A/N: The reader and Nathan are in their mid-20s in this fic. I might write more for Nathan depending on feedback. Reblog and comment if you would like more! <3
You knew absolutely nothing about bartending. But did you let that stop you when you were offered a position as a bartender and be trained by Nathan Drake? Absolutely not. You were happy to take almost any job that worked with your school schedule as an undergrad and leave you time to study when business was slow. Plus, it helped that you had such an attractive coworker to show you the ropes.
"Are you listening to me, (Name)?" Nathan's voice broke your train of thought.
"Yeah, absolutely." You lied through your teeth.
You certainly weren't staring at his sinuous arms as he vigorously shook a cocktail shaker with both hands. Nope. Not at all.
"Good, because tonight I'm gonna teach you a couple of tricks." Nathan smiled.
Nathan set the cocktail shaker down then grabbed a bottle of tequila off the shelf behind him. He effortlessly spun a bottle of tequila in his hand after catching it from behind his back and he poured some into a shot glass. He slid the glass down the table to a customer. Not only did Nathan know his way around the bar and mix a good drink, but he was charming and quick-witted too.
You had only been at the job for about two weeks and you were already infatuated with him. In those two weeks, Nathan taught you how to memorize customers' drink orders, how to mix them properly, getting familiar with the bar stock, and drink presentations. If anyone else had been training you, you would've been bored and eager to leave to do anything else. Nathan kept you engaged and kept things light. He made the job fun.
"Cool," you breathed out. "How long did it take you to learn that?"
"A couple hours." Nathan shrugged his shoulders.
"Think I'll need more than a few hours to figure out how to do that." You shook your head.
"Trust me," Nathan gently tapped your forehead with two fingers. "If that pretty head of yours can remember everything that I've taught you so far, I bet you can learn how to do this too. I have the utmost faith in you."
You could feel the heat rise to your face from his words. How could you not? The man was fine and he was flirting with you. You hoped and prayed that you wouldn't make a fool of yourself.
"Okay, we'll start small and have you learn how to do a single rotation with one hand," Nathan grabbed an empty cocktail shaker before he poured an ounce of tequila into it.
In one swift motion, he tossed the shaker into the air so that it rotated and caught it with the same hand. "Simple, right?"
"Yeah, so easy." You snorted.
"C'mon, just give it a try." Nathan handed you the shaker with a smile.
You reluctantly took the shaker from his hand. You psyched yourself up before you counted to three, mimicking Nathan's technique. When you made a grab for it, it slipped from your hand, but Nathan managed to catch it before it could land on the floor.
"That's okay. Consider this a trial run." Nathan reassured. "You got this."
You spent the next thirty minutes practicing your rotations with empty cocktail shakers before you eventually got the hang of it. You eventually learned how to rotate shakers from one hand to another. Even though you dropped it several times, Nathan never stopped encouraging you to keep trying or hyping you up when you were successful.
"You're a pro," Nathan smirked as he watched you rotate and catch a shaker for the umpteenth time tonight.
"Oh stop." You could feel your ego getting bigger by the second.
"Okay, okay," Nathan laughed, taking the hint. "I'll teach you how to do one more thing tonight. And that's how to balance."
"Balance?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Balance."
Nathan grabbed the bottle of tequila he used earlier and tossed it in the air before he held out his forearm to catch it, now balancing it.
"Impressive. Do we have a practice bottle that I could use so I don't break anything expensive?" You looked at the shelf behind Nathan.
"Yeah, it's on the top shelf. Lemme grab you the step stool." Nathan headed to the back of the bar before he returned with a small step stool. He placed it in front of the shelf for you to stand on.
"Thanks," You carefully stepped onto the stool and stood on your tiptoes as you reached for the plastic bottle on the top shelf.
When your fingers finally grabbed hold of the bottle, you felt the stool suddenly tilt over, leaving you without anything to stand or balance on. As luck would have it, Nathan reached out and caught you in his strong arms before you could fall to the ground.
"You okay?" Nathan looked down at you, concern evident in his eyes.
"Yeah, I am now." You nodded slowly.
For once, you were glad you couldn't balance for shit today.
what annoys me the most about when a fic series goes from being reader insert into the reader becoming an OC is that most of the time, the OC ends up white, with a white name, and every single inspo pic, gif, video about the fic series always involves white people. And then authors have the nerve to say that the OC won’t/doesn’t have any descriptive characteristics…
I really don’t mind when a fic series goes from reader insert into OC, but come on, let’s do it properly and remind ourselves that WW aren’t the only ones reading fanfiction.
Okay I have spent way too long trying to figure out how to say this, mainly because I was so focused on being nice about it. But fuck it, I’m just gonna say it:
When you wedge the reader into a dynamic in a fic by making her somebody’s biological relative (sibling, daughter, and niece are the usual go-tos), 9/10 you’ve flubbed and already caused a riff between yourself and some of your readers. How? Because 9/10, the character you’ve made the reader related to is white.
And I know you didn’t intend it (dear God I hope you didn’t) but?? There is literally no need to have the reader be related to anyone in order for them to exist in the story: It’s fiction for one, and there’s always a way around it for another. Additionally, unless it’s a focal point of the fic, there’s next to no reason you would need to provide (often white) descriptions of the reader.
There are more POC out there reading your fics than you realize, and some potential ones might’ve even decided your stuff wasn’t worth reading because even though they may want to say something, they’re too tired or even worried that pointing out the flaw in this writing style will draw criticism or accusations of them being selfish or overly demanding. So they just decide it’d be easier to find something else that caters to them, costing you a reader. You could’ve written the most tear-jerking anti-My Immortal piece in the cosmos, but by essentially demanding that the reader pretend they’re even less of what they are by setting a white default, you’ve already created a degree of separation between the two of you, and their ability to thoroughly enjoy the content that really needn’t be there to begin with.
When I pick a fic to read, I want to actually read it. Not be distracted by me trying to figure out how Tony Stark and Pepper Potts could produce a black baby, or the disturbing implications of me being a Thrombey.
thank you for writing something involving a black reader, i feel like not a lot of people write for us. I keep reading so many fics or reader inserts where it's literally a non-poc and it sucks. it's so refreshing to read something where i can envision myself in what i'm reading.
You’re welcome babes.
I know what you mean. As a black woman and there are times when I’m reading something and I can tell that the writer has specifically written for non-WOC or non-POC or thought about us even in hindsight. Too many times white characters are the norm or default in almost EVERYTHING that we see, read, exposed to, hear about. When we want to see ourselves reflected back, 99% of the time it’s in some sort of stereotypical way that isn’t an accurate representation of who we are and only perpetuates those stereotypes. This again is why representation matters, and why we need more POC writers. Not only to break those stereotypes but as a way for more people to be able to express themselves in a world and society that constantly tells us that the world wasn’t made for us so we yell back THEN WE’LL MAKE IT OURSELVES SO YOU CAN JUST
I get sometimes writers may not know about POC, our cultures, our lives, the way we speak, hair, certain physical features. But in today’s society where everyone and everything is easily accessible, there really isn’t an excuse not to become educated. Like Neil Gaiman said when he wrote a MOC character (Shadow Moon) for his book American Gods, he asked friends who were POC to gain insight into what his character would have experienced as a POC. If a published author can do that, why can people on this site? Or AO3 or any other writing platform? IF YOU DONT KNOW ASK! You’ll be shocked at what you find and so many people willing to help you out.
Growing up, you and your mom would spend your Sunday mornings cleaning the house with gospel music blaring from her stereo. Now, you've taken that routine into adulthood. The only difference was the music you played while you cleaned. When it was your turn to clean the communal kitchen and living room in the Avengers Facility, you decided to slip on your cutest loungewear and play one of your favorite playlists.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y., play So Anxious by Ginuwine." You said as you got started on washing the dishes.
Everyone else was out of the facility doing their own thing, so you had the place to yourself. You felt free to dance and sing off-key while you cleaned and sang along to the filthy lyrics. Well, you DID have the place to yourself until Bucky showed up.
He'd come sauntering in from a morning jog, walk into the kitchen and grab something to drink to cool off. When Bucky sees you dropping it low in a way that makes you look thicker than a bowl of grits, he realizes drinking a bottle of water won't be enough to quench his thirst.
His movements, as he approaches you, are quick but silent, so you don't hear him coming up behind you.
"You need a dance partner?" Bucky purrs, wrapping his arms around you from behind after you stand up to your feet.
You nearly shout in surprise, but sigh in relief upon realizing it was Bucky. You're about to give him a piece of your mind for sneaking up on you until his vibranium hand caresses your ass cheek, giving it a firm squeeze. You shiver in delight, instinctively grinding against him as he bucks his hips against your ass.
"You sure you can keep up?" you smirk at him.
"Positive," Bucky said without missing a beat.
"Show me what you got, old man." You tease with a shit-eating grin.
If you had known that you were gonna run into the loser of a guy you went on a first date with, you wouldn't have agreed to drinks at the bar with your girlfriends tonight. You would have kept your ass home and stayed in your pajamas and bonnet watching Living Single. Luckily, one of your friends was able to give you a heads up that he was looking for you. Apparently, blocking his number from your phone wasn't enough to prove that you weren't interested in a second date. You knew you were gonna have to step your game up if you were gonna get rid of this guy for good. When you spotted a tall and handsome stranger with short brown hair in a tapered style with a black long-sleeved jacket sitting at the bar by himself, you saw a way out.
You tell your friends you'll be right back and leave their table and head straight for the bar. You ask the bartender for a drink before you cautiously slide closer towards the handsome stranger. You think you're being subtle until you realize he's looking right at you. His eyes, which are a piercing shade of blue, nearly takes your breath away. It isn't until he speaks that you feel your heart skip a beat.
"Hi," He greets. "I'm Bucky," He greets you with a polite smile.
"(Name)," You return the smile before you push yourself to continue while the line of dialogue is open. "Mind if I ask you a favor?"
Bucky raises an eyebrow in curiosity wondering what sort of help a beautiful woman such as yourself needed that would require his assistance. When he sees the way your body tenses up when you lock eyes with another man standing on the other side of the room, he suddenly understands why you were asking for help.
"Kiss me," You urged, putting a hand over his own. "Please..."
Bucky looks at you for a moment completely thrown for a loop by your sudden and intimate request. However, when he sees the guy that has you so on edge approaching, he decides now isn't the time to ask questions or hesitate. He reaches out and gently places a hand behind the base of your neck, his eyes boring into yours.
"You got it, doll." He whispers before he leans forward, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss.
You sharply inhale and your eyes flutter close as Bucky moves his gloved hand from behind your neck and cups your face using both hands to tilt your head as you kiss him back. The kiss initially starts off slow and sweet as you lean into it and allow yourself to enjoy the softness of his lips against yours. The combination of the taste of alcohol lingering on his lips and the scent of his cologne ignites a fire in you that leaves you wanting more. You reach out with both hands and grab fistfuls of his jacket as you part your lips and allow Bucky to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Warmth spread throughout your body as his tongue explores your mouth, a soft moan escaping your lips without even meaning to.
As your brain and lungs urge you to take a breath, you slowly break the kiss. Bucky’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, his lips now swollen and his face flushed from the kiss. You take a moment to look around the bar for the guy you’ve been avoiding. When you see that he was nowhere to be found, you sigh in relief.
"Thank you for, well… the kiss." You said, your heart still racing.
"No problem," Bucky said, straightening out his jacket.
Ever since you overheard Bucky putting himself down, you were determined to help boost his confidence. Reassuring statements were too cliché so you opted for the next best thing: flirting.
Flirting with Bucky became one of your favorite things to do while hanging out in the Avengers Facility.
You'd start off small so you don't make him spontaneously combust from embarrassment and confusion.
When you spot Bucky coming back from the gym wearing a black henley and some gym shorts, you decide to make your move.
"Okay, Bucky. I see you." You hum with approval. "Looking like a whole ass snack in that henley."
You realize you should've waited until after he finished drinking his bottle of water because the next thing you know, the man damn near chokes on it. You quickly rush to his side, patting his back as he coughs.
"The hell... *cough* does that even mean?" Bucky said while coughing into his arm.
"It means you look good, Bucky." You said honestly.
"Right, the sweaty 106-year-old man *cough* coughing up a lung is definitely gonna make all the ladies swoon."
"I'm serious!"
You make sure the second time around you flirt with Bucky that he isn't eating or drinking anything.
You spot him in the living room reading a book on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He looks up from his book when he sees you smiling at him.
"I just realized something." You said, your smile morphing into a grin.
"Yeah, what's that?" Bucky sets his book down when he sees that you're staring directly back into his eyes, your gaze unwavering and full of light.
"Your eyes," You said, barely above a whisper. "It's like looking into the ocean. I could get lost in them forever."
Heat quickly rose to Bucky's cheeks at your words, suddenly finding the ground more interesting to look at than your face. Your only response to this is a laugh before you walk away and leave Bucky alone with his thoughts and his book.
This goes on pretty much once a day until Bucky decides to finally confront you before you could utter another cheesy pick-up line.
"Why do you keep saying stuff like that, huh?" Bucky corners you in the hallway, his vibranium arm pinned above your head as he looks down at you.
"Stuff like what?" You swallow the dry lump in your throat.
"You know what I'm talking about. Why're you messing with me and saying stuff like 'I'm not drunk, I'm just intoxicated by you'?"
"Yeah, that wasn't my best work, was it?" You laugh nervously.
"No, that's not what I mean. Look, could... could you just knock it off and quit teasing me? It's really messing with my head."
Hearing Bucky dismiss your flirting as nothing more than an attempt to fuck with him stung a bit. In all honesty, you did really like him. Considering he didn't think much of himself, it made sense that he'd question the validity of your words. So, you decide to switch tactics and use another method to help with Bucky's confidence: the truth.
"I'm sorry, Bucky. It wasn't my intention to mess with your head. I said all that stuff because I meant that shit. I think you're a really great guy and you deserve to hear that more often. I know you don't believe that you are and that you'd be the first one to tell me otherwise, but I figured saying all that stuff might help you eventually see what I see." You confess.
"And what do you see when you look at me?" He whispers.
Bucky leans his head down, his face only inches away from your own. He reaches out with his flesh hand and cups the side of your face, which you instinctively lean into.
