#which is in the middle of the night half sleeping and then passing out 30 minutes later just holding them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshigray · 1 year ago

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Been thinking about this scenario a lot, but ex-husband! Toji, where you two are pretty chill with each other, even after five years of divorce. But the feelings between you two start to parade back after all these years, and it all comes boiling over after spending one night together.

A/n: Been a while since I've done one of these scenario thingies, plus this idea has been rotting my mind for a long time, and I needed it to get out, lol. I pushed back my Gojo fic to tmrw or Thursday because my brain was not feeling like re-reading 3-4k words while running on one hour of sleep. So, instead, we're dropping this in its stead. Sorry about that, and hope you like this while I fix the fic up later today :) Any grammar/spelling errors on this will be dealt with tmrw.

Cw: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - implied that reader is entering their mid 30s - starts out cute the first half but smutty the next, so minors DNI - implied that Tsumiki and Megumi are around middle school age; 12 (T) and 11 (M) - pining; Toji is whipped for you, I fear - Daddy kink - prone bone position + mating press - pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweetie, mama, princess) - cervix fucking - praise - itty-bitty-tiny overstimulation - closure; happy ending (?).

Wc: 3.4k (wow, way longer than the last one, lol)

Ex-husband! Toji...

...who you've divorced after being together for four years. It was a marriage built on love, convenience, and heartache. There is no denying that Toji loved you very much; if anything, the man would set the world ablaze if anything were to happen to you. Especially when you were the sweetest thing that blessed his presence and his two children who were young at the time — Tsumiki and Megumi at age three. The fact that you loved him as much as he loved you is beyond doubt in Toji's mind. However, somewhere down the line, you felt a "shadow" that you could not surpass nor fill — the late wife of Toji.

You could tell that Toji still had a piece of him that just couldn't let the memory of his late wife go, and you understood that. Hence why you chose to leave him, which was glum for all parties, but Toji understood where you were coming from and signed the papers.

...who's still chill with you after the divorce. You two promised not to act like complete strangers, especially with Tsumiki and Megumi being close to you. Just because the ring isn't on your finger doesn't mean you must change completely. The two of you are comfortable enough to be in each other's company, taking turns watching over the kids and acting like you're still married by poking fun at one another like the good days.

"Hey, big guy," Toji turns to the kitchen hallway where you're looking at him, his usual black coffee in his mug still sheltered in your apartment cupboards. "You look like shit; too tired to go to the clubs to find some minx to wow you enough like you used to?"

He snickers at your brazenness. "Shut up, brat. I could ask the same fr' you. Got some good dick on the side to help that attitude of yours, baby?" After checking around to see if the kids are nearby, you give him the middle finger. He chuckles before sipping his coffee.

...whose kids adore and love you so much that they secretly try to have you and Toji in the same place, which the two of you are entirely aware of. Five years passed after your separation, though that doesn't hinder the children from wanting you back in their lives again. Because to them, you are always a Fushiguro, and the love for you will always be there. It's there when you go to Tsumiki's soccer games and drag your ex-husband to find a better seat on the bleachers to watch her play. It's there when Megumi tells his father he "accidentally" left his baseball bat at your place and "unfortunately" now has to spend the night there (and you always receive them). And it's there when you promise to come along on family trips, like going to the zoo and taking pictures by the Panda enclosure with his daughter or going to the aquarium and listening intently to his son explain all the different types of jellyfish.

Toji can't blame his own kin for being attached to you because you are still a mother in their eyes. And so to his.

...who has his wedding ring on his dog-tag necklace but always tucks it under his shirt whenever you're present. It gives him a peace of mind when it comes to you because if he can't be there for you 24/7, he knows you're under his protection whenever you need it. But the thought of you knowing he still wears it makes him anxious, worried that you'll take it the wrong way and request he never wears it again. So, for his sake, he keeps you blind to this secret. And he wonders if you ever wear yours...

...who welcomes you without hesitation when you have to spend the night at his place because he notices you're too exhausted to go home so late. The only problem is that there's no other room outside the kids and Toji's. And as much you protest, expressing your satisfaction with taking the couch, your ex-husband disagrees and will carry you to bed, sneering to himself as you try to wiggle out of his stronghold until he smacks the bedroom door closed with his leg.

"I told you I was fine sleeping on the couch, Toji." You complain to him, yet your back is pressed against his chest with his arm around your waist.

"And I told you not gonna happen, princess." his hold around you gets tighter, pulling you closer for him to rest his chin on your shoulder. "You'd probably fall off and smack that pretty face of y'rs on the floor."

"I would not—You know what," you stooped from saying anything further to the man grinning behind your ear. You shift a bit to make yourself comfortable. "Goodnight, Toji. And thank you."

It takes every fiber in his being to not kiss your cheek then and there. Exhaling softly through his nostrils as he lays his head back on the pillow. "No problem, sweetheart."

...who the last time he had someone after your separation was not feeling it at all. You even said he is free to do whatever he wants when moving on to the next minx that caught his attention. You two are adults and shouldn't feel entitled to putting each other on a leash. Despite that, he knew moving on from you wouldn't be easy — especially in the bedroom.

The women he's had after you can only be counted on one hand. No matter how good the fun was with the others, his mind would always crawl back to you. It didn't matter how different their hair was, what they dressed that night, or how fucking good the sex was; you would cloud his mind in some way. They weren't you. They weren't his sweet thing.

...who's extremely perplexed in a nightclub when he sees you. He didn't want to go in the first place until Satoru Gojo barged into his apartment, dragged him out in his best attire, and left Nanami (another victim of Gojo's foolishness) to babysit Megumi and Tsumiki. And it was bad enough that Gojo snaked away from Toji to the dance floor the second they got inside, the raven-haired man almost popping a vein in vexation.

So the older man resorts to just doing the usual gig: walking around before sitting at the bar to ask for a regular beer. He stays there for nearly half an hour, taking sips of his bottle while sweet-talking to the ladies that occasionally find him and give him his number. Things got really loud when the DJ at the discothèque played "Up!" by Lil Vada and DonnySolo, all the party people crowding the floor, bumping and grinding each other while singing the lyrics. It was at this point that Toji had enough of the massive headache growing in his head, so he was about to down his beer and leave the club; Gojo be damned because the fucker could find his own way home and then some.

But midway through putting the beer bottle on his scarred lips, something in Toji's peripheral captures his attention. And his jade eyes go wide at what he sees.

Down to the right side of the dance floor are booths catered to bigger parties, so it's obvious to notice when a single person sits alone on one of the round tables while everyone else is dancing their hearts out. That one person was you, observing the dance floor with your head on your hand resting on the table.

To say that Toji was flabbergasted by the image of you in a place like this after all these years was tough for him to comprehend. Yet what really had him in a chokehold was how stunning you were. From where he stood, he could tell that you dolled yourself quite a bit. Your hair was kept in a style that displayed your face wholly, and you were wearing a beautiful halter-neck dress with slits revealing your thighs deliciously.

He forgets how to breathe when your eyes drift in his direction and find him. You're just as surprised as he is for a short moment, but you offer him a familiar smile and beckon him to come to your side of the club. The older man wastes no time, paying the bartender and making his way through the crowd to your table. When he's close enough, he can tell that your dress is backless, exposing your smooth skin that calls for him to touch.

And when Toji notices the ring on your left hand — the old wedding ring he gifted you — the world around him comes to a complete standstill.

"Hey, big guy." He snaps back to look at your beautiful face, your smile still there to blind him, and the booth far from the dance floor and music so he can listen to your sweet voice. You move to the side to make room for him to sit. "Didn't think I'd find you here."

"Me neither." He admits to you as he takes a seat, his green orbs never leaving your figure. "What are you doin' here?"

"Some friends dragged me out here for one of their birthdays. I figured I'd be here for a few hours and loosen up a bit, you know? But I don't know, I guess I'm just so used to being at my place that I'm out of practice with clubs."

Toji nods at your answer. "Yeah, I was dragged here, too. I'm with—"

"Gojo? Yeah, I thought so. He's right there dancing with my friends." He pans around to the dance floor to see commotion at the center. The snow-haired man was dancing as a crowd formed around him, getting grinded on by a woman with a "happy birthday" headband.

Gojo notices the raven-headed man staring his way, pulls down his shades, and winks. That's when the reason why Toji was brought here in the first place hits him. Gojo knew you would be here tonight because of your friend's birthday. And now that you two are sitting alone, the wink signaled Toji to make his move.

"....Wanna get the hell outta here?"

You giggle at his suggestion. "Yeah, I don't feel like watching my friends get pregnant on the dance floor."

Toji snickers and grabs your hand to lead you out of the booth. He then drapes his denim jacket over your shoulders to cover your exposed shoulders and back, and the two of you leave the club without anyone noticing a thing.

...who spends the rest of the night with you as if you two are on a date again. It's late, so many shops around the area are closed already, but that doesn't stop the two of you from having fun. From sharing a meal at a nearby diner, walking around a shopping plaza admiring the silent ambiance, and listening to old tunes in his car as you two share stuff about your day while holding hands. And the change of mood completely baffles Toji. Nevertheless, when he sees the smile on your face and hears the sweet tune of your laughter, the grasp on your hand gets tighter with every minute. All his intentions go into enjoying having you with him like this again.

...who stays by your side until he has to drop you off at your place, parked his car to walk you to your apartment door. It's 1 o'clock in the morning, way later than Toji ever intended to stay out. Not that it matters now, because it's all worth it being able to walk with you. He doesn't let go of your hand even when his heart dies a little when you two arrive at your door.

"Had a good time?" You ask while unlocking the door; your eyes showcase subtle exhaustion but are overshadowed by your smile.

"Sure as hell did since I saw you at the club." He confesses, your chuckles casting a spell on him.

"Hmm, I'm glad you were there too, Toji." You meant those words, your eyes gazing into his, and the man's plunged deep into your gorgeous orbs. A feeling that he now realizes he wants to be the only one experiencing with you.

An awkward silence for a few seconds prompts you to snatch your hand away from his, causing his stomach to drop. "Sorry, your jacket" is what you use to excuse yourself, moving to take off the denim jacket. But Toji stops you, his hands stationed on your shoulders to keep you still.

"No, it's cold, sweetie." His voice is hushed, only for you to hear. "You can give it back next time."

Silence comes back again, but the air is heavier this time. The awkwardness is replaced with something more solicitous, more affectionate. You notice it when Toji has yet removed his hands from your shoulders, his large palms warming you up to the touch.

"Toji—"

"It's alright, baby." His gruff tone is still a whisper, and butterflies flutter in your stomach. "I won't do anythin'."

"No, no," you don't know what came over you, but you place your hands on his chest. Then your finger touches something from underneath his turtleneck, having you pull his collar down to pull out the dog-tag necklace that still harbors his old wedding ring. Toji's blood shifts to ice cold when you see the accessory — his anxiousness spikes up to an all-time high, only mere seconds from combusting based on whatever your response will be. And it comes.

"I...I want you to do something, Toji." It felt strange saying those words with your shaky confidence, though it's what you wished to express. "I want you..."

And just like that, whatever restraint that the older man had for you was butchered away. Emerald eyes take in every feature of your anticipating expression, and his lips come crashing down on yours.

...who couldn't care less how late it is right now because he finally has you where he wants you after all these years. It's 2:30 in the morning, way too late for loud noises as they'll disrupt the neighbors next door. But, again, Toji doesn't care about that. When he finally has you lying under him on your stomach, screaming out his name while he drives his cock deep inside you, what is there to care about?

The two of you are in the prone bone position, where you lie flat on your belly on the cream-white satin sheets of your bed, your legs in between Toji's and bare ass out for him to have easy access to your creamy cunt that hugs onto him all so well.

Tears paint your wet and sweaty face, drool escapes from the corner of your mouth and meets the sheets beneath you. The harsh thrusts of Toji's pelvis hitting your ass with such precision have you see stars, and his big hands keep your arms still. All you can hear are the ecstatic cries of your voice and the noises of skin smacking together.

"Nnmph!! Haaaah!! Ahhhh, yesssss, Daddy, just like that," your voice feels strained from all the screaming you've been doing for the past hour. Lips are swollen from the constant biting, your butt stinging from the intense contact with your ex-husband's pelvis. It's hard to think of anything but the man above you and his dick rearranging your slit like his personal toy. You never thought you'd experience this exhilarating and rewarding sensation again. And now that you do, it's all you want to indulge in. "H-Harder, pleaseeee, I want mo—Ahhhnnn!"

Toji grinds his hips down to your ass, churning your insides and grazing your cervix to the point of incoherent babbles. "Mmmm, oooh, shit, fuckin' shit. You're too tight on me, mama." He gives you a sharp thrust when you least expect it, and the walls of your chasm clamping down on his length has him hiss. It's hard to believe you're permitting him to have you like this. It's been five years. Five years of respectful boundaries and keeping a platonic relationship. Five years of denying feelings of want and desire. All those years of heavy guilt suddenly lifted from his shoulders just for him to have you under his bow again, your body quivering and voice shaky because of his touch.

It feels so surreal...But, God, Toji missed this so goddamn much. Missing your eyes, your smile, your touch, your body. Just you. Only you. "Hnnngh!! Damn, you feel so fuckin' good, baby. Can never have enough..."

"Mnnaaaah! Daddy, I'm gonna cummm, I'm gonna—Oooohh!!" The tip of his shaft scrapes the upper walls of your vagina, your brain pounding so hard to the point it hurts. "Pleaseee, let me cum, Daddyyy..."

He can tell you're close and senses your orgasm climbing up with his. That's when the pace of his hips goes erratically fast, jabbing your sweet spots and tender cervix, causing more tears to come down and your peak to finally release for the third time that night. As you cream on his cock, Toji's not too far from his own crescendo. Your velvety walls contract around his member divinely, and the older man spills his load into your quivering figure.

You're allowed to experience the aftershocks of your orgasm as you two let your bodies calm down, Toji laying his chest on your sweaty, heaving back. He then slowly removes his dick from your chasm, and the essence of your unioned sex feels cold while sliding down your inner thighs.

"Haaaaah...Mmmm, thank you, Toji." You whimper out as he lays kisses down your neck and shoulders. "Thank you..."

But little did you know that it wasn't the last of it. Before you could apprehend what was going on, Toji already had you flipped over to your back, stationing your legs on his shoulders to a mating press. And you see that his cock is not limp yet...

W-Wait a damn second—

"T-Toji, wait, hold on!" You try to rationalize with the man who aligns his shaft to your gushing vulva, and your sweat runs cold. "It's getting late. I just came three times already! We should—Nmmmph!!"

The head of his cock slides right in thanks to the slick and come lubricating your opening. Adding his weight onto you as he pushes his length deep into your chasm again, you cry choked sobs when he meets your cervix again, and his pelvis rubs against your clitoris. "Sorry, mama. Just lemme finish here, 'kay? Daddy missed havin' you like this, so I wanna give you all of me while I still can."

...who has your fatigued self lying on his chest, rubbing circles on your back and placing soft kisses on your forehead as you feel the effects of sleep slowly creep up on you. The lights are now off, the moonlight bargaining from the curtains being the only light source as you two are ready to gather whatever amount of sleep you can get.

"Hey, baby." But before that, Toji wants your attention for the last time before you sleep.

"Mhmm?" Your eyes are closed, but your ears are still open to listen.

His eyes drift down to the left hand that lays motionless on his chest. The gem on the ring flashes softly for it to be distinguishable. "How come you were wearin' your ring at the club?"

A few seconds go by before you give him the honest truth. "Same reason you wear yours. I always wear it when going out somewhere or alone someplace. Gives people the idea that I'm not ready for anyone else."

"Then why not wear it when I'm around?"

You giggle breathlessly. "Same reason why you don't let me see yours. I don't need a ring when I have you with me. A ring doesn't compare to my big man who will love and protect me wherever we go."

And Toji doesn't ask anything else after that. He lets you fall asleep in his arms and listens to your breathing follow a melodic rhythm. Your words stick with him even when his eyes close, and he soon falls into a deep sleep.

It's far-fetched to think that you two will be married again. Maybe it's possible in his dreams, but not in the real world. Regardless, Toji knows he will always stand beside you and be there for you. With or without a ring that's merely evidence of your love to outsiders. He knows you love him, and that's all he needs to keep moving. And if he could have you as his wife again, he'd sweep you off your feet in a heartbeat.

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thelov3lybookworm · 4 months ago

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Pretty Princess.

Day 2: Hair

Summary: Cassian has spectacular hair.

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Word Count: 501 (one word extra 😔)

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A/n: look, i wrote this in 30 mins. i didnt expect any better, but just so you all are warned, this came out not like i wanted, but i dont have the time to make it beter.

(i feel like this is good but im not used to writing fluff so im disgusted lmao but then again i wish this was angst 😔)

(hol up i just got an angsty idea 👀 might be getting 2 fics today hehe)

anyways, my fic for @cassianappreciationweek day 2 woohooo 🥳

(dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Pacing his room in the middle of the night had become a regular occurrence, one he would have yelled at himself for if it had not been for Aaron. After all, he had helped make the baby. It was only right he helped his mate take care of the baby.

Currently, she was passed out on the bed, tired out of her mind after nursing Cade, their second born. Aaron had run into their room an hour ago, almost waking up Y/n because he was scared.

Thankfully, by the miracle of the Mother, Cassian had awoken before Y/n could, and since then he’d been carrying Aaron around the room, the little boys curled tightly into his father’s arms to ward off the terrors that plagued him.

Though it messed up his schedule, Cassian wasn’t complaining.

Just when Cassian was beginning to think that Aaron would fall asleep, he jerked up, staring at Cassian with wide eyes. "Papa. I want hair like you."

Cassian blinked, brows furrowing. "Sure, Ron, you can grow out your hair once you get older, yeah?"

"No papa, I want long hair." He had his mothers eyes. Which made it harder for Cassian to argue with the little boy, especially when he stared at him so pleadingly.

"I know my boy, you can grow out your hair-"

"Now."

Cassian sighed, nodding as he felt his hair being pulled. Aaron continued tugging on the free strands, and Cassian wished he had tied his hair up.

"Aaron, my darling boy, you can have your hair long, okay? But for that to happen, you will have to sleep."

"Noo papaaaaa. I want long hair like you."

"Cass?" Cassian whirled faster than he had in his life to meet the curious gaze of his mate. "What is going on?"

Cassian grunted, letting a wiggling Aaron down and watching as he waddled over to his mother’s side. "I want papa’s hair."

His lip jutted out as his mother cooed at him, picking him up and laying him down next to her. Y/n glanced at Cassian helplessly after a few minutes of quiet chatter with the toddler, who just shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

It took them an hour to get the little boy tired enough to get him to sleep, and when he finally did, Cassian turned to stare in the mirror.

"You know what?"

"What?" Y/n asked, laying back down next to her two sons.

"I do have spectacular hair."

The laugh she let out was pure melody to Cassian’s ears, one he would give his life to keep hearing till the end of time.

"Come sleep, my pretty princess."

He snorted, but did as she asked and lay down in his designated spot, now half conquered by his oldest. Cassian knew it would be useless moving the child, knowing it would barely take him a moment before he kicked Cassian off the bed.

Better to enjoy Y/n’s head scratches while they lasted.

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts @samslittlespoon @nickishadow139

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

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wandascrush · 27 days ago

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Starks ball

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Avengers x Fem!Reader, Platonic Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Stress, hunger, descriptions of female body, that's it I think?

Pt. 4 to my DIWK series

You stood frozen in the middle of the room, Wanda’s words echoing in your head. She knows… but what does she know?

The door clicked shut behind her, and you released a shaky breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew the risks when you were put on this mission, especially as a “new” Avenger. But Wanda? Wanda finding out? That’s something you hadn’t prepared for. The mission was already complicated, but now there was more than just the Avengers at stake—there was Natasha. If Wanda told her or anyone else before you had a chance to explain, everything would come crashing down. Lives were at stake. Your life was at stake.

You ran a hand through your hair, pacing as your thoughts raced. Confronting Wanda now would only raise more suspicion. But the thought of Natasha lingered, her lips, her kiss, the way she looked at you with that rare softness. You shouldn’t even be thinking about letting anyone in—this mission wasn’t about feelings—but here you were, caught between conflicting desires. Shit.

The next morning, a hard thud at your door jolted you awake. The clock read 5:30 a.m. Now who the fu—oh. Natasha stood waiting outside, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in a black zip-up and leggings. Meanwhile, your unruly hair curled every which way like a lion’s mane, your eyes heavy with sleep.

“Hey, Nat. What’s wrong?” your voice came out raspy.

She smirked. “What, I need a reason now to knock on your door at 5:30 a.m.?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Wake your ass up, we’re going on a run.”

A groan almost escaped you, but you swallowed it down. If Natasha wasn’t so pretty, funny, and smart—and whatever, if she wasn’t your friend—you would’ve said no. But instead, you forced a smile.

“I was thinking the same thing!”

A chuckle rumbled in her chest. “Sure you were, Y/N. Sure.”

“I was! I’m dead serious, y’know.” You winked and started washing up.

Ten miles later, you collapsed on the grass, panting and regretting your early mornings decisions. "So, is this your idea of a hangout—or torture?" you gasped, trying to regain your breath.

“This is a rest day for me, sweetheart,” Natasha teased, lying beside you, her hands on her chest as she slowed her breathing.

“Good for you, asshole. Brunch?”

As the sun roasted you both, you noticed Natasha’s eyes flickering over you. Her gaze lingered on your body—your curves, your strong arms, your legs. The way your chest rose and fell with a steady rhyth,, the glistening of sweat on your breasts- she quickly turned away, mentally scolding herself. No better than a man.

Earlier, during the run, she’d run out of water, and you hadn’t hesitated to share yours. There was something unexpectedly sweet about that, and it caught her off guard. As she looked back at you now, Natasha realized how easy it was to talk to you, how natural everything felt when it was just the two of you.

Together, the two of you were refreshing. Conversation flowed easily, and if you weren’t careful, hours would pass by without notice. The food grew cold from how little either of you ate, too busy laughing, teasing, and genuinely listening. It wasn’t just casual banter, either—Natasha let herself be semi-vulnerable in those rare moments.

Later that night, after a quick shower, you were just about to figure out what to eat for a late dinner when the door to your bedroom beeped. Your heart leapt in your chest, half-expecting Wanda. But when the door slid open, it was Natasha. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed, her eyes searching your face.

“Busy?” she asked, her voice calm, but the tension between you was unmistakable.

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Always.”

Natasha stepped into the room, the space between you disappearing as her fingers brushed your arm. The air around you shifted. Her touch grounded you, but it also pulled you deeper into the mess you were in.

“I’ve been thinking…” she trailed off, her voice quieter now, her walls lowering.

Your pulse quickened. “Yeah?”

Natasha’s usual steel gaze softened, and there was no hint of a joke in her eyes this time. “About how stupid this is. Letting this happen.”

Your heart sank. “You think this is stupid?”

She frowned slightly, stepping back just enough to create space. “No. I mean…yes. Actually, yeah. Look at us.We know better. With everything going on. The missions, the risks. We both know what this kind of thing leads to. It’s too complicated.”

You wanted to reassure her, to tell her that whatever this was between you wasn’t a mistake. That you were more than friends…omething in-between. But the secret you were carrying tightened in your chest, choking the words. “Nat, I… there’s something I need to—”

Before you could finish, alarms blared throughout the compound, red lights flashing in sync with the shrill warning. Natasha’s posture instantly shifted back into mission mode, her eyes darting to the ceiling.

“Guess we’ll have to table that for now,” she muttered, pulling away. “We’ll pick this up later.”

You nodded, but the weight in your chest told you “later” might never come.

The Quinjet hummed as you stepped onto the launch pad, where Tony, Steve, and Clint were already preparing to gear up. You tried to shake off the tension, the ache in your chest, but it stayed with you. Natasha caught your eye for a split second, then turned to Steve.

“A mission this late?” you asked. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry, Y/N,” Steve said as he strapped on his shield. “We only need Nat on this one. Fury said he needs you on his level.”

Oh? “Yeah, sure. Good luck.”

The elevator ride to Fury’s office felt endless, every floor an opportunity to dwell on how complicated things had become. The familiar ding finally broke your thoughts, and you stepped into the stark, empty office. Fury was already seated, his legs propped on the desk, twirling a butterfly knife between his fingers. His face unreadable, as usual.

“Fury.”

“L/N. Sit.” The leather crunched awkwardly beneath you as you sat, the musky scent of his cologne filling the air and already giving you a headache.

“What about ‘inconspicuous presence’ did you not understand?” Fury asked, his voice sharp.

“Come aga—” Before you could finish, Fury slid three photos across the desk. You and Natasha, laughing over breakfast hours earlier.

Oh.

“You don’t think HYDRA agents eat breakfast? You don’t think they spend time in the city? You were out in public with Natasha.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

Fury’s booming voice cut you off again. “What the hell were you thinking, Agent? One slip-up, and the whole operation goes up in smoke. All for some damn eggs and bacon?”

The room fell quiet. A part of you wanted to laugh, maybe out of nerves. But Fury’s sigh across the desk was heavy, frustrated.

“This is getting too complicated. And I have more at stake now than I did before... things have changed. In the months I’ve been at HYDRA, I’ve only given them three useful pieces of intel. They’re getting suspicious, Fury. And impatient. You know that.”

He was silent.

You continued, “And I’m trying to log into their data network, find their other bases but they always have someone in there with me- watching. It’s like they know…”

Fury sat up, his gaze locking onto yours. “Are you telling me you can’t handle this? This is your operation, I recruited you specifically for this. You’ve fed us valuable intel…maybe even the most we’ve been able to get from the inside thus far. Hold out a little longer. I’ll send you another file to pass off—something useless.”

You swallowed hard and cleared your throat. “I won’t let you down.”

As you turned to leave, Fury’s voice followed you. “And Agent?”

You craned your neck around, one foot out the door, “Yea, boss?”

“Keep those eyes open.”

You nodded on your way out, and the weight in your chest grew heavier. That insistent, intimidating Mr. Clean look-alike always knew how to push the right buttons. He knew you loved being an agent, loved SHIELD, loved the Avengers- this oddball family of heroes. The day he walked into your training grounds, dodging the blows and kicks all around him to get to where you were- knife throwing station- and handed you a sealed black envelope was a memory like no other. Being asked to join the Avengers had been an honor you didn’t see coming, but now, more than ever, you wondered how long you could keep this going.

That night, after washing up and doing your skincare, you heard a knock at your door. When you opened it, Wanda stood there, dressed in a black hoodie and grey sweats, her eyes cast downward.

“No one’s here, and I need help with my hair for tomorrow… I heard you were good at braiding.”

You forgot the Stark ball was tomorrow. You gestured for her to sit on the bed, positioning yourself behind her. “Mind if I brush through your waves first?”

Wordlessly, Wanda levitated the brush over to you, setting it in your lap. As the brush found its rhythm, the tension between you began to ease. The silence, once unbearable, became perfect. Fifteen minutes in, Wanda’s head began to dip, her body relaxing. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, her breathing soft and even.

You smirked to yourself. Not how I thought tonight would go.

You finished braiding her hair gently, watching as she snuggled into your bed. With a sigh, you grabbed a few pillows and a blanket and settled down on the floor. Great for your back, really.

When Wanda woke up the next morning, confusion clouded her brain until she remembered last night. She looked over at you, a small lump curled up under blankets on the floor. With a gentle flick of her wrist, she dropped the hairbrush onto you.

“Ow! What was that for?” you blinked the sleep out of your eyes, stretching out your stiff back.

“What happened last night?” she asked, sitting up in bed.

“You fell asleep, so I braided your hair. Then I slept on the floor.”

“And you slept on the floor because…?”

“I wanted you to be comfortable.”

Wanda frowned, but something in her softened. She quickly masked it, crossing her arms. “Well, you shouldn’t have done that. It’s your bed. Next time, just kick me out.”

“Next time?” You raised an eyebrow, peering up at her with a teasing grin.

“Shut up.”

“No can do. My room, my rules.”

Wanda hated how nonchalant you could be—so guarded, yet so soft when you wanted to be. And that contradiction? It was driving her insane.

The day of the Stark ball, the tower transformed into a dazzling, jazz-filled event. You slipped into a navy-blue silk dress, applied just the right amount of makeup, and made your way downstairs to join the rest of the Avengers.

It felt like hours of shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with strangers, but eventually, you found yourself leaning against the cool marble surface of the bar counter, sipping on a cocktail when you heard the familiar click of heels.

“That you, Tasha?” you asked without turning around.

“Spot on,” Natasha said, her voice warm, as she approached. When you turned to face her, you were struck by how stunning she looked. Her hair was curled to perfection, dark red lips giving her a sultry pout. The pout you so desperately wanted to kiss again.

Her hand grazed your hip as she pulled you in a little closer. “You look nice.”

You didn’t realize Wanda was watching from across the room, her grip tightening on her champagne flute. You tried to shake off the heat rising in your chest.

“I know,” you said, your voice cool, though your pulse quickened. Natasha smirked, her fingers lingering. If you wanted her to stop, you would’ve pulled away by now.

“Don’t be sore with me, honey.”

“Why would I be sore with you, Romanoff? We’re friends after all.” But the tension was thick between you.

“Friends? Maybe it’s a little more complicated than that,” Natasha whispered, her breath warm against your neck. There was a slight push in her tone.

“Maybe. But you don’t like complicated.”

“Says who?”

“Says you, earlier,” you teased, gently moving her hands away before walking off. Natasha watched you closely, biting the inside of her cheek as she watched you walk away, ever so non-chalant.

Later, you found a quiet corner to sit in, trying to collect your thoughts when Wanda appeared. She swayed her hips a little as she approached—unconscious, but it caught your eye.

“L/N,” she said, sitting down beside you. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

“For?”

“Letting me sleep. You should’ve kicked me out.”

“Why would I do that? When someone’s tired, let them sleep.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes at you, skeptical. “You looked like a dejected puppy.”

You smirked, taking a sip of your martini.

For the rest of the night, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, exchanging small quips and people-watching. Wanda’s eyes occasionally flickered to you, admiring the way your dress fell gracefully over your body. You were still a bit of an enigma to her, but that curiosity had slowly shifted into something more. You were a bit annoying, but she was starting to not mind it so much. And you were starting not to mind her attitude.

The next afternoon, while nursing a mild hangover, you lay on the couch in the common room, sipping water when Peter flopped down next to you, looking half-dead.

“You and me both, kid,” you groaned.

He didn’t respond, too drained to talk. You nudged his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Midterms. Been studying for weeks. Can’t sleep.”

“So why are you here and not at home?”

“I needed a change of pace. Plus, May has a date… I didn’t want to be around for that.”

You chuckled and dragged yourself up from the couch, heading toward the kitchen. “Hungry?”

“I could eat,” Peter mumbled.

As you started making tomato soup and grilled cheese, you caught him peeking over your shoulder, curious but awkward. “Peter, if you’re that interested, why don’t you help me?”

He joined you, and the two of you made a mess of the kitchen. Watching Peter struggle to cut tomatoes was endearing, and you were reminded of someone special.

“You know who you remind me of right now?” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Uh—a kid who can’t cut tomatoes?”

“No, dumbass. You remind me of my sister.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger. By now, she would’ve been your age.”

“Would’ve been?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but before you could speak, a sneeze echoed from the hallway. You recognized it immediately.

“You can come out now, Wands. I know that sneeze.”

Wanda sheepishly stepped into view, a flush on her cheeks. “What’re you two up to?”

“Lunch. Want some?” you asked, feeling a sudden urge to impress her with your cooking. As she tasted the soup, you watched her intently.

Wanda moaned softly at the taste, and your heart skipped a beat. “This is amazing.”

You beamed. “My very own recipe.” Maybe everything wasn't so bad after all.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanart #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #wanda amximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #avengers x reader #avengers x fem!reader #peter parker #platonic peter parker x fem!reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff imagine

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yunaloona · 2 years ago

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Aonung x Sully!reader

reader is an amazing weaver And it’s Aonung’s of age ceremony and he asks Y/N for help with his ceremonial clothing cause he waited too long to make it and they stay up all night together making it…

~~~

It was late at night, you were drifting in and out of sleep in your separate marui because you finished your off age ceremony weeks ago, and you were finally getting used to being by yourself.

Obviously you missed you family, but it’s not like you won’t see them everyday. Lo’ak and Neteyam left months ago and that left you Kiri and Tuk.. well now just Kiri and Tuk.

Spending time in the Metkayina you got aquatinted to many of the people, a lot of them knowing you due to your amazing craftsmanship and skill in weaving.

Your mother calls it a gift from Eywa due to how diligent and fast you can get even the most difficult patterns down.

~~~

Being half way asleep you hear steps outside of your mauri. Ears perking up to the sound you grumble a bit.

Someone knocks on the outside whispering your name

“Y/N..? Hey wake up”

You groan recognizing the source of the voice.

“Go away Aonung, I’m trying to sleep.”

The boy rolled his eyes and let out a huff.

“Listen, I really need your help right now, so can you please get up?”

The genuine sound in his tone took you aback, maybe he really was in trouble and could use some help.

You raise up to see him standing in the middle of your Mauri, rubbing your eyes you yawn

“So what do you need help with?”

He seemed to liven up a bit at your willingness to assist him.

“Well.. tomorrow is my coming of age ceremony and.. I waited to long to make my ceremonial clothing.”

You deadpanned turning to lay back down

“Wait wait! Y/N I really need you to do this for me, it would be a dishonor to have not made them, I just need this one favor then I’ll leave you alone for like a week, promise”

You let out an exasperated grumble, but him not bothering you for that long sounded like heaven, plus you were lonely in your pod. Having company when you were already struggling to sleep doesn’t sound too bad.

“..mm fine”

He put on a pleased smile and set the materials next to you.

“We’re going to make an armband, a necklace, and a loincloth” he looked pleased with himself and the materials he gathered.

“Alright. Let’s get started”

You take the material

“I’ll make the jewelry pieces, you work on the loincloth.”

He nodded in agreement

~~~

It’s been hours. You both were dying of exhaustion. Weaving the materials was a lot more difficult in this state. Things that you could make easily in 30 minutes are now taking an hour do. Aonung wasn’t much help either, he didn’t really know what he was doing. You have had to stop and help him multiple times. Though you can be too hard on him, there is a lot that goes into these pieces, you were just upset he started so late.

“Why did you not start until today? Why wait so long?” You brought it up and we’re met with his eyes, he looked embarrassed to admit the reason.

“I thought this would be the easy part, I needed to gather the materials which seemed harder, I thought I could finish in a day, but… as you can see” he smirked at you pointing out the situation you both were in.

You rolled your eyes, going back working on the pieces.

~~~

You were finally done. Your fingers stung and your head throbbed. Aonung finished an hour ago and passed out on the floor, he tried helping but he ended up not being able to make it, which left it up to you.

You looked down at him, seeing how peaceful he looked, and warm.

You were used to cuddling with Tuk when you slept, she used to get scared at night so she’s always come to you for reassurance, and it became a habit of her to fall alseep in your arms.

The thought of being next to him made your heart race, but you quickly disregarded the thought,

How could you think of something like that. Especially with him. He was rude, cocky, mean, well you did like his smile, and his hair was nice, his body was very toned….

You sighed knowing that it was your tired drunken state making you think like this. You lay down closing your eye drifting away.

~~~~

30 minutes after you feel asleep, it wasn’t a good sleep though. You felt restless and anxious, something wasn’t right, you missed having your family around you, having someone close. Suddenly you feel something or rather someone against your backside and swing their arm around you.

In your state of tiredness you couldn’t comprehend what was happening but it was something that you were used to when you lived at home, you assumed it was Tuk not realizing she wasn’t there.

You drifted off again.

Waking up you noticed a rather large hand covering your torso

You freeze realizing who it is and start to panic. Slowly turning you see that he is still asleep

You let out a relived sigh, but he opens his eyes, your mouth slightly agape when you see this.

“You move a lot in your sleep, you looked really uncomfortable. But you slept just fine in my arms hm?” He was smirking down at you

You lightly pushed him back sitting up.

“Don’t Aonung.” You were embarrassed, but in all honesty that was the best sleep you had since you got here.

“Well, say that it’s me repaying you for your help.. if you ever need me back here I’ll do this little sleep thing with you.” He sounded kinda genuine, you didn’t know how to feel. The guy that was kinda a pain in your side but also very protective, confident, amazing on the eyes… your mind trailed off again while staring down at him.

“Like what you see?” He was of course looking back at you, but his comment made you snap out of the trance.

You roll your eyes

“Whatever.. go get ready for your Ceremony. You have a big day today, so go.”

Your words were not harsh and you didn’t shoot down his idea, so he took that as a maybe to his suggestion.

~~~

Him leaving the mauri he wave and thanked you again “Thank you yawne” with that he left leaving you speechless.

The Olo’eyktan’s son called you yawne.

You, not even originally from this village, pretty average.. you thought there was plenty of other women in this village that could suite the requirements of his mate… but you? Obviously you’ve thought of the possibility, but your relationship with him was kinda off. Seeing him almost daily when you talked to each other it was like bickering, your friends like to say you both sound like an old married couple. You’d always find him catching glimpses of you, when you did he’d always smirk or pretend like he wasn’t. You did the same though, mapping out his features, memorizing the patterns on his skin… but that doesn’t mean you like each other.. right?

~~~~

-mini time skip-

The ceremony was amazing, the pieces you made suited him very well and they looked great on him, and he got quite the few compliments from them.

After there was a party to celebrate. You were by kiri, talking to her about ewya knows what when a guy from the village comes up to you.

“Hello Y/N” You know him as Nash’vi, recently he has been trying to talk to you more and more but in the past Kiri has said that he’d pick on and never apologized and makes her uncomfortable

“Hello..?” You’re used to him coming up to you from time to time but unless he apologized or owned up to his mistake, you would keep conversation short.

“I was wondering if you wanted to dance?” At this point Kiri had left, leaving the two of you alone

“Oh I don’t know I’m not really-“ you were cut off by someone wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Sorry but she already agreed to dance with me.” It was Aonung, your saving grace. You gave him a thankful look and Nash’vi walked away.

“Tsk” he looked aggravated at the boy walking away. You squeezed his hand catching his attention.

“So, we’re dancing now?” You gave him a smug look that he’s usually give you.

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes

“Yeah, you know you want to.” You sighed smiling.

“Maybe I do?” With that he took your hand and lead you to the dance circle.

You both danced till you were tired and your feet burned. By the end of the party you could barley walk.

~~~

Going back to your mauri, Aonung offered to take you back, which you agreed.

You were leaning against him while he semi-held you up.

“Are we even now” he broke the comfortable silence. “Hm? What do you mean?” You looked up at him and he paused for a second, getting caught in them.

He thought about it for a second “..never mind I’d spend my whole life repaying you if I had the chance.” Again his words got you and your face started heating up.

“Y/N… may I court you?” Your skin was a light purple hue and you didn’t know what to say to his forwardness. He really did liked you.

You think about his request for a second.

“No” instantly he looked disheartened, but you weren’t finished. “No courting Ma’Aonung I’d love be your mate for life.. I see you.”

Now his face was heated, looking down at you he put his forehead to yours

“I see you Y/N”

With that you leaned into each other closing the space, and kissed.

#aonung #ao’nung #ao’nung x reader #aonung x y/n #avatar #avatar ao'nung #avatar kiri #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #aonung x reader #awow x reader #x reader

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ashlingiswriting · 1 year ago

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do i know you? chapter eight

[ chapter eight — 6.4k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ] "well, now you know what to get me for christmas." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn warning: drugs, insects

the next day, you wake to your customary darkness. outside your window light snow whispers against your window and thick clouds beyond promise there’s more where that came from. you pull a mini pizza from the freezer, crack an egg on top and put it in the toaster oven, call that protein. boil some water in your smallest pot. pull out your favorite chipped blue mug.

the dream did come last night, but its dread was dulled by early waking. you’re grateful for that. this is about as good as it gets, you think: tea on the way, a thick stillness enveloping your apartment, the city outside preparing to sleep while you keep watch.

but wait, the phone.

you go into your room and kneel by the bed.

michael’s small box is half-empty now that you’ve put his shirt in the wash, so the nokia is easy to find. when you flip it open, he’s there, waiting for you—one unread text—and in the sleepy silence, a bubble of incredulous unreality balloons and then bursts. it’s not michael.

they all blur into each other like drops of blood in water: you’re crushed to find that he’s still gone, relieved he’s still gone, guilty you were relieved, relieved that richie’s texted—no, happy—no, that’s embarrassing, but you can’t help it. it’s happiness and it’s something else. happiness is the warmth by your side and something else is the radiator.

the message turns out to be a single emoji, the one with the pink tongue sticking out. definitely richie. with no idea what that’s supposed to mean, you try to think of something equally silly. failing that, you pull up wikipedia on the phone and generate random wikipedia articles until you finally come across a fragment that strikes you as too beautiful to pass up. you weren’t looking for beautiful, but what the hell, it’s charmed you. copy, paste, and send.

> it was announced on january 30, 2023, that she will be writing an original poem dedicated to nasa's europa clipper. the europa clipper will launch in 2024, and by 2030, will be orbiting jupiter. limón's poem will be engraved into the craft.

not expecting an immediate reply, you replace the lid on the box and slide it back under your bed, only to hear the vibration of the phone against the wooden floorboards.

reading what he’s written makes you smile. proper punctuation and all, mimicking you. can’t tell if it’s meant to be snide or if he’s just matching what he thinks is your mood. you’ll take it either way.

> must be a bad motherfucker, that limon.

> must be.

> is she your favorite poet or something?

you feel a dissonant twinge of pride and shame. you once had a favorite poet, but that was a long time ago.

> i haven’t decided yet. are you getting better?

> i haven’t decided yet. i had three grape popsicles in bed for my breakfast, it’s kind of hard to argue with that.

> malingerer.

> i’m actually polish.

and so on.

when he finally says goodbye so he can go back to sleep, you’re still laughing a little to yourself, and you’ve been kneeling there beside the bed for so long that your knees ache.

in the days that follow, richie texts you at exactly the time he’d usually visit. you stand outside like he’s still there, have a couple cigarettes, and enjoy the nonsense even as your fingertips go numb in the cold. once, he sends a picture of a meme so italian that you don’t get it. you obviously weren’t meant to get it, either, so you respond by sending him the middle finger emoji, which he, nonsensically, hearts.

if he needs help, he’ll ask for it, you think. you hope. he seems to be on the mend. anyways, you no longer feel that fear except in dreams, and you stop wondering when he’s gonna text and start expecting it, and then, less than a week later, he shows up. you know this because he texts, where are you?

you open the window and stick your head out into an eddy of snow. sure, you’re glad to see him, but: it’s too fucking cold for this!

he waves.

man was feverish for literally days and here he is in mid december with a hoodie under his leather coat but no scarf, absolute idiot, and so you close the window, go down to meet him, and break the rule. standing there, holding the door open, you say, c’mon.

he’s surprisingly perceptive. he walks over, but he doesn’t cross the threshold, just pauses in front of you.

i don’t think we can smoke in there, he says.

we can’t, you say, moving back one more step, making even more room for him. or at least i can’t. i don't want to get evicted. my landlady will do it too.

yeah? he says, not moving. you're scared of her?

you shrug. you've moved back as far as you can, you're letting all the cold air in, and there's nothing you can do except say please.

you say, she's like four foot tall and a hundred years old, man. women that tiny that survive that long? you should be scared of them.

as if that was the final straw—though how could it be?—richie walks inside. without skipping a beat and for no reason you can figure out, richie walks inside.

learn my ways, sweetheart, he says, touching his chest and giving you his very best look of ridiculous condescension. old women love me.

as you close the door behind him, you fend off a stray, ridiculous burst of giddiness. it's just the lobby, pale linoleum floors and a single artificial plant by the elevators, but it feels radically different from the concrete outside. no cigarettes, no excuses. he’s only there for one reason.

old women do not love you, you say.

they do!

tina loves you. the rest of them, i don't know.

he snorts. you really don't want to be standing face to face with him for however long you’ve got him, so you lean on the wall instead, and he settles by your side the same way he always does.

when he looks over at you, there’s a hint of sly mischief in his eyes that makes you say, what?

wait for it, he says, and when you open your mouth, he holds up a finger.

you roll your eyes, but you hold your tongue with no idea what this is about, undisguised curiosity, and a readiness to be delighted.

you hear that? he finally says.

wind, maybe, or the distant rattle of a train? nothing special. you shake your head no.

that, richie says, is the sound of the sky not falling.

knowing he noticed, that’s the worst thing about being told that everything is gonna be okay. it’s also the best thing. you shove him with a bony, solid elbow. i should’ve let you freeze.

he catches himself before he can topple, his smile gone goofy and so pleased. fuckin drama queen.

full han solo style, block of ice.

it was carbonite, not ice. how do you not know star wars?

course i know star wars, you lie. how do you live in chicago and not own a hat?

i have hats. i just also have a car.

uh-huh. if he wants to trade accusations, you’ve got a doozy you’ve saved up till you could turn it on him in person. i noticed the other day that your place isn’t exactly in a location that makes my place ‘on the way home’ from the beef.

he’s caught, not sorry. grins. you noticed that, did you.

yeah, i might not be from around here, but i still know north from south, all that shit.

well okay, sherlock. you wanna charge me with a crime? the challenge in his eyes says it all; he knows you’re not unhappy to find he lied.

you still need to get a hat, you say.

well, now you know what to get me for christmas.

you’re getting jack shit.

you already know what you’re getting him for christmas.

kraft’s mac and cheese is a christmas tradition in a two-person slice of your family, and you’re one half of that slice, so mac and cheese is the first thing you think of when richie tells you he’ll be there for christmas eve.

after that, it’s on to donna’s on christmas day. then i’m gonna kidnap carmy for some ice fishing, he says.

you ever been ice fishing before? you say.

he splutters. do i not strike you as a, uh, an experienced-ass f—

no.

—fisherman and woodsman, and like—

nope.

—man of the… he gives up. whatever?

do you have a float suit?

richie exhales smoke and fixes you with a look, annoyed but curious.

i’m carmen fucking sandiego, you say, by way of explanation. of course you’ve been ice fishing, you’ve been all over the world.

sure you are, he says. he waves a dismissive hand. my buddy’s got all the stuff, we’ll be fine. it’s whatever, i just gotta get carmy out of the city so the only things he ends up killing are fish.

his first christmas since. you don’t have to finish the sentence.

yup, richie says.

it’s richie’s first christmas since, too, but there’s no call to say that.

lapsing into a companionable silence and shrinking a little closer to the building as the wind picks up, you decide that you’re definitely gonna make him kraft mac and cheese for christmas eve. he wouldn’t take it as a letdown, he'd laugh at the single spinach leaf on top. he’d get it.

on christmas eve, ten minutes before you’re expecting richie to show up, you get a text message.

> need u

it’s the wrong phone, though. it’s your work phone, and after everything those fuckers have done, they can’t possibly be calling you in on christmas eve. not now. your butter’s already cut, your colander’s in the sink, and you’re stirring the pot of boiling macaroni with a couple takeout chopsticks. they can’t—

the phone starts ringing. you pick up.

fuck off, you say.

no wait!

the voice is familiar; it’s kevin, a man so stupid that he once introduced himself to you out of anxious friendliness even though you’ve always made very clear that you don’t want to know anybody’s names. kevin must have you on speakerphone, because in the background, you can hear the telltale sounds of somebody else cursing in a continuous wretched stream. that piques your curiosity.

thirty seconds, you say. keep it clean. meaning, don’t give me names.

kevin says, we were doing a thing and some stuff happened.

that’s no use. he kept it a little too clean. you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers. you were doing a thing on christmas eve?

we thought…look, can you just come? aren’t you on call? isn’t this your job?

you tell me, you say. it’s been radio silence on my phone for three weeks and i haven’t gotten paid for almost a month now.

oh.

yeah, you say, knowing damn well that it’s not kevin’s fault, but more than happy to take this out on somebody. they fucking ghosted me.

sorry to hear that, man, he says awkwardly.

a thought occurs to you. likelihood of the carusos being involved in some shitbrained christmas eve scheme pulled by kevin? nil.

was this even a sanctioned thing? you say. like, did—

you know what, it’s fine, kevin says hurriedly. it’s basically a flesh wound.

the guy in the background howls, i got shot in the fucking foot!

shut up, howie, kevin hisses. you hang up.

there’s no reason for you to get involved. no orders, no blackmail, and probably no money; plus, your timer is counting down the last minute of macaroni boiling and richie will be on his way soon.

you pocket your phone, walk back to the stove, and resume stirring.

no reason for you to get involved. your timer rings out, so you dump out the pasta, put it back in the pot with the butter, add some water and the cheesy powder, stir with an eye for sauce thickness, wait for it to settle you. it doesn’t.

the thing is, there are so many small tricky bones in the foot, and you haven’t had a real surgery challenge in ages. ever since your bosses ghosted you, you’ve just been staying in your apartment, in limbo, seeing nobody except richie and occasionally a cashier. sleeping and waking neither on your old strict schedule nor on a normal daylight one. doing nothing, worth basically nothing.

so yeah, you text kevin.

> send me the address

then, as quick as you can so you don’t have time to overthink it, you text richie.

> work emergency, i have to cancel. sorry.

the response is immediate.

> text me when you get home.

you realize that you’re still stirring, and you turn off the stove. although you give him a couple minutes, richie doesn’t add anything. no joke to put spikes on the soft gesture, no expression of disappointment to make you feel guilty for canceling this late. nothing. text me when you get home, that’s all.

if you were that generous, you’d text back don’t stay up, let him get some extra sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s christmas hell. but you don’t. you want to think of him waiting for his phone to chime, staying awake for you, thinking of you, even worrying. so you react with a thumbs up to his message.

the next time your phone goes ping, it’s kevin sending you the address, and you head for the door.

you’re sitting on a coffee table beside the old sofa that holds your resting patient. lying on the coffee table beside you are half a dozen grape skittles, the remainder of your christmas eve meal. there’s literally baggies of cocaine sitting on the kitchen table, the tv is playing charlie and the chocolate factory, and everyone involved in this—including yourself—is so stupid that you’re all definitely going to jail. but you’re having one of your good nights.

only drugs compare to the state of pure focus that surgery grants you, and even though it’s always in shit circumstances done for shit people, you can’t help but feel like a serious machine doing all this ad hoc emergency shit. this has to be how athletes feel, after a game. it’s physical: your vision feels clearer, your hands are steady, your body’s slouched comfortable and sated. it was decent work you did, given the lack of fucking everything. you’re pretty sure howie won’t even have that bad of a limp.

kevin finishes counting your pay and hands it over. you begin to count it again, too—twenty, forty, sixty—and then look up at him.

what? he says.

you haul yourself up and walk over to the kitchen table, ignoring the cocaine in favor of the scale, on which you place a twenty. it comes up as 0.94 grams when it should be a single 1.0. so you throw your earnings in the sink, get out your lighter, and set it on fire.

the fire alarm! kevin rushes over to turn the tap on and put it out.

you can hear howie calling from the couch, what’s burning?

kev just tried to cheat me.

i did not, kevin says miserably, it was a misunderstanding.

he pulls his own wallet out of his back pocket and starts to count the money, but you take it from his hands, sit at the kitchen table, and begin counting money yourself, weighing each bill as you go. once you’ve taken a hundred and fifty, you stand up and call over to howie, night.

yo, howie says. is my, like. what are the chances they gotta amputate?

that gets you a little, despite everything. howie spent the past few hours thinking he was gonna lose an entire foot, and he was stubbornly proud enough that he almost made it without admitting the fear to anyone. in a way, you gotta give it to him. admiration’s too grand a word, but it’s something like that.

chances are super low, you say. as long as you follow instructions, keep an eye out for infection, and don’t get hooked on pills, you’re gonna be fine.

for a second, there’s silence. then: thanks, babygirl.

for that, you take another forty dollars from kevin’s wallet and point them at him. asshole tax, you say.

as soon as you’re out of the house, you can hear kevin locking the door behind you. then he says, goodnight!

i shoulda robbed you, you say. then you start down the sidewalk. it’s bitter cold and you’re not a hundred percent sure you’re headed in the right direction, but just then you feel invincible.

fuckin jagoffs, say to yourself.

on the train home, the peace and quiet is interrupted by a herd of college girls, twentysomethings all decked out in tinsel necklaces, clearly on their way to a different party, and hitting all the wrong notes in deck the halls.

most days, you’d hate this, but in your current state of satisfaction with yourself and the world in general, their effortless enjoyment doesn’t seem to completely shut you out. they’re so young, and one of them is sitting in another’s lap while a third drapes herself over her shoulder. they smell like spiced rum, they make it hard to be a bitter old crone.

one of the carolers makes direct eye contact with you, and instead of having the decency to keep herself to herself, she extends her hand to you and sings even louder, fa-la-la-la-ing like she’s god’s gift. for a second, you let yourself mouth along, fa-la-la-ing, but then she says, come on, i know you can do better than that! and nope, nope. fuck it.

you try to look away, she yells another, come on! and you give her the death glare. surprisingly, she keeps beckoning to you—they’re stubborn, kids these days—but eventually you win the way you knew you would.

she looks away and whispers in the ear of the lap-sitter. that girl, the tiniest of them all, gives you a look that could sear meat. you could break her in half with one hand tied behind her back, she really has the build of a hummingbird, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping her.

you roll your eyes, lean back with exaggerated deliberation, and get out your phone.

> i’m home.

you want somebody of your own, you want richie’s reply. but none comes.

he’s not waiting for you outside your apartment building, either, so there goes that mad hope.

when you get inside your apartment, you kneel to untie your boots and spot a flicker of movement on the floor. it’s a black ant scurrying towards your countertop. with a rising sense of horror, you straighten up and see a swarm of ants, dozens and dozens, maybe a hundred busily moving little black dots, crawling to and from the pot of macaroni and cheese on your stove. your stomach turns, and if you’d had a real dinner, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from throwing it up. as it is, you just gag. it feels like a violation, an invasion, and you’re more outraged about these fucking ants in your apartment—your fucking apartment—than you ever were about getting not paid or cheated or maybe even blackmailed.

you go into the kitchenette and get the ant spray out from under the sink, then you stand back and spray everything in sight. the whole fucking counter, even though, yes, you cook your food on that, and the stove, and the floor for good measure. fuck them all.

you should’ve known better than to leave food uncovered in this apartment. you’ve lived here for three years and this always fucking happens. you’d think the novelty would’ve worn off, but nope. it’s still as disgusting as it was the first time you woke up to see last night’s plate covered in black.

today, the spray isn’t working fast enough for you, so you get out a trash bag, put the pot in it, and head out for the dumpster.

out there in the cold, waiting for the ant spray to do its work inside the trash bag, you remember that you left your lighter in kevin’s house. you tip your head back and look up at the sky. it’s so thickly smothered in clouds, there’s barely a glow of moon.

yeah, you say.

after a while, you untie the bag, shake the dead ants off your pot, and throw the bag away. you’d stomp on the ants for spite, but that would necessitate looking at them, and you’ve had more than enough of that. you just head back for home.

you almost make it to the front door, and then you smell it, the smoke.

well? richie says from around the corner. he must have heard your footsteps. you coming or what?

you walk the last few steps and there, just around the corner, there he is. he has the navy hood pulled up over his head, both his hands shoved deep in his pockets, a cigarette between both lips. he looks at your pot with interest.

after a second, you say, you’re late.

something tickles the inside of your wrist and you flinch. one last ant has crawled up the handle of the pot and onto your arm; you drop the pot in the snow and shake the ant off you. it lands by richie, and he stomps it dead matter-of-factly.

it takes everything you’ve got not to start swearing like howie with a shot foot.

merry christmas? richie says after a second.

merry fuckin christmas. you reach out and take the cigarette from his lips. long drag. you needed that.

settling beside him so both of you can look out into the night, you hand the cigarette back. and that’s how it is for a while, sharing. the wind thins out, the streetlight across the way reflects in the glass of another apartment building's door.

when your body’s finally calmed down, you look over at him. i got you something.

aw, you didn’t have to, he say, a little curious and not particularly surprised. he probably thinks it’s a joke.

you hold your right hand palm up, and he takes his right hand out of its warm jacket pocket to mirror the gesture. then you reach into your hoodie and unclasp his gift from your neck.

the chain is gold. thick, but not so thick that it comes across comical. incongruous with you and with him, the weight of it and the shine, how new it is. when you lay it in his hand, it looks like a golden snake, intricate and flawless.

after a second, he gives you his cigarette like he can’t both smoke and think about it. then he speaks.

this is fake, yeah, he says.

hundred percent fake.

actually, it’s regifted. it was originally one of your boss’s christmas bonus gifts, and given that you pawned all the other christmas bonus gifts to pay rent, you’re pretty sure that the chain is solid gold. it’s for the best that he doesn’t know it, though.

as you watch, he puts it on, fumbling a little with the clasp. looks at it for a second, tucks it back inside his coat. there goes the last

yeah? you say, after a second.

yeah. think i like this sugar baby shit. keep ‘em coming, he says.

you laugh, real, so relieved that he didn’t take it weird, so relieved that you got lucky tonight and he got it the way he sometimes can, acceptance without explanation.

he lets you laugh, and then he says, mine’s better, though.

diamonds?

it’s back at my place, he says. i can drive?

you want that so bad, and you didn't even think to want it just seconds before.

yeah, you say, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out right beside the dead ant, unbothered.

you want to take the pot up?

you shrug, crouch down, and cover it with some snow; you’re not gonna leave him down here waiting for you, and you’re not gonna take him up to the horrorshow of dead ants either.

it’s still pretty obvious, richie says.

it’s christmas eve, who’s gonna bother digging in dirty snow to steal a pot?

this is chicago.

this is idle argument as companionship and you know that, but you're impatient. are you taking me home or what? yes, you can hear the double entendre. no, you don't fucking care.

there’s a slight pause before richie says, car’s this way.

in the car, there’s crumbs but not much mess; a coupon for personal pizzas in the cupholder, and that’s it. he must have cleaned.

when he starts the engine, you say, wait, and make an elaborate show of putting on your seatbelt. then you say, okay, now i’m ready.

fuck you, he says, and he’s still smiling when he starts to drive.

the radio is playing carols dimly in the background, and you don’t hate it.

you doing anything for christmas day? richie says.

i’m working christmas, you lie.

seriously? tell your boss he’s fucking barbaric.

would if you could; you’ve already tried to say as much in your many texts, but it is what it is.

yeah, you say. bunch of fuckin jackoffs, right?

jagoffs, he says, over-enunciating, frustration immediate. he really is too easy and he knows it. you’re—

jackoffs, that’s what i said, that’s what you told me—

if you can’t do it right, don’t do it at all. he has to drive with his right hand so he can make chopping motions for emphasis with his left hand, because of course he does.

you say, jackoffs.

you’re killing me.

and yet you go on surviving. you relent. got everything you need for ice fishing?

richie scoffs in disgust. yeah, but now carmy is trying to bail on me.

if he’s not gonna say, typical, then neither are you.

he wants to work on the twenty-sixth, he says.

oof.

yeah. like a full planning session, go over the rest of the rollout schedule with the entire staff and like… he rubs his forehead. i don’t know. like we haven’t even gone to christmas yet and he’s already, fucking. i don’t know!

i mean.

he glances over at you briefly.

carmy wants to make the staff come in on the twenty-sixth just to go over the renovation schedule again?

he’s out of his fucking mind.

you already know what you want to say, but you have to double-check it in your own head to make sure you’re not overstepping. you don’t actually know these people.

but also, fuck it.

you know, you say, you could tell him if he acts like this, syd’s gonna quit again.

he whistles. julie with the big guns.

how i’m built, you say.

yeah, i noticed, he says affectionately. it’s okay. i’ll figure it out.

i know you will. it’s kindness, and you mean it, and you don’t take it back.

thanks, he says.

you lean your forehead against the cold glass of the car door and watch chicago going by, all gold and black and white.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in an underground garage.

you ready for this? this is gonna rock your world, he says.

diamonds and rubies? you say, unbuckling your seat belt.

you’re gonna be fuckin crying.

diamonds and rubies and pearls?

at the door to his apartment, he says, close your eyes, hold out your hands, and wait here, so you do. when the door opens, you can smell whatever it was he made for his christmas eve dinner with eva. it smells like everything christmas eve should be, rich and homey. you could wait here for, say, half an hour. you could stretch this moment out. you wouldn’t mind.

okay, richie says. here.

when the gift touches your palm, you instinctively pull back. richie swears and catches it.

it’s hot! you say as you open your eyes.

it’s soup, he says. you want it cold?

you look down. yeah, that’s definitely french onion soup, with a big white and brown patch of melted cheese and toast on top. it’s an echo of what you made him when he was sick. it’s him showing off his work in comparison to your two-ingredient version. it’s unfortunately perfect. there’s no way he knew that you haven’t had anything for dinner except skittles.

it smells like home.

here. you hand the bowl back to richie, but only so you can take off your coat and your shoes.

there’s only one hook on the back of his door, so you hang your coat overtop his. as you move through his apartment, you take stock: the walls are still orange, but things are a little tidier and there are new drawings magnet-pinned to the fridge. eva’s going through a cat era, clearly. the kitchen lamp is as warm as before, and the cactus by the window has a small red ribbon on it, probably a nod to christmas.

you sit down at the kitchen table on one of the foldable stools, and richie sets your spoon and bowl in front of you. there’s a half-empty bottle of coors on the countertop behind you, and you take a sip of that. he sits down on the chair to your left, so he’s in your peripheral. he’s next to you.

you can feel it coming.

um, you say.

he glances over, and you can feel that too. what’s up.

don’t be a dick, okay. you say it very low and very flat, not even angry, because angry wouldn’t cut it.

the pause is too long, but at least he finally says, okay.

you pick up your spoon and take the first sip.

the bit of melted cheese hits first, warm and gooey and salty then the sweet savory richness of the broth, and yeah, okay. it’s happening. your eyes are wet.

you can feel him not saying anything about it, but before it can build up to torture, his phone rings.

sorry, he says, getting up. it’s tiff.

he must know from the ringtone alone, but you’re not even mad at it, you’re relieved. saved by the bell, another bit of good luck. maybe christmas is real.

uh-huh, you can hear him saying. yeah. that’s— he laughs, and you know from that laugh alone it’s something about eva. yeah, put her on. a beat, then. hey, honey. no. no, she’s right. listen, santa won’t come if you spy on him. the guy likes his privacy, okay? he’s not in it for the applause, he’s not in it for the publicity. pause. well, that’s what the cookies are for. i am being serious, that’s what they’re for. okay. who—okay. he snorts. okay, you got me. don’t tell your mother, though, okay? she really enjoys it. pause. it’s up to you. okay, i gotta go. i love you. hey. i love you.

that’s more than enough time for you to wipe your eyes on your sleeve, get all fucked up again listening to him, and wipe your eyes a second time. by the time richie sits back down, you’re basically normal.

that sounded like some saga, you say.

this jewish kid at school told all the christians that santa wasn’t real, he explains. and now she’s going around busting all the lying adults one by one.

you laugh.

they’re starting young, he says. when i was in school, they always used to make us wait until at least sixth grade before we could go around busting myths.

you’re jewish?

he shrugs. kinda sorta.

you see the opportunity to make another joke about him being zero percent italian, and you ignore it. did eva like the doll? you say instead.

yeah. i mean, it was a huge hassle, it’s so expensive i had to go halves with tiff, and i nearly had a heart attack when eva said something about kirsten cause i thought i’d got the wrong one— he starts eating again, eating soup and talking, and you don't hate it. which by the way, swedes? have the most boring american history of them all, i don’t know why they’d make a doll about that, but anyways, yeah. she loved it. he reaches across you and takes his beer back so he can drink the last dregs of it. ever since the divorce, we don’t even call it christmas eve, we just call it christmas one and christmas two. as is tradition.

he says the last three words kind of weird.

as is tradition? you repeat.

tiff and i, we don’t have a bunch of traditions from our parents, so it’s like. we make up a lot of stuff and then we say ‘as is tradition.’ cause it’s not.

i mean, you got two generations involved, so that counts.

eh, he says, drawing it out dubiously.

i got two-generations traditions, you say.

you didn’t intend to talk about your family, you weren’t thinking about that at all, you were just thinking about richie. but now you gotta sit in the silence as he decides whether or not follow up about your parents.

finally, richie says, you got a kid? he’s doing his best to be cool about it, but his voice goes up a little crazy on the last word.

no, i mean—you’re laughing. i meant me and my dad.

oh, he says, maybe a bit relieved, definitely a bit something, you can’t quite place it. oh.

i used to make us mac and cheese for christmas. with a leaf on top, like lettuce or spinach or something. cause, you know, that makes it salad.

that’s cool, he says flatly. after a second, he adds, less flat, i don’t have any traditions with my dad. i mean, he’s dead, but like before then, we never. so i think that’s cool.

you hate his dad. it’s a split-second decision, but you feel pretty confident about it.

two generations is all you need, you say. and you got eva. so it’s a tradition.

heard, he says.

when you glance over, you see the chain catching the light, gold over his dark shirt. he looks at you. you both keep eating.

eventually, you finish off two bowls of soup and a hot chocolate too, courtesy of eva’s swiss miss unicorn package. you feel a bit subdued by the ordeal of being human, but relaxed.

best christmas ever, you say.

really? richie says, like he believes it and feels bad for you.

god no, do you think i came out a dickens?

what the fuck is a dickens?

you’re illiterate, it’s okay. you look at him. you know that your eyes are a little red, but thankfully you can also see, reflected in his eyes, that he knows you're all right.

thank you, richie, you say. it’s all wrong, you shouldn’t be saying his name and you shouldn’t be saying thank you either, it’s thanks or nothing, but something about the formality feels a little heavier and therefore suited to the day. it’s getting late.

i’ll drive you? he says, and there’s a little extra question in it that you can’t bring yourself to consider.

you shake your head and get up from the table heavily, feeling a thousand years old. i’m good.

he gets up, follows you, stands there with his hands in shoved his pockets as you crouch to put on your shoes.

i wasn’t suggesting a sleepover, he says.

no, of course not, you say, and you congratulate yourself on not making it sound bitter.

unless, richie says.

you look up at him.

i have so many condoms, he says, deadpan. just. so fucking many. some of them are citrus flavored.

there he goes, saved it.

it’s not just tonight, is it? it’s not just tonight, it’s not just luck, it’s not just christmas; somehow, richie’s become…he’s figured it out, how to be with you. when to show up and when to let you go. not always, but more than enough, and he just. he wakes up and he struggles and he breaks shit and he irritates you and he calls eva and he watches youtube and he goes to bed and he wakes up and he struggles and he learns and you love him.

what a fucking time to find out. you look down and begin tying your shoes again.

you got pineapple flavor? you say.

in what world is pineapple citrus? richie says.

well, tough luck. you back up and turn around to put on your coat. for me, it’s pineapple condoms or nothing.

you’re a real high-maintenance fuck.

you laugh. michael used to like that about you, just how easy you were, or how easy you made yourself. buddy, you got no idea.

it’s been such a long day for both of you, apart and together. of course you’re getting messy, of course it’s time to go. you zip up your coat, run your hand through your hair.

let me drive you, he says again.

you wave him off. no, i need to walk. clear my head.

it’s december in chicago, fuckin pitch black—

i’ll be fine.

it’s christmas eve, are you really gonna punish me for a fucking joke? he says, and you look up, startled; you didn’t know he was upset. in retrospect, you were just focusing on avoiding his eyes, so what did you expect?

i’m not punishing you for anything, you were great. richie. you look at him straight on and steady, so he understands. a little gentle, as gentle as you feel you can get away with. you truly have to go, and there’s no resentment in it. i just need to clear my head. i’ll be fine, i’m always fine.

you never… richie trails off, eyes you, decides against finishing the sentence. you’re stubborn.

always. you give him a small smile. thanks for the soup.

goodnight.

that should be the end, but it feels unfinished. his blue eyes are alive to the possibilities when you reach out, but you just touch the chain with a fingertip where it rests over his collarbone. his right hand moves a little and you draw back, your other hand on the doorknob at once, already leaving.

two days later, the cops issue a warrant for your arrest.

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#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #do i know you?#the bear imagine #diky #guess who's still at it? ME!!! guess who's not giving up? ME!!!!!!

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urfavoritedcwhore · 4 months ago

Text

the russian boy//part five

warnings: cussing, violence, mentions of alcohol usage

parts 1-4 on my page:)

lower case intended

part five: the realization

i wake up to theo at the bedroom door, dressed in his clothes from yesterday with his shoes in his hands. "WAKE UP", he yells into the room while my eyes are barely open. i try to sit up but i can't for some reason. i rub my eyes and look to my right side to see that im literally on top of boris, with his arms draped around my back.

(reference pic at bottom of story)

i immediately wiggle my way out of his arms. FUCK. have we been sleeping like this all night??? okay play it cool lucy, it happens. you two were asleep and drifted towards each other. be cool it literally means nothing. my thoughts are interrupted by theo again, "WAKE THE FUCK UP.", he yells throwing a shoe at boris. boris pops up startled, shouting something in a different language. "GET UP ITS 10:30 WERE SO FUCKING LATE.", theo says looking at both of us. i rub my temples and pick up my phone from beside me on the bed. "shit!", i say after seeing the time. boris, who's still half asleep but sitting perfectly upright is groaning. "ugh why so worried potter, we are always late, is fine.", he says in his broken english rubbing his eyes. theo comes over to the be and grabs boris by the shoulders, "the calculus test is today you dumb fuck and if i don't pass i'm gonna get held back.", theo says shaking him trying to get his point across. boris has a look of realization and pops out of bed and on to his feet. "shit, go start the car while we get dressed, we'll be fast.", he says tossing the car keys from his dresser to theo. theo runs downstairs and i hear the front door slam shut. i get out of bed while boris frantically runs around his room looking for clothes. i look out of boris's window and see my truck isn't in the drive way, "fuck my mom isn't back yet.", i say. " is ok new girl, i was going to drive you to school anyways.", boris says turning around with a smile. "no but my house key is on my car keys, i wont be able to get in and get clothes.", i say slightly remembering the blur of theo's wet body asleep on my clothes last night. "here!", boris says tossing me a pair of sweatpants, "wear sweater and these pants.". i catch the sweatpants and throw them of over the boxers i was wearing last night, and straighten out the sweater in wearing. "thanks dude.", i say relieved i'm not gonna have to wear the damp clothes from the night before.

we run downstairs after boris wiggles his way into a pair of skinny jeans. "shit how am i gonna brush my teeth?", i say feeling gross. boris looks at me, "no time, we just have to use gum.", he says pulling out a pack of spearmint gum out of his bag and tossing me a piece. gross. oh well, i literally don't have way to brush my teeth so i guess i have to settle for gum today. i pop it into my mouth and grab my bag as we head for the door. i go out first and hear boris yell, "goodbye popchyk, be good!", as he comes out behind me and shuts the door. theo rolls down boris's car window, "both of you, in the back im driving today.", he says. why do we have to sit in the back? oh shit. the passenger side door doesn't work and theo doesn't look like he's in the mood to get out and let boris crawl in through the drivers side. boris and i look at each other and get into the back of the car. as soon and the car door shuts theo is backing out of the drive and flying down the street. i take a hair tie from my wrist and put my hair up as best as i can with no brush. theo seems calmer now that we're in the car and driving. i notice boris snickering, and raise my eyebrows at him as a way to say "what?". he pats the middle seat and i scoot over to it, he gets next to my ear and whispers, "his face, it still has the marker on it.", i get a flash of last night (which im still remembering in bits and pieces) and remember we drew on his face. i let out a small chuckle. "what? what is it?", theo says listening to us giggle. when we don't answer he looks in the rear view mirror to look at us, but instead catches a glimpse of his face. "ohhh fuck you boris. hardy har har your a funny guy aren't you?", he says wiping the marker off his face with his thumb. this only makes us laugh harder, "i told you he would think it was me.", boris says still whispering in my ear. we laugh for a few more seconds before we both realize how bad our head hurt. "fuck my head is throbbing", boris says rubbing his temples. "i already took two advil's and i fell fine, so who's the one laughing now hm?", theo says with a hint of victory in his voice. "shut it potter.", boris says with a groan. boris plops his head on my shoulder, his eyes are closed and he's got a look of pain on his face. my head is throbbing too hard to think about anything so i lay my head on top of his and close my eyes. "sorry for grabbing you last night, you kept scooting towards me and you were cold to the touch. i held you to warm you up, but i fall asleep right after.", i hear boris whisper under my head. he grabbed me last night? he was the one who grabbed me and not the other way around? the first thing i can think to say is, "shit sorry, i move around a lot in my sleep and-", trying to apologize for moving from my side of the bed. "no is okay, i slept good with you on top of me. was very peaceful.", he whispers back cutting my apologies off. boris lifts his head from my shoulder bumping it on mine as he does so. we both let out a, "ouch!", then laugh before rubbing our heads with our hands. "pass we the weed potter.", boris says holding his hand out. this kid is fucking crazy. i'm so hungover the thought of drinking water makes me nauseous, and he wants to smoke? "how can you smoke right now? i feel like im gonna yack.", i say looking at him impressed and confused. theo opens the glove box and hands him the weed and papers. "no no, this is for after school, i can't smoke right now, would get to sick.", he tells me twisting his weed filled pill bottle open. "i was impressed there for a second.", i say nudging him playfully with my elbow. "no boris can't handle smoking with a hangover, he did it once and freaked out, puked everywhere. you would've thought he was on cid or something.", theo says looking at me in the rear view mirror. boris looks a theo and gives him the finger.

theo pulls into the school parking lot after about fifteen more minutes of driving. we unbuckle our seat belts, get out, and race to the office where we collect our tardy passes. "cmon we have english right now, we got about thirty minutes left in class.", theo says walking down the hall and checking his watch. as we all walk into english and give our slips to the teacher, and sit in our seats in the back. i feel everyone staring. after about 10 seconds no one is looking anymore...accept a black haired girl at the front of the class. she's smirking at me, but not in a friendly way more like a snarky way almost? i don't remember seeing this girl yesterday in class, i would've for sure remembered her, she's gorgeous. black hair, good clothes, nice jewelry, and a perfect smile, but the way she's looking at me makes me feel even more nauseous then before. she looks me up and down and cockly snickers , before turning back around in her seat to face the front. i turn to theo, "who's that girl?", i say nudging my head towards her. theo looks and his face goes blank, he looks around me to give boris a glance, but he's already asleep at his desk. theo looks back at me, "no one, just don't talk to her, ok? she's not a good person trust me.", theo says before looking back down at his empty desk. that was weird. maybe she picks on the guys? maybe she's just a mean girl, she definitely has that look to her. whatever, i've never even spoken to her so why would she have any problem with me? i'll just stay out of her way. this year has already had enough drama and having beef with a random girl is not on my 2023 bingo card. our teacher asks a question to the class that i can barley understand, but i see the girls hand shoot up instantly, "yes mrs Garcia?", he says pointing at her hand.

the girl gives back an answer to the question, to which the teacher seems throughly impressed by. "very good kailey.", he responds. where have i heard that name before? sure kailey is a common name, but i feel like it has some significance to me for some reason. i can't remember for the life of me even though it's on the tip of my brain, i decide to let it go. after twenty more minutes of class i hear the bell ring and everyone races out the door. i nudge boris with my hand, waking him up. he opens his eyes and looks at theo, me, and the empty class room. "is it lunch?", he asks sitting up and rubber his eyes. "mhm, and on the menu today we have...Tylenol! yum!", i say shaking the bottle of tylenol i found in my bag. i always forget i keep it in there, i saw it when i was getting out a pen and remembered why i love my mom for always making me bring an "emergency medicine pouch" everywhere. i also have Midol and cough drops, but i don't think those would be any help for this killer hangover headache. boris smiles and gets up from his chair, grabbing his bag, "cmon lets go to the car so we don't have to sit in that loud ass lunch room.", he says to theo and me. "alright just let me hit the bathroom first, you guys go ahead and go.", i say to them as we walk out of the class room. the boys nod and head towards the school exit doors, as i make my way to the ladies room. i walk in and head to the mirrors to see how bad my hair is, putting it up with no hairbrush was definitely not a simple task. i take the hair tie out and start combing my hair with my fingers before i put it up again. when i'm about to walk out a stall door close's, and i see the girl who was staring at me, the girl who's name is significant in someway that i can't remember, kailey. she walks up to the sink never taking her eyes off me and begins washing her hands, just as i turn around to leave she speaks. "you know i wouldn't have pegged you for his type.", i turn around to her confused by her words, "huh?", i say with genuine confusion. "don't play dumb. that's bor's sweater. comfy right? yeah i remember, i loved to sleep in it.", she says as i feel my face turn red with embarrassment. she continues, "you know it's sad though.", she turns off the sink and walks towards me grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser beside me. "i mean, sleeping with the first guy you meet here? a little pathetic don't you think?", she moves closer to me, i feel my face still burning red, but it's not from embarrassment anymore, it's anger. i clench my fists, who does this bitch think she is? who even is this bitch? "and showing up to school wearing it? bold move. it's only you're second day here, and you've already got a reputation lucy gardener.", she's inches away from my face now. "you know what people are saying?", she's with a smirk, "they're saying you're a fat. pathetic. desperate. slut.", she emphasizes each word with a stinging tone. before i can stop myself my hand comes up and darts forward in a fist. i look down and see her on the ground holding her nose, groaning. my face turns pale as i come to a realization. kailey. the girl boris told me about last night. oh my fuck. i just punched boris's ex girlfriend in the face.

reference pic for the way boris was holding lucy:

#boris pavlikovsky #boris pavlikovsky smut #smut #the goldfinch #theo decker #boris pavlikovsky x reader #finn wolfhard #book boris #boris pavlikovsky fanfic #theo decker fanfic #theo decker smut #the goldfinch fanfic #the goldfinch book #the goldfinch movie #popchyk #the russian boy #the goldfinch oc

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xanadontit · 9 months ago

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Hey @tap-shoes I got you!

Dear Care and Feeding,

My husband and I have two kids, ages 14 months and 2 years old. Ever since the second was born, I’ve been kind of uncomfortable with the fact that my husband is NEVER alone with both of them, outside of me going to the bathroom or taking a shower.

Anytime I have somewhere to be, he has at least one of his parents come over or he goes to their house or his sister’s house (they all live locally) with the kids. I’ve been hesitant to bring it up because I don’t want to try to control the time he spends with the kids, and when I mentioned it to my close friend she said I should take it as a gift because I find his family a bit overbearing, so he gets the time with his family, his family gets the time with the kids, and I don’t need to spend extra time with them. But it has made me wonder if he is comfortable with our kids on his own, which any parent should be.

Very early this morning I received a call that my mother was being taken to the hospital in serious condition. I am her medical proxy and live about an hour and a half away. I immediately got up to get dressed and told my husband I needed to go and would make sure I was back in time to pick up the kids from daycare at the end of the day as I always do (he drops them off). He got panicky and asked me to give him a minute to call his mother because he needed her to come over in case the kids woke up and to help with the morning routine. I told him that was ridiculous; I can understand wanting a hand with the morning routine, but she didn’t need to come over at 2:30 a.m. to sit on alert while the kids slept, especially since they both sleep through the night on their own 95 percent of the time. He said he wasn’t comfortable being there alone with them and he needed me to wait to leave until one of his parents got there. I said no, I had an emergency to deal with and I would be going, he could handle two sleeping kids and should just go back to bed himself until his alarm, and I left. Twenty minutes later I saw a notification on our security cameras that his mother had arrived at the house.

It’s a few hours later and I’m sitting in the waiting room waiting for an update on my mother’s surgery and for my siblings to arrive and I just don’t even know what to think. I’ve tried texting and calling and he didn’t answer. I just don’t understand how you can be uncomfortable taking care of your own children and think just constantly having someone else around is an acceptable solution. He only ever seems to have regular new-ish parent worries, not over-the-top anxiety. What’s the best way to address this when I get home? I know he will be mad I left, but I’m mad he put me in a situation where I had to choose to leave. Shouldn’t you be able to take care of your own children? Did I miss something I should have seen?

—Can’t Leave Him Alone

Dear Alone,

First off, I really hope your mom is OK. That isn’t a call anyone wants to receive, especially in the middle of the night.

Presumably, you’ve come home since writing this letter; I wish we had a Reddit-style update I could pull up, but I’ll have to consign myself to the land of make-believe instead. If you and I were dealing with this in real-time, I would tell you to find a time later this afternoon or evening when you are both calmer and ask him why he feels he can’t be alone with the kids. But you can still have this conversation even though that moment has passed. Try to truly listen to his reasons and see if you can uncover whether this is real anxiety/fear or whether it’s a version of weaponized incompetence (which doesn’t have to be intentional to exist). Explain that while you don’t mind extended family helping out in general, it concerns you that you can’t count on him in an emergency.

If he’s reticent to see the problem, ask him what his plan is when his mom is gone, but you need to be out of town. What if you are the one who gets hurt, or worse? He needs to be able to step up and assume the full duties of parenthood, and not only in an emergency! You should be able to run an errand, get a manicure, or see a friend without making childcare arrangements. If he truly cannot step up because of deep-rooted anxiety, then he needs to be looking at therapy of some kind. I do not mean to be unkind, but this is the behavior of a mother’s helper, not a parent.

—Allison

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beefromanoff · 1 year ago

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Going Under Ch. 21

summary: a whole 21 chapters in…they finally go on a first official date. it’s only fitting that this is the longest chapter yet. enjoy 🖤

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: i can see you - Taylor Swift

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: longest chapter yet WOOOOO! i know it ends on somewhat of a cliffhanger, but next chapter will have some flashbacks and fill in gaps. thanks for reading, xo!

chapter list

_________________________________________________

The sun was barely beginning to peek over the horizon, but Gianna was already out at the lake. She couldn’t sleep. All night, she’d tossed and turned and played the previous night over and over in her head. Finally, around 4:00am, she just got up. Luckily, the shift change for the night crew was around 4:30, so the grounds weren’t completely empty. She still felt a little spooked from time to time, and wandering around alone in the middle of the night didn’t do much for her nerves.

She scrawled lines in her notebook, having written almost a whole song in the time since she’d been up. Looking over what she’d written, she sang softly to herself.

And we kept everything professional

But something's changed, it's somethin' I, I like

They keep watchful eyes on us

So it's best that we move fast and keep quiet

You won't believe half the things I see inside my head

Wait 'til you see half the things that haven't happened yet

But what would you do if I went to touch you now?

What would you do if they never found us out?

What would you do if we never made a sound?

'Cause I can see you waitin' down the hall from me

And I could see you up against the wall with me

And what would you do, baby, if you only knew?

“Let me guess…it’s about Sam.”

Gianna jumped as Steve’s voice interrupted the quiet morning. She turned to see him walking down the dock towards her, grinning.

“It’s about Natasha, actually.” She rubbed her forehead, heart pounding. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt. I was just finishing up running. I can leave you to it.” He smiled sheepishly.

“No, no, this was good. I usually don’t have heart palpitations until my third cup of coffee, so you’re saving me time.” She stood to her feet as he chuckled. “Speaking of which, cup number two is calling my name.”

“I’ll walk with you. Long night?” Steve always found the balance between teasing and being kind, which Gianna appreciated.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Something tells me you weren’t the only one.”

Gianna glanced up at him, eyebrow raised.

“Bucky passed me an hour and a half ago, he was finishing up right when I got started. Which isn’t exactly late in the day. I’m guessing he’s in the training room now.”

“Is that a good sign?”

“Let’s just say he hasn’t been on a first date in…a while. He’s just nervous.”

“He has nothing to be nervous about, we spend every single day together. Literally. Every day for the past four months, with the slight exception of me being unconscious in the hospital, we’ve been together.”

“He was there, too. In the hospital.” Steve smiled. “He left before you woke up. But he was there.”

Gianna frowned. “See? I don’t want him to feel stressed, I feel bad, this shouldn’t be something upsetting.”

“No, trust me, he’s not upset.” Steve laughed, waving her concerns off. “He just gets in his head. For a guy who doesn’t get too enthused about much, he actually cares quite a bit about doing things right. It’s endearing, once you get past the grouchy exterior.”

“If you say so,” she smiled. “The last thing a semi-stable one hundred year old man needs is added stress.”

“Hey, watch it. Age is just a number.”

“Now you sound like Tony.”

“Don’t insult me.”

_______________

For the rest of the morning, Gianna followed her normal routine. Get coffee, make herself slightly (only slightly) more presentable, chat with whoever happened to be in the common area (today, it was Sam), and then head down to watch Bucky train. With their evening plans hanging in the air, she felt a strange flurry of nerves in her stomach as she walked down the trail to the training building.

Since it was a Friday, they’d be going over weapons out on the range. After a week of getting their asses handed to them in combat training, Steve and Bucky liked to end the week on a more positive note. Rounding the corner to the shooting range behind the building, Gianna spotted the duo standing near a rack of weaponry. The recruits weren’t set to begin for another ten minutes.

“Good morning, Buck! Good morning, again, Steve!” Her voice was cheery as she greeted the super soldiers.

“Good morning, again.” Steve smiled, stepping off to the side.

“Morning, sunshine.” Bucky’s smile had a hint of orneriness to it. “You look cheerful this morning.”

“I have a hot date tonight.” She winked.

“Oof,” Bucky put a metal hand over his chest. “Don’t make me jealous.”

“Don’t be too upset, I’m just planning on using him for his body.” Gianna kept a straight face as she shrugged.

“Ah, I see.” He grinned. “Something tells me he won’t mind.”

The activity around them picked up as the group of SHIELD agents began to file around the corner. Gianna stepped back and began to walk towards a shady tree a few yards behind them, the perfect place to watch without being in the way.

“Oh, Gianna,” Bucky called after her. “Be ready at 7.”

She did a mock salute as she slunk down at the base of the tree. Suddenly, her mind filled with questions about the logistics of the evening. Where the hell would they go? What should she wear? Was she even allowed to leave the compound? She whipped out her phone.

Gianna: WANDA. SOS.

Wanda: ???? what’s wrong?

Gianna: Bucky asked me to dinner. TONIGHT.

Wanda: omg - it’s about time! i still need deets about last night!

Gianna: deal, but I need help! I don’t have any clothes here that aren’t sweats! I don’t even know what he’s planning!

Wanda: meet me at my room in an hour.

Gianna: my hero!

Looking up, Gianna went back to observing the class. The gentle fall breeze provided a welcome calm in contrast to the butterflies in her stomach. She sat, hazelnut latte in hand, and focused her attention solely on the training area, not all her questions about the evening. She admired how effortlessly Steve and Bucky moved as they demonstrated each technique, their years of experience evident in every precise movement. Seeing Bucky at work, channeling years of horrific experiences into something good, it couldn’t be beat.

Especially since his training attire was more on the snug side.

As she watched, Gianna couldn't help but marvel at Bucky's rugged charm. His dark hair was tousled from the wind, his large frame commanding even in a group of elite agents. His focus was unwavering as he instructed the recruits, his voice calm and authoritative. Ever so patient, he took a pistol from one of the recruits and demonstrated proper hand positioning before handing it back. She smiled to herself.

I am a huge Bucky Barnes fan.

However, Gianna's admiration was interrupted when her gaze landed on a dark-haired female agent among the recruits. The agent seemed to be going out of her way to catch Bucky's attention, a subtle flirtatiousness in her actions as she showcased her skills with the weapons. Every time she’d hit a target, her eyes flicked back to see if he was watching. Gianna couldn't deny the twinge of jealousy that washed over her. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to see if she recognized the girl.

She was taller than Gianna, which wasn’t saying a ton, and had a long, lean stature. Gianna made a mental note to ask Nat who she was.

Bucky, to his credit, remained focused on the task at hand, offering equal attention to all the recruits. He provided constructive feedback and demonstrated techniques, his professionalism unwavering. But even he couldn't help but notice when the female agent made a particularly daring move, doing a front somersault into a defensive position, firing the gun straight into the center of the target.

When she inevitably glanced towards him, he gave her a nod of approval. Not exactly a warm and fuzzy reaction, but it made Gianna’s stomach turn just the same.

As the training session continued, she shifted her focus back to the demonstration as a whole. She watched as Bucky effortlessly disarmed one of the recruits, his movements fluid and precise. There was a deep sense of respect and admiration in the way the trainees looked at him.

Except for this bitch. I know that look. She’s undressing him with her eyes. Gianna recognized it because it wasn’t exactly unfamiliar for her. She set her jaw, reminding herself who he had the date with that evening. Pulling out her phone, she sent Wanda another text.

Gianna: def gonna need something sexy.

As the training session came to a close, most of the new recruits filed off to the side, discussing their progress and exchanging stories. The brunette agent, however, hung back, her gaze fixed on Bucky, determination etched across her features.

He was gathering his training materials, unaware of the lingering presence nearby. He tucked his hair behind his ear, oblivious to the brunette's intent. She took a step closer, her smile just a touch too friendly as she spoke,

"Sergeant Barnes, that was an incredible session. You really know your stuff, not that anyone’s surprised. I’d love to get some follow up instruction sometime, maybe after class next week? I have a few techniques I’m having trouble perfecting."

Before Bucky could respond, Gianna decided it was time to make her presence known. With a confident stride, she approached the pair, fueled by the little ball of envy in her stomach. She stopped right in front of Bucky, a warm smile gracing her lips as she tilted her head to look up at him, her back to the brunette as if she didn’t exist.

"Bucky," Gianna purred, "I can't wait for tonight."

She stood on tiptoe, her lips finding Bucky's in a sweet, lingering kiss. Her hand wrapped around the back of his head, feeling his soft hair in her fingers. Bucky was taken by surprise, but as their lips met, he felt a rush of warmth that left him momentarily breathless. He smiled into their kiss.

The brunette agent, however, was far from pleased. Her eyes widened in shock, and she took a step back, clearly annoyed that her moment had been so abruptly interrupted. She cleared her throat and shot Gianna a rather icy glare.

Pulling back, Gianna turned to the agent as if seeing her for the first time. “Oh, I’m so rude! Hi, I’m Gianna.” She held her hand out to the agent who reluctantly shook it.

“Agent Allison.”

“Nice to meet you.” She gave her most innocent, America’s Sweetheart smile before turning back.

Bucky, still somewhat dazed by the unexpected kiss, managed to find his voice. "Tonight. I can’t wait.” He had that adorable half-grin she adored.

Gianna's smile widened. "Great! See you later, Buck.” Turning, she let her hips swing just a little more than usual when she walked away. Fully aware of both sets of eyes on her, she smiled to herself. I got a little territorial, so what?

As she walked away, Bucky barely glanced back at Agent Allison, who was still standing there, fuming and forgotten. “Yeah, uh, good work. See you next week.”

He walked back toward the training building, catching Steve’s eye. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as Steve chuckled.

“I think Gianna just marked her territory.” He clapped a hand on Bucky’s back.

“I guess so.” Bucky shook his head, still grinning.

_____________________________________________

Gianna sat cross-legged on Wanda's bed, surrounded by a sea of outfits that had been meticulously pulled from her wardrobe. Clothes were strewn across the bed and even scattered on the floor, creating a colorful and slightly chaotic scene. 7pm was rapidly approaching, and she hadn’t even brushed her hair yet.

Wanda, perched on the edge of a chair, regarded Gianna with a knowing smile. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m kind of a fashion connoisseur. Just about anything in here would knock Bucky off his feet, especially with you in it."

“Ugh, thank you so much, seriously. I haven’t even had to think what to wear since I got here, it’s basically just sweatsuit city. I didn’t think I’d need date attire.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t think this would happen?”

“I don’t know…I guess I hoped it would. I just, I didn’t know how he felt. We worked together, then I kissed him at the party, then everything went to shit, and now I’m here.”

“Well,” Wanda stood to her feet, pulling three outfit options from the bed. “I’m glad you’re here. Until we can have an official shopping spree in the city, what’s mine is yours. Try these.” She thrust the clothes into Gianna’s arms.

Gianna nodded as she examined the options. She wanted something that would look pretty, sweet, but also sexy. Especially after the encounter with the brunette agent who had been eyeing Bucky a little too closely.

As she slipped on the first dress, Gianna couldn't help but vent her frustrations to Wanda. "You won't believe what happened earlier during the training session. Agent Allison, the brunette one, she was practically throwing herself at Bucky. I mean, I could practically see the hearts in her eyes!"

Wanda smirked, a hint of amusement in her expression. "Really? What did you do?"

"Well…I kissed Bucky, told him how excited I am for our date tonight, and then shook her hand.”

“Damn, subtle. You're not one to hold back, are you?"

Gianna grinned. "Nope. Not when it comes to something I want."

Wanda giggled. "I can see why. But remember, Gianna, you don't need to compete for his attention. Bucky cares about you, and he's chosen to be with you. Girls have been fawning over Mr. Dark and Mysterious since he got here a few years back, I don’t even think he notices."

Gianna sighed, smoothing the fabric on the dress as she looked in the mirror "You're right. It's just hard not to feel a little possessive when someone’s basically throwing themselves at your…well, I guess he’s not my anything yet.”

“Oh, shut up.” Wanda looked over her shoulder in the mirror and fluffed Gianna’s hair. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? He’s yours.”

Blushing, Gianna fought back a smile. “I’m really glad you’re here. It’s been nice to have a friend. Like, a real girl friend.”

“Don’t make me emotional.” Wanda waved her hand. “We have work to do.” She winked, handing another dress to Gianna to try on.

___________________________________________

6:55pm.

That was the time Bucky knocked on her door.

He’d waited as long as he possibly could. Living with Natasha and Wanda, and having grown up with a sister, he knew it was a severe offense to rush or interrupt the getting ready process. But here he was, standing outside her door with flowers in his hand, a whole five minutes early.

After training, he’d struggled to find ways to kill the rest of the afternoon. Gianna was nowhere to be found, Steve could only handle his nervous energy for so long before he made Bucky go for another run, and it took less than an hour to set up for the date he’d meticulously planned. Even though he’d only officially asked her last night, Bucky had asked the girls to help him round up some supplies as soon as he noticed Gianna’s favorite place at the compound.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath as he heard her footsteps approaching the door. “Hi.” The door opened and there she was. Gianna Cruz, waiting for him to come retrieve her like she’d done so many times over the past few months. Except this time was different. This time, he wasn’t working. He wasn’t here as her security, ready to escort her to her real life obligation. He was here as her date. Finally.

“Hi,” She was grinning from ear to ear when she opened the door, eyes crinkling even more when she saw the flowers in his hand. Her hair was loosely braided, a few imperfect curls falling into her face. She’d kept her natural hair, something he’d always loved but couldn’t remember if he ever vocalized. “Two days in a row? James Buchanan Barnes. Ladies’ man extraordinaire.”

“You ready?” He smiled and held out his arm for her to take.

“Mmm, you could give me another two hours and I’d still be changing my hair. So it’s best just to call it.” She brushed a curl out of her face.

“I don’t think you should change a thing. I always liked your hair like that.”

“Messy?” She looked at him sheepishly.

“Natural.” He reached up and touched one of the curls hanging beside her face, sending a shiver down her spine when his fingertips brushed her ear. “It’s so pretty. You don’t even have to try.”

“I try really hard, actually.”

“You don’t have to. Not with me.” He pressed the button to the elevator button and let her step in first when the doors opened. “Do you know how amazing you look tonight, or should I go ahead and tell you?”

Her face contorted as she fought back another smile. “You should probably go ahead and tell me.”

“Ah, okay,” He grinned, putting a finger beneath her chin and looking straight into her eyes. “Gianna Cruz, you look so unbelievably good tonight. I cannot believe I get to call you my date.”

The smile broke through, her face warming under his touch and attention. Just as the proximity started to cloud their minds, the elevator doors slid open. Bucky offered his left arm to her, the flowers still held in his right. Wrapping her hand around his bicep, she felt the cool metal through his long sleeve. They crossed the lobby and stepped out into the cool evening air. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow across the entire compound.

It was suspiciously empty on the grounds, but that was the last thing on Gianna’s mind. The path before them was sprinkled with rose petals, illuminated by single floating candles spaced every few feet along the way. Looking up, she saw that it followed the oh-so-familiar walk down to the dock.

Wordlessly, she looked up at Bucky, her face showing a kind of happy he’d never seen before. She still fought back the full smile, so much so that her cheeks ached. They walked down to the lake in comfortable silence as Gianna took in every bit of the scenery and Bucky took in every bit of her reaction. The trail took a short curve through the thick woods before opening up to the clearing where the dock began. It made for a more private setting, mostly shielding it from the rest of the compound. Tonight, the element of surprise was exactly what Bucky had been counting on to help with the final reveal.

They turned the final corner, warm sun hitting their faces as the trees cleared.

“Bucky,” Gianna breathed, eyes widening.

“Come on.” He slid his hand down to hers and led her to the end of the dock. There was a table with two chairs, complete with candles, wine, and full dinner setting.

Gianna could hardly believe the moment she was living in. Mouth slightly open in awe, she didn’t even know where to look as they reached the end of the dock. Bucky pulled the chair out for her to sit.

“I don’t even…Bucky, I…” She looked from the table to the sunset and back to him. “I don’t even know what to say. You did all this? How did you -”

“I had a little help.” He half-smiled, pouring wine into both glasses. “After the first few days here, you kept saying how much you liked the lake. I knew you came down here as much as you could. I told Wanda what I had in mind and she found all this stuff, had it shipped to the tower. They brought it with them when they flew in a few days ago.”

“But, we just made this plan last night…?” She felt at a loss for words in the best way.

“I know. I thought I was going to have to hide 500 candles in my closet until I finally got the balls to ask you out.”

Gianna grinned. “I’m glad you got the balls sooner rather than later.”

“Me too.” Bucky passed her a wine glass. “To you never realizing how far out of my league you are.”

She raised her glass to his. “To you, having the balls to ask me out.” Their glasses clinked together and they both took a slow sip of wine, neither one breaking eye contact until the glasses were back on the table.

A low hum filled the air. Looking up, Gianna saw a midsize drone hovering across the lake, carrying silver serving platters.

“I didn’t know there was room service at the Avengers’ Compound.” She raised an eyebrow.

“There is if one of the programming agents in the robotics division is afraid of you.” He shrugged.

“Ah, I’ll keep that in mind next time I go to intimidate a SHIELD agent.” She laughed, faltering when she remembered the run in from earlier. “Bucky…about earlier.” Her eyes were wide, equal parts embarrassed and amused.

“Mhmm?” He took the dishes from the drone and set one in front of each of them, lifting the lids off to reveal the most incredible looking pasta Gianna had ever seen.

“Oh, my God…this looks insane. Bucky! How did you do this! Last time I checked, the cafeteria doesn’t serve gourmet food.” It smelled heavenly.

“Tony’s here for the next week, he usually flies his chef out when he’s here for too long. I just asked for a couple extra servings.” He tried to hide his grin, seem casual, but her excitement was contagious.

“I can’t even think straight.” She took a sip of her wine.

“I hope that’s a good thing. It’s been a while since I last went on a date, so I’m a little out of practice.”

“It’s a good thing.” Gianna leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “A very, very good thing.”

As the sun slowly sunk below the horizon, dinner conversation flowed effortlessly. Bucky told stories from the past few years as an Avenger, including how Peter’s first words to him were about how cool his metal arm was - during a fight, no less. Gianna gushed about all the situations she’d been stuck in throughout her stardom where she wished she had someone to share it with, someone who saw it all and could laugh about it on the drive back to the hotel every night. It was easy. It was natural.

Laughed lulled as Bucky finished a story about how Tony had once gotten way too drunk at a party and announced to the entire crowd he’d peed in the Iron Man suit.

“Oh my gosh, ow.” Gianna leaned back in her chair. “My stomach hurts. I laughed too much. I definitely ate too much.”

“There’s no such thing.” Bucky leaned forward, splitting the last of the wine between their glasses.

“Mm, yet another reason I like you.” She winked, raising her glass towards him before taking a sip.

“So,” Bucky grinned. “How am I doing?”

“Are you seriously asking for feedback in the middle of our date?” Gianna giggled.

“Hey, like I said, it’s been awhile. I just want to make sure I’m on the right track.” He put his hands up defensively. “Plus, Wanda may or may not have shown me photos of your last few dates. Tough acts to follow.”

Rolling her eyes, Gianna set her glass down. “Which photos did you see?”

“Helicopter ride with that football player?”

“We were paid by the helicopter company. We’d only spoken twice before that and once after.”

“Dinner on a yacht with that actor?”

“Horrible. He only talked about himself. I’m also pretty sure he thought I was someone else. He told me I was shorter than he expected and then asked me if I was allowed to eat dessert since the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was coming up.” Gianna groaned. “I thought it was a really weird thing to say, but when I thought about it later I realized he definitely didn’t think I was me.”

“His loss.” Bucky gave her a half-smile. “Okay, last one…what about the guy who rented that restaurant out for you? Didn’t you…weren’t you pretty serious?”

“No.” She smiled, but it was somber. “That was a PR stunt. He had a big movie coming out, they used two of my songs on the soundtrack, it was supposed to be big for both of our careers. And it was, I guess. It’s just, sometimes it can be hard to pretend without forgetting what’s real and what’s work. It gets messy.”

Bucky watched her, spinning the stem of his wine glass between metal fingers.

“It was also a long time ago.” Gianna continued, giving a reassuring look. “I was very young. I didn’t really know how things were done in the industry and that made me vulnerable. That’s why I haven’t really dated over the past couple years…I wanted something real.”

She reached her hand across the table, replacing the wine glass in his grip.

“I still do.”

“I’d assure you that this is real, but truth be told, I’m still waiting for someone to pinch me.” Bucky squeezed her hand ever so lightly. If she ever felt strangely about his vibranium hand, she never showed it.

She met his eyes, relaxing in his gaze. “You and your lines, Sargeant.”

He stood to his feet, still holding her hand. “Is it too old-fashioned if I ask you to dance?”

“Maybe,” Gianna slid out of her chair, letting him guide her to the center of the dock. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to stop.”

The soft music that had been playing throughout dinner was paired with the quiet creaking of the dock and the crickets as they swayed slowly.

_________________________________________

“Shh!” Wanda hissed. “You know sounds carry across water!”

Peter shut up and retreated to the back of the balcony. The group had gathered on the patio, claiming to want fresh air after dinner, but secretly all hoping to catch a glimpse of the date they’d all helped facilitate.

“See anything, Rogers?” Natasha called, taking a sip of her drink.

“I told you, I don’t condone spying.” He looked up from his chair. “They’re dancing.”

Grinning, Nat stood to her feet and walked to the railing where Wanda and Sam stood.

“You think they’d notice if I sent Red Wing over there? I could get us some live footage.”

“Sam, if you give Bucky any excuse to rip that thing out of the sky, he’s not going to hesitate.” Steve reluctantly joined them, thankful the dock was far enough away that it took super soldier vision to really see what was going on.

“They’re hopeless.” Wanda said. “So in love.”

“Are you saying that as a mind-reader?” Peter asked, wide-eyed.

“I’m saying that as someone who talked to them both today.” She rolled her eyes. “And as someone with eyes.”

“Okay, alright. Let’s give them some privacy. If you want to watch someone on a date then put on that trashy show you’re always watching.” Steve ushered them inside.

“Steve, you know the Bachelor is only on Monday night.” Sam elbowed him, walking through the door. “What, a man can’t enjoy quality reality television?!”

When he was the only one remaining on the balcony, Steve took one last glance down at the dock just in time to see Bucky raise Gianna’s hand and spin her around. Grinning, he stepped inside and shut the door.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #winter soldier #avengers #winter soldier fluff #sebastian stan

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ailelie · 8 months ago

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Eddie's Will

Revised lightly and on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55176097

Eddie's relationship with Marisol is getting serious again. She's even moved in and this time they both feel excited and confident in the decision. She isn't Shannon and the relationship isn't quite like what he'd had with Shannon, but Eddie has realized that he cannot keep comparing his relationships to Shannon. Things with Marisol are good. They can be good enough.

But then Chimney and Maddie are in a car accident and, when they're both out of surgery and okay, Buck gently hugs his sister and says he is so glad they're both okay. He says he isn't ready to be a single dad.

And it reminds Eddie of his will. The will he has not changed since adding Buck to it. If anything happens to him, Christopher goes to Buck.

His heart begins to beat a loud question: What about Marisol?

He should change his will, right? His son should go to his partner, right?

But every time Eddie thinks to call his lawyer, he distracts himself. He'll call after the dishes are clean, after this shift is over, after Marisol goes to work. Later. He'll call later.

But he never does and the question never stops echoing.

And then it is 2am at the fire station and he cannot sleep. He's upstairs, at the table, staring down at his hands. He needs to make this phone call. He has no idea why he can't.

Chimney is the one who finds him.

"Practicing waiting up for Chris?" Chimney asks, yawning through the joke.

"Couldn't sleep. Why are you up?"

Chimney slumps into the chair opposite of him. "Jee's been having nightmares for the past week or so. Every night, between 2 and 3 she wakes up screaming. So now I'm waking up even without a distraught toddler."

Eddie frowned. "The car accident?"

"We think so. She saw it on TV. We've talked with a therapist, but Jee's still having a hard time. So why are you up?"

"I need to change my will," Eddie says, too tired to come up another reason. Chimney is the worst person to confide in, but he already suspects what Bobby will say and the idea of talking with Hen makes his stomach curl inward. Hen is too perceptive; Eddie doesn't really want to be seen.

"Why?" Chimney asks.

Eddie explains his current arrangements for Chris and asks, "But it should be Marisol now, right?"

Chimney gives him a long look and then holds out both of his hands palms up. "This--" he says, raising his right hand, "is Buck. And this is Marisol." He raises the left. "Right now you have both in your life."

Eddie nods. "Yes?"

"Right. You only get to keep one. One stays and the other leaves your life forever. You may see each other in passing, but you stop spending time together entirely."

A hint of panic bubbles up through Eddie's chest. This ridiculous dilemma is speaking to a fear he's been refusing to face.

Chimney leans forward, his elbows planted on the table between them. He nods to each hand in turn, "Buck or Marisol: who do you keep?"

"Buck." The answer shoots out of Eddie without a single moment for thought.

Chimney reaches over with his right hand and pats Eddie's forearm. "Don't change your will."

With another yawn and a screech of his chair, Chimney heads back down to the bunks, leaving Eddie in the middle of an epiphany.

He likes Marisol, but he could live without her.

He can't live without Buck. And he doesn't think that's going to change.

So, now 2:30 in the morning and alone in the half-lit room, Eddie does something he hasn't before. He compares his relationship with Buck to his relationship with Shannon. Before everything fell apart, he and Shannon had been a team. They'd felt invincible together, which is one of the reasons Shannon decided against an abortion. Everything fell apart only when they stopped talking, when they stopped having each other's back.

Buck gives him that same feeling of security and possibility.

He and Shannon had also had amazing sex, the kind you only get when you know someone inside and out. He and Buck-- he stops the thought there. Then another treacherous part of him points out that Buck is bi now, he might be interested if he knew Eddie was interested.

If Eddie were--images, fantasies of him and Buck in bed, in the back of an ambulance, in his kitchen, outside under the stars, stream flicker-fast through Eddie's mind until he shuts them down with a damned casserole recipe. Eddie drops his forehead to the table and covers his head with his hands.

He has to break up with Marisol.

#this was supposed to be a one paragraph description of a story i wanted to read #then it turned into this #not!fic #eddie diaz #chimney han #pre-buddie

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dollsonmain · 1 year ago

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This surgery has been very different than the last one and that's funny because I basically got the same surgery all over again PLUS a more different extra surgery.

(plus other blather)

First Surgery I was very irritated (burning and pain in urethra) and up all night having to use the bathroom painfully every 30 minutes for the first 3 nights, then getting longer and longer periods of sleep before having to get up. This Time I got up once around 3:30 which is almost making it all the way through the night since That Guy's alarm goes off at 4. I'm not feeling any of the irritation from the first time, just discomfort from the right stent again.

FS BIG, BIG pain flare in the night, once home needed the heat bear to get to sleep every night. TT nothing unexpected or unbearable. Left kidney got a little warm for a bit but that passed. Right side uncomfortable from the stent but not as bad as it had been once the old one calcified which might happen again. Didn't need the heat bear. -This may have to do with the timing of coming home vs surgery time and I may start having more pain as time goes on today and tomorrow. The discomfort is already building a bit. Zap zap.

FS occasional loss of bladder control for the first two days. TT no problems, there. Wore the depends on the way home but didn't need to use the restroom at all until bed time, and wore one overnight but didn't need it. That Guy insists that's because I'm dehydrated despite having been on IV fluids, when it's just less irritation and no loss of bladder control.

FS I was pretty much out once the anesthesiologist gave me the fentanyl, though I remember talking to the people in the OR, them saying I was drunk, me saying I don't drink alcohol, and the anesthesiologist saying that explained why I was laughing so much, it was my first time being drunk. I didn't move myself to the operating table because I was unable and remember them putting the mask on my face, then nothing until I woke up. TT I was still fully aware and mobile when I got to the operating room, moved myself from the PACU bed to the operating table, was able to lift my legs to assist with putting the calf cuffs on, was not laughing like a goof, remember the mask, a nurse saying something like "Ok, here we go." and then nothing. The nurse said I wouldn't remember any of that. One of the nurses talked to me like I was 5 and it was weird.

FS I was fully awake when they went to put me under despite having not slept in a few days. TT I was half asleep already even though I'd slept the night before. It was around 2pm and I'm always sleepy at 2pm.

FS when I was coming out of anesthesia there were colorful rectangles everywhere in my vision and I remember trying and struggling to speak, talking about the rectangles. A nurse said "You're waking up" once I managed to say "Rectangles" out loud and then I was awake pretty soon after that if a little disoriented. TT That Guy says I was the last person left for the day and everyone was trying to get me to wake up so they could go home. Nurse kept coming by and saying my name and I struggled to rouse. I didn't say anything (at least not while I was awake enough to be aware of speaking), just couldn't wake up fully. I didn't wake up fully until I'd been home a few hours, but then had to drag myself to bed, exhausted.

Armchair diagnosis but I think my urologist might be autistic. He's very straightforward saying things like "Anesthesia is safer than going on the highway so don't worry. I mean, you COULD die." and like "This surgery is pretty simple. I COULD poke a hole in your ureter but that's not likely." things you might expect a doctor to mince words on a bit.

He was having a conversation with another doctor out in the middle of the PACU where the nurses' station and doctors' PCs were about prostate exams and the other doctor was being kind of crude about it (he'd been going around being crude and loud the whole time) and my doc was again being very straightforward and explaining the other doc's anecdotes about how he reacted to it. The other said ONE drop of semen came out, and my doc was like "You likely had a stream of semen through your ureter as opposed to one drop and peed it out later." When my doc left, the other was like "He's really serious...."

At one point That Guy brought up the discrepancy in the cost of the antibiotics and the doc started going on about how messed up the US health care system is. Doc said that some pharmacies charge more than others so while we're doing medical stuff in Next Town Over, we'll just use the hospital's pharmacy since we'll be there anyway. Bonus that it's a drive-up pharmacy so I don't have to walk through the walmart in agony to get meds.

He told me that he doesn't like to wear flip flops because he can't stand the feeling of something between his toes and that his wife thinks he has sensory issues.

He also loved the Barbie Movie. His four daughters asked to go see it and he liked it a lot. That's not part of the armchair diagnosis, I just found that interesting. Both That Guy and the other male nurse were like "Ew misandry" but he was like no it was great you should see it.

All of this makes me like him and trust him a bit more as a doctor.

He keeps saying I'm small and I'm confused by that, but I guess most of his patients are elders and/or male.

I've had a lump growing on my arm for as long as I can remember that I thought might be a tumor and suddenly got bigger and harder the past few months but now that I've been on antibiotics for a few weeks it's gotten smaller and softer again, so I guess that's a cyst.

That Guy said the doctor told him to tell me to reduce my antibiotics to once a day after I remove the left stent tomorrow. That seems illogical considering how antibiotics work, and the after care instructions say to make sure I take the antibiotics the day before and the day of removal and that there are no changes to my medications, so I'm going to have to call the office and ask about it. I've learned not to take That Guy at his word.

#tiffygotsick

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ellethesmallcell · 2 years ago

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The Decision

okay so we're starting off with warnings: tw with parents stuff, divorcing, (some) depression, this is like filled with so much angst its not even funny, lmk if i missed anything else

word count: 1.1K

this is like my first time so... anyways, VAMOS-

Waking up in the middle of the night became a frequent occasion; a sense of normalcy coming with it now, everytime I awoke in a cold sweat. Arising slowly, I crackled up out of my bed to use the bathroom. I think by the third time my body did this act of thievery, I accepted that I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. Walking to the bathroom was always the part I hated, not necessarily the stirring part. It included mentally trying to block out the yelling and fighting downstairs. My dad had probably gone out to the karaoke bar again, or went out with a woman. They think I can't hear or understand the words they use, because they’re in our native language, but loud language and obscenities can be recognised in any dialect. Either way, i didn’t care. Not really.

The cold tiles on the soles of my feet grounded me from the nauseous feeling that was bubbling in my stomach. After hearing these fights almost every day for two and a half years, you would think that any normal person would get used to it. I think I did, but it still makes me sick to my stomach knowing that my father - the man who raised me and played along with my many imaginary friends - is now in this damaged, deranged situation with my mother. It’s quite perplexing when you think about it; how the child might be feeling the most pain. How she might be breaking inside watching her two favourite people rip themselves apart with so much hate and fervour. But that’s just it. No one thinks of the child.

My parents’ fighting started two and a half years ago, beginning with small, meaningless squabbles which then later progressed to name calling and slaps thrown around like germs. When I was younger I didn’t understand what was happening; why did it have to be my parents, why not anyone else’s? Some nights, I would cry myself to sleep, or sometimes I would wake up crying, the petrification of the dream I just had frightening eleven-year-old me straight into big fat tears. The crying moderately stopped, and so did the nightmares. Now being freshly fourteen years old, the anxiety caught up with me, and I started having belligerent sleeping issues. This was aggravatingly annoying at first, but I got used to it after some time, and now it was just an event in my calendar that inconveniently happened everyday.

Coming down for family breakfast was always the most grim part of my day. It consisted of my parents and I sitting at a wooden table for 30 minutes, both of them being consumed in their own separate personal device. In short, it was the worst part of my day, overall. After this usually came the rushing out of the house for school, muttering an incoherent excuse about how I was late to school so I didn’t have to stay in that hell any longer. Then was the blissful silence that came with walking to school on my own. No loud, slightly muffled profanities being passed around back and forth. No loud striking sounds that resonate through the walls of the household. Just euphoric silence. And that was the best part to my day.

Arriving at my front door, I ventured in, readying myself for whatever disarray was unfurling beyond my door. But I found nothing. Silence. Not the blissful kind, though. The eerie, panic-inducing kind. The only sound mildly interrupting the silence was the pitter-pattering of my mother’s feet on the floor. Once, I saw her weave in and out of the kitchen poles, busying herself with what was some form of cooking, telling by the smell wafting from the kitchen.

“Nabi” she spoke, stupefying me for a slight second. “Go and wait on the couch. Me and your father need to talk to you.”

The hairs on the backs of my arms stood up at the choice of my mother’s words. They never agreed. Her and my dad, I mean. It was always a disagreement or an argument, or an ignorance to the sentence overall. But never an agreement. So, it scared me. This had to be important for them to come to a civilised agreement.

Sitting and waiting for what felt like hours was torturous. Waiting for my parents to sit down and talk to me. I felt young again. Ten-year-old me being sat down to have ‘the talk’. That was when everything was fine. But it isn’t now, and I just have to accept that.

“Hey, Nabi” my dad said, almost carefully. “Your mother and I have come to a decision that we are going to… well. We’re going to have a divorce.”

After that, my memories just stopped. Like a black out. I don't have any recollection of anything that happened after that. A guess is that I started crying, or maybe I went into a hysterical fit of giggles, to block out what was happening. When my memory checked back in, I remember feeling like I was drowning. A sufferance of dense, concentrated air moving in and out of my lungs. I was ironically in a park, having a full blown anxiety attack. Piece together the jigsaw puzzle and you can identify that I ran away. The emotion that I seemed to be feeling the most was a sense of denial. Denial that my father’s words couldn’t be true, and denial that I was going to go through this all on my own. I thought that this was a ruse, or a terrible prank. But it wasn’t. It was real, and it was happening. This was the end, and there were no more arguments to be had, and no one could object.

A week and three days later, I had to come to the devastating decision of choosing a parent to live with. This was a disastrous decision because of the simple fact that if you picked one over the other, the other’s heart would plainly be broken. There were multiple reasons why I could, should or would choose each parent, but the biggest reason for me was the dreadful infidelity that my father performed against my mother, and I simply couldn’t live with that. But would I be prepared to lose the man that taught me so much, guided me through the loss of my many pets, trained me in my moral values, and of course who taught me that being alone was actually not that bad. I wasn’t. But I had to be strong and make that choice on my own. There was no one here to comfort me through this, so I had to do it myself. And so, I made the choice and was practical.

I chose to live with my mother.

@robyn-core

okay so this was my first thing ive published, and im excited for it so yay!

#teddy's library

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purplesurveys · 2 years ago

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1600

Are you going to be busy tomorrow? Not at all. I don’t have to report to work until January 4th, so the next week and a half is just gonna be filled with naps and maybe binge-watching sessions here and there. And 5x the coffee I would normally drink, hehe.

What was the last topic you read about on Wikipedia? The plot to Good Will Hunting. I was watching it earlier with my parents but it’s been a while since I last saw it, so I looked up the plot just so I knew what scenes are coming. Such a good fucking movie.

Have you ever donated money to Wikipedia? I haven’t.

Is your country part of the Commonwealth? It is not.

Around what time of the year do you start your Christmas shopping? I start in mid-November, then I kinda just work in weekly batches from there. For online orders I make sure all my orders are in a week before Christmas to give enough breathing room for shipping; but in the case of presents I can buy at the mall I usually save them for last and just brave the Dec 22-24 crowds lol.

Do you have blinds or curtains on your windows? I have these pull-down blinds that I want to replace with blackout curtains. But for now, they do the job.

What are the most common birds you'd see around your home? Just the maya. Sometimes I’ll spot crows and doves.

Did you sleep well last night? Very well. I passed out as soon as we got home; I got so little sleep in the last two days. But since yesterday was the last family gathering we had to go to, sleep felt so much sweeter knowing we didn’t have to go anywhere else and socialize for 8-12 hours anymore lol.

Did you live within walking distance of school when you were a kid? Not at all. My grade school/high school was in the upper part of the city, i.e. on top of a mountain; there was no way I could’ve walked to it. The Philippines also isn’t a very walkable city in general – you need cars to get to anywhere.

What board games did you play when you were growing up? Nothing too varied. Scrabble was a favorite.

Do you know any sign language? Just certain words here and there. I definitely can’t communicate fluently.

When was the last time you bought new clothes? What did you get? Last week. I was buying clothes for Hans when I ended up spotting this oversized fit t-shirt that I really liked, so I got that for myself too lol. What, other than books, do you have on your bookshelves? My room is in the middle of a renovation so I currently do not have a bookshelf, but the shelves on my TV stand (closest thing I’ve got to a bookshelf) are home to most of my K-pop merch. Do you ever watch streamers on Twitch? Nah. I tried getting into it a few times but the platform is just not for me. How close are your nearest neighbours? It’s just the house right next to ours. Healthy distance and we don’t have to worry about them overhearing our convos or being creeps, but it’s right next to ours nonetheless.

Has your house ever been broken into? How did you find out? No. That is one of my biggest fears.

What do you usually eat for breakfast? Iced coffee.

What's the first thing your hand touches if you reach to the left? My chair. Describe your favourite mug or cup. It’s just a bronze Starbucks cup. Nothing too special.

If you could teleport to any country right now for a holiday, what would it be? South Korea.

Are you overwhelmed right now? Naw, I’m as relaxed as relaxed can be. I’ve really needed this break.

Did you share a bedroom with someone when you were growing up? I shared a room with my entire family - parents, two siblings - until I was 10, which was when we moved out of our extended family’s duplex. My parents also attempted to have me and my sister share a room since our new house only had three rooms; eventually they just had the balcony rebuilt as an extra bedroom for my brother, while my sister and I got our own rooms.

Have you ever had anything dry cleaned? I don’t think so.

How many group chats are you in? Do you participate in them much? Must be anywhere in the 30-50 range. Filipinos love their group chats; we make one for pretty much anything that involves >2 people.

What's the best concert you ever went to? Paramore, 2018.

Do you like to watch subtitled movies? Yes. Everything I watch has to have subtitles, even if it’s in English. I fucking hate it when actors mumble and I end up missing sentences lol.

Are you still in touch with any of your exes? Gross. No.

How old were you when the first American Pie movie came out? 1.

Do you know how to change the oil in a car? What about a flat tyre? I don’t know how to do either. Which is why when we were hit with a flat tire on our way back to Manila last weekend, I only did what any Gen Z would do - post and smile with the said tire LOL What do you do for work? I work in public relations and work with several high-profile clients.

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ravetaper · 1 year ago

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Habstrakt Live Set - Hollywood Palladium 2023

This is a 90-minute audio recording of Habstrakt Hollywood Palladium live set recorded on Saturday, September 2, 2023. The set began at 12:10 AM the following morning.

Rave Tapes · Habstrakt 09 - 03 - 2023 HollywoodPalladium

I've seen many shows at the Hollywood Palladium. Deadmau5, Voyd, RL Grime, to name a few EDM acts. But I've been seeing shows there since the 90's, when Beastie Boys and Green Day used to play the venue. It's a cool space and an historic site, but I haven't been impressed with the sound quality in recent years. My main complaint has been the lack of bass.

That's why I was surprised by what I heard last night. It actually sounded pretty good. I did sense that the sound engineer waited until the final 30 minutes to really unleash the bass. But when everything was running full blast, I thought the mix sounded decent. And the recording reflects that. Usually the audio sounds muddy. But this time, I had to do very little adjusting to get a nice sound.

The sound wasn't the only good thing about the show. The crowd was beautiful, too.

This was the best audience I have experienced in quite a while. The vibes were pristine. No bad energy, no one being pushy, no moshing, everyone being friendly and polite. Apparently, Habstrakt attracts a really wholesome crowd. I was passing out stickers, trading kandi and making friends left and right. Such a refreshing change. In the couple years following Covid, many crowds have felt uncharacteristically aggressive and insensitive. So this was a welcome breath of fresh air.

Here's what I know about Habstrakt: not much. I know he's a French-born producer living and working in LA. But I also know he's producing some of the sickest bass house and tech house on the planet.

I know him primarily from seeing his name all over the Beatport genres I follow. When I see Habstrakt listed in the credits of a track, I know it's going to be a high impact banger.

Then there's the fact that I missed him at EDC Vegas this year.

I knew about the EDC set. I wanted to hit the set and record it. But, it was a closing set. No bueno.

I'm a middle-age raver and I go harder than 95-percent of my peers. Most of them stopped attending events years ago and would never dream about going back to EDC in their "old age." But I go. I go all three days, and I arrive early and stay late. I outpace and outlast kids half my age. But I have to draw the line somewhere. For me, the cutoff at EDC is 4 AM.

Believe me, I know how magical the closing sets are. But I can't do them because I can't get stuck in the post-show traffic jam. I like to pull out of the parking lot no later than 5 AM, just as the music stops inside the venue. I like to be back in my hotel room listening to the recordings by 6 or 7 AM. If I stay for the final set, I get stuck in parking and can't relax for another couple hours, which throws off my three-day schedule of eat-sleep-rave-repeat.

But leaving early means I have to sacrifice the closing sets. I've missed a million Kaskade Redux sunrise sets because of this, and I regret missing all of them.

Well, it was particularly painful to miss Habstrakt at EDC. I've been hyper focused on bass house lately, and Habstrakt is one of the frontrunners of the genre. Reports from his EDC set were overwhelmingly positive, but there were precious few videos of the set. When the Hollywood Palladium show was announced, I knew I would finally get my chance to experience Habstrakt live.

As mentioned earlier, the sound was better than usual. The crowd was better than usual, too. And the music was perfect.

Habstrakt delivered a tight 90-miunte set. Most of it was unrelenting tech house and bass house interspersed with a few breaks and breakdowns. Very danceable, which is the aspect I love the most. I'm not familiar enough with Habstrakt's catalog to know what percent of the tracks were produced by him, but I assume the number was high. The mic work was sparce and heartfelt. I could tell he was having fun and feeling grateful to be there.

Visuals and stage production were minimal but effective. The main visuals were provided by a wall of vintage CRT monitors behind the dj decks. The effect was retro but it aligned nicely with Habstract's grimy, high-contrast brand.

I'm very happy with the sound quality of this recording. Whereas most of my Hollywood Palladium recordings have issues, this one sounded close to perfect out the gate. I applied very subtle eq adjustments and brought the levels up, that's it. (Edit: I went back and applied my normal effects chain to increase the crispness and 'liveliness'.)

I'm going to check the mix in a few listening environments and adjust if necessary. Otherwise, enjoy it.

So checking my email yesterday I saw what I thought was phishing email. It had the Live Nation branding and said my ticket was ready for Boris Brejcha the next night – tonight – a Factory 93 show at Grand Park in LA. I was sure it was a phishing attempt because there was no way I would knowingly buy a ticket for Boris the day after Habstrakt.

Just to verify everything, I logged into my Live Nation account and...what do you know. I DO have a ticket for Boris Brejcha tonight. Bahahaha!

So after I get finished posting and sharing this, I will chill for a few hours, eat something, take a shower, get dressed, and do it all over again!

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Follow and support Habstrakt!

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Original Insomniac flyer for Habstrakt Hollywood Palladium September 2, 2023:

Alternate Insomniac flyer for Habstrakt Hollywood Palladium September 2, 2023:

#habstrakt #live set #hollywood palladium #2023 #bass house #tech house #rave tapes #SoundCloud

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casuallytalkingtothevoid · 2 months ago

Text

When Dick woke up, he knew today was going to be a good day.

He had been staying at the manor for a bit now and was having a great time.

He was just so happy to be around so many people he cared about.

He picked up his phone to check the time. The brightening screen read 9:30.

Oh great, Alfred's probably about to put out breakfast!

Dick, never short of energy, quickly got ready, excited for the chance to spend time with his family.

While walking down the hallway, Duke just about runs him over.

"Whoa man, where's the fire?"

"Oh hey Dick, sorry about that, don't mind me, just passing through... hey do you mind getting Tim for me? I think he's still in the cave. Thanks!" He said, getting a bit louder as he hurriedly walked away before disappearing out of view.

Dick just huffed out a laugh and looked down to Damian's door to see a glowering Damian.

"He behaves as though I would be angry towards him for ensuring I do not miss breakfast."

Dick knew there was absolutely no chance Damian didn't threaten Duke, but he just raised an eyebrow.

Damian muttered under his breath, "I didn't even stab him."

Dick grinned, "That's an improvement!"

"tt."

He didn't see anyone else before heading down to the cave.

"Timmmm." He called out, seeing the ball curled up in front of the computers that vaguely resembled a human person.

"Come on Timmy, breakfast is almost done."

All is gets is an "I'm working."

Dick sighed, Tim tended to get like this, especially when it came to cases involving kidnapping or children. Sadly, this case was a two for one.

"Nope, nu-uh, comeon man we wouldn't want to leave Alfred waiting." He said while already in the middle of dragging him over.

He gets a good look at him, and he wished he was surprised to see the deep eyebags and the bloodshot eyes. Something about this case must be tearing him up inside. Who knows how many days it's been since he got any real sleep. And no Tim those half hour "power naps" do not count!

Thankfully though, Tim didn't put up much of a fight, allowing himself to be manhandled out of the cave and into the dining room. Dick did notice a small hissing when they got to the brighter parts of the building. Cute, he thought.

Everyone else was already at the by the time they got there. Tim dropped heavily into his seat.

Dick noticed Damian and Jason talking about the drug dealers they busted last night.

"... But Todd, the imbecile that he is, decided he didn't need to call in reinforcements."

"Oh shut up, I would have been just fine without you!"

"I can recall at the very least three instances in which you would have been shot had I not been there."

"Well at least you were doing something cool, most interesting thing I had all night was breaking up a bar fight." Dick whined.

"Come on Dickie Bird, it could always be worse," Jason Grinned. "You could've had to deal with condiment king."

The table collectively groaned. Well except Tim, but that was to be expected, he looked about ready to fall face first into his food.

"What about your Case Tim, aren't you still working on that one with the missing kids?" Jason questioned, "Would have thought you'd have that one figured out by now huh."

"Kidnapped," he replies, still looking at his plate as though he were contemplating using it as a pillow.

"Hm?"

"They were kidnapped, honestly they are probably dead by now."

And look, Dick understood, after being in the game so long he knew that sometimes you have to detach yourself from the emotions of a case. But he thought, looking at Tim right then, that he was being a little too indifferent when talking about kids dying.

"Tim, buddy, you can't lose hope, those kids are counting on us to save them!"

Tim finally glanced up and looked him dead in the eyes. If Dick was telling the truth, it was a little unnerving. He looked like a zombie, pale and unfocused eyes, which was ironic, seeing as though he was seating 5 feet away from an actual zombie.

"It isn't about hope, of course I'm not giving up, I will find them. But it's been weeks and depending on the situation I honestly might prefer if they were already dead and that's why we haven't found them." His eyes glaze just a little more. "We still have no idea who has them, or why, or what they are doing to them. We have no idea..." He trails off and looks back down at his food to take focus on taking a bite.

After that the mood sobered a little bit.

"Don't... Don't you think that's a little insensitive?" Duke chimed in with an awkward laugh

And Dick knew it wasn't, knew that it was a perfectly reasonable thought process, if not a little morbid.

"Yah come on Timmy, I'm sure it'll all be ok!" Ok so sue him, let Dick pretend like the world wasn't a terrible, awful place for like two seconds.

"You know, as someone who has died, zero out of ten, would not recommend." Jason cut in, "Tim, I know people say you can sleep when you're dead, and I really hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they are definitely wrong."

Dick barked out a laugh, "He looks just about ready to pass out right here, right now."

The whole table laughs at that, the rest joining in on teasing Tim for his bad sleep habits.

"Honestly Dick, at this point the only thing that would be able to keep him up is a little shock from your escrima sticks"

At Jason's words Tim's chair scraped across the floor.

"That's not funny," he said in a breathless, sort of desperate tone.

Dick, laughter dying down just a little, looks over at Tim, worried that something might have triggered him, or hurt his feelings.

But when he saw his face, full of mirth and a mile long smile, he just burst into more laughter.

Dick was right, this was going to be a good day.

Thinking a very normal amount about Tim being joker junior.

Thinking about Jason dying and Tim becoming robin out of necessity.

Thinking about Bruce not noticing Tim has been kidnapped because surely, surely his parents would file a report. Surely Tim must have been dragged into going on a trip with them and just didn’t mention it.

Thinking of Bruce not questioning things correctly because he is too busy grieving the previous robin.

Thinking of Bruce just thinking Joker Junior is a random kid.

Thinking of Barbra being the one to notice instead.

Thinking of Barbra consoling Tim after he kills the Joker.

Thinking of her taking Tim and letting him heal in the Drake estate.

Thinking of a file Bruce Wayne makes called Joker junior, one that Tim never looks at, that talks about a kid who killed the Joker and has been missing ever since.

Thinking of, months later, when robin returns to Bruce’s side, it just so happens to coincide with the return of Jack and Janet.

Thinking of Tim thinking Barbra must have told Bruce, but he just never came to see him. And that’s fine, because it isn’t as if they are family, Tim is just here to make sure Bats doesn’t go off the deep end again.

Thinking of Barbra not telling Bruce, because surely he already knows, he’s the world’s greatest detective. Plus she isn’t one to talk about other people’s trauma when they aren’t around.

Thinking of Tim hiding his laughter, because Batman would never let him keep patrolling if he knew he was still having fits.

Thinking of Dick not being there most of the time, and when he is, he mostly spends it arguing with Bruce.

Thinking of Tim knowing that Dick must know because he hears them fighting about the joker being dead once, although he did leave pretty soon after when he feels the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

Thinking of Jason coming back, attacking him at the titains tower, and telling him that he’s read all his files and knows everything about Tim. Obviously Tim takes this to mean he knows that Tim killed the joker as JJ. Because why wouldn’t that be in his file.

Thinking of Jason not having time to question when the little Robin who replaced him starts manically laughing once he sees him, because as soon as he hears the familiar laugh the green takes over completely.

Thinking of Tim finally feeling in control of himself, but then worst year ever happens. His parents are dead, Bruce is lost in the time stream, all his friends are dead, Robin is stolen from him, and everyone thinks he is crazy. He starts to relapse.

Thinking of Tim actually going a little bit crazy after that, trying to clone Bart and Kon, joining the league of assassins, doing all those crazy things he did during worst year ever.

Thinking of Cass learning after saving Tim from the daughter of Acheron. There isn’t much he can do but explain after she witnesses one of his fits.

Thinking about years later, when everyone has relationships more akin to Batman: Wayne family adventures, Tim still feels a little out of the group.

Thinking of everyone getting mad when he talks about the Joker, especially if it’s in front of Jason.

Thinking of Tim going silent or making himself scarce everytime the Joker is mentioned.

Thinking of a Tim who finds an excuse not to go out when Harley Quinn is.

Thinking of a Tim who hasn’t had an episode in years.

Thinking of a Tim who watches Jason get all this support for his trauma, while he doesn’t.

Thinking of him going to Barbra or Cass anytime he has a set back because they are the only ones who seem to care.

Thinking of a Wayne family who doesn’t know.

Thinking of a Tim who Knows they Know, but they just don’t care.

#<- prev tags #why is writing so hard #I feel like I'm stopping every five seconds to overthink the next word I put #like what time do normal people wake up for breakfast #better yet #what time do rich vigilantes with a butler wake up for breakfast #writing damian is just me writing normally and then pulling out a thesaurus to find good synonyms #thinking of conversations is hard #I just want to be as none desciptive as possible #also #can we just appreciate the difference between Tim and Dick's perspectives?#And Dick ending it with this is a great day #When we know whats about to happen #I did my best #God I really wanted to write his perspective on what happens after #But I just thought this was important #and I've been writing this a while and I have things I need to #and ugh #:(#Anyways #Tysm #<3 #Once again I love the writing and thank you for helping bring my silly little ideas to words #currently trying to find more angst spice to season this with #Actually #looking back at this now I think this might have gotten away from me a bit

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