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mikkomacko · 7 days

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Him and I: Meet the Hischiers

Pairing: Mob Boss! Nico x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, Nico's crappy parents, and mean girls

A/n: Ok I'm so sorry for how long this is, oh my god. I couldn't not add sweet moments between Nico and reader though, but I promise there's only one more chapter of them in Switzerland before they return to Jersey. Anyway, enjoy and please leave comments and thoughts and requests because I love writing mob boss Nico!

~~~~

Nico’s childhood home is humongous. The SUV rolls up the cobblestone driveway to what you’d consider a mansion, honestly. At least three stories, with fields of snow covered grass and hedges, a looping driveway like at a hotel, and a bright red door.

Everything about it screams elegance.

And yet you can picture a tiny Nico toddling after his older siblings in the grass out front, chasing a soccer ball that was half the size of him.

The mental image eases your nerves enough that you’re able to teasingly scoff and smack at Nico’s arm.

“You didn’t tell me your house is the size of New Jersey!”

Nico rolls his eyes at your drama, taking your hand in his and shrugging. “Yes it’s beautiful,” he agrees “but there’s a reason we’re not staying here. Just remember that, ok?”

Dutifully you nod, but that doesn’t stop you from leaning forward to gape at Timo. Your friend just laughs, directing the car into the spot directly in front of the door.

“The Hischier’s are the closest thing to a royal family here,” he tells you. “And Nico is the delinquent prince that ran away from the crown.”

“Stop lying to her Timo.” Nico interjects, his tone hard and commanding. You immediately sink back into your seat, recognizing that for some reason that was a touchy subject.

You’ll ask him about it later when it’s just the two of you.

This time when the car stops, it’s different men in wool coats that pull open Nico’s car door. They greet him in Swiss German, nodding as he slides out and you follow, taking his outstretched hand and stepping onto the stone path.

They look taken aback by your presence, both sharing a look you can’t quite read before greeting you with a simple “miss.”

You smile, wrapping your hand around Nico’s bicep and pressing into his side. Timo falls into step with you, walking alongside as you head for the front door.

Walking into Nico’s childhood home is more like walking into a recently sterilizes hospital room than a house that three children grew up in. Everything is pristine, polished, and pearl white (or beige).

Not a single item in the main room indicates that a family lives here at all. Even the portrait of a man with a thick mustache and sharp nose hanging over the staircase isn’t friendly.

“Wow,” you breathe out, looking over at Timo. He must read the look in your eyes because he nods just once, clearing his throat when Nico shoots him a look over the top of your head.

“Come on baby,” Nico tells you, guiding you further into the house. “They’re probably in the sitting room.”

The sitting room is like a living room, only colder and not exactly lived in. His family is scattered around the large room, perched on white overstuffed furniture. The first to greet you is a light haired woman, and as soon as she smiles you know this is his mother.

“Nico darling!” She exclaims in an accented voice, one that resembles his but with a tone of superiority. Rising from the sofa, she waves the man next to her up. Even if you were seeing him through fogged glass you’d be able to tell he’s Nico’s father.

They have the same nose, same dark eyes that crinkle by the edges. He’s shorter and less broad than Nico, but their posture and gait are the same. Even the way his dark grey hair falls is similar to Nico’s.

They’re carbon copies of each other.

“Son,” the man greets, buttoning up his suit jacket. “The rumors were true then?”

“Rumors?” Nico asks, and his lack of greeting to his parents makes your stomach drop. Throughout the entirety of your relationship you never imagined Nico’s relationship with his family to be like this.

“Word from the airport was that you brought a guest.” His mother supplies, a polite smile being thrown at you. You return it, hanging to Nico’s bicep like a lifeline. Suddenly you feel pathetic, a random American girl pressed at the hip to the heir of a mob family that stretches three countries and two continents. Hiding in the shadow casted by not only Nico but Timo as well.

Maybe it’s a good thing Sieges and the others didn’t come along.

“Timo insisted on tagging along,” your boyfriend jokes and if you weren’t so stunned and stupid you would have laughed. “This,” he continues, prying his arm from your hold to wrap around the small of you back “isn’t a guest, she’s family.”

Steeling your nerves, you take a steady step forward. “Y/n,” you introduce, holding your hand out to his father. “It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.”

He takes your hand, squeezing gently as you meet his gaze. For looking so much like his son, he doesn’t actually resemble him. His eyes are threatening and dark rather than comforting and warm like Nico’s. Even the twitch of his lips feels like it was a muscle spasm.

“Rino,” he tells you. “But sir works better.”

You nod in agreement, now reaching out towards his mother. She’s just as calculated when it comes to introducing herself, her tone haughty and amused as she says “Katja.”

“Wonderful to meet you,” you say, smiling warmly despite the thudding of your heart against your ribcage.

“You as well,” she responds, then shoots her son a look. “I’m afraid we haven’t heard much about you y/n, or anything at all for that matter.”

Ignoring the blow, you settle back into Nico’s side. Timo cuts in, greeting them you think but you can’t really hear him over the voice in your head desperately reminding you that Nico loves you, Nico wants you here.

It’s not until Nico’s nose is pressed to your temple that you snap back into reality. “Breathe y/n,” he whispers, his voice just a tickle in your ear but strong and encouraging. “You’re doing perfect.”

Coming back to yourself, you take his hand in thanks as Katja directs her attention to the few men milling about the room. She speaks to them in Swiss German, an order obviously if them scurrying out of the room is anything to go by.

With her and Rino no longer focused on you for the moment, you helplessly look up at Nico. He’s already watching you, not even a hint of a smile on that handsome face of his. Even so, his gaze is solid and proud, and the subtle tilt of his head tells you enough.

It’s ok.

Your breath shudders, feeling weak under those eyes that know and read you so well. You look away, biting at the inside of your cheek to stop the welling feeling of tears. You have to stop before you let your thoughts run too wild, plagued by images of the sweet man before you living under the scrutinizing gazes of this family.

It’s difficult to even picture how he turned into the Nico you know and love.

The return of the workers distracts you, this time a man and woman following behind them. Another copy of Nico, his brother looks like he could be the elder twin of your boyfriend. The hair, the nose, the jawline, the walk. Must be a Hischier man thing.

And the woman, so obviously his sister, physically resembles Katja but her eyes hold that same twinkle that lights up Nico’s eyes.

“Luca, Nina-“ Katja says warmly. “Your brother is here. With guests.”

Nico sighs, anything he might say remaining unspoken when Nina steps between the two sides.

“Family, Mama.” She corrects, sending you a friendly wink. Like a million bricks have been lifted off your shoulders, you visibly relax at her welcoming.

“Nina,” she tells you “you have no idea how excited I am to meet you.”

She doesn’t hold out a hand, instead stretching out both arms to you. Laughing nervously, you accept her embrace, briefly squeezing her in appreciation and introducing yourself.

“Never thought I’d see Nico with such a beautiful woman,” she teases, an underlying sincerity in her words that warms your cheeks. “He must’ve finally learned how to shower properly.”

Nico mockingly laughs behind you, grumbling in his native tongue to his sister but he’s quick to hug her smaller frame. You almost laugh when he tucks into her shoulder, curling in like he’s supposed to be smaller than her. Like a younger sibling that’s forgotten he’s grown to be the tallest.

Luca greets you, not as warmly as Nina but with more friendliness than their parents. He plants two polite kisses to your cheeks, squeezing your biceps awkwardly before jumping into reuniting with Nico. Nina stands by her mother’s side, nodding at you just once as Katja and Rino tell Nico and Luca something you don’t understand.

Resilience renewed, you turn your head to Timo and he leans down so you can whisper in his ear. “You have to teach me something in German, I’m drowning here.”

He chuckles quietly, leaning into your ear. “I’ll try again but I’m not a miracle worker honey.” You blink at him, jabbing your elbow into him in annoyance. He does it back, jolting you and your gearing up to hit him back when a firm hand is reaching around your back and taking a hold of your elbow.

Easily and swiftly, Nico pulls you into his side. By the way Timo straightens up, you’d imagine he’s been silently scolded by his boss. Smirking, you bat your eyelashes at him and innocently press into Nico’s hold.

“We’ve prepared lunch, if you’re hungry.” Katja offers but she’s already directing everyone to another room. The three of you follow obediently, not having any other option really.

~~~~

Lunch is better than the family reunion that took place in the sitting room. With the distraction of food and a cook and his siblings, Katja and Rino don’t even spare you a second glance or get a chance to grill Nico about anything.

Anytime the Devs or New Jersey comes up, Luca or Nina will steer the conversation away. You’re sure it has something to do with everyone avoiding the topic of Nico’s leave of absence and lack of contact for the past few years, but you can’t be certain because it’s never said.

Nico has a hand on you throughout the whole meal, either lacing his fingers with yours or resting comfortably on your thigh. He makes sure that you eat enough, that your water is ok, that you don’t want more helpings. It’s sweet, the way he always communicates through his actions. Maybe he didn’t prepare you enough for this encounter like he should’ve, but physically he’s been here and done everything to let you know that he has your back.

Besides, after listening to his family carefully navigate around unsavory topics over lunch, you can see why he struggles with words.

Especially when his mother is hell bent on making it uncomfortable. The plates have barely been cleared away when she’s zeroing in on her youngest.

“I suppose it’s time you tell us why you’ve come back,” she says airily. “Or rather why you left?”

Nico’s fingers tighten around yours, eyelids fluttering in annoyance as he suppresses an eye roll. “Mother-“

“Everything was set up Nico,” she cuts in. “The house, the branch, Len-“

“That’s enough!” He cuts off gruffly, silencing Katja. You stroke your thumb over his knuckle, unsure of how to navigate him like this in front of his family. It’s different at home where you have a place, where it’s your job to step in and protect the boys from his angry bouts. But this is different, uncharted. You don’t have a spot in the lives of his family let alone a place to interject. Hell, you don’t even know the context of why Nico left either.

“Watch the tone Nico,” Rino says casually, “that’s your mother.”

Sighing, Nico shakes his head. “I’m here for the week, take it or leave it. And I didn’t come to answer questions you already have the answer for.”

You watch him look around the large table, meeting everyone gaze with a firmness he only gets on jobs and deals. When he receives a simple hum from his mother, he turns to you.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says quietly, rising from his seat. You follow his lead, pushing your chair back in and sharing a nervous look with Timo.

Nico addresses his parents. “I’m gonna show y/n around the grounds.” Then he’s nudging you towards the hall, large hand on your back as you go.

“Put on a coat Nico!” His mother calls after you and he waves over his head in acknowledgment. You’re silent all the way back to the front door, putty in Nico’s hands as he zips you into your winter coat and slips his beanie over your head.

Returning the favor, the zip his own coat for him, adjusting the collar and hood so his ears and neck stay warm.

Nico doesn’t return to being your Nico until the side door of the house is closing behind you. Immediately he’s attaching himself to you, hunching down to wrap his arms around your waist and tuck his face into your neck. Rising to your toes, you bundle your arms around him as best you can with all the thick winter layers between you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe in the cold air and just hold him for a moment. You don’t let go until he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, straightening out his posture and looking at you with those moony eyes of his.

“Show me the grounds,” you mock in a posh voice giggling when he rolls his eyes and offers his elbow to you. Taking ahold of him, you tuck your hands into your pockets and let him guide you down the shoveled paths.

The grounds stretch on forever, through untouched wooded land and open plains of snow. Nico shows you a tennis court, a basketball court, the indoor hockey setup him and Luca used religiously as children. You trudge through the snow with him, winter air nipping at your nose and dry lips aching as your awe of the place kept growing and growing. Every ten steps was something new, some fond memory Nico’s dug up of his childhood.

“I almost broke my ankle trying to do cartwheels,” Nico laughs, gaze sweeping over the open area in which Nina apparently tried to teach Nico gymnastics. “She hadn’t even done gymnastics herself, but I wanted her to think I was cool so I did it.”

Giggling, you shake your head at him. “You can’t do a cartwheel?” You ask incredulously. Nico scoffs, shaking his head like it should be obvious. Releasing his arm, you strut to the open space in front of him and throw your arms up.

“Watch and learn Nico baby.” You tease, winking before executing a perfect cartwheel. The snow is cold on your hands, bites at your fingers but you do a couple more anyway just to show off.

Nico exclaims in surprise, staring at you with his jaw dropped and dimples in his cheeks. “Alright, just rub it in my face!” He complains and you laugh, giving him a bow. Leaning down he scoops up some snow, quickly packing it together. You have just enough time to curl into yourself before he’s throwing it at your torso.

Squealing, you dig your numb hands into the snow to throw one back. Dodging and ducking through laughter, you and Nico pelt each other with snow until your hands are so frozen you think they might fall off.

In surrender, you leap at him and throw your arms around his neck. The shock of your bitter cold fingers on his bare skin makes him jump and he goes crashing to the ground, taking you with him.

Luckily he breaks your fall, and the snow breaks his so it’s still giggles when you cup his jaw, sitting up to check him for injuries. He’s got snow in his hair and eyelashes, his cheeks and nose glowing red as he bites at his bottom lip to try and contain his smile.

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, the words mostly spoken to yourself but in the large, silent estate they carry. Nico’s cheeks redden even more, eyes glimmering with love. Then, thinking of the cold man from whom Nico got his looks, you quickly add “inside and out.”

His face falls with realization, a look of sympathy flashing through his eyes. Not that he should be sympathetic about anything, these people didn’t raise you. “I should’ve warned you,” he says “I just didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want you to think I don’t love them because I do, they’re just different.”

The snow has begun soaking into your pants, stinging your skin and you imagine Nico’s butt must be just as cold. Yet he makes no move to get up, just stares up at you from the ground with those all-telling eyes of his.

“You warned me,” you say “maybe not intentionally but you did.” From wasting away the morning with you to the way he always had a protective hand on you today, Nico warned you the best way he knows how. With protective actions.

Brushing his hair off his forehead, you ask “wanna talk about it?” Nico sighs, cheeks puffing up as he does so and the cloud of his breath dances in between you. He agrees though, nodding for you to get up so you climb off his lap and take his hand to help him up.

Nico takes both of your hands in his, squeezing them before drawing the up to his lips. Eyebrows pinched together in concentration, he breathes hot hair in an attempt to warm them up for you. After a moment he squeezes them again, frowning when they’re still too cold for his liking.

Giggling, you pull your hands back and hug his arm. “I’m ok, let’s just go back and we can talk somewhere warm.”

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, Nico agrees. Oblivious to the figure looming on the balcony that overlooks the grounds, he leads you back towards the house, feet crunching in the snow.

~~~~

Clothes sopping wet and cold, you shuffle into Nico’s old bedroom and immediately begin shedding your winter layers. Unsure of everyone else’s whereabouts in the house, Nico closes the door and locks it before he too strips out of his clothes.

In just his boxers he disappears into the closet and you take the opportunity to look around his room. A large bed sits in the middle of the room, a fluffy blue quilt that matches the accent wall covering it. An old ratty teddy bear sits on the bed, looking out the large window across the room. The view is beautiful, snow covered mountains and white topped trees. There’s a desk in the corner, the top of it empty but the shelves have a few books and childhood awards scattered on them.

You tiptoe over, notice most of the awards have a soccer or hockey player on them. There’s one of a boy snowboarding and one engraved with a book, and though you can’t read them inscription, the year on them tells you that Nico was under 16 when he won all these.

A photo you’ve seen on his phone is hung up next to the desk, Luca and Nina holding a baby Nico on a beach somewhere, all chubby cheeks and blonde hair.

A poster of a Swiss tennis player hangs next to the bed, a few more photos scattered around the room. You don’t get the chance to examine them because Nico strolls back into the room with a ball of clothes in his hands.

“Not sure when these were last washed but it should be fine,” he shrugs, dropping the mess of items to the bed. He digs out a pair of boxers, some dark sweats, and a long sleeve for you. You happily accept the dry clothes, stripping out of your damp underwear and bra.

Nico’s Calvin’s are a little tight when you shimmy them up you hips but not uncomfortable. You pull the sweats on, rolling the waistband so they don’t hang over your feet. It’s not until you’re tugging the shirt over your head that you notice Nico is standing butt naked across from you, boxers in hand as he shamelessly watches you change.

Knowing where this going, you quickly pull the shirt on, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Put that thing away and start talking Hischier.”

He chuckles, beginning to get dressed. You sit on the bed, reaching over for the teddy and pulling it into your lap. “What do you want to know?”

“I know how you ended up in Jersey,” you say, fingers rubbing at the soft fabric of the bears ear. “Inheritance from your grandfather and wanting to get away from here. But I always thought it was because you’re the youngest, ya know? You like to be in charge and you can’t do that with Luca and Nina being in line for everything,”

Nico lets you talk, pulling on his teeshirt and settling into the bed next to you.

“But your parents said everything was lined up. What did they mean?”

Nico sighs, eyes dropping to his lap and he fiddles with the tie on his sweats. You turn to look at him, walking the teddy bear across the mattress and plopping it in his lap. He doesn’t look at you but a dimple sinks into his cheek and he takes the bear from you.

“My parents were trying to branch out, stretch the business like they did sending Nina to France. They had this whole mock up of me using my inheritance to move to Germany and head everything there.

“But they wanted to send someone with me. This girl whose father does business with mine. We had a thing kind of when we’re younger, not dating but like when I wanted to be with someone she was there. So they added a wedding to the plan and invited her to join the family.”

There’s no reason to be jealous of this girl, whoever she is. You know that, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling a little nauseous thinking of his family picking out a wife for him.

“What did you say?” You murmur, slipping your fingers under his shirt and stroking the warm skin of his stomach. Nico picks at a thread on the bear, taking a deep breath.

“Nothing, to them. I took the money and some buddies and left. Told Nina I was starting my own family in Jersey, that I didn’t want to be married or in Germany.

“That’s how I got Timo, Sieges, and Bratter to join me. We’d all been friends for a while and they hated the girl. My parents didn’t know, but she’d been after Luca the whole time she was with me. He was too focused on taking over here in Switzerland though. That’s why she wanted him, she wanted to be the queen or whatever of Switzerland. “

“Why’d she agree to marry you then?”

Nico looks up now, shrugging. You inch closer to him, stomach feeling sick and he must know you don’t particularly like to hear this story because he nudges you into his lap. Straddling his thighs, you relax forward into his chest and let him wrap his arm around you.

“Because one of us was better than neither I guess. I had a feeling she assumed she could marry me and then convince me to push Luca out or something. I don’t know but I didn’t say a word to her either, I just left.”

You nod, the joke Timo made in the car earlier finally adding up. Nico was the prince lined up to be married and grow the business, to make his family stronger. Instead he took his power and his means elsewhere. He built his own kingdom.

“I think you’re so smart Nico,” you mumble, “not many 18 year old boys would be able to do what you did.”

Nico tucks the bear into your chest and you hug it. “I had help,” he says “but it was the best decision I ever made. I got you from it.”

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, interrupting you two. You feel him reach over for it, holding you tighter as he leans over.

“Nina invited us to go out tonight for drinks,” he says. “She wants to have fun without my parents around.”

“Is Timo invited?”

“Yes, Timo is invited.” Nico laughs, stroking your hair.

“Ok. I have to go home for new clothes though.”

Nico hums his agreement, still stroking your hair. You cuddle into him, hugging the teddy bear tighter as you sort through everything he told you. It’s impossible for you to see how some girl had Nico right in front of her, was lined up to spend the rest of her life with him and instead made him feel unwanted.

How could anyone not pick him? How was she not begging on her knees to run away to Jersey with him?

“Nico?”

“Yes baby?”

“I want you,” you whisper. “I always have and I always will. I’d do anything for you.”

You think of everything you’ve given up for Nico, the life you’d left behind for him and it doesn’t even phase you. Because he’s worth it, always worth it.

“Trust me, I know my love,” he assures but you can hear the relief in his tone. Then he’s giggling boyishly, digging his nose into the top of your head. “I knew as soon as met you that there was no getting rid of you.”

Blushing, you close your eyes and enjoy his embrace, enjoying a moment with just him.

~~~~

Luca owns the bar that Nina had invited you too. Technically the business owns it, but it was Luca’s investment plan that acquired it and it’s his staff that runs it.

You find that out as Nico leads you by the hip to the sectioned off tables in the back. Luca and a few other guys mill about the table, some you recognize from seeing around the house today. Nina is there too, her long hair pulled back into a slick pony and she’s sipping from a fruity cocktail with a blonde girl.

“You made it!” Luca greets upon seeing his brother, his demeanor much more welcoming and laidback than earlier. You let go of Nico’s hand so he can hug Luca again, his eyes crinkling as he laughs.

Timo bro-hugs Luca before disappearing back into the common area, most likely heading to the bar. You’re reaching for Nico’s hand again when Luca crouches down to meet your gaze, glossy eyes and smile shining at you.

He looks so much like Nico.

“There she is!” He shouts, charging you with open arms. You laugh in shock when he scoops you up in a hug, drink sloshing against your back as he sways back and forth.

“Hi Luca,” you giggle, awkwardly rubbing your hand up and down his back. “Nice to see you again.”

He drops you to your feet, gripping your elbow when you stumble. Not that it’s needed; Nico’s hand found your lower back as soon as your toes touched the polished floors.

“You know, I never understood why Nico loved Jersey so much,” he shouts over the music and chatter “but I get it now. I like you a lot even if my parents don’t.”

You’re not shocked to hear that but you dramatically gasp anyway. “Your parents don’t like me?!” You cry, holding a hand over your heart. “What’ll we ever do?”

Luca laughs at you, taking a swig of his beer before shaking his head fondly. “Fuck ‘em,” he says casually “Nico’s better off with you anyway.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words, flattered by the praise. You were hesitant about Luca earlier, not knowing if he liked you or not. He was harder to read than Nico and Nina but you assume that’s the oldest sibling in him.

Without another word he’s walking away, stumbling towards the pool tables with some friends. Nico leans in over your shoulder, nose brushing your temple.

“He’s a friendly drunk,” he explains “but he really does like you.”

You turn towards him. “He’s funny,” you say “I like him too.”

Pressing the lightest kiss to your cheekbone, Nico nods towards the bar. “Something with vodka?” He asks and you peek around him at Nina.

“I want what Nina is drinking.”

Amused, he nods and takes you by the hand. He approaches the booth, leaning over towards his sister to mumble something in her ear. You don’t hear what she says back but Nico straightens out, stepping out of the way and nudging you to sit down. Happily, you slide into the seat next to Nina and accept her giddy hug.

Nico sweeps your hair over your shoulder, squeezing your neck briefly before going to get your drink.

“Oh this is Maja,” Nina introduces you to her friend. You reach over the table to shake her hand and introduce yourself.

“I’m with Luca,” Maja tells you, her pretty blue eyes sparkling. “Sorry I missed lunch today, I tend to skip those gatherings as often as I can.”

“I totally understand!” You laugh,” I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.”

Nina gasps, gripping your arms as she beams at you. “You’re gonna come back?!”

Giggling, you nod. “Well yeah, I know Nico misses you and Luca and it hasn’t been bad. Besides, it’s beautiful here!”

“You have to visit in the summer!” Maja tells you, “we can make fondue and float the river.”

Nina agrees telling you all about how that was Nico’s favorite thing to do when he was younger. Then she’s inviting you to France, telling you all about the beautiful French men and how much you’d love them.

You let her chatter on, laughing at her antics. French men aren’t exactly your forte, especially not when you’re dating a Swiss man but you can remind her about that later.

“Nina,” Nico interrupts, placing your drink in front of you. “are you trying to set my prinzessin up with a Frenchie?”

Sliding in next to you, he wraps his arm around your stomach and draws you back into his chest. His sister gapes at him, so shocked by his words she’s gone speechless and you shyly sip your drink.

“Prinzessin, Nico!” She gasps, holding her heart. Nina tells him something in Swiss German, reaching around you to excitedly shove her brother.

His response is also lost on you but you can tell by Nina’s moony eyes and how he hunches into you that it was something loving and sweet. “Soon, soon.” Nico finally says, taking a drink of his beer and setting it next to yours.

“Hey don’t talk about me when I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

Laughing, Nico presses a kiss to your temple. “Sorry baby,” he says, squeezing your shoulders. You turn to face him, sliding your leg over his lap.

“You didn’t tell me about Maja,” you murmur, fiddling with the straw in your drink. Nico’s eyebrows pinch together, lips pursing in confusion as he looks around the bar.

“Who?”

“Nico oh my god,” you gasp “Luca’s girlfriend-wife-whatever?”

Some clarity washes over his face and he giggles, glancing across the booth to Maja. Lowering his lips to your ear, “I thought her name was Maria,” he whispers and you laugh.

“I don’t know, Luca got with her after I left and he’s not chatty on the phone. For all I know he’s already married her.”

You look over your shoulder at her hand. “No ring,” you tell him “and I don’t think he’d get married without telling you.”

Nico shrugs, taking a swig of his beer before holding it out to you. You slide him your drink, trying the tangy beer he’s been nursing. It’s not bad but beer isn’t your favorite so you quickly hand it back.

“That’s sweet,” Nico says, smacking his lips and returning it to you. “Too sweet, Jesus Christ.” You laugh, snacking an arm around his shoulders and digging your fingers into the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, guiding him closer to you. Smirking, those dark eyes of his dance across your face before settling on your lips. He does the rest of the work for you, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss.

“Mmm,” he hums, pulling back and swiping his tongue across his lips. “Better.”

His voice has that gruffness to it, heavy and thick, and not just because his accent is stronger now that he’s home. It makes your neck and ears feel hot, stomach flipping.

“No PDA in my bar Nico!” Luca’s shouting makes you jump, almost knocking Nico’s beer across the table and him and Timo snicker as they sit across from you.

“Bar PDA is his favorite,” Timo laughs, winking at you. “How do you think they ended up together?”

You can’t even argue with him. Nico is notorious for being handsy, especially when he’s out and drinking.

“Really?” Luca hums, slinging an arm around Maja. “It used be like pulling teeth just to get him to look at girl around here.”

And well, that’s news to you. Although you suppose if he planned on leaving Switzerland anyway and he had that girl to fool around with whenever he wanted, what’s the point? You’re well aware that he was never looking for love.

Nico quickly changes the topic, asking Timo about his day with his family tomorrow and you join Nina and Maja as they sift through songs on the online jukebox to play.

The queue stacks up, your drink starts to run out, and Nico leaves with Timo and his brother to go play pool. Nina leaves the phone with Maja, taking you by the hand to the bar where she orders more drinks and drops them on Nico’s tab. Not that it matters, you doubt he pays for drinks here anyway.

“I’m gonna head to the restroom,” you tell her, and she takes your drink back to the closed off section. The bathrooms are in the opposite back corner, a group of girls huddled in front of the door so you line up behind them.

Your phone buzzes in hand, Nico’s contact lighting up the screen and you almost laugh. Of course he noticed you were missing.

I’ve lost my pretty girl

Biting your lip, you text back bathroom break ♥️

The typing dots pop up and you’re anxiously awaiting his response when the conversation around you catches your attention. Specifically the mention of Nico’s name.

“He’s still as hot as ever,” a dark haired girl in front of you comments, and you keep your eyes on your phone so they don’t think you’re eavesdropping.

“Do you think she’s actually with him or is that just another fuck you to his parents?”

Nico’s text comes through, but you can’t focus enough to read it. “I mean, she doesn’t look his type so who knows. Didn’t he say he wasn’t into commitment Lena?”

Out of the corner of your eye, a tall and leggy brunette twirls her hair around her finger and shrugs. “If he were into commitment don’t you think he’d be with me right now? It’s definitely just to piss off his parents, I mean did you see the size of her? Typical American girl.”

Suddenly you feel sick, like everything you’ve ever eaten is choking up in your throat and about to spew all over the mean girls in front of you.

“I heard he put her in the family,” a quieter voice says. “Timo was talking about it at the bar with Luca. He’s calling her his princess.”

The leader-Lena, scoffs. “Princess? She hasn’t even got a pendent let alone a ring.”

Maybe this why Nico doesn’t talk about his exes. They’re mean and petty little girls, girls that haven’t moved on in over 5 years. That doesn’t make it any easier to hear though.

“Probably another one of his deals. He fucks her, she pretends to be serious with him for a family trip.”

“Why would he decide to come back now with a fake girlfriend?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lena laughs, loud and proud. “He must have heard that I’m back at the estate.”

You decide that’s enough, pocketing your phone and clearing your throat. All the girls jump at the noise, turning to face you and you smile.

“Are you in line for the bathroom or just gossiping?” You ask politely, smirking as the color drains from all their faces. All except Lena, who looks you up and down before sheepishly nodding for you to go ahead.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” You say, stopping in the doorway to look at her. “You’d think Luca would have bathrooms strictly for family but I guess not.”

Embarrassed, they all laugh awkwardly and you close the door behind you. What the fuck?

~~~~

By the time you’ve returned to the booth, you’ve shaken off the word of those girls. You trust Nico, you know Nico loves you, and high school bullies that pick on girls weight and nationality aren’t going to change that.

Nico is still playing pool, but he catches your eye and winks as you settle in next to Nina. Smirking, you blow him a kiss before Nina is handing you music rights. Sipping on your drink, you pull up your playlist on your phone and find the Swiss songs Nico likes. Adding his favorite to the queue you hand the phone back.

“How do you know that song?” Maja asks you, chewing on the end of her straw. You take another sip of yours.

“Nico plays it every time we’re in the car.” You say, catching the eye of Lena over Maja’s shoulder. She simply raises an eyebrow you, throwing back whatever shot is in hand and purses her lips.

“Hey, do you guys know her?” You suddenly ask, nodding towards the bar where Lena is now perched over the top to steal cherries from behind the counter.

“Oh,” Nina mumbles, laughing awkwardly. “Rino does business with her father and uh…”

“She was into Nico?” You supply, glancing over at your boyfriend. Maja bites her lip, hesitantly nodding.

“She was supposed to marry him.” Nina tells you, lowering her gaze to the table. Suddenly it all clicks; the comments about sleeping with him, about him not committing, about using me.

The song changes, the beat immediately catching the attention of Nico who stands up taller and looks over at you. You smile, wiggling your fingers at him as Nina laughs.

“I never thought Nico could be so romantic.” Maja teases you, not that you get it. The rap song is lost on you, any translation you’ve tried to look up being even more confusing. So you just enjoy the beat of it usually.

“What?”

Nina laughs, finally realizing that you can’t understand Swiss German. “It’s a love song,” she tells you, and then she’s pulling up the lyrics and translating them for you.

It’s a lot of nonsense, cute tidbits about how the artist loves the habits and traits of his lover. But the chorus is sweet, a declaration of him finding love after being told he would always be on his own.

Unable to help yourself, you swallow down the rest of your drink and scramble out of the booth. Nico is watching you, bottom lip caught between his teeth as you approach him. He’s leaning on the pool stick but as soon as you get close he’s moving it aside.

You crash into him, bury your nose in his hoodie and holding his waist tightly. “What’s her deal?” Luca slurs, but he goes ignored. Nico squeezes you just once, swaying side to side in time with the song.

Closing your eyes, you think of him singing along in the car, humming it in the shower while he washes your hair for you, blasting it through the house when you two clean together.

“Who translated it for you?” He finally murmurs, his smile present in his tone.

“Your sister,” you say, resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him. He’s all white teeth and dimples when you meet his gaze, eyes glimmering with pride. “Her and Maja think you’re very romantic.”

Nico shrugs but doesn’t argue. The pool balls clink behind you and then Timo is hollering. “Game over Luca, pay up.”

Luca mutters something in Swiss, heading to the bar with his head low. You let go of Nico, giving Timo a chance to high five you both.

“Let me teach you to play,” Nico tells you, handing you the pool stick. You follow him to the end of the table, letting him show you how to rack up the balls. Timo chalks up your stick for you, tells you about the cue ball.

And you go about your night, teaming up with Nico to play Timo. He stands behind you for every shot, large hands over yours on the pool stick and his warm chest tight against your back.

It feels so good to have him wrapped around you that you don’t even notice the staring eyes of Lena and her friends.

And you don’t bring her up to Nico, though you probably should’ve.

~~~~

#nico hischier #mob boss Nico Hischier #nico hischer x reader #mob boss au #Him and I #nhl #new jersey devils #nj devils #fluff

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comradekatara · 3 months

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the gaang+ and their ideal jacket/coat -type wear?

sorry for taking so long to respond to this one it’s such a fun question i love jackets (also assuming modern au obviously)

aang’s favorite jacket would be one of those windbreakers with like. a vivid 80s color scheme (eg, purple and yellow, orange and blue, green and pink, etc etc). no one but him could pull it off (especially in this day and age) but he looks so cool in it. fresh and fly, even

katara loves jackets and is constantly saying in aang’s vicinity “wow what a gorgeous jacket… if only i had a BEST FRIEND in this CRUEL WORLD who TRULY LOVED ME so that i could wear it…..” and aang never picks up on what she is doing and buys it for her as if it was his own idea every time. and every time katara is like “omg aang!!! how did you know that this was literally the exact jacket i wanted!!!” and she’s being sincere btw. like she either just doesn’t remember or never even catches on to what it is she’s doing. so she’s just like “wow aang is an amazing friend…” somehow totally oblivious to her own machinations.

also katara loves wearing really big puffy coats with thick fur linings in winter, and whenever she zips up and puts the hood up on those bad boys she looks like a big puffy purple marshmallow and you only can just see her little face peeking through the fluff of her hood. and she should look kind of stupid but she doesn’t. in fact she looks sooo cute

toph gets really cold in winter so one year katara gets her one of those really fluffy, puffy coats. she loves it so much she even wears it indoors sometimes. and yes she looks adorable in it too

sokka just has one jacket that he wears for every occasion. it was probably hakoda’s, it’s either brown or green, it’s slightly too large on him, it has one million pockets, and it has a wool lining around the collar. he wears it in winter, in summer, rain or shine, and whenever anyone is like “isn’t that jacket not exactly…weather appropriate?” sokka’s like “wym? this is my jacket.” the truth is, he has such an ordered system of what items go in which pockets that he just can’t be bothered to have to move stuff around if he ever got a second jacket. so he doesn’t

zuko fantasizes about being cool enough to pull off a leather jacket, but in reality he is just a freak in a cardigan.

suki has one denim jacket that she has had since forever that she wears with everything. it’s faded, torn, and has one million pins and patches on it. this jacket is basically like a son to her. bisexual hall of fame jacket.

you know azula loves a fitted blazer. with sharp confident shoulders, but not in an obnoxious way. a sensible color and a sensible cut. classy, elegant, stylish, timeless. but sadly, the other kids in her eighth grade debate club think it’s “a bit much.”

mai is one of those girls who LOVES peacoats. she has a million different nearly identical peacoats in slightly different shades of black, navy blue, maroon, and burgundy (which is slightly different from maroon, GOD). she also has a few black leather jackets (she’s rich) that she looks really cool in, if you were wondering (and zuko isn’t jealous at all).

for ty lee’s birthday, mai gives her a jacket that is the exact same cut as her favorite leather jacket but in a really nice shade of pink. she had it custom made (but she doesn’t tell ty lee that). it is ty lee’s favorite item of clothing, and she cherishes it forever.

#homoclothes #asks #the gaang and #modern au #maixtylee #katara&toph #aang&katara #tag yourself im suki sun sokka moon mai rising #(idk astrology)

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crepesuzette2023 · 7 months

Text

“To the best of our ability Paul!”: The Paperback Writer session [and fashion show]

By Johnny Dean. From: The Beatles Book Monthly, Issue 35. June 1966.

As we walked down the corridor towards E.M.I.’s No. 2 studio (where else would one go when sitting-in on a Beatles recording session), the commissionaire pointed out to us that the boys were in No. 3 instead. So we made our way back to the front of the building and as we approached the studio door, the red light went on—which meant that they were recording. So we waited for them to finish. Three minutes later we walked in.

On entering the studio, we found John and Paul surrounded by a mass of equipment—most significant of all, were their new massive amplifiers. Paul was clad in his distinctive casual recording gear of black trousers, black moccasin-type shoes, white shirt with fawn stripes, a black sleeveless pullover and to top it all orange—tinted specs. John sported green velvet trousers, a blue buttoned up wool vest and black suede boots.

The basic track of "Paperback Writer" had been recorded the previous day, and now John and Paul were working out a detailed backing. Paul was perched on a stool thumbing away at a red and white Rickenbacker guitar, (moving with the music as he does on stage) whilst the Iyrics boomed through the studio speakers—so we were very honoured at being the first to hear their new single besides George Martin and of course, the Beatles.

We then spotted Ringo's head behind the screen in the far corner—he was playing chess with Neil. So we walked over. "Who's winning?", I asked. "Neil's the expert”, Ringo replied, and went back to the chess board to concentrate on how to get his king out of danger from an attack by Neil's bishop and castle.

The music stopped. George Martin came into the studio from the control room to have a tete-a-tete with Paul as to what they could do to improve the backing.

"What are you trying to do with this one?", I asked Paul. "Have you heard the lyrics?", came the reply. "Yes, I think it's very unusual”. "The trouble is", said Paul,"That we've done everything we can with four people, so it's always a problem to ring the changes and make it sound different. That's why we have got all these guitars and equipment here." That must have been the understatement of the year, because the studio was littered with pianos, grand pianos, amplifiers, guitars, percussion instruments, and other odd bits and pieces which were strewn over the studio floor.

The studio was sectioned-off with brown canvas screens and what seemed like thousands of black cables running from the amps and other electrical equipment to the control room over the heavily marked wooden floor. To stop the echo, E.M.I. have covered some of the floor with old carpets.

The big heavy sound-proof door which stops any of the noise of the outside world seeping into the studio, burst open, and in strolled George looking very elegant in his Mongolian lamb fur coat with black cap and oblong metal specs.

He was obviously on top of the world and bubbling over with enthusiasm, ready to record a dozen numbers. He threw his coat along side Paul's fur jacket and got down to work out the backing with John and Paul.

John, George and George Martin huddled round Paul, who was seated at the piano trying to work out a bass bit, before asking George Martin to play it. John leaned on the piano while he listened to Paul's ideas for a while. Then he picked up his orange Gretsch guitar and proceeded to pick away at it. At the same time Paul transferred to a Vox organ.

Although John and Paul were both working on the song together, it was originally Paul's idea. He asked the engineer to play it back at half speed so that John and George could do some vocal bits.

They were now all set to go. George Martin gave the O.K. The recording light went on and the basic sound track was played back through the "cans" they each had clamped over their heads. They did several takes. John and George hit some very high notes, but their voices kept cracking. "I don't think I can make it" said George, "unless I have a cup of tea. Where’s Mal?”

Right on cue at the end of the fourth take Mal emerged into the studio laden with tea, biscuits and something very special—toast and strawberry jam. Everything was immediately dropped and a sudden swoop was made on the toast and jam. Ringo, who was still in the corner trying to work out his next move, only got one piece of toast, so Mal offered to make another batch as it had proved so popular.

Meanwhile Beatles Book photographer Leslie Bryce was clicking away.

After the toast and jam had been devoured it was back to work. Paul suddenly got an inspiration he dived across to the piano and started playing bits of "Free Jacques" he was highly delighted at the thought of having it in the new single.

"O.K. let's try it", said George Martin. So John and George gathered round the mike and off they went. But it was a false start. Paul's head appeared over the top of the piano and he queried "Did you come in at the right place?". "We can't hear it properly" , said John, "anyway I thought that was the end of it.” George promptly told him it was the beginning!

After they had finished taping these bits, the tracks were played back into the studio while everyone listened in silence. George Martin was the first to speak-"I think that the best thing we've added are the 'Frere Jacques’ bits. Ringo who had finally beaten Neil at a game of chess by check-mating him in several brilliant moves involving a queen, a bishop and a castle, said that he thought John and Paul sounded as though they were singing through water! Highly uncomplimentary, so Paul then made for the organ once again and started to work out a sound which resembled that of Scottish bag pipes.

John then came swooping across the studio and shouted out—“You've got it. You've got it". Paul then started dum-dee-dumming away at everyone else—it was just like a scene from "My Fair Lady”!

George Martin appeared over John's shoulder and said "I see what you mean”. Paul announced that someone else should play it—meaning George Martin. John and George then went back to their mikes and added the vocals over the top.

After the first track Paul looked over the top of the piano and asked John and George if they were singing it right.

George turned round, lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose and looked down at Paul in a typical school-masterish fashion and said "To the best of our ability Paul!" And so the boys went on getting the sound that you will hear on "Paperback Writer”.

It was a long session. It took something like ten hours to record because the Beatles insisted on sticking at it until they were completely satisfied that they can do no more.

When you listen to "Paperback Writer" bear in mind what went on beforehand to achieve this really great sound, and I'm sure you'll appreciate it all the more.

"The very first shot of Paul we took when we arrived in the studio." (Photo by Leslie Bryce)

"Paul's hit on something. Waving his 'ciggie' he dee-dums his way through the bit he's just thought up while George sings with him." (Photo by Leslie Bryce)

Ringo's chess pieces and John's green velvet trousers. (Photos by Leslie Bryce)

#the beatles #george martin #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #mal evans #paperback writer #lots to unpack #lots to unzip #George had so much more fun here than in Get Back #Paul and George Martin comma huddling #amazing creative energy #ten hours

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chicinsilk · 2 years

Text

US Vogue September 1974 ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Model Lauren Hutton

The whole look-start to finish -Kasper's wonderful, roomy steamer coat in navy wool Melton over his navy satin shirt, navy pleated gabardine skirtpulled together, complete. Kasper for Joan Leslie. Woolmark coat and skirt, loomed in America, (Anglo Fabrics) shirt, of rayon and silk. Coiffure, by Rick Gillette; makeup, by Way Bandy.

Editor Polly Mellen

Photo RIchard Avedon

vogue archive

#us vogue #september 1974 #fall/winter #fashion 70s #seventies #new york collections #lauren hutton #richard avedon #kasper #joan leslie #chic wool coat #elegant set #polly mellen

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devdas5z · 17 days

Text

Victoria Song

#victoria song #black leather gloves #leather gloves #gloves #wool coat #sweater #asian #asian beauty #elegant #fashion

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cloveroctobers · 1 year

Text

DECEMBER DRABBLES — 5. Carmy Berzatto x black! Reader 🌨️

Synopsis; We love a girlfriend who can’t cook but tries to do something sweet for her chef boyfriend.

A/N: this is for my sisters that can’t cook for shit but try their hardest. I feel for y’all…let me shut up like I’m really out here actually cooking full meals lmao! but will that stop me from acting like I’m on a chopped segment? No. + I just started rewatching this series and realized I missed out on a lot the first round lol.

PROMPT: #22. “I wanted to make you a holiday dinner, but I forgot I can’t cook.”

.༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ . .

Fresh flakes fell from Carmen Berzatto’s straggly hair as he lightly shook it, entering his apartment at the late hour.

He sniffed mainly to stop his nose running from the frigid air, as he tossed his black wool coat onto a coat hook and that’s when he smelled something faint but not so pleasant.

Using the wall for leverage, he kicked off his work shoes and went by the front door, heading straight to the kitchen. He expected to see leftover pans still in his sink from a spinach frittata he took the time to make for breakfast two days ago but…found it clean. The blue eyed man scratched at his brow, trying to rack his brain on when he got around to doing that, until his eyes focused on something wrapped sitting on the stove.

Carmen gripped the aluminum, pulling at its edges to see what appeared to be a sweet potato pie. The only thing that looked wrong was it’s evident shape, the crust also was too thick, uneven and not flaky. He couldn’t speak for the taste and desserts wasn’t his specialty but Carmen Berzatto was positive that he did not make this monstrosity.

Who the fuck’s been in his apartment?

As soon at that thought whipped through his mind, he shifted his body to his cramped living space. Something green slid across the counter towards him and into the sink, revealing to be wrapped in a red bow at its stems with one single bell attached.

Frowning, Carmy plucked up the plant to bring up to his eyesight and took in its earthy scent of the mistletoe. That’s when his eyes moved back to his living room to see her standing in his line of vision, stretching with her arms raised up above her head, followed by a small yawn that escaped her heart-shaped lips.

Her braided ponytail swayed as she got her stretch out and smiled as they settled on Carmy. Carmy was still at a lost of words at the woman who stepped forward to place her hands on the opposite counter. The elegance in her steps and the fitted white attire that brought out her melanin made Carmy lick his bottom lip.

How could he forget her?

His girlfriend.

Carmy’s got used to coming home to a empty apartment and couldn’t find enjoyment in that. He didn’t share this space with anyone and was barely inside of it himself. It was just a place that held things he gained over his years of life but no longer felt a connection to?

“What do you have there, Mr. Berzatto?” A playful glint was written in her dark eyes as she leaned against the counter.

Not leaving much to the imagination but Carmy certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Uh, mistletoe?”

“I think I’m owed a kiss then.”

Carmy’s face lifted with small smile lines in his cheeks as he made his way over to the woman who turned to him, ready. Her bare arms locked across his shoulders, intertwining behind his head as he peered into her eyes and breathed in her warm scent of: fresh roasted marshmallows, violets, and plums.

A kiss followed next, with Carmy’s cold tatted fingers resting dangerously low on her spine.

“Welcome home,” She breathed once they broke apart, making Carmy’s heart began to drum.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this before, not towards anyone. Especially when he didn’t have many long-lasting girlfriends in his life. It was never a priority or interest for him, especially once he went away to school. Sure he had a few one-night stands in culinary school and ghosted a few others that showed interest in him before but they never equated to this feeling right here.

Fuzzy yet comfortable tossed into a box with a pretty red ribbon on top. Is this what home looks like? Carmy found himself caressing the fullness of her round face to make sure that she was real and that he wasn’t dreaming again. It took him mere seconds to realize that it wasn’t, since the dreams he had were never this serene.

“It’s good to have you here,” Carmy said bringing her into his chest, not caring if she heard how loud his heart was beating with her in his arms, “were you waiting up all this time for me?”

He felt her hand caress his back, squeezing herself as close as possible to his frame, “mmm I don’t know how long really. I went out with the girls and ran into three of my co-workers at the club. They also took a trip up here? Surprisingly it didn’t mess the vibe up too much but I actually got tired of the club scene really quick and knew I rather spend my time here.”

Carmy believed that.

He knew the stories of how she spent her early twenties modeling internationally to get through college. She often told Carmy that the American clubs had nothing on the ones overseas and Carmy took her word for it. He didn’t have much free-time when it came to the culinary arts and even when he did, he stuck to bars. That was more his speed than anything.

“Did you sleep here?” Carmy further quizzed, his round eyes met the famous chocolate Sherpa blanket tossed to the side on his couch and the boots leaned over on the floor, “Ah shit, you should have called me, I would have been here a lot sooner.”

He couldn’t predict that but it was nice that he said it. From the outside point of view, the relationship didn’t make much sense to those that knew about Carmy’s relationship. He was the owner of a growing business, so time was always limited and she was still a part-time model and teacher’s aide…in Philadelphia.

It’s only been a couple of months since Carmy got into this relationship and long-distance was certainly a thing but it worked for them; that’s all that really mattered.

“It’s fine, Carm-Parm,” she leaned back to look into his blues, “I wanted to make you a holiday dinner, but I forgot I can’t cook.”

Carmy dipped his head, “so that’s what that was back there on the stove?”

“Oh no, that’s the final result.” She informed the man, “it was much worse before that. I even sent texts to Sugar for input and got no response but I know she read it. Then after getting my dad involved, he immediately called me to tell me that I am a embarrassment to our Sudanese culture.”

Carmy winced at that as she twisted her lips around before sighing as he replied, “that’s fucked up, you think he meant it?”

“Well of course! The first time he put me in the kitchen with my aunties, we were making Ful Medames—it’s almost like a bean dip. My job was to take care of the most important part, the beans! After they’ve been soaked over night you’re supposed to mash them…I got glass all in the beans and burned the boiled eggs.” She informed Carmy who awkwardly used one hand to scratch at the back of his head.

There were plenty of times that she offered to grab Carmy something, even if she was off in another state and now he understood why. However he was sure there had to be something out there that his girlfriend could make.

“Let’s try that pie then,” Carmy decided, watching as the dark skinned woman perked up at that.

It was after midnight and a midnight snack never hurt nobody—

Says the man with the messed up stomach.

She led him back into the kitchen, leaving him to do the honors as she pulled out the bowl of most-likely spiked eggnog to set on the counter closest to the stove. Carmy grabbed a paper plate, a knife, and began slicing himself a piece of pie to place into the microwave.

Gracefully she moved around Carmen in the kitchen for glasses, then she scooped the egg nog into two cups while they waited for the sweet potato pie.

“Cheers!” She bounced on her toes, tapping the goblet glass against her boyfriend’s before taking a large gulp.

The part about being a cook is that you have to make good judgment calls and be open to trying new things.

So Carmy sipped just in time the microwave signaled that the pie was ready, “I can see that your mission with this nog is to get completely fucked up.”

She laughed and sent a wink the man’s way who blew air from his mouth as the rum shook his insides. Placing the glass to the side, Carmy yanked the microwave open and peered at the pie. The color was always beautiful to look at as he placed the plate onto the counter and thanked the woman beside him who held out a fork.

Leaning against the counter, Carmy inhaled the dessert and pressed his fork down into it. The crust immediately crumbled like sand underneath the pressure but he kept going until he got enough onto the fork.

Here goes nothing.

He took his time savoring the multiple flavors he was picking up on this pie. Personally he didn’t care for pies much but again, he was open. The pie was so sweet yet he could taste a small hint of tartness, possibly orange juice? He wasn’t sure if that was a common thing for these pies or not but it wasn’t horrible flavor wise, just a tad too sweet for his liking.

“Be real with me, Chef.”

“Presentation could be better,” Carmy started in which the woman nodded her head in agreement, “but it’s not bad. Just a little too sweet…what kind of sugar did you use?”

“Dark brown sugar and granulated sugar to have some balance in there.”

“Okay, I see where you were going with that,” Carmy wiped at his lips holding his hands up for a high-five, their hands interlocking, “next time you might want to use less measurements.”

“Measurements?” She titled her head to the side, “a real chef doesn’t use measurements, they eye it.”

Sure if the dish turns out to be a winner and you remember the measurements exactly without it being on paper, have at it.

She took Carmen’s silence as a response, making her pout slightly before she rolled that off her shoulders. Carmy laughed, holding his arms out to pull the woman back into his embrace, his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I liked the eggnog.” Carmy whispered, making her scoff.

Her hands went to rub at his back again, before lifting her head to place a open-mouthed kiss to his neck. Carmy almost crumbled just like her pie crust back there, feeling his arms tighten around her in that moment.

“Have you eaten, Carmy?”

That was usually his question for her…but he found himself thinking about it.

“Yeah…much earlier with the crew.”

She hummed as she stepped back, her hand holding onto Carmy’s much cooler one.

“Did I forget to mention that you look…stunning in that outfit tonight?” Carmy said, analyzing the corset, pearl studded mini skirt, and her long legs.

She made him spin her underneath his arm just to rest with her back against his front.

He needed to be closer. Much closer.

“Why, Thank you, chef.” Her voice was sultry as she spoke, “why don’t you see if you can enjoy the holiday dinner underneath it instead?”

That was all the invitation Carmen needed. He was quick unraveling his arm from around her frame just to spin her back around to face him. He preferred being face to face with his girl and she knew that, letting out a squeal as his hands went to her ass, lifting her up and against his hips.

Her hands gripped his jaw as he looked up at her, his eyes darkening like snowfall hitting the night pavement, awaiting her sweet mouth again but knew she would be teasing after his food review. However that didn’t stop him from leading the way back to his bedroom, thrilled to get those stockings off and be reminded why she might be his new favorite holiday.

.༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ .༊*·˚ . .

Continue along with my December anthology prompts here.

#the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x black! reader #carmy berzatto x reader #Carmy berzatto x black! reader #jeremy allen white #winter prompts #December prompts #december dialogue list #queued

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

Moody and Gray - William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 7

Rating - Explicit

Warning - sexual content

Also available on AO3

You can’t sleep.

You feel like a kid on Christmas Eve.

You toss and turn. Punch your pillow. Blanket off then back on.

Nope. You’re not getting any rest.

Well, you might as well do something productive and clean the house.

You decide to start in the bedroom. Strip and make the bed. Get all the laundry in the hamper. A quick run through in the bathroom. Fresh towels. Shower scrubbed. Kitchen appliances and counters wiped down. Floors mopped. Coffee table in living room tidied. You can’t vacuum at this hour, the neighbors would complain. You suppose you could do the dreaded dusting. You sigh. Only for William fucking Afton.

You inspect everything one final time. Well, it’s certainly an improvement from its state in his previous visit. Smells clean. Looks decent. You flop on the couch and switch the television on, the volume so low it’s barely audible. You’ll just sit for a few minutes, then you’ll head to bed.

The sound of someone knocking on the front door awakens you.

You blink, trying to get your bearings. The sunlight is streaming in from the balcony. You’re in the living room. You’d fallen asleep on the couch. Which means that it’s…

“Shit! Wait, Will, I’m coming.” You scramble off the couch and rush to the door, hastily turning the deadbolt and unlocking it. “I am so sorry. I was cleaning and I fell asleep on the couch…”

“It’s okay, Moody.”

Oh God, Afton looks good. He always looks good, but now he’s got regular clothes on beneath the open wool coat and you’re staring. Stop staring. “Um, come in. Sorry. I’m still waking up.” You drag a hand through your hair and step aside so he can enter.

“I brought some things to make for breakfast. I noticed your fridge was rather on the empty side, so…I’m just going to put this away for now.”

“Thanks, Will. You didn’t have to do that.” You should be the one serving him food. He’s your guest. You suddenly realize how ill prepared you are. Granted it had been a last minute late night decision to spend the day together, but still.

“The place looks nice. I appreciate the effort. You should have been getting more rest, though.”

“I tried. I couldn’t. So I thought I’d do some cleaning and I just…” Your voice trails off. His coat is draped over the back of the couch. You move to hang it up in the closet.

“I didn’t really sleep either, to be honest.”

“Really?” You slip his coat onto a hanger and close the closet door.

“I was trying to remember the last time I took a day off. I couldn’t.”

William folds his arms, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He’s wearing an ivory sweater. Dark denim pants. Ebony Timberland boots. You’re staring again. Stop that. “You um…you look really good. I mean you always do, but…”

“I don’t believe I’ve gotten my good morning kiss yet.”

“Yeah, okay, but um…can I brush my teeth first?”

“Quickly.”

“Yup. I’m going.” You hurry to the bathroom. Smear an absurd amount of toothpaste in your haste on your toothbrush. Hurriedly scrub your teeth as fast as you can. You end up wearing most of the water from the faucet when you go to rinse.

William’s behind you. Backing you up against the sink as soon as you turn around. “You do have an issue with getting shirts wet, don’t you, Moody? So messy. What am I going to do with you?” He smirks, reaching for the hem of your top. You let him pull it over your head. He captures your lips. “How’s my moody girl doing, hmmm?”

Oh good fucking morning Mr. Afton. Your hand reaches for the obvious bulge straining against his jeans.

“I think you should be naked in my bed.”

“Is that what my girl wants?”

“Yes.”

He grins around another kiss, allowing you to pull him into the bedroom. He sits on the bed and begins to unlace his boots but you kneel down to do it for him and he doesn’t protest. You tuck his socks into the boots. He has such nice feet for a man, you can’t help thinking. Elegant like his hands. Slender ankles. Shapely. Just a random thought as he lifts his hips just long enough for you to drag his pants and briefs off. He reaches with one hand between his shoulders to grab the sweater and pull it off overhead.

The older man lies back in the center of the bed and you climb in next to him. Begin kissing your way down his chest. He smells so good. Some kind of men’s body wash. Another kiss along his abdomen. One hip. You’re working your way down. It’s occurred to you that you haven’t done this yet for him and you want to. You want to taste him and make him feel good with your mouth.

His fingers slot in your hair. You plant a soft kiss along the shaft and then you take the head in your mouth and he sighs, hips shifting a little, relaxing, getting comfortable. It is a lot of cock to suck, but you are determined to do your very best. Your mouth engulfs him further. He’s already filling your mouth and you haven’t even reached the base yet. Feel your nostrils flaring for air. Push down further. Fuck that gag reflex. Keep going. Hitting the back of your throat. Holding him in place. A few short bobs. Release with a gasp. Thick saliva coats him. You stroke and look up at him.

“Fuck, Moody. You are hungry, aren’t you?”

“For you? Always.” You grin. A few more swipes. Break time over. Now to get serious. You plant some sensual kisses on the tip before you descend again. Up and down, lips wrapped tightly around his dick. His fingers in your hair again. You moan around him. Wet sounds when he collides with your throat. Little sighs and hums. You withdraw. Spit the excess saliva from your mouth and run your fingers over the slick. You have never enjoyed this with anyone else as much as you are with William. Of course, you could say the same for every sexual experience you’d had with him thus far. There was a certain frequency you were both attuned to, perfectly aligned.

Engulfed again. His hips rise lazily to meet your mouth. Not urgent yet, just enjoying the sensation of fucking into that wet cavern. His dick slides in and out between the tight ring of your lips. Your fingers dig into his thighs. The hand knotted in your hair a little firmer now. Pelvis not so lax, more demanding. Breath a little quicker. You match his rhythm.

“Moody,” he cautions. His hand relaxes and he stops thrusting. Your mouth makes a loud popping sound when you abandon his member.

You crawl up to kiss his mouth. “Not gonna let me have a taste yet, huh?”

“Not just yet. Trust me when I tell you that I was enjoying that very, very much.”

“Me too.” You sink down next to him. Your lips are still tingling and your throat’s a little sore but you don’t mind. You can’t stop grinning. You’re so ridiculously happy right now.

“That being said, I wouldn’t mind a little appetizer myself.” He shift positions until his face is between your thighs. “We’ve forgotten to take these off, haven’t we?” You’re still wearing your panties. His tongue presses against you through the material. “Oh, fuck Moody. I have missed the taste of that pussy.” He plants one more kiss before reaching for the waistband and tugging. You raise your hips and he slides them off. Another kiss on your mound. The inside of both thighs. He presses the flat wedge of his tongue against your clit.

You moan, threading your fingers through his hair. His tongue flicks over your shyly peeking button. You’d been standing in the shower the last time he’d eaten you out. It feels different in this position. Spread out on clean sheets. No rush. The entire day ahead of you. Wet, sucking kisses scatter your thoughts. He’s watching you. Dark gray eyes. Those gorgeous hands caressing your hips before one slips down. Fingers corkscrewing inside. The stretch and reach. You’re pressing yourself against him. He’s shoving right back. Staccato taps of his tongue on your slit. Teasing between the folds.

“How many times do you think I can make you cum today?” He hums, lips pressing against the inside of each thigh. “What’s the record I’m going to break?”

“Fuck, Gray, I don’t know. The most I’ve ever…touching myself when I was sixteen…maybe five one day when I was really horny…fuck…” He interrupts you with a renewed sharp flick of his tongue against your nub. Fingers working inside you.

“Six then. I think I can manage that for my girl.”

Your back arches. Fingers lost in that thatch of thick hair. Eyes lost in his. The heat of his words spreads across your spine. Flows through your core. You’re his girl. His. You melt in his mouth. That’s it, you’re there. His moaning joins yours. Your free hand knots the sheets. Legs shaking. He’s got you. Letting you ease down. Soft kisses like raindrops. Afton climbs back up. Kisses your mouth still fresh with mint. His heavy with the tang of your nectar. He flops down next to you, grinning.

“That’s one, Moody.”

You groan and giggle. “I should have lied and said three or something. Do you know how sore I’m going to be by the end of the day? Not to mention exhausted.”

“We can take a nap later if you need to.”

“No way. I’m not missing a day with you for sleep. Not worth it.”

“You like me that much, hmmm?”

“I still work at your crappy restaurant, don’t I?” You turn on your side and kiss his cheek. “I do like you that much,” you say more solemnly. Don’t do it. Don’t go down this road.

“This much?” He pinches his index finger and thumb together leaving barely any space. “Or maybe this much?” A little wider.

“Not even close to accurate.” You drag his other hand over and hold both of them wide apart. “More like this.”

“That is quite a lot, Moody. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve that.” A soft smile. A band of sunlight peeking from the gap on the side of the blinds rests against his face. Dark chocolate tresses. Lighter bronzed lashes. Alabaster skin turned gold. He laces your fingers together. You bend to kiss his mouth. “Want breakfast now? I mean, real, actual, food.”

“Yeah okay. Right after I shower.” You reluctantly leave his side, picking up your laundry and tossing it in the hamper.

“The feeling is mutual.” You think that’s what you hear when you enter the bathroom, the words a small admission that carry you through your shower.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking and you imagined them.

***

William Afton in the kitchen is a sight to behold.

There’s something about him being domestic that just tugs at your heart. It also reminds you that he’s another woman’s husband and father to three children but you shove those thoughts away immediately. You don’t want to deal with any of that right now. You’ve finally got him all to yourself. You’re going to enjoy every minute of it.

You help him find all the cookware he needs and accept his offer to manage the rest. You sit at the kitchen table with your chin resting in your palm. His sleeves are pushed up. Those hands you adore are busying themselves, making the most mundane tasks like opening a package or spreading butter or shifting the skillet on the stove seem a wonder. You admire his long frame when he leans back against the counter, hands braced on either side. Forearms still bare. Narrow denim clad hips. The messy hair that’s already tumbling down. That small, secret smile tugging on your heart.

Afton pushes off from the counter and checks on the state of his cooking. The room fills with good scents. Before long you have a plate of food in front of you. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, toast, bacon. Orange juice and coffee. You suddenly realize you’re starving. Everything is cooked perfectly. You hum a happy sigh.

“Good, Moody?”

“It’s all perfect. I should be the one cooking, though. You have to let me another time.”

“I don’t mind.” He takes a sip of coffee and his hand remains on the table resting beside it. You reach for it, letting your fingers tangle together.

You insist on doing the dishes. You don’t have a dishwasher. Your employer insists on helping. Stands beside you at the sink now. There are no accidental brushes beneath the soapy water this time. Every touch is deliberate. You wipe down the table and the counters. He’s leaning back near the sink. You slide your arms around him. Press your face into his sweater. Feel his arms wrap around you, squeezing you tight.

You decide to go to the park nearby.

The swings are unoccupied. You each take one. It’s so easy for those long limbs of William’s to gain momentum. You lean back and close your eyes. Almost like flying. He’s behind you now, waiting when you drag your feet and draw to a halt. Fingers together on the rope. The winter morning sun warm on you. Bare trees beside you, empty branches reaching towards a blue sky. His hand nestled beneath the curtain of hair, at the nape of your neck. Your arm linked through his as you walk together.

“Let’s go home,” he says beside your cheek. As if it is his. One you share together.

Seated soon after on the couch. The television on. You’ve no idea what it’s tuned to. You haven’t raised the volume. Your eyes are on the older man seated next to you. His hands move beneath your shirt. Inside your pants. Lazy kisses. Tender and soft like his touches. “My girl,” he murmurs, over and over. Your eyelids flutter. Movements no longer languid. Rougher kisses. Sharper strokes and thrusts. You whimper. “There you go, my love.” He has called you love before. Common British slang. But never my love. The possessiveness of it. Does he feel the same way you do about him? The absolute ache. His fingers inside you crooking. Your toes curling. The warm rush across your spine. “Will…I want you to be mine, I want…I…”

“I am yours. All yours, Moody. Only yours.”

You unwind around him. His mouth is heavy against yours, swallowing the keening noises you make.

***

“You are a cheater. What kind of rules are these?”

You’re seated across from William at the kitchen table. The Uno card he’s just turned over is one of the blank ones you can customize. You’d written pick up the entire deck resting on the table.

You smirk. “It’s not cheating. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“Who says I’m losing?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Think you can still turn this around?”

“I know so.”

“Want to make a bet?”

“Oh, you’re on.”

“What are we wagering? I’m broke, as you’ll recall.” You slide your foot up your boss’ pants leg.

“Hmmm.” You watch him place a card. Lay one atop it. You’ve only got a half dozen left. Mostly yellows. There’s no way he’s going to be able to recover. “Loser has to get naked?”

“Strip Uno. I like it. Then what?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He sets his entire hand down on the table. “I concede.”

”Giving up already? That was fast.” Another slide of your foot along his shin. He traps it, massaging your ankle. “I think maybe you just want to be naked in my bed again.”

“I think maybe you’re right.”

A trail of discarded garments mark your passage into the bedroom. You’re both nude, lying in your bed. Bodies resting sideways, spooned together, William behind you. The top thigh pushed upward, cheek lifted, and he’s in.

“Do you ever miss England?” So casually asked. As if you don’t have the pizzeria owner’s cock pistoning in and out of you. Pillow talk before the end of sex.

He huffs against your hair. “You’re so tight. I always seem to forget that. No, not really. I don’t have any particular attachment to it. My family moved when I was still young.”

“And you went from one of the wettest areas to one of the driest states in the country…fuck. This angle is so good.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? Speaking of one of the wettest areas…” He gives your cheek a light slap, thrusting in a little harder. Shifts so he’s kneeling, has more driving force into you, fingers firm on your body.

“Will…”

“You feel so fucking good.” The sounds of his skin striking yours grow more intense. He brings your leg around, still buried in you. Leaning down over you missionary style now. Fucking like the way you had the first night you’d been together. “My moody girl,” he utters, over and over like a mantra. He tucks a hand between your bodies and his thumb works your clit. You’re spread wide open for him. His cock spears you to the hilt. His tongue slices your lips apart. Breath hoarse over your face. “Tell me what you want, my love.” There it is again. Deliberate. Not a mistake.

“Fill me up.”

“Is that what you want? You want me to pump your tight pussy full of my cum?”

“Yes, Will, yes…” You gasp the words, pleading. The telltale knot is coiling within you.

“Moody, you make me so crazy. So crazy about you.” The words are a faint whisper.

You hadn’t imagined it earlier, then. He does feel the same, he does…The orgasm hits hard, surprising you with its intensity. The waves of pleasure ricochet around the cock inside of you. William moans against your throat. You feel the warm liquid of his release filling you, his frame shaking violently.

Afton’s face rests on your pillow now, high cheekbone pressed against the soft surface. Pewter eyes studying you.

“Want to go to the movies?”

You nod eagerly. “I’ll go anywhere with you. Let’s, yes. What’s playing?”

“No idea.” His fingers trace random patterns on your arm. No, not random. Letters. M. O. O. D. Y.

You grin. “Should we smuggle snacks in? Make a quick stop to grab some candy before we go?”

He frowns. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Of course it is.”

“You devious girl, you.” He brings your fingertips to his lips.

“It’s what us poor folk have to do.”

“I’ll buy you anything you want at the movies, you know.”

“I know. It’s more fun to be bad, though, isn’t it?”

His teeth nip your shoulder playfully. “I suppose it is.”

***

Matinee show at the small local theater. Some dumb romantic comedy with an actor and actress that are the talk of Hollywood at the moment. The movie has been out since fall; they’ll probably pull it from the the lineup soon. It really doesn’t matter what’s happening onscreen. It’s just an excuse to be together in a different setting.

You’re tucked into the corner at the back. William’s coat is draped on the seat beside you and your new one is atop his. You’re a little nervous, you have to admit. What if you see someone you recognize? There are plenty of excuses to be alone together at work. None for being seen together in public. You wonder again what excuse he gave for his absence at home all day.

You feed him candy coated pieces of chocolate. He tips the bag of popcorn in your direction. A cherry cola slushy washes it all down nicely. You feel his eyes on you. His arm drapes behind you, his knee pressing against yours. It’s all so seemingly casual.

About halfway through the film William whispers in your ear. Bidding you to follow him. He pulls you into one of the restrooms, into the stall and locks the door. Drags you into his lap. Presses his fingers over your mouth. His fingers find their way inside your panties once more. Amazing how he’s reignited you again so quickly. He’s committed to those six orgasms he’d promised earlier. You moan your fourth against the barrier of his hand.

Back in his car, heading home. You run your nails over his thigh. He’s smoking a cigarette.

“Am I stressing you out?” You tease.

He grins, sending a cloudy stream out the cracked window. “Not at all. Reduces the refractory period.”

“I think that’s already been reduced.” You let your fingers snake up further, teasing over the seam of his fly.

Another deep inhale of the nicotine laced bit of paper clutched between his index and middle fingers. You’re nearly back to your apartment. “I think I’m ready to pick up where we left off first thing this morning.”

Your mouth waters.

Afton has you kneeling at his feet. Your front door at his back. The impressive length of his cock shoved back down your throat. His coat is still on, his car keys still in his hand. You’d both been that impatient.

Your eyes lift. He’s looking down at you. Your tongue traces the protruding vein along his shaft. Swirls over the dome. Teases along the frenulum. The older man sucks in a breath. Lets his head fall back against the door. The keys fall from his fingers.

“I want to be inside you.”

You release his cock. He pulls you to your feet and kisses your mouth. Cigarette flavor heavy. Dress coat slipped off broad shoulders. You’re guided to the nearest available surface. Kitchen counter. Bent over. Jeans dragged down just enough so he has access to what he wants. Sinks his prick into your wet tunnel with a heavy sigh. His fingers dig into your hips, slide beneath your shirt to stroke along your spine, tug your hair. Gently at first. Now pulling. A slight burn when the roots are strained against your scalp. His breathing going ragged. You push back to meet him. There’s a chip in the Formica that your jostled fingers keep running across.

Your boss is fucking into you roughly now. A quick round like you’d had in his office. You don’t mind. It’s only midday. There’s still the night ahead of you.

He drags you upright, his fingers cupping your chin, pressing your mouth to his. Expert fingers of his other hand circling over your clit, dragging through the soft petals of flesh, smearing your slippery excess of fluids. His prick pounding your pussy. How will the two of you ever make it through another work day without sneaking away several times? In his office. Parts and Service. You’d even consider the custodial closet near the exit at the rear of the building. His car, after work.

Your nails dig into the forearm braced along your torso. He huffs against your neck. He calls you his girl. You try out the sound of calling him your love. He shudders. It’s enough to send you both over the edge again.

Soft kisses. Languid caresses in the shower. Curled back up together on the couch now.

The perfect afternoon.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you

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