I know that you just gave us an incredible update on your Viking Steven series, but I had a thought 😅
It don’t know how it fits into their timeline, but it got me thinking about the first time that she seeks him out 😌
Somewhere down the line, when they’re comfortable together but she, especially, is uncertain about any brewing feelings 🥺
Maybe there’s a horny shift; she’s ovulating or something and just wants her husband now, so a polite “May I have a moment alone with my husband, please?” takes a real nice turn? 🤭 Maybe he fucks her over his strategy table?
Maybe not 🤷🏼♀️ Nevertheless, I am thinking very hard about all the possibilities 🥺💀😌❤️
You gifted me this little idea just over a year ago, and I scribbled it away into their storyline, but there were a few more pieces of the story I knew I needed to tell until we got to the potential for this...
The Inevitable, Ruinous Ache [For the King & Conqueror]
Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steven x curvy Female Queen!Reader
Word Count: 4.8k
Content/Warnings: DARK established relationship - kidnapped wife; explicit smut: vaginal fingering, clit play, unprotected vaginal and anal intercourse, insemination; breeding; use of pet name (little wife)
Previous Part | Series
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
Things are different in the weeks that follow the visit from your guests from the south. You sense it in the way Steven moves through the halls—with more watchfulness than before, less the heedless animal force that once hurled him at everything in reach and more the measured, circumspect tread of a man who has recognized, possibly for the first time, the possibility of losing some part of his world.
He wakes you each morning with the same relentless heat, the same demanding hands and cock, but sometimes in the small moments after—when his breath has slowed and your bodies are still tied together by what he’s poured into you—he watches you as though trying to decipher a language only you two share, and that he’s afraid to find his own words missing.
He fills his days with a new kind of purpose, stalking the battlements at dusk, making careful inventory of the armory, drilling the younger men himself, relentless and all-consuming. He is building something, you think; you are watching him fortify what he loves, even if he cannot say so aloud.
It changes things between the two of you, this awareness—a tension not of violence or even sex, but of something almost—fragile. It surfaces in the way he sometimes laces his fingers with yours, as if idly, but never breaks the hold first. Or in the way his hand will pause at your back, hovering as though it wants to support you, but cannot quite allow itself the indulgence of tenderness outright. You feel it when he watches you from across the hall during mealtimes, and in how he discusses matters of the court with you, less dismissive, more—what is it, respect?—than before.
You’d imagined, once, that the longer you stayed here, the more invisible you might become. That a queen, even one captured and bartered for as you were, would eventually be more statue than person, a vessel for tradition and dynasty, not for selfhood. But the opposite has happened. Your days are full—helping Ursa plan the planting festivals, overseeing repairs to the winter-damaged barns, learning which of Helga’s cryptic warnings to heed and which to ignore. Even the village children know you now, trailing after your skirt-hems, bringing you bits of amber and sea glass as trophies.
You do not yet know all your position will be nor what your marriage is, but it has grown in ways you did not expect.
Today the itch comes before the noon hour but you try to ignore it—try to keep occupied, try to let your hands and mind be so full of tasks that they might crowd out the throb in your thighs, the heat curling low in your belly. You visit the kitchens, where the steam and spitting fat makes you lightheaded; you walk the length of the halls. Nothing works. The ache is stubborn, eager, and it turns every thought toward Steven and the way he sometimes bends you over the windowsill, or pins you against the wall, or drags you across the floor, or—most especially, most humiliatingly—the way he simply looks at you from across the room and makes you want to drop to your knees and beg for him.
It’s the wanting that undoes you.
So you go to him.
You find Steven in the council room, hunched over a parchment at the long pine table. Two of his advisors—Lorens with his pinched mouth and restless fingers, and Samuel with his strong jaw—lean in, voices serious as the men confer. The fire is banked low, providing warmth in the chill of late winter, some light still making itself available at the end of the afternoon.
Steven glances up before the others notice you, as if summoned by the heat of your gaze. His eyes meet yours and for a fraction of a second the animal in him flares out from behind his eyes—hungry, sharp, but now tempered by something that almost looks like pride. Then his face flickers back to impassiveness, the steel mask that serves him so well.
You linger at the edge of the room, weighing whether to approach, and Steven’s head tips a fraction—an order: come here.
You cross the stone flags, your steps soft in the hush, and though both advisors shoot glances your way, neither wavers in their discourse with their king. Steven’s attention swings fully your way. “What is your need?” he asks, tone flat, but his eyes flick down your body in a way that indicates he has a suspicion.
You feel the heat rise up your neck, but you meet his gaze with steadiness. “May I have a moment alone with my husband?” you ask, glancing at the two counselors, but then back to Steven, who holds the power to determine.
Steven doesn’t bother with the pretense of courtesy or debate. “You are both dismissed,” he says, without looking away from you.
Lorens rises first, shuffling his papers together, darting you a glance that slides away as soon as it lands. Samuel lingers a moment, still watching Steven, then bows and retreats. The door closes and the hush in the room is absolute.
He shifts his weight back, squares his shoulders and leans into the chair in a way that makes you aware, acutely, of the span of his thighs and the space he commands even at rest.
You cross the distance with measured dignity, careful not to let your pace betray the heat burning in the marrow of your bones, and stand just close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, like a sun behind a cloud. He is silent, letting you name your need, or your shame, whichever will come first.
Steven watches you for a long moment, eyes keenly narrowed, the muscle in his jaw tight. He says nothing.
For a moment, you don’t know where to begin. Everything seems both urgent and trivial in the presence of his attention, so you choose the truth. “There are things I want,” you say, boldness tripping up over the lump in your throat.
He lets the silence hang there, sharp as a blade, before allowing himself the faintest lift of a brow. “Then take them.” He speaks with the same ruthless clarity he brings to every command, but there’s no mockery in it. He means it, means for you to have whatever you dare to name.
You do. The table is long, but you are bold; you slide one knee onto the bench beside Steven, the movement deliberate, and then sit on his lap, straddling him there in the firelit hush.
His hands go immediately to your hips, holding you hard but not to control—just to steady you. You feel the heat of him, not just between your thighs, but burning clean through the linen of his shirt, through the wool of your own bodice. He stares up at you, face hungry.
You stare at him, daring him to make the next move. He doesn’t. His hands rest at your hips, heavy and expectant. The fire at your back, the muscle and heat of him before you—everything about Steven in this instant screams that he is ready to be the instrument of whatever you wish, but will not move first. Not on this.
“Is that an order, my king?” you ask, your voice breathier than you wish it to be.
He tilts his head, considering you with that odd, deep tenderness that you’ve begun to learn is not softness, not in the way you once recognized, but a fiercer kind of loyalty. “If you want it to be,” he says. “If you find that easier.”
You shake your head slowly, hands coming up to splay over the breadth of his chest, flattening your palms against him. Your center rocks forward, brushing over the bulge beneath his breeches, his cock hard and already straining, and your knees nearly give out at the contact.
You move your hips again, slow at first, feeling the thick heat of him grow even harder through the layers of cloth. His hands tighten at your waist, fingers digging in, but he still does not guide, does not take—just lets you rut against him, lets you chase the friction, lets you lose yourself in the animal want while the firelight flickers on his jaw and shadow.
You know what you want. You want to make him want, want to crack this composure, want to see him desperate and raw for you in the way that matches the heat that drove you here, the appetite he’s shown so consistently for you night and day. You grind down, seeking the angle that brings his cock flush against your throbbing center. Steven’s hands tighten with every pass, and his breathing grows shallow, the tips of his ears red with the effort it costs him to hold back.
You slide your hands to his face—beard rough against your palms—and force him to look at you, really look. “I want you to fuck me,” you say, and the baldness of the word makes you pulse with shame and thrill both. “Here. Now.” The echo of that word clings in the air, lurid, and the last filter between you and your want is gone.
Steven’s mouth doesn’t twitch with a smirk, but his eyes—blue, hungry and dark—crinkle at the corners in a way that says everything. His hand moves, slow as a glacier but infinitely more dangerous, sliding beneath the folds of your skirt, up the naked curve of your thigh. The callused pads of his fingers ignite a trail of prickling heat as he climbs, relentless. He finds you already slick, sodden with want, and his thumb strokes the seam of your cunt with a firm, approving press.
“Good,” he murmurs, voice soft but thick with command, “you’re already soaked for me.” There is no pretense, no veneer of gentleness—he takes pride in your need. He sinks the tip of his finger into you, just a knuckle, then deeper, testing your readiness, your greed.
He pulls out, coats his thumb in your arousal, and draws lazy, humiliating circles over your clit. Every nerve is strung to that spot, never letting you retreat from the pleasure he wrings from you. You clutch at his shoulders as the world narrows to the relentless, masterful pressure of his hand, the delicious grind of your hips against his, and the raw, unslakable need that’s driven you across half the castle to tremble on his lap like a supplicant at an altar.
He toys with you like this until you’re panting, biting your own lip to keep from sobbing with how close you are, how much you need more—him, inside you, every inch. Steven keeps you there, strung out on the edge, until you think you’ll break apart from the wanting. He waits, and he watches, the blue eyes locked on yours as if daring you to beg.
You do, in the end. “Please,” you whisper, and the word is so thin and desperate it hardly sounds like your voice, but it gets the reaction you want. He withdraws his hand entirely, leaving you gasping and empty, eager.
His voice is a rough thread as he says, “Up. Bend.”
Your legs shake as you climb off him, but you obey instantly, turning to face the table and propping yourself on your elbows, the rough grain cool beneath your cheek. You hear him behind you, the scrape of his chair across the stone as he moves to stand. The weight of his hand at your back is both warning and anchor as he flips your skirts up and over your waist and exposing your bare flesh to the chill of the council room. The air is cold, but his hands are a brand, searing every inch they touch.
He grinds up behind you, the heavy, swollen head of his cock lining up with your slick, clenching entrance, and you are so hungry that you try to wriggle back to catch him, but his other hand clamps to your hip, holding you in place.
Steven bends low, beard scratch and all, and growls into your ear, “You want to be claimed, little queen? You want to prove who you belong to?” The timber of his voice, the brutal edge of the words, makes your knees go to water. The answer is obvious. The answer is him. Always, always, always him.
You nod, but it isn’t enough for Steven. He wants words, he wants confession, he wants you to submit to this truth with clarity. “Say it,” he snarls, and the hand at your hip shifts to wrap around your throat, not hard, but with promise of force.
“I belong to you,” you say, the words the admission to usher in the next movement. You feel the hot slide of the broad head of Steven’s cock dragging slow and deliberate through your folds—soaking it in the mess he’s just made of you, teasing as though there is any possibility you would not take him instantly and whole. He rubs the slick head up and down, slow, then lingers at your entrance, not yet breaching, just savoring the helpless flex and pulse of your body trying to draw him in, refusing you the fullness you crave.
“You’re so desperate, you will let me fuck you right here on the war table,” he mutters, voice raw. The hand at your throat tightens slightly, making you shiver. “Would you let the entire kingdom see their queen bred by her king?”
You whimper, the shameful thrill of his words tightening every muscle in your core. “Yes. I would.” The fibers in your throat burn with the confession, but Steven’s hand at your nape releases just enough to let you gasp in relief. He’s proud of you—can feel it in the pulse of his cock, straining now, that he has made you need him so absolutely in this place and in this way.
Then there’s the sharp, deliberate press of his body crowding your ass, the hard and heavy heat of his cock settling between your cheeks, threatening the softest, tightest part of you. He bends down, mouth at your ear, and you feel the scrape of his beard and the thrum of his voice as he says, “Hold still.”
You do.
You pulse with anticipation, with nerves, with a need that borders on terror. Steven spits into his hand—loud, crude, and the sound goes straight to your clit—and then he smears the spit over the head of his cock, and over you, and then the push comes, blunt and inexorable, at the forbidden ring of muscle. It is too much, always, but you want it, you want the proof of his hunger, the rawness of being taken where only he has ever claimed.
The stretch is a fire in your bones. You dig your fingers into the edge of the table, desperate to ground yourself as Steven pushes past every last shred of resistance. It is agony and rapture, the full width of him splitting you, and for a moment you go blind, dizzy from the stretch and the heat and the sheer, obscene fullness of him forcing its way inside you.
He doesn’t take you all at once. He works you open, withdrawing and then pressing back in, a little deeper with every rut until you shake beneath him, gasping for air, sobbing around the thickness of him. Sweat beads along your spine, and you are aware only of the way the rough grain of the table digs into your cheek and the way his voice is a rasp of praise washing over you as he speaks.
“You take it,” he says, a kind of awe in the echoing hollowness of the council chamber. “You take me so well, little wife.”
Once fully sheathed, he holds you there, impaled, the hand on your neck now a bracing anchor, his hips flush to your ass. His other hand splays over your lower back, holding you steady and open, thumbs digging in just above the curve of your hips. You feel the tremble in his thighs, the fight he wages to keep from just rutting you through the table; you feel, too, the seething pride in how willing—how eager—you are to take whatever he gives, no matter how intense.
Slowly, Steven withdraws, the drag of his cock raw against the tight, trembling ring. He spits another mouthful into his palm, adds more lube to your now-aching hole, and sets a rhythm that is measured, deliberate. The sound of it—his hips meeting your flesh, the wet suction, the low, rough praise in his voice—is a percussion that underlines every brutal stroke. You crave the violence of it, the way he fucks you open with single-minded focus, and still, still, you want more.
“Steven,” you gasp, not knowing what you’re begging for, only that you want every inch, every ounce of him, even in the places that ache and pulse and maybe cannot take more. He answers with a groan, a hand moving from your hip to your clit, grinding over the little bundle of nerves with all the wicked skill he’s refined over months of your fucking.
The overwhelming friction, the fullness, the throb—is unbearable, and you come, hard, so hard it borders on violence. Your body clamps around him, the spasm nearly paralyzing you as your limbs weaken, every muscle in your core pulsing and throbbing around the invasive, overwhelming width of your king. The edges of your vision blur and the sound you make is animal, wordless, but Steven answers, driving you through the crest of your climax, sinking into you with a force that obliterates all thought.
He fucks you through it, relentless and victorious, hands huge and hard at your hips, jerking you back to claim every last inch until you’re sobbing with how full, how impossibly stuffed you are. Each thrust pushes you flat to the table, and you are only vaguely aware of the smears of spit and slick and sweat pooling at the join of your bodies, the way it soaks through your thighs, leaving you wrecked and open for him.
He’s not finished with you, not by a long shot. Steven’s cock withdraws from your ass with a slow, wrenching drag, leaving you shuddering and empty, all your muscles fluttering and your face hot against the cold grain of the table. You sob, a little, at the loss, and you can feel the slick mess of your own juices and his spit running down your thighs, the burn at your rim pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
But then his hands are gentler—one at your hip, one braced at your shoulder as he lines himself up again, this time pressing the heavy, hot tip of his cock between your thighs, seeking the place you are already swollen and desperate for him. You whimper, still spent and oversensitive from your first climax, but even so, you arch your hips, eager for the fullness only he gives.
He slides in, not slow but not cruel, just driving every inch into your aching, greedy cunt. You keen, desperate, not even caring that your voice is a needy, broken thing in the echoing hush of the council chamber.
Steven’s mouth finds your ear, “Every man at court, every lord, every advisor—every last one knows you are mine, but I want it ringing in their ears forever as I breed you.”
With every stroke, Steven’s cock brushes the most sensitive part inside you, your battered and wet cunt spasming around him, milking him for all he can give. You feel every vein, every ridge, every pulse of his cock as it spears you open, and it’s so much, so good, you come again, harder this time, a rush that’s almost terror but made only of pleasure, pure and shattering.
Your cunt pulses around him, hungry and slick, wringing him, wringing you, until there is nothing left in your head but the need to come again—and the way Steven makes you do it, every time, with just a fuck and a promise and the weight of his whole body pressing you down. You arch your back, desperate to take him deeper, and the hand at your shoulder pins you flat to the table, holding you still as he braces and thrusts, making you quiver and moan, making you mindless for him.
The pace now is punishing, but you crave it. Each time your hips threaten to buck off the wood he keeps you pinned down, rutting into you as if you’re a thing made only for his taking. The itch in your belly blooms to wildfire, sharp and wild, and the overstimulation is edged with a pleasure so beautiful you could scream for it, could cry for the way it rips you open and fills in every last corner of your wanting, and so you do.
He fucks you through the aftershocks, fucking every last spasm of pleasure from your body, fucking you until you’re hoarse and sobbing and barely conscious with the white-hot pleasure and the raw bruise of being so completely, so thoroughly used. You know you will wear the marks of this for days—on your throat, on your hips, at the tight, spent holes still drooling spit and slick and sweat down your thighs.
Steven comes at last with a roar, hips slamming into you so hard the edge of the table cuts the breath from your lungs, and the twitch and pulse of his cock fills you, flooding you in one final, conquering pulse. The heat of him, the quantity of him, is unspeakable—you feel it sear a path to your womb, a brutal, claiming flood that fills you so full the excess is forced out around his cock, further slicking your thighs, sticking your skin to the wood.
The hand at your nape strokes the ridge of your spine, his breath crashing against your back, and you realize he is fighting himself, struggling to corral the violent tenderness now threatening to shatter him from the inside out.
For a long while, neither of you move. The only sound is the ragged thrum of your breaths and the wild, feral stammer of his heart as it tries to slow. Your legs are boneless, splayed wide, and he keeps you pressed to the table, still impaled, as if even a breath’s space could risk losing what he’s just staked his soul on.
Finally, Steven eases back, hands gentle as he scoops you from the table—your limbs limp, trembling, useless in the aftermath—and cradles your whole body against his chest. He gathers your legs up as he moves back and reclaims his earlier seat, settling you in his lap, bundled and shattered against the heat of his skin. He strokes your hair, your back, mauling you close as if afraid you might dissolve into the air if not caged to him. His cock softens inside you, but he cannot let you go, not yet; he just clutches you tighter, your spent body rocked gently soothed, a motion at odds with the violence of minutes before.
When you can finally catch your breath, you turn slightly more into him and you press your cheek to the hollow of his throat. You listen to the tide of his pulse, the desperate hunt of his lungs for air. Somewhere outside, the world carries on—voices, firewood splitting, kids shrieking down the corridor—but here, in this carved-out moment, you are the only two who exist.
Steven is the one to speak first, rough and low in your ear. “I want—” He breaks off, his voice rough and strangely weak, so unlike the man who just ruined you over a council table you hardly know how to answer it. The man who has ruined you so many times. You lift your head to meet his gaze. The fires in his eyes are guttering now, but not cold—they burn with a different fuel, something almost like desperation.
“I want you to want it,” he says, the words torn from some engine deeper than pride, deeper than need. “Not just because I am your king. Not because it is owed. I want it because you choose it.”
The statement lands in the hollow between your ribs like a fist. You don’t know how to answer except to touch your lips to his, gentle, a whisper of a kiss where violent need reigned just minutes before. You press your mouth to the corner of his, then to the sharp line of his jaw, then the hollow beneath. “I do,” you say, and it’s a word so small it could barely crack a window in the cold stone of the Kongsgård, but you see the effect it has. His grip on you shifts, softer now, and he lets his forehead fall to yours, breaking into a long, shaky exhale. In this way you know that you have power, too—a different kind than you ever imagined, but no less absolute.
You stay like this, bodies twined, until the fire in the hearth burns low and the sweat on your skin cools to a chill. Every inch of you aches in the most delicious, dangerous ways. Your cunt is tender, the ring of your ass still pulsing with the memory of how he split you open and left you gaping. You ought to feel shame, but all you feel is a molten pride that you can take everything Steven gives and still want more.
You let him hold you until your breathing matches his, until your own hands find the strength to fist in the linen at his collar. His sweat cools in the hollow between your bodies, and you let your head rest heavy against his chest, the salt of his skin mixing with your own. Neither of you moves for a long while. When you finally slide off his lap, legs watery as river clay, Steven follows you, only a half-step behind, as if the gravity between your bodies is too constant to fully break.
You should return to your duties. Somewhere you are most certainly needed. But when Steven cups your chin and tilts your face up, his thumb grazing the corner of your mouth, every reason to leave the room vanishes. His lips devour you, slow and thorough, as if he wants to memorize this, encode it in every cell, until no part of you is untouched by the taste of this moment.
You break apart only when the need for air forces you to, but the hunger in it lingers. His hand cups the nape of your neck, thumb stroking slow over the vein that jumps there, and he rests his forehead to yours like a man newly landed from a voyage half the world wide. “You have unmade me,” he says, and it is a confession, not a complaint.
You laugh, shaky and soft, pressing your nose to his. “You did all the unmaking yourself.” The words are true, and you let them settle between you. He grins, the wolfish flash of his teeth just visible, and with it the tension diffuses, neither of you quite knowing what to do with so much tenderness made raw.
You gather yourself, smoothing your wrinkled skirt down over sticky thighs, but Steven is not finished. He crosses to the door, and opens it to speak with the attendant there. He instructs that a meal to be sent up to the royal chamber, and for a bath to be drawn, hot as the hearth can offer. The servant, catching the devastation in your overall appearance and the almost drunken glaze to Steven’s eyes, bows with a speed rarely seen and disappears before the king can clarify any further.
Steven’s attention returns to you. “I do not believe we are fit for anything but to retire for the rest of the day.”
For a moment, you feel like a maiden caught in mischief, but then Steven’s eyes drop to your mouth and you remember you are not a maiden, you are a queen, his queen, and whatever want burns in your blood is not merely allowed, but expected, demanded, starved for. His. Deeply his. And you feel anchored in that surety now.
Are we in a happily ever after yet? No. But things are certainly changing.
Please reblog if you enjoyed this/enjoy this series. My blog got marked as explicit permanently by dumblr, which means that my posts no longer show up in the public tags, so people honestly won't find it unless it's gets passed along by your reblogs now. 🥺 I'm wavering on how much longer it may or may not be worth it to post here if the point is being able to share it with others.
Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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Steven’s attention returns to you. “I do not believe we are fit for anything but to retire for the rest of the day.”
Steven you are 💯 correct.
Are we at happily ever after yet? No but maybe when my legs work again we can walk in that direction. Seriously these 2 have come ohh so very far and I can see a slight glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Once these 2 idiots realize they are in love they will be wholly unstoppable and take over the world!!! 💛
Summary - Steve gave you an offer. Now it's time for you to decide.
Warnings - none
Series Masterlist
There are two main reasons you are agreeing to marry Steven Grant Rogers -
1. You love him
2. You truly believe he would make a great President.
Now although you are agreeing to Bucky’s insane plan, it doesn't mean you aren’t going to make him work for it.
You sit yourself down on Bucky's couch, having decided to show up unannounced much like he did to you. After all there are some details of this agreement that need to be ironed out before you get started.
“I just want to make it clear I am not necessarily agreeing to your cockamamie plan,”
“Excuse you, my plan is brilliant, not only does it aid us in our political goals but it helps ensure you two bozos end up together.” He states.
“Be that as it may I am not agreeing to matrimony and all the 'till death do us part' goodness, at least" you sigh "not yet. But if we are going to try and fast track this the way you want then we should do it right."
You make sure you have Bucky's full attention before you continue on, "It's based off a tradition called Shomer Negiah and-”
“Is this an Indian matchmaker technique then?” Bucky cuts you off before you can explain
“Jewish matchmaker actually.”
“Alright Ok." Your friend acquiesce, "What are the rules?”
5 DATE CHALLENGE
5 Dates - there may be no more than 5 days between dates
No date can last more than 5 hours
No physical contact of any kind until a full 24 hours after the end of the 5th date.
“And you’re telling me all this? Why don’t you talk to Steve about this?”
“I will talk to Steve about this, but as you are clearly going to be very involved in whatever the hell this is so I am telling you too." you huff.
“Doll, why do you want to do this?”
“It's a way for Steve and I to really get to know each other. You know without any distractions.”
“Get to know…?" Bucky runs a frustrated hand down his face. "You both know each other plenty and you have been in love with each other for the entire length of time you’ve known each other. I really just don’t see the point in this.”
It feels impossible to explain but, you had to do a lot of soul searching on whether or not this would actually be the right move for you. You know everyone is aware of this unspoken thing between you and Steve. And you know a lot of your friends just want you to dive off the cliff head first but you just…can’t.
People might not understand it but your relationship with Steve is one of the most important in your life and you aren’t going to go into a marriage with him half assed. If you are going to marry him it has to be at least somewhat real. If this is really going to work then you have to date with intention, just like all the matchmakers and dating coaches recommend. You have to at least try and see if you are truly compatible.
Now all you have to do is make your other dearest friend understand that. You sit back on the couch. Tipping your head to the ceiling clutching a pillow to your chest and take a deep calming breath.
“Bucky, we have never actually dated. Sure we know each other but only as friends, we don’t even know if we could actually be compatible together at all let alone long term.” You sigh, not wanting to argue with him.
“Look I just, I don’t want us to jump into this thing and have it go so badly that we can’t even be friends anymore. From what I hear marriage is pretty damn hard, add on top of that a campaign and then if all goes well a presidency? That is a ton of extra pressure so I want to make sure that we go into this with a strong and solid foundation.”
“Solid foundation huh?”
“This shit needs to be sturdier than the St. Louis arch.”
“Alright," He says wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close "whatever you need doll."
Everything is set. Steve agreed to the rules and even added a couple stipulations of his own. And tonight marks your first official date with Steve Rogers. What does one wear on a first date with a man that they are fairly certain they will be marrying before the leaves change?
That is the million dollar question today.
Your hair looks great, your curls are popping. You have scrubbed and moisturized every inch of your body and yet you still don’t know what the hell to wear.
It doesn't help that you don't actually know where you are going for said date. Steve wants it to be a surprise. He's not a complete monster he gave you some guidance. As in the majority of the date will be inside. But still that doesn't help much. I mean bull riding is done indoors and you would definitely need pants for that.
Ok you need a reset. You decided to shake it out and start over. You've gone on dates before. Not to mention you get dressed literally every day. You can do this. It's only one outfit right…?
Your closet looks like it exploded all over your room but you did it, you picked an outfit!
You stand in your kitchen sipping on a glass of water and trying not to second guess your look when you hear the tell tale knock on the door.
This is it. No turning back. You grab your purse and pull on your shoes and open the door.
Steve and you lock eyes and he shoots you one of his shy sheepish smiles that you just love so much. The butterflies in your stomach are going haywire and there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind saying you should close the door and stick to the status quo.
But you stand tall ignoring that dark voice and the distracting butterflies and instead step out of your apartment and begin your very first date with your best friend.
Summary - Steve gave you an offer. Now it's time for you to decide.
Warnings - none
Series Masterlist
There are two main reasons you are agreeing to marry Steven Grant Rogers -
1. You love him
2. You truly believe he would make a great President.
Now although you are agreeing to Bucky’s insane plan, it doesn't mean you aren’t going to make him work for it.
You sit yourself down on Bucky's couch, having decided to show up unannounced much like he did to you. After all there are some details of this agreement that need to be ironed out before you get started.
“I just want to make it clear I am not necessarily agreeing to your cockamamie plan,”
“Excuse you, my plan is brilliant, not only does it aid us in our political goals but it helps ensure you two bozos end up together.” He states.
“Be that as it may I am not agreeing to matrimony and all the 'till death do us part' goodness, at least" you sigh "not yet. But if we are going to try and fast track this the way you want then we should do it right."
You make sure you have Bucky's full attention before you continue on, "It's based off a tradition called Shomer Negiah and-”
“Is this an Indian matchmaker technique then?” Bucky cuts you off before you can explain
“Jewish matchmaker actually.”
“Alright Ok." Your friend acquiesce, "What are the rules?”
5 DATE CHALLENGE
5 Dates - there may be no more than 5 days between dates
No date can last more than 5 hours
No physical contact of any kind until a full 24 hours after the end of the 5th date.
“And you’re telling me all this? Why don’t you talk to Steve about this?”
“I will talk to Steve about this, but as you are clearly going to be very involved in whatever the hell this is so I am telling you too." you huff.
“Doll, why do you want to do this?”
“It's a way for Steve and I to really get to know each other. You know without any distractions.”
“Get to know…?" Bucky runs a frustrated hand down his face. "You both know each other plenty and you have been in love with each other for the entire length of time you’ve known each other. I really just don’t see the point in this.”
It feels impossible to explain but, you had to do a lot of soul searching on whether or not this would actually be the right move for you. You know everyone is aware of this unspoken thing between you and Steve. And you know a lot of your friends just want you to dive off the cliff head first but you just…can’t.
People might not understand it but your relationship with Steve is one of the most important in your life and you aren’t going to go into a marriage with him half assed. If you are going to marry him it has to be at least somewhat real. If this is really going to work then you have to date with intention, just like all the matchmakers and dating coaches recommend. You have to at least try and see if you are truly compatible.
Now all you have to do is make your other dearest friend understand that. You sit back on the couch. Tipping your head to the ceiling clutching a pillow to your chest and take a deep calming breath.
“Bucky, we have never actually dated. Sure we know each other but only as friends, we don’t even know if we could actually be compatible together at all let alone long term.” You sigh, not wanting to argue with him.
“Look I just, I don’t want us to jump into this thing and have it go so badly that we can’t even be friends anymore. From what I hear marriage is pretty damn hard, add on top of that a campaign and then if all goes well a presidency? That is a ton of extra pressure so I want to make sure that we go into this with a strong and solid foundation.”
“Solid foundation huh?”
“This shit needs to be sturdier than the St. Louis arch.”
“Alright," He says wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close "whatever you need doll."
Everything is set. Steve agreed to the rules and even added a couple stipulations of his own. And tonight marks your first official date with Steve Rogers. What does one wear on a first date with a man that they are fairly certain they will be marrying before the leaves change?
That is the million dollar question today.
Your hair looks great, your curls are popping. You have scrubbed and moisturized every inch of your body and yet you still don’t know what the hell to wear.
It doesn't help that you don't actually know where you are going for said date. Steve wants it to be a surprise. He's not a complete monster he gave you some guidance. As in the majority of the date will be inside. But still that doesn't help much. I mean bull riding is done indoors and you would definitely need pants for that.
Ok you need a reset. You decided to shake it out and start over. You've gone on dates before. Not to mention you get dressed literally every day. You can do this. It's only one outfit right…?
Your closet looks like it exploded all over your room but you did it, you picked an outfit!
You stand in your kitchen sipping on a glass of water and trying not to second guess your look when you hear the tell tale knock on the door.
This is it. No turning back. You grab your purse and pull on your shoes and open the door.
Steve and you lock eyes and he shoots you one of his shy sheepish smiles that you just love so much. The butterflies in your stomach are going haywire and there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind saying you should close the door and stick to the status quo.
But you stand tall ignoring that dark voice and the distracting butterflies and instead step out of your apartment and begin your very first date with your best friend.
Happy birthday! 🥳🎈🎉❤️ Hope your day is special and filled with love and treats! You deserve all the goodness! Sending your favorite babe your way to dote on you for good measure 🤭
Omg thank you lovie! Same to you!
And will my babe dot in my in the form of laundry and packing? Cause that would be the dream 💛😜
idk who needs to hear this but it’s healthier for you to just accept that you’re gonna be kinda fat than it is to live the rest of your life miserably trying to monitor yourself to maintain a skinny weight your body doesn’t want to hold onto
A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SIRI!!!!! @stargazingfangirl18 I sincerely hope you enjoy this lovely gift of your husband Ransom 🤭. Special shout out as always to @krirebr for reading this when I thought I had gone wildly off track 😅. For Siri’s bday bash I got Ransom Drysdale + Breeding Kink + Scary babe is soft for you + Mob AU. To note this is a prequel to the Know That Water’s Sweet But Blood is Thicker Mob AU, but you don’t really need to read that to understand what’s going on here!
The drink in your hand wasn't as strong as you'd like, but it would have to do for today. You weren't sure why exactly when Lloyd had approached you the other week you had agreed to his offer. That wasn't true. It would be good for the family to be seen being social with Hugh. He was poised to be the next in line of the Thrombey Family.
Still, when Lloyd had approached you, you were sure he was going to proposition you for himself, and that would have been an easy no. But when he had offered a date with his brother, in exchange for some peace…that offer had been much easier for you to accept.
Now here you sat in one of the nicest restaurants in the city, waiting for Hugh to show up. Taking another sip of your drink you wrinkled your nose.
"Next one order a double, they never put enough booze in." Your eyes widened as you took in Hugh. Your shock at his sudden appearance hid your perusal of him.
He wore a maroon sweater, he must have checked his coat, but still had a vibrant scarf around his neck. His pants were dress pants, but together the outfit seemed far too casual for the type of place you were in. Certainly compared to the cocktail dress you wore.
"Hmm," you hummed softly as you swirled your drink in one hand and gestured for him to sit with the other, "I'll remember that for next time."
With that, you shot back the rest of your drink, and gathered your purse.
"What are you doing?" Hugh's look of confusion could be considered cute, if you didn't see the tick in his jaw.
"Our date," you brought your wrist up with your watch on it, "was supposed to be an hour ago. So, thanks for the drink I guess."
Hugh's eyes narrowed for a moment, and you knew, you knew, you should try and mind your attitude. And yet, here you were mouthing off, like usual. Before you could scurry away, he was closing the distance between you both. Both of his arms, stronger than you had expected wrapped around you. To anyone else, it would look like an intimate embrace, being the one wrapped in it you knew the truth. You had been captured by a wolf.
"What the hell are you doing?" Your own voice was no louder than a whisper, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention your way.
"I think I owe you a dinner, but if you really want to get out of here, I can't say I mind." You could hear the smirk in Hugh's voice. The note of triumph ringing loudly in your ears. Despite the danger you now found yourself in, you couldn't help the thrill of want that electrified your spine.
You bit your lip, part of you, the part that had gotten used to only your own toys for pleasure was screaming to take him up on his offer. The rational part of your brain, thankfully stepped in. "Fine. Dinner, and then I go home alone."
Hugh simply smirked at you before releasing you. "We'll see."
He pulled your chair out, with a practiced grace, waiting for you to be comfortably seated before resuming his own. As you perused the menu, you found your gaze tracking back to him. The furrow of his brow as the server approached. The stress stretching his shoulders. The constant tap, tap, tap of his foot beneath the table.
When the two of you were alone at the table again, you smirked over your menu to him. "You're nervous, Hugh." Your eyes twinkled with mirth you couldn't quite contain.
His eyes narrowed as he looked up at you. A rosy tinge working its way from his neck to his cheeks. "No one calls me that."
At your arched eyebrow he continued, " 'Hugh' no one calls me that. Everyone calls me Ransom."
You snorted out a laugh at that, your mirth quickly dying at another tick in his jaw. "Wait - no as in 'pay me the ransom?' Where did that come from?" You couldn't help it, you were genuinely curious how this rising star Mobster had gained the nickname Ransom.
Ransom's eyes narrowed again briefly, before he shrugged a short laugh rumbling his chest. "It's my middle name, I'm not sure who's idea it was."
"Yeesh," you folded the menu closed and smiled at him, much more genuinely then you meant to, "How much do you hate the name Hugh?"
That earned you a twinkle in Ransom's eyes that had warmth settling in your chest. Something about that look, it struck you immediately. His lips twitching into a smile that seemed to glow.
"I guess it's for the best." You continued, taking a sip of the new drink Ransom had ordered you. His brows twisted in confusion and you smirked at him again. "I don't know if 'Mob Boss Hugh' has quite the ring you're going for."
Ransom paused for a moment before a full belly laugh shook his frame. The pure joy, something you weren't sure you had ever seen in any of your encounters with the man across the table from you, had you laughing as well.
This seemed to be the moment that had snapped the tension from earlier. All of a sudden the conversation between you two flowed like two souls connecting. Ransom animatedly told you of childhood stories with Lloyd, while you eagerly shared your own antics. You weren't sure why exactly you were opening up, but there was something in the way he listened. Hell, something in the way he spoke that had you feeling more at ease then you could ever remember feeling.
When the server came for the fourth time to ask if you wanted anything else, you sadly looked down at the table. For something you had been dreading, you were surprised to find yourself sad at the prospect of your date being over. You missed the exchange between Ransom and the server, but far too soon he was standing, and you mirrored him.
Pulling your purse securely into your shoulder, a small sigh escaped your lips as Ransom tucked you into his side and walked you to coat check.
"Shoot!" You began fumbling as the worker went in search of both your coats.
"What's wrong?" Ransom's brow was quirked as he watched you fight with your accessory.
You gave him a withering look before successfully pulling your phone out in triumph. "I forgot to call the car service, I hate having to wait."
Ransom smirked, as you pouted up at him. "I'll bring you home, couldn't let a Treasure like you sit here all by herself."
It was the wink he followed it with that had you rolling your eyes. Even if you didn't argue with him.
The drive to your place seemed to pass in no time at all. Before you knew it Ransom was pulling his beemer into your driveway. You hesitated for a moment then steeling all your courage asked, "Would you want to come in for coffee?"
Ransom looked across the car at you, his expression guarded. He must have seen whatever he was looking for in your eyes, because soon he was following you up the garden path to your front door.
"You garden?" He murmured. He was closer than you expected, your fingers struggling to find your keys. His hands on your hips steadied you a moment, until you felt him step closer. The heat radiating off of his body, through his clothes and wrapping around you.
You could only hum in response, your brain struggling to string words together at Ransom's proximity. There was a part of you, deep down, that knew sleeping with Ransom was a bad idea. But there was another part, the part that hadn't had sex in months, that was too damn horny to care.
Once you were finally through the door, Ransom pinned you to the wall, his mouth on yours. The small gasp that fell from your lips was all the permission he needed to let his tongue meet yours. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands felt like they were everywhere, on your hips, your ass, the back of your neck.
It didn't take long before your mutual frustration had him growling out a breath. He hooked his hands behind your knees and you squealed as he lifted you, and hooked your heels around his waist.
"Bedroom?" Ransom's grunted words shook you from your haze.
"Upstairs," You panted, hands coming up to frame his face, "On the right, end of the hall." You pulled him back to you, moaning into his mouth and grinding against him.
Ransom made short work of the trip to your bedroom, even with your best attempts to distract him. Trailing kisses down his neck, a well placed bite to his earlobe, and a lick across his jaw.
Once in your room he dropped you on the bed, he looked around before sitting in the armchair you normally used to read in in the evening. "Strip."
You gulped, no man had ever asked you to do that before. You glanced up at him through your lashes, heat rising to your cheeks at the simple request. You tried to hide your shaking hands as you unzipped your dress, but you knew Ransom saw. A smirk playing across his lips as he watched your movements.
With a whoosh your cocktail dress slid to the floor, leaving you in your black strapless bra and matching panties. Ransom hummed in appreciation, and you saw him palm himself through his trousers. "Keep going, Treasure." The words were barely above a whisper, but they were certainly an order.
Seeing the effect you had on him emboldened you, you took a few steps closer to where he was perched on your armchair and straddled his lap. You hands coming up behind you to undo your bra first. He groaned as your breasts spilled forward, close enough for him to touch. Just as his hand rose, you moved back off of his lap. Walking backwards towards your bed. You laid down, making sure to position yourself so he got a full view as you peeled down your panties. As slowly, and what you hoped was sexily, as you could you pulled your panties down. You lifted your hips and arched your back, so he would have a perfect view of your exposed cunt.
You couldn't see him from this angle, but you were sure he sucked in a breath at your little show. Just as you propped yourself up on your elbows, you felt the bed dip by your hip. Ransom's hand trailed from your ankle, his fingers light as air on your skin, up to the bend of your knee, and back down to the vee where your thighs met.
He dragged the feather light touch down the cut of you. One that had your hips thrusting up to meet his touch. He simply tutted, and pulled his hand back. He dipped his hand down again, but this time his touch was firmer. His thumb landing on your clit, while his fingers dragged between your lower lips.
You found yourself rutting into his hand, one of your own had grabbed onto his wrist holding him where you wanted him. When you chanced a glance up at him a triumphant smirk met your gaze. You wanted to huff, to roll your eyes, but all you can manage is a whine of frustration. Because you want more.
"Alright Treasure, I'll give you what you want." Ransom's voice was low, lower than you had ever heard it before.
He moved off of the bed, stripping out of his sweater and trousers and boxer briefs. You only had a moment to take in the flex of his abs, and the trail of hair down his stomach before he was on you. You heard the familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper and grabbed his wrist.
"I'm on the pill." You looked him straight in the eye, trying to convey all the want, need, desperation you felt. "I want to feel you."
Ransom groaned, his head dropping down to your chest, "Keep talking like that Treasure, and I'll never let you go."
You giggled and pulled his face up to yours. "I'd like to see you try Drysdale."
He sealed your lips in a kiss while he lined himself up with your entrance. Even the blunt head of him felt large, and you found yourself both nervous and excited for the size of him. Ransom hitched one of your legs over his hip and then slid home.
You threw your head back, tears gathering in your eyes at the stretch of him. His thumb returned to your clit, and began rubbing lazy circles into you. After a few moments of letting you adjust he began to move.
"Ohhhh Hugh…" the words left your mouth without permission. You reached for him, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.
"That's it Treasure, let me take real good care of you." Ransom smirked before dipping his head down to pepper kisses along your collar bone. The pressure of his thumb on your clit increased until you were meeting his every thrust. Mouth descending to your breast to nip at your nipple. His tongue soon joined and he was trading off sucks and bites keeping pace with his thumb.
Your breathing became more frantic and soon you were chanting his name "Hugh, Hugh, Hugh."
"Fuck," Ransom groaned into your chest, his words muffled by your breasts, "This pussy is too good. Sucking me right in and holding me tight. I think I'm gonna have to keep you Treasure."
You moaned, your thoughts blurring between the pleasure you felt and the words leaving Ransom's mouth. A drawn out "Yesssssss" the only thing your scattered brain could articulate.
"Yeah?" He smirked down, slowing his thrusts only slightly, he ducked down his lips caressing your ear with his next words. "Bet you'd love it if I fucked a baby into you huh?"
You felt a buzz race down your spine and into your core at his words. Although, you both knew that's not what was happening, the thought of him fucking you over and over, filling you sent your pleasure into overdrive.
"Hmm," He hummed, your core clenching around him and your body writhing at his words were all the answer he needed. "That's right Treasure, just lay there and take it. Let me fill you up."
His pressure on your clit increased and returned to sucking on your nipple. The dual sensations and his words still ringing in your ears sent you flying high as your orgasm hit. Your head fell back as your mouth formed a silent scream. Ransom didn't stop his assault on your body though, if anything this just spurred him on.
His thrusts increased, and he ripped his arm away from your cunt to push both your legs up until you were folded in half. When you blinked your eyes open you saw his own gaze was fixated on where you both connected, the lewd squelch echoing loudly in your bedroom.
A sheen of sweat had broken out on Ransom's brow, and you could feel the stutter in his hips, you knew he was close. "That's it Treasure, take it." You brought your hand up and gripped his shoulders, your nails biting into the skin. He groaned, a dark look taking over his eyes, "You're mine now Treasure."
"Yes, Hugh, yours. All yours." You babbled along with him, another high cresting at the possessive streak in him.
Ransom didn't miss the cues, his thumb dropping from your knee to thrum at your clit once more. Determined to see you come on his cock once more. "Fuck yes, that's it milk me dry." He slowed his pace minutely, wanting to feel your walls clench around him again.
Your grip on his shoulders increased the closer you got until you were pulling him down, so his weight rested against your own. Just as your orgasm hit you bit down on his shoulder, causing Ransom to groan and you felt the flood of his come.
He stayed still a few moments, his hips sealed to your own. Then when he pulled back, you both gasped as his cock left you feeling empty. Just as you were about to sit up to clean yourself, you felt Ransom's large fingers circling your entrance. He began to finger his come back into you, until he was satisfied none had leaked.
When your eyes fluttered open, it was to Ransom's fingers in front of your mouth, and your greedily sucked your combined juices from his fingers. He simply smirked at you before laying beside you, cuddling you into his chest.
Laying over Ransom's heart, listening to the thrum begin to slow, it began to ease you into sleep. You were just on the edge of sleep when you heard him murmur something.
"What was that?" Your head popped up to look at him.
"I meant it." The dark look that you had seen before was back. "You're mine now Treasure."
You hummed and let your head fall to his chest. Sure it was just the post fucking that was getting to him. There was no way that Ransom Drysdale would want more than a night or two with the daughter of a rival family. You pet his chest, his own hand drawing lazy circles on your back. Placing a kiss onto his chest, you murmured your own, "Sure Ransom, whatever you say." Before nipping at his pectoral.
His hum of satisfaction was the last thing you heard before you drifted off into an easy slumber.
***
2nd A/N: I’m kind of in love with these two…their dynamic is just so different. Once again Siri, I hope you have the absolute best birthday, and enjoy all the fics that everyone is ready to send to you. You’re the absolute best, and this place wouldn’t be the same without you here ❤️
Happy birthday weekend to all my fellow Le-hoe babes!!!
I wish us all a dreamy weekend filled with very little adulting, very delicious food, plenty of reading time, and all of our dreams magically coming true. 💛🥳
Ta da! It's my first time writing for my newest hyperfixation/obsession, The Pitt! I had this idea and I started writing and the next thing I knew, it was 10k+ words. (Sorry not sorry.) I know it's been forever since I posted, so please give me some grace.
I was going to post the whole thing in one big post, but I got tired of trying to do that, so you get a multi-chapter fic. (And honestly, knowing me, you should have seen this coming.)
Pairing: Jack Abbot x doctor!female reader who is done with residency and doing a fellowship at PTMC.
Total Word Count: ~16,000
This Chapter Word Count: 2791
Warnings For Entire Work: Original female character, no use of Y/N, FMC is a twin but neither are named, explicit sexual content, alcohol use, language, canon-type medical situations, death of a child patient, gun usage, hostage situation, angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings
The first time it happened was an accident.
Well … okay. It wasn’t so much an accident as it was a decision made by two consenting adults … who might have been under the influence of a serious amount of alcohol.
But Jack never drank that much, so maybe it really was an accident.
It had been the week from hell at the Pitt. By the time the other night shift rotation had come in Friday afternoon, all bets were off. Despite having been at the hospital for over twenty-four hours for a shift that had turned into a double, you found yourself restless at the idea of going home. Someone—Santos probably?—had suggested drinks and karaoke, and even after the hellacious shifts you’d all endured, most of you agreed.
Robby begged off, of course, Dana went home to Benji, and Langdon … well, obviously he went home. Everyone else went to the bar, and despite the bit of culture shock from seeing them in regular clothes, you all had an amazing time. Santos plied you with vodka cranberries, then tequila shots, and you finally gave in to sing with her. You didn’t want to follow her and Mel singing Alanis, but Santos all but forced you, and the two of you did a bang-up job singing Four Non-Blondes What’s Going On.
It wasn’t until you were up on the stage that you found Jack Abbot at the bar, a glass of bourbon in his hand and his eyes on you. You shot him a smile and he lifted his glass.
When the song was over, you told the girls that you were going to get some water at the bar, but you sidled up to Jack instead.
“I didn’t think you were coming.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth tipped up.
“Yeah, me either.”
“How many of these do we have to get into you before you’re up on stage?”
You ran your finger around the rim of his glass and he barked out a laugh.
“Sweetheart, there’s not enough booze in this bar.”
“Oh, come on. You strike me as someone who could tear up some Pearl Jam. Or wait. Nirvana?”
“Am I that transparent?”
You smiled.
“You were deep into grunge in the nineties, right?”
“Were you even alive in the nineties?”
“Yes, I was, thank you very much.”
Jack shook his head, a smile on his face. The bartender stopped in front of the two of you and Jack lifted his glass. You asked for a shot and a glass of water and Jack murmured for the bartender to put it on his tab. You moved a little closer, bumping Jack’s shoulder with your own.
“Come on. Just between you and me, give me a little Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
“But Heart-Shaped Box is so much more me.”
You laughed, nodding to the bartender when he placed your water on the bar, followed by the shot. Jack took hold of the shot glass, shaking his head, pushing the bottle of water towards you.
“No way. You drink that.”
“I’m going to! I just want that one first.”
Jack drank the shot before you could try to grab it, and your mouth fell open.
“Seriously?!”
He had the nerve to smile at you, turning the shot glass over as he set it back on the bar. You shook your head, reaching for the water bottle, then watching as Jack twisted the top off before handing it to you. You took a long sip, keeping your eyes on his. After a moment, Jack chuckled as he looked back to the bar.
“It’s been a while since I’ve shot tequila.”
“I love it.”
Jack shook his head, taking the bottle of water from your hands and taking a drink from it.
“Enjoy your youth while you can.”
You took the bottle back.
“You’re not that old. And look, we’ve drank all the water. Do another shot with me.”
You waved to the bartender, holding up two fingers. Jack shook his head.
“I don’t think—”
“Oh, come on! We’ve got an entire weekend off, Doctor Abbot. No shifts, not even on call. We are free little birds, so the least you can do is shoot tequila with me.”
“That’s the least I can do?”
“After that gangrenous toe you made me deal with? Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”
Jack laughed at that, holding his hands up.
“Okay, okay. You got me there. I do owe you for that.”
“Damn straight.”
Two shot glasses were placed onto the bar in front of you and you gently slid one to him. Jack picked it up while you picked up yours, the two of you clinking them together before tipping them back.
“Oh god, right there.”
You moaned as he somehow thrust even deeper, something you thought was impossible. Of course, you also thought three orgasms in a row was impossible, but you’d passed that up a while back. You dug your fingers into his shoulders and he moaned.
“Use your nails on my chest. Oh, just like that.”
You smiled as you did as he asked, a curse leaving his lips as your nails scratched down his thick chest, then back up again. He reached to grip your thigh, and you tightened your knees around his hips.
“Jack, please.”
“You don’t have to beg me, baby. I’m right here.”
You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, and he buried his head in your neck. You gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders again.
“Jack. Jack, I’m going to—”
“Give it to me. Let me feel it.”
You did, because you couldn’t help but do whatever he asked of you. Words died in your throat so all you could give was this keening noise, but Jack still understood.
“So good for me. You’re doing so good. Oh … oh fuck.”
He pounded into you a few more times before pushing deep, his back going rigid as he came hard inside you.
It took a while for you to catch your breath. Jack’s weight on top of you should have been too much, stifling even, but it wasn’t. You felt comfortable, and even though your hands shook as you carded them through his curls, you didn’t mind. He finally lifted his head from your neck, his calloused hand moving to wipe tears from your cheek that you hadn’t realized had fallen. You smiled softly at him, and he did the same back to you, the two of you just staring for a moment. Eventually, Jack rolled off of you with a groan and you slipped out of bed on shaky legs, going for the bathroom.
You came back to find Jack sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to you, hands at his knee. You slid under the covers before he turned to face you, smiling at the way you tucked the sheet around you.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll call a cab.”
You slowly nodded.
“Or …”
He raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at you. You raised your own shoulders.
“You could stay. We’re off tomorrow, and I don’t know how you feel about breakfast, but I make a mean blueberry muffin.”
Jack’s lips twitched and you rushed the next part.
“And I don’t know if that affected you the way it did me, but I could really use some cuddles after that.”
Jack couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Oh no. You’re a cuddler?”
“When it’s that good, yeah. I’m not too proud to admit it.”
He reached out a hand and you put yours in it. His thumb rubbed over your knuckle.
“You sure you don’t mind if I stay?”
“I really don’t.”
He nodded, glancing down.
“I, uh … my leg. I need to …”
“Make yourself comfortable. I can go back to the bathroom if that helps.”
Jack snorted.
“I don’t care about that.”
He gave your hand a squeeze, then let it go. You peered over his shoulder, watching as he unfastened his prosthetic, groaning low as he set it aside. He turned back to you, using his arms and his good leg to move himself up the bed, having pulled his boxers on while you were away. He settled beside you, then looked your way.
“You wanna be my little spoon?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
He laughed as the two of you moved to lay down, and you went against his suggestion, rolling to lay your head against his wide chest. He smiled and looped an arm around you, glancing up at the ceiling.
“Are those stars?”
“Yes.”
“Glow-in-the-dark stars.”
“Mm-hmm.”
You yawned, laying a hand against his pec, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
“Do you know any constellations?”
“You put them up in constellations?”
“See if you can find any.”
Jack shook his head, glancing down to see your eyes closed, breaths going slow and deep. He pressed his lips to your forehead, glancing back up at the ceiling. He thought he might have seen the Big Dipper, but his eyes closed before he decided for good.
You stood in the doorway of your bedroom, a mug of coffee in your hands as you stared at the man in your bed. You saw him nearly every day, but not like this.
Never like this, until last night.
Jack Abbot was on his stomach, arms around the pillow he’d stolen from your side as soon as you’d slipped out of his hold. There were deep red scratches down the pale skin of his back, souvenirs you’d given him as he’d made you see God the night before.
You took a sip from your mug, tilting your head to one side.
You’d had a crush on your attending since the moment you’d stepped foot in Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center and were introduced to him. The Pitt hadn’t had an emergency medicine fellow in a while, so you had been welcomed with as open arms as the the Pitt would allow. Jack had taken you under his wing the moment you had begged asked for the nightshift, and the two of you settled in like you’d known each other forever. You were always one step behind him, instruments in your hands before he could ask for them, tests ordered before the words ever left his lips. He pushed you just enough, helping to seriously grow your confidence and competence, and when he gave you that crooked smile, you felt your heart melt in your chest.
God, you were making yourself nauseous and that wasn’t even the hangover talking.
You’d sworn to keep the relationship professional, to crush on Jack from afar, but last night had collapsed all the walls you had painstakingly built.
Now, you knew what his kisses tasted like.
Now, you knew how it sounded when he groaned your name.
Now, you knew how he felt inside you.
And now, you either had to face the music like a big girl or run away to Mexico and throw away all your med school training to serve margaritas on the beach. But would that really be the worst thing?
“I can hear you thinking from over here.”
You smiled at the muffled words, watching as Jack slowly lifted his head. He had one eye open and he squinted it at you before he rolled over and groaned. He sat up, the covers falling to his lap and leaving his wide chest on display. He ran his hands through his hair, then down his face.
“Tell me you’ve got some ibuprofen around here.”
“What do you take me for? Of course I do. But this may help more than anything else.”
You walked to the bed, handing him the mug you’d set on your dresser before you decided to watch him sleep. Which was decidedly not as creepy as it sounded.
“Coffee?”
You couldn’t help but smile at the hopefulness in his tone.
“Hair of the dog.”
Jack took a gulp, wincing as he swallowed.
“Jesus, honey. Little heavy on the pour.”
“Well, we went a little heavy last night.”
Jack took another sip, looking into the mug and talking more to it than you.
“We about to get heavy now?”
You sighed, picking up your own mug and taking a gulp.
“The grown up thing to do would be to talk about it.”
Jack nodded, lifting the mug to his lips.
“And in this situation, you’re the grown up”
“Christ, Jack.”
He laughed as he took another sip, shaking his head. You finished off your coffee, setting the empty mug on the dresser before moving to sit on the bed. You weren’t directly beside him, but your bed wasn’t that big, so you were still close. After a quiet moment, Jack spoke softly.
“It doesn’t have to be a thing.”
You raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t look at you.
“I mean, it’s not like we have to go to HR or anything. This was just a …”
“A one-time thing.”
You looked at each other then, and you swallowed hard. He raised an eyebrow at you, then smiled.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
You nodded, swallowing again as you looked down at your hands. Jack gently tapped your shoulder.
“Hey, come on, grown up. You wanted to talk, let’s talk.”
You exhaled, looking up into his eyes.
“Your back looks like you got into a fight with a feral raccoon.”
He blinked.
“Well, that’s not too far off.”
Your mouth fell open and he tried—and failed—to hide his smile. You grabbed your pillow and threw it at him and he laughed as he caught it. You shook your head.
“Like you were any better.”
“Well, you’re not all scratched to hell.”
“Oh, really?”
You moved to stand beside the bed, lifting your oversized shirt and pulling your underwear down the slightest bit, revealed a group of finger-shaped bruises on your hip. Jack’s eyes widened, and you watched his hand absently reach for you, then drop to the bed.
“I’m sorry.”
You laughed, shaking your head.
“Don’t be. I’m not. Last night … it was really, really good. I don’t regret it.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on your hip, even as you slid your clothes back in place. He finally brought his eyes to yours and after a beat, you spoke softly.
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
His answer came faster than you were expecting. You smiled and he stretched his hand out on the bed. You sat closer this time, laying your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb over your knuckle, the same way he had last night, then sighed.
“I can’t really offer you anything right now.”
“Oh god, are you kidding?”
Jack met your eyes and you smiled.
“I’m a fellow, Jack. My life revolves around the Pitt. I have zero free time. I’m not looking for anything serious.”
He slowly nodded. You looked down and gave his hand a squeeze, speaking softer.
“But if you were open to a … casual kind of thing …”
“Casual?”
“You know. Two adults—”
“Grown ups.”
You ignored Jack’s interjection and continued.
“Who like hanging out and occasionally use each other to … blow off a little steam, for lack of a better term.”
It was quiet, like Jack was waiting until you looked at him to speak. When you did meet his gaze, he gave you one of those crooked smiles.
“You want to use me?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Of course, that’s what you focus on.”
Jack chuckled, his thumb tapping your knuckle. You sighed, moving to sit on your knees and face him.
“I’m not asking you to buy me dinner and send me roses, Abbot. I don’t need a key to your place and a drawer. I’m just asking that every now and then, you come over and fuck me through the mattress again.”
His eyes widened and he blinked once, and you smiled.
“Have I rendered the great Dr. Abbot speechless?”
“Little bit.”
You laughed at his suddenly raspy tone, inching a bit closer. He cleared his throat, leaning towards you.
“So you were thinking of starting that arrangement now?”
“I mean … I’m free. You’re here. It seems only natural that—”
“I fuck you through the mattress again.”
You lifted your shoulders.
“If you insist.”
Jack chuckled, letting go of your hand to use both of his to cup your face.
“Kissing is okay, right?”
“Oh, I’d say kissing is mandatory.”
“Thank God.”
You couldn’t say anything else, because your lips were occupied with his. He growled against your mouth when you pulled back enough to tug your shirt off, and he made a similar noise before ducking his head to your breasts.
Summary - Steve gave you an offer. Now it's time for you to decide.
Warnings - none
Series Masterlist
There are two main reasons you are agreeing to marry Steven Grant Rogers -
1. You love him
2. You truly believe he would make a great President.
Now although you are agreeing to Bucky’s insane plan, it doesn't mean you aren’t going to make him work for it.
You sit yourself down on Bucky's couch, having decided to show up unannounced much like he did to you. After all there are some details of this agreement that need to be ironed out before you get started.
“I just want to make it clear I am not necessarily agreeing to your cockamamie plan,”
“Excuse you, my plan is brilliant, not only does it aid us in our political goals but it helps ensure you two bozos end up together.” He states.
“Be that as it may I am not agreeing to matrimony and all the 'till death do us part' goodness, at least" you sigh "not yet. But if we are going to try and fast track this the way you want then we should do it right."
You make sure you have Bucky's full attention before you continue on, "It's based off a tradition called Shomer Negiah and-”
“Is this an Indian matchmaker technique then?” Bucky cuts you off before you can explain
“Jewish matchmaker actually.”
“Alright Ok." Your friend acquiesce, "What are the rules?”
5 DATE CHALLENGE
5 Dates - there may be no more than 5 days between dates
No date can last more than 5 hours
No physical contact of any kind until a full 24 hours after the end of the 5th date.
“And you’re telling me all this? Why don’t you talk to Steve about this?”
“I will talk to Steve about this, but as you are clearly going to be very involved in whatever the hell this is so I am telling you too." you huff.
“Doll, why do you want to do this?”
“It's a way for Steve and I to really get to know each other. You know without any distractions.”
“Get to know…?" Bucky runs a frustrated hand down his face. "You both know each other plenty and you have been in love with each other for the entire length of time you’ve known each other. I really just don’t see the point in this.”
It feels impossible to explain but, you had to do a lot of soul searching on whether or not this would actually be the right move for you. You know everyone is aware of this unspoken thing between you and Steve. And you know a lot of your friends just want you to dive off the cliff head first but you just…can’t.
People might not understand it but your relationship with Steve is one of the most important in your life and you aren’t going to go into a marriage with him half assed. If you are going to marry him it has to be at least somewhat real. If this is really going to work then you have to date with intention, just like all the matchmakers and dating coaches recommend. You have to at least try and see if you are truly compatible.
Now all you have to do is make your other dearest friend understand that. You sit back on the couch. Tipping your head to the ceiling clutching a pillow to your chest and take a deep calming breath.
“Bucky, we have never actually dated. Sure we know each other but only as friends, we don’t even know if we could actually be compatible together at all let alone long term.” You sigh, not wanting to argue with him.
“Look I just, I don’t want us to jump into this thing and have it go so badly that we can’t even be friends anymore. From what I hear marriage is pretty damn hard, add on top of that a campaign and then if all goes well a presidency? That is a ton of extra pressure so I want to make sure that we go into this with a strong and solid foundation.”
“Solid foundation huh?”
“This shit needs to be sturdier than the St. Louis arch.”
“Alright," He says wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close "whatever you need doll."
Everything is set. Steve agreed to the rules and even added a couple stipulations of his own. And tonight marks your first official date with Steve Rogers. What does one wear on a first date with a man that they are fairly certain they will be marrying before the leaves change?
That is the million dollar question today.
Your hair looks great, your curls are popping. You have scrubbed and moisturized every inch of your body and yet you still don’t know what the hell to wear.
It doesn't help that you don't actually know where you are going for said date. Steve wants it to be a surprise. He's not a complete monster he gave you some guidance. As in the majority of the date will be inside. But still that doesn't help much. I mean bull riding is done indoors and you would definitely need pants for that.
Ok you need a reset. You decided to shake it out and start over. You've gone on dates before. Not to mention you get dressed literally every day. You can do this. It's only one outfit right…?
Your closet looks like it exploded all over your room but you did it, you picked an outfit!
You stand in your kitchen sipping on a glass of water and trying not to second guess your look when you hear the tell tale knock on the door.
This is it. No turning back. You grab your purse and pull on your shoes and open the door.
Steve and you lock eyes and he shoots you one of his shy sheepish smiles that you just love so much. The butterflies in your stomach are going haywire and there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind saying you should close the door and stick to the status quo.
But you stand tall ignoring that dark voice and the distracting butterflies and instead step out of your apartment and begin your very first date with your best friend.
Summary - Steve gave you an offer. Now it's time for you to decide.
Warnings - none
Series Masterlist
There are two main reasons you are agreeing to marry Steven Grant Rogers -
1. You love him
2. You truly believe he would make a great President.
Now although you are agreeing to Bucky’s insane plan, it doesn't mean you aren’t going to make him work for it.
You sit yourself down on Bucky's couch, having decided to show up unannounced much like he did to you. After all there are some details of this agreement that need to be ironed out before you get started.
“I just want to make it clear I am not necessarily agreeing to your cockamamie plan,”
“Excuse you, my plan is brilliant, not only does it aid us in our political goals but it helps ensure you two bozos end up together.” He states.
“Be that as it may I am not agreeing to matrimony and all the 'till death do us part' goodness, at least" you sigh "not yet. But if we are going to try and fast track this the way you want then we should do it right."
You make sure you have Bucky's full attention before you continue on, "It's based off a tradition called Shomer Negiah and-”
“Is this an Indian matchmaker technique then?” Bucky cuts you off before you can explain
“Jewish matchmaker actually.”
“Alright Ok." Your friend acquiesce, "What are the rules?”
5 DATE CHALLENGE
5 Dates - there may be no more than 5 days between dates
No date can last more than 5 hours
No physical contact of any kind until a full 24 hours after the end of the 5th date.
“And you’re telling me all this? Why don’t you talk to Steve about this?”
“I will talk to Steve about this, but as you are clearly going to be very involved in whatever the hell this is so I am telling you too." you huff.
“Doll, why do you want to do this?”
“It's a way for Steve and I to really get to know each other. You know without any distractions.”
“Get to know…?" Bucky runs a frustrated hand down his face. "You both know each other plenty and you have been in love with each other for the entire length of time you’ve known each other. I really just don’t see the point in this.”
It feels impossible to explain but, you had to do a lot of soul searching on whether or not this would actually be the right move for you. You know everyone is aware of this unspoken thing between you and Steve. And you know a lot of your friends just want you to dive off the cliff head first but you just…can’t.
People might not understand it but your relationship with Steve is one of the most important in your life and you aren’t going to go into a marriage with him half assed. If you are going to marry him it has to be at least somewhat real. If this is really going to work then you have to date with intention, just like all the matchmakers and dating coaches recommend. You have to at least try and see if you are truly compatible.
Now all you have to do is make your other dearest friend understand that. You sit back on the couch. Tipping your head to the ceiling clutching a pillow to your chest and take a deep calming breath.
“Bucky, we have never actually dated. Sure we know each other but only as friends, we don’t even know if we could actually be compatible together at all let alone long term.” You sigh, not wanting to argue with him.
“Look I just, I don’t want us to jump into this thing and have it go so badly that we can’t even be friends anymore. From what I hear marriage is pretty damn hard, add on top of that a campaign and then if all goes well a presidency? That is a ton of extra pressure so I want to make sure that we go into this with a strong and solid foundation.”
“Solid foundation huh?”
“This shit needs to be sturdier than the St. Louis arch.”
“Alright," He says wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close "whatever you need doll."
Everything is set. Steve agreed to the rules and even added a couple stipulations of his own. And tonight marks your first official date with Steve Rogers. What does one wear on a first date with a man that they are fairly certain they will be marrying before the leaves change?
That is the million dollar question today.
Your hair looks great, your curls are popping. You have scrubbed and moisturized every inch of your body and yet you still don’t know what the hell to wear.
It doesn't help that you don't actually know where you are going for said date. Steve wants it to be a surprise. He's not a complete monster he gave you some guidance. As in the majority of the date will be inside. But still that doesn't help much. I mean bull riding is done indoors and you would definitely need pants for that.
Ok you need a reset. You decided to shake it out and start over. You've gone on dates before. Not to mention you get dressed literally every day. You can do this. It's only one outfit right…?
Your closet looks like it exploded all over your room but you did it, you picked an outfit!
You stand in your kitchen sipping on a glass of water and trying not to second guess your look when you hear the tell tale knock on the door.
This is it. No turning back. You grab your purse and pull on your shoes and open the door.
Steve and you lock eyes and he shoots you one of his shy sheepish smiles that you just love so much. The butterflies in your stomach are going haywire and there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind saying you should close the door and stick to the status quo.
But you stand tall ignoring that dark voice and the distracting butterflies and instead step out of your apartment and begin your very first date with your best friend.
Summary - Steve gave you an offer. Now it's time for you to decide.
Warnings - none
Series Masterlist
There are two main reasons you are agreeing to marry Steven Grant Rogers -
1. You love him
2. You truly believe he would make a great President.
Now although you are agreeing to Bucky’s insane plan, it doesn't mean you aren’t going to make him work for it.
You sit yourself down on Bucky's couch, having decided to show up unannounced much like he did to you. After all there are some details of this agreement that need to be ironed out before you get started.
“I just want to make it clear I am not necessarily agreeing to your cockamamie plan,”
“Excuse you, my plan is brilliant, not only does it aid us in our political goals but it helps ensure you two bozos end up together.” He states.
“Be that as it may I am not agreeing to matrimony and all the 'till death do us part' goodness, at least" you sigh "not yet. But if we are going to try and fast track this the way you want then we should do it right."
You make sure you have Bucky's full attention before you continue on, "It's based off a tradition called Shomer Negiah and-”
“Is this an Indian matchmaker technique then?” Bucky cuts you off before you can explain
“Jewish matchmaker actually.”
“Alright Ok." Your friend acquiesce, "What are the rules?”
5 DATE CHALLENGE
5 Dates - there may be no more than 5 days between dates
No date can last more than 5 hours
No physical contact of any kind until a full 24 hours after the end of the 5th date.
“And you’re telling me all this? Why don’t you talk to Steve about this?”
“I will talk to Steve about this, but as you are clearly going to be very involved in whatever the hell this is so I am telling you too." you huff.
“Doll, why do you want to do this?”
“It's a way for Steve and I to really get to know each other. You know without any distractions.”
“Get to know…?" Bucky runs a frustrated hand down his face. "You both know each other plenty and you have been in love with each other for the entire length of time you’ve known each other. I really just don’t see the point in this.”
It feels impossible to explain but, you had to do a lot of soul searching on whether or not this would actually be the right move for you. You know everyone is aware of this unspoken thing between you and Steve. And you know a lot of your friends just want you to dive off the cliff head first but you just…can’t.
People might not understand it but your relationship with Steve is one of the most important in your life and you aren’t going to go into a marriage with him half assed. If you are going to marry him it has to be at least somewhat real. If this is really going to work then you have to date with intention, just like all the matchmakers and dating coaches recommend. You have to at least try and see if you are truly compatible.
Now all you have to do is make your other dearest friend understand that. You sit back on the couch. Tipping your head to the ceiling clutching a pillow to your chest and take a deep calming breath.
“Bucky, we have never actually dated. Sure we know each other but only as friends, we don’t even know if we could actually be compatible together at all let alone long term.” You sigh, not wanting to argue with him.
“Look I just, I don’t want us to jump into this thing and have it go so badly that we can’t even be friends anymore. From what I hear marriage is pretty damn hard, add on top of that a campaign and then if all goes well a presidency? That is a ton of extra pressure so I want to make sure that we go into this with a strong and solid foundation.”
“Solid foundation huh?”
“This shit needs to be sturdier than the St. Louis arch.”
“Alright," He says wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close "whatever you need doll."
Everything is set. Steve agreed to the rules and even added a couple stipulations of his own. And tonight marks your first official date with Steve Rogers. What does one wear on a first date with a man that they are fairly certain they will be marrying before the leaves change?
That is the million dollar question today.
Your hair looks great, your curls are popping. You have scrubbed and moisturized every inch of your body and yet you still don’t know what the hell to wear.
It doesn't help that you don't actually know where you are going for said date. Steve wants it to be a surprise. He's not a complete monster he gave you some guidance. As in the majority of the date will be inside. But still that doesn't help much. I mean bull riding is done indoors and you would definitely need pants for that.
Ok you need a reset. You decided to shake it out and start over. You've gone on dates before. Not to mention you get dressed literally every day. You can do this. It's only one outfit right…?
Your closet looks like it exploded all over your room but you did it, you picked an outfit!
You stand in your kitchen sipping on a glass of water and trying not to second guess your look when you hear the tell tale knock on the door.
This is it. No turning back. You grab your purse and pull on your shoes and open the door.
Steve and you lock eyes and he shoots you one of his shy sheepish smiles that you just love so much. The butterflies in your stomach are going haywire and there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind saying you should close the door and stick to the status quo.
But you stand tall ignoring that dark voice and the distracting butterflies and instead step out of your apartment and begin your very first date with your best friend.
Summary - Steve gave you an offer. Now it's time for you to decide.
Warnings - none
Series Masterlist
There are two main reasons you are agreeing to marry Steven Grant Rogers -
1. You love him
2. You truly believe he would make a great President.
Now although you are agreeing to Bucky’s insane plan, it doesn't mean you aren’t going to make him work for it.
You sit yourself down on Bucky's couch, having decided to show up unannounced much like he did to you. After all there are some details of this agreement that need to be ironed out before you get started.
“I just want to make it clear I am not necessarily agreeing to your cockamamie plan,”
“Excuse you, my plan is brilliant, not only does it aid us in our political goals but it helps ensure you two bozos end up together.” He states.
“Be that as it may I am not agreeing to matrimony and all the 'till death do us part' goodness, at least" you sigh "not yet. But if we are going to try and fast track this the way you want then we should do it right."
You make sure you have Bucky's full attention before you continue on, "It's based off a tradition called Shomer Negiah and-”
“Is this an Indian matchmaker technique then?” Bucky cuts you off before you can explain
“Jewish matchmaker actually.”
“Alright Ok." Your friend acquiesce, "What are the rules?”
5 DATE CHALLENGE
5 Dates - there may be no more than 5 days between dates
No date can last more than 5 hours
No physical contact of any kind until a full 24 hours after the end of the 5th date.
“And you’re telling me all this? Why don’t you talk to Steve about this?”
“I will talk to Steve about this, but as you are clearly going to be very involved in whatever the hell this is so I am telling you too." you huff.
“Doll, why do you want to do this?”
“It's a way for Steve and I to really get to know each other. You know without any distractions.”
“Get to know…?" Bucky runs a frustrated hand down his face. "You both know each other plenty and you have been in love with each other for the entire length of time you’ve known each other. I really just don’t see the point in this.”
It feels impossible to explain but, you had to do a lot of soul searching on whether or not this would actually be the right move for you. You know everyone is aware of this unspoken thing between you and Steve. And you know a lot of your friends just want you to dive off the cliff head first but you just…can’t.
People might not understand it but your relationship with Steve is one of the most important in your life and you aren’t going to go into a marriage with him half assed. If you are going to marry him it has to be at least somewhat real. If this is really going to work then you have to date with intention, just like all the matchmakers and dating coaches recommend. You have to at least try and see if you are truly compatible.
Now all you have to do is make your other dearest friend understand that. You sit back on the couch. Tipping your head to the ceiling clutching a pillow to your chest and take a deep calming breath.
“Bucky, we have never actually dated. Sure we know each other but only as friends, we don’t even know if we could actually be compatible together at all let alone long term.” You sigh, not wanting to argue with him.
“Look I just, I don’t want us to jump into this thing and have it go so badly that we can’t even be friends anymore. From what I hear marriage is pretty damn hard, add on top of that a campaign and then if all goes well a presidency? That is a ton of extra pressure so I want to make sure that we go into this with a strong and solid foundation.”
“Solid foundation huh?”
“This shit needs to be sturdier than the St. Louis arch.”
“Alright," He says wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close "whatever you need doll."
Everything is set. Steve agreed to the rules and even added a couple stipulations of his own. And tonight marks your first official date with Steve Rogers. What does one wear on a first date with a man that they are fairly certain they will be marrying before the leaves change?
That is the million dollar question today.
Your hair looks great, your curls are popping. You have scrubbed and moisturized every inch of your body and yet you still don’t know what the hell to wear.
It doesn't help that you don't actually know where you are going for said date. Steve wants it to be a surprise. He's not a complete monster he gave you some guidance. As in the majority of the date will be inside. But still that doesn't help much. I mean bull riding is done indoors and you would definitely need pants for that.
Ok you need a reset. You decided to shake it out and start over. You've gone on dates before. Not to mention you get dressed literally every day. You can do this. It's only one outfit right…?
Your closet looks like it exploded all over your room but you did it, you picked an outfit!
You stand in your kitchen sipping on a glass of water and trying not to second guess your look when you hear the tell tale knock on the door.
This is it. No turning back. You grab your purse and pull on your shoes and open the door.
Steve and you lock eyes and he shoots you one of his shy sheepish smiles that you just love so much. The butterflies in your stomach are going haywire and there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind saying you should close the door and stick to the status quo.
But you stand tall ignoring that dark voice and the distracting butterflies and instead step out of your apartment and begin your very first date with your best friend.
