winchestershiresauce - Tumblr blog

winchestershiresauce · 12 days ago

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GAHHH. I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU DO IT. YOU MAKE ME ACHE.

The angst is so good and so familiar and he's just so... Ugh. I'm so glad you're writing for him.

Mrs. R Part Two

Part One

Notes: Hi welcome to part two okay love you bye

Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close.

“You got any more lightbulbs in here that need changing?”

You lean in the doorway of the living room, watching Robby unscrew the old bulb and toss it onto the couch before lifting his hand to screw in the new one.

“I don’t think so. Unless you wanna go around and change a few preemptively.”

“Think we’ll just stick with this one for now.”

You bite your lip, glancing down at your bandaged hand and picking at a stray strand.

“How was the rest of your shift?”

“Oh, fine. You know.”

But you still don’t. You bite your lip, fighting back the argument as you pick at another stray strand.

“How’s the hand feeling?”

“Oh, fine. You know.”

You shoot him a coy smile at his sidelong glance. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the light, fitting the fixture back over the bulb. He climbs down from the step ladder, folding it, and leaning it against the bookshelf.

“Where was that, anyway?” You ask, nodding toward it.

“In the basement.”

“Ah. I don’t go down there much.”

“Yeah, the film of dust gave that away.”

Your smile widens at the tease, then falters as he turns away, dusting off his hands.

“Alright. I should head out.”

Your stomach twists as he straightens, heading for the door, and where he left his bag.   “Oh?” You fight to keep your tone even as you straighten up. “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon if you’re hungry.”

“You’ll have leftovers.”

“Sure! Sure.” You tuck your hands into your back pockets, wandering after him as he reaches for his bag. “I could just um…Wrap it in foil…Stick it in the back of the fridge…Forget it’s there for a few days until I inevitably remember that it’s in there on Friday. Nuke it, gobble down a couple of slices, give myself food poisoning, and then I’ll, uh…” You smile as he turns to face you again. “I’ll see you back in the ER.”

“Does it bother you that they still call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Mrs. R.”

You catch the slight delay in his movement, the pause in raising his beer to his lips. His eyes stay set on the tv, and you watch the flash and flare of the screen's glow lighten and shade his face. For as long a day as he’s had, it should be easier to read his expression—or maybe you’re more out of practice than you realized.

But you know that he heard it. It’s not as if he can pretend that he didn’t hear Evans or Langdon say it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when they’d had though not for lack of trying.

“Why would it bother me?” He finally asks.

 “Because we’re not married anymore.”

“You change your name yet?”

You turn back to the tv as Robby’s head turns. It’s your turn to fall silent, to take a sip from your beer.

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” It’s the lamest of excuses. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either. You hear Robby huff a soft laugh through his nose, and you can’t help the embarrassment that pulses through you. You push the feeling down, leaning forward and setting down your beer.

"You want that last slice?” You glance toward him and find his lips pursed. He wants to say no, but you’re positive he barely had anything to eat that day.

“You wanna split it?” You correct, already taking up a knife to cut it down the middle.

“If you really want it, you can—”

“Oh, shut up and eat the slice, Robinavitch,” You lean back, holding it out and raising your own slice to your mouth.

“Half slice.”

“You’re way too particular for this late in the day. Did you get all hangry on the ducklings?”

“...Not on the ducklings.”

Your brows rose at the admission as you tore off a piece of the crust, popping it into your mouth.

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after a moment.

“Nope.”

Figures. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be wholly disappointed. But he’d come over, he’d changed your lightbulb. He’d stayed. Months of not seeing one another and now this. It felt like two steps forward and one step back…Though, for what it was worth, that was still one step forward.

You chalk it up to muscle memory. A late-night hazy wake up, an infomercial droning on the tv, and Robby's head in your lap. You manage to nudge him up, shut the television off, and find his hand to lead him to your bedroom. He doesn't gripe or grumble. His movements seem as automatic as he strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed with you, each on your own sides.

You think, as you sink into the pillows, that you’re almost glad Robby is too tired to gripe or argue that he should be going back to his place.

And you think, as sleep takes full hold of you, that you feel his hand curl around yours under the sheets.

You wake up to the steady thump of Robby’s heart beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his belly beneath your arm. You don’t open your eyes for a few moments—you don’t dare. You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close.

For the last few months of your marriage, the two of you hadn’t slept in the same bed, and with the separation and divorce that had followed, your physical connection had ceased to exist.

The closest the two of you had gotten was when he’d bandaged your hand at the ER the day before.

Of course, that same hand is now throbbing.

You wince, wiggling the fingers a little and holding back a hiss of discomfort. Damn, you should’ve taken some Tylenol before you went to bed last night. You just hadn’t been thinking about it. You reluctantly push yourself up, sliding out of bed as gently as you can, wary of waking him.

You freeze as he shifts, watching him roll closer to the warmth you left behind and pressing his face into your pillow. You relax as he settles, and turn to your closet, sleepily fishing out your favorite hoodie and tugging it on over the PJs that you hardly remember changing into.

By the time you hear Robby coming down the hall, you have 500mg of Tylenol in your system, and coffee has nearly finished brewing. You glance back in his direction as he comes into the kitchen. You’re chagrined (but not surprised) to find him fully clothed.

“Morning,” You greet. His answer is to take two mugs down from the cabinet, setting them by your wrist on the counter.

“Sleep okay?” You prod. Robby leans against the counter beside you, and you glance up, watching him scrub his hand across his eyes.

“Yeah,” He finally admits. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

“Sure,” You shrug. “My fault, anyway. I talked you into staying for pizza.” You pick up the coffee pot, filling both mugs. Robby mutters his thanks as he takes one up, drawing in a sip. You let the silence settle back in, but you can only handle it for so long: “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About whatever it is that’s been fucking with your sleep lately.”

“Do you wanna talk about why you haven’t changed your name yet?”

It catches you off-guard, and you whirl around to face him.

“I told you, it’s a shitton of paper work—”

“If you’d started when we filed for divorce, it would be done by now.”

“Well if it bothers you that much, why didn’t you fucking say so last night?”

“I didn’t say it bothered me, I just find it weird—”

“It isn’t that weird—And how the fuck did we get on to me? We’re supposed to be talking about you.”

“We don’t have to talk about me.”

“Yeah, we fucking do. Something is off with you, Michael. You’re not sleeping, you’re snapping at people—I get that you’re under pressure—”

“You don’t get it.”

“Alright, maybe I don’t know how it feels, but I can see how much it’s fucking messing with you—”

“Forget it—”

“Mikey, c’mon, just talk to me—”

“Let it go!”

The snap and bark of his voice startles you, and you unthinkingly take a couple of steps back. You become more aware of the way your face is crowding with heat, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn away from him, shoving your hands in your pockets and curling your good hand into a fist. You’re not gonna cry, not when he’s right fucking there. He’s going to leave, anyway.

You hear him push out a weary sigh, chased by the sound of him putting the coffee mug down. He’s going to put his hoodie on and just fucking go—

“Hey.” His hands curl around your shoulders, and he sighs again as you shrug him off. You step away, turning back to your mug and taking it up. Maybe you can take a big gulp and pretend that your eyes are tearing because the coffee’s so hot.

You feel the heat of him as he crowds up behind you, his hands landing on the counter and caging you in. You open your mouth to tell him to back off, but fall silent as he gently nuzzles his temple.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

“And I know you’re a closed book, so why do I fucking bother.”

Robby inches closer, curling his arms around your middle.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take this stuff on.”

“I don’t feel like I have to, Michael.” You turn in his arms, meeting his eyes despite the tears lingering in yours. “I’ve only ever asked because I want to, because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” Your throat grows tight as you admit it, and you blink rapidly as more tears well up. You drop your chin, closing your eyes as you shake your head, fighting to steady yourself.

Robby lifts a hand to cup your chin, thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of your cheek as he tips your head up. You sniffle as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours.

“You shouldn’t still worry like this.”

“I know.”

Robby tips his head, nose gently nuzzling against yours. You can’t help but chase the touch, a few tears escaping and slipping down your cheeks. You each go still as your lips brush, then stop just a hair’s breadth from one another’s. Robby’s breath puffs warmly across your mouth, and you feel his chin tip up just a touch more.

“Don’t,” You breathe, then hurry to explain—”Don’t do this if you’re just trying to fix it.”

For a few harrowing moments, neither of you move; you hardly breathe. And then Robby’s hand lifts to cup your other cheek, thumbs gently disrupting the few tear tracks. He brushes tender kisses to your closed eyelids before his mouth descends tenderly on yours. You shiver, curling your hand in the fabric of his shirt and drawing him closer, until he’s pressing you fully against the counter. Your lips part and your tongue teases gently against his, his beard brushing pleasantly against your skin.

The kiss breaks slowly, with Robby stealing another two languid pecks before resting his forehead back against yours, his hands smoothing over your shoulders again, fingers rubbing across the familiar fabric.

"...Couldn't find that last hoodie, huh?" He asks knowingly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking into a guilty grin.

"Misplaced it."

Robby hums knowingly before he dips his head, giving you another tender kiss.

"How's that hand feeling?"

You grunt, raising it and wiggling your fingers.

"Better now. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, so I took some Tylenol."

"Good." Another peck before he draws away, and you reluctantly let him go. You expect him to head into the front hall, to grab his backpack. But he goes into the living room, taking up the stepladder. You frown, straightening up.

"Where are you going with that?"

"To check the other bulbs."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry

#Doctor Robby x Reader #Michael Robinavitch x Reader #fic rec

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winchestershiresauce · 13 days ago

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Class Act

Pairing: Josh Lyman x Reader

Rating: T

Length: 3.9K

Notes: This was supposed to be shorter. Oh well. Not beta-read, cause when is it ever.

Warnings: Fake dating; fluff. This is just fluff.

Summary: You’d signed up for the cooking class on a complete whim. You’d been tipsy after brunch, wandering through one of your favorite cookware stores. The signup sheet had practically waved at you, and you’d jotted your name down, secure in the knowledge that you did indeed have something to do for Valentine’s Day.

But what you had failed to realize, when you’d so smugly put your name down, was that it was a couple’s cooking class.

You were trying not to feel too goddamn awkward about the whole thing but—hell, this sucked.

It was bad enough to begin with. All of your friends were coupled up, and had apparently formed a consensus that if they didn’t step in, you would die alone.

Well, the joke was on them—that was already your plan.

But their repeated attempts to sign you up for speed dating on Valentine’s Day was as abhorrent as it was uncomfortable. You had managed to talk them down, to insist that you had your own plans. You hadn’t specified what those plans were, but they’d still backed down.

You’d signed up for the cooking class on a complete whim. You’d been tipsy after brunch, wandering through one of your favorite cookware stores. The signup sheet had practically waved at you, and you’d jotted your name down, secure in the knowledge that you did indeed have something to do for Valentine’s Day.

But what you had failed to realize, when you’d so smugly put your name down, was that it was a couple’s cooking class.

So there you were, surrounded by eleven nuzzling, giggling, hand-holding couples who were ready to feed each other whatever the hell it was that you would be making. You’d gotten a couple of odd looks, but for the most part, the couples were so wrapped up in one another that they hadn’t taken too much notice of the fact that you were there by yourself. Maybe that would work to your advantage. You made yourself busy with the laminated recipe in front of you, fingers fidgeting with the ties on your apron. God, this was going to be a long night—

“Is this, uh—Half of your table taken?”

The question caught you off-guard, and you turned to see a harassed looking man trying and failing to shrug out of his camel coat.

“N-no,” You shook your head.

“You’re not—” He cast his bright, coffee brown eyes around the room toward the other couples. “You’re not waiting for anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Great.”

“There’s a coat rack over there. Aprons are on the end.” You nodded toward it.

“Great.”

You watched him go, plucking up a hanger and shoving his coat onto it with muted irritation. Your brows rose at the way he jabbed it into the shoulders, tipping up the fabric as he did. He looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t place him.

You hurriedly turned back to the table as you saw hi turn back toward you. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at the stranger that you would be spending the next couple of hours with. Maybe the time would pass in a comfortable quiet as you worked in tandem. It was possible that not a single word would be spoken between you—

“So how did you get roped into this?” His question was dipping with vitriol.

“Uh…” Now you were embarrassed to say. “I signed up.”

“To a couple’s cooking class?”

“Yes.”

“...By yourself?”

His tone was one part confused, two parts disbelieving, and it made you feel like a whole idiot.

“I didn’t read too closely when I was signing up.”

“Ah.”

“What about you?” You chanced a glance toward the man just in time to catch him grimacing.

“...I lost a bet with my boss.”

“And you’re going through with it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” You laughed. “Who’s your boss, the president or something?”

The man’s guarded gaze flickered toward you, and your mirthful grin fell away as the pieces fell into place.

“Oh…My god.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re Josh Lyman.”

“Yeah.”

“...Holy shit.”

“Thanks, I think.”

You scoffed a laugh before you turned back to your table, gently nudging the recipe between the two of you. He leaned in, his warm breath pushing against your cheek as he murmured,

“...Do I get to know your name, too?”

“Oh! God, yeah, sorry.” You turned, holding your hand out to him and introducing yourself. His smile lifted a bit as you pumped his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” You added, finally letting go of him.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, too.”

You turned back to the table, fingers drumming on the butcher block countertop as the teacher called you all to attention:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, all! My name is Amanda, and I’ll be your teacher. I’m so glad that you were all able to make it here this evening. Tonight, we’ll be making the recipe that was highly requested: Better Than Sex cake.” Her gaze swept around the room, a knowing smile on her lips. You almost wanted to shrink back at the speculative look that passed over you, Josh's mutter of, “Crying out loud," at your side.

“So! This recipe will need to be attacked as a team! I will demonstrate up here, so try to keep the canoodling to the minimum when the stove and oven are on. We want red-hot love, not red-hot hands and a trip to the ER.”

“...We’re gonna crush this, right?” Josh murmured.

“Why would we do that?”

“To show all of the other couples how strong we are as a team.”

“We’re not a team.”

“We are tonight. Besides, they don’t know that.”

Your brows rose, amusement swelling at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“...You just wanna piss these people off.”

“A little, yeah. This holiday is bullshit. Let’s ruin it.”

You grinned, unable to help yourself.

“That sounds absolutely diabolical, Mr. Lyman.”

“You in?”

You might work terribly together. The cake could wind up being a complete disaster.

“I am so in.”

“Let’s begin!” Amanda clapped her hands together. “Now I know that we could take a shortcut here and use a boxed mix for the devil’s food cake, but there are no shortcuts in love. We will be making everything from scratch."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the comment, already reaching for the cocoa powder. You glanced toward Josh, brows knitting.

“Do you cook at all?”

“I’m very good at burning stuff.”

“Okay,” You nodded, “This is gonna be great.”

“Apparently you’re the optimist in the relationship.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“You know what, so was I. Match made in heaven.”

“...So can I ask what the bet was?” You plied, glancing over at Josh. He hummed questioningly, doing a double-take when he caught you looking at him.

“Oh, I, uh,” He huffed a humorless laugh, “I made the mistake of arguing with him on the outcome of the Mets-Nationals game. Last time I make an over/under bet with the president.”

“What’s an over/under?”

“It’s a bet on the points total. You’re, uh,” He smiled, watching you stir a saucepan of milk, butter, water, cocoa powder, and instant coffee together, “You’re not a gambler, are you.”

“Not at all.”

“Took a gamble on this cooking class, how’s that working out for ya?”

You glanced at him, considering. So far, it wasn’t nearly as awkward as you thought it would be. You actually had a partner to cook with, and he was pretty easy on the eyes, if you were being completely honest. You gave a small shrug, turning back to the pan.

“It’s already turning out better than I thought.” Your panic flared as you rushed to cover: “I mean, didn’t think I’d be making cake tonight. I like cake.”

"Yeah, cake is good.”

You glanced up at the sound of Amanda’s voice as she called out, “Whoever is not bringing the chocolate mixture together should be putting together the dry ingredients.”

“That’s you, Lyman.”

“On it.”

You watched him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the steady, sure movements he makes as

“...So, who won, the Mets or the Nats?”

“The Nats? Oh, god. Am I baking with a Nationals fan?”

“No,” You chuckled, “But you’re baking with the daughter of one.”

“The Nationals won.”

“You poor thing.”

“Keep that up and you’re gonna be making this cake yourself.”

“Do I hear a lover’s quarrel brewing?” Amanda asked, and it was only a second before everyone's attention landed on the two of you.

“No, no!” You hurried, slapping a smile on your face.

“My honey likes it when I tease her,” Josh tacked on, and it was so fast and sounded so natural that it nearly knocked you on your ass.

“Oh, look at her lovesick little smile,” Amanda cooed, sending a bolt of embarrassment shooing from your head to the tips of you toes. “A little passion will add spice in the kitchen. The rest of the class could take a leaf out of your book.”

You glanced toward Josh just in time to catch his smug smile growing before he went back to measuring and sifting the dry ingredients. You waited until Amanda goes back to teaching before you leaned a little closer, murmuring, “Quick thinking.”

“That’s why they pay me.”

“Not for your secret inflation plans?”

“Ouch,” Josh laughed humorlessly. “No. Definitely not for my secret inflation plans.”

“Now,” Amanda clapped her hands together. “We all have our cakes in the oven at 350—save for Gina and Marvin, but don’t fret, kids. This is how we learn about the importance of communication—in life, in love, and in the kitchen!” She shot a sickly sweet smile at the couple closest to her. You bit down on your lip to keep from laughing, but couldn’t help a soft snort as Josh murmured, “Gina’s head looks like it’s going to explode.”

You lightly elbowed him in the ribs, covering your mouth to hide your smile.

“We have a little time while the cake is in the oven, and I’d love to get to know who I’m baking with! Why don’t we go around the room—”

“Oh no,” You mumbled.

“And get to know a bit about one another! I’d love to know your names, how long the two of you have been together, and how you met! Gina, Marvin, let’s start with you two.”

“Quick huddle,” Josh murmured, scooching closer. He turned his head slightly, eyes set on the wall behind your head as he spoke into your ear: “How do you wanna play this?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the quick thinker here, remember?”

“Yeah, but we’re a team.”

“So?”

“So it’s your turn to make something up.”

“I didn’t realize we were taking it in turns.”

“Gotta give to get, honeybun.”

“Are all of your pet names honey-based variants?”

“Would you prefer sugar-based variants?”

“I’m sensing a theme. Thank god we didn’t meet at a sausage making class.”

“Afraid you’d put the brat in bratwurst?”

“Lyman—”

“And what about you two!” Amanda’s voice cut through your bickering, snapping your attention back to the front of the room. You forced a calm expression, quickly introducing yourself.

“And this is Josh. We’ve been together for…Well, let’s see if Josh knows.”

A knowing chuckle from the other women rippled through the room, and Josh’s lips twitched with a smile.

“It’ll be two years next week."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. Two years, huh?

“How close is he?” Amanda prodded.

“Close enough, I’ll let it slide.”

Another knowing chuckle from the group, but you were too distracted by the way Josh’s smile widened, deepening his dimples as he stepped back to eye the cake in the oven.

“And how did you two meet?”

“At a sausage making class.” It was out of your mouth before you could stop it, but it was well worth Josh’s head snapping up in surprise. There were a few guffaws from the surrounding couples, but Amanda’s interested, “Aaaah,” Cut over the class.

“Then this isn’t your first cooking class rodeo?”

“Oh, hardly.”

“That explains why the two of you have been so in-sync. The trust that the two of you have,” Amanda shakes her head, “It really reads. Were you paired up in that class as well?”

“No, but the teacher suggested that we look to Josh for pointers. He was nominated as having the best of the wursts.”

You could see Josh pull his lips between his teeth, biting down as his shoulders subtly shook with laughter.

“Baking is a little more my thing,” You added, “But he’s getting there.”

“That’s so sweet. I cannot wait to see how your cake turns out,” Amanda grinned, clapping her hands together before gesturing to the next couple. “And you two?”

Josh shuffled a little closer as the class’ attention shifted, hip nudging against yours.

“You’re unbelievable,” He muttered.

“That’s why you love me.” You gave Josh a sickly sweet smile. “And whatever needs winging next, it’s your turn.”

“That was not bad cake.”

“No, not bad. The caramel, though.” Josh’s nose wrinkled as he held the door open for you, “So fiddly.”

“I thought you were going to set that last batch on fire.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that burnt.”

“Oh, yes it was,” You laughed, tightening the collar of your coat against the damp DC chill. You glanced down at the to go bag hanging over your arm.

“We should figure out splitting the cake up.”

“You can have it.”

“What? No way, I can’t finish this thing by myself. Besides, if you bring some in for the president, you’ll prove that you actually went through with the bet.”

Josh’s lips pursed as he glanced around.

“I hate to admit it, but that’s a really good point.”

You considered, glancing in the same direction before making yet another snap-decision.

“I live, like, three blocks away. We can split it into tupperware. That way neither of us wind up with an entire cake.”

Josh hesitated, shaking his sleeve back to eye his watch.

“Ah…Okay. Okay, sure.”

“Cool. I'm this way,” You nodded to the right, leading the way down the block. Josh’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, drawing you a little closer, and you frowned, glancing back toward it.

“Uh—”

“Amanda just came out and she’s locking up,” Josh murmured.

“Goodnight, lovebirds!” You heard, and you twisted your head, giving her a friendly wave.

“Night!”

“Lovebirds,” Josh muttered.

“Oh, be nice. She was very sweet, all things considered. She didn’t lay on the romance stuff too thick.”

“You didn’t think that was too thick? The whole…No shortcuts, or the importance of communication in life or love or whatever?”

“I mean, none of that is technically wrong.”

“So you’re a Nationals fan and a hopeless romantic?”

“No. I’m just willing to accept that there are certain things that make relationships successful.”

“Right,” Josh muttered. “Well, if you’re so aware of these things, why aren’t you in a relationship?”

Your smile faltered, and you turned your attention forward again.

“...Or is there someone and they fucked up so royally that you had separate Valentine’s plans?” Josh prodded. You shook your head.

“No. There’s no one.”

“So?”

“Well why are you single?”

Josh blinked owlishly, mouth pursed into a small ‘o’.

“Uh—I’m busy,” He shrugged. “It’s kind of a high-profile job, working for the president—”

“Brag.”

“—And the people I meet I’m mostly working with. Flirting is kinda frowned upon in the White House.”

“Frowned upon, but not explicitly against the rules?”

“It’s usually a bad idea, trust me. I’ve dated people I’ve worked with before, it’s almost never gone well.”

“Almost?”

“...Never.”

“Mm.”

“What about you? I don’t even know what you do.”

“I’m a paralegal, and there’s no one at work that I would date.”

“No? Not scoping out some handsome hot-shot lawyer who’s too busy eyeing a corner office to notice all of the love you pour into your memos?”

“Oh, please,” You scoffed. “All of the lawyers I work with are at least 60.”

“Older guys can be good. Nice and stable.”

“And looking for blondes in their early twenties that’ll look good yachting in Cape Cod.”

“I think you’d look great yachting in Cape Cod.”

“Well thanks, but I’m not sure they’d agree.”

“No interest in anyone outside of work?”

“Eh. I don’t know,” You shook your head. “Not really? My friends are all in relationships and they’ve been nagging me to get out there more, but it all just…Sucks. That’s how I wound up signing up for that class. I just wanted to tell them I had plans tonight so they’d get off my back.”

You fished into your pocket for your keys as you neared the front door, reluctantly stepping out from under Josh’s arm to lead the way up the stoop steps.

“Nice place.”

“Thanks,” You shot him a small smile over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen. “I’ll just grab some tupperware.” You shrugged out of your coat, hanging it and your keys up in their usual places in your entryway. You got a few steps down the hall before you stopped, turning to look at Josh. All of the other chances that you’d taken that evening had paid off, more or less. One more couldn’t hurt, right?

“Would you like something to drink?”

Josh looked up from his pager, brows raised in surprise.

“Oh—Sure.”

“Water? Beer, wine…?” You trailed off, taking another couple of steps back.

“Beer would be nice.”

“Okay.” You turned, adding, “You can leave your coat there,” as you hurried into the kitchen. You set the bag of cake on the counter before opening your fridge. Beer first, then tupperware. He’d stay for maybe half, you’d divvy the cake up, then bing bang boom, he would be out of there.

“Tell me another one.”

“No, god no,” You laughed, leaning back against your couch. “I’ve already told you too much.”

“One more,” Josh implored, scooching closer, his knee nudging yours.

“It’s your turn.”

Josh sighed, tipping his head back as he considered. You rested your elbow against the back of the couch and propped your chin up on your hand as you got a better look at him. With a beer in hand and his tie loosened, he was a far cry from the harried man that had asked to share your counter at the cooking class.

“Alright, I’ve got one,” He met your eye again. “The heat was out in the West Wing, so Sam—I told you about Sam?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He and I had the great idea to start a fire in one of the fireplaces.”

Your brow furrowed a touch. “That…Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Well, it is if the fireplace is decorative and sealed.”

You spluttered a laugh as Josh shook his head with a grudging smile.

“Oh…Mr. Lyman.”

“Live and learn.”

You shook your head, leaning up to put your empty can of beer on the coffee table. Your eyes caught on the clock in the corner, and your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh—Shit.”

“What is it?” Josh twisted to see what you were looking at. He hurriedly shook his sleeve back, double-checking the time on his watch. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” You laughed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you this late—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Let me divvy that cake up.” You pushed off of the couch, taking up your empty beer can and hurrying back to the kitchen. You really hadn’t meant to keep Josh there. Sure, it had been nice to talk to him, but it was three in the morning for crying out loud. You fished into your cabinet for clean tupperware before you pulled the cake out of the bag that you’d brought home. You heard Josh coming in, but focused on cutting the cake.

“Yeesh, you’re giving me all of that?”

“Equal division of assets.”

“Very generous of you.”

You smiled, plopping his half in the tupperware. You set the knife in the sink, raising your thumb to suck off some of the caramel that had caught on your thumb. You glanced over to look at Josh and froze at the sight of his eyes lingering on your mouth before his gaze flitted up to yours. You turned back to the cake, heat creeping up your neck as you set the top on the tupperware.

“You gonna tell the president what the cake was called?” You asked, desperate to fill the heated silence.

“...Probably just him that it's cake.”

“That’s wise.”

You took the bag that the cake had come in, setting Josh’s tupperware in it and holding it.

“Sorry again for keeping you so late.”

“You didn’t,” Josh insisted.

“I just mean—”

“I know what you mean, but. You didn’t.”

You nodded, letting him head down the hall. You stalled in the kitchen, putting your half of the cake in the fridge. You drew in a deep breath, steadying yourself. He wasn’t looking at your mouth like that, he was just—He was probably perturbed that a grown woman was sucking caramel off of her thumb instead of washing her hands.

You turned into the hall, slowing as Josh pulled his coat on. You tucked your hands into your pockets, wandering closer.

“You know, I’m, um…I’m sorry the Mets lost, but I’m glad you wound up at that class. That introduction round would’ve been painful to go through alone.”

“I’m glad you didn’t read the sign up sheet more closely.”

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I am, too.”

You stopped in front of Josh as he finished buttoning up his coat. When he looked at you again, you found the mischievous little smile that you were quickly becoming enamored with on his lips.

“How cliché would it be if I asked you out on Valentine’s Day?”

You blinked at him, stunned, as the question washed over you. Was he kidding?

“Well, it’s not Valentine's Day anymore, Josh. Hasn’t been for a couple of hours.”

“I meant to ask you out a couple of hours ago.”

You bit your lip to keep a grin from spreading across your lips. “But you didn’t.”

“You were talking about accidentally spilling a cup of coffee all over your favorite shirt, seemed like a bad time to bring it up.”

“Oh, so that was what convinced you to ask me out? The reassurance that you wouldn’t be the clumsiest one in the relationship?”

“No, it was the fact that I realized it was midnight, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

“Ah, so technically, I did keep you late.”

The tease was hardly out of your mouth before Josh crossed the short space between the two of you, cupping your cheek and catching your lips in a soft kiss. Your eyes widened in slight surprise before you let them slip closed, mouth working tenderly against his as you curled your arms around his shoulders. His arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you into his chest as he backed you up against your hall wall.

You let yourself hone in on the press of his body against yours, the slight nudge of his knee between your thighs, as his tongue teased gently along the seam of your lips. You shivered, parting your lips and fingers twining in the curls at the nape of his neck. Josh drew back slowly, nose nudging gently against yours.

“Alright, maybe you are keeping me late,” He murmured, “But I’m happy to be kept."

You tipped your chin up, drawing hiss lower lip between yours and giving it a gentle suck. He groaned, fingers tightening in your shirt as he drew back, resting his forehead against yours.

"Can I see you this weekend?"

You tipped your head back against the wall, fingers teasing around to his jaw.

"On one condition."

His smile widened as he turned his head to press a kiss to your fingertips.

"Name it," He murmured, voice buzzing against your palm.

"You find a sausage making class for us to take."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Josh Lyman x Reader #dany kills me in the best ways #fic rec #so cute I scream #kicking my feet

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winchestershiresauce · 13 days ago

Note

Nathan x reader where she gets a bit shy/embarrassed about how intense things got the night before. So he pulls up every camera angle of that night and makes her watch as he talks her through it… 🫣🫣🫣

Sorry this took so long Nonnie!! Not beta-read.

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only; minors, DNI

Warnings: Fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, voyeurism, sex tapes (I mean, technically)

Summary: Look, you knew that Nathan had cameras everywhere. Call it paranoia, call it security, the guy’s facility was wired for sound and video and those systems were rolling, twenty-four-by-seven. It was just a fact, and one that you often managed to put out of your mind.

But now it was being thrown right back in your face.

“Cut it out, Bateman.”

“Cut what out?”

You shot him a sidelong knowing glance before turning back to your phone on the kitchen counter. That one glance was enough to catch sight of him, and that was more than enough to make your stomach burn at the sight of his shit-eating grin.

“You’re watching me. Weirdo.”

“I find you very interesting.”

“Is that right.”

“Of course. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“My god, I’m flattered.”

Nathan fell blessedly quiet for a few moments, and you thought that you may be in the clear. But the scrape of his chair legs against the floor told you that you were hardly out of the woods. You braced a hand against the counter, focusing more steadfastly on your phone. It was fully possible that he was coming over for a coffee, a beer, some kind of snack—

The warmth of his hands as they smoothed across your hips caught you off-guard, and you sucked in a surprised breath as he crowded closer.

“What has gotten into you this morning?” You muttered.

“What got into you last night?” It was a flirty tease, not an admonishment, but it made you burn with embarrassment nevertheless. You scrubbed your hand over the right side of your neck as he nuzzled the left, winced as his beard brushed against a hickey. You hoped that he’d leave his little comment there, but his hands continue to move, curling in the waistband of your sweatpants as his lips brush against your jaw.

“You were—”

“I think we both know what I was, thank you.” It was clipped as it left you, as you shrugged out of Nathan’s grasp and shook him off, hurrying over to the fridge. You opened it, welcoming the brief rush of cold as it swept across your rapidly heating skin. Your eyes scanned the shelves unseeingly, fingers flexing around the handle. It was stupid to feel so worked up over one little reminder, to pretend that maybe if you held still for long enough he would go away. You knew better, but you could always hope, right?

“You’re letting all the cold out.”

“You can afford it.”

Nathan scoffed, and you fought back a groan as he reached out, shutting the fridge door and prying your hand from it. But where you expected him to drop it, he took hold of it, beginning to lead you out of the room.

“Come on.”

“Why?” You whined, “Let me get my phone—”

“Chill out. You won’t need it.”

“Nathan, whatever this is, I’m not in the mood,” You huffed for the third time as he pulled you into his office. He dropped your hand, striding over to the desk and sitting at his computer. You folded your arms across your chest, waiting with petulant annoyance as he logged on, and seemed to sift through some files.

“C’mere,” He ordered, snapping at you. When you didn’t move a muscle, he looked at you, brows raised expectantly.

“I’m not a dog, Nathan. I’m not going to come over just because you snapped your fucking fingers.”

It should’ve pissed him off, but the son of a bitch just smiled.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t buttoned with a please, but with Nathan, you didn’t expect it to be—not in a million fucking years. But it wasn’t buttoned with a snap, either. You sighed, walking closer and holding your hands up—now what?

As soon as you were close enough, Nathan’s arm curled around you again, turning and tugging you down into his lap. You bit your lip as he pushed the two of you a little closer to the desk, wriggling in discomfort as your knees nudged against it.

“Look at the screens.”

You gave him one last reluctant glance before you did as you were told—and froze.

Look, you knew that Nathan had cameras everywhere. Call it paranoia, call it security, the guy’s facility was wired for sound and video and those systems were rolling, twenty-four-by-seven. It was just a fact, and one that you often managed to put out of your mind.

But now it was being thrown right back in your face.

Spread across the three monitors in front of you was—well. You. You and Nathan, last night. You could tell from your joint states of undress that things were well underway, and burned at the crude tableau in front of you—Nathan’s face buried in your neck, grasping your ass to haul you closer; your head tipped back to give him room for the very hickey he’d brushed over minutes ago, your palm pressed against the swell of his cock in his boxers.

Nathan reached out, tapping the spacebar on his keyboard, and your likenesses began to move for you in triplicate.

“Nathan, why are we—”

“Just look.”

The volume was blessedly low, but it only made your blood roaring in your ears more pronounced. You watched as Nathan gave you a nudge back toward the bed, only for you to twist out of his grasp, pushing him back in turn. You remembered the rush of it—the surprise in his expression as he settled on the mattress, and the press of the rug against your skin as you dropped to your knees.

You began to turn your head, but Nathan tsk’d softly, hands smoothing over your thighs.

“Look at you,” He murmured, giving you a soft squeeze. “Taking the lead. You know I like to be in charge, but you just…” He tapered off in a soft growl as he zoomed in on the way you’d drawn his boxers down, taking him in your hand.

You prickled at the flash of your own tongue peaking out, swirling around the head and lapping up the cum that had beaded at the tip.

“What resolution are those cameras?” You squeaked, “This is very high-definition—”

“Nothing but the best, you know that.”

“How much did that cost—”

“Sssh…” Nathan’s hands crept up your thighs, massaging as they went. “Your mouth is so goddamn sweet, baby. Like fucking velvet.”

You swallowed thickly, eyeing the way that your head bobbed steadily. But for all of your steadiness in that moment, all of Nathan’s reassurances in your ear, you couldn’t focus on anything in the video but Nathan.

You’d been so into taking care of him last night that you hadn’t looked at him much in those moments, save for the odd glance. But on that screen, Nathan was watching you with a heat and focus that you were certain you’d never seen before. His hand came down on your head then as it did now, but where it had been encouragement last night, it was soothing now.

“You didn’t even think about it, just pushed me down and took.” Nathan’s hand snuck into your sweatpants, teasing between your thighs as you squirmed against him. “What were you thinking?”

You shook your head dumbly, mumbling, “I don’t know. I just…”

“Just what?” Nathan pulled his fingers out of your pants, raising them to your lips.

“Lick,” He ordered. You did unthinkingly, and before you could pull your tongue back fully, he shoved his them into your mouth. You whined, pressing your hips against his as you bobbed your head in tandem with the video. Nathan groaned, sinking his teeth into your shoulder before lapping gently across the lingering dents. You whimpered as he drew his fingers away, but quieted when he dipped back into your pants.

“Just what?” He pressed again.

“Wanted,” You mumbled.

“Wanted what?”

“You, Nathan, damnit,” Your eyes squeezed closed as embarrassment welled again.

“Ah ah,” Nathan pinched your inner thigh, “Eyes open.”

You groaned in frustration, hips straining up against his touch as you forced your eyes open.

“See that?” He smoothed the slicked pad of his middle finger against your clit as he leaned the two of you closer to the screen, closer to where you were getting off of your feet and shoving Nathan to lay flat on the bed. “I thought you were going to sit on my face. Wanted you to,” His fingers dipped down to swipe through the gathering wetness between your thighs, “You always taste so fucking good.”

You reached back, fingers curling in the fabric of Nathan’s shirt, as if you needed to steady yourself—as if you needed to anchor yourself to him. You could feel the press of him hardening beneath your shifting body, the hot pant of his breath against your skin, the gentle ease of two fingers into your clutching cunt.

“Could’ve eaten me out after,” You managed, but Nathan just laughed.

“With the ride you gave me? I could barely walk—Look at that.” He growled at the sight of you climbing into his lap and sinking down onto his cock. “You know how many times you’ve been on top?”

“You really know that off the top of your head?”

“Would you be surprised?”

“Does right now count?”

“It could.”

The offer prickled something between your shoulder blades as your body squeezed down on his fingers again. Nathan just chuckled, sucking a kiss to your neck.

“That was the second time, baby. First time was on the jet, you remember?”

You did remember—a hurried quickie that second time you’d met Nathan. He’d surprised you with a trip to the Monaco Grand Prix and things had gotten a little...heated on the ride back. You’d shoved your panties between his lips to keep his groans from reaching the flight attendants and the pilot.

“Something came over you then, too,” Nathan’s fingers curled, thrusting with care and precision. Your eyes strayed to another screen, watching your tits bounce as you rode him hard. Your tongue swept across your lips as you took yourself in. It felt too intimate, too revealing, but…Was this how Nathan saw you, all the time?

“You see how fucking hot you are for me?” Nathan pressed. “Sinking down onto my cock like that?”

You nodded dumbly as Nathan’s pace pinked up, his palm grinding against your clit.

“You know, I don’t know what I like more,” He rested his chin on your shoulder. “When you take the reigns or when you just give yourself over to me like this.”

“Nathan.”

“I mean, look at you—fuck,” Nathan sighed, “In-fucking-charge and taking my cock like it belongs to you. But feeling you now? Squirming on my fucking fingers and letting me play with that pretty little pussy like I own it?”

You gasped, digging your heels into the ground as your orgasm grew closer and closer as your past self threw her head back, hips pounding against Nathan’s. You swallowed thickly, welling up every bit of courage you could muster.

"You really wanna know why?"

"Why?"

You twisted your head to get as good a look at him as you could, your hand grasping his wrist to steady and control his ministrations.

"Cause I'm yours," You swore, "And you're mine, you little shit."

You hardly had a chance to catch Nathan's bright grin before he surged up for a harsh kiss, his teeth closing around your bottom lip and tugging. You sank back against his chest, gasping as his hand picked up its pace, pounding against your cunt with such force that his palm was practically smacking against your clit.

You came harshly, a shout pressed against his lips, your thighs straining and aching, hips bounding into his touch. His pace remained steady until you pushed at his wrist, pleading softly for him to slow. He drew his fingers back from your still-pulsing pussy, hand resting against the slicked, heated skin.

The odd moan, groan, and slapping of skin still played in front of you, breaking through your heavy breathing as you settled. You drew in a deep breath, resting your head against his.

"Nate?"

"Mm."

"You're gonna let me stand up, and then you're gonna take your fucking pants off."

"Oh, I am?" He teased, sliding his fingers over your sensitive clit again. "And then what?"

"Let me worry about that."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #dany kills me in the best ways #fic rec #switches forever

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