited.”

“Slow down there,” you chuckled, motioning your hands for her to settle down. “Wan, what I’m trying to say is that kiss was incredible.”

“Aaaannnnd?” Her mouth hung open wide with a smile.

“Wanda, this isn’t about Bucky!” Her expression dropped into a frown, she pouted as she took a large sip of wine. “Kissing him was amazing, seriously, he’s a fantastic kisser but kissing him made me realize how much I miss being kissed.”

When you first began college you were casually dating someone, wanting to enjoy life as a young student in New York. Then your world turned upside down. Working full time and going to school left you without a lot of free time and putting yourself out there to meet new people seemed more intimidating the longer you put it off. It was easy to just convince yourself that you didn’t have the time to devote to a relationship and everything was fine up until recently.

Wanda was right in a way, Bucky had a big impact on your life. Your friendship with him led to the larger friend group and soon you began to see things for how they looked on the surface. Everyone was in a relationship except you and Bucky, and you knew his opinions on dating.

Bucky’s kiss sparked so much inside you and ever since you’ve been trying to reconcile the feelings that you can’t let go of, longing and loneliness. Bittersweet thoughts plague your mind as you think about how much of a gentleman Steve is, placing his jacket over Peggy’s shoulders when she was cold, or how Sam knows just the way to get Wanda to burst out with joyful laughter; or Natasha and Clint and how they know each other so well as best friend’s do, their hearts filled to the brim with love.

You wanted all of that but truthfully you would settle for a fraction of affection. Maybe it was time to finally download some apps, go out a bit more and meet someone. It was a scary thought, too scary for the moment, but thankfully the wine helped distract you.

By your second glass you felt nice and cozy with warmth spreading across your cheeks. You eyed the last crostini, staring back at Wanda with a big hopeful expression because it was so delicious. She waved an approval, laughing as you cheered under your breath before grabbing it and taking a bite.

“So you’re going for it?” she asked, nodding to your phone on the table and the visible Tinder logo.

Wiping the corner of your mouth with your napkin first you answered, “Yes? I don’t know. I want to be but...”

Wanda grabbed your phone and tapped on the screen, much to your horror. “Look, there’s no harm in downloading the app, okay? That’s step one, easy. I won’t force you to sign up but you really should.”

“I’m scared Wan. What if no one likes me? What if I don’t have anything to say to someone and can’t hold a conversation? They’ll think I’m as boring as burnt toast and it’s gonna make me shut out the world forever.”

The wine comforted you again as you finished the glass, setting it down on the table and finding Wanda’s sympathetic eyes staring back at you.

“Y/N, you are not boring. You’re developing an organization with Tony freakin’ Stark! You’re a hardworking, kick ass social worker who saves lives– ”

“Wanda I– ”

“Don’t interrupt me while I’m hyping my best friend!” She said firmly while pointing her finger in your face. “You’re the glue to our whole group of friends. You’re an amazing, talented, beautiful, kind person and anyone that doesn’t see that isn't worth your time.”

Your lips had slowly pulled into a smile the more she went on. Leave it to Wanda to always have your back and know just what to say.

“Love you Wan, thank you. Okay, I’m gonna maybe try and make a profile by the end of this weekend…. Or next weekend.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “In the meanwhile you could always knock on Bucky’s door if you really wanted to.” Her brows rose mischievously.

“If I didn’t think it would ruin our friendship I would absolutely make out with Bucky every second of every free moment I had. Wanda, I swear you have no idea what those lips can do.”

Talking about Bucky suddenly made you feel a lot warmer and Wanda didn’t miss the large lump you swallowed as you took a drink. She smirked, holding back a comment she could have made. Instead the check arrived, saving you from any further embarrassment.

That night you stared at the app on your phone, contemplating whether you should make a profile or not. Craning your neck around you looked at the wall you shared with Bucky.

You hadn’t seen him much since the kiss on New Year’s, and your anxiety made you wonder if you had already ruined things. It was a silly thought. You shared a kiss, nothing more and as you are well aware, Bucky does not grow emotional attachments like that.

Opening your phone to your messages, you wrote a quick hello but then realizing it was a Saturday night you deleted your text without sending. There was no noise coming from next door meaning he was probably out, and the idea of interrupting him if he was with someone (which was a big possibility) made you feel really uncomfortable.

Tomorrow would be a new day, you can text him then when he’s alone.

You woke up with ambitions to be productive but the steady fall of snow that began to cover the city made you change your mind. Today was not a day to do anything despite needing to. You bundled yourself up in your comforter and made breakfast, carefully setting the bowl of cereal down on the coffee table as you tucked your feet into your blanket burrito.

Scrolling through Instagram you saw Bucky had posted a story from early in the morning, a black and white video of the snow coming down which reminded you to message him. You replied to his post, asking what he was doing up so early, then sending a secondary message realizing he might not have been up early but still awake.

Then your nerves got the best of you, thinking if that was in fact the case then you were probably disturbing him with all the messages you were sending now. You sent a final text, apologizing for bothering him, which probably made it all worse.

You shook your head, tossing your phone beside you as scrolled aimlessly to find something good to watch so you could distract yourself. Thirty minutes into a movie you heard a knock at your door.

Still bundled up, you shuffled towards your door, looking through the door and were surprised to see Bucky standing there.

“Hey,” you said, smiling as you opened the door.

He was wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and light grey sweatpants. His hair was loose and looking a little bit wild, as if he had only combed it through with his fingers.

“Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. What’s goin’ on?”

Bucky looked relieved, dragging a few fingers down his temple. “I messaged you back and I don’t know… you didn’t respond so I thought… well I don’t know what I thought but I’m glad you’re alright.”

A soft smile pulled at his lips as he stared back at you which set your mind at ease. “Did I wake you earlier?”

“Nah, I was up. Couldn’t really sleep last night.”

“That sucks. I kinda wanted to sleep all day since it’s so gross outside but I know it’ll mess me up for tomorrow so I’m just being a potato.”

Bucky chuckled, giving your “outfit” a once over as he seemed to approve. “So, what do potatoes do?”

“Well this potato is finally watching Back to the Future.”

Bucky blinked rapidly, his mouth falling open with bewilderment as he stared at you. “What do you mean finally? You’ve never seen Back to the Future?” he asked, with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

“I mean…” you looked everywhere but at Bucky, pressing your lips together as you tried to break the news to him gently, “I’ve seen clips here and there and I know things about it… Doc Brown, the DeLorean, flux capacitor...”

Every word broke Bucky’s heart. “You’ve never seen Back to the Future?” he repeated.

“Wrong, I’ve seen about thirty minutes of Back to the Future.” You laughed as Bucky threw his hands up in shock. “Do you want to watch it with me?”

Bucky gladly accepted your invitation, locking up his place before he went into yours.

He muttered under his breath, still in disbelief that you haven’t seen this movie as he made himself comfortable on your couch. “The score! Do you know about the score and how amazing it is?!”

“I can’t wait for you to tell me,” you winked, anticipating an earful of musical knowledge. “Can I get you anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.” A chill ran down his spine that he tried to shrug off. “Maybe a blanket? Oh wait.”

He turned around to pull the fuzzy blanket over himself but it definitely wasn’t thick or large enough to keep him warm in this weather. The only real blanket you had was currently wrapped around your body so you wanted to share.

You took it off your shoulders and sat beside Bucky, removing the fuzzy blanket so you could drape your own across both of you. Then you placed the fuzzy blanket on top of that to add an extra layer of warmth.

You smiled looking at Bucky as you asked if he was ready to watch the movie though your eyes drifted to those lips of his, perfectly pink and so much softer than you imagined. The memory of your kiss makes your heart stutter and it takes a moment for you to realize you need to press play and not think about kissing him.

It doesn’t help that you’ve shuffled closer to each other. It’s for warmth, nothing more. Bucky tried his best not to distract you from watching but he was squirming in his seat, itching to talk about the music.

“See how the score begins softly? You hardly notice the drums. Then everything gets stronger, the drums, the horns, and as Doc spots the car coming down the empty street the score amps up even more signaling the danger. It’s fantastic!”

You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. Somehow Bucky’s passion for his work had stunned you into silence and all you could do was nod, smiling so genuinely your cheeks began to hurt as you listened to him. Bucky may not realize the way he glows when he talks about music but you see it, he’s shimmering brighter than snow in sunlight.

It was nice to spend a lazy Sunday with Bucky, two potatoes that continued to watch movies and order in food when you were hungry. Plans with everyone for the following weekend were brought up but not once did he mention the New Year’s party. Not that you expected him to. It was nice not having the kiss awkwardly hang over your friendship.

“Blanket warm. I don’t want to leave,” he whined before getting up.

You walked him to the door, stealing a quick look at the way the sweatpants hugged his ass. Clearing your throat in an awkward cough you wished him goodnight, “I’ll try not to sit on my phone the next time you text me.”

Bucky leaned in to hug you goodbye but his lips made a detour, feeling them press against the soft skin of your cheek.

“G-goodnight Y/N.”

You stood in your doorway, waiting to let the breath out that you hadn’t realized you were holding in until after he closed his door. It’s nothing, just a friendly kiss on the cheek, nothing more than that.

“Hi Mr. Napoli.” You smiled as you approached the older man in his hospital bed. “I spoke with your son and he said he’s on his way.”

You had to repeat yourself louder a few times for him to understand but he gave you a gummy smile when he finally did. He had come into the hospital late last night after falling in his apartment and breaking his hip. Living alone had apparently become more difficult over the last few months so you’ve prepared options to discuss with his family when they arrive.

As Mr. Napoli continued to speak with you, your ears perked up at a loud conversation. Looking up for a moment you caught the gaze of a man staring at you as he stood over the bed of another man. He was tall and slim, dressed nicely in a suit under a wool peacoat. His hair was dark and slicked back though it was cropped short on the sides, with stubble peppering his face and neck.

He smiled, nodding as if to convey an apology for the noise he and his friend made. You felt your cheeks pulling the corner of your lips slightly but focused your attention back to Mr. Napoli.

“Miss, can I have more water?”

“Of course, let me ask,” you replied.

Scanning the area you checked for any nurses that might be around. Unable to find any that weren’t in the middle of something, you told Mr. Napoli you’d be right back with it. The ER kept the refreshments for the patients in a locked room so you walked towards the nurses’ desk in hopes someone there could help you.

“Thanks Stacie.” You smiled back as she needed to call the doctor to make sure this wouldn’t interfere with Mr. Napoli’s pre-surgical prep.

As you turned to step away from the desk you nearly walked into a body. Gasping, it took you a moment to realize it was the man from before.

“Sorry about that,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I wanted to apologize about before. Hope my buddy and I weren’t interrupting your work.” His tone was soft with a heavy New York accent.

“That’s alright, you didn’t,” you said, studying his features up close. His eyes were much darker than you realized, like deep chasms that were full of mystery. Pale pink lips pulled into a smile as he extended his hand towards you.

“I’m Billy.”

You shook his hand, able to tell right away that he was the type of guy that takes pride in taking care of himself. His hand was lotion soft, not a strand of hair was out of place and his skin looked so flawless you were a little jealous.

His gaze fell to your ID badge. “So, Y/N. How long have you been in social work?”

“So eager getting to know me, Billy?”

Billy shut his eyes as a smile crept across his face. “I can’t help it, I’m very observant.”

Your lips pulled into a smirk as you stared at him skeptically until Stacie called your name. She told you to wait a moment as she got the okay to give Mr. Napoli some water. Turning back to Billy you noticed his stance was taller and stiff.

He raised his hand to salute. “Former Lieutenant William Russo, US Marine Corps.”

“I get it now. You’re not just a creep that reads people’s name tags.” Your smirk gave way to a tiny smile and Billy relaxed.

Through a laugh he replied, “I try not to be.”

His smile was pretty, making his whole face light up, those eyes sparkling like onyx gems. Your attention was turned away for a moment as Stacie handed you a plastic pink pitcher full of water.

“Well, I have to get this drink back to my patient. It was nice to meet you.”

As you began to walk away you heard Billy’s footsteps rapidly catching up behind you.

“Wait, Y/N.” You turned to find him digging out something from his pocket. “Maybe I could take you out for a drink one day?”

He handed you a sleek black card which you put in your pocket. “Goodbye Mr. Russo,” you said, giving him a tiny salute that made him smile again.

Later that evening as you were getting your coat on in preparation to leave you felt something digging in your hip. You remembered Billy’s card from earlier, pulling it out now to finally read it.

The card was as dark as his eyes and in bold white text was the name of the company, ANVIL. Beneath it was his name and title, CEO. No wonder he dressed so well. His number was staring back at you.

You thought back to your conversation with Wanda, maybe you should go for this. You were still too scared to make a profile on Tinder, worried about what strangers might think of you but after meeting a gorgeous man that actually wants to take you out it gave you some renewed confidence.

Not wanting to seem too eager (or desperate) you waited two days before texting Billy. A day of back and forth texting led to plans to go out. Your heart raced with anxiety; maybe you weren’t ready after all.

PART 12

[honeylikewords]

efforts (pietro maximoff)

(Pietro tries his best to celebrate his girlfriend’s birthday like a Good, Adult Boyfriend(TM). Content warnings only for language and Pietro making slightly inappropriate jokes that lead to nothing more. 8k.)

“Are you sure about this?”

Pietro cradles the receiver between his chin and his shoulder, holding up shirts in front of his chest as he glowers at the mirror, unhappy with his choices. His girlfriend’s voice rings in his ear and he frowns deeper, brows knit with frustrated consternation.

“Of course I’m sure,” he replies. “I wouldn’t have made the reservation if I wasn’t sure, babe.”

“I know, but, well…”

She trails off and Pietro quirks one brown eyebrow, chewing his bottom lip as he tosses his shirt selections over his shoulder and turns back towards the closet. Maybe he had an actual button-up shoved in there somewhere, he muses.

“You can tell me, hon,” he says, shuffling aside the piles of unfolded t-shirts and jackets he’d shoved deep into the bowels of his closet. “What’s up?”

“It’s just that, you know, you’ve been a little tight for money these past few months, and I don’t want you to--”

“Okay, gonna stop you there for a second,” he interrupts, swatting a wad of dirty socks out of his way as he continues his search for a half-decent shirt. “I’m not gonna go into debt taking my girl out to dinner for her birthday, alright? It’s all covered. I’ve been setting aside a little bit for this, alright? You don’t have to sweat it.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“You keep asking that,” he chuckles. “If you don’t wanna go, that’s okay-- I didn’t have to put a deposit down or anything for the reservation-- but I think you’d have a good time. It’s a nice place. Like you deserve.”

There’s a little space of dead air where Pietro feels his stomach drop slightly, wondering what will come next.

“All I want is for you to have a good time, too, Pete,” she says softly, and he can hear her doing that nervous tic where she picks her nails against the plastic casing of the phone receiver. 

At that, Pietro snorts through his nose and continues rifling through his pile of laundry, shaking his head. 

“You know, you’re always so worried about that,” Pietro murmurs, lovingly exasperated, “But I always have a good time with you, and for once in your life, please, my little schnookum bear, I beg of you: stop worrying about me.”

Tossing an old pair of now smooth-soled sneakers out into the swamp of his bedroom, Pietro continues, his voice firm but affectionate.

“Like, seriously, it’s your birthday! Of all the days of the year, this should be the one where you give yourself an excuse to be even just a little bit selfish and do exactly what you enjoy, and I’ll be there to watch you enjoying yourself, you know?”

“Pete--”

“Sorry, yeah, that sounded kinda dirty, I know.”

He can hear her let out a little snort of laughter through the phone and he grins, pressing on.

“I mean, unless that’s what you wanna do instead of going out for dinner: totally cool with me if you wanna do that. I’m totally happy to watch. I prefer active participation, but--”

“Pietro!”

“Fine, fine, message received. But, seriously, I’m on my hands and knees, begging you, babe,” he interjects, having knelt down to search deeper in the back of the closet. “If you really, truly think that you, personally, as an individual, would not have a good time there, we’ll go wherever you want. But I know you’ve always wanted to go to a place like this: you know, with real fabric napkins and no table bread and food that needs a translation under it. And I’ve always wanted to see you, you pretty little thing, in a place like that.”

He can hear her shyly giggle on her end and his heart melts, cheeks flushing pink as he imagines that adorable smile she makes whenever he flatters her. Sighing dreamily, he sits back on his knees and stops his hunt, reveling in the ambient sounds of her on the phone; her breaths, her contemplative tapping, her fading laughter, the scratch of her sleeve brushing the mouthpiece of the phone.

“I know you really wanna go. And I want to be the guy to take you. So please, for me, enjoy yourself, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” she relents, her voice light with restrained laughter. “Thank you, honey.”

“Of course. Now, you just go and get yourself all dressed up and I’ll be over in an hour to get you, alright?”

“I’ll see you then.” He can hear the sound of her smile, and Pietro breathes out a deep sigh of endearment. “Bye!”

“Bye, babe.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he hears her hang up the phone with a final click, and Pietro returns his receiver to its cradle on the nearby table, then turns his attention back to the closet. A large pile of refuse has formed behind where he was kneeling-- the result of tossing every unappealing item over his shoulders-- and he squints at it disapprovingly before kicking into a higher gear. The clock stops ticking as Pietro rushes through every item of clothing in his closet, breezing through the lumps of wayward shorts and tees and leather jackets until he finds exactly what he’s looking for: the crisp, bright blue shirt he wore a few years ago to Lorna’s bat mitzvah. 

He returns to the mirror and admires it against his complexion, nodding: it will do nicely. He finds his one pair of good slacks and his best leather jacket (having torn his only formal jacket during the horah at Lorna’s aforementioned bat mitzvah) and assembles the outfit, changing into it rapidly before slowing to take stock of how he looks.

Snapping his fingers, he realizes he’s missing a pair of acceptable shoes-- his usual silver sneakers just won’t cut the mustard this time around-- and rushes to find that tightly-pinching pair of patent-leather dress shoes he used to wear to school events and the occasional visit to temple, finding them shoved into a dusty corner under his bed and cramming his feet into them rather unceremoniously. As he remembers, they do pinch a little (he grouses that there’s no way he’d be able to speed wearing these), but a touch of pain is worth it to look presentable for his beloved.

Thinking of her, Pietro takes a pause, making eye contact with his reflection. He sees his own pitch-dark pupils staring back at him, then glances at his bedside table through the mirror. Turning, he opens the drawer of it and pulls out the elegant black velvet case within, its long, lean frame sitting comfortably in his equally long, lean hands. He tosses it lightly, feeling its weight, then remembers himself and sets it down gingerly on the bed, returning to the mirror with a sheepish energy about him as he reaches for his comb.

He passes it through his shock-silver locks and watches them fluff out, the dark roots standing up a little taller. He’d considered letting his hair fall as it naturally wants to in its waves and slight curls, but embarrassment had gotten the better of him and he’d brushed it flat after his morning shower, more accustomed to going out in public with straightened hair than with his curls intact. 

As the comb brushes his scalp, he shivers a little, reminded of how it feels when he lays his head on her lap and she gently cards her fingers through his hair, teasingly dragging her nails down the nape of his neck. She always prefers when he lets his curls shine through, he remembers, smiling to himself at the memory of staring up at her while she plays with his winding rivers of silver and black waves. 

Floating on a cloud made of memories of her, Pietro glides through his room, unsure how he’ll manage to wait a whole hour to see be at her side and take her to dinner. He busies himself with laying out everything he intends to bring-- wallet, car keys, gifts, comb, breath mints, flowers-- and then with cleaning his room. 

Normally, he doesn’t mind a little mess, but if all goes well, he’s hoping to bring his sweetheart back into his room tonight and he’d hate to spoil the atmosphere by letting her step in a pile of his unfolded laundry or catch an eyeful of his food wrappers spilling out of the wastebasket. He speeds as best he can in his cramped dress shoes (before finally kicking them off, deciding he’ll put them back on closer to the time when he has to go and pick her up) and whirlwinds his laundry up and away into the closet and drawers, tornadoes his trash out into the bins, and dervishes all the dust away from his furniture. Taking a cursory glance at his room, he realizes that once the sun sets, he’ll need some softer mood lighting, and takes a jaunt out to the garage to find some of the holiday decorations, cycloning up a few loose cords of warm white fairy lights. 

Bringing them back to his room, Pietro strings them in loose garlands around his bed, forming a sort of square canopy of pale yellow light when plugged in that follows the boundaries of his mattress. He likes it; it’s warm and bright, like the low glow of a fireplace down to its last embers. The room was as close to perfect as he was going to get it, he concludes.

Checking his watch, Pietro groans: only five minutes had passed since she’d hung up. 

He is in for a long, long hour.

Laying on his bed, Pietro stares blankly at an episode of “The Six Million Dollar Man”. As Steve Austin slow-motion punches the bad guy du jour, Pietro idly lifts his wrist and checks the time.

6:45, reads the watch face. Close enough for him.

He grins and hops up from bed, straightening his shirt and tucking it into his pants as neatly as he can before once again squeezing his feet into his shiny, stiff shoes, giving his hair a final tousle in the mirror, and slipping into his jacket. 

His pockets are hastily shoved with his keys and wallet and mints and comb, but he shows more delicacy when lifting up the flowers and gifts meant for her. He doesn’t want to crush her bundle of roses, lilies and daisies in his sweaty hands, nor drop her precious presents and risk damaging them, and so makes a careful beeline up out of his basement bedroom and out the front door, gingerly placing her intended favors on the passenger seat before scrambling into the driver’s seat and kicking things into gear.

It takes all the self-restraint he can muster not to run red lights or abuse the speed limits when getting to her house, and busies himself with fiddling with the radio when being stuck behind some lollygagging minivan is starting to eat away at his nerves. A distant guitar wails through tinny speakers as he chews his lip and peels past the idling cars, just on the quick side of the 55 mph signage, unable to wait a moment longer to see her. Pietro turns into the familiar suburban streets of her neighborhood and feels his heart jump into his throat, his pale face flushed with excitement and the jitters, his fingers drumming restlessly against the steering wheel as he begins to pull into her driveway.

He glances up at the window he knows leads to her bedroom-- he’d clambered up the tree in her front yard and in through those panes many a time in the past-- and sees the curtains pulled back, and the instantaneously recognizable silhouette of his girl darts from the window, making him beam widely: she had been waiting for him, and was now rushing to see him.

With a lightness in his step, Pietro equally rushes to the front door, flowers in hand, accidentally kicking in some of his blurring speed in his hastiness to get to her. He stops short at the welcome mat, causing the heels of his shoes to squeal against the porch beneath, and an embarrassed energy overcomes him, his ears flushing hot as he goes to ring the doorbell. The moment he does, the door peels open and there she is, in all her heartstopping glory.

His words leave him for a moment as he admires her; her hair is swept up and away from her neck, exposing its graceful curvature, and her face is radiant, glowing with a coy smile and bright, enthusiastic eyes. Her lips are parted slightly in anticipation of speech, but Pietro can’t help but notice how full and soft they look, begging to be kissed and never let go of. 

She’s arrayed in an elegant cocktail dress he’s never seen her in before, and his eyes fall to the shape of her figure, a breathless smile overtaking his face as he drinks her in. The color of her dress brings out the warmth of her skin and she seems to positively shine as she twinkles another smile at him, lips tinted red as if just to tease him.

“These are for you,” he manages, jutting the bouquet forward and breaking the silent awe he’d accidentally built up around her. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she preens, tracing one neatly manicured finger along the wide petal of one of the sunny yellow lilies, “They’re lovely!”

She presses them up to her face and takes a deep breath, inhaling their scent as Pietro finds himself deliriously envious of a bundle of flowers. As she pulls back, he notices a smear of golden-brown powder that had definitely not been on her cheek prior to her stopping to smell the roses in the most literal sense. 

He reaches out a hand and cups her cheek, brushing it along the soft swell of her smile and managing to wipe off the accumulated pollen that had no doubt come off of the stamen of the lily closest to her face. She leans into his touch and he finds himself knock-kneed, trembling at the mere sight of her gazing up at him with affectionate eyes and chasing after his hand on her face. Pietro can barely find it within himself to breathe, but draws in deeply and stands up straighter, putting on his most suave smile and taking her free hand in his.

“You ready to go, miss?,” he lilts, raising her hand to his lips to press a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. He can’t help but marvel at how unbelievably soft her hands are and how headily they smell of sweet vanilla lotion. “Your chariot awaits.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes as he waggles his brows suggestively at her-- she knows full well that his car is a beater handed down to him after his mom ran it up on a curb and got her license rescinded-- but nods, holding up one finger from her grip on the bouquet to indicate to him that he’ll have to wait a moment.

“Just let me put these in a vase and grab my purse and I’ll meet you at the car, okay?”

“Anything you say, birthday girl,” he coos back, giving her a second kiss before relinquishing her hand and watching her step back into her house, off to look for a vessel for her flowers.

As he waits, he heads back down to the car and glances through the window, his chest clenching as he realizes he nearly made an enormous blunder. Frantic, he snags open the passenger side door and grabs her presents, shoving the velvet box in his jacket pocket and stuffing the wrapped ones under a blanket in the back seat. If she’d seen those immediately, she’d have given him such a scolding all the way to the restaurant-- he can practically hear her stern voice and the tut-tutting of “Pietro Django Maximoff, you said you wouldn’t!”-- and he doesn’t want to sully their evening. No, the gifts would be given at the right time, once she was comfortable and in the mood for receiving them, and not a moment sooner.

He hears the front door click shut and turns around to face his beloved, eyeing her salaciously as she walks with a sway in her step. Her hips swing pleasantly from side to side, sashaying the skirts of the dress deliciously, and Pietro wants nothing more than to rush over to her, lift her up in his arms like the princess she is and devour her with kisses. Instead, he extends a hand to her and opens the car door for her, ever the gentleman as he helps her lower herself into the seat, watching her brush her skirts under her thighs and smile up at him from her seat.

“Thank you,” she repeats, pressing up a little in her seat to try and reach his face.

Instinctively, he lowers his head to meet her and rubs the tip of his nose to hers, an ooey-gooey affectionate gesture that he used to gag at when he saw couples at the mall doing it, but now can’t resist indulging in. He nuzzles her and sighs, pleased, then pulls away to join her in the car, head stuffed with the cotton-fluff of love.

Once in his seat, Pietro meets her eye and breaks into a nervous smile, his stomach alight with flutterings and tremors. He turns the key to the car and the radio blares to life, obnoxiously loud, and he makes a series of embarrassed half-noises, a combination of grunts, swears, and apologies. After he’s slammed the off button hard enough to issue a return to silence in the car, he sheepishly looks over at the object of his affections. She meets his eye, then immediately bursts into a fit of laughter, relaxing Pietro: nothing makes him happier than the sound of her laugh. He laughs too, and presses lightly on the accelerator, urging the car back onto the streets and headed off towards their destination.

He’s acting strangely.

She noticed it from the moment she opened the door to him: Pietro seems more tense, his gaze skittish and his mannerisms tight and jumpy. It’s not unusual for him to be flighty-- his speedster nature makes him more than a little deficit in his ability to focus on any one thing for a prolonged period-- but it is unusual for him to seem so uptight and easily flustered.

Pietro wasn’t too hard to tease into blushing, affection-starved as he was, but every time she went to hold his hand or lay her head on his shoulder during the drive, she could see his shoulders draw back and his ears start to burn that tell-tale red, his posture more stiff than she was accustomed to seeing. 

He kept his usual puckish attitude, all jokes, both ribald and tame, but seemed a little distant, as if he was trying to keep something from her, and there is nothing she hates more between them than secrets. 

Now, waiting in the foyer of the restaurant, she assesses her beau, who is currently chattering away at the receptionist about the reservation. She watches him-- how he leans in on the podium to point at the reservation document and presumably find the listing for ‘Maximoff’-- and he looks so wildly out of place in this establishment.

Not only does his starlight-silver hair make him stand out like a sore thumb, but his tall, wiry frame and carrying voice draw eyes, especially when compared to the buttoned-up and dour-faced older men and women populating the tables around them. 

The restaurant is certainly more upscale in appearance than any other she’s ever been into; the walls lined with deep mahogany and the lights are low and atmospheric, the tables distantly separated and private, the waitstaff all tightly uniformed in formal vests and bow ties, chandeliers hanging from the wooden-paneled ceilings with dangerously glinting glass droplets. The staff walk by with balletically balanced trays of bubbling champagne and wheeled carts of entrees and hors d'oeuvres, bar flights and charcuterie boards. Some patrons have their meals brought to them in silver domed cloches, their lids pulled back to reveal the sumptuous dishes beneath. The ladies are dressed in pearls and diamonds and plunging necklines, and the gentlemen in fitted suits with sharp black lapels, pocket squares folded in crisp, harsh lines. 

And there, in the middle of it all, is her Pietro, still loudly haggling with the host.

“And you got the right table?”

“Yes, Mister Maximoff,” she hears the host sigh. “Just as you requested, you have an upper-level table in the far corner.”

“And the request I made about the, uh, the dessert stuff?”

“Already taken care of,” drones the host, clearly at the end of her rope with Pietro. “Now, are you and your wife ready to go upstairs and be seated?”

He lets out an almighty stutter, half spittle and half choked words, and she decides it’s time for her to take the initiative. Coming up behind him and rubbing the small of his back, Pietro’s beloved squeezes his shoulder affectionately and nods at the host, trying to give her most placating smile.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” she murmurs conspiratorially with the host. “We’re ready to go up anytime. Isn’t that right, honey?”

Pietro manages an embarrassed series of nods and clutches onto his girlfriend’s waist with pale, nervous fingers, fidgeting with the seams of her dress as the two of them follow the host up the plush-carpeted stairs towards their table. 

If the first floor felt luxurious, the second floor feels even more so: it has wide, lead-lined windows peering out over a view of the city, the last dredges of the setting sun’s light leaking in and giving the room an opulent glow. The golden-red sunlight catches on the polished surfaces of the even more widely spaced out tables, decorated with candles and foliage, and the room is filled with the sounds of gentle piano strings and the soft clink of dinnerware and fine crystal glasses. 

The host leads the couple to a comfortably distanced and rather private corner of the restaurant, far enough from the other patrons that their voices were virtually undetectable but close enough to the pianist that the music was at a pleasant volume, and with an unbeatable view of the city’s uneven patchwork quilt of a skyline. 

Dashing ahead, Pietro pulls out a chair for her and gestures to it with a sweeping motion, and as she sits down, patting her skirt so it won’t wrinkle, she feels his lithe hand give her shoulder a deep squeeze, working the pad of his thumb into the taut muscle there. Once she is situated, he rounds the table and seats himself across from her, and gives the host a wan smile, which prompts the individual to mention that a server would be by shortly to bring them their menus.

As the host leaves, Pietro leans across the table, flashing his nervous smile with a little more confidence now that they are alone. He extends his hand across the top of the table and leaves it with its palm facing skyward; a clear invitation for her to place her hand atop his. Naturally, she does so, and see his expression soften visibly as he feels the comfortable warmth of her skin against his.

“I made kind of a scene, didn’t I?,” Pietro balks, a self-conscious air overtaking his usual cocksure savoir-faire. “I’m so sorry--”

“Petey-sweety,” she teases, using the pet name he detests, watching him roll his eyes, “It’s alright. I’ll just tip extra.”

“No, no, no, no way! I’ll get it, I promise; see, I brought extra for tips, uh, in here--”

He fumbles aimlessly in his jacket pocket, accidentally spilling out a tin of Altoids, a plastic comb, and a slender, black something onto the carpeted floor below. Pietro lets out a panicked yelp and dives down in his chair to hastily gather his odds and ends, shoving them fruitlessly back into his jacket, his face burning a scarlet hue.

“Oh my god, Jesus Christ,” he whispers to himself, “Oh my god.”

“Honey, it’s okay, people drop their wallets all the time--” “I’m sweating like a hog,” Pietro groans, irrespective of the previous topic. 

“Do you want to go to the bathroom?” “What? No!” 

Turning his black-brown eyes towards her, Pietro’s gaze becomes intense, the flush of his face only serving to accent the fervor of his attitude.

“I’m fine, I’ll behave, I’m goody-goody. All golden.”

He flashes a broad, sweaty, and entirely unconvincing smile as she reaches over the table to brush a wayward silver lock out of his eyes, stroking down the shape of his round, slightly dimpled cheeks. He blinks slowly and allows her to cup his face, rubbing her thumb against his rosy skin, feeling the searing heat.

“I think I see what’s happening here,” she murmurs, causing Pietro to glance up at her with fearful exposure. 

She watches him start to anxiously start to chew his lips, eyes flitting across her face with a frantic speed and muses that even when he’s all in knots, he’s still such an unbelievably handsome man; those button-black eyes, his strong, pointed nose catching the sun and casting a sharp shadow across the boyish planes of his face: she can’t help but be enamored of him, even as he’s nothing but a ball of nerves.

“You’re not used to ritzy dining, right?”

Pietro raises his pale brows in surprise at her observation, then nods emphatically, shrugging his shoulders up and down as if to shake off the weight of his prior disconcertion.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just totally alien to me,” he grumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck and scratching the dark grey hair at the nape. “I dunno how to behave in a place like this.”

“It’s fine, Pete. Just be polite and enjoy yourself. You know how to be polite, don’t you?,” she needles genially.

“I mean, I’ve got the generals down pat.”

He holds up his hand and extends one long pinkie, as if cartoonishly elevating a tea cup.

“Thou ought not to raise thine voice,” he lilts in a truly horrific attempt at an English accent, “And one ought not burp nor become flatulent at the table.”

“Oh, eugh, leave it to you to bring something like that up during dinner,” she laughs.

At the sound of her giggles, Pietro seems to unwind some more, slipping back into his natural, humorous state of being. He again takes her hand and gives it several loving pulses, running the smooth crests of his nails against the heel of her palm, tickling her slightly.

Just as he opens his lips to say something, a well-dressed waiter arrives at their tableside with a wine list and the leather bound menus, and he speaks to them in firm but hushed tones about the cuisine of the day, something about fresh-caught this and farm-delivered that. She tries her best to listen to him, but instead finds her eyes fixed on Pietro, who is nodding like a scolded schoolboy trying to get out of detention early.

When the waiter leaves them with their menus and silence returns, he lets out a tightly held sigh of relief and unclenches his shoulders, rolling them as if he was warming up for a boxing match. He cracked the spine of his menu and gave it a cursory glance before flitting his gaze up to meet hers, flashing her a familiar flicker of his usual pixielike smile.

“You go ahead and you get anything you want, Princess,” he drolls as he winks at her over the top of his menu. “My treat.”

“Oh, I will,” she jokes, screwing up her nose at him. “I’m gonna eat you out of house and home. I’m going to get this fresh caught lobster, ahi tuna, Kobe beef, and, hmm…”

She pretends to pause, tapping her finger against her chin in faux thought.

“The gold-leaf embossed ganache torte seems awfully tempting.”

“Very funny,” Pietro huffs, though he’s clearly smiling through his pretend indignation. “I’m really regretting coming to a place with no table bread, now, though. Coulda had you fill up on that and polished the night off splitting a salad.”

“Mmm,” she tones. “And yet, here we are. Not a scrap of it in sight.”

“Hindsight and all,” he grumbles, obviously more than a little amused.

As they settle into a more comfortable rhythm, Pietro begins to ease into himself again. His laughter becomes brighter, his posture less rigid, and his eyes fleet less from her, though he remains jumpy when the waiter comes back to take their orders; still, there’s visible improvement in his disposition, and her beloved seems to be coming back to her, joke by joke and touch by touch.

When their dishes are brought to them, Pietro shrinks back in disgust at how tiny the portions are: his steak is absolutely miniscule by his own standards, and he grouses when the staff leaves the table that it should be illegal to serve food so small.

“I mean, look at it!,” he pouts, tilting his plate towards her as the decorative pansy blooms on the dish become soaked in au jus. “It’s, like, proportional to a Ken doll, not a hunk of man like me!”

“Eat your dinner, hunk of man,” she taunts jovially. “It’s about the experience, not the size.”

Pietro glances up from his plate with a flirtatious air, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Oh, but you can get the best of both with me--”

She hisses at him and kicks at his shin under the table, which only prompts him to laugh and lean across the table, planting a kiss on her cheek with impish glee. As she raises her fork to begin her meal, Pietro puts a hand up to pause her, and she quirks a brow at him, lowering her utensil again and watching him curiously.

“Before we tuck in,” Pietro murmurs, his face now beginning to become reddened once again, “There’s something I want to give you.”

“Oh?”

“I know you told me no gifts,” he says, “But I just had to.”

“Pietro--”

“I know! But… here.”

He produces his hand from inside the pocket of his leather jacket and lays something on the table, hidden under his palm as he builds suspense. After a moment’s hesitation, he lifts his hand, revealing-

“...Your comb?”

“My co-- No, wait, fuck!”

The obscenity leaves his mouth in a tone much louder than he intended, as he turns an even deeper shade of firetruck red, and he scrambles to grab his comb from off the table and push it back into his pocket. Once it’s there, he clamps his hands over his eyes and groans loudly into his palms, prompting his beloved to reach across and try to grip his wrists, caught between sympathetic hushes and barely suppressed giggles.

“P-Petey, come on,” she bubbles, voice jumping with her hardly hidden laughter, “It’s alright, come on!”

“Gah,” he grunts. “They’re gonna kick me out. Oh god, what if they kick you out for being with me?” “We’re not going to get kicked out,” she lulls softly. “No one even heard you!”

“Guhhhhh.”

“Please, baby? Won’t you just show me what you brought?”

A pause passes and Pietro peeks out from between two of his fingers, eyeing her before finally peeling his hands away and reaching down, scorned, into his pocket again. He takes his time, checks his hand, and then extends it to her: in his long palm, a black velvet case is housed, soaking up the low light with its decadent fabric.

“For you,” he all but whispers.

She lifts it delicately, opening the case on its small, golden hinge, to reveal a strand of glistening silver that culminates in a dainty opal droplet, glowing like a multicolored flame in the candlelight. Without any words, her thoughts muddled, she gingerly takes hold of the necklace and lays it flat across the span of her palms, watching the gem shift and glimmer in the light; it was set in silver, with a tiny diamond sitting just above the head of the droplet shape, reflecting back beaming points of light.

Agape, she looks up at Pietro, who is smiling tentatively at her, his eyes as bright as the jewels set before her.

“Before you get on me,” he interjects, taking her hand and squeezing it, “It was my grandmother’s, so I didn’t technically break the rules.”

He flashes her a rueful grin and pulses her hand again.

“Didn’t spend a dime more than I promised.”

“Oh, honey,” she breathes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he rushes, stepping up out of his seat to come around to her side and take the necklace in his hands. “Just, you know, try it on? For me?”

Once again lost for words and swimming through a haze of emotions, she nods at Pietro, who beams, unclasping the necklace and tracing it tenderly along the curves of her throat. He takes his time, seeming to revel in the proximity, and carefully closes the clasp at the base of her neck, allowing his fingers to trail behind, all along the column of her neck, down the skin of her collarbones, where he lifts the gem up and admires it in the light before setting it back down gently against her sternum, the jewel coming to rest in the crevice of her breastbone.

“There,” he says, his tone final and almost somewhat relieved. “Just as pretty as I’d imagined.”

Unable to find anything at all salient to say, Pietro’s beloved takes hold of his cheeks and tilts his face to hers, breaking his line of sight from her clavicle. She leans in and hovers her lips over his, hearing him draw in a sharp, excited breath, his dark eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

“Thank you,” she manages. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome,” he breathes back, clearly anxious to get to the best part. 

“I love you.”

His eyes flash open, and for a moment, he looks as stunned as a deer caught in the headlights. He freezes under her hands, every muscle fixed in place. Then, as quickly as it had come about, he loosens, and, without a word, presses up and kisses her, his hand naturally seeking the back of her head to pull her in as deeply as he can.

The kiss lasts a breath longer than is perhaps polite for such an establishment, but Pietro’s enthusiasm was never something to be quickly curbed. When he finally breaks away from her with a satisfied hum, his eyes bore into hers, half-hungry and half-satiated, and he manages to control himself enough to return to his side of the table and sit down, though a pleased grin is plastered to his face; the cat had gotten the cream and knew it better than anyone in the world ever could.

“You know,” he begins, a chagrined tone entering his conversation, “I was a little worried you weren’t going to like it.”

“Oh, you,” she tuts. “I’d love anything you gave me.”

“Well, sure, but, it’s like… I want to make tonight perfect,” he admits. “For you. You deserve a perfect day.”

“Every day with you is a perfect day!”

Pietro snorts indignantly, rolling his eyes at her attempt at placation.

“Of course, baby. But you know what I mean, don’t you?”

She nods; he’s a sweetheart, always trying to give her his own kind of affection, his own brand of love, but she knows it can be hard for him to be traditionally affectionate or conventionally loving, and this must be his attempt to give her what he thinks she’s missing out on.

Reaching out, she takes his hand in hers and kisses it on the heel, then cups his palm to her face, leaning into it with a smile that she can feel reaches all the way up to her eyes.

“I would have had a wonderful day with you, with or without the gifts,” she reminds him.

“Oh, shit, that reminds me,” he chirps, sitting up a little straighter. “I… may or may not have a few more of them in the car for later.”

“Pietro!”

“But, again, didn’t spend a dime! They’re all well within the boundaries you gave me! So, come on,” he grins, pointing at her dish with gusto. “Let’s dig in before it gets cold.”

The meal was delicious, just as she’d hoped, though its enjoyment was more than partially due to the company kept during its consumption. 

Pietro had kept his promise and behaved himself all night long, showing himself to be a perfect gentleman when the mood suited him; he’d even called ahead and asked that her dessert be delivered quietly, with a candle burning atop it for them to wish over in their own private little celebratory silence. When she’d blown it out, she’d wished for one thing only: to always be by this strange, wonderful man’s side.

Finally headed home for the night, she held Pietro’s hand as they drove the darkened streets of the city, his thumb rubbing routine patterns over the cresting hill of her knuckles. The radio was turned low for them to talk to one another, and as they followed the winding corners of roads leading back towards his house, Pietro began to crack his usual tongue-in-cheek comments.

“Saucy, isn’t it,” he teases, “You stayin’ over at my place all night long. People might think we’re up to something.”

“You wish,” she bites back.

“More than anything!,” laughs the boy at her side. “But a gentleman would never propose such indecencies to a lady like you.”

“Mm,” she hums. “A gentleman indeed.”

“Oh, speaking of staying the night,” Pietro adds, casting a glance back over his shoulder, “Would you be a doll and feel around under that blanket in the back seat? There should be a couple mystery packages in there for you.”

She reaches back through the gap between the seats to lift the corner of the sloppily thrown blanket and sees the dim outline of two boxes. Managing to pick them both up, she plants them firmly on her lap and turns back to Pietro, whose eyes flit between the road and her face at a speed most would find unsettling, but she is more than accustomed to.

“Open the big one,” he grins. 

Acquiescing, she unwinds the blue ribbon off the top of the wide, flat box and lifts its lid, revealing a layer of folded fabrics. She reaches into the box and takes it out: a massive, grey-green flannel, clearly much too large for her.

“This is--”

“My old one, yeah,” Pietro smirks, rotating the steering wheel left. “You kept sneaking off with it every time you’d come over, and it looks cuter on you, anyhow, so that’s part one.”

He juts his chin towards the box, indicating for her to look into it once more.

“Go find part two.”

Underneath where the flannel had lain was a layer of pink tissue paper, and she lifts that away to find a neatly folded tee, which she holds up to admire as the flannel lays across her shoulder.

It, too, is much larger than her size, and registers as a dark grey shirt printed with something across the chest, though the car is a bit too dim for her to make out the symbol with any clarity. Pietro notices her squinting and squeezes her thigh, tapping the front of the shirt quickly.

“‘S the RUSH one. You wore it that one time--”

“When I fell in the pool!,” she recalls excitedly.

“Yep! And, again, way cuter on you. Now, for part three.”

Once again, a divider of pink tissue obscures the next installment from her, and when she peels it back, there, beneath:

“...Oh, god, these aren’t used are they?”

Pietro laughs merrily as she warily holds up a pair of check-printed boxers by their elastic waistband and shakes his head, making the final turn into his neighborhood and pulling into his spot.

“Nah. I got a pack new and this was one of, like, five pairs in there. And it doesn’t count as spending, you know, because I was already buying them for myself and the extra pair for you is just an added bonus.”

“...So they are clean, yes?”

“Yep!”

“And why did you give me boxers?” “So you can have a full set of PJ’s, babe,” he says, voice reflecting some perception that this conclusion should have been obvious. “For staying over.”

“Oh!”

Parking the car, Pietro pops the brake on and reaches into the box, producing the final layer within: a pair of crisp white gym socks.

“Same deal as the boxers,” he explains. “Packed ‘em ‘cause I know your feet get cold at night.”

His recollection of that detail melts her heart, and she forgets all about the shock of unveiling a pair of men’s boxers in her birthday gift; she leans across the console between the seats and plants a warm kiss on Pietro’s dimpled cheek, hearing him chuckle airily to himself as she does so.

“That’s too sweet of you, bunny,” she says, stroking the flyaway streaks of silver that brush her nose as she hovers near his face. “I’ll be all comfy-cozy for our little sleepover!”

“Aw, God, don’t say it like that,” he groans. “‘Our little sleepover’ makes it sound like we’re eleven year old girls about to paint each other’s nails and gossip about what boys we like!”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to paint your nails tonight?”

“...No,” he smiles.

“Correct.”

“Well, anyway,” he concludes, pecking her on the tip of the nose before unbuckling his seatbelt and moving to get out of the car, “Let’s get a move on. Basement’s waitin’.”

“Always in such a hurry,” she bemoans, trying to collect all her garments and unbuckle herself, only to hear the all-too-familiar whistle of Pietro kicking in his speed to flit around the car, rush open her door, unclick her belt, lift her into his arms, and jog up to the front door with her pressed to his chest.

She reels for a moment after he stops his breakneck speed, but quickly regains her bearings: she’d sped around with him enough times to be mostly, somewhat, almost over the motion sickness by now, and steadies herself against the wall of his house as he Cheshire grins at her. 

“You got your last present there, pumpkin?,” he asks, surveying her.

She holds up the unopened, slightly smaller box and wiggles it at him.

“Perfect.”

Pietro lifts her again and before she can blink, they’re down in the basement, the door shut behind them, and she’s sent reeling this time not by the sensation of his speed, but by the state of his room.

“Oh, wow,” she mumbles, gazing how clean and orderly and attractive his room was, doused in warm light as the stereo played softly tinkling music, completely unlike his usual psychedelia or ear-splitting rock. “You cleaned up?”

“Yeah,” Pietro admits, futzing with a throw blanket that now covered the majority of the couch (and its stains). “I wanted to make it… nice.”

“Well, you did a hell of a job,” she beams. “It’s so… pretty! I never thought your room could be pretty!”

“Hey, it’s not that bad, normally!”

“Sweetie, you leave Pringles cans under furniture. I’ve found Twinkie wrappers under your pillows. You stack your electronics like Jenga bricks.”

“...Okay, well, there’s no Pringles cans or Twinkie wrappers in sight, tonight, all for the sake of the lady,” he boasts, putting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her to the beaded partition that divides his makeshift bedroom from the boiler room. “Go get changed.”

“Promise not to peek?”

Pietro holds up his hand in the Boy Scout’s salute.

“On my life.”

“Show me the other hand.”

From behind his back, he extends his other hand; crossed fingers.

“If I so much as hear a breeze,” she chides, “I’ll know it’s you.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I’m only playing! Look!”

He places both hands over his eyes and turns away from her, facing the wall and dutifully walking towards it.

“I’ll behave!”

With that, she takes advantage of the momentary silence to duck behind the curtain and get changed. True to his word, she detects no hint that he’d speeded into the room to get a look while she was changing; no gust of wind, no hissing zip, no blur of silver. When she re-enters the room, garbed in his flannel and boxer gifts, which, she has to admit, are deeply comfortable, he’s still facing the wall, though tapping his foot impatiently.

“Thank god,” he groans, hearing the beaded curtain part for her, “You took forever!”

“It was, at best, two minutes.”

“That’s a long time for me!,” he whines as he turns back around and rushes to her side, cupping her waist and drinking in the sight of her. “You know that!”

“I do, I do,” she relents, patting his cheek. “Now, c’mon. I’m tired.”

“Wait, you gotta open your last present,” Pietro says, speeding off and returning with the box in hand. “It’s a good one!”

She smiles at him and nods, sitting down on the edge of his bed, where he joins her. He watches her hawkishly as she tears off the paper, revealing a small book with a hard plastic cover. Unsure of what it is, she turns it over in her hands a few times, then lifts the front cover to discover that it’s a miniature photo album.

Upon seeing what the first photo is, she snorts so hard she covers her mouth, ashamed of the noise she’d let out: Pietro just laughs and laughs.

“You know how you always bug me about my baby pictures?”

“You take them down every time I come over!,” she interjects. 

“Comme ci, comme ça,” Pietro says, flicking his hand dismissively. “Anyway. These are all of ‘em. Or, at least, all the ones I could get copies of at the print shop.”

There, in her hands, is photographic proof of Pietro as a baby: silver haired and tiny, wearing a miniscule pair of overalls and holding a pot over his head, banging it with a spoon, or laying in his crib, jet black eyes beaming out from under teensy grey eyebrows.

“I know it’s kind of a mood killer,” Pietro mumbles, “But I thought, you know, they’d make you laugh…”

“They’re adorable!,” she giggles joyously, flicking through page after page of the glorious images. “Oh my god. You used to suck your thumb?”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m taking them back--”

“No, no, babe!”

“You’re gonna think of me as a baby!”

“No, Pietro, come on!” 

She lets out a bright peal of laughter as Pietro tries to wrestle the book away from her, only to knock her over on her back and pin her down, still grabbing for the book as she shoves it under her back. He glowers down at her but, upon realization of his current position, the expression quickly shifts to one of devilish delight, and he cranes his neck to bury his face in the crook of hers, biting lightly on the sensitive skin there and making comically bad growling noises, halfway between cute and embarrassing.

They wrestle around for a moment, laughing over one another, until his bites turn more affectionate and soft and his energy lulls into a more calming, attentive kind; he strokes her arms and rubs his pointed nose along her skin, humming lightly to himself as they both enjoy the comfort of being in one another’s arms. As he kisses her neck, light and loving, his hand wanders there and traces the thread of the necklace, fidgeting the the bauble at the end, his fingers brushing against her collarbone as he burrows in close.

“I was worried,” Pietro mumbles into her neck.

“About the restaurant?”

“I guess,” he continues, voice muffled by her hair and flesh. “But more that… that you wouldn’t like any of this. Any of me. That I’d fuck up at the restaurant or come on too strong with the gifts or seem like a creep--”

“Pete…”

“But I kinda like coming on strong,” he continues, rambling in his bout of nerves. “I like giving it all, one hundred percent, all for you, you know? I like treating you like a princess and like my best friend, and, you know, I liked it when that lady thought you were my wife; sorry, does that sound like a lot?”

“No, honey,” she giggles, “I liked it too!”

“Good,” he sighs. “I just… get scared that you won’t, you know, like me, because I can be so fucking difficult--”

He cuts himself short and takes a deep breath, pressing his face harder into her neck.

“But you do, right? You do like me?”

His voice quavers softly as he seeks her validation, and she squeezes him tightly in a hug, raking her fingers through his hair and hearing him shudder serenely into her. The tension in his spine leaks away and he rests his surprisingly hefty weight against her, pressing down on her as she manages a soft “of course I do.”

“You know I love you,” she adds, stroking his hair soothingly.

There is a silence between them as she feels Pietro adjust himself to be even closer, hooking himself so that he is clinging to her tightly and his head is pressed into the warm nook between her jaw and her shoulder. His breaths rise and fall and puff out against her skin, familiar and stirring all at the same time. After a moment, he speaks again.

“I love you,” he manages. “So much.”

“I know.”

“Happy birthday, babe.”

“Thank you for making it one.”

They lay in the blissful calm of their love, holding onto one another in quiet peace before Pietro breaks the silence once again.

“You ever gonna give me those pictures back?”

“Nope.”

“Shit!”

[new-blog-new-things-blog]

Are you kidding me?! Part 5.

Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2269 Warnings: Swearing? Slow burn af

I woke up just after 5 the next day, deciding to grab a quick shower and actually make an effort today. I don’t know why but I have a feeling today is going to be a good one, putting me instantly in a good mood. Spending extra time on my hair and make-up I look relatively female today, so I decide to dress female as well. Looking through my closet I find my favourite black skater skirt, dark blue off the shoulder top and blue high-top converse. Looking at myself in the mirror I can’t help but feel like something is missing from this outfit. Ah I know, I rummage through my draws trying to remember where I put my black beanie hat yesterday, I find it in my draws and smile.

“J.A.R.V.I.S is anyone else about yet?”

I can barely contain the excited-ness in my voice as I wonder what time we are going to get started today.

“All others are still in their own rooms Miss L/N.”

I look over at the clock, I suppose it is only 6.15am. My stomach starts to rumble, breakfast it is then.

“Okay thanks J.A.R.V.I.S, can you direct me to the kitchen please?”

I follow the lights and head down to the kitchen to make something for breakfast. As I start looking through the cupboards trying to think what I fancy when I suddenly think I should probably make breakfast for everyone. I ask J.A.R.V.I.S what time everyone normally has breakfast, which apparently it’s between half 7 and 8am. Okay looks like I have time to make something up. I decide on a full breakfast considering this kitchen is full to the brim with food.

“J.A.R.V.I.S is it okay to play music in here whilst I cook?”

“Of course Miss, what song would you like on?”

J.A.R.V.I.S replied.

“Can you put on a musicals playlist if you have one please?”

I have always adored musicals, something about bursting into song to describe how you are feeling rather than having to talk just seems perfect to me. Without saying anything El Tango De Roxanne from Moulin Rouge starts playing, I start to sing along as I start cooking enough food for a small army.

Half way through frying up some mushrooms one of my favourite songs come on and I can’t help myself from singing into the spatula, shaking my hips along to the sound of the opening number of Chicago. I am so totally engrossed in the song I don’t realise someone else entering the kitchen, catching me dancing around. As I spin around I catch the sight of Bucky standing in the kitchen doorway watching me, I immediately stop singing, completely embarrassed that I had been caught.

“I am making breakfast, I didn’t mean to wake anyone up or disturb anyone, I just thought it might be nice for everyone you know…” I know I am babbling but I just can’t seem to stop, it has always been that way when I get nervous I babble or I start laughing. Trying and failing to hide a smile Bucky shrugs, making him look younger.

“You didn’t wake me up I’ve been awake for an hour.”

“Oh okay, I’ll just get back to it, I’m nearly done anyway. J.A.R.V.I.S can you let everyone know breakfast will be ready in 10 minutes please?” Turning to avoid Bucky’s gaze I turn the oven down, grab plates and make my way to the table to set it. Bucky is standing in the middle of the room looking relatively awkward, he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

“Do you need any help?”

Bucky said so softly I almost didn’t hear him, turning to look at him I find he is looking at the floor playing with his fingers. I tilt my head and look at him taking in his appearance, he was heart-stoppingly handsome but seeing him right now he looked so tired and I wondered if he was okay, like really okay. I must have been staring because he looked up so we were facing each other and repeated his question.

“Oh sorry no its okay, take a seat ill make some coffee.”

I nearly ran back to kitchen to get away from him, he was far too intense for me to deal with this morning. A pot of coffee in one hand and a pot of tea in the other I made my way back to the table to see others have joined, I put the pots on the table rushing now I had people to feed. By the time I had nearly finished putting all the food out everyone has made their way to the table, putting a plate of sausages and a plate of hash browns down I smiled.

“Hi guys I hope you are hungry, I thought since everyone is training today I would make breakfast.”

I fiddled with the hem of my top, hoping my cooking was up to scratch and taking a seat next to Steve. A chorus of ‘thank you’s’ and ‘its perfects’ sound from around the table.

Breakfast went off without a hitch and Tony let everyone know that we started training at 10am in the computer lab. Since I had sprung breakfast on most of them they left to get changed or to go have a shower, not before warning me not to do the washing up as I had singlehandedly cooked for all of them. I agreed but still cleared everything away and set in neat piles so whoever got stuck with doing had an easier time. As I left the kitchen I almost ran into Bucky, he was pacing near enough in front of the kitchen door.

“Bucky are you okay? Do you need anything?”

I swear to god he looked like I had just caught him doing something embarrassing, without thinking I put my hand on his arm. Bucky didn’t take his eyes off where my hand was, oh god had I over stepped already? I can feel nervous laughter bubbling up, stupid tick this was seriously not the time. A small laugh seems to bring Bucky back out of his head, shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I just came to say thank you for breakfast. I will see you at training.”

With that he spins and walks out of the room, taking the biggest strides I have ever seen, damn does he look good walking away. Stop looking. Why is everyone here so attractive? It’s not fair on me at all. 

I kept myself busy until it was time for training, J.A.R.V.I.S again directed me to the computer lab which was fucking huge! I mean like something you would see in a movie scene, now I wish I had played more attention in class. Wouldn’t say I’m useless at computers but I wouldn’t know how to hack something but I know how to set up WiFi and stuff, which to everyone else would probably mean I am useless at computers.

Looking around the room it seems that Sam, Steve and Bucky were the only ones that hadn’t arrived yet.

“Hey kid we're just waiting on a few more and we will get started, myself and Bruce will be the ones teaching all the tech stuff as you will see later we are the best.”

Tony gestured between their computers as I walked over to them and stood behind them, watching with no clue on what they were typing. Bruce leaned away looking kind of wary of me as I peeked at his screen.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to look over your shoulder that was rude of me.”

I mumbled and stepped back, playing with my fingers and trying to find something else to look at.

“Don’t mind Bruce he just gets nervous around beautiful women.”

Tony winked at Bruce then nudged me, I had to try to keep the laugh from my lips as Bruce started to babble at me.

“No I was just moving so you could see, not that your not- I mean that’s not why I- Tony why are you like this?”

For a moment I contemplated playing along with Tony but the door opened and the three boys walked in.

“Saved by the bell Bruce, if it helps you’re not bad to look at either.”

I winked at him and walked over to Sam not looking back at them but hearing Tony laugh and Bruce mumbling something. I bump my shoulder against Sam and poke Bucky’s stomach as I pass him before standing next to Steve, who looks at Bucky wearily.

“Sorry have I overstepped or something?”

Maybe Steve and Bucky weren’t as open to new people as Sam is. I get it I guess, it’s just they seemed fine earlier with me.

“No, it’s fine, were fine, I'm fine.”

Bucky was the one to nervously reply to me, but avoided eye contact.

“Say fine one more time Bucky and I will believe you.”

I replied, smiling trying to ease the tension I could feel here.

“Fine.”

He finally met my eyes and I could see mischief dancing in them, a smile pulling at the corners his mouth.

“Fine.”

I mimicked, looking away towards the rest of the group, who looked ready to start. Tony called over the four of us, he gestured for me to sit down at a desk in front of the line of computers as everyone else sat down.

“Okay so J.A.R.V.I.S has put together a two tests for us today. The first is to hack through a couple of file and systems, second is to see how good you are at covering your tracks. Me and Bruce are not biased as we don’t what J.A.R.V.I.S has come up with. Okay were ready when you are J.A.R.V.I.S.”

After Stark sat down, he cracked his knuckles.

“Sir I am going to give everyone exactly 1 minute to sort out bests.”

As soon as J.A.R.V.I.S finished talking all bets were placed, no one bet for 1st and 2nd place because they knew that was going to be Bruce and Tony. Most bets were on Natasha or Sam, even some just betting Thor would come last. Tony asked me who I was betting for and I thought for a second.

“Bucky.”

Silence and a very confused look from Bucky.

“Why?”

“Isn’t he like a super soldier who used to do all this crap before?”

“Hmm you’re a clever girl фазовращатель but you still should have bet on me.”

Natasha’s smooth voice responded, she looked like she was about to devour me whole.

“Wait can I swap my answer, she is scarier than Bucky.”

I shoot back at her, hopefully looking more confident then I felt.

“No you can’t.”

A sly smile formed on her beautiful face, god she could probably get anyone to do anything for her, so I looked towards the metal armed man again. “Well it looks like you are stuck with me, don’t let me down soldier.”

Almost the same smile Natasha had given me appeared on Bucky’s face, Jesus he could probably could topple buildings with that face. J.A.R.V.I.S started counting down from 5 and games faces appeared across the board. On J.A.R.V.I.S’ command they all started, rapid mouse movement and loud key strokes. It was so tense, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Tony finished first with Bruce following closely behind him, they both made their way over to me and sat down. About 8 minutes later Natasha stood up, yawned and turned around.

“Suck it Barnes. Looks like you misplaced your faith фазовращатель”

Natasha looked slightly confused when Bucky lent back on his chair giving her a smug smile, also standing and walking towards me. “Oh sorry Nat, were we meant to stand up and make a big deal out of it when we finished? Damn I’m 4 minutes late celebrating then.” “Bullshit Barnes! J.A.R.V.I.S what was his time?”

Natasha barked, unbelieving of Bucky’s revelation.

“Mr Barnes finished 4 minutes ago.”

Honestly I didn’t think he could look any smugger but arrogance almost rolled off him, it was kind of attractive. Okay who was I kidding it was so fucking hot. I have always had a thing for powerful men and at this moment Bucky basically dominated this room.

I was brought out of my thoughts when Bucky sat down in the seat beside me, hand resting over the back of my chair. After a while everyone finished the task, Thor indeed coming last. Tony suggested a quick break before starting the next challenge.

“Guess you didn’t misplace your faith after all кукла.”

I shift in my seat. This is ridiculous, he is ridiculous. I need to get myself together already, I peek at him out of the corner of my eye but he is already looking at me, wicked gleam in his eye.

“I don’t know what that last word means, but it looks like that doesn’t it. Excuse me for a second.”

I stood before he could distract me further, making my way over to Natasha who smiled at me as I made my way over to her.

“What was the word you kept calling me earlier?”

She lent against the table in front of us.

“фазовращатель it means shifter in Russian.”

She explained it like I would know Russian, I wonder if that’s the language Bucky was talking in too. I decide to ask.

“What does kukla mean? Is it Russian? Bucky called me it earlier and I need to know if I need to smack him or not”

Nat raised an eyebrow at me, then looked over to Bucky.

“Yes it is Russian, кукла, it mean doll.”

Oh.

Part 4                                                                                 Part 6

[zillowcondo]

This & That: May 19, 2017

Books

—The Baker’s Secret: A Novel by Stephen P. Kiernan

Earlier this week I stopped by my local bookshop and picked up my order of Stephen P. Kiernan’s new novel The Baker’s Secret. Perhaps I should have placed this book in the Francophile Find section because it takes place in France and revolves around, well, you guessed it, baking bread, French bread. Set in 1944 on the eve of D-Day in a Normandy village, the plot begins. Centered around 22-year-old Emma, who learned the artisan craft of baking bread from the beloved and skilled village baker, she is tasked, at the point of a gun, to bake for the enemy, the German occupiers. But she goes one step further to take care of her fellow village folk. Sounds like an intriguing narrative, non?

—Work Simply: Embracing the Power of Your Personal Productivity Style by Carson Tate

From learning how to conduct the ideal meeting, knowing when face-to-face is better than emails and visa versa, Carson Tate offers practical advice for creating a working environment that is productive and more fulfilling.

—Barking Up the Wrong Tree: The Surprising Science Behind Why Everything You Know About Success Is (Mostly) Wrong by Eric Barker

Released earlier this week, Barking Up the Wrong Tree offers perhaps a shocking truth to the secret behind success. And the good news is, we all have the potential to attain it. With inspiration derived from Albert Einstein, Genghis Khan and the Navy SEALs, you will soon discover why some of your efforts may have been for naught and how to redirect your energy to see the results you seek.

Francophile Find

—Paris Undressed: The Secrets of French Lingerie by Kathryn Kemp Griffin

A few weeks ago, a TSLL reader emailed to recommend Kathryn Kemp Griffin’s book Paris Undressed, and I must say, I became quickly curious. Offering insight, knowledge and tutorials on how to wear and choose quality lingerie for everyday and special occasions, the book also shares the addresses to visit in Paris the next time you venture to the City of Light to properly complete your lingerie capsule wardrobe.

Shopping

—Ancient Greek Sandals

Summer is just around the corner, and knowing you have the proper footwear is a simple peace of mind to add to the season. Available in black, brown and white, these leather Grecian sandals are the classic foot attire for just about any outfit you may be wearing during the hot summer months.

—The Noir SSShower Cap

Recently I have been spending some time on the highly recommended beauty site Violet Grey. Compiling only the recommended items for skin, body and hair they swear by, a handful of items have caught my eye, but it was this shower cap that stopped me immediately as I have been looking for a fuss-free, reliable option for preserving my blowout.  Carefully designed to maintain your hair’s fullness and not leave any forehead creases, it is also washable, breathable and has a flexible band for all head sizes.

Television

—James Beard: America’s First Foodie

I absolutely cannot wait, and my DVR is already set. The America Master’s series returns to PBS, offering two documentaries, and the first profiles America’s First Foodie: James Beard. Premiering last month at the iPic Theater while the James Beard Awards took place in New York City as well, it will air on PBS beginning this Friday at 9pm (but check your local listings as on my channel it will air on Sunday). If you aren’t quite sure who James Beard is, do not worry. The trailer below will joggle your memory.

  ~recipe for Fig, Prosciutto & Burrata Salad~

Last week I shared I would be heading to my local nurseries to pick out the annuals for my pots and baskets which accessorize my porches as well as select the vegetables and herbs for my garden. Well, Mother Nature decided to share a few snow flurries and temperatures dropped enough to keep me inside, so I postponed my outing. Which means, I am heading out this weekend. And for me, it is a special annual event. With a list in hand, the boys in the back seat, I pull on my wellies and set out to add a touch of color and good eating to my home. I absolutely cannot wait. I will be sure to share a few pics from my journey on Instagram.

What will you be up to this weekend? Here in Bend, the 41st annual Pole Pedal Paddle takes place and it appears the weather will be quite perfect. I wish all good luck, as I will be kicking off the weekend catching up with friends at a favorite breakfast spot (and then heading to the nurseries!). Weekends truly are a treasure, whether traveling or staying home, and I feel most fortunate to have a home town that is a delight to explore and savor. I hope your hometown offers the same experience. And while you take some time to relax over these next few days, below are a few articles you might enjoy reading.

On a blog note, an extra post will go live on Sunday morning revealing the much anticipated Spring Capsule Menu. So until then, bonne journée!

~9 Beauty Secrets of French Women(from a French Woman)

~A home french chef service, similar to BlueApron, but not BlueApron. After all, it’s set in Paris, so it must be haute cuisine, non?

~Caring for your clothing, tips from my favorite NYC stylist.

~A smarter way to clean your home: a step by step approach for simplifying and keeping your home clean every day

~The Washington Post’s contemplates the price of a single Ladurée macaron. Are they worth $3?

~Which foods are actually healthy and which ones were we led astray to believe were but aren’t? And be sure to seriously consider letting these 5 foods go as well.

~Did America really ruin breakfast? This journalist seems to think so. Find out why here.

~The new first lady of France, Brigitte Macron is raising eyebrows in the fashion world for all of the right reasons.

~And just a heads up for tennis lovers, anyone who appreciates the progression of equality between the sexes or simply engaging acting by talented actors, Battle of the Sexes starring Emma Stone and Steve Carell as Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs hits theaters in September depicting the epic tennis match in 1973. Have a look at the trailer below and mark your calendars.

This & That: May 19, 2017 published first on http://ift.tt/2pewpEF