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aramblingjay · 11 months

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All things soft and beautiful Established Buddie, Army!Eddie, outside POV (3K)

“It’s just—hard, sometimes.” Buck’s voice shakes, laid bare with pain and longing so thick it makes her breath catch. Oh, Buck. “I really miss him, Hen.”

ao3

Hen likes the new firefighter, mostly.

Buck is headstrong and a little bit reckless, doesn’t take no well in both the good ways and the bad, but there’s a bit of a hero streak in all of them or they wouldn’t be doing this job. His is dialed up all the way to 100, but it only becomes a problem on certain kinds of calls.

Calls with kids, mainly. Young kids, four or five or eight-years-old, round faces and pudgy cheeks and wide eyes—it gets to everyone, when there’s a kid they can’t save, but Hen knows what it means to be in that situation as a parent.

Buck reacts the same way.

Like the devastation isn’t communal but personal, like he wouldn’t have to extend his imagination very far at all to know how that kind of loss would break a person.

“I’ll tell them,” he says, very firmly, when he brings out the body of a six-year-old girl and lays her on the grass. (“They deserve to say goodbye,” he said before running into a burning bedroom to get her in the first place, faster than Hen or Bobby could tell him it wasn’t worth risking his life for a body that no longer had one.)

Buck is reckless on calls with kids like it’s his own that’s hurt or trapped or dying, and it’s only a healthy understanding of personal boundaries that stops Hen from asking how old Buck’s is.

Because there’s empathy and there’s knowing, and the pain in Buck’s eyes as he watches the girl’s parents grieve is the latter.

But Buck hasn’t shared that part of his life with them, so Hen doesn’t ask. Just gives him an extra-long hug after the call and beelines home to be with her own kid, hoping he will do the same.

She’s somewhat surprised to learn that Buck is a teetotaler. Well, as surprised as it’s possible to be learning anything about Buck, given how close to his chest he plays his cards.

He rarely joins them for nights out anyway, so even just seeing him in the doorway of the bar is a pleasant surprise.

“Hey, Buck! Glad you could join us!” Hen waves him over soon as they make eye contact.

“I can’t stay long, but I wanted to stop by,” Buck says, and there’s something in his voice that makes her decide not to press.

“Got a hot date to rush off to?” Chim teases, and it’s only because Hen’s already watching Buck so closely that she sees the way his expression completely shuts down for a second before roaring back like nothing happened.

“Something like that,” Buck says evasively, then sighs. She can almost see the cycle of emotions play out across his face—doubt, then resignation, then acceptance. “Actually it’s—I’ve got a kid.” Buck pulls out his phone, as nearly all parents tend to after those words, and shows the table a photo of an adorable little boy who couldn’t be more than seven. “Christopher. He’s with a friend, but I’ll have to go pick him up soon.”

She suspected as much. A lot of things make a lot of sense now that it’s been confirmed.

“Really cute kid, Buck,” Chim says, almost like an apology, but Buck only smiles.

“The cutest,” he agrees.

And Hen is a little biased, given that no kid is cuter than hers, but Christopher can be second.

“Could I get a club soda?” Buck asks the bartender a few minutes later, like it’s his usual order on an evening night out, and that makes sense too.

Buck’s a dad—it’s nice to know her instincts were right.

She meets Christopher after Buck has been with the 118 for nearly six months.

“Childcare fell through, and I didn’t know where else to bring him,” Buck says, glancing apologetically at Bobby as a woman and a little boy on crutches walk into the station, both with the same curly brown hair.

“Yeah you did. You brought him here,” Bobby says warmly, seemingly unsurprised that there’s a kid Buck normally coordinates childcare for, despite not having been with them at the bar when Buck shared that tidbit, and that’s that.

Buck talks quietly to the woman for a moment—she looks a little too old to be Buck’s partner, Hen thinks, though clearly she’s familiar to the kid—before taking the boy in his arms and giving him a big squeeze. Any doubt at all that this isn’t Buck’s kid disappears at that—not just the gesture, but the way he knows exactly how to position his arms so the kid’s enveloped in them without his crutches poking or prodding or getting caught anywhere they shouldn’t.

Buck sets the kid down and turns to them, looking as though he forgot for a moment that he had an audience at all.

“Everyone, this is Chris,” Buck introduces him, and though he doesn’t add my son, it’s implied by the protective arm he has around Chris’s shoulders, the open affection on his face every time he so much as glances at the kid, the way Chris turns to Buck instinctively every time he has a question.

Having Chris at the firehouse turns out to be a blast. Bobby seems happy for Chris to take part in anything that isn’t dangerous, so Chim shows Chris around the ambulance, and Hen takes his vitals so he can see how the monitor works in action. They lower him down the fireman’s pole, her and Chim supporting him up top, Buck and Bobby on the level below to catch him, Chris laughing in delight the whole time. Chris is the sweetest kid, bright and happy, the smile never wavering from his face, and it’s easy to see Buck’s influence in the way he asks a hundred questions, stares at everything with wide-eyed wonder, wants to touch and feel and experience every single corner of the firehouse possible.

Bobby even lets Chris watch as he makes lunch and gives him a whats-what of the engine, pointing out the different hose lines and switches and showing him how the radios work, and she hasn’t seen Bobby smile so freely in a long time.

“That’s where Buck sits,” she hears him say at one point as she’s walking past (okay, eavesdropping, but it’s so rare to see Bobby this uncomplicatedly happy, and she wants to revel in every moment of it).

“I wanna sit where Buck sits,” Chris says immediately, and Bobby chuckles like he was expecting that.

“Yeah, I thought you might. C’mon, come over here. There we go. You know, before I was a captain, I used to sit in Buck’s seat, too.”

She didn’t know that about Bobby. It’s not often that he lets anything slip about his life as a firefighter before the 118.

“It’s the best seat.” Chris sounds far too solemn for a little kid. “Like my Buck.”

Bobby chuckles again. This time, Hen could swear it sounds a little wet. “That’s right, kiddo. Like your Buck.”

Hen wonders why Chris didn’t say like my dad, but it’s not her place, and she doesn’t ask.

Whatever Chris calls him, there’s no doubting what Buck is to the kid.

The questions only grow after meeting Chris, because it’s plain to see there’s no mom in the picture.

She meets Tía Pepa, the older woman with Chris’s hair, and wonders a) when Buck learned Spanish and b) how they’re related. Neither of them offer that information, though, and she’s not some gossip-hungry neighbor to go prying into business that’s not hers.

She meets Carla, a home health aide who seems a lot more like a co-parent than someone paid to take care of Chris. Carla is fierce and kind and wise, and Hen likes her immediately. All the more so when she sees how Chris greets her, his perpetual smile widening even further, his arms reaching up to ask for a hug that Carla returns with great enthusiasm.

She meets Maddie, Buck’s beloved older sister. Former nurse, now a dispatcher, and the only person she’s seen who calls him Evan. That seems significant, for reasons Hen can’t quite explain.

But neither Tía Pepa nor Carla nor Maddie seem fitting for the missing person in Buck’s we—we thought LA would be a good change, we wanted Chris at a school which supports him, we have a spare couch you can crash on—always, always we, like there’s someone missing.

Hen doesn’t ask the obvious question. Who’s we?

Mostly, she’s afraid of what the answer might be. Because it doesn’t seem like the other half of Buck’s we is around anymore.

Buck comes into shift and he’s off.

Everyone can tell. Bobby sends him no less than seven worried glances during the morning briefing, Chim keeps looking at her like maybe she knows what’s going on, and Buck himself is uncharacteristically silent. Really, he seems like he’s a million miles away from the firehouse entirely.

Bobby pulls Buck into his office before lunch, and whatever the two of them talk about, they both come out looking even more grim than before.

“Are you okay, Buck?” she asks him, only once, fully aware he’s going to hate that but unable to help herself. He looks awful.

Buck manages the most pathetic imitation of a smile she’s ever seen, his lips stretching into the gesture but not a trace of happiness anywhere on his face, and shrugs. “Bad day. But I’m fine.”

He looks like he knows that’s a bullshit answer and she’s going to call him out on it, so she doesn’t.

The bad day becomes a worse day and then an even worse day over the course of the shift, until Hen is all but ready to tell Bobby they need to send Buck home. Calls have been light, thankfully, but he’s in no shape to handle anything more serious than grandma with a sprained ankle right now. And in this job, a five-alarm emergency can drop at any moment.

She elects to talk to Buck first.

“Something is going on with you, Buck. You’re not yourself. And I get that you’re a private guy, I respect that, but I’m worried you’re too distracted for the job.” That’s true, but only partially. She isn’t here because she’s worried about his ability to do the job. “I’m worried about you,” Hen adds.

They’re in the locker room. Shift change is twelve hours in either direction, which means it’s completely deserted. There won’t be a better moment than this for Buck to open up, if he decides he wants to.

It’s fine if he doesn’t. Hen isn’t in the business of forcing answers out of people she cares about, and somehow, in the short time he’s been with the 118, Buck has already made that list. But sometimes, all someone needs to open up is a little, gentle nudge.

“Talk to me, Buckaroo,” she says softly, smiling a little when he huffs at the nickname. It’s new, but she thinks it might be here to stay. “Is this about the missing partner?”

His eyes widen comically. “What? How did you—”

“I’m very observant. Trust me, I don’t think anyone else knows.” Chim is too oblivious. She has a feeling Bobby knows most of it already, though that doesn’t seem to be Buck’s concern. And nobody else on A-shift pays enough attention to their little band of misfits to have noticed. “Tell me about them.”

Buck lets out a long sigh and swipes a hand down his face. She waits him out.

Eventually, after several minutes of sitting in silence, he nods and clears his throat. “My partner is, uh—his name is Eddie.” She can tell what’s coming next just from the warmth that rushes into Buck’s voice as he says the name. Her heart swells. “He’s my fiancé. Love of my life. Um, and Chris’s dad.”

She hears what isn’t being said. “I think you’re also Chris’s dad, Buck.”

“Not officially. Not yet, at least. But someday soon, yeah.” She sees Buck smile just at the thought of it, and her heart swells a little more. “Someday.”

She assumes he means adoption papers and signatures and all of the legal stuff that’s worth nothing more than the copy paper it’s printed on.

“Your actions every day mean a lot more than some piece of paper, Buck. You don’t need someone else to sign off on what you mean to that kid.”

Buck snorts. There’s more pain than amusement in the sound. “That’s what Eddie always tells me. I think the two of you would get along. He’s, uh, he’s always cool under pressure. Like you. Mr. Calm while I’m freaking out.” Another snort, self-deprecating this time. “Apparently you both know how to get me talking, too.”

A little bit of kindness and a lot of patience. It isn’t really a tough one to figure out, but she keeps that to herself. It’s been more and more clear that whatever Buck’s past, it wasn’t one that left him feeling valued and appreciated.

“Did something happen to Eddie?” she ventures very carefully, still trying to get to the bottom of his mood today.

Buck is silent for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is thinner than a thread. “He’s deployed. Army.”

Oh.

“It’s just—hard, sometimes.” Buck’s voice shakes, laid bare with pain and longing so thick it makes her breath catch. Oh, Buck. “I really miss him, Hen.”

He breaks on her name, and she reaches forward to wrap her arms around him in time to catch the first tears on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Buck. God, I’m so sorry.”

“They lost contact—with his chopper—this—this morning,” he continues between gasping sobs, and her heart breaks and breaks and breaks. “I can’t lose him. Chris can’t—I can’t—”

She goes home the next morning and holds Karen as tight as she can and tries not to cry.

Hen doesn’t love keeping secrets from Chim, but this isn’t hers to tell.

Buck looks better next shift—she doesn’t corner him to ask how Eddie’s doing, but Buck gives her a small, tight nod when their eyes meet in the locker room, and she takes that to mean Eddie’s at least been found. He and Bobby have another long conversation in Bobby’s office, but Buck emerges looking a whole lot healthier this time, so she just deflects when Chim asks the low-hanging question.

“Do you know what’s going on with Buck?”

“I think he’s just going through something, Chim.”

“So you do know!” Chim crows, triumphant, because he knows how to read her far too well to be fooled by that.

“My lips are sealed,” Hen says, smiling a little to soften the blow but no less serious for it.

And Chim knows her well enough to accept that without further protest.

She and Karen have a fight. It’s small and stupid and will probably be resolved by the end of the shift, but they like to give each other time to cool off, so Hen comes to the firehouse an hour early just to get some space.

Buck is already there, leaning against the back corner of the bay where no one can sneak up on him and talking on the phone.

His eyes flicker to her when she walks in, and he shoots her a little smile before going back to his call.

Her first instinct is that he’s talking to Christopher—there’s a wide, easy smile on his face and a looseness to his limbs that she recognizes from days Chris has visited the station.

But it’s a school day, and there’s no way Buck would be interrupting that to talk to Chris unless something is wrong. And nothing seems to be wrong. If anything, Buck looks lighter than he has in weeks.

That’s when the other possibility occurs to her—he’s talking to Eddie. Elusive, deployed, they-lost-contact-with-his-chopper Eddie. Eddie, who apparently can make Buck smile like the sun itself.

She’s always felt, even after meeting Chris, that there are parts of Buck they don’t get to see. Maybe the problem is this—all the soft, happy, best parts are stuck in a warzone an ocean away.

She watches his lips move—she’s not looking, per se, but she’s not not looking—and recognizes the familiar shape of I love you just before Buck hangs up.

He puts his phone away and walks straight toward her. “Yes, that was Eddie,” he says, clearly able to read what she was going to ask. Buck sounds like he might have meant the words to be nonchalant and serious, but there’s a happy twist to his lips that just makes him sound adorably fond.

She doesn’t ask how Eddie’s doing. She doesn’t need to—it’s obvious just by looking at Buck.

“You seem a lot happier today, Buck,” she says, opting for total honesty. “I’m really glad.”

It’s a much better shift than the last one.

Several months go by without incident. She learns that Buck has worked pretty much every part-time job in existence, likes his rope tied off in a very particular way depending on what he’s being lowered into, and talks in his sleep when he’s really, really tired.

Mostly he just mumbles, and it’s a surprisingly entertaining game to try and figure out what he might be saying.

Sometimes, though, his sleep ramblings are a lot more heartbreaking.

Today it’s no—stop—please—and then he’s awake, mouth open around a silent scream, chest heaving, eyes darting frantically around the room until they land on her. “Ed’ie?” he asks, voice slurred like he’s not all there. “Ed’ie?”

Hen freezes in the middle of spreading the sheets on her bed. Normally when this happens, Buck hightails it out of the bunk room and disappears into some corner of the firehouse from where she’s sure he calls Eddie or Chris or maybe a therapist, re-emerging after about thirty minutes looking like nothing happened at all. Normally when this happens, she stays very still and silent and tries to act like she hasn’t seen anything until Buck is out of the near vicinity. Privacy is important, and it seems even more so for Buck.

But there’s no chance of that now.

“It’s me, Buckaroo.” The nickname has indeed stuck ever since she realized Buck’s awkward blush at hearing it is because he does like it, not because he doesn’t. “It’s Hen. You’re at the firehouse, in the bunk room. It’s probably…close to midnight? You’re okay, Buck, you’re safe.”

“Hen?” he asks, still a little slurred. He rubs at his eyes, blinks twice, and then tries again. “Hen. Sorry. I didn’t meant to—”

She doesn’t wait to find out what he didn’t mean to do. “Don’t you dare apologize. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just—nightmare.”

And she desperately wonders what kind of trauma prompts a nightmare with those words (no—stop—please—she might hear them in her own nightmares for a long time to come), but Hen only nods. It’s not her place to ask.

She leaves the bunk room to crash on a sofa elsewhere, letting Buck have the space to himself to decompress however he needs.

It doesn’t surprise her in the slightest that when she walks past the bunk room entrance an hour later, he’s on the phone wearing his gentlest smile, the one she now knows is reserved for only one man.

“Where’s Buck?” she asks Bobby, once the morning briefing is done and everyone is out of earshot checking the apparatus. Bobby claimed Buck took the day off, which had everyone raising their eyebrows, but ultimately prying secrets out of Cap is harder than pulling teeth.

“Like I said, he took the day for personal reasons.”

That could mean anything, good or bad. Or really, really bad.

Hen hesitates, then decides to go for it. “Is it Eddie?” Bobby looks surprised that she knows about Eddie, but not surprised about who he is, which makes her even more certain. “Buck told me about him. You don’t have to say more than you can, Bobby, but given that we both know—I just want to know if he’s okay.” She’s not really sure which of them the he refers to, but if Buck and Eddie are anything like her and Karen, one isn’t okay unless the other is anyway.

“Eddie’s coming home today on medical leave.” Bobby smiles as he says it, and Hen can’t help but smile too.

Good news, then. Really, really good news.

“Oh, that’s fantastic! Buck must be over the moon.” Despite not knowing Eddie outside of how happy he clearly makes Buck, Hen thinks she might be a little bit over the moon herself.

“He couldn’t stop grinning the whole time he was asking for the shift off.” Bobby chuckles, fond and warm like a pleased parent. “I told him to just take the week. They deserve the time together, all three of them.”

Hen can’t agree more.

She finally meets Eddie Diaz at the start-of-summer barbecue, just a few days after hearing the news that he’s officially home for good.

(Buck looked close to tears telling her about it, but good tears, unlike the last time she saw him cry over his fiancé. Very, very good tears)

Eddie’s nearly as tall as Buck, close-cropped brown hair, warm eyes, the kind of muscled that comes from months of relying on your body to survive rather than hitting the gym in the evenings—and drop-dead gorgeous. He isn’t her type, sure, but she has eyes.

Damn, Buckley.

Eddie’s more reserved than she expected—polite, kind, greeting her with a handshake and a pleasant smile, but not the life of the party that Buck so easily becomes in gatherings like this. Even Chris doesn’t seem afraid of the spotlight, but Eddie hangs back, watching.

It means that she gets to watch him watch Buck, the way his whole face lights up with joy and clear affection whenever Buck does pretty much anything at all, and there’s something pretty special about that.

She’s never seen Buck quite like this before, either—bright and wild, full of energy, as easy to smile as Chris, his heart all the way out on his sleeve, nothing held back. And always, always glancing around the room to find Eddie, like a magnet to a pole, beaming every time their eyes meet.

She likes the Buck she knows quite a lot. But seeing him like this, it’s clear that all those parts of Buck that seemed like they were missing returned when his fiancé did. And she’s really looking forward to getting to know who Buck is when he’s got Eddie by his side.

#911 fox #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #*writing #*fic

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frogsandfries · 9 months

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Well that was obnoxious

I should've just stayed exclusively on mobile, but my phone is seriously dying and I want to blather about my actually better-than-expected progress this evening. I got to page thirty-four on Canva, which was all I had edited the apostrophes and quotation marks. I've already done something like ten new pages of this cleanup; that's really going to be the biggest drive.

The book punch is on its way in the next few weeks, and I ordered some *impressive eyebrow wiggle* tiny paper origami cranes for the bookmarks for Manacled! I'm going to try to spend this next few weeks typesetting Mirror.

I bought some red ribbon for Apple Pie--I bought a bone folder! Book corners, a five-ended cat tunnel, and a silverware organizer! I'm probably going to crack at some point in the next two weeks or so and buy yet another pack of paper.

I'm actually half-trying to find if there's a better paper I'm "supposed" to be using? And since I'm basically out of adhesive (except for the methcel???), I also went to find a new adhesive that's better for bookbinding.

You'll never fucking believe.

First, they still make Yes Paste--I gave my barely used, almost at least ten-year-old jar to my friend because she scrapbooks. Who knows how old it was when it was handed along to me, and still usable at the point at which I shared it.

Second, you better goddamn believe I'm slapping down nearly thirty bucks for about sixteen ounces of that shit. It'll last a million years.

Third, for those of you, like me and formerly not in the know, Yes Paste is kinda fucking amazing like. It's weird. So it's almost a solid gel. I'm not entirely positive how it's supposed to be applied. The few times I used it, I think I used my finger. I couldn't really think of how else to use it at the time without being destructive (I didn't have any disposable plastic cards on me at the time). I would recommend an old plastic card or, more formally, a rubber squeegee. It would be to thick and heavy to use a regular paint brush, but perhaps one of those plasticky "disposable" ones from Michaels? With the cheap metal handles?

Another cool thing about Yes Paste is, it's not wet!! Which makes it amazing to use on paper, because the paper won't warp.

I don't remember how it dries, but I feel like I remember it drying sticky; not sure if there were specific instructions for that, but I don't think I read the label on the jar.

Anyway, I do of course already have plans for my portion of next paycheck. I probably had plans for every check from the time I moved in till idk man, probably September or October, at the earliest. I needed storage for all the stuff that's been stuck in these totes I used to move. I want to revenge purchase this tree bookshelf (or a couple). My ex can't stop me and only made me want it more by saying they hated it. Some laptop accessories would not be amiss. I'm still waiting anxiously for a good opportunity to get a new soda machine.

Then I remembered that I need to start adding a couple of items to my wardrobe at least a month, if not every paycheck for a while. Soooooo......... Yeah. Then I added this bookbinding hobby to my roster for at least a few months here and there. Surely I'll get my fill after a while, like with the graphic novel, where I still pick at it here at there, waiting for some kind of trigger to throw me back in. Oh well, I needed to shake up my hobbies for a while. Don't forget also slowly gathering tools and materials for paper-making (just imagine using my leftover scraps of fabric from these fanfic books on my recycled paper sketchbooks--ooooooh).

Anyway, I can only expand within the bounds of my habit, so eventually the spending will need to stop. I only need so many dishes and kitchen accessories, bookshelves (okay, you think the limits of my container are going to help my bookbinding obsession???), clothes.......

#yes paste #bookbinding #materials #adhesive #glue #paste #recommendation #ramble #slightly stoned #just a touch

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intheticklecloset · 3 years

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Burn Some Calories (Haikyuu!!)

Primary Universe

Thank you, first anon! Your request made me so happy! I love Nishinoya! I want more of him in my life! General yelling about how awesome and adorable he is! Yaaaaaah! Anyway, enjoy! ^^

2. “Take that back!”

5. “You don’t have it in you.” “Are you sure about that?”

30. “Are you crazy? I can’t last that long!”

“Eat my dust!” Noya laughed as his racer blazed by Asahi’s on the track.

Asahi glanced at his smaller friend for a brief moment, smirking. Noya was always energetic, but somehow while playing video games that energy just went so far beyond the next level it nearly broke through the atmosphere. This was only their second race, but watching his friend get so worked up over fictional characters in a game that ultimately didn’t matter was highly amusing to Asahi.

I wonder if he’d freak out over suddenly losing? The ace thought, and no sooner had he wondered it than he was testing it, reaching over at the end of the third lap to grab onto Noya’s ribs and tickle.

“AIEEE!!” Noya screeched, bursting into laughter. “Nohohohoho, you cahahahahan’t do that! Asahiehehehehehehe!” The libero cackled madly, but somehow managed to stay in control of his racer just long enough to cross the finish line, at which point he shoved at his friend’s hand to free himself. “That was a dirty move.”

The ace chuckled, crossing the finish line a few places behind Noya, but it had been worth it to get that reaction. He set his controller aside and playfully grabbed his friend’s leg, yanking his foot into his lap and scribbling wildly over the socked sole. “I was hoping you’d get mad about that. I guess nothing fazes you, huh?” Nothing, that is, except tickling.

“Stahahahahahahap!” Noya shrieked, using his free leg to try and kick Asahi away. “No fahahahahair, you knohohohohow I’m tihihihihihicklish!” At that moment the doorbell rang, bringing a stop to their playfulness as Noya twisted out of the ace’s grasp. “Pizza’s here!” he declared, hurrying to the front door.

Asahi grinned at the retreating figure, then lowered the volume on their game, content to let it sit on the screen between races, waiting for someone to let it know to move on to track three. He got up and moved into the kitchen just as Noya was returning, pizza box and 2-liter soda in hand.

“Finally, we can eat,” the libero said, setting both items on the table and lifting the lid of the box all in one fluid movement.

“Hold on a second, Noya,” Asahi said, doing his best to sound serious despite his ulterior motives. “We are actively in volleyball season. We have to be careful about what we’re eating.”

Noya stared at him. “Dude, we ordered a pizza forever ago. If you thought it was a bad idea you should have said something then, not now.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean we’ve got to watch our calories.” Asahi pushed down on the lid of the box, closing it as Noya frowned in confusion.

“Whatever calories we get we’ll burn off in practice. What’s your deal, Asahi?”

Deciding it would be best to jump right into his mischievous intentions rather than risk Noya getting mad at him, he grabbed the little libero and hoisted him over his shoulder, carrying him back into the living room.

“Whoa, whoa! What are you doing?!” Noya cried, grabbing onto Asahi’s shirt for support in the seconds before he was suddenly flying through the air, landing on the ace’s beanbag chair with an “oomph!” When he suddenly found himself straddled with both wrists pinned over his head and wiggling fingers in his field of vision, Nishinoya realized what was about to happen, and he grinned nervously.

“I think,” said Asahi, smirking down at him, “we should burn off those calories before you eat, hmm?”

“What about you?” Noya retorted, letting out a yelp when the ace lunged for his helpless ribcage, stopping just before making contact. He blushed, embarrassed.

“I don’t need to worry about calories. It’s all muscle for me. But you’re just a little guy. You have to be more careful.”

Noya gasped, pretending to be offended. “How dare you! Take that bahahahahahack!” He giggled when those fingers finally started scribbling. “Gah – nohohohohoho! Asahi!”

Asahi beamed, thoroughly enjoying himself. When he’d found out last year that Noya was extremely ticklish, he’d vowed not to use it against his friend too much – but every now and again, he simply couldn’t resist.

“Let’s see…I think about thirty minutes of tickle torture will be enough to burn off the calories you’ll get from eating that pizza, don’t you?”

“Whahahahahahahat?!” Noya cried, giggling helplessly. “Are you crahahahahazy? I cahahan’t last that lohohohohohong!”

“It’s either that or you don’t eat as much pizza.” Asahi shrugged. “If you want, I’ll only tickle you for fifteen minutes and then eat the rest of your share for you.”

“Thahahahahahat’s not fahahahahair!”

“I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”

“You jeheheheheheheherk! The pihihihihizza will be cohohohohohohold by thehehehen!”

Asahi hummed contemplatively. “Then I guess I’ll have to speed things up. How about five minutes nonstop on your worst spots? That should do it.”

“No!” Noya shrieked, but Asahi was already digging harder into his ribs, turning his giggling into laughter. “Gahahahahahahaha nohohohohohohohoho! Asahihihiehehehehehehehe!”

“Orrrr,” the ace drew out the word teasingly, “if you want, instead of eating the rest of your share, I could fill up on ribs instead.”

Noya couldn’t take being messed with like this. What sucked even more was that Asahi had strength and height to his advantage, so no matter how much he struggled, he knew he wasn’t getting away until the ace said so. The libero scoffed. “Y-Yohohohou dohohon’t hahahahahave it in you.”

“Oh?”

Immediately Noya knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

“Nononono, wait, wait, I was joking, please Asahi—”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Wait! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Nishinoya tossed his head back and screeched, kicking his legs uselessly as Asahi nibbled on his exposed ribs. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE ASAHIHIEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” The ticklish sensations were so strong and so maddening, Noya felt like he was losing his grip on sanity being tortured like this. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Asahi let up, allowing his friend a chance to breathe. When the libero met his eyes, the ace grinned wickedly. “Don’t wanna.” Then he leaned down to nibble along the other set of ribs, relishing in the screams of laughter he produced, enjoying how Noya squirmed and kicked beneath him to no avail. The second-year outshone him in so many ways, it felt good to be able to outdo him in at least one activity. Plus, Noya’s laughter was loud and screechy and uncontrollable. It was the best sound ever.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Noya begged, unable to stand the strong tickly feeling emanating from his ribcage as Asahi nibbled. “PLEASE, PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! PLEASE, ASAHI!!”

Again the ace let up, allowing Noya the opportunity to gasp for air. “Hmm…we’re burning off some calories, that’s for sure. But I think a little more tickling is in order before I can in good conscience let you have some pizza.”

Noya groaned, but he was grinning ear to ear, secretly enjoying this as much as Asahi was. “You jeheherk, I hahahahate you…”

“Okay, so we’ll burn a few more calories for that comment.” Asahi wiggled his fingers in Noya’s underarm, grinning when the libero instantly burst into hysterics again.

“GOD, YOU SUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“A few more calories, then. You really want your entire half, don’t you?”

“OF COHOHOHOHOHOURSE I DO, YOU PIEHEHEHECE OF—NAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Nishinoya screamed when Asahi leaned down to blow a raspberry on his belly. “OKAY, OKAY, I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORRY!! NO RAHAHAHAHAHASPBERRIES!!”

Asahi chuckled. Raspberries were his trump card when it came to making Noya submit. They worked every single time.

“PLEHEHEASE, I CAHAHAHAN’T TAKE ANY MOHOHOHOHORE!! LET ME GOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

“I think you can.” Asahi smiled, scooting up so he was straddling Noya’s lower stomach, using his free hand to reach behind him and squeeze at one of his thighs.

Noya would have bucked his hips if he weren’t stuck in this position, laughter bubbling out of him once more, this time more frantic and hysterical than the last. “NOHOHOHOHO, NO, ASAHI NOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!!”

“I think a couple more minutes should do the trick.”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T LAST THAT LOHOHOHOHONG!! PLEASE – PLEASE – NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Noya laughed and laughed and laughed, unable to hold back even a little bit as Asahi squeezed and kneaded into first one thigh, then the other, then back again, over and over for a solid minute and a half at least.

Asahi watched Noya’s face contort with uncontrollable joy, his voice coming out in loud screams for mercy, his body thrashing helplessly beneath his firm hold, and the ace couldn’t help but smile endearingly at the sight. Every once in a while, it was fun to turn his confident friend into a complete and total wreck.

When Noya’s pleas for mercy started coming out in wheezing gasps, Asahi decided he’d had enough for today and let him go, releasing his wrists and climbing off of him. He sat on the floor beside the beanbag, waiting patiently for him to recover.

“I h-hate you…” Noya said at last, his voice breathy and little hoarse. “The pizza’s gonna be cold now…”

“I have a microwave.”

“It’s not the same.” The libero groaned as he sat up, turning to look at his upperclassman with a tired smirk. “Been a while since you decided to really destroy me like that.”

Asahi chuckled, getting to his feet and helping Noya up behind him. “Couldn’t resist.”

Noya grinned, leading the way back into the kitchen. “Come on, ace. I think I more than deserve those calories now.”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #yuu #nishinoya #noya #asahi #azumane #ace #libero #pizza #calories #playful #teasing #fluff #cute #fun #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

Hermann preparing for date night with Newt by selecting where to eat solely by what he has a coupon for. Or, ya know, frugal connoisseur Hermann. <3 ksci

inspired by a convo re: the fact that ksci @k-sci-janitor likes to make fun of me for never letting a coupon go to waste even if it means walking like 2 miles in the cold to use it :/ like im gonna NOT get a free Baja blast. (there is one small little allusion to some M rated stuff towards the end in this)

-------------------

It’s not a rare occurrence that Hermann will treat Newt to dinner when the mood of dining out strikes them, but the point is that he’s doing it in a way that’s supremely…shifty tonight. Well, maybe not shifty. Weird? For one thing, he didn’t tell Newt where they were going until they were already on the bus headed there, for another, it’s their sharing-a-lab-anniversary, which tradition dictates they evenly split a bill (even if the origins have more to do with both trying to show up the other and take advantage and order the most expensive shit on the menu). The weirdest thing is definitely that, when Hermann got up to pay the bill five minutes ago—a small, folded piece of paper clutched in his hand—he left his wallet laying next to his wine glass on the table.

Newt stirs his straw around in his cup of soda, clinking ice cubes against the sides, and squints at the wallet. Did Hermann bring cash to pay with? He could’ve stuck some in his pockets without Newt seeing, or his bank card, even, which would explain the forlorn wallet. Or maybe forgetting the wallet was totally an accident, and he’ll be back in a few seconds to pick it up and pay for real when he realizes. That’s probably it.

When Hermann comes back to their table, though, he doesn’t bother with his wallet—he takes his seat, picks up his wine glass, and tips it at Newt. “That was quite lovely, wasn’t it?”

Newt hums. “It was.”

“I quite liked the fish I got,” Hermann says.

“I loved my noodles,” Newt says. “We should try to copy the recipe back at the base.” He sets his straw delicately on the table. “How’d you pay without your wallet?”

“My wallet?” Hermann says. He makes a show of catching sight of the wallet, arches his eyebrows in mock surprise, and picks it up. Here we go. “Oh, goodness. Did I forget this? Well—it’s not as if I needed it…” He tucks it neatly into his inner jacket pocket.

“Hermann,” Newt says, rolling his eyes. “What’d you do, get a hundred-percent discount by reminding them we saved the world a few months ago?” Hermann shakes his head, and takes a long sip of his wine. “Did you write a check? Did you pretend we got food poisoning or something?” Hermann shakes his head again, and this time, his mouth begins to creep up into a smug smile. Newt remembers the piece of paper. “Dude. You got us a fucking Groupon. No wonder you were being so weird about what I was ordering!”

(“I think we ought to stick with the entrees labelled B, Newton,” Hermann had said, flipping a page forward in Newt’s menu. “They look—er—far better.”

“More expensive,” Newt had said.

“What’s it matter? I’m paying.” Hermann had pointed at the noodle dish Newt had ended up getting. “Look, I reckon you’d like that.”)

Hermann finally grins triumphantly. “I did—and saved us quite a decent from our ‘date night’ fund. Pity it didn’t extend to dessert, I suppose, but we could always find some ice cream at the commissary later.”

Newt can’t even pretend to be exasperated. The noodles rocked. And they would’ve rocked even more if he knew that Hermann was saving them a few bucks. “You’re such a weirdo,” Newt says, shaking his head, though he’s mirroring Hermann’s grin. “Is that why you picked this place?”

“Not entirely,” Hermann says. He takes a long, slow sip of his wine. “Mostly I picked it to make a point.”

“About?”

“About my being right.”

Newt sighs. Only Hermann would dredge up old arguments on Lab Anniversary Night. It wasn’t even an argument, really—all that happened was that Hermann asked Newt to hand him his glasses cleaning cloth from his parka, and it took Newt almost ten minutes because Hermann’s pockets were so jam-packed with a million little coupons for everything from granola bars (which they can get from the mess hall for free) to mouthwash (which Newt can snag from the commissary, also for free, whenever they need it) that he couldn’t find anything but. A majority of them were expired. Then Newt remarked on how Hermann was nuts, and Hermann remarked on how Newt didn’t understand the value of making smart financial decisions, and they went back and forth for a bit like that. This was a whole week ago, too. In terms of Newt and Hermann arguments, that’s more than ancient history. “Are we really talking about the fucking coupons now?” Newt says.

“Frugality pays off,” Hermann says, cryptically. “Now we really ought to head out. The forecast is calling for rain, and I don’t fancy getting caught in it.”

They get caught in the rain anyway. Newt invites himself over to Hermann’s bunk to dry off, because Hermann bought a space heater back when they were stationed in Russia, and it travelled with him here to aid through the long nights of overpowering A/C. Right now, it’s aiding Newt through stripping out of his wet clothes. When he’s down to just his boxers, he snags the quilt from Hermann’s bed, and waits for him to finish up in his little en suite bathroom to hopefully catch a hot shower. One of the unexpected side effects of the world not ending and most nonessential personnel leaving the ‘dome in doves is that they almost never run out of hot water anymore. Newt can take a shower at midnight and not freeze his ass off. It’s awesome, really.

Hermann emerges from the bathroom in a dorky little pair of pajamas, a dressing gown knotted at his waist. “Oh, Newton,” he sighs, and prods at Newt’s blanket cocoon with his cane, “not my grandmother’s quilt.”

“I’m dry!” Newt says. “Mostly!”

He gives up the quilt to Hermann and ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stuck a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet at some point, for when he was too sleepy and lazy after makeout sessions to go back to his bunk, and sure enough he finds it alongside a suspiciously generic-looking tube of toothpaste. It doesn’t even have a label. He doesn’t think much of it until he starts to use it, which is when he immediately gags and begins to rinse his mouth out with hot water. “What the hell is this toothpaste?” he chokes out. “It tastes—awful.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. He ducks his head into the bathroom, looking a bit sheepish. “Well. I found a coupon for that brand, and I know it’s not very, er, pleasant, but—I saved forty percent, Newton.” Newt continues to rinse his mouth out, this time adding some mouthwash into the mix. “Oh, really, now you’re just being dramatic. It’s only toothpaste.”

“Dude,” Newt says. “I feel like I just rubbed, like, acid cement all over my gums.”

“Ah,” Hermann repeats, guiltily.

A bit later, Newt goes in to kiss Hermann goodnight as they settle into Hermann’s bed together, but pulls back with a sad little pout when Hermann merely flinches away from him. “Oh, Newton, I’m sorry,” Hermann says, quickly wrapping his arms around Newt and kissing his neck. It softens the blow somewhat. “It’s that bloody toothpaste. You still smell like it. You’re right, it’s rubbish.”

“Tell you what,” Newt says, grumpily. “I’ll buy you a brand new tube tomorrow. My treat.”

Newt mostly forgets about the coupon thing for a bit. The odd little item crops up in the lab that makes him roll his eyes fondly at Hermann, but nothing as major as the Groupon or toothpaste. Hermann’s preferred tea brand swapped out for something Newt’s never heard of in a flavor that Hermann clearly detests, if his face when he drinks it is anything to go by, for example, the chocolate digestives Hermann keeps in his desk replaced with plain ones, his new box of chalk all in a salmony shade of pink and weak enough to snap apart under his fingers if he presses down too hard on his chalkboard. When Newt asks about the changes, the answer’s always the same: Hermann had a coupon for them, or they were less expensive than his usual. Newt just wishes he could understand where this sudden bought of thriftiness came from. It’s not like it was back during the war, where they had to pinch pennies and save in every area they could if they wanted to supplement their nonexistent funding. They’re actually getting paychecks now, on behalf of the UN’s guilty conscience! They have free room and board! They even put a few neat bucks away from some (heavily-redacted) interviews they did back in late January.

What Newt’s getting at is Hermann doesn’t have to limit them ordering out sushi to only places with free delivery on date nights, or skimp on his pizza toppings (four-topping down to two) so they can use a better coupon, or buy any of those subpar teabags or digestives or toothpaste tubes. But he just…is.

The tipping point occurs on a Saturday night about a month after the Groupon incident.

“Nn. Hermann. Do that again.”

“Do—?"

“Yeah.” Newt groans, turning his head to the side. “Oh, shit.”

“Newton—” Hermann kisses his throat. “Newton, you’re—”

“Wait.” Newt pauses. “What is that?”

“Oh, er.” Hermann pulls his hand away. “You mean the—the—?”

“Yeah. It feels…weird.” He frowns. “That is not what we used last time.”

“Oh. No. It isn’t.” Hermann clears his throat. “Well, Newton—see—we were out, so I thought I’d—I’d buy a larger bottle, to last us longer, and I happened to find a coupon for this lovely—er—gallon-sized—”

“You’re kidding,” Newt says.

“Only I thought it was a very frugal purchase,” Hermann says. “We do tend to, er, burn through it rather quickly.”

Newt rolls away from him. “Dude. We need to have a talk.”

Some brief amount of time later, they sit together on the end of Hermann’s bed, clad in their pajama bottoms and, in Hermann’s case, one of Newt’s sweatshirts. Newt waits until Hermann meets his eyes blushingly before he proceeds. “What is up with you lately?” he says. “You’ve been acting so—weird. Weirder than usual,” he amends. “Since when have you cared about saving a couple bucks on random shit like pizza?”

Hermann fidgets, and sighs, and finally reaches to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. He retrieves a piece of paper folded into quadrants, and for a wild moment Newt thinks it might be another Groupon. “Oh, I wanted it to be a surprise,” Hermann says. “I was going to wait until it was all finalized—but it’s close enough now, so I suppose there’s no harm in it.” He thrusts the paper out at Newt, and Newt—still wondering if it’s not another Groupon—unfolds it with surprise to find what looks like a flight itinerary. Two tickets for Hong Kong to Boston, with a short layover; then two more tickets a week after they land for a short trip from Boston to some town in Maine Newt recognizes as being seaside. They’re made out to Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler and purchased a little over a week ago.

“You kept telling me you wanted me to meet your father,” Hermann says, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “And—I thought it might be nice, to have an—er—vacation, for a few days. We’ve certainly earned one. And it’s not as if we have any truly pressing obligations at the moment that can’t be put on hold for a week or two. I was planning on booking us a little cottage up in Maine—or maybe just a hotel room, I hadn’t decided—but we don’t have to if you don’t—”

“And you’ve been saving up for it?” Newt interrupts.

“For a few months now,” Hermann says. “Since February, in fact.”

“And that’s why…?”

The tips of Hermann’s ears turn red. “Every penny helped,” he says.

Newt carefully re-folds the itinerary, sets it aside, and then kisses Hermann soundly. It would be safe to say that Hermann’s thoughtful, romantic moods tend to be on the spontaneous side, probably as spontaneous as they are in Newt, so when one strikes Hermann (and in such a perfectly Hermann way as this one) Newt doesn’t like to take it for granted. “Of course I wanna go on vacation with you,” Newt says. “You rock. Seriously.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hermann says, looking pleased.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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backtothestart02 · 2 years

Text

14 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 8 - Home is Where You Are Next to Me [1/?]

A/N: Another request...welp, here we go! This one should be juicy. It's also filled with loads of made-up stuff...like how drafts (for war) work...which after researching, I'm still confused about. lol. So, in this fic you can register to be in the army IF there is a draft/need for it, but you're not automatically in it just b/c you signed up. If that makes sense. Hopefully it does, because that's how it has to work for what I want to happen in my story. Lmao. Anyway, enjoy! There'll be a time-jump in a few chaps!

...

Synopsis: AU - A harmless bet and a precious secret will change the course of their lives forever.

...

Chapter 1 -

It was late spring, the warm breeze filtering over the four of them as they lay on the grass in the middle of Barry’s backyard, staring up at the stars. It was silent for a while, their beers disguised as sodas now off to the side, their vision going hazy, when Ralph, annoyingly, perked up.

“Hey, anyone wanna place a bet?”

Cisco, Barry, and Chester all groaned.

“No!”

Ralph frowned.

“Harsh.”

They rolled their eyes and continued to stare at the sky.

“It’s not even a hard bet,” Ralph muttered, and Barry sighed.

“What is it?”

“Don’t,” Cisco warned. “You’ll regret it.”

“If it’s not hard… I could use the extra cash. Everything I make right now is going straight into the college fund. I’d like to give Iris something pretty every once in a while.”

“So pick her some wildflowers from your field! You got plenty of those, and I know she likes them.”

“Lather, rinse, repeat. Tell me your bet, Ralph.”

“Well-”

“I’m out of here.” Chester got up suddenly. They all objected, but he kept walking. He’d never been a fan of Ralph’s bets, the least out of all of them.

Cisco peeled himself off the ground.

“Chester, man, wait! You can’t go home…you’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy!” he shouted back, to which Cisco shushed him loudly.

“No one is supposed to know that!” he whispered harshly.

Barry turned back towards Ralph as the sound of Cisco and Chester talking receded into the distance and finally ended with them going into Barry’s house.

“So, you were saying,” Barry prompted.

Ralph sighed. “It’s not as fun with no one here to hear it.”

Barry rolled his eyes.

“So, we’ll tell them about it later. Do you want to give me your money or don’t you?”

Ralph snorted. “You’re that confident.”

Barry shrugged. “I’ve won most of your bets in the past, haven’t I?”

Ralph’s eyes narrowed. He hesitated.

“…yes.”

“So, give it to me. And raise the amount to 20 bucks, so I can get something decently sparkly for Iris.”

“Twenty bucks?! I was gonna give you five!”

“Not worth it.”

“What’s the bet? I’ll determine what it’s worth.”

Ralph sighed dramatically.

“Okay, so you and Iris have been sexting a lot recently, right?”

Barry’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t bare to give Ralph the satisfaction of seeing how many shades of red his cheeks had turned, even in the dark.

“I’ll take that silence as a yes,” Ralph concluded.

“I-It’s almost graduation. We might not be going to the same school. We only have so much time until-”

“Hey, buddy, no explanation needed. I’m jealous and in awe you even have a girlfriend, especially one as smoking as Iris West.”

Barry didn’t know why, but he was mildly offended by that.

“What’s the bet?” he asked on a sigh.

“Okay, so finals are tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, duh.”

“I bet that you’ll be the last in class to finish them because you’ll get so distracted by Iris’ sexting that you won’t be able to focus on the test.”

Barry snorted.

“Well, that’ll be easy money.”

“Oh, you think so, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, for starters I don’t have my phone on during class, especially not during a test. It’s against the rules.”

“You’ve been a rule breaker ever since you and your pretty girlfriend took each other’s virginity a month ago.”

Barry gaped.

“How do you even know that?”

“A man knows…” Ralph said, all-knowingly.

“You’re sixteen.”

“And a half! And I’m still in your grade. That’s how smart I am.”

Barry rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll take your bet. I have more control than you think.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m guessing you want the five dollars if I am the last one to finish the exam after all?”

“Not exactly.”

Barry frowned.

“No? You don’t want free money?”

“I want you to risk something a little more,” he teased.

“Uh…like what?”

“You know how those army guys have had a table set up for the last few months outside the gym at school?”

“Ralph…”

“I want you to sign up.”

“No way. No. Way. I’m not risking my whole future. Especially one possibly away from Iris.”

Ralph rolled his eyes.

“If you guys go to separate schools, you might be apart for that long anyway. Besides, it’s only if you lose! Which you said yourself is apparently impossible for you.” He snickered. “Plus, you could just register for if there’s a draft. Which there hasn’t been in decades. I don’t see what you have to lose.”

Barry sighed and groaned, feeling for some bizarre reason like he had no choice.

“I need to be more drunk for this.”

He reached for his beer and downed the rest of it before letting out a belch he hadn’t shut his mouth in time to conceal. Ralph laughed and lifted his own can.

“I’ll drink to that.”

Despite the tension of what he’d presumably just agreed to, Barry laughed with him, and they spent the rest of the night laughing and talking together. Eventually Cisco and Chester came back outside and hung out with them again. By the time 10 o’clock rolled around, Barry’s dad popped his head out and offered to drive everyone but Barry home. He gave his son a meaningful look just before leaving that told him loud and clear he knew all of them had been drinking alcohol and a talk would be had later, but thankfully – and he could tell this as well – his mother would probably not be informed.

Barry smiled weakly and said goodbye to his friends. Ralph stilled mid-hug and turned to whisper into his friend’s ear before pulling away.

“A bet then?”

Barry gulped and nodded, not saying a word.

“See you tomorrow at school!” He winked and smacked his shoulder, which Barry promptly rubbed.

The car drove off into the distance and went back into the house. He went upstairs to take a shower and brush his teeth to get the scent of alcohol off him in case he ran into his mom. Then he tucked himself into bed and shut off the light.

His phone started vibrating on his bedside table, and he reached over to grab it.

It was a text message from Iris, and there was a photo attached. Probably a naked or barely-wearing-anything one, if Iris’ recent history was anything to go by.

He gulped before even opening it but knew it was inevitable.

Maybe he did have a problem.

#14 days of westallen fanfiction #westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #home is where you are next to me #chapter 1

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

Caught (a 9-1-1 fic post-s3 finale)

Photobooths are prime for catching special moments and making them last forever, even if they are less both and more open spaces with a backdrop. When Athena, Bobby, and Michael stumble upon one such moment between Buck and Eddie, what will they do?

And how will it affect Maddie and Chimney?

T, 3.7k, Athena/Bobby, Buck/Eddie, Maddie/Chimney

Athena finds operating a laptop with only one hand maddening. Typing up an e-mail takes double the time, she needs breaks when shopping online, and scrolling through social media becomes dangerous when she accidentally likes pictures she didn’t mean to. If she had her choice, Athena would be on her phone. But the hired photographer from May’s party e-mailed the pictures from the photo booth, both Bobby and Michael nearby when her phone pinged. Instead of having her husband and ex-husband crowded at her shoulders, Athena pokes her password into the given space while the men gather snacks. When she finally has the first picture loaded, Bobby places the bowl of popcorn by her sling and Michael hands off a soda.

“I think we’ve never looked better Bobby,” Michael laughs, pointing at the screen.

Athena snickers into her drink, studying the picture. Bobby’s jaw dropped in a faux yell; guitar hugged tightly against his chest. Fingers hooked as if he were playing something. Michael’s expression mirrored his except the tinsel wig on his head making it immensely funnier. “Don’t you be trying to steal my man from me, Michael,” she warns, attempting severity, “You already got a doctor eating out of your hand.”

“Okay you two,” Bobby settles his arm across Athena’s chair, chuckling, “we’ll never get through these if you two are bickering. Athena, click onto the next picture?”

They kill the next half-hour like that, pausing every so often to laugh at a few pictures. Like Maddie with May, the two women back-to-back and imitating an old spy poster. Or Chimney and Hen battling with the inflatable guitars like they were axes. Although not every picture was funny. Michael and Athena thought May and her boyfriend gravitated closer than necessary for a simple photo. And Athena needed a moment, collecting herself from the sheer adorableness of Buck and Christopher’s faces pressed cheek-to-cheek.

The next few pictures included Buck as well, except Christopher’s father joined in the fun in his son’s place. Eddie sipping a drink while Buck played the guitar. Him raising a leg mid-kick while Buck locked eyes with the camera. Smoking on a corncob pipe as Buck runs wild behind him. Flexing, playing the guitar, and jumping. One picture had half of his face cut off.

Buck must have landed closer, because Athena clicked on and they occupied the same breadth of space. Eddie, non-plussed, while the younger man messed with him. Grinning, swinging beads in his face. Then wincing when it struck the soft spot between his brows. Brushing gently over his nose in a cursory inspection, too close. Followed by –

“Oh, my,” Athena gasped, hand over her mouth. She felt Bobby tense at her side and Michel mutter a curse under breath.

The photographer, with perfect timing, captured the briefest of pecks. Buck’s lips on Eddie’s, both puckered. Expectant. None of them can decipher who initiated the embrace. Only that it happened and there was no mistaking the intention

“Well I’ll be damned,” Michael says, “this is…”

Athena glances at her husband, “Did you know about this?”

Bobby shakes out of his stupor, turning to her. “No, I… I had no idea,” he says, “I mean, they’re close but I always thought it was more like… brothers?”

Michael snorts, drawing Athena’s attention. “Do you have anything to add?”

His mouth thins, and he inches back. “No, I’m as shocked as you both are… A little intrigued… and embarrassed I didn’t notice those boys swung on my team before… But shock is at the forefront.”

She sighs, sagging in her seat. Her finger scrolls onto the next arrow except she cannot continue. Athena finds herself staring at the picture again. “What should we do?”

Bobby hums and squeezes her shoulder. “We can pretend this didn’t happen and let them come to us in their own time?” He nods at the screen, “For the first month at least. If they don’t say something past then, I will have to bring it up anyway seeing as fraternization between coworkers requires tons of paperwork.”

“Okay, then I guess we keep this to ourselves until they own up on their own,” she says, moving on, “or you need evidence if they try and deny it altogether.”

“Always thinking like a cop,” Michael laughs, nudging her, “you’ll be back on the streets soon enough.”

“We’ll see.” She finally clicks onto the next picture, another Eddie and Buck. More bashful and with ruddy cheeks. If there were any confusion about the prior scene, this added the final layer of context. “They do make an adorable couple.”

“And a hot couple…”

Athena elbows Michael with her good arm, scowling. “Hush up. Think about your doctor.”

The mood returns, not at the same level it was before the discovery but there the same. They finish viewing the album and then spend more time dividing it. Creating folders for their friends and family so they can have their pictures. Athena finds the kissing scene again and immediately puts it, and the accompanying aftermath shot, in its own folder. She forgets it when they start compressing the files for ease of sending.

Unfortunately, when attaching Buck’s pictures to the e-mail, his zip file contains two folders.

-----------------------------------------

Buck find Eddie in the kitchen, pouring milk into two bowls of cereal. His heart skips a beat at the scene of pure domesticity. The way sunlight streams through the thin curtains and makes Eddie glow in its beams. Makes him look more irresistible than he already is. He tugs his shirt down over his chest and walks over, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s chest. “Breakfast? Really?”

“What – not a fan of Fruit Loops?”

“I love Fruit Loops,” Buck chuckles, kissing at the bruise on Eddie’s neck he made earlier. “But I don’t know if three o’clock is the perfect time for them.” Still, he takes the bowl from off the counter and opens a nearby drawer.

Eddie grabs spoons for them both. “Breakfast isn’t a meal… it’s a state of mind. It’s the first thing you eat when you get out of bed. And since we haven’t left the bed since now…”

“We could’ve left earlier,” Buck reminds him, “If you weren’t so damn horny.”

“I wasn’t the one practically crying for dick in my ass –“

“Hey, hey!” Buck cuts him off, cheeks burning hotter the longer Eddie laughs. “I wasn’t crying, I was… heavily suggesting.”

“Sure…”

He scowls, sticking his spoon in Eddie’s bowl and stealing a bite. “If you didn’t want a second round, all you had to do was say so. But don’t go complaining because I was making sure you were having a great time while Christopher’s at camp.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie shakes his head, grimacing, “please don’t quote my son’s card while we’re talking about sex.”

“You started it,” Buck smirks, pointing with his spoon. “Your fault if you can’t handle the heat.”

Eddie shoves at him, jostling the milk and spilling some onto his shirt. A soggy Fruit Loop dove from his bowl and landed on his foot, near his big toe. Buck retaliates with a push of his own, although Eddie catches his wrist and drags him into a kiss that makes him forget about the milk stain, dropped Fruit Loop, and Eddie’s teasing.

They break for air, foreheads pressed against each other. “We should really be eating.”

“Yeah.”

It’s another five minutes standing there. Balancing bowls of cereal and trading kisses. When they finish, Eddie guides Buck into the living room. They cuddle on the sofa, Buck crossing his legs under him and flicking the television on. Flipping through channels until he finds a cartoon he likes. Halfway through the SpongeBob episode, he feels a heavy stare. Buck turns, cheeks stuffed with cereal, to find Eddie watching with a small grin. “What?”

“Maybe I should have sent you to camp alongside Chris,” Eddie says, “that way you could have had fun with all the other kids.”

He swallows, glaring. “Shut up…” Eddie leans forward and brushes his lips across Buck’s cheeks, halting any further protest. Unwilling to let Eddie win, however, Buck redirects his attention elsewhere. Namely his blinking cell phone, resting on the coffee table since last night. Buck must have forgotten it sometime between Eddie kissing him and Eddie carrying him out with Buck’s legs around Eddie’s waist.

Buck opens it, wincing at the number of messages.

Eddie peers over his shoulder, spoon in his mouth. “Popular?”

“Something like that…” He scrolls through the notifications. At the tagged pictures on Instagram and the missed calls, choosing his texts first. Sees five from Chimney asking about where his is and if he can come over. Then twenty from Maddie progressively growing angrier the longer Buck didn’t respond. Buck types back on the last message. Answers her ‘Buck I am not kidding you better answer me asap we need to talk’ sent at one-twenty-three with a ‘Sorry b there soon’ at three-thirteen. “I gotta go to Maddie’s…”

“What for?”

Buck scans through the texts again, shrugging. “Doesn’t say. But it must be important if both her and Chim were on my case.”

Eddie knocks shoulders with Buck. “Want me to tag along?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Buck tells him, “but if we’re supposed to keep this low-profile, I doubt showing up together will help.”

“But we always show up together,” he argues.

“Not after having fantastic sex.”

“You’re right,” Eddie concedes, thoughtful expression transforming into one more devious. His fingers tickle Buck’s thigh before he squeezes Buck’s cock. “I’d rather show up after mind-blowing sex.”

“Eddie, you’re killing me,” Buck whines, “I’m too tired.” Except he lays his bowl on the table alongside Eddie’s and happily relaxes onto the couch. Lying underneath the other man while he licks at his collar bone. Buck giggles while his friend’s stubble rubs against his skin. Absentmindedly Buck looks at his phone, scrolling through more apps. He opens his e-mail and sees the message from Athena labelled: ‘May’s Graduation Party Photos’. “Hey Eddie, the photos from May’s party are here.”

“What?” Eddie asks, rising momentarily for air.

“Pictures!”

“Another time, Bucky…” he presses a sloppy kiss at his jaw, smirking. Toying with Buck’s shirt. “Be with me now.”

“Let me take a quick look.” Buck ignores Eddie’s pleading, opening it. Downloads the file and clicks the icon, switching apps. He opens the first folder, a photo of Buck and Maddie greeting him. “Oh, these came out nicely…”

Eddie continues dropping kisses on different points of his body while Buck scrolls through each picture. “Really, Buck,” he gasps after sucking a mark onto Buck’s hip. A feat that usually leaves him panting, sweaty, and writhing in Eddie’s embrace. “Can’t this wait? Feeling unappreciated…”

Buck threads his hand through Eddie’s hair, patting it. “Almost done,” he tells Eddie, “There’s another file here… looks like it’s only two –“ He cuts off, eyes widening.

Startled, Eddie raises a brow at him. “Buck? You okay?” Nothing. Eddie crawls up and forces Buck’s gaze away from the phone and towards him, tilting at his jaw. “Speak to me. What is it?”

He cannot speak. So he shows Eddie his phone, watching the blown pupils retract as the mood shifts.

It’s a photo from the party, one they hadn’t realized was captured. Their first kiss. When Buck was so overwhelmed with happiness and warmth and, staring at Eddie, crossed the divide without thought. A quick peck that left them stuttering and blushing and unsure where they stood. Buck ran away, not waiting for Eddie. Moving until the other man dragged him into an empty room to explain himself.

Buck had nothing. No reason why he kissed Eddie except that it felt right. Which he proved by pressing him against the wall and kissing him again. Eddie answered in kind, flipping him around and hauling his leg up. Thumb brushing his kneecap.

They broke, muted sounds of the party filtered through the door. Eddie cleared his throat, “We still need to talk about this.”

“Definitely…”

Both men said their goodbyes, five minutes after the other. Promises that when Christopher left for camp, they would restart their conversation. Eddie drove straight over, card still in hand when he knocked on Buck’s door.

Buck hung it on the fridge before they tripped up the stairs in hurried excitement, shedding clothes and tumbling on the bed.

Talking came after the sex.

“What do you think it means?” Buck asks, “Why would Athena send this?”

Eddie shrugs, mouth flapping worriedly. “I don’t know,” he finally says, “Maybe she… maybe she sent without looking?”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Karen and Hen had their photos taken but I don’t have any of theirs. She definitely saw this.” His mind works double time, connecting loose threads into a makeshift sweater. “Wait,” he says, pushing Eddie off him and onto his knees. “Wait, hold on… do you think this is what those texts were about?”

“Texts? What texts?”

“Chim and Maddie,” he reminds Eddie, “the urgent texts that – that didn’t mention what made them so damn urgent. Do you think… Athena sent this photo to them, too? To Hen? Everybody?”

Eddie sighs and runs his hands up and down Buck’s shoulders, added warmth like a candle fighting an iceberg. “Athena wouldn’t do that,” he says, “I’m sure this was nothing. Maybe even a… a simple way of letting us know she knows and she supports us?”

“Still…”

As if seeing the smoke billowing out his ears, Eddie stands and offers a hand. “Come on.” Buck squints up at him, curious. “You think Maddie and Chimney know about us. You won’t know by sitting here spinning out. When we get there, we can see what they have to say.”

Buck fights his smile, but a tiny smirk still appears. “We?” he asks.

“Yes, we,” Eddie tells him, “So let’s move. I think I have a shirt that’ll fit, but it might be a little short?”

“What about my clothes from yesterday?”

“Please,” Eddie matches his smirk, “we’re not sure if they know about us. Why make it obvious by doing that.” Most of the tension from moments ago disappears with their laughter, Eddie ridding him of the rest by hauling Buck into a tender kiss. “Hurry,” he whispers, “because if we stay here any longer, I won’t want to leave the house until tomorrow.”

“Tempting…” Buck pushes off, smiling. “Very tempting, but I already promised Maddie. She’s mad enough at me as it is.” Eddie tries catching his wrist one more time but Buck, aware of this trick, dodges at the last second and bounces off. The other man chases with great speed.

The playfulness helps distract Buck from the impending appointment with his sister and their friend. And leaves him grateful that he and Eddie crossed over in their relationship, onto the next level. Into what it was always meant to be, what it kept building towards over the years. Abby’s return the final push giving Buck the clarity he needed in understanding his feelings.

When the hurt finally stopped, the loneliness he expected to follow didn’t. Because Buck had his sister. The one-eighteen. Christopher and Eddie.

Especially Eddie. Especially when his lips tickle his neck, and delays them further.

-----------------------------------------

Maddie paces the floor, chewing on a bite of pickle. “What’s taking him so long?” she asks Chimney, her boyfriend watching from a nearby couch. “I swear, if he isn’t in this room in the next five minutes…”

Chimney stands, walking towards her. “I’m sure he has his reasons,” he tells her, “he didn’t answer his phone until – what? Three? Maybe he was busy.”

“Too busy to answer a text?” She pokes his chest, huffing. “Too busy to get his ass over here and learn that he’s about to be an uncle?”

“Well, you didn’t tell him he was going to be an uncle in the text so he probably didn’t think it was that urgent.”

She glares, readying another onslaught. Luckily for Chimney they hear the buzzer for his apartment ring. Maddie shoves the rest of the pickle in her mouth, nodding at the door. “Let them in and bring them into the dining room.”

“Anything else, my queen?”

Maddie ignores him, setting at the table with her hands folded. Listens while Chimney speaks into the intercom and lets Buck up. In the minutes between that and Buck arriving, she thinks. About what it felt like seeing both plus signs appear on the pregnancy tests and the cocktail of emotions erupting within like a volcano. Happiness and excitement, but also fear. Worry over whether she was ready, or if she would be a good parent. Memories of her own childhood flooded and distracted Maddie until she broke free from their chains and realized Chimney spoke to her in the living room.

He tried, but in the days that followed Maddie’s party her nerves only shredded further. She needed her brother. And when Maddie mustered the strength and reached out, he kept her waiting.

Anger won out when she laid eyes on him, incised further when she notices Eddie. “Is that why you weren’t answering me? Too busy ‘hanging out’?” The exaggerated quotes make Buck flinch in a way he hadn’t in years. Not since he was a little kid. And she finds herself back in Hershey once more. And Maddie’s doubt in her skill doubles.

“Sorry Maddie,” he says, stepping into the dining room, “time just got away from us and… we came as fast as we could?”

She glances between them, both men with reticent expressions. As quickly as it arrived, the fire inside fizzled into embers. “I’m sorry,” she says, kneading at her temple, “I’ve just been… a little stressed.”

“Stressed, why?”

Chimney answers, “Because of recent developments. Recent developments that we wanted to speak to you about.” He glances at Eddie, frowning. “Eddie…”

Eddie points at the living room, shrugging. “I can wait in there while you talk –“

“No,” Maddie stops him, “no you can join.” She looks at Chimney, smiling. “I don’t see why he shouldn’t be here, right?”

“I guess.”

Buck and Eddie share a cryptid look, slowly sitting across from Maddie and Chimney. Her brother fidgets, tugging on his fingers in the nervous way he would when mom or dad lectured him after landing in trouble. Although why he did it now, Maddie was unsure of. She reached across and grabbed his hand, waiting for when their eyes met to speak. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

His brows scrunch up, “Yeah… I get that.”

“It’s about,” Maddie searches for an entry point, unsure where she should start. “Well… you know at May’s party?” He tenses in his seat. “How we left a little early? That’s because Chimney noticed something and I – I put things together, and we had to go –“

“Maddie I can explain –“

“Because all these signs added up and,” Maddie stops, blinking. She pulls away from Buck, “What?” Buck stares at the table, shoulders hunched high. “Look, I was going to tell you but, well, we know what would’ve happened if this came out so soon after Abby showed up. And the party was the worst place if we wanted to keep this secret, I didn’t mean for it to happen there it just did! We thought it was better to take it at our own pace and – and let people in when we were ready, y’know?”

“Slow down Evan,” Maddie grabs his hands again. Squeezes until he gives her the floor. “What are you talking about?”

He pouts. “I was… you brought me here because you and Chimney saw us, right? At the photo booth?”

“No,” she says, “I wanted you here because I found out I’m pregnant.” Buck chokes, seizing under her grip. “But what are you talking about? Us? You and who else… and why should it involve Abby?”

“You’re pregnant?” he asks, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Buck tries closing his mouth but he cannot force his jaw shut. “I’m… I’m gonna be an uncle?”

“Yes, Buck, you are,” Chimney adds, leaning over the table. “But can we go back? What happened at the photo booth?”

Maddie studies her brother slowly shed his shock. Replaced with cheeks redder than his birthmark, failing at subtlety when glancing at Eddie. Eddie hides his face, Maddie imagining it in a similar state. With nothing there, her attention drifts and latches onto the first clue she finds.

A circular bruise on his neck near his collarbone. There’s no mistaking what it was.

“Oh my God,” she says, “Oh my God!”

Chimney sighs, “What? What is it!”

“Buck. You and Eddie?”

“Buck and Eddie – oh,” He sees them in new light, understanding dawning. “Oh my God, you two are dating!”

Eddie reveals his own ruddy cheeks, hands switching tactics from shielding to squeezing Buck’s shoulder. “And you thought they knew!”

“I, I – uh…” Buck splutters, cornered. He points at Maddie, “You’re pregnant! I think that’s more important!”

“But you and Eddie,” she insists, “you and Eddie!” Maddie laughs, stress from the past few days seeping out of her. “I can’t believe – you and Eddie!”

“Yeah, yeah, me and Eddie…” Buck slumps into his seat, glaring. Clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

She sees where his thoughts drift, though, and tosses a lifeline. “I think it’s great, Evan,” Maddie says. Waits for when their gazes lock again. “Really.”

His stiffness eases the longer they stay like that, until a gooey smile spreads across his face. “Talking about great things,” Buck says, gesturing at her and Chimney, “a baby? You’ll be a mother and – and you have to tell me how it happened.”

“I think you know how it happened, Buck,” Chimney chuckles, “Plus, I think we should be asking that of you two.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, slinging his arm over Buck’s shoulders and pulling him closer. Buck instinctively leaning into Eddie’s side. Maddie pauses, stunned by how well they fit together. Hindsight makes everything obvious but she should have seen this coming. “We can compare stories,” Eddie says, “but since baby trumps new relationship, you two can start.”

Maddie nods, sliding one hand free from Buck’s hold and to Chimney’s. Tangling their fingers together. Uniting their family as they take their next steps into unfamiliar territory. Maddie expects the next nine months will be difficult and taxing. Not only with the baby but working while pregnant and then planning what comes after.

With her family at her side, Maddie feels confident in handling whatever challenge comes her way.

#911 season 3 #911 on fox #athena grant #bobby nash #michael grant #athena x bobby #athena/bobby #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #buck/eddie #buck x eddie #maddie buckley #howard chimney han #maddie x chimney #maddie/chimney #911 on fox fanfic

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leggomylino · 4 years

Text

Vividly | Lee Felix

Genre: fluff, comedy, college au, poetry au(?)

Pairing: Lee Felix x fem!reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

A/n: Masterlist → in bio!!! | I hope you enjoy 🎔

~ ❀❀❀~

[오후 6:10]

“Shall I compare thee to a warm summer’s day? Or, perhaps, to...uh…”

He tapped the tip of his pen against his chin. On the floor somewhere diagonally behind him, Han divided up the pizza while Minho begrudgingly rose to pay, seeing as Han “accidentally” tripped and dropped the bill on his lap.

“...Oh!” He smiled, scribbling as fast as his hand would allow. “...to...a...flower…uh...of Spring! Done!”

Gathering his day’s work atop his desk, Felix beamed proudly at the words he’d managed to weave together. Tapping them twice to file, he spun his chair around, waiting for everyone’s attention.

“Minho’ll be back in a sec,” Han said between a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. “He’s paying the delivery guy downstairs.”

Miffed footsteps could be heard rising up along the walls before, lo and behold, the devil himself arrived. He focused vexed eyes on Han. “This is the last time I’m paying for you. You owe me twenty bucks.”

“Okay.”

“On top of the two-hundred and seventy-five you already owe me.”

“...O-Oh...haha…” He smiled cheesily. “I see you’ve been keeping track.”

Minho deadpanned. “And I can see you’ll be needing floss after this.” He turned to Felix, tucking himself comfortably down into a beanbag chair Felix normally used for gaming nights. “Go ahead, Felix.”

He nodded; this was it. The words he’d spent all day putting together. They had to work, just had to. If they didn’t, well…

Han and Minho thought he’d just be failing English 101. But, really, he’d be failing himself; his chance of winning over the heart of someone very dear to him...an enigma named Y/n L/n.

“Ahem,” He started, mentally preparing himself. He had to treat this moment like the real thing. He had to channel his inner charisma and be as witty and charming as possible, but also rugged and manly...because that’s what girls liked, right? Yet, also, it was important that he was still true to himself...since that was hopefully the person you’d be falling in love with…

“...Is...that it?” Han asked, brows raised. He turned to Minho curiously. “Yo, this reminds me of that one SpongeBob episode where--”

“Quiet, loud mouth,” Minho rolled his eyes. “He just got spacey again, give him a chance.”

“...Ahem,” Felix began again. His eyes scanned the papers before him nervously, palms starting to sweat, words slightly blurring.

“A-And summer’s lease hath all too short a date,

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Shall I compare thee to a...warm...summer’s day?

Or perhaps to a flower of spring?”

Lowering the pages, he took a deep breath before smiling as big and...what he was hoping would be happy and gentlemanly as possible.

On the other side of the room, Minho and Han both blinked. Han coughed. “...That...was… ...you wanna take this one, Minho?”

Minho sighed. “Felix…” He tried to smile politely, Felix could tell. But it just wasn’t...there. “Felix, I know you’ve been working on that all day, and you’ve been at this project for three days now. So I’m sure you’re exhausted, and I don’t want you to be too disappointed when I tell you that was just Shakespeare’s Sonnet Eighteen read backwards...and then, something you added to the end. Hey,” He suddenly brightened, giving him an air-nudge. “That last part was original! You can start again with that after, eh…” He listed his head. “...Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. You’re gonna make yourself sick like Hyunjin trying to pull off Mrs. Kang’s finale.”

Han paused halfway to starting his third slice. “...Since when do you know anything about English and...nice...words?”

Minho scoffed. “It’s called poetry, genius,” he rebuked, pouring himself a soda from the liters hidden in Felix’s closet. “I just got finished with her class last semester. I had to study so hard that it all just...stuck with me, I guess. Hyunjin and I would have failed if not for Seungmin and Chan’s help.” He cast his gaze back to Felix with a genuine smile. “Don’t worry too much about it. It’s not you, it’s her.”

Han rolled his eyes. “How many girls have you told that t-- oof!”

Minho held another pillow at the ready. “I’m talking about Mrs. Kang, and the assignment!” he hissed, dropping the weapon. “Anyway...here.” he said, handing his untouched plate to the homeowner. “Take a break. Eat a lot.”

“I’ve got a poem for you,” Han piped, recovered. Minho rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, shaking his head. “Are you ready?”

Felix nodded.

“Okay! Roses are red, violets are blue--”

Minho snorted, glaring over his slice of food. “You’re a moron, and we hate you?”

“NO,” Han blurted, “...” He turned precariously to Felix. “You should have taken Home Ec with me, I told you to.”

Minho groaned. Felix, on the other hand, bowed his head, taking the last slice. The smallest. His first.

“...Perhaps you’re right.”

~ ❀❀❀~

That night, Felix dreamed of a girl who loved poetry, books, words, and the unfathomable. He dreamed of a girl whose dying wish it was to obtain a molecular understanding of the world, one who was not of the world, but was in it. He dreamed of beautiful things, of cherry blossoms dancing in the April breeze along a mountain stream, of a colorful forest in late fall, of a warm cottage home in Winter. Many seasons passed him by, all of which came converging to a single point…

And the possibilities manifested in themselves. They combined together, forming you. A girl with (h/c) hair and sweet (e/c) eyes.

Felix awoke from his dream with a jolt. He was warm, skin humming, thoughts circling round and around and around…

The clock on the wall read two a.m.. Normally, he’d be up gaming at this hour, not jolting awake from a melodiously, affable, jovial-embedded--

...Gasp. Did he just...were those words...from him? Did he think of them all on his own? They just seemed to...come to him. They came to him when he thought about you; your smile, your laugh, how the birds seemed to sing and the flowers swayed to and fro, as if euphorically spinning and twirling to the rhythm of his pining, beating heart…

Yes, he thought. It’s so...inelegant, and tasteless, but…

It was definitely a gift from you. A gift he would not let go to waste.

At 2:03 a.m., Felix sat down at his desk, pen and paper at the ready.

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 4 years

Text

Harvest Moon, pt. 4

Steve Rogers x Reader, Summer AU

A/N: Every chapter will have a designated song to it, so please take a listen! Will be linked below. I don’t own any Marvel characters.

Summary: For five summers, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes and you had been a trio; spending the summer at a lake with your families. While Bucky tagged along, there had always been a special bond between Steve and you. Every summer the lake had been something to look forward to until you stopped going and life moved on. Now as adults, Steve and you return at the same time, for different reasons. Can you rekindle that friendship or was it just youthful summer magic?

Masterlist

Chapter Four: I Fall To Pieces

The streets were flooded with the summer crowd, local and tourists alike. Steve walked next to Bucky, who was counting the money the two had earned mowing lawns and ranking leaves the months leading to summer. It wasn’t like their mothers wouldn’t have given them money, but they were 12 now, practically men – they wanted to earn it the good old American way: blood, sweat, and a few tears. Together they had a combined total of eighty dollars for the summer and that was plenty for ice cream everyday if they pleased.

“We should split a sundae, more bang for our buck,” Steve advised, and Bucky shrugged, agreeing to his plan. “Maybe Y/N will be there, no one was at the cabin when I went knocking.”

“We’ll have to get the extra sundae if she’s there, double fudge.”

Steve’s stomach growled in anticipation, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the ice cream or the fact that they might run into you; it was the second summer that all three of you were at the lake and it had been more fun then he could handle.

“Hey Buck, what do you say we each get three dollars from our money to buy something?”

Bucky glanced over to his scrawny friend and pretended to not know what he was up to. He had known that Steve had a crush on you, but at that point neither of the two boys had brought it up – truthfully, Bucky was a bit disappointed that you hadn’t taken a liking to him but quickly got over it when he noticed all the other girls around the lake.

“Sure, Steve,” he said. “There’s these cool sunglasses I want to get at the lake gift shop.”

Satisfied, Steve relaxed and jogged ahead to open the door to the ice cream shop; the vintage décor assaulted one’s senses with the fifties music, pastel colors, and black and white tile floor but within seconds of stepping in, a person would get use to it. They walked up to the counter and politely ordered an ice cream sundae to share and two sodas, then picked a spot near the big windows to sit. When Steve settled down, that’s when he noticed your family on the opposite end of the shop – your mother and father were seated across from each other, and you sat next to your dad. He watched as one of the waitresses held up a camera and you urged your mother to come to the other side of the booth. She got up and you squeezed between your folks, smiling wide for the picture that was being taken. It was a tradition the shop keeper did; take a photo of families you came in. Steve had taken one with the Barnes last summer and the picture was on the wall behind the counter, along with the other photos of happy families eating their weight in ice cream.

Steve sat across the booth from Bucky, half listening to him going on about the fishing his dad was going to take them on later that week. Every so often, he’d glance your way and see you smiling, laughing at whatever you father was saying until you caught him staring. You waved then and pointed the boys out to your parents, who then nodded as you got up and kissed them both before making your way to their side of the shop.

Bucky smiled when you shoved your way next to Steve, who blushed when your shoulder touched his, and smacked a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Ice cream floats on me.”

“Do you remember the photos they use to have up on the back wall?” Steve looked at Bucky, who was flipping through the menu. “I remember there use to be so many photos, it was like a little treasure hunt looking for yours.”

“They must have taken them down,” Bucky answered, closing the menu. “I’m ready for something sweet after those burgers. Ready to order?”

Steve nodded and called to the waitress behind the counter, who greeted them with a smile. Bucky ordered a triple scoop of rocky road and Steve opted for a good old fashion sundae, casually mentioning the photos that use to hang on the wall behind her.

“They started to overrun the place, we took them down,” she explained, ringing the bill up. “You know, you’re the second person today that asked about them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, this woman came in earlier and asked, I guess she was feeling nostalgic.”

“Aren’t we all,” Bucky whistled, paying the bill and thanking her. She smiled and motioned for them to have a seat, promising their order would be ready shortly. Steve smirked when he saw that the booth, they always sat in was still around, and nudged Bucky.

“I guess some things never change.”

….

It was your fifth beer and you were feeling the ice cream you had earlier turning in your stomach; your mouth felt warm as you polished off the last of the drink, knowing if you were to hop off the stool you’d fall on your ass. Holding on to the counter, you contemplated having another but went with a lemonade and a shot of tequila, as if that choice was any better. The bar was empty considering it was nearly evening time and you figured most of the locals had a better place to go and the tourists staying at the lake were in their cabins.

Great, you were the pathetic one drinking alone while everyone else had their families.

Smoothing away a bit of hair from your face, you took the shot the bartender bestowed to you and downed it faster than humanly possible, using the lemonade as a chaser. It burned your insides, but you were going for a ‘forget everything, including what it means to feel’ vibe anyway. Knowing you limit, you said no when the bartender asked if you wanted another drink, instead asking for another lemonade and to close your tab. You passed him the card and added a healthy tip, and sat quietly as you sipped the nonalcoholic beverage, giving yourself false hope that it would sober you up enough to walk back to your cabin. Eyes wandered the bar décor and you noticed the jukebox in the corner, you were feeling brave enough to stand on your own two legs, so you got up, grabbed the lemonade, and stumbled over to it. Squinting at the choices, you saw a familiar song and fished out a quarter from your bag. Pressing the selection, you stumbled over to the closest booth and sat down facing the entrance door.

The song made you sad but not lonely as you sipped the lemonade, and watched as the front door opened, and two men walked in – one was tall and blond, the other near the same height with dark hair that came to his shoulder. You couldn’t make out their faces much since they were across the bar and you were a little drunk, but the blond was the one that made eye contact with you and gave a small smile, that for some reason made you feel at ease, before turning to his friend.

You watched them order drinks and head over to the pool table; you watched for a while as a distraction, but it was just that - a distraction from what was really eating at you. The photo you inquired about at the ice cream shop before coming to the bar - you had asked the waitress about the photos that used to be on the wall behind the counter, she explained that they had them somewhere but she couldn’t let you look for them without the owner’s permission.

The sober you understood, she was just doing her job but you weren’t sober now, not by a long shot and all you wanted was that photo of your family that was taken the second summer you spent at the cabin. It was like a badge of honor to have your photo put on the wall and every summer after, you always made sure no other family’s photo had covered yours.

It was just a photo, but it was also so much more and all you knew, in your drunken state was that its all you wanted at the moment, and you were going to get it.

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#harvest moon series #marvel au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve x reader #marvel imagine #ivonnes imagine

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cupidmarwani-archive · 4 years

Text

CISHETS DNI //

Just because Eddie can’t enjoy the day doesn’t mean he’s going to take it away from his son. He’d do anything for Christopher, that’s no secret or surprise, and if that means spending the evening dealing with his flashbacks alone, he’s more than okay with that. Christopher deserves to have fun like everyone else- he deserves good food and a bottle of soda and a blanket spread out on his school’s football field while he watches their firework show. Buck agreed to take him before Eddie could even ask because he always knows. At some point, he’s going to have to do something about how much his heart aches every time Buck does something that makes their lives better without a second thought.

“It’s not a party without s’mores,” Buck says seriously, throwing a bag of jumbo marshmallows into the cart. They’re going to be eating at the school when they go, not long into the evening, but the s’mores are a treat for when they come home after the fireworks are over. Buck said this morning that it was important that Eddie get to be a part of something today, and hip-checked him as he flipped a pancake. “I promise I’ll teach you how to make the best ones, Chris.”

All the supplies, including skewers, are together, which makes the grocery trip a little easier. Unfortunately, however, that’s the seasonal section, which Eddie would do anything to get out of. It’s too much. The flag is printed on everything, from paper plates and napkins to apparel with a silhouetted solider on it, alongside a cursive “God Bless the Troops.” Eddie kind of wants to buy it just to light it on fire, but that’s a waste of money and time. Burning things isn’t going to erase his trauma or his anger. He glares at a hat emblazoned with “USA.” It reminds him of the recruiters at his school who promised that college would be so much easier after he served.

Buck glances at him as he considers a bag of candy. There’s worry written all over his face, but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears, and Buck says they need to go to the snack aisle right away. Christopher nods seriously and walks alongside his cart, fast enough to get them away, but slow enough that Chris has no trouble keeping up. At the very end of the aisle, however, something catches Eddie’s eyes. Ear plugs. They’re probably not that great, since they’re $5 on an impulse buy rack, but they’re better than nothing, so Eddie throws them into the cart as well. It’s not a big deal. Buck doesn’t make it one.

Most of the people in the store are dressed patriotically, wearing red white and blue if not outright flags. Shiny head pieces sway with the motion of their walking, flag patterned shorts stand out bright against the mostly beige color scheme of the floor and walls. It’s a little too much. Eddie pointedly doesn’t look at any of them, instead watching Christopher debate the merits of getting pringles instead of ruffles.

He flinches when something touches him, only to realize a moment later that it’s just Buck. His hand is light on Eddie’s hip, just touching as a way to bring him back to the moment. He’s safe here. These people don’t understand, but it’s not up to Eddie to make them, and he’ll be back home in twenty minutes, anyways. He’ll spend a few hours with his boys and it’ll be fine.

For the rest of the shopping trip, and probably the day, he’s quiet. It’s hard to put his feelings into words. Everyone is celebrating the country, regardless of the flaws inherent to its system, and using the military to do it. With them, Eddie is still the pawn he was overseas. Participating in a game he didn’t want to play, hurting people and watching his friends die for a cause he doesn’t know anything about, and left with bullet wounds in his skin, PTSD, and the faces of soldiers who will never open their eyes again. There’s nothing he could say that would feel enough to express all that in a succinct, non-confrontational way, so he processes it to the best of his ability internally. Frank would be proud. He doesn’t engage with those who give him and his clear stormy disposition a look, nor does he look at the red, white and blue mass-produced cupcakes that Chris begs him for. He says no, but mollifies Christopher with the promise of licorice.

The checkstand line is long, so Eddie picks Christopher up and holds him on his hip. He’s getting a little big for it, doesn’t usually give in to being carried anymore, but walking around the store can take a lot of energy and he’s clearly getting tired now. It makes Eddie feel a little better, too. He’s at home, he has his son, and he has Buck, who insisted on footing the bill for the snacks since “I promised Chris we’d get them, and you paid for the tickets to the school show, Eddie.” It’s almost alright.

But then they’re paying, the checker bagging up their snacks and making polite conversation. She doesn’t work late nights, which is when Eddie usually has a chance to do his shopping, so he doesn’t recognize her off the bat. She’s friendly enough though, laughing at a joke Buck makes until she picks up the ear plugs from the belt. With one look at Christopher’s child-size crutches in the cart, then at him in Eddie’s arms, she smiles in that patronizing “oh a special kid” way.

“The fireworks too loud for you, sweetie?”

“They’re for Daddy,” Christopher corrects cheerfully,

She gives Eddie a weird look, but doesn’t comment on it. instead, she finishes up scanning their items and returns her attention to Buck. “Your total is $34.67, would you like to round up to $35 to support our troops overseas? Every five dollars sends a home cooked meal to a soldier in Iraq.”

Buck looks at Eddie, the way he always does when it comes to these things. They talked about it, once. How most active-duty military funds are a scam. Eddie shakes his head.

“They don’t allow non-rations. Don’t.”

The checker seems irritated now.

“What’s your problem, man? Do you like, hate America?”

Buck jams his card into the reader to finish this interaction quickly.

“I hate people profiting off the images of soldiers, who are usually just cogs in a machine that serves to hurt innocent people because the government said so.”

Now the person in line behind them decides to join in, and Eddie wishes he could have just kept his mouth shut for once in his life. But that’s not the way he was raised, and this is a touchy enough subject to send his self control out the window.

“The troops fight for your freedom, son. Show some respect.”

Eddie turns around and narrows his eyes at the old man, wearing a tacky flag shirt. He feels a little cornered, can’t wait to get out of here, but he also knows exactly how satisfying it’ll be to open his mouth,

“I’m a fucking vet, man. I know what I’m talking about. You wanna talk about respect, I served overseas and nearly died getting my friends to safety more than once. Shut your fucking mouth.”

Chris cheerfully pulls dog tags out of his own little striped tee shirt. Eddie gave them to him shortly after they moved here, as though it’ll erase their painful connotations. Christopher has always thought they’re cool, and shows them off gleefully without really getting how tense things are at the moment,

“He has a silver star,” Chris adds smugly.

At that, Eddie leaves before things can escalate more. He needs air. His chest is hurting and this is exactly why he hates going out today, of all days. None of these people ever know what they’re talking about, what they’re really glorifying. What their fucking fireworks are doing to everyone they allegedly care so much about.

A few minutes later, Buck joins them. They sit there quietly on the bench for a while before Eddie decides to get up and go to the truck. He doesn’t need to defend himself, he thinks bitterly. Buck isn’t mad, Christopher isn’t mad. But it still sucks that this always happens when he says no to donating to those bullshit projects.

In the truck however, Buck holds his hand over the center console, and gives him a reassuring smile that helps his shoulders feel a little less tense.

#buddie #eddie diaz #mine #this is kinda rushed bc my mom says I gotta leave but here we go

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phony-stony · 4 years

Text

oh take me back to the start

written for @winterironmonth SFW Friday. Fills out the prompt: TROPE/AU: Post Breakup

Words: 6.9k Ao3 link

stay tuned for other fics this month!

God did Tony need a fucking drink.

He must have looked like it too because the stewardess didn't even blink before giving him a "right away, Mr. Stark" as soon as he had asked for the strongest thing they had on board, followed up with a "don't bother if you only have whiskey, I don't drink that."

Tony sighed, leaning back into his seat and trying to relax, but he could feel a migraine blooming right behind his eyes, and while Tony was an expert bullshitter even he had his limits. Trying to tell himself that everything was fine right now wasn't even in the realm of truth—it was so wildly untrue that Tony was certain that he needed a stronger phrase than "lying through my goddamn teeth" to try and describe it properly.

Whatever.

It didn't matter.

Fuck, maybe, well, no it really-

"Your drink?"

Tony nearly jumped out of his seat when the stewardess appeared at his side, handing him a full glass.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking the drink and having to physically restrain himself from chugging it down.

"We do have vodka on board, sir, but normally patrons don't like to drink it straight. I can see about something to mix it with if you'd like?"

Tony waved her away, trying his best to give her a thankful smile. It probably looked like a grimace.

"This brandy 's fine, thanks."

He'd break out the vodka later right before they landed, but god, right now he just wanted to be left alone.

Tony didn't even realize that she had left. He was already thinking of what—of who—he would see by the end of the day.

Fuck.

~~~~~

Bucky was halfway through getting himself together for work when his phone rang.

"What the hell do ya want, Stevie?"

"Morning to you too, jerk."

"Shut up, punk." Bucky pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear as he threaded his belt through the loops of his pants.

"Bite me. You know what today is, right?"

Bucky leaned his hip up against his bed and felt how his grip tightened on the phone in his hand. For a minute they were both silent.

"I think we both know the answer to that, so why don't you say what you obviously have to get off your chest and let me do somethin' today."

"Today is the five year anniversary."

"Yeah."

"Are you….I mean, I know how important this whole thing, how important he is to you, but I know that you're still trying to get over everything and all that."

"Spit it out, Steve."

"Are you going to go? Like have you actually thought everything through and all that."

Bucky didn't answer at first, but then the silence stretched wider and wider as Bucky's heart started to hurt in his chest.

"Bucky? You still there?"

Steve's voice was quiet and delicate over the phone, like he could see the physical pieces of Bucky's heart splintered in his chest.

"Yeah. I'm here," he managed.

"You don't have to go, Buck, you know that right? I'm not trying to say that you shouldn't, but I'm just putting it out there. I know how much you keep beating yourself up over it and I know how much you miss him, but you've worked really hard to get where you are. I remember what you were like when everything happened, and Buck? I never want to see you that hurt ever again."

There was rustling over the speakers, and Bucky still didn't have his voice back.

"I think that you should go, but only if you think that you're going to be alright. I know that this is important to you, but you don't owe him anything. Don't do it for him."

"I-" Bucky stopped, swallowed nothing, and tried to gather his thoughts, "I'm going to go," he said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I need to see him again. I can't go the rest of my life thinking about what could have happened, Steve. I'm going to go."

"Good."

Steve sounded pleased and like Bucky had said exactly what he had thought he would, and Bucky breathed out, rolling back his shoulders.

Today was the day.

~~~~~

"What's a pretty thing like you doin' all alone?"

Tony cocked his eyebrow at the guy approaching him.

"Maybe I'm hiding from all of the pick-up artists like yourself," Tony responded, pouring on the attitude and sass to make up for the fact that this guy's blue eyes were making Tony sweat. Fuck.

He brought his cup to his mouth and took a large gulp from his beer. Alcohol was liquid courage and all that, plus he just really fucking needed something to do with his hands.

The guy smirked, just a bit of white teeth slipping out. Tony both prayed for Rhodey to come back so he could save Tony before he did something stupid like swoon, yet he also wanted nothing more than for Rhodey to forget all about him and leave him with this stranger with his perfect face and all.

"I wouldn't call myself a pick-up artist, doll."

"Then what would you call yourself?"

"James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. He also couldn't help but catch the wide smile Bucky sent his way in reciprocation.

"That was smooth, I'll give you that."

"Mind if I join ya?"

"As a drinking partner, maybe."

It wasn't that Tony wasn't interested because fuck what Tony wouldn't give to work Bucky's shirt off of his body and lick those goddamn muscles, but Tony didn't really do hook-ups. He had spent his whole life feeling discarded and worthless because of his shit father, and while they weren't related at all, Tony always associated the morning after so strongly with being rejected that the sex wasn't worth it to him. It always felt like he had burned through his worth and exceeded his welcome when the sun finally rolled back around.

Bucky smiled wide, and it was beautiful.

"I'd be happy to, darlin'."

~~~~~

Tony jerked awake when his phone slipped out of his hand and landed on his foot. It hadn't hurt, but he cursed wildly anyways. The words made his racing heart and shaking hands feel better.

Tony tucked himself as far into the seat as he could go and pulled out his Stark Industries tablet—nothing hooked his attention like his engineering, and he needed to stop thinking about Bucky. At this rate, he'll be going from the plane to checking into a psych ward as soon as he landed from a breakdown.

(there's another one of his lies—there's so many now, aren't there? Because Tony learned long, long ago that nothing can take his mind away from James, from his Bucky—)

~~~~~

Tony is talking about his latest project, a robot that he's building that will end up being able to be coded to do chores and help around in a house.

"-and I know that I still need to work out all of the bugs, but he already wants to be so helpful! Well, I mean, he did try and poison me with a smoothie made out of motor oil, but it was an accident, DUM-E didn't mean it. Plus, I really-"

Bucky pulled Tony more into his lap, and Tony's rambling didn't even falter while Bucky manhandled him into a more comfortable position on their shitty couch. Instead of having his own space on the sofa, Tony's body was tucked into the crook of Bucky's arm and his legs were draped over Bucky's. Satisfied that he could hold Tony completely, Bucky curled a hand around one of Tony's ankles and rubbed the skin softly while Tony kept talking about his robot and all of the things he was going to do with it.

They were still there two hours later when Steve came home from work.

"Tony are you staying over tonight?" he asked, popping the tab on a soda and stealing the leftover pizza from the pie they had ordered earlier today.

"I don't think Bucky's going to let go of me."

"Nope."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe I'm still waiting for you two to leave the honeymoon phase. Disgusting."

"Shut your mouth, Stevie, I've had to stumble across you and Peggy trying to suck each other faces off enough times to file for compensation. I think you can handle me holding my boyfriend."

"Oh relax, jerk."

"Punk."

Steve chugged the rest of his soda and recycled the empty can. He tipped his head to the two of them on the couch still.

"Night, Tony. If you wake up before noon I'll make you pancakes. Bucky, try to not fuck him through the mattress all night, you've got eight-am's tomorrow and you're cranky without your beauty sleep."

Tony laughed and wished Steve good night while Bucky scowled, tossing some luke-warm insult over his shoulder at his punk-ass best friend.

"You want to head to bed? I know you may not want to admit it but you like your sleep almost as much as me."

"It's only a little past ten, why don't you finish what you were telling me 'bout, alright, doll?"

~~~~~

Bucky blinked back to attention when the little bell at the front desk was rung for a third time. Jumping up from his chair, Bucky emerged from the back office.

"Sorry, what can I help you with?"

The customer explains that they made an appointment for Bucky to check their transmission and the work is welcome to keep Bucky's mind off of… things. Things like fingers twisted around his and giggled kisses.

Bucky pulls on gloves and grabs what he needs, glancing at the clock.

Just about nine-thirty in the morning.

Bucky may be taking off early so he can get cleaned up before driving down to the park, but the short day seems irrelevant when he has a feeling that today will drag long enough to border eternity.

~~~~~

"What do you need?"

For a shameful, terrible moment, Tony nearly told him to fuck right off. Fortunately, Tony didn't have the capability or the autonomy to use his vocal chords right now. They were just… not working. Nothing was.

Instead of saying the biting words that he wanted, Tony was just silent.

Bucky didn't say anything either, but he also didn't leave—Tony could feel the eyes on him, boring into his back, cracking Tony's pathetic and curled up form open, seeing the black in his lungs and the fury making him sick, the grief and confusion tearing him apart.

The bedsprings shifting on Tony's shitty college bed was the only indication that Bucky had moved, and then there were arms gently winding their way around Tony's body, pulling him back up against Bucky.

But Tony didn't want that—he didn't want to he held and shushed and placated, he wanted to scream and rip out his own fucking hair, drink the nearest bottle of jack and mix it with oxy, he wanted to hurt, he wanted to hurt.

He did not deserve this, and he did not want it, and he tried to push Bucky's arms off of him, tried to struggle out of his grip and shove his way free, but no matter how many elbows Bucky caught and how many frustrated grunts that Tony let out, he didn't let Tony go. Instead, Bucky just held him for a moment, for two, and Tony's cries muffled through clenched teeth turned into sobs, and he still couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"I've got you," Bucky murmured, turning Tony around and tucking him right under his chin. Strong arms freely found themselves holding Tony's shaking form close, and it was too much touch, too much stimulation, but at the same time it was not enough, he needed more, needed to feel Bucky around him completely so he would know that he was safe.

God, what a stupid thought. Safe? He needed to feel safe? From what, a fucking corpse? Howard was dead, he won't be saying a damn thing to Tony now.

When had Tony started crying? All of the sudden he was gasping through his tears and Bucky was still just there.

Something sounded like a wounded animal, and Tony had a sinking suspicion that it was him.

Bucky still didn't say anything.

Dead. Howard was dead. Gone, drunk and high on three separate drugs when he ended up wrapping his truck around a tree on the side of the road, and the amount of times that he had wished for that bastard's death was too high for him to try and count. Every biting remark, every slap, every hit, every breakdown, Tony remembered everything, and it all haunted him. Fuck. Howard had torn Tony apart time after time, and Tony hated him for everything he had done, everything he had taken away and destroyed, all of the pain he had beaten into Tony's short life.

Tony had nightmares and he still couldn't drink whiskey without flashing back, couldn't handle the smell of cigarettes and loathed anything to do with poker. He was in therapy and had so many fucking issues because of him, he was so weak because of him, yet here he was angry and sad and so fucking lost. Pathetic.

Bucky kissed the top of his head, humming something soft and Russian under his breath.

For some reason, it broke Tony.

Bucky had to sit them up because Tony was choking on his tears.

Tony wanted to scream at Howard, yell and rage about all of the misery and anguish that Tony has dragged himself through. He wanted to make Howard hurt as much as he had made Tony hurt, but he was dead, and the chance at validation, at acknowledgement that everything that had happened was Howard's fault, not Tony's was up in smoke. He would never make Howard understand what he had done.

And while Tony knew that their relationship could have never been salvaged, part of him still mourned at the loss of his father, at someone who had been tasked with protecting and loving him, and had failed. He mourned the life that he never had, the love he never got, and as Tony sobbed, Bucky just held him tight.

It's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it'sokayit'skayit'skayit's-

Tony didn't know if the words were Bucky's or if it was his own subconscious breaking down, but he also didn't care. Tony just clutched at Bucky's sweatshirt tighter and shook.

~~~~~

Tony swallowed his third Advil, rubbing at his temples.

"Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?"

"Please don't call me that. Tony is fine," he managed, his voice whispery and not sounding quite right. And Tony would have to leave her a huge tip because she just nodded, said "sure thing, Tony," and left him like he so needed.

Feeling like a dog licking his wounds, Tony desperately put in his headphones. He had a playlist for when he started thinking about Howard that helped to keep him grounded—ha, ironic, I'm on a bloody plane—and he didn't use it too often anymore, but he also didn't have Bucky around to hold him as he fell apart.

~~~~~

Tony threw his head back and moaned, hips stuttering as he sat himself fully on Bucky's cock. Hissing, Bucky clamped his hands onto Tony's hips and held him steady, held him still.

"Wait," he breathed, "you need to wait."

Tony whined and tried to move, but Bucky was too strong for Tony to break his grip and they both knew it.

"Bucky, Bucky please, oh god please, I need you, Bucky I need you." Tony gasped, leaning down and kissing Bucky desperately, like he was hungry. Bucky rocked his hips up just a little, then again and again, the pace slow and deep to open Tony up fully around his cock. He took command over their kiss and kept his control over Tony's hips firm. Sucking one last breathy moan from Tony's lips, Bucky let him go and laid back, his hands slipping down to rest on Tony's thighs.

"Ride me, doll. Show me how pretty you look on my cock."

Tony hissed out something that Bucky couldn't make out and then he was riding Bucky hard, mouth open and panting, hands pressed to Bucky's chest, moaning and gasping.

Bucky let Tony take what he wanted, and then when Tony's thighs burned too much to keep up with the speed he craved, the roughness which Tony wanted, Bucky flipped them and pinned Tony to the bed, sucking a deep bruise onto Tony's neck as Bucky made him moan, made him come, made him see stars.

~~~~~

Sam took the wrench out of his hand and pushed him towards the door, demanding him to leave already.

"Man, I love you, but you've been staring at the wall for the past five minutes. Your shift ends in twenty, and I don't care if you're my boss, you're in my way. The shop'll be fine, go on, I'll see you on Monday, alright?"

Bucky had a feeling that his hands were shaking.

~~~~~

"Open your eyes!"

Tony stepped back and watched Bucky's mouth drop.

"Doll?"

"I know, I know, I should have asked, but I kind of wanted it to stay a surprise? Anyways, I got it all done professionally, so you don't have to worry about some rando touching your guitar. It's been refinished and I had the guy fix the neck and your bridge, and everything's been cleaned and oiled and all sorts of other things. Oh! I also got it re-stringed for you, the expensive ones and everything. There's another pair in your case already for when you need them, and I sewed that rip on your strap for you. Now you don't have to have so many safety pins holding it together."

Tony felt his voice trail off a little when Bucky still didn't give him much of a reaction besides open-mouthed staring. He bit at his lip, shifting from foot to foot. Tony hadn't gotten him a new guitar specifically because Bucky loved his with his whole heart—it had been a gift from his ma when he was five, and the acoustic was probably the most important thing he owned. So instead, Tony had taken it to the most professional shop around and had the owner give it the works.

Finally, Bucky snapped out of his reverie and turned to Tony, his look unreadable.

"How did you… Tony the money… "

Tony frowned and stepped forward, shushing him before wrapping his hands around one of Bucky's and tugging him towards his guitar.

"My new job pays me a lot better, remember?"

"You were going to save it for a new set of tools, the fancy ones that you've wanted since forever, Tony, doll, why would you spend it on me?"

"Because I wanted to give you something nice, and I love you."

"Tony-"

"Shhh, don't. Do you like it?"

"Yes, god, of course-"

"Then that's more than enough for me."

Bucky kissed him hard, deeply, and in a rush. Tony just held on for the ride, trying his best to keep up with Bucky's kisses in between whispered thankyous upon thankyous.

Later that night Bucky treated him to the best performance of his life, worshiping him first with chords and plucked melodies and sung words, and then with his hands and his lips.

~~~~~

Tony stared down at the picture on his phone.

He had known that looking at the album sitting in the dusty corners of his storage was a bad idea, yet there he was, tracing the angle of Bucky's jaw with his eyes, heart aching as he drank in their smiles, their happiness, their love.

It had been a stupid selfie Bucky had surprised Tony with, his newly refurbished guitar in the background.

It had been Tony's homescreen for months.

Tony feels something crack in his chest.

~~~~~

They both stared at the screen of Tony's phone. On it was an email from Obadiah Stane with the details that Tony had asked for in regards to the job he had offered him. Stane had showed up a few days ago to the yearly exhibit the engineer majors put together to showcase their senior projects. He had been so impressed with Tony's AI JARVIS that he had nearly shoved a contract into Tony's hands then and there.

Bucky reread the whole thing again.

Massive benefits, a huge salary, head of R&D, creative freedom, all in-

"California. Bucky, this is in California, as in across the whole fucking country." Tony breathed out sharply, pushing the phone away from him. He got up abruptly and started to pace.

"This is exactly what I wanted, no, this is more that I ever thought I even wanted. Okay, sure, maybe I've thought about having my own company or something, but that would have never happened, you know? I knew I would get stuck in some regular job probably designing computer software or something just as stupid just for the money, but holy fuck, with this I can do something with my life! I can help people, my work can mean something, I can be someone, I…"

Tony trailed off and bit at his lip, arms crossed over his chest. Bucky frowned, knowing where this conversation was going to go immediately. He stood from the table and stepped into Tony's pathway, catching him as he walked right into Bucky's chest, oblivious to Bucky's movement.

"You already are someone, sweetheart, you don't have to prove anything."

Tony's head snapped up and he scowled, shoving Bucky's hands off of him.

"No I'm not. I make some things on the weekends and work at the diner to pay for college. This is my chance to actually do something with my life besides become the next drunk, coked-up, piled-in-debt Howard who is worth absolutely nothing. I can't do that, Bucky, I can't. I need to do something bigger than myself, to make a difference, and I can't do that in this crappy college apartment."

"Tony, you're not going to become the next Howard whether you take this job or not."

"You don't know that!" Tony yelled, his hands up in his hair, wrapped around the roots.

Bucky closed the distance between them in two strides and gently took Tony by the wrists, making him relax his harsh grip.

"I do!" Bucky said, nearly just as loud as Tony had been to make sure that it sunk into Tony's brain. He immediately brought his volume down. "Anthony Edward Stark, I know you, and I know that you would never become that goddamn bastard. You are too good of a person, too good of a man, to even think about half of the shit he's pulled. It doesn't matter if you do nothing but tinker on the weekends and work some boring job for the rest of your life, you'll still be a million times better than Howard. Your worth and morals are not based on if you have a fancy job in California or not."

Tony looked like he wanted to believe Bucky, but that there were still parts of him that didn't. Sighing, Bucky folded Tony into his arms.

He understood Tony's all-consuming need to be someone, he really did. Howard had drilled it into Tony's head that he was nothing and that he would also never be anything, and Tony had a craving to prove him wrong and to rub it in his face. Tony kept trying to grab at every opportunity that he could to help people, to show his brilliance, to improve the lives of others, and as much as he succeeded, it wasn't enough for him.

Ever since Tony had escaped from Howard's grasp, he had been trying to find himself and heal, had been trying to scream that Howard was wrong, and part of that was the feral need to become and do whatever Howard said that he couldn't. In this case, it was the fact that Tony was determined to not live as a nobody.

Tony still tied his value to the standards Howard had set and his ability to exceed them, and Bucky hated how much pressure he put on himself. He hated how much pressure Howard had put on Tony, and how much he was still putting on him even now that he's dead and gone.

More than anything, Bucky hated how he can't do anything for Tony besides be there.

"I think you should take this," Bucky whispers, "not because of Howard, but because of how much you can help other people. I know that deep down that's the root of everything you do, and you can make such a difference in the world. You're not going to get another opportunity like this, Tones, and it'll be so good for you."

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky's back.

"You can't come with me. Your mom needs you here and I would never take you away from here, but I can't lose you, Bucky I can't-"

"Hey, who said anything about losing me, doll? Just because you might be in California for most of the time doesn't mean I'm gone. You're not going to ever get rid of me, alright?"

Tony's hands were shaking, and Bucky had a feeling that his would be too if they weren't clutched onto Tony so hard.

"Alright."

~~~~~

Bucky leaned his head against the tile of the shower, the water turned too hot, but Bucky didn't really care if it burned. He still had some extra time before he had to get ready and right now all of the memories were too much.

Tony had left for California three weeks later, and in the beginning everything was more than fine. But things had kept piling and soon it was too much for them to try and ignore, and it broke them apart and tore Bucky's heart to shreds.

He remembers the morning that the news had broadcasted Obadiah Stane being led away in handcuffs for murder, treason, money laundering, and all sorts of other offenses, and he still has the hole in his wall where he had punched through the plaster when he had thought about Tony trying to save the world and getting mixed up in all of Stane's shit, thought about Tony leaving everything in New York behind for a dream and getting it destroyed.

Thought about how Bucky had lost Tony for what? A lying sack of shit who was responsible for the deaths of thousands?

Because at the end of the day it didn't matter if Tony saved the world or not when Bucky could no longer call him his.

~~~~~

"Who're you texting, Tony? A pretty girl?"

Tony looked up from his phone and gave Obadiah a sheepish smile as he clicked the screen off. Bucky had been texting him, asking if Tony had time to skype tonight. When Tony said that he was busy, Bucky asked if he could make an exception, even if it was just for a minute because "it's been so long since I've seen you and I miss you, doll, I'm worried." Tony could admit that he's been brushing Bucky off recently, but he's been trying to not only stay in Obadiah's good graces, but also show that he can be the best employee Obadiah has. He needed to show Obadiah that he was worth the risk that he had taken on Tony. He needed to show him how much he was worth.

So what if Tony had forgotten a couple of calls? He's been working and inventing his days away. And it's not like Bucky was the only thing that he was forgetting—Tony could admit that he had lost weight because he was forgetting to eat and sleep in between projects.

(That little tid-bit had gone over swimmingly when he had told Bucky. He's been getting worried texts more and more recently as the time between Tony's apologies and Bucky's unanswered good mornings stretched.)

Tony was the head of R&D, it was expected that he worked the hardest—Obadiah expected that he worked the hardest—and Tony wasn't about to disappoint the man. He could take some long nights, it was fine.

Because honestly? What other employee had been up here in Obadiah's private office for a personal thank you?

Obadiah pressed a drink into Tony's hand, but the alcohol swishing in the crystal glass made his stomach turn. He started to say no, but Obadiah just kept smiling, refusing to take the glass back.

"C'mon, Tony, I'm trying to congratulate my favorite employee on his roaring success. You aren't going to waste my scotch, are you?"

Tony just stared at him for a moment, and he was four, Howard growling at him to stop being an ungrateful brat when Tony had cried at having to eat a half-cooked hot dog for the fourth day in a row. He was hungry, he needed something more, but he didn't understand why his dad could eat whatever he wanted and Tony's stomach had to hurt so bad.

"You'll be happy with what I fucking give you, brat."

Tony dug his fingernails into his palm and gritted his teeth, pushing down the panic flooding through his head and just barely stopping himself from running out of the room and calling Bucky, needing Bucky-

Tony took a deep breath, tripped his head back, and drank.

~~~~~

Tony was so jittery that he nearly forgot to grab his suitcase.

But soon enough he was in a taxi and leaning back in his seat as soft rock played through the old car speakers. He had toyed with getting his own car to pick him up, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself, and everyone traveled by taxi in New York anyways.

He knew that Bucky was probably well aware about the fact that he had his own company and was the CEO and founder of Stark Industries, the leading technology company in the world and responsible for cleaning up Obadiah's mess as well as the messes of other billionaires. Bucky probably couldn't make it two feet outside without hearing or seeing one of his products, and god that had to be annoying.

Tony had been the one to break up with him and Bucky still couldn't escape him.

In about twenty minutes, Tony would be seeing Bucky again for the first time in five years. Bucky had made him promise when Tony tried to end things that they would meet up and see where life took them. Who cared if they had found someone else or were married or had changed? They could find each other one more time and see where it took them, see if they could be friends and maybe go on a double date, or see what happened if they were both single. That's what Bucky had said—he hadn't cared what might happen in the future, but he had made it clear that even though Tony was cutting all contact with him, he still wanted Tony in his life in the future in any way Tony would let him.

He wondered if Bucky still felt the same.

When Bucky saw him again, would he be satisfied with the closure of one last afternoon together and be content in letting Tony go forever? Would he had finally come to his senses and wish he had never made that promise to Tony all those years ago? Would he be disgusted with the fortune belonging to Tony, with the man he had become? Would he show up at all?

Part of Tony scoffed, thinking about how he would rather Bucky ditch him than bring a new partner for Tony to meet, but that was just another lie—Tony was still pathetically grasping at any scrap of Bucky that he could get his hands on.

It's been five years and Tony is still mourning the loss of the love of his life.

~~~~~

Steve shook his shoulder to get his attention.

"Come on, we're shipping out."

Bucky grabbed his bag and stood, and he knew that Steve was following him.

It had been nearly three months since Tony had broken it off between them. Bucky had fought like hell to try and get Tony to realize that they could still fix their relationship, but he was stubborn and scared and being his normal, self-sacrificing self.

Tony had distanced himself a lot in the weeks since he had left, and Bucky knew that most of it was because he was being run ragged trying to get projects done before deadlines, trying to prove himself, trying, trying, trying. He was disappearing from everyone more and more, the stretches of silence growing day by day, and his self-worth was plummeting. Bucky could see it every time they had skyped and all of the tired phone calls they shared after work. It was the work, the stress, the new environment and the isolation and damn it all if it wasn't because of Obadiah because Bucky knew that he was a lying sack of-

Tony wasn't taking care of himself physically or mentally, and he was breaking.

And what Tony did when he broke was break everything else.

Tony had told him that he didn't want Bucky to be tied down with someone who didn't give him any attention, someone who wasn't what Bucky deserved, someone who was more trouble than he was worth, someone someone someone. And no matter how much he had cried or yelled or pleaded for Tony to just try, please doll just try, it still ended up with them both sobbing into their phones as Tony hung up.

Bucky had never felt so hopeless in his life, so powerless. The man that he loved was self destructing miles and miles away and when he needed Bucky the most Bucky couldn't even convince him to stay.

Looking back, the decision was a jerk-of-the-knee one, an impulse that Bucky ended up following through on in some stupid need to do… something. He couldn't explain it, but at the time it had felt right.

He had never liked the army, but now that his ma wasn't sick anymore and Tony was gone he signed up ten days later. Steve had tried to talk him out of it, but when Bucky stood his ground he just joined right there with him.

As Bucky handed his bag off before getting on the plane, he wondered if he would die at war. He had made Tony promise to meet with him in five years, at that one spot in Central Park that they liked to eat snow cones at. It was Bucky trying to grasp at a second chance with Tony. He was sure that someone else would scoop up his genius—god knows that anyone would be crazy to pass him up—and he wondered how much it would hurt when he saw Tony again and to be damned to only be friends.

He wondered if he would survive to see Tony again at all.

And some dark, twisted part of Bucky hoped that he didn't make it out alive.

~~~~~

Bucky put the kickstand down on his motorcycle and took his helmet off. He stubbornly ignored the second helmet that he had strapped to the side. It was Tony's old one, and no matter how many times he tried to tell his stupid heart that Tony wouldn't want to ride back to Bucky's apartment with him, he couldn't stop himself from bringing it with him anyways.

Bucky breathed in and out a few times, trying to stop the shaking of his hands.

It was hot enough outside to make Bucky sweat in his jacket even without the anxiety ramping up his heartbeat, but he didn't dare take the thing off. What would Tony think when he saw that he had a prosthetic arm? What would he think when he found out that Bucky had gone off to war in some kind of fucked-up suicidal quest to be more than useless and helpless?

What would Tony think when he found out that Bucky was stuck in the same damn place Tony had left him while he had landed among the goddamn stars?

Would Tony even want to get back together? Be friends?

Would Tony even want him?

~~~~~

Tony found Bucky sitting on their bench, two blue raspberry snow cones in his hands, leg bouncing.

For a minute, all he did was stare.

Bucky was more muscular and his hair was noticeably longer even if it was tied back at the moment. He was dressed in jeans and an unzipped leather jacket, showing his white t-shirt underneath. Paired with the dark hair, powerful boots, and shoulders wide enough to make Tony's look damn near feminine, he looked like he belonged on the motorcycle that Tony just knew he still had. God he looked… good. So good.

Tony's heart near burned when Bucky turned to him and smiled, those ice blue eyes just the same as Tony remembered.

"Hi," Tony breathed once he got close. Bucky held out one of the snow cones and Tony couldn't take it fast enough.

"Hi, Tony."

~~~~~

Hours later, they'd find themselves in Bucky's apartment, taking turns sipping from the last Coke Bucky had in his fridge after talking each other through the past five years and what had torn them apart in the first place.

For Tony, he couldn't explain how sorry he was for everything. He told Bucky about how easily he had fallen for Obadiah's manipulation, how he had pretty much destroyed everything good in his life by the time he had stumbled upon Obadiah's double dealing, explained how he had gotten Obadiah to jail, the drinking and the drugs, years of therapy, the work he put into building his company with the help of Pepper Potts, the woman that Tony virtually owed his sanity too after all of the craziness of his life. And with all of Tony's confessions, Bucky was sure to wipe away the tears and growl at every new revelation of fucked-up after fucked-up thing Obadiah had done, held him tighter as he revealed the self-destructive alcohol and drug haze he had created when everything fell apart.

Afterwards, Bucky told Tony about the war, about the explosion that had taken his arm, the helplessness, the pain, the flashbacks and the PTSD, the breakdowns and the therapy. He talked about how much Steve was there for him, about the repair shop he had opened, about how Sam and Clint were still around and working for him, and how he was doing alright, how he was healing. And Tony held him tighter through the explanations, rubbed his back when his voice caught and cried with him when everything hurt too much.

They were both broken, but no matter how much they tried to explain this to the other, it didn't seem to matter. Even with Tony's past sins Bucky still looked him in the eye and kissed him. Even with Bucky's scars and irrational fears, Tony still wrapped his hands around Bucky's metal arm and swore to make him the best prosthetic in the world, promised that no damage could ever make Tony stop loving him.

It was pushing two am now, but neither of them cared.

They had been waiting five years to break the silence between them forged with pain and misery, blocked and deleted numbers, mistakes and sorrow. And now? Now they weren't going to let one another go for the world.

"God do I fucking love you," Tony murmured, clutching at Bucky in his tiny kitchen. His voice was wobbly and the lump that had been in his throat all day was still there, but he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy.

That's a lie; I remember it perfectly. The last time I felt like this was five years ago.

"I love you too, doll, holy fuck do I love you too. Never stopped and I'm not gonna now," Bucky whispered through the tears rolling down his face. He had to be crushing Tony with how hard he was holding him, but he wasn't about to let go now, not for anything.

Tony only held him tighter.

~~~~~

Bucky let his fingers trail over Tony's jaw, the soft skin warm to the touch. Tony smiled.

"You're always so affectionate after you fuck my brains out."

"Lies. I'm always affectionate with you regardless as to how hard I fuck you."

Tony laughed and rolled onto his side so they were face to face. The smile on his face was so wide and loving, and Bucky wanted to keep Tony that happy for the rest of their lives.

Tony curled his fingers through Bucky's. Not ten minutes ago Tony had been damn near screaming Bucky's name as he came, and now he was nothing but softness rolled up in the golden light of the morning sun, precious and gentle, near bashful as Bucky kept looking at him.

Holy fuck did Bucky love him.

"Do you think we'll last, Bucky?" The words had been very obviously blurted out, and he instantly realized what he said and tried to backtrack. "Actually, that might be a weird question, sorry, don't answer-"

Bucky shushed him and pulled him close, tucking Tony under his chin and pressing a dozen kisses to the top of his head.

"Forever, doll. I'm going to take care of you forever."

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1083

surveys by chasingghosts

Just a boring word association survey inspired by one of my old ones. Say the first thing that comes to your head. Don't overthink it :)

Keyboard: Monitor.

Dog: Dalmatian.

School: Pencils.

Italy: Roman Holiday. Ahh one of my favorite movies; such a classic.

Fire: BTS, heh.

Table: Chairs.

Mask: Face mask. New normal and all.

Blanket: Weighted blankets. I still don’t get how they work and I keep imagining that a 20-lbs blanket would feel too warm...I guess I’m willing to try it for a night, but I dunno if I would want to spend 5,000 bucks on one.

Gun: That curly-haired blonde dumbass from the US who keeps bringing one around.

Soda: Fizzy. Do not like.

Man: Trash.

Beautiful: Beast. Beautiful and the Beast is the knockoff version, hahaha.

Country: Roads.

Dictionary: Thesaurus.

Play: Playgrounds.

Yoga: Mat.

Cross: Country.

Happy: Emojis.

Change: Coins.

Orange: The fruit with the same name. Also, hair dye.

Cereal: Fruity Pebbles and Lucky Charms.

Record: Vinyl records, aka what I would like to invest in eventually.

Jail: The Shawshank Redemption, even though I personally didn’t really like it lmao.

Tank: This made me think of the Elisa Lam case. It’s unfortunate what happened to her but personally, I’ll always be more disturbed by the stories of people who had to drink or bathe in that nasty contaminated water.

Plane: Travel. :(

Machine: Factories.

Empty: Outer space.

Medicine: Nasty taste. Whenever I was sick as a kid my parents/grandma always made me drink Tempra which tastes like shit and it took a lot of effort for me not to throw them back up. I hope kids these days have more better-tasting options for medicine.

Stockings: Uncomfortable. I hate stockings and always dread occasions where I’ll have to put them on. Fortunately I haven’t had to for five years now.

Curry: Spicy and aromatic.

Football: Superbowl. Or is it SuperBowl? Super Bowl? Anyway, that event.

Blonde: Jennifer Aniston, heheh.

Pink: Barbie.

Cart: Online shopping.

Bag: Herschel.

Bourbon: Breaking Bad, though I’m not sure if it was indeed bourbon that Hank/Walt regularly drank. First thing that came to mind, though.

Karaoke: Philippine parties.

Caterpillar: That chemical they release when they’re stepped on.

Wizard: Harry Potter.

Number: Queues, lol.

Tired: Myself.

Baby: Baby videos.

Beach: Moana.

Castle: The first thing I thought of is this big orange castle - that is actually an inn - that I would have to pass by every single morning on my way to school, from kinder to high school. It looked like such a pretty, magical castle as a kid and I, along with probably all of my schoolmates who went the same route, thought a real princess lived in it; it just felt that magical. But as I got older I realized most inns/hotels with outlandish gimmicks are the cheap and tacky ones, so the magic was ruined for me as the years went by, haha.

Rock: Patrick Star from Spongebob, since he lives under one.

Hotel: Top-notch hospitality and service.

Weather: Gloomy.

Beanbag: Comfort.

Clean: Vacuum cleaners...and my mom.

Angry: Rage.

I was inspired to make this when I saw a similar survey on here. Answer true or false, or simply mark an 'x' for what applies to you.

Michelle:

You love anything Disney related. I mean not anything? I wouldn’t want Disney merch of every single thing that could be turned into merch; but I do love Disney movies and they have always been great at creating songs that make you feel all magical and giddy inside.

You find any excuse to go shopping. False. I haven’t created a hobby out of shopping; at least not yet, I think. But going inside H&M several times for the past month to buy gifts for my friends has definitely helped in making me see the appeal of shopping. For now, though, I’d still rather do my browsing and shopping in non-clothing stores.

You’re younger than most of your friends. False. I have older and younger friends, but most of them are also 1998 babies since most of my friends are the people I went to school with.

You have really long hair, to your waist or longer. False. It has gotten a lot longer over the past year, but it’s still only up to my upper chest.

You’re pretty antisocial. False. I don’t like throwing this term around loosely because it’s a real personality disorder. I have also gotten more comfortable with people in the last few years and I don’t prefer to be alone anymore.

You have a pet dog/cat that sleeps in your bed with you. False. Either are terrible in staying in bed.

You haven’t had your first kiss yet. False. I had it six years ago, and I have shared hundreds and probably thousands of kisses after that.

You’re Asian. We finally got one! Haha.

You’re good at cooking. Yeah, this is the biggest false statement in this category.

You have dreams of working as a chef. I can see how it’s appealing, but it was never a career dream of mine. My dad is a chef, though.

Cheyenne:

You’re blonde, but not naturally. I currently don’t have plans to dye my hair blonde.

You always have your fingernails painted. False. I’m the complete opposite of this, but I do want to start having my nails painted professionally as a way to pamper myself from time to time.

You obsess over things easily, to the point of them taking over your life. True, I guess. I get very sensitive and I overthink and overanalyze a lot of actions and situations that aren’t meant to be more than what they actually are. Just last night and this morning I had a bunch of dreams that had to do with a work-related problem I ran into last night. When I feel anxious about something, they would undoubtedly take over my life and it would take a while to break free from them.

You spend a lot of time on the internet. For almost every single minute that I am awake, yes. Sometimes I’ll attempt to disconnect every now and then - which I’ve been better at, to be fair to myself - but it’s always only a matter of time before I will have to look something up on Google.

Your phone may as well be surgically attached to your hand. True. I will occasionally turn it completely off so that no notifications come in, especially during weekends and holidays; but it stays close to me all the same.

You use Snapchat way too much. False. Not anymore, but I definitely used too. I had Snap streaks of varying lengths with a lot of my friends back then.

You eat a lot of fast food. True and I don’t really feel bad about it, lmao. I love food that tastes good.

You love a bit of gossip. Also true. Not my nicest trait but I do like to keep updated. I mostly receive them though; I never spread or start any myself.

You’re really good at keeping secrets. It’s not my story to tell, so yes, true. I used to share secrets only with Gabie since she was very forgetful, but obviously I don’t have that kind of person anymore.

You’ve never had a boyfriend/girlfriend. False. I’ve had one and we had two stints together.

Morgan:

You work as a receptionist. False, but my mom used to be one. This was before she made the transfer to a more corporate workspace as a secretary.

You eat a lot of food yet you’re still so thin. True. Runs in both sides of the family.

Your siblings are your best friends. My sister and I have a very casual relationship, and while we’re on great terms we don’t do cheesy nor sentimental. I’m not on speaking terms with my brother.

Not many people see your face without makeup. False. Everybody sees me without makeup all the time precisely because I don’t like putting makeup on.

You spend your money carelessly. I can, especially when it comes to spoiling myself or other people. But I am also equally good at saving if I have to.

You dream of living overseas one day. I can confidently tell you that a lot of Filipinos consider this because the situation here hasn’t been stable for the longest time – politically, because we’ve always been led by incompetent heads; economically, because of the Marcoses’ dictatorship and abuse of power and the country’s funds; and socially, because of all the backward, Catholic stances that my country continues to stand for. I would love to live in a place where I wouldn’t be glared at for holding a girl’s hand or where most people are educated enough to vote responsible people into office.

You have a penpal. False. Never had one, never been interested in finding one.

You’re older than most of your friends. False. I vibe the best with people my age so even if I do have some younger friends, my comfort zone are with those who are also 22.

Most of your friends live out of town. An overwhelming majority of them live in Metro Manila, yes. I live just right outside so technically I’m the one who lives ~out of town~

You swear like a sailor. Eh, not anymore. I still let out a number of swear words daily, though. Just not in every sentence.

Tom:

You have so many nicknames that it’s hard for you to keep track. False. I have a grand total of one nickname, and even that is just reserved for family. Most people just call me Robyn.

You have large feet. False as well. My feet are small and can easily slip into size 5 or 6 shoes.

Most of your friends are of the opposite sex. Can’t say this is true. I can only think of one guy friend, who is Hans. I haven’t been able to keep up with my other friends, like JM and Ed, since most of them are busy with either law or med school, and simply because Covid has kept us from seeing each other.

Romantic relationships make you shy and nervous. Getting into one does. Once settled I’m pretty comfortable, mainly because I enjoy nothing more than looking out for the people I love. I’m not looking for a relationship though; not anytime soon.

You watch reality shows religiously. Eh, I wouldn’t describe it as ‘religiously’ but I do watch my fair share of them from time to time when I just want stupid, too-easy-to-digest content.

Pop music is your favourite. One of my favorites. I used to be shy about liking Top 40 songs but the older I get the more I realized that that’s music snobs’ problem and shouldn’t be mine.

Family is very important to you. Only because I’m Asian and family being ~important comes as a default the moment I was born. I’m not emotionally close with them though and they honestly probably wouldn’t weigh so much if I had to make major decisions, like migrating to the other side of the world or having a civil wedding.

You’re the youngest child in your family. False - complete opposite. I am the eldest.

You call your mother by her first name. False. Save for others who may not have the best relationships with their mothers, why would someone do this? :/

You dream of living in a big city one day. True. Yeah, absolutely. Give me all the construction noises and busy traffic and skyscrapers. I feel like I would be the most alive I’ve ever been once I start to live in a loud and hectic big city.

Harry:

You’re determined and motivated in all aspects of your life. Not always. That sounds exhausting. I allow myself to take a breather every now and then; and if I want to be unproductive for a while, I don’t ban myself from being so.

You’re much taller than the majority of your friends. Haha, definitely false. I belong to the smaller batch. I had a massive growth spurt from ages 9-10 but then it just kinda stopped there lol.

You go to the gym at least three days a week. Not the gym, but I do work out from home with that frequency.

You care a lot about your appearance. Ehhh I’m gonna say false. Having to stay/work from home does that. I like dressing up when I get to go outside though, since I seldom get to do it.

You’re a social butterfly. Trueish. I do like being around people more and more now, yeah; but of course, it’s still a work in progress for me. One thing I’m sure if is that I’m definitely not as introverted as I used to be and I have no problem opening up in a group.

You party almost every weekend. I’d love to, but can’t do that for the meantime.

You’re very straightforward and never repeat yourself. Ideally, yes. I like to move on quickly from things and settle them as fast as I can.

You love to write and have been told you’re talented. I do like to write, just not fiction stuff. Writing is my main talent and so I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on it over the years.

You consider yourself intelligent. Booksmart, at least.

You’re a bit of a player. Like, when it comes to relationships and flirting? ...Hell no. Again, very straightforward person lmao I’m either in a relationship or not.

Zack:

You’re in a band. False. Never been and never been interested.

You’re straight-edge. HAH, remember when I claimed to be edge when I was a teenager...I will say that listening to punk throughout high school and being familiar with the straight edge scene gave me a sense of belonging for a time, and it taught me so many important mindsets like positive mental attitude. But I can admit to myself that straight edge was a commitment I failed at, and as the saying goes, “If you’re not now, you never were.” I’ll always be thankful to the movement for helping me keep going during my tough teenage years, though.

You can play two or more instruments. Will it count if I say I know how to play the recorder, maracas, and the triangle? Hahahahaha but in all seriousness, I believe I don’t deserve to bold this.

You’re an uncle/aunt. I’m a godmother, which is pretty much aunt status in the Philippines. My godson is my first cousin though, and him being my cousin takes precedence over the fact that he is my godson.

You love Doctor Who. False. Never got into it.

You’re short for your age and most of your friends tower over you. I’m shorter, thinner, and look younger for my age. Long story short, I look like I’m 16 and I’m the one who gets ID’d the most whenever I enter bars or malls. I always feel triumphant whenever I get to show my driver’s license to judgy bouncers or security guards who look at me all conceitedly, though.

You’ve been cheated on before. False. My ex is heavily against cheating, and I always trusted her.

You have a big family. Any Asian would bold this, let’s be real. My immediate family itself is small with only 5 members; but my entire family – 1st cousins, 2nd cousins, 3rd cousins (and so on), cousins-in-law, cousins of cousins, aunts- and uncles-in-law, great-aunts/uncles and all – would amount to hundreds of relatives.

You have a nap every single day, without fail. Can’t do that as I have a busy 8-hour shift each weekday and I make up for it during weekends by drinking multiple cups of coffee a day.

You’re mostly quiet, but you can be loud when the situation calls for it. Definitely true. Or when I’m with the right mix of people.

Jenny:

You’re really good with computers. False. I know most things a Gen Z-er would know about, like basic spreadsheet formulas, keyboard shortcuts, how to retrieve files that crashed – basically the stuff that would let me survive at work; but to this day, I will still ask my much-techier sister how to download fonts or open ZIPs or compress photos.

You’re shy. At first; but I no longer have a hard time warming up to new people or situations.

You underestimate yourself often. True. While I know this isn’t a very good trait of mine, I find that it’s actually helpful sometimes? Setting my expectations low helps make me proud of myself whenever I succeed or excel at a task. In the long run, I’m okay with this mindset.

You recently moved house. The last time I did this was in 2008. I’m not looking to move out any time soon either as I make far from enough to afford even just renting a place.

You have a German Shepherd. False. The only people I know who own one is Chelsea’s family, but it’s been like five years since I saw that dog.

You wear baggy clothes. False. Not my style.

You almost always wear a beanie. False. I am never seen with a beanie and I only wear one when I’m in places with a much colder climate than Manila, like Baguio.

You have long hair if you’re a boy, and short hair if you’re a girl. Also false. My hair has since gotten a lot longer, and I’m due for another trim.

You recently got out of a really long relationship. True. Not my choice, but true.

You’re in a band. Again, never been.

Emily:

You’re a really good drawer. You mean an artist? False. At 22, I can only promise you stick figures.

You can’t help but doodle on anything you see. If there’s a pen and scratch paper lying around that are free to use, I will most definitely use up the whole page. Instead of doodling, though – since I can’t draw – I write things, practice my penmanship to make sure it hasn’t gotten all rusty, and whatnot.

You want a career in art. False. That career path has always been paved for my sister.

You’re basically a personal taxi service for your friends who can’t drive. Hahaha this was essentially me in pre-pandemic days. Driving is such a simple good deed for someone considering the shitty public transportation in my country, and I would’ve been an asshole if I didn’t do anything to help my friends out.

Jeans and band shirts are your favourite thing to wear. Mom jeans and just *t-shirts are overall a great casual combo that never gets dated; but I don’t do band shirts.

You’re always wearing a necklace and lots of wristbands/bracelets. False. I would love more jewelry, though.

You have a lot of piercings on your ears. Also false. I’m not interested in piercings.

Your hair is currently an unnatural colour. False. It’s just black.

Not many people see your loud and boisterous side. I save this for my super super close friends.

You have several friend groups which you move between often. I can think of three off the top of my head.

Jack:

You always seem to have a boyfriend/girlfriend. This was me for six yearssssss, haha. The image I held for the longest time is that I was off the market and was in a happy, fulfilling, long-term relationship; so these days, it can get kinda fun watching people fumble around, not used to seeing me single again after what feels like a lifetime.

You have a fear of being single. I used to, only because I was taken for a really long time. I didn’t know if singlehood would work out for me, or how I would handle it. It took some getting used to but I’m happy now. I’m not looking to date, much less consider jumping into another romantic relationship.

When you’re not in a relationship, you’re a big flirter. Not at all. The flirting/dating scene is just not for me.

You are really sensitive and sympathetic towards your friends. I mean...like any good friend? Lmao.

Music means a lot to you. It doesn’t keep me alive per se, but sure.

You often overdo it when you drink alcohol. I wouldn’t say so. I like chugging a lot within the first 30 minutes (which helps because I’m low-tolerance and get lit way earlier than others do lol) but because I’ve always had to drive myself home after drinking nights in college, I’ve been conditioned to still be responsible with my alcohol and to start sobering up 2 hours before I have to leave.

You have no shame and love to be silly and have fun. I do like having fun in many ways, but I am probably the most rigid among my friends. I don’t really like doing silly dares or skits or dances in public.

You’re impulsive and this isn’t always a good thing. I’m working on it and have been better at it over the last few months. Now I take more time to think about things and weigh them out before I make a decision.

You have facial hair. False. There’s some light hair above my lip, nothing super thick or recognizable.

You have a baby brother/sister. False. I have younger siblings but I call neither of them my baby sibling because they are 20 and 17, lmao.

Nicole:

You’re madly in love with your significant other. I don’t get to answer this anymore. If you met me at an earlier time I would’ve gladly said yes, though.

You want to get married when you’re young. False. I want to get married when I feel mature enough and financially capable of handling a marriage and the things that can come out of a marriage, like a house and kids.

You’re quite petite. I’m naturally petite, yes. I’ve always been on the skinny side and I’m also shorter than most of my friends.

You dye your hair regularly. False. It has stayed black all my life, but I do want to experiment with green.

It’s almost impossible for you to feel the cold. False. I’m very sensitive to the cold and will shiver easily in an air-conditioned room.

You’re really good at flattering other people. Sure, I like giving compliments and reassurances.

You’re very self-conscious. And very insecure sometimes, yeah.

You find it difficult to make new friends. Sure, but only because I like to control the people that are in my circle. I’m not desperate to have hundreds of friends so this isn’t an issue for me.

People often stereotype you as emo. I have never gotten this before.

You’ve come a long way in the past couple of years. What can I say? Been through a lot, been through hell and back, been discarded and doubted, but I’m still here.

The end.

Who were you most like? Cheyenne. Cute name, too.

#survey #surveys #multiple surveys

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beckzorz · 5 years

Text

Pizza Night (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Words: 1967 Summary: What makes this pizza night different from all other pizza nights? A/N: Happy holidays ;-) Something of a companion piece to Snowed In (thematically, anyway). Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.

The third Sunday of every month is pizza night at the compound. Tony gets pizza delivered straight from the city, usually from a different place every month, for absolutely everyone—janitors, Avengers, programmers, medics, doctors, physical therapists…

And you.

Pizza night is one of your favorite traditions here. It’s less classy than the cocktail party-type get-togethers that Tony likes to throw; no mixed drinks, just water, soda, and beer for those inclined. And yes, you do like getting dressed up once in a while, but there’s effort involved, and your job is enough work, thank you very much.

Unwinding without expectations is nice.

Also, pizza.

—

“Hi Paul!” You slide into the passenger seat of your neighbor’s car and tuck your shopping bag between your feet. “Thanks so much for the ride.”

“No problem,” Paul says. He pulls away from the curb and drives towards the compound. “It’s literally five houses out of my way.”

“Yes, but still.” It’s cloudy but warm, so you open the window and let your hand dangle, catching the wind between your fingers. “How’s it feel to have tax season over?”

Paul groans in relief. “Oh my god, like freedom herself came and blessed me with those lottery days off last week.”

You laugh. Most accountants are dull as the grave, but Paul’s pretty funny, all things considered.

“What’s in the bag?” he asks.

“Oh…” You shift a little in your seat. “Just some stuff for tonight.”

“Fun,” he says.

“Mm.”

Your noncommittal answer doesn’t lead to a reply, and Paul turns on NPR. All Things Considered is good as far as radio shows go, but tonight your mind is wandering.

Pizza night’s going to be a little different this time around, and the thought of standing out makes your heart squeeze painfully. You’ve only been at this job long enough to take part in five, maybe six pizza nights, and you’re just starting to feel comfortable enough to make some waves. A suggestion for implementing a new project, a few more personal effects by your desk… It’s all gone well, but tonight?

You’re not sure.

It’s another fifteen minutes before you and Paul flash your security badges to the gate guard. There’s already a bunch of cars in the front lot—no surprise; the compound runs 24/7. Paul squeezes into a spot between two SUVs, and you suck in your breath to slip out of the car with your bag.

The second you walk into the right building, your mouth starts to water. You can smell it all—the bakery smell of the crust, the gooey cheese, the garlic. Even the tang of pepperoni, which you don’t eat.

It smells like a greasy pizzeria, replete with checkered tables and silvery napkin holders and rotating countertop displays with slices waiting to be shucked onto paper plates. It smells like a hole-in-the-wall with a gruff chef whose mouth would give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money. It smells like the kind of place you don’t wear white to.

It smells like heaven.

“Fuck,” you mutter, and Paul chuckles beside you.

“Eager, huh?”

“Not exactly.” You shift your bag to your other hand and try to keep your breathing steady.

Paul gives you a funny look, but he doesn’t push as you both climb up the lobby stairs to the lounge. He nods at you and makes a beeline straight for the buffet table. You don’t follow quite yet.

You pause by the top of the stairs as you take it all in. Maybe it’s a little cliché, but you still can’t quite believe your luck. How many people can say they work with superheros? Eat pizza with superheros? Sure, some of them are away right now—it’s Easter today, after all—but there are still plenty here tonight. Steve Rogers, of course, and his cute friend Bucky Barnes. Natasha Romanoff, Vision, Wanda Maximoff. Plenty of people.

Someone bumps into you, and you tighten your grip on your bag and make your way to the kitchen. It’s commercial-sized, with an oven the size of a closet full of oozing pizzas waiting to replace the ones on the buffet. You pause in front of it, gazing longingly at the rotating rack of pies, before one of the outside waitstaff ushers you aside.

You snag a plate from a cabinet and a spoon from a drawer. With a heavy heart, you open your shopping bag. Out comes a box, a bag of shredded mozzarella, a glass jar of marinara sauce. You carefully spread the sauce and sprinkle the cheese. Sixty-six seconds in the microwave, and you sigh as you pull the warm plate out.

“What’s that?”

You jump out of your skin. Natasha Romanoff is at your elbow, eyeing your plate curiously.

“Oh, uh, hi, Natasha.” You shift your weight, cheeks hot. “It’s matzah pizza.”

“Oh right,” Natasha says. “It’s Passover, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” You force a smile and squeeze by her to get back to the lounge, but she sticks to you.

“Isn’t all this—” she gestures to the pizza buffet as you pass by— “awfully tempting?”

You snort. “Of course! And it’s only day two.”

“Eight days?”

“Outside of Israel, yup.”

“And no bread?”

“No bread, no cake, no pasta—well, no normal pasta, anyway—no cereal, no oatmeal, no beer, no cookies,” you rattle off. “And I’m sure I’m missing something.”

Natasha puts a hand on your arm and leads to the couch she usually shares with some of the other Avengers. You sit down, head swimming with surprise. You usually hang out with coworkers from your department, not… the department.

Still, you do your best to smile at Steve, who’s next to you.

“How are—oh,” he says. He blinks at your pizza, then looks back at you with a sympathetic wince. “You’re brave.”

“I would go with masochistic before brave,” you reply. You take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment before you pull yourself together. A bite of matzah pizza does nothing to resolve the craving for real pizza. “This is hell.”

Steve chuckles. “So why’d you come?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Natasha chimes in. She’s perched on the arm of the couch beside you, a half-eaten slice of pizza folded in her hand.

“Eh, pizza night’s my favorite thing we have here,” you say. “It’s nice to hang out without having to think about work, you know?”

“Fair enough.”

“Bucky,” Natasha says suddenly, amusement dripping from her tone, “you look like a fish.”

You turn to look up at Bucky. His eyes are glued to your plate. To your pizza. He snaps his mouth shut and swallows, glancing down at his own plate. He’s got two big pieces of pepperoni pizza, one piled on top of the other.

“Something wrong, Buck?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky says, but you don’t buy it for a second.

Based on their raised eyebrows, neither do Natasha and Steve. Bucky nudges Steve’s leg with his boot, and Steve shifts over as much as he can.

Bucky sits down next to you, his thigh pressed against yours. He discards his pizza on the coffee table and sits back, still looking at your plate. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, pizza smell be damned. So close to Bucky, you’ve caught whiff of something a million times more intoxicating. He smells intoxicating, all heady and exhilarating and distinctively unique.

Greasy pizzeria as heaven?

No, heaven is sitting next to Bucky Barnes, his solid thigh against yours and his hand brushing your arm from where it’s slung on the back of the couch.

“You know,” he says, voice small and almost faraway, “the missions used to come to the front for Passover.”

You blink. Bucky is still looking at the matzah pizza on your plate.

“The front? You mean, during World War II?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His eyes flit to yours, his lips quirking up just enough to set your heart beating a little faster. “Those seders were the best part of the year.”

You gape. It can’t be attractive, but—Bucky Barnes is Jewish? Like you? It’s impossible.

“I don’t remember any,” Steve says. “What about ‘44?”

“Eh, by the time you came along, we had other things to do,” Bucky tells Steve, but he’s still facing you. He lowers his voice, ducks his head a little as his gaze tightens on yours. “Can I—did you bring that?”

You nod, thoroughly speechless.

“Can I have one?”

“Just one?” Natasha teases. You huff a little, half amused, half offended on Bucky’s behalf, but he’s rolling his eyes fondly.

“Of course,” you tell him. You force yourself up from the couch, left thigh cold from the loss of his leg pressed against yours. Is your face as warm as it feels? Can they all see? “Be right back.”

But Bucky jumps to his feet before you can make your escape. “You gotta show me how,” he says. He puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you through the crowd to the kitchen, greeting some of the waitstaff by name.

You’re not just speechless now; you’re breathless. His hand on your back, with just a thin shirt between his metal hand and your skin. His rich baritone, the gentle smile you can see out of the corner of your eye if you turn your head just a little.

Out comes the matzah, the sauce, the cheese. Bucky grabs a fresh plate and watches with careful focus as you assemble a matzah pizza for him.

“Can I do more cheese?” he asks.

“Eh, you could, but if you do too much it gets soggy.”

“Fair.”

You stand side-by-side in front of the microwave as you punch in sixty-six seconds. The microwave comes on with a whoosh.

“So,” Bucky says. “I didn’t know you were Jewish.”

Your lips twitch. “Bucky, I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than half a dozen words before tonight.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he purses his lips in reluctant agreement. “But I didn’t know you were. And we learned about you all in school!”

“Well, my mom was. We didn’t practice or anything.” He tucks his hair behind his ear. “Not like you.”

“Everyone does it differently,” you say. “It’s all about what works for you.”

The microwave beeps, and Bucky pulls the plate out. “I haven’t really thought about it in ages,” he says. “But…” He smiles at you, eyes crinkling. “Maybe it’s time to see what works for me now that things have changed.”

“Hear hear!” You grin back. Never mind the heat in your cheeks—Bucky is smiling. At you. Who cares if you’re blushing? “No time like the present.”

“Amen,” he says. He lifts the plate close to his face and tries a bite of matzah pizza. His expression is thoughtful by the time he swallows. “I mean, it’s not as good as the stuff out there usually is, but it’s not bad.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m going to eat a whole pizza next month,” you tell him.

“Next month?” Bucky asks through another bite.

“Next pizza night,” you clarify.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing on his pale neck. “How long is Passover? Eight days, right?”

“Yeah…?” You tilt your head, confused.

“Forget next month. We can go for some proper pizza next Sunday. I mean—if you want?”

Bucky’s blue eyes are wide, hopeful as he looks at you. You can’t help smiling. Pizza to end Passover is an old family tradition, one you thought you’d miss out on now that you’re living so far from home. But it’s like Bucky said.

Time to see what works, now that things have changed.

“I want,” you say, and he grins back, smile as bright as the moon.

“To pizza night,” he says, lifting his matzah pizza in a toast.

You bump elbows with him, heart soaring. “To pizza night.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes #jewish bucky barnes

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iamsaha · 4 years

Text

Friend

Finnegan pulled her skirt up to show off some more leg and undid an extra button to show more cleavage. She frowned. The expensive push-up bra she had gotten - after telling herself that it was a work expense - was extremely uncomfortable. As if every dollar she had sunk into it was eager to remind her that it should have been spent on something else.

“Hey, Finn.” Roan came into the locker room, already in the process of tearing her shirt off. “Slow night.”

“Yeah? That’s good. Could use one.” Finnegan applied her lip balm, smacked her lips, and turned to face her friend. The brunette was massaging her own feet with a look of bliss on her face. “You alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” Roan smiled. “The night is slow but the day was packed. Especially this afternoon.”

“Lucky me then.”

“Yep.” Roan sighed as she got up to get changed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Finn. We’re both working the night shift.”

“Goodnight.” Finnegan hugged her friend and left the locker room. The dark hallway smelled of fried food, alcohol, and a slight hint of the lemon-scented cleaning product used to clean the floors. It was a combination of smells that Finnegan had hated at first when she first started working at Buck’s but now, after five years, it was something she could think of fondly. She thought it was weird she could do that but she didn’t question it. It’s always nice to have something to think of positively.

“Hey, gorgeous. Didn’t see you come in.”

“Well I didn’t want you to see me before I got all pretty.” Finnegan smiled at Cooper as he stuck his head out the kitchen door. “What do you think?” She twirled for him.

“You’d turn a gay man straight, Finn.” Cooper nodded approvingly.

“Well did I?”

“Nope!”

“Fuck you then.” Finnegan punched his shoulder and headed towards the main room. Roan was right. It was a slow night. She could count a grand total of ten customers in the restaurant’s fairly large main room. The majority, a loud group of five, weren’t even in her section. She watched for a second to see how they were treating the new girl, Shelly, as she dropped off their food. Their eyes wandered but that’s about it. Since adventurous eyes were encouraged in their workplace, Finnegan kept moving. As she passed them, one called out to her.

“How about you join us, sweetheart?”

“I’d love to but we’re not allowed to spoil our customers.” Finnegan winked at him. “Not too much anyway.” She lifted her skirt up to show off her thigh before letting it drop. That got her a cheer but otherwise the men left her alone. It was always risky pulling a move like that. Some took it as an invitation to get physically friendly. But most of the men at Buck’s were polite and knew what was allowed and what wasn’t. For the ones that didn’t, there’s a gentleman standing by the door that was very protective of his female coworkers.

“Good evening, sir, I hope you haven’t had to wait too long.” Finnegan said when she got to her first table for the night. “My name is Finnegan and I’ll be your waitress tonight. You can call me Finn.”

“It’s fine.” The man said. “Is Roan not in tonight?”

“Her shift just ended.” Finnegan frowned apologetically. “She your favorite?”

“I just had her a week ago, which was my first time here. I’m sure you can be my favorite.”

“I’m sure I can be.” Finnegan brightened up like he had just made her day and moved to stand by him, her hip resting against his upper arm. She put her arm around his shoulder and leaned over. “So what can I get started for you...?”

“Greg.”

“Greg! That was my high school volleyball coach’s name. Had the biggest crush on him.” Finnegan said. “What can I get you, Greg?”

“Just get me a diet coke for now, Finn.” Greg said. “Haven’t looked at the menu much.”

“Well how about I suggest an appetizer for ya?”

“Sure.”

She leaned closer and ‘casually’ pushed her breasts against the side of his head. “Our chef Cooper makes the best mozzarella sticks. I don’t know what he breads the cheese with but I think it’s drugs. And the marinara sauce that you get to dip with is to die for. ”

“Then I would love some of those.”

“I’ll get that right out for you, Greg.” She started the order on her tablet and put in what he had asked for. She squeezed his shoulder and went to the soda fountain to get his coke. On the way back she greeted customers that had just been seated. “I’ll be right with you gentleman.” She winked at them and they smiled back. She made sure to sway her hips a little extra on the remaining few steps to Greg. “Here’s your diet coke, sir.”

“Thank you.” Greg took a sip of the drink. “I think I’ll have Buck’s Burger.”

“Fries or onion rings on the side?” Finnegan asked. “Or a mix of both for just a dollar extra?”

“Neither, Finn. Trying to watch what I eat.” Greg shook his head. “Shouldn’t have said yes to those mozzarella sticks.”

“Well since you’re being smart and taking care of yourself,” Finnegan said. “You want a turkey patty for that burger instead of beef?”

“Does it cost extra?”

“Buck fifty buuuuut,” Finnegan said. “I do love a man that takes care of himself.”

“Turkey patty it is then, Finn.” Greg laughed. “You’re gonna get every penny out of me, aren’t you?”

“Well not every penny. I do want you to come back.” Finnegan grinned. “Just as much as you wanna give me.”

“Fair enough, honey.” Greg handed her the menu. “Now get this outta my sight before I get tempted by the other things on there.”

“Your appetizer will be here in a second.” Finnegan took the menu, dropped it off at the hostess’ podium, and returned to the two men that had recently arrived. “How y’all doing? My name’s Finnegan and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Call me Finn.” She said. “Or call me sweetie if that’s what you want.”

“W-w-we’ll call you F-Finn.” One man said, trying to seem like he wasn’t staring at her cleavage.

“Booo.” She said playfully. “How about you, sir? Will you call me Finn too?”

“I’ll call you sweetie, sweetie.” The other man said. He seemed at least a decade older than the first. “Lighten up Mike. You just hurt her feelings.”

“Oh. S-s-sorry.” Mike blushed and looked down.

“Don’t worry about it, Mike. Call me whatever makes you comfortable.” Finn smiled and patted his back. “What can I get you two to drink?”

“Got any new IPAs?”

“Electric Jellyfish.” Finnegan said. “Has a nice citrus flavor to it and our chef swears he can taste a hint of mango.”

“Two pints of that then!”

“J-j-just one.” Mike said. “I’ll h-h-have a water. With l-l-lemon.”

“It’s your birthday, Mikey. Come on.”

“I drove us here, Jake.”

“Ooo responsible. Love it. Happy birthday, Mike!” Finnegan smoothly interrupted before Jake could argue. “A pint of Electric Jellyfish for one cutie and a glass of water with lemon for the birthday cutie. Any appetizers?”

“Y’all still have those crab cakes? I didn’t see it on the menu but I’m hoping anyway.” Jake asked. Mike looked pleased at being called ‘birthday cutie’.

“Wow you’re a frequent customer aren’t you, Jake? Yes in fact we do still have the crab cakes. Secret menu item now.” Finnegan smiled. “How come I haven’t seen your smile around before?”

“Was out of town for a long while, Finn.” Jake said. “Came back just for my brother’s birthday.”

“That’s so nice of you, Jake.” Finnegan crooned. “Well I’ll get those crab cakes started and be right back with your drinks.”

“Enjoyin’ those mozzarella sticks, Greg?” She asked on the way to the bar. He gave her an appreciative nod and she winked in return. It was when Sal was pouring the beer for her that she saw that another man had been seated at her section. He was wearing a hoodie and seemed intent on keeping his hands in the kangaroo pocket in the front. On her walk back to Jake and Mike’s table, she noticed the new guest take a hand out for a brief moment. Finnegan thought she saw heavy bandages but the hand was put away just as quickly as it was brought out. “Here you go. Do you know what you want to eat? Or should I give y’all more time?”

“Some more time. Please.” Mike said. “Sweetie.”

“I think you’re the sweetie, Mike.” Finnegan winked. “I’ll be back in five.”

“How about sooner because we’ll miss you?” Jake grinned.

“As you wish.” Finnegan curtsied, being sure to tip her cleavage in Mike’s direction. Birthday boy deserved it. And she wanted to earn back the money she spent on the bra. Then, she walked over to her new guest. “Hello! Welcome to Buck’s. I’ll be your waitress Finnegan but please call me Finn. What’s your name?”

“Barry.” He said, keeping his head bowed but looking up at her from under the hood.

It worried Finnegan that he was keeping himself concealed but his table was close to the entrance. When she glanced at Brent, he nodded his head subtly. Satisfied that she’d be safe she returned her attention to Barry. “Very nice to meet you, Barry. What do you want to drink?”

“Water.”

“Just water? Not even a soda?” Finnegan smiled. “Our food goes well with sugary, bubbly drinks.”

“Water is fine.”

“Suit yourself, Barry.” Finnegan shrugged. “Any appetizers or do you need more time to look at the menu?”

“Time.” Barry said. “Please.”

“Sure thing, honey.” Finnegan smiled. “I’m a fan of those beer battered fish and chips you can find in the specials but I’ll get you whatever you ask for.” Instead of patting or squeezing his shoulder like she normally would have done, she tapped the table and smiled again. Before going to check on Shelly, she walked over to Brent. “Hey, baby.”

“Evening, Finn.” Brent nodded at her and gave the slightest of smiles. “How’s your sister?”

“Awww that’s so sweet of you to remember. She’s out of the hospital now. Trying to rest up but my new nephew isn’t letting her.” Finnegan said. “Keeps wanting his mama’s milk.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Listen. I know you already noticed but,” Finnegan lowered her voice just in case. “Keep an eye on the guy in the hoodie, will ya? I hate profiling him like that. But him hiding his face rubs me the wrong way.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you, Brent. You are the best.” She blew him a kiss and walked over to Shelly who was attempting to balance five drinks on a platter. “Oh sweetie here. Let me help you.”

“No no. I got it. I have to practice.” Shelly frowned stubbornly. “Thanks though.”

“If you say so. How’s your table treating you? Eyes only?”

“One put his hand on my ass.”

“Which one?” Finnegan tensed. “I’ll have Brent talk to him.”

“No no it’s okay. His friend hit him for me.” Shelly shook her head rapidly. “And it’s my fault anyway. I don’t know what’s too far and flirted with him a little extra.”

“Shelly. Sweetheart.” Finnegan sighed. “It is absolutely not your fault! You understand me? The rules here are simple. You flirt. You tease your body a little. But our customers are not allowed to grope you. They come here to look at something nice and get some extra attention while they eat good food. If they want to grope a woman they can get a prostitute or a stripper willing to bend the rules. Buck’s girls do not provide that service.”

“Okay, Finn.” Shelly smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I’m gonna go serve them now.”

“Remember, Brent is there for a reason. He’s our friend not our customers’.” Finnegan headed to Greg who had just been served his burger. “Well, Greg. How’s that burger treating you?”

“Treating me better than my ex wife.” Greg chuckled. “Wasn’t sure if I’d like the turkey patty but it’s damn good.”

“Well screw her if a patty is better!” Finnegan laughed with him.

“What’s that sauce on here? Never had anything like it.”

“Well that’s Buck’s secret! Even Cooper doesn’t know what’s in it and he made you that burger.” Finnegan said, then pointed over to a shelf situated next to the bar. On it were bottles of Buck’s Sauce. “You wanna take a bottle home with you?”

Greg looked over at the shelf, then pointed at the shirt rack next to it. “I’ll come back for the burger. But I think I will get myself a t-shirt. I should get the word out.”

“That would mean so much to me, Greg.” Finnegan grinned. “What size does a big strong man like you wear? A large?”

“Extra large, sweet heart.” Greg chuckled. “I wasn’t kidding about watching what I eat. I need to.”

“Oh hush you’re handsome.”

“I said I was fat, not ugly.” Greg winked.

That got a genuine laugh out of Finnegan. “Truer words have never been spoken. I’ll drop the shirt off in a minute.” She squeezed his shoulder and walked over to Mike and Jake’s table. “Well, gentleman. Enjoying those crab cakes?”

Mike hurriedly swallowed. “Delicious!”

Jake took his time chewing and swallowing, but he did smile at her. “Just like I remembered.”

“Wonderful!” Finnegan said. “Are you ready to order your main course?”

“Yep.” Jake said. “Mikey go ahead and tell her.”

“Oh. Uhm.” Mike’s face didn’t blush when he looked at her but his ears did turn lobster red. “I’ll have Buck’s Spicy Chicken Sandwich w-with fries on the side. A-and Jake wants the Southerner Chicken Sandwich. With fries. Fries.”

“Two chicken sandwiches for my boys, coming right up.” She placed the order on her tablet, then smiled at Mike. “I like your tattoos, Mike.”

“Th-thank you.”

“He’s a tattoo artist.” Jake chimed in.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“I’m an a-p-prentice still.” Mike corrected. “Not official.”

“Well you’ll need to practice on someone then, right?” Finnegan asked. “Why not me?”

“You have tattoos?” Mike glanced at her pale hands and arms.

“Where they are is a secret.” Finnegan winked but she did pull her collar to the side, slightly, revealing a hint of ink. “Write your shop’s name down when y’all pay the bill. I’ll come and check you out. See if we can work out a design.”

“C-cool. Thank you.”

“Told you coming here would be a good idea.” Jake grinned. “You just got a customer.”

“You sure did.” Finnegan squeezed Mike’s shoulder. “Alright I’ll be back in a bit. Need me to get a refill for that beer, Jake?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake got up, stuffing the last crab cake into his mouth. “Gonna head to the bathroom, Mike.”

Finnegan waved at Mike, winked at Greg as she passed him, and arrived at Barry’s table. “Well Mr. Barry. What can I get for you?”

“The fish and chips.”

“Sure!” Finnegan smiled. She noticed him peek at her before looking away. “No appetizers?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Suit yourself, Barry.” Finnegan shrugged. “It’ll be out in a little bit, alright?”

“Okay.” Barry nodded. “And a soda. Please.”

“Ahh changed your mind, did ya?” Finnegan said. “What kind of bubbly goodness do you want?”

“Dr. Pepper.”

“Man of excellent taste.” Finnegan gave him a thumbs up and patted the table. “I’ll be right back with that.”

She was getting that drink when Jake approached her. “Hey, Finn.”

“Hey, Jake.” Finnegan said. “Need something?”

“Just wanted to thank you for being so nice to Mike.” Jake said. “If you couldn’t tell, he’s a little awkward around women. It’s why I brought him here.”

“Well of course, Jake!” Finnegan smiled, leaning on the counter and facing him. “And he’s not that awkward. A little shy maybe. But it’s cute.”

“I’ve tried telling him that women aren’t scary but…” Jake sighed and shrugged. “Hopefully tonight helps a little.”

“I’m sure it will. I’m glad I can help.” Finnegan grabbed the fresh beer as Sal handed it to her. “And here’s that beer you wanted.” Finnegan watched him go, then headed to Barry’s table. “One Dr. Pepper for you, Mr. Barry.”

“Thank you.” Barry said. “Finn.”

“You’re welcome.” Finnegan said. “Anything else I can do for ya? You’ve got a good view of the tv so I can change the channel for ya, if you’d like.”

“That’s fine. I have my phone.” Barry gestured with his chin at his phone. The screen was filled with text.

“Oooo what are you reading?”

“Wheel of Time.” Barry said, tone hesitant. “It’s a series by…”

“Robert Jordan.” Finnegan finished. “I haven’t read it but it’s on my list.”

“Really?”

Though she couldn’t see his face that well, Finnegan was sure he looked shocked. “What? Can’t a pretty girl like me enjoy some fantasy?”

“You can. It’s just…”

“Surprising?” Finnegan laughed. “I know. I get it all the time. But I’m a fantasy nerd just like you.” She looked around then leaned over conspiratorially and whispered. “I’ve got a Brass Allomantic symbol tattoo on my waist. Do you know what that means?”

“Soother.”

“Yep!” Finnegan cheered. “Sanderson is an absolute genius, isn’t he?”

“He is.” Barry nodded.

“Well I’ll leave you to read. Don’t wanna get in the way of that. I know how annoyed I get when people interrupt my storytime.” Finnegan stood back up normally. “Your dinner will be here soon.”

“Thank you, Finn.”

Finnegan winked then went to grab an extra-large shirt for Greg. “Here ya go, Greg. And since you were being smart and taking care of your health, the shirt is on the house.”

“Really?” Greg beamed. “Can you do that?”

“Buck is flexible with his favorites.” Finnegan said. “And I’m his number one.”

“Seems like a great guy.”

“Only ones better than him are his customers.”

“You’re never off, are you?” Greg laughed. “With the customer pleasing.”

“Oh Greg I am always on.” Finnegan winked. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“Well I want a milkshake. But I wouldn’t want to disappoint you so I’ll just have the check.”

“Yay! Good man.” Finnegan jumped in place and clapped her hands together, pretending to not notice the attention it got from him. “I’ll be back with your check. The t-shirt will be on there, for our own inventory purposes, but you’re not going to be charged. If it seems like you were, though, let me know!”

“Thank you, Finn.”

Finnegan headed to Jake and Mike’s table after grabbing Greg’s check and dropping it off. “How are you boys doing?”

“Well I’m doing great.” Jake laughed, putting his sandwich down. “How about you, Mikey?”

“G-g-good.” Mike sniffled. He looked as though he had been crying.

“Awww Mikey… I assumed you could handle spice since you asked for it.” Finnegan held back a chuckle. “We usually do a complementary slice of cake or pie for birthday boys but we can do a milkshake instead. It’ll calm your tongue down. Vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry?”

“Vanilla.” Mike sniffled again. “Please.”

“Oh wow I’m so surprised you picked vanilla.” Finnegan smirked.

“Could I get a milkshake too? Chocolate.” Jake asked, watching her put in the order.

“You aren’t the birthday boy, Jake. You’ll be charged for that one.”

“Really?” Jake frowned exaggeratedly.

“Yep.” Finnegan frowned in response as a fake apology.

“Ah it’s fine. Bring me one anyway. Along with the check.”

“Sure! Be back soon, boys.” She walked over to Greg’s table and, when he caught sight of her, began dragging her feet in as slowly as she could without looking stupid. “Do you really have to go?”

“My dogs are waiting for me. So yes.” Greg smiled. “I had a good time tonight, Finn. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Give your pups extra belly rubs on my behalf.” Finnegan picked up his card along with the check. “And please do come back! Hopefully I’m the one that gets to wait on you.”

“I hope so too.”

After double checking that he hadn’t been charged for the t-shirt, Finnegan swiped his card. With his receipt printed, she returned to Greg’s table, once again walking as slowly as she could to it once they made eye contact. “Here you go, Greg. Drive safe.”

“Will do.” Greg said. “Listen. I know all the attention you give us and everything is part of your job. But it’s still really nice. And it feels authentic.”

“Wouldn’t feel right to me if I wasn’t being authentic, Greg.” Finnegan said. “It is my job. But I enjoy doing it.”

“I believe you.”

Finnegan hugged him from the side, once again pressing her breasts to his head, and walked to Barry’s table. “Mr. Barry.”

“Finn.”

“How are the fish and chips?” Finnegan asked. “As good as I promised?”

“Mhm.” Barry nodded. “Thank you.”

“I knew it! That’s what I always get when I eat here. Cooper is a genius cook.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“He’s a friend.”

“Oh! Didn’t know that.” Finnegan raised an eyebrow. “Well that makes you family. Sort of. How come we haven’t seen each other before?”

“Been a long time since I came here.” Barry said after a few moments of silence.

Finnegan assumed it had something to do with the bandages he kept hiding. “Ah. Well. Good to have you back, Mr. Barry.”

“Good to be back.”

Finnegan felt she could get him to talk more if she pressed him but decided against it. “After my other two customers leave, do you mind if I join you? I can take my dinner break early.”

“Oh. Sure.” Barry looked up at her in shock and she caught sight of a scarred face. He jerked his head back down immediately. “If you want.”

“Dinner is more fun with company.” Finnegan said. “Want me to bring over any dessert for you to have something to eat while I do?”

“Apple pie. If you have it.”

“We sure do!” Finnegan patted the table then went to grab the two milkshakes that were waiting for Jake and Mike. Once she had those, along with their check, she returned to the boys. “Here you go! One vanilla and one chocolate. Happy birthday, Mikey!”

Mike grabbed his and began sucking on the straw immediately. Jake laughed. “He says thanks.”

“Thank you…” Mike added quietly.

“You’re welcome. Are you the type to enjoy people singing happy birthday or….” She saw the look on his face. “No. Gotcha.”

“Aw come on.” Jake threw his hands in the air. “You being uncomfortable is the best part.”

“Birthday boy gets to pick.” Finnegan put the check in front of Jake. “And birthday boy’s brother pays, right?”

“Right.” Jake sighed heavily. He took his wallet out and gave her the card and check.

“Aren’t you gonna look at the check?”

“I trust a girl that works for Buck.” Jake smiled.

“Good policy. We’re the best.” Finnegan smiled back, then walked away to charge him. Despite her rush to get back to Barry, Finnegan checked to be sure Jake was being billed for the right items before swiping his card. Once that was done, she returned. “Remember. Write down your tattoo shop’s name, Mike!”

“I will.” Mike said. His milkshake was almost done.

“Careful! Don’t want you getting a brain freeze.” Finnegan patted his back playfully before giving him a pen to write with. “Alright then. You boys have a safe night, alright?”

“You too, Finn.” Jake said. “That’s what Brent over there is for, right?”

Finnegan laughed, gave them both a side hug, and grabbed the check from Greg’s table. She raised both eyebrows in surprise at the extremely generous tip he had left her before heading to the kitchen. “Hey, Cooper!”

“Hey, Finnegan.” Cooper didn’t look up from the burgers he was grilling.

“Your friend Barry is here. I’m serving him.”

“Is he? Cool.” Cooper smiled. “Been convincing him for weeks. Don’t bill him, by the way. His meal’s on me.”

“You got it.” Finnegan nodded. “Any chance I can be nosy and you can tell me what he’s hiding?”

“No chance, Finn.”

“Ahh that’s fine.” Finnegan shrugged. “Tell me this though. Is he a good guy?”

“The best.”

“In that case, could you have some fish and chips sent over to his table for me? I’m taking my dinner break with him.”

“Little early for a dinner break, don’t you think?”

“Who’s gonna stop me? The only one here with seniority over me is you.” Finnegan pouted. “You gonna stop me, Coop?”

“Nope.”

“Love ya.” Finnegan said. “I’m gonna grab a slice of pie for him as well.”

“Help yourself.”

Pie in hand, she returned to Barry. “Either you’re not enjoying your meal or you’re a slow eater.”

“Slow eater.” Barry said. As if to demonstrate, he took a single bite out of a fry that was small enough for him to eat whole.

“I’m a vacuum.” Finnegan put his pie to the side. “Thanks for letting me join you.”

“Thank you.” Barry said. “Didn’t know that happened here.”

“There aren’t any rules against it.” Finnegan said. “Just as long as we don’t go past our break time. Also helps that you’re a friend of Cooper. Wouldn’t be comfortable doing this with a customer I don’t know.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know Cooper though.” Finnegan winked. “A friend of Cooper is a friend of mine. He doesn’t make friends easily.”

Barry chuckled. “No. He doesn’t.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since we were kids. Fifth grade.”

“Wow!” Finnegan exclaimed. “Only people I’ve been friends with since I was a kid are my parents.”

“I got lucky.” Barry said. “How long have you been working here?”

“Five years once we get to April 15th.”

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you. I love this job.”

“Easy to tell.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re very enthusiastic and friendly.” Barry said. “Hard to fake.”

“Never underestimate a girl working customer service.” Finnegan laughed. “But you’re right. Only days I’m not genuine is when I’m not feeling alright. But if I’m good on the inside? Every smile you get comes from the heart.”

Their conversation mainly revolved around the various fantasy worlds they wished they could visit, if not live in. Even the dystopian societies had a draw to them due to the amazing magic that happened there. Barry seemed interested in anything that took him away from whatever was happening in his life. He never blatantly said it. But Finnegan could pick up on his escapist fantasies, perhaps because she could directly empathize.

“You’ve been here awhile.” Barry said, after the conversation lulled for a few moments. “You want to stay at Buck’s?”

“Saving up for grad school.” Finnegan said. “If I get into the local school I’ll still keep working here though. Girls gotta eat, right?”

“And buy new books.”

“Yes, sir.” Finnegan smiled and tipped her glass to him. She then saw that a new group get seated in her section. “Well shit. Looks like my break is over.”

Barry looked over to where she was looking and sighed. “Ah. Okay. It was nice talking to you.”

“Booooo.” Finnegan pouted as she got up. “Only nice?”

“Great, Finn.” Barry laughed. “It was great. Could I get the check?”

“Nope.”

“...huh?” “Coop is paying for ya.”

“He doesn’t have to do that…”

“He wants to, silly.” Finnegan said. “Next time you come in, you can pay for his dinner.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

Finnegan could feel his smile. “Elbow bump goodbye?”

“Elbow bump see you later.” Barry held his elbow out and she bumped it with hers. “Thank you for tonight, Finn. I really needed it. I hope to see you again when I come in.”

“You’re very welcome Barry.” Finnegan smiled at him. “And you will if you’re lucky.” They bumped elbows again and Finnegan watched him go. She sighed, stretched, and walked to the new group of customers. “Welcome to Buck’s, gentleman! I’m Finnegan, you can call me Finn, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. How y’all doing?”

-Saha

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sallyidss · 5 years

Text

A Glitch in the (Ray Tracing) Matrix

Summary: Bruce Banner has a particular set of skills…

Tags: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Humor, Super Mariokart, Video Game Mechanics (a little), Bruce Banner kicks ass, Crackfic? Idk

Notes: For Day 2 of Bruce Banner Appreciation Week!

(AO3 link)

Tony, Peter and Clint were enjoying a rainy Sunday afternoon of chips, beer (soda for Peter) and Super Mariokart, when Bruce entered the common area to find a snack before returning to his lab.

“What are you guys playing?” he asked, approaching the seating area and opening a bag of freeze-dried blueberries that he’d taken a liking to since Tony had introduced him to them.

“‘What are we playing’?” Peter was incredulous. “Dr. Banner, you don’t know about Super Mariokart?”

Bruce observed the TV for a moment. “Looks like just a racing game.”

“I mean yeah, it basically is. But it’s so much more! Check this out.” Peter launched a red shell at Tony’s character, knocking him off the side of the track. Tony swore loudly.

“Why don’t you take a break, Bruce?” said Clint. “We’ll teach you to play.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. I’ll probably just embarrass myself.”

All three of them started encouraging him to join them.

“No, it’ll be fun!”

“Come on, take a break for a bit.”

“I bet you can learn to kick Mr. Stark and Mr. Barton’s butts in no time.”

“Now hold up, kid.” Clint looked mock-serious. “Bruce is good at a lot of things. He’s the smartest person I know—”

“Hey!” Tony protested.

“But this game isn’t about brains. It’s about wit, and skill. You and Tony almost never beat me. What makes you think Bruce will?”

Peter shrugged. “He’s a fast learner.”

Tony turned to Bruce. “Whaddya say, Bruce? Care to give it a shot?”

Bruce looked noncommittal. “I don’t know, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do in my lab.”

“It’s Sunday!” Tony beckoned him over to the couch. “Live a little.”

Bruce hesitated, but finally gave in. “Alright. But you guys have to be patient with me until I get the hang of it.”

“Fine.” Tony moved over to make room for Bruce, and handed him his own controller. “You versus Clint.”

“Alright! This should be easy.” Clint looked rather smug. “Fifty bucks says I can lap him by the end of the race.”

“You’re on,” Tony readily replied. “I’ve got a little more faith in him than that. I say you beat him by less than half a lap.” He turned to Peter. “You want in? You can bet five bucks or something. How much do you think Clint will beat Banner by?”

Peter thought a moment. “My money’s on Dr. Banner.”

Tony and Clint burst out laughing. Bruce just looked uncomfortable.

“Someone has to put a bet on him. It would be mean not to.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Bruce said with a kind smile. “I’ll pay you back any money you lose.”

Clint shrugged at Peter’s reckless bet. “Alright, your loss. Pony up, you two, let’s see it.”

Peter and Tony opened up their wallets and pulled out five and fifty dollars, respectively. Clint added his fifty dollars to theirs and put it on the table.

“OK, Peter, how does this work?”

Peter gave him a quick rundown of the controls, and explained the most common items. “Other than that, just go fast! And don’t fall off the edge of the track.”

Clint brought up the screen for him and Bruce to choose their characters and karts. Peter walked Bruce through it, advising him to pick the Tanooki Mario character. Clint chose his trusty favourite, Yoshi.

The intro music to the race began playing, the camera panning around to show off the features of the track.

“This looks…complicated.” Bruce seemed even more uncertain than before. “Sorry, Peter. You probably should have bet against me.”

“It’s alright, it’s only five bucks. But I have faith in you!”

Tony snorted.

The starting signal sounded, and the race began. Yoshi shot forward in a rocket start. Bruce pressed the wrong button and Tanooki Mario started driving backward.

“No, no, press Y to go forward! Y!” shouted Peter.

“Right. Sorry!” Bruce finally started driving in the right direction, but was swerving badly. Clint was already very far ahead. Peter groaned.

By the top of the second lap, Bruce was still in last place, and Clint in first.

“Dr. Banner, you’re supposed to hit the question blocks, not avoid them! That’s where the items are!”

“Hey, no helping him, kid, that’s cheating,” said Tony.

“Bah, let him,” said Clint. “He could use the help.”

But halfway through the second lap, something strange happened.

Tony blinked. “Wait—Banner, did I just see you do a power glide? Pete, you didn’t tell him about that.”

“Yes he did.” Bruce spoke up for the first time since the start of the race. “Last week. The same day he showed me how to draft.” Suddenly, Tanooki Mario sped forward in a burst of speed after drafting behind Dry Bones, the computer character in second last place. “But I found this glitch in the track on my own when we were playing two days ago.”

“Glitch?” both Tony and Clint asked at once.

Suddenly Tanooki Mario did a hard skid around a corner, but just before spinning out, he veered toward the edge of the track, falling off toward the water. But instead of being rescued by Lakitu’s fishing line, he fell into the water…and materialized on the track in sixth place, up from eleventh place a second ago.

“What the hell?” Clint shouted.

Tony’s jaw dropped. “What in god’s name just happened? Banner, what the hell did you do?”

“Well,” began Bruce, maddeningly calm despite the sudden turn in his fortune, “when I was playing this course with Peter the other day, I noticed that the way the ray tracing was done in that section of the track had light rays from two origin points intersecting.” Tanooki Mario picked up a Torpedo Ted item, which, well, torpedoed him from sixth place to fourth. “I hazarded a guess that it was a transition point between two consecutive sections of the course. These kinds of video game levels are usually coded in section blocks.” A carefully-aimed green shell from Tanooki Mario sent Bowser spinning out of control, bringing Bruce to third place. (“How did he do that with a green shell?” shouted an incredulous Clint.) Bruce continued: “A bit of reading showed me that programmers will often optimize a game by leaving those transition points empty, meaning the regular game physics don’t apply.” Tanooki Mario was rapidly gaining on Waluigi, the character in second place, and soon he was the perfect distance away for drafting. “With a bit of practice, I figured out how to aim at the invisible line separating the two sections of the course, which teleported me about a quarter of the way around the track. To the beginning of the next section block.” Tanooki Mario blasted past Waluigi thanks to his well-timed drafting. Bruce was now in second place. “Really, it was just observation, and a cursory knowledge of physics and linear algebra. No wit required.” He gave Clint a brief sidelong look.

Tony nudged Peter on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. “You guys hustled us!”

“I beg to differ,” said Peter. He smiled deviously. “I don’t recall Dr. Banner actually saying he didn’t know how to play. You two just assumed he couldn’t.”

Tony frowned, clearly dissatisfied with that answer. He turned back to the race. It was close, but Clint was still ahead.

“You’re still in first place, Barton. It’s too late to lap him. But if you win by less than half a lap, I win my bet. Don’t screw it up, and I’ll give you twenty bucks back from your bet.”

“Deal.”

But two thirds of the way through the third lap, Bruce landed three red shells from an item block. As both Tony and Clint emitted a long, comical “Nooooooo!” Bruce released the shells with perfect timing, sending Yoshi skidding off a ramp and into the water as Tanooki Mario glided past him and crossed the finish line in first place with an easy lead.

Bruce dropped his controller like a mic and held one hand out to the side, high-fiving Peter without even looking. He and Peter stood up, gathering the $105 from the coffee table.

“Your original five back,” said Bruce, handing the bill to Peter, “and your half of the spoils.” He gave him one of the fifty dollar bills.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Peter replied.

Tony hadn’t spoken yet. He was giving Clint a murderous stare. Clint was still staring at the TV screen in disbelief, his mouth agape.

“Pizza?” Bruce asked Peter, waving his fifty in an offer to pay.

“Pizza,” echoed Peter. They left the room together.

The click of the door closing snapped Clint out of his daze. He turned and pointed an accusatory finger at Tony.

“You.”

“Excuse me?” Tony batted Clint’s finger away from his face. “ You were playing. Where was your ‘wit’ and ‘skill’?”

“He’s your best friend. How could you not tell he was hustling you?”

“Hustling us,” Tony was quick to clarify. “And anyway, I had the most reasonable bet. You only had to beat him by a second, tops, and I would’ve won!”

“No one can dodge three red shells in a row, Tony.”

“Hnh,” was Tony’s noncommittal reply.

“That Peter,” began Clint. “He’s having a bad influence on Banner. I’m sure this whole hustle was his idea.”

Tony gave him a sidelong look. “I think you’re right. We should keep an eye on them when they’re together.”

“Or they’ll have more laughs at our expense.”

“Right.” Tony looked back at the door through which Bruce and Peter had just left.

“I’m also a little hungry…” Clint began.

“We should start keeping an eye on them right away. You never know what they might get up to without supervision.”

“Think we can catch them before they leave for pizza?”

“You just want pizza,” Tony accused.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

They looked at each other for a second. Then without warning, they both jumped up from the couch at exactly the same time and headed for the door.

“Fri, tell our scammers to wait in the lobby.”

“So how are we going to get them back?” asked Clint as they stepped into the elevator.

“I’m working on it.” Tony crossed his arms and regarded Clint with narrowed eyes. “I’m thinking physics lessons. For you.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you had more knowledge of video game physics and less of that ‘wit’ you were going on about, you would’ve won. You have only yourself to blame, really. First lesson tomorrow, nine a.m.? Linear algebra refresher.”

“Stark, I swear to god,” Clint threatened as the elevator doors closed.

#bruceweek #Bruce Banner appreciation #Bruce Banner & Peter Parker & Tony Stark & Clint Barton

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omgrachwrites · 5 years

Text

Ocean Avenue (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: When Darcie Baker - the daughter of a police officer - breaks her misfit friend’s heart at 16 she regrets it everyday even after she graduates though she knows she can’t go back and change what happened. Everything changes when over 10 years later she meets the gorgeous mechanic.

Warnings: fluff, little bit of angst, slow burn

Words: 2310

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this part, sorry its a little late but please let me know what you think, I love you all very much! xxx

Part Five

Bucky took another bite of his delicious, steaming hot slice of cheese pizza; pizza was definitely something that he had missed while he was in the army. Some reality show rubbish was on TV, ‘The Bachelor’ it was called but Bucky really wasn’t taking any of it in. There was suddenly a loud call from upstairs that slightly startled Bucky and he cursed underneath his breath as he jumped.

“Hey Buck! Are you sure that you don’t want a beer?” Steve called.

Bucky started to shake his head before he realised that he was an idiot because Steve obviously couldn’t see him, “no thanks bud, I’m good with my pizza,” he took another mouthful and continued to speak, slightly muffled, “I need to do a deep clean at the garage so I don’t think that drinking is really a great idea,” he chuckled as he swallowed his food.

There was silence for a brief moment until it was broken with the thud of Steve’s footsteps, slightly muffled by the thick carpet. When Steve entered the room his face was apologetic.

“Sorry Buck.”

Bucky shot his best friend a strange look; he had no idea what Steve was sorry for, “what the hell for man?”

“I didn’t know that you were doing a deep clean tonight, I’ll help you out,” he gave Bucky a smile as he reached for his cell phone.

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky started, causing Steve to take a halt in his movements, “bro, you’ve got a date night with the woman of your dreams, don’t be cancelling that for anybody, not even me. I wouldn’t have asked you to help me anyway bud, it’s my responsibility. Thanks for the offer though,” Bucky grinned as he clapped Steve on the shoulder, he was so happy that Steve had a date tonight, by the sounds of it Peggy was a great girl.

The only thing that worried Bucky was the fact that Peggy was pretty good friends with Darcie. The last thing that Bucky wanted was for Steve to be hurt the way that he had been – Bucky was finally starting to admit to others and to himself that Darcie had hurt him. Though, Bucky trusted Steve’s judgement, he liked Peggy a lot.

“Thanks Buck, I’d best get going,” he chewed his bottom lip nervously as he ran his fingers through his hair, “do I look okay?” he chuckled, gesturing at himself.

Bucky grinned and nodded his head, “you look great man, now go get her and be safe, yeah?” he gave Steve a bro hug before Steve left the apartment for the night.

Bucky finished off his pizza before he grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and he left the apartment to get to his garage. The garage really was a mess and Bucky silently cursed himself for not cleaning it more regularly but there was nothing he could do about his procrastination now except to clean. Technically the garage should be deep cleaned at the start and at the end of every month but Bucky had really left it for too long.

It was a lot harder than Bucky had originally foreseen, about an hour into his cleaning Bucky took on a sweat as he scrubbed the floor so he discarded of his shirt, mopping his sweating forehead with it. Another thirty minutes went by and he heard the click of high heels on the cemented pavement, causing Bucky to look up from his scrubbing. It was Gemma and she was looking really quite pretty as she strolled by in towering heels and a short red lace dress. He vaguely wondered when she was going back to college.

As presumed, her made up eyes flickered over to the garage, her face lighting up when she saw Bucky standing in the doorway.

“Bucky! Hi, what are you doing here this late?” she paused as she checked her watch, “it’s nearly ten.”

Bucky smiled as he leaned against the handle of the mop, almost blushing as Gemma’s eyes raked down his sculpted shirtless chest, her eyes lingering on a couple of pale scars that he’d gained in the army.

“I’m doing a deep clean that should be done twice a month but I only do it every couple of months,” he chuckled, “you look great, where have you been?”

Gemma flushed at his complimenting words and she shrugged as she flipped a couple of curls over her shoulder, “I’ve been on a date, it didn’t go too well,” she sighed and suddenly glanced at Bucky from beneath her coated eyelashes, “who was that woman that was here a couple of months ago? Seemed like you knew her, she was pretty.”

Bucky chewed his plump bottom lip as he fidgeted, “she’s just someone that I went to high school with,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“She also seemed like a bitch,” Gemma confessed causing Bucky’s head to snap up and look at her in the eyes, very slightly narrowing his eyes. He had half a mind to defend Darcie before he shook himself out of it and he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah she is.”

“You deserve so much better Buck, you deserve the world,” she shrugged making Bucky smile. Once upon a time he would have given anything for Darcie to think about him like that, “bye Buck,” she blew him a kiss with a little wave.

“See you later doll,” he smiled.

Gemma was the only one that came to visit Bucky that night, at about quarter past 11 he heard a car door slam. Bucky glanced up in interest to see a light blue car, his eyes bugged out slightly and he felt his stomach drop when he realised who it was. It was Darcie’s dad, Bucky really hadn’t missed him.

“What are you doing this late son?” he asked as he walked over to Bucky, his hands on his belt buckle.

His eyes showed no sign of recognition and although Bucky had to admit that it had been a while since he’d seen Darcie’s dad, it was strange that he didn’t recognise Bucky considering how much he had hated him. Bucky stood to full height and tried to make himself look like a law abiding citizen – which to be fair, he was now.

“I’m doing a deep clean sir, this is my garage you see,” he said as respectfully as he could while he gestured around the space.

At his words Darcie’s dad smiled which deepened the lines around his tired looking eyes, “a hard worker, I respect that,” he held out a hand for Bucky to shake, “I’m Officer Andrew Baker, and you are?”

He had introduced himself as a police officer though he had turned up in his regular clothes and he wasn’t in a squad car which was weird considering that he was talking like he was on duty. Bucky still thought that it was extremely odd that Andrew seemed to not recognise him at all.

“uh,” Bucky paused for a second, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip, unsure of how to proceed, “James Barnes,” he opted for his real name as he shook Andrew’s hand.

A strange look crossed Andrew’s face for just a second before he smiled again, “it’s nice to meet you son, you let me know if you need anything now,” he nodded.

“Thank you sir, I will,” he muttered as Andrew strode away.

After that strange conversation Bucky was pretty distracted, in fact, he was so distracted that while he was cleaning up some broken glass that looked like it had been there for a while, he sliced his hand open because he wasn’t paying enough attention to what he was doing. He yelped like a kicked dog as pain shot through the palm of his hand, the wound looked pretty deep.

“Jesus,” he muttered darkly as he grabbed a clean towel and pressed it against his stinging wound. The bleeding went on for a while and Bucky actually started to feel a little light headed and he knew that Steve would kill him if he didn’t get it looked at. That was the reason why he reluctantly wrapped his hand up and he managed to drive himself to the ER.

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After a long, exhausting day Darcie was walking towards the locker room, her heart set on the leftover mac and cheese that she had in her refrigerator. She had been working like a dog for the past week and she knew that she’d be too tired to cook so she’d been living on leftovers. Her movements stopped as she heard the Chief of Staff Bruce Banner call out to her.

“Hey Darcie, wait up!” she turned to see him walking quickly down the hallway towards her, “before you go, some guy with a sliced open hand has just come in. He was really nervous so he’s kind of high on pain meds right now. I want you to take care of it; your fellow interns are idiots.”

“Bruce,” she groaned tiredly, while she was flattered by the compliment she really wanted to get home.

“Please Darcie, you’d really be saving my life,” he pouted, using those dark chocolate puppy dog eyes to his advantage. It made Darcie narrow her eyes; she hated it when he pouted like a child.

“For god’s sake Banner! Fine!” she threw her hands up in defeat; tempted to smile by the way he was grinning at her.

As soon as they walked into the pit – that’s what they called the area for people who didn’t need emergency surgery – she saw Bucky and he saw her. They just started at each other with wide blown eyes and Darcie admired the way thick strands of inky black hair fell over his forehead. The tension in the room was building quickly, so quickly that even Bruce felt like something was amiss.

“What’s the matter?” at the sound of Bruce’s voice the spell between Darcie and Bucky was shattered.

Bucky’s facial expression darkened, his brows pinched together in a frown, “I don’t want to be seen by her,” he slurred due to his pain meds.

Bruce looked pissed off as he raised a thick eyebrow, “well unlucky for you buddy, she’s our best intern,” Darcie almost glowed at the compliment.

“An intern?” he snickered, “so you’re not even a proper doctor.”

“Shut the hell up Bucky,” she growled, already annoyed that he was delaying her from going home and she made her way towards him to inspect his wound, it was really pretty deep.

She started by picking the large shards of glass out of his palm and making sure the wound wasn’t infected, “I had a fight with some glass, it was saying shit behind my back,” he almost giggled at his lame joke.

“You obviously lost then,” she said shortly causing Bucky to glare at her.

As she was stitching up his hand, he spoke out again, causing Darcie to jolt in her movements, “I saw your dad today, he didn’t recognise me. What’s up with that?” he asked.

Darcie chewed her lip for a second before replying, willing her voice not to shake, “you’re probably not that memorable Bucky.”

“You’re such a bitch,” Bucky huffed and she rushed to close his wound, not wanting to spend another moment with him.

“How are you getting home Bucky?” Darcie asked as she cleared away her work station, even though he’d annoyed and insulted her she was still worried about him.

He hesitated for a second and he even looked a little worried, “Steve’s on a date,” he slurred, “I brought my car,” he made to get up, freezing when Darcie stopped him by resting a hand on his knee.

“Sorry,” she withdrew her hand, “I’m not letting you drive yourself home, it’s very irresponsible. I’m clocking off now so I’ll drive you back, you can come and get your car when you’re better,” she was surprised when he didn’t try and put up a fight.

As Darcie was driving Bucky back to his place she felt her eyelids droop slightly and she had the wild thought that maybe it would be safer for Bucky to drive, she almost snorted at this ridiculous idea. It proved how tired she was. Bucky hadn’t said anything since they had got into the car and honestly, Darcie preferred it, the radio was playing softly in the background. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Bucky’s head drop back onto the car seat and he looked at her through brilliant blue eyes.

“What is the whole deal with your dad?”

Darcie sighed as she glanced at him before looking back at the road, “if you don’t mind Bucky, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Buck,” she smiled over at him, he smiled back. He was just full of surprises tonight.

Another ten minutes went by and she pulled up outside some apartments, “this your place?” she simply asked.

At her words Bucky looked at her with a sneer, “well yeah, most people don’t live in fancy, over the top places like you, you know,” she opened her mouth to assure Bucky that she was just asking a question, “I need my bed, I don’t need your help,” he swatted her hand away and he stumbled out of the car, back to being an asshole again.

Darcie was going to drive off as soon as he got out of the car but she decided that it would be better if she waited to see that he got inside okay. It took him a couple of tries to get into his apartment and Darcie tried not to laugh at his fumbling. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as he shot her a look before he closed his apartment door. Darcie couldn’t be falling again. She wouldn’t fall.

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