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anonquack · 4 years ago

Text

| His Merch |

Alex Quackity x Reader, Oneshot!

Word Count: 4256

Warnings: None, just some curse words. Fluff :]

Summary: Being such good friends with Quackity leads to the inevitable; catching feelings. In fear of ruining your friendship with him, you kept quiet about your feelings. Although usually good at that, after a merch drop and a slip-up on stream, you prepare yourself for the worst. Queue the incoming call from Quackity himself.

Today had been a productive day, in your opinion. You'd woken up earlier than usual, ate breakfast, cleaned around your apartment, and managed to get started on editing a video you'd recently filmed.

That's why you considered yourself very deserving of sitting down and enjoying your friend's stream as you ate some snacks.

Quackity had a fun stream planned, and had hyped up a 'big announcement' on Twitter, and the whole timeline was already speculating what it could be as they awaited for Quackity to start stream.

Being his friend had some perks though, contrary to popular belief. He'd discussed with you what the big announcement was as you sat on call with him a few nights prior to the big day. It was merch, and according to your past experience with Planet Duck products, it was sure to be soft and super comfy. You were very much looking forward to getting your hands on some of his new merch.

He'd brought up sending some to you, one of the previously mentioned perks of being his friend, but you politely declined. Much to his surprise. He'd asked why and you'd simply stated that "It was fine," and perhaps it came off as a bit rude. A 'no thanks' to his merch that you hadn't even seen.

But you had plans of your own, you wanted to acquire said merch on your own, and support him financially in the process. He didn't have to know that though, so with a small 'Oh' from him as his response, you swiftly changed topic of conversation.

Now here you sat, watching the stream as Quackity explained what he'd be doing with his friend John Smith. Riding go-karts around what looked like a storage unit. You couldn't help but worry as you watched them zoom around, occasionally getting close to crashing, and eventually doing just that.

The stream itself was rather fun to watch, but you kept your debit card beside you. This was in case he decided to drop the merch announcement out of nowhere. And that was exactly what he did. Another perk of being his friend was you grew a 6th sense for these type of things. Always had a feeling for what was about to happen when it came to Quackity.

You watched as the chat freaked out, watched as the notification from Planet Duck went out, notifying everybody that the merch had been released. You quickly typed into your computer, and the internet seemed to be taking its time to redirect you to Quackity's merch site.

After some time, it finally loaded and you began to look at all the options. The merch was wonderful, Quackity had been hyping it up to you (you'd asked for no reveals, wanting to wait like everyone else) and he had been absolutely right.

Most of the designs were new, except for the iconic Planet Duck logo, and were all very cute. You had Quackity's stream playing in the background as you maneuvered your way around the site, finally deciding on which merch you'd be buying.

As you went to purchase, a red sign alerted you that there was no shipping to your location. To which you quickly raised an eyebrow, panic starting to rush through you. Maybe you should've accepted his offer.

After refreshing multiple times and watching the Twitter timeline freak out as well over the inability to ship to several locations, it finally seemed to work, and the payment finally went through. A big "Thank you for your purchase" appearing onto the screen.

You let out a sigh of relief, clicking back onto the tab where the stream was, a small smile on your face. You'd actually managed to get it on your own. It was nerve-racking, when it seemed like you wouldn't be able to get the shipping to work, when it seemed like it'd sell out before you had the chance to buy some.

Now you finally understood what it felt like, the stress of getting your hands on merch before it sold out. It'd been an exhilerating experience.

You relaxed into your seat as Quackity's laugh filled the room. He was recreating bits from Fast and Furious, and zooming all over the place. You watched with a fond smile as he drove around, throwing random Spanish profanities at John Smith here and there.

The funky heart glasses he had on did nothing to ease the warmth that was spreading through your chest at the sight of him. You were suffering due to your confusing feelings towards your close friend, but nobody knew, or at least that is what you told yourself.

You tried to focus on something else, something that wasn't solely him. The go-karts were going pretty fast, and you remembered the scene they were recreating from the movie. Whichever random thought came to mind, you'd focus on it instead, too scared to let your thoughts wander elsewhere.

When it came to and end, you were conflicted. You were glad your heart would be able to catch a break, but you also missed him almost immediately. Sickening, really.

You took some time to reflect on what you'd done so far. Cleaned, ate your meals, worked on some editing, got some Quackity merch, and enjoyed a fun stream. It was rather productive, to say the least.

But there was still some time left in the day, and you figured you'd put the energy coursing through your body to use.

Taking a seat at your desk, you turned your monitor on before opening the twitch app. An alt stream would be perfect right now. After going live and sending out a tweet letting your followers know you were live, you patiently waited for the viewers to start coming in.

Considering this was an alt stream, you figured you'd play some random game and just chat for a bit before heading to bed. As the viewers came in, you gave your greetings before opening a tab for roblox, getting on a random server to play an obby game as you talked to chat.

There was a content smile on your face as you asked chat how their day had been, how they were feeling, your little character jumping around and passing through the beginner levels on the obby game.

"I'm actually in a really good mood, chat. My day has been going so well." You began, glancing at chat here and there, smile growing at the memory of the adventures acquiring Quackity merch.

After the chat was flooded with questions asking about what had happened, you indulged. "I was watching Quackity's stream earlier today, and it was so much fun!" The smile grew before softening as you focused on the obby. "I was also able to get some of his new merch."

The chat erupted into bits of 'friends supporting friends' to 'y/n in quackity merch???' and people yelling that they had been or weren't able to get merch.

Seeing the chat made you laugh, nodding your head a bit. "No because I was so nervous I wouldn't be able to get some-" you admitted, attention now focused solely on telling the viewers about your own experience.

"I was trying to purchase, and there was a line, and then it said it wouldn't ship to my location?? I was so worried I wouldn't be able to get some. But it finally worked. I'm excited for it to get here." You finished your small rant, a content smile on your lips.

Chat consisted of people agreeing with the technical difficulties occurring at the time of the merch drop, others saying they were too broke to buy anything. It felt nice, to see something from their perspective and also have shared an experience like this.

"Big Q actually offered to send me some, but I told him no because I wanted to get it myself.. Wanted to get it fair and square." You said as you refocused on the obby in front of you, fond smile on your face as you thought about how nice he was. He was willing to send all of his friends some of his merch, free of cost.

"Also wanted to give him my support by actually purchasing it, you know?" You added, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as it leaned against your desk. You took this time to read chat, which was exploding with what you thought was a combination of Quackity's username with yours, and 'bffs ur honor!!'.

You smiled at that, hands finally moving your character around. "Really, he has been such an amazing friend, extremely welcoming, always fun to be around. And just.. life is never dull when he's around. He's always been there for me when I needed it and well‐" A pause. "I'm glad I was able to support him in some way." You hummed softly as you finished up yet another small rant about Quackity.

At the realization that you'd been talking about him for far too long, and that he was not meant to be the focus of your alt stream, you cleared your throat and began focusing on the obby game once again.

You shifted the topic of conversation to the video you'd also been editing today, and that quickly took everyone's attention away from how affectionately and fondly you'd been speaking of your dear friend. Everyone was now excited about the new video.

Seeing how easily the chat's focus changed made you ease up a bit, and you were able to enjoy the rest of your stream playing random roblox games and discussing some stuff with chat. It lasted for a bit longer before you finally decided to end stream.

Some goodbyes and after stream officially ended, you found yourself on Twitter. Everything seemed pretty peaceful on the timeline, up until the trending page came up.

Your name was trending, along with 'QUACKITY IN CHAT' and the infamous combination of usernames. A monstrosity, really.

You heard yourself audibly gulp as you clicked on the trending topic 'quackity in chat'. Much to your dismay it was true. There was screenshots that showed Quackity was watching your stream. That meant that he'd heard you talking about him in that sickening tone. That tone that was unnecessarily sweet and fond.

You didn't know who was freaking out more, the so-called shippers, the timeline, or yourself. You gently bit at the inside of your cheek, scrolling and reading all the tweets of people trying to guess how Quackity must've felt while hearing all that. Others raising an eyebrow at how long you'd gone on about Quackity and how 'perfect' he was.

You'd fucked up, that was for sure, and it wasn't even intentional or fan service of any kind. It was an alt stream, it wasn't planned in any way, shape, or form. He'd been brought up, and you'd accidentally spilled all fond thoughts you held of him.

Your cursor hovered over a specific tweet that read, 'want someone to talk about me the way y/n talks about big q'. It was sweet, and perhaps made you smile just a little bit.

As you read it over in your head, a notification popped up on your screen, the discord notification ringing in your ears as you read who the message was from. Quackity.

You messed around with your mouse for a bit before finally closing the Twitter tab, and instead opting to open the unread message.

Quackity

hey (:

You stared at it for a bit, blinking in disbelief at how normal the message came across. Perhaps he'd tuned in during the last half of the stream. Perhaps he hadn't been able to watch while you rambled about him, and perhaps he hadn't been on Twitter either. One could hope.

y/n hi (:

It showed that he was typing almost immediately after, and you tried your best to calm your nerves.

Quackity call?

You felt yourself tense at the message. Maybe he wanted to let you down kindly. 'Hey! Saw your stream, and I just wanted to ask if you could chill the fuck out. That was kind of creepy. Maybe never speak of me ever again. Do not perceive me any longer, thanks!'

Something along those lines for sure. That's what probably awaited you if you said yes to this. But what exactly were you supposed to do instead?

y/n ofc

It only took a few seconds for the call to come through. Stalling wouldn't help, so you answered by the third ring.

He greeted you, and everything seemed normal. The calls were normal between you two, but you were just on edge due to twitter trending and the stream that took place less than an hour ago.

"How are you feeling, Quackity?" You asked with a small smile, today was a big day for him, and you were sure he'd enjoy talking about how fast the merch sold.

"I'm doing great. Really happy that the fans liked the designs and just.. we sold a lot. I'm happy." He restated the last bit, the smile was obvious in his voice. You didn't have to be seeing it to know. Another perk of being so close to him. You had a clear visual image of what he probably looked like right now. Cute smile plastered onto his equally cute face.

"I'm really happy for you, Big Q. You deserve all the success that is coming your way and more." You hummed softly. Everything you were saying, you meant wholeheartedly. There was silence for a bit before he finally spoke again.

"I watched your stream."

Fuck. There it was. You should've expected it but it still hit like a ton of bricks. You felt your mouth turn dry, could barely manage to get out the word, "Yeah?"

"Mhm." Straight to the point. There was a bit of silence, you were unsure of what to say. Why had he brought it up? It was bound to happen, but what was the reason behind bringing it up? To tease you, let you know he wasn't interested, or because roblox obbies are just so much fun?

"You didn't have to buy it, you know?" He finally said, breaking the silence.

"I wanted to." You reassured, "the merch is really pretty. Worth every penny."

"I could've sent you whichever you wanted." He stated bluntly. As if it was weird of you to have gone and bought it on your own.

"Thank you, but I wanted to buy it myself. Let me? Please?" Let me show my support this way, is what you meant to say. It came out softer than intended, and you could feel your heart beating against your ribs. You really needed to watch your tone around him.

"Of course." He responded, just as softly. He'd drive you crazy one of these days. They'd have to lock you up, and you'd never see the light of day again.

"Did you have fun riding the go-karts?" You asked, a small smile on your lips as you wandered back onto the Twitter tab, a clip of his stream now on display on the timeline.

He let out a small laugh, "I did. Did you enjoy watching it?" You nodded before responding, "Of course. Was concerning watching you crash into walls though."

He hummed softly in response, possibly contemplating what to say with how long he took before he spoke again.

"Did you really mean all the things you said on stream?"

Somehow, even with your own attempts to change topic, the focus was back on your stream and the things that had been said. You wouldn't be able to dig yourself out of the hole you'd dug.

It was entirely your fault, for even allowing yourself to consider him as anything but a great friend. It was your fault for taking the late night calls, the sweet tones, and messages the wrong way. Your interpretations were all wrong and now you'd have to sit here and apologize for practically outing yourself on stream. For letting the whole world know that you had romantic feelings for a good friend of yours. You'd probably made him so uncomfortable.

You felt yourself cringe slightly at his words, already gone quiet for far too long. You had to speak up, even if it lead to a good friendship ending a few minutes from now.

"Of course I did. You're great, Alex." The use of his name was meant to assure him you meant it wholeheartedly. It made the moment feel more intimate, too. Much to your own dismay, yet again. You couldn't help it.

The possibility that your friendship with him could come to an end real soon made you act on your feelings. It left you unhinged. If it was all going to end here, maybe you'd allow yourself to act on impulse. End it with a bang.

"Thank you, really. I know I probably wasn't meant to hear all that, but it was really nice. Made me feel nice as well. And just, seeing that you didn't accept the merch from me because you wanted to support me directly.. thank you."

His voice was soft, felt like warm honey to your taste buds. You could almost hear your heart melting inside your chest, could feel it dripping down and touching your diaphragm, oozing into every single crevice in your body. You'd never understand how he had such effects on you. How he was able to make you so fond of him.

"I meant every single word. You deserve that and so much more." You reassured yet again, a small smile on your lips. You heard him let out a small chuckle, which made you laugh as well.

Moments later, he had turned his camera on, wanting to show you all the merch. You'd asked for him to put it on, since you were a 'visual learner' and had to see it on him in order to fully understand what it looked like. He had playfully rolled his eyes, but hadn't really argued against it.

So there you were, watching as he changed from hoodie to hoodie, moving out of frame to change into the shirts. You could feel your heart thumping harshly against your rib cage at the sight of him. Some looked bigger on him, some looked just right. They all looked wonderful, and super comfy. Perhaps that was simply because they were on him, and he looked so comfy.

He looked like he could give the best hugs.

"You really think so?" His voice came out a bit sheepish, and the light pink that dusted his cheeks was becoming more and more evident. Huh?

"What?" You said, a dumb look on your face as you tried connecting the dots.

"That I could give the best hugs." He stated slowly, as if he was testing how it sounded before adding, "Do you really think that?"

Had you really said that out loud? Fuck. It took acting on impulse to a whole other level. This wasn't something you two usually did, but I guess it was okay since everything might be ending soon. Ballsy moves.

"Yeah. You make the merch look so cozy." Your throat felt dry, eyes glued to his face, wanting to catch every single second of his reaction. Wanting to see each movement of his facial muscles, to find out what it could possibly entail. "Makes me wonder what your hugs feel like." You admitted.

Your eyes scanned the entirety of his face, perking up slightly at the sight of his face flushing, leaving him with the softest tint of pink to spread across his cheeks, almost matching his pretty lips. What the hell did that even mean?

"Maybe you won't have to wonder for too long. With guidelines being lifted and all." The line. Blurred at that very moment, for sure. His eyes were glued to you as well, which only made you hesitate every single movement you could think of doing at that moment.

"And in the meantime? What am I supposed to do?" Risky. Crossing lines, jumping over hurdles. This all had to be against friend rules or something. You could feel your sanity decreasing each second this call went on. But he wasn't stopping any of this either.

"I could send you a hoodie." The sentence brought you out of your Quackity-induced haze, making you quickly shake your head. What? Before you could protest or ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, he explained.

"My hoodie. Y'know. Mine. One I wear. You can give it back when we meet up, perhaps."

Your mouth went dry again, shocked at the domestic feeling it gave. He was suggesting he send one of his hoodies. It would smell like him. It was the closest thing to giving him an actual hug. It would be paradise.

"You'd really do that?" You asked, still in disbelief, but he quickly nodded his head. "Oh." You said softly, before a smile appeared on your face. "I would like that, then."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'll send it then." He hummed, smile spreading on his lips as well. Everything going on was making you feel dizzy. It felt so surreal.

You'd mentally prepared yourself for the worst, but instead were met with a flirtatious Quackity. He'd said sweet things to you before, but you never allowed yourself to take it seriously, not wanting to get your hopes up. And it never went to this extent.

It seemed he realized what just went down, a loud laugh escaping his lips. "Holy shit. You're gonna have one of my hoodies soon."

"I am." You chimed in, smile on your lips as well.

"And you'll wear it around." He added.

"I will."

"You'll look good, as always."

You could feel the heat rush to your face. What was going on? Was this real, or just a very cruel dream? Alex Quackity was fucking flirting with you.

"Are you flirting with me?" Bewildered tone, raised eyebrows. Your brain couldn't even begin to progress what was being said.

"What the fuck does it look like I've been doing?"

"Have you really?" Warmth spread across your chest at how blunt he was being. The line was gone. It'd been erased, never to be seen again. There was no shame in him. Admitting he was flirting with his whole chest.

"I have. Why are you so surprised though? I've subtly flirted with you before.. and I mean, were you not confessing your undying love to me on stream?" He raised a brow, feigned confusion on his face. He was teasing. You let out a groan, covering your face with your hands as he let out a laugh.

Surreal. He confessed to having flirted with you in the past. So you weren't delusional, nice to know. "Are you done?" You asked, face still covered by your hand in shame.

"I saw a tweet that was saying they felt like third wheels since I was in chat, and you were just going on about everything you liked about me." You kept your face covered. He was not stopping. Now he was the unhinged one.

He was visibly scrolling through the timeline at this point. "Oh, and one saying they want what we have. What do we have?"

You finally uncovered your face. "I don't know. Whatever the fuck this is, I guess?"

"Well, what is this?"

"Mm... whatever you want it to be." You finally answered, and there was a surprised look plastered on his face at that.

"Whatever I want?"

"Yeah." You paused. Would he regret this after he got out of this haze? What if it had just been flirting for fun? But he wouldn't play with your feelings like this, would he?

Alex Quackity was perfect though, and perhaps he had a sixth sense about when stuff was wrong with you, because he caught on to your hesitation.

"Hey." He called out softly. The teasing, flirtatious tone was gone, now replaced by the softer tone reserved for late night calls, or when everybody else in the vc had left and it was just you two.

You look at where his face was on your monitor, relaxing a bit simply by his tone and the soft gaze he held on you.

"I know everything sort of progressed pretty fast tonight.. but your stream really helped me realize a few things. I do like you, y/n. Not fucking around or anything." He said it in a firm tone, one that told you he wasn't messing around, but still felt oh so intimate.

Everything he was saying was exactly what you wanted and needed to hear. Reassurance that your feelings weren't unrequited. You couldn't believe your rambling on stream had lead you guys here.

"I like you, too. If that wasn't obvious already." You mumbled out, eyes averting before glancing to see his reaction. He had the biggest, cutest, grin on his face. Charming, and extremely contagious. You couldn't help but smile back.

Holy shit.

"Is this real?" You asked out loud, smile never leaving your face.

"It is. All thanks to your ranting on stream. How cool is that?"

You couldn't help but still feel rather embarrassed that he'd heard all of it, but it had brought you two here. All embarrassment was worth it. Especially if it meant it opened up a whole new world of possibilities for you two.

"Very cool." You mumbled, before a smile appeared on your lips. Today really couldn't have gone any better.

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starks-hero · 4 years ago

Text

Right a Wrong

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You, Sam and Bucky get to work repairing Sam’s family boat. Turns out the boat isn’t the only thing in need of fixing. But with help from you and Sam, Bucky figures some stuff out.

Word Count: 3,745

Warnings: a bit of a make-out session but not enough to be classed as smut, tfatws spoilers! 1x05

a/n: This is a direct result of watching episode 5 too many times. Spoilers below!

|| Part Two ||

Small waves lapped gently against the dock and the afternoon sun warmed your back as you worked on the old boat.

You were standing side by side with Bucky, crowbar in hand as you attempted to pry off the old metal cleats from the boats side, whilst he expertly pulled rusted pipes apart and threw them into a pile. As if on queue, one of the pipes on the opposite side of the ship burst, hissing and spurting out white clouds of steam. You marvelled at how quickly Bucky reacted, quickly crossing the deck and sealing the leak with an abrupt upward turn of the pipe with his metal arm.

"Where did you learn so much about fixing boats?" You teased, motioning to the now fixed pipe with your crowbar. Bucky dusted off his hands.

"I used to work on the docks in Brooklyn before the war." He shrugged, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow and taking a seat on a crate next to you. "I picked up a few things."

He furthered his point by leaning over and pulling at the cleat you'd been grappling with. It came away from where it was attached to the boat's side with ease in Buckys iron grip. He smirked as he tossed the scrap aside and you rolled your eyes.

"Show off."

Bucky chuckled, sitting back as Sam stepped onto the boat. He was carrying a crate in one hand and shook his head when he noticed Bucky's smirk and your dismissive smile.

"Alright, you two." He placed the crate down and pulled out two green bottles, throwing one to Bucky and handing you the other. "Beer break."

Sam took a seat across from you both and you sighed as you opened your beer, raising it up to Bucky.

His annoyance was discredited by the fond smile that broke through his expression as he begrudgingly clinked his bottle with yours. You reached over and did the same with Sam as the three of you relaxed under the heat of the Louisiana sun.

"It's starting to look good," you noted as you glanced around the boat and Sam smiled.

"Yeah, it's coming together." He took a swig of his beer. "You know, Sarah and I were talking." He started and both you and Bucky glanced up at him. "And we could use the help. Don't suppose you two would consider staying around a while? Just till we get a lead on Karli."

The offer caused a noticeable smile to pull at your lips whilst Bucky shifted beside you at Sam's words. His agitation grew and he stood.

"I've got my plane to catch tomorrow, a hotel room for the night," he said, raising his bottle to his lips to hide his doubt. He really didn't have that much of a plan beyond that.

"You're just gonna set me up like that, huh?" Sam asked and Bucky shrugged.

"Well, I don't want to make it weird for your family."

"Just stay here," Sam said and you couldn't help but nod subconsciously. The truth was you really didn't really want to leave. There was something about staying with the Wilson's and spending the day fixing up an old run-down family boat that made everything seem so normal. It gave you a sense of home, a sense of normality that you hadn't had in a long time. For a while, it even made you forget about the flag smashers, Walker, all of it. It was a much-needed break.

"The people in this town are the most welcoming in the world. They don't care if you wear small t-shirts or if you've got six toes or if your mom is your aunt-"

You laughed and Bucky barely hid a chuckle behind a huff of breath and a bright smile.

"Okay, I get it. The people are nice."

You placed your bottle aside and turned to Sam.

"You're sure Sarah doesn't mind?" you asked and Sam's smile only widened.

"She's the one that offered."

Grinning, you sat back and nodded. "Then I don't see why not."

"See?" Sam pointed to you and then Bucky. "Just stay, man."

Bucky shuffled his feet for a moment before finally answering with a begrudging, "Okay. Alright." He didn't say anything else as he turned and walked down the boat.

"He'll come around. He probably just wants his space." You said, picking up your beer. Sam nodded, taking a swig of his own drink.

"I hope you're right."

You woke up feeling more refreshed than you had in a while. Your hands and back hurt slightly from the tiring work on the boat, but it was a dull ache compared to the constant throbbing that came after a mission. Your cheeks were warm, surely as a result of the hours spent out in the sun the day before.

Both you and Bucky stayed the night. Sarah had offered you the spare room and after a solid fifteen minutes of bickering, you finally conceded to Bucky and agreed to sleep in the guest bed. He took the couch.

The sun was just beginning to rise up over the water when you and Bucky both headed back out to the boat. Sam joined you not long after. You worked until mid-afternoon, reluctantly taking short breaks. You fell into a quick rhythm as you worked around the boat. Surprisingly, the three of you seemed to make a pretty decent team off of the battlefield.

"Hey, can you pass me a 12-300?" Sam asked from under the boat's control panel. Bucky reached into the toolbox and placed the wrench in Sam's outstretched hand. A few seconds later Sam was rolling out from under the controls and glaring disapprovingly at Bucky.

"What?"

"I asked for a 12-300," Sam stated plainly. "This is a 10-250."

"No, it's not." Bucky bit back.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not!"

"Hey, geniuses." You cut their bickering short as both men turned to look at you. You held up the grease-slick wrench that had been misplaced and tossed it to Sam. "You left it below deck when you were working on the engine."

Sam muttered a quiet 'thanks' as he got back to work. Silence settled over the three of you for a few minutes until Sam decided it was getting awkward.

"So, are you still planning on leaving tonight?" He asked from under the station and Bucky nodded, before realising Sam couldn't see him.

"Yeah," he said loud enough for Sam to hear. "I'll be out of your way soon."

You could hear Sam's sigh from beneath you as he clambered back to his feet and stood between you and the super-soldier leaning against the wall of the cabin.

"Well, there's no hurry."

Sam didn't say anything else as he cleaned the oil and grease from his hands with a cloth and stepped off the boat. Bucky sighed and let his head fall back behind him.

"Go," you ordered plainly and he looked up at you.

"What?"

"Go," you said again, nodding your head towards where Sam was walking away. "You both need to talk. Bucky, whatever you're not saying, it's getting to you. So go talk to him."

Bucky hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He glared at nothing in particular but his gaze softened when it found you and he muttered a quiet, 'fine.' You stepped aside as he made his way past you and stepped up onto the dock, heading after Sam.

"And don't be a smart ass!" You called after him. He didn't reply, but you could only hope that Sam and Bucky's conversation would be somewhat constructive.

"Nice shot!" You retrieved the football from the back of the goal as Cass, Sam's eldest nephew, celebrated his score.

Once Sam and Bucky had left the boat, you had headed back to the house, helping Sarah with any errands or chores, doing anything you could to help out. Sam and Bucky had been gone a little over an hour and you didn't know if that meant their talk was going very well or very not. You'd been sitting rather uselessly on the couch, waiting in anticipation, when Sam's nephews had invited you to play a game of football. And how could you refuse?

You tossed the ball back to the boys who eagerly pounced at it. You were stood in the small goal, allowing both boys to take as many shots as they wanted. AJ stepped forward and kicked the ball, groaning when it flew off to the left, a few meters away from where you were standing and missed the net entirely. He glanced down at the ground, disheartened.

“Hey, it's alright, AJ.” You smiled as you ran to grab the ball and passed it back to him. “Come on, try again.”

With encouragement from his brother, he took the shot and this time the ball planted itself in the top corner of the goal. Both boys cheered as they celebrated and you smiled. You dusted yourself off, your knees and hands covered in dust from the football game as you turned to head back inside the house. Both boys protested as you left but you promised them you'd be back. The more time you spent with AJ, Cass, Sam and Sarah, the more you didn't want to leave. There was something about staying with the Wilson's that made you feel content. It was homely and offered a sense of normality that the last few weeks had caused you to miss.

You entered the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water. Sarah had told you over and over again to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, glass in hand and just basked in the feeling of not having to worry about donning a suit and risking your life at a moments notice. It was something you could get used to.

“That was adorable.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of a voice and you found Bucky joining you in the kitchen. He was smirking fondly.

“You and the boys.”

You chuckled softly and shrugged. “They're sweet kids.”

Bucky nodded, pulling a glass of his own from the shelf and filling it with water from the tap. It furthered the sense of domesticity that you were really starting to love. He took a seat at the table across from you.

“So,” you started as you placed your own glass aside. “How did it go? You and Sam.”

Bucky chuckled and you couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or genuine, but something about the grin that lingered on his lips had you banking on the latter.

‘‘Not bad,” he admitted eventually with a shrug. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “We talked. He said if I'm going to fix anything, if I'm going to get what's left of him out of my mind.” Bucky subconsciously ran his hand across his temple. “I'm going to have to put in the work. Help the people I wronged instead of just saying sorry.”

You nodded, silently making a note to thank Sam later on. He always had a way with words, he could always get through to people. That's why he was given the shield.

“He's got a point.”

Bucky scoffed and hung his head at your words. “I should have known you'd be on his side.” There was no hostility in his words. He just sounded amused, and maybe a little tired.

“I don't think this comes down to whose side I'm on, Bucky. We both want what's best for you.” You answered honestly and Bucky glimpsed up at you. He anxiously toyed with his hands as you spoke, looking vulnerable, and slightly lost despite how hard he tried to hide it. You knew Sam had already spoken to him, but it couldn't hurt for you to say something as well.

“Look Bucky, telling yourself that you're okay and that everything that happened doesn't matter anymore because you've made 'amends' isn't going to help.”

He sighed, shuffling his feet against the tiles of the kitchen floor. “I know,” he admitted quietly.

“And I know you're probably tired of hearing this but, you're not him anymore, Bucky. You're not the winter soldier. Everything you did whilst you were him wasn't your choice. Just because you remember it doesn't mean that it was your fault. It's not your responsibility to fix it.”

Bucky sighed but didn't interrupt. He was listening. This wasn't like the therapist that he was forced to sit in front of and lie to every other week. This was someone he trusted, someone whose words he valued. Someone he honestly believed could help. He sighed but nodded to show that he was still listening.

“I think Sam’s right,” you said. “It might not be your responsibility to fix everything that went wrong but trying could help. It could give you that closure that you keep chasing after. You need to let go, Bucky. You need to forgive yourself. Maybe you just need the people who are hurting to forgive you first. Then you can learn how to do the same.”

Bucky's expression was unreadable. So many emotions flashed across his eyes you found it difficult to pinpoint just one.

“How do I start?” he asked quietly. It just seemed impossible. There were so many people he'd hurt, so many people he'd wronged. He'd left children as orphans, wives as widows and parents childless. How could he possibly start trying to fix or make all those people feel in any way better?

You smiled softly at his question. “Small. One at a time,” you said simply. “Then just keep putting one in front of the other.”

Bucky considered your words, glancing down at his hands as he thought. Before long, a small smirk pulled at his lips.

“I can't decide who'd make a better therapist. You or Sam,” he joked and you laughed, shaking your head dismissively.

“Well, Sam did council veterans so I think he takes that title.”

“I'd say it's pretty tied,” Bucky said, walking across the kitchen and standing next to you as he washed his glass, drying it off and placing it back on the shelf. The room fell into a comfortable silence.

“Thank you, Y/N.” He said after a moment, his tone sincere and his expression genuine as he looked at you. You nodded, gently placing your hand against his shoulder.

“Don't mention it. You know I'm always here if you need to talk.”

The sound of a football colliding with the wall dangerously close to the window followed by two voice's loudly shouting, 'sorry!' in unison drew a quaint laugh from you both.

“Duty calls.” You grinned, patting Bucky on the back as you passed him. “Team Wilson is missing its goalkeeper.”

Bucky chuckled, watching you go. You crossed the kitchen but his voice stopped you just as your hand reached the doors handle.

“Y/N?”

You turned back around to face him and couldn't help but notice that he seemed a little more apprehensive than he had before.

“Yeah?”

He exhaled slowly, willing himself to tell you what was on his mind.

“I was just thinking things over and you know, I’m leaving today,” he hesitated slightly before glancing up at you. “And I guess I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

Your hand slipped from where it was still holding the brass handle of the door. You tilted your head as your mind fully processed his question. The shock must have been evident in your expression as Bucky rushed to continue.

“I know you're planning on staying here and I get why.” He pulled a tattered red book from his pocket which you immediately recognized as Steve’s. He began absentmindedly turning the pages, running his fingers over the paper. “I want to try and start fixing things, making things right. But truth is I have no idea where to start. I thought that maybe you could help me with that?”

“I thought you wanted your space," you admitted after a moment.

“No.” He shook his head. “That's the last thing I want.”

You thought it over, resting your back against the door. Bucky trusted you, evidently a lot more than you thought he did. Not only was he comfortable enough telling you how he felt and admitting he didn't know what to do next. But he also wanted you with him. It was clear he was holding back, not wanting to overwhelm you by admitting just how badly he wanted you to go with him. But the way he eagerly watched you as he waited patiently for your answer was a dead give away.

You wanted to help Bucky, you wanted to be there for him. If that meant helping him right his wrongs and staying with him during that trying time, at least until Sam got a lead on Karli and the Flag Smashers, then you were more than happy to comply.

“You're sure about this?” you asked and Bucky pushed off the counter and crossed the room, stopping just in front of you.

“Absolutely.” His voice dropped down to a hushed whisper. “Come with me.” His hand gently caught your wrist, his fingers running up your arm. His face was inches from yours now, your breaths mingling. “Please?”

His lips pressed to yours before you could answer and you immediately kissed back. Your hand fell against his shoulder, the other laying gently against the nape of his neck. He groaned quietly against you, his arms finding your waist as he gently guided you backwards till your back met the wall. He pressed into you, his hands roaming up your body and you moaned as he deepened the kiss.

“Yes.” You answered when he pulled away slightly and he smiled against you, relieved. Neither of you said anything else as Bucky sighed and pulled you closer, his thigh slipping between your legs as he pinned you to the wall.

God, he'd wanted to do this for so long. Wanted to kiss you, to feel you against him. He wanted you. Your hand slipped into his hair and you pulled him closer, smirking against him. You'd wanted this just as bad. And you both only had your own stubbornness to blame for taking so damn long. It didn't matter now though. Not as he gently bit down on your lower lip and you slipped your hand under his shirt and felt up his chest. It all felt so natural, so right.

“Ten minutes.”

Both your eyes flew open at the all too familiar voice, Bucky pulling away from you so quickly he only barely avoided falling over a nearby chair.

“I left you two alone to talk for ten minutes,” Sam repeated from where he was standing on the other side of the room, his arms crossed. You tried to subtly smoothen out your clothes whilst Bucky ran his hand through his tangled hair.

“We were,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “We were talking. We...talked.”

Sam nodded, entirely unconvinced, and smirked. He reclined against the counter, showing no sign of leaving anytime soon. A painfully awkward silence settled over the kitchen as Sam continued to shift his knowing stare from you to Bucky.

The humiliation of the entire situation seemed to get to Bucky first as he clasped his hands together after less than a minute.

“You know, what? I'm leaving in a few hours and I've got to pack so I better just go-” Bucky rambled as he shot you a subtle apologetic look before turning to Sam, who was nodding along in faux agreement to his pathetic attempt of an excuse.

Bucky quickly crossed the kitchen, Sam harshly patting him on the back as he passed him and left the room. Leaving just you and Sam alone. You turned to your friend and found that he was still grinning at you with that same mischievous look in his eyes. You felt like a deer in headlights. In an attempt to act as though Sam hadn't just walked in on you and Bucky making out, you tried making normal conversation.

“Sam, there was actually something I wanted to tell you. I know I said I was going to stay for a while but I guess there's been a change of plan. I-”

“I know.” He cut you off and his smile only widened when you looked at him in utter confusion. “You honestly think he would have asked you to go with him if I didn't tell him to get his shit together first?”

Your confusion slowly melted away and was replaced with a look of disbelief. You laughed despite yourself. You should have known Sam had something to do with it. ‘‘How long have you been playing cupid?” you asked jokingly and Sam chuckled.

“He needs you, Y/N. More than he wants to admit,” Sam said, tone now more serious than before. “Things will be fine here, I'll call you as soon as Torres finds us something to work with. But right now, he needs your help before that hole he's stuck in gets too deep for him to climb out of.”

You sighed as the weight of Sam's words set in. He was right, Bucky really did need you. That wasn't a responsibility you could afford to take lightly. Not that you planned to.

“Thanks, Sam,” you said genuinely and Sam smirked as he crossed the room and pulled you into a hug. He could tell you needed it.

“Anytime.” He pulled away and offered you a warning glare. “But I swear, if you two making out the minute I turn my back becomes a regular thing I'm going to kick both your asses.”

“Got it,” you nodded, barely stifling a laugh.

Sam's scowl melted into a smile and he motioned towards the stairs. “Go on, get your things together. You've got a plane to catch in a few hours.”

You smiled and headed upstairs after Bucky. Sam leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and a satisfied smile. Getting you two together had taken more work than he'd thought. But he knew it would be worth it, you both needed each other. Whether you were willing to admit it or not. And Sam was confident that if there was anyone that could help Bucky and offer him that sense of home and peace that he was so desperately craving, it was you.

tag list: @bakerstreethound @miraclesoflove @doozywoozy @kealohilani-tepise

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes #tfatws spoilers #tfaws #tfatws x reader #platonic!sam x reader #sebastian stan x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel x reader #1k

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treesap-blogs · 2 years ago

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“Hunted By The Sky” by Tanaz Bhathena review! Yippee!

(Buckle up guys, this is 2 of 3 of the reviews going up today because I’ve been doing a lot of reading in order to clear my reading queue before reading a book I’m looking forward to :D! You’ll find out what it is eventually, it’ll be easy to tell.)

Hello, Tumblrians! I’ve been trying to get out as many reviews as I can this week! This was a book I read after being in a bit of a reading slump, as I’d put Zorro: A Novel by Isabel Allende on my reading queue(I was hyperfixated on the franchise for a month or so, fun times), only to be bored by the execution of its plot and sufficiently icked out by how it struggled to handle its subject matter(dated 2000’s writing for the win)! Eufgh. So I decided to come back around to this book, to have some actually good writing to cleanse my palette a bit! Got me out of my reading slump, thanks Tanaz Bhathena, and I burned through the last 110 pages or so in a matter of 2 days.

To be honest, the thing that most intrigued me in the premise was being able to have a vengeful female lead as our protagonist (or rather, one of them, does Cavas count as a protagonist too?), a liking that’s probably due in part to Iron Widow, along with it having a setting I typically haven’t read about but adds an interesting layer of culture to the narrative and characters! Similarly to When The Angels Left The Old Country, actually, this book felt very culturally rich! It takes place in Medieval India, and integrates its Indian (Hindi, particularly) aspects into the story seamlessly, from the locations the characters visit to the clothing they wear and the food they eat. (With the fantastical elements, it also takes inspiration from Persian mythology because of Bhathena’s heritage.) And, like When The Angels, it had a glossary on the last few pages for defining some of the terms, including ones with specific context inside of Ambar/Svapnalok! Some of those were more or less defined in the text, others weren’t, it helped to have an aid as someone who’s outside of that culture.

My main complaint that I have, though, is that aside from the representation it felt like a pretty generic plot? Sure, I love to read some fantasy, and I also love myself a vengeful female lead, but there were a lot of things in here I’d read in other stories. The prophecies(and how a main character is directly linked to one, resulting in being powerful magically), being endangered because of magical powers, instalove romance(which I was mostly indifferent to), etc. But, I could tell there was a lot of thought put into the world itself. Like the inclusion of different creatures, places and stuff, even if a lot of the scenes played out with them were similar to other media. We got a lot of details about its history, especially with how prominent classism issues were in the story, and, surprisingly, it didn’t feel like the author was patronizing her readers in how she fleshed the fantasy elements out. It is infodump-y for half of the first part, though. (This book’s divided into sections, I believe there’s about four, with the last one being only one chapter.)

(Also, the mammoth fight was so stupid🧍)

I also feel like this book should’ve been listed as a romance too, it’s definitely a romance fantasy because Gul and Cavas’ relationship is not a sideplot by any means! I kinda wanted to just read more about Gul’s revenge, harnessing her powers, that kind of thing, but, again, I was impartial to the romance. Although instalove isn’t my thing, and this wasn’t a relationship that had me “squee”ing(presumably because enemies to lovers has been ruined for me, peep the DNI criteria in my bio), they had some enjoyable banter. (And personally I don’t mind it giving some kind of emotional stake or our lead someone to fight for. This is just personal preference, rather than formal review writing haha.) Also, I like Dual POV! I was glad to read a story in first person where both perspectives felt unique, not just based on basic personality traits but also backgrounds! Socioeconomic classes are a crucial part of this book (as you could..probably tell lol), and the characters’ different backgrounds greatly influenced their perspectives. It was interesting to read about, and it felt like the perspective changes weren’t just for convenience but also because it was most necessary to know either Gul or Cavas’ insight at the time.

Also! Forgot the name of the group of women that trained/raised Gul, but they were pretty badass and were overall interesting! Glad they got to return for the climax and ending.

Final verdict: Plot didn’t stand out a ton to me when I was actually reading it, but the execution was solid and the characters worked. Romance wasn’t totally my thing, although I can see how it could be that for other readers, and because a) this book got my attention, b) Bhathena has an interesting writing style? Like, I felt totally immersed, I could tell she had a good grasp on her craft even if judging by the reviews fantasy wasn’t a genre she’d written in before, c) I’m a completionist at heart, I’ll be reading the second book. It does look like a duology, though, which is something that bums me out because I don’t like the pacing done with them :(. (Peep my Dragon’s Promise review.)

Book rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️½/5 stars!

Paz, signing off!

(Book trigger/content warnings: murder of parents, chronically ill parent, sexual slavery, animal cruelty, blood and violence, classism and discrimination.)

(Thanks Simant on Goodreads for the concise list of CWs/TWs!)

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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

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Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks & hypochondria, adult language, eventual SMUT

Words: 9790

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: hi. this is my first real foray into the world of Haikyuu!! & i’m so excited to branch into this fandom! if this is your first time reading my stuff imma warn you, i take things slow, so expect some slow burn.

this will be a multi-chapter fic with eventual NSFW/18+ only content. i will post warnings for each update. i’ll also link other chapters on this page and any other pages that come up, so keep in mind that there will be edits to links as things progress - i wasn’t planning on this being anything more than a one-shot, but this first exploration of Sakusa’s character turned into a monster & i wanna really hone in on that sweet, sweet build up.

big, huge shoutout to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito for their edits and suggestions. y’all are amazing and i love you both so much, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without the two of you.

Latibule /lat-i-bule/ noun a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort

pt. i: an opening

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop.

He likes that about it. He likes it almost as much as the simple fact that he can tell what day of the week it is by the smell of the disinfectant and bleach that’s being used behind the counter.

There’s a strange comfort to this place’s consistency and Kiyoomi Sakusa likes to linger here, propping his MSBY issued volleyball bag beside his usual table. He’s already placed his coffee order with the cheerful man who guards the cash register, watching as his paper cup is marked with a fresh sharpie and placed on the bartop, beside the elbow of that barista who always attentively turns to wash her hands before making each new order.

He had stumbled upon the shop his senior year of college and he’s haunted it ever since, content to sip on a smooth cortado as he watches over the latest plays from the MSBY games, mapping out his overestimations, his successes, and his flukes in his notebook– carefully lined kanji listing out what worked and what needs some extra practice. The caramel sweet flavor of the ristretto shots always helps to relax him, his broad shoulders lowering, the ache of self-induced tension and overworked muscles easing as his drink cools between his fingers, finally sinking fully into the plush leather seat of his clean chair.

The young woman, he should know your name, but he’s never caught a proper glimpse of your name tag, because you’re always moving, gives him a familiar lifting of smooth lips and places his completed drink on the handoff plane. You know his personal preferences well enough that you’re already moving the caddy of lids and cardboard sleeves forward, so he can select his own from the neatly stacked row. He gives you a cursory nod and his calloused fingertips pull the frothy beverage into his hands, cupping the curved sides and taking a deep drag of air through his masked nose, inhaling the bright smell of fresh coffee.

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine?

There’s something else that’s tickling his senses, and he blinks toward you, dark brows knitting together, a misplaced curl of inky hair brushing against his forehead, trying to make sense of the smell. His chin lifts and his head tilts, eyes watching your polished movements as you move onto the next drink in line. It’s definitely got some floral notes, but it’s not cloyingly sweet, like honeysuckle or gooseberry–no, it’s got some kind of balmy spice to it. It returns when you move closer and he swears he can taste summer when you shift back.

Odd.

When you look up at him again, he’s already stepping away, his running shoes squeaking across the slate tiles, making his way back to his bag and table. The aroma of your perfume is half forgotten when he cracks his laptop open, squirting some hand sanitizer across his chapped palms before he starts to clack his fingertips across the dark keys. He needs to get more lotion; he thinks as the sterile solution cools between his splayed fingers, this weather always dries his skin out.

The next time he comes in he spies you at the back of the shop, jotting something down in a large binder before kneeling behind the counter, returning with a sparkling, grated drain top. The white gleams under the accented lighting and he watches as you thumb at the paint, denoting a splotch of rust that rests under the dip of the metal. You return the cover to the ground and immediately twist to the hand washing sink that rests behind the bar, lathering up some dispensed soap and methodically stroking from the tips of your fingers to your wrists. A steady puff of steam is rising around you as he places his order–

[ a oat milk smoothie, with an extra scoop of protein powder, chia seeds, turmeric, kale, cucumber, dash of dates for sweetener ]

and by the time he’s paid and padding toward his usual spot, you’re finishing up, yanking a few disposable paper towels from the overhead dispenser and gingerly drying your damp hands.

He’s seen you wash your hands plenty of times before, but he finds himself distractedly following your movements this afternoon as he waits for his order and his computer to finish booting up. You catch his obsidian eyes when you turn around and give him a brief smile; a flash of teeth peeking through your lips before you move back to your binder. You jot down a few more notes as you move onto the fridges that sit under the countertops, pulling and prying at the gaskets that line the doors of the whirring chillers, speaking softly to a fellow employee, pointing out the missed stains and chipped flecks of ice that like to hide within the folds of the protective plastic.

You’re not overbearing in your coaching, keeping your tone even and friendly, focusing on what can be done going forward, rather than lingering on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘why wasn’t’ of the situation.

Practical, efficient, thorough with your work, and careful with your craft.

Those descriptors float to the forefront of his mind as he takes his smoothie from the barista that’s standing beside you. He lets his gaze hold against your half leaning form, watching the lead tip of your pencil mark over the stark red checklist that you’re working your way down.

He’s not sure why he’s so focused on you. He’s never thought much about you. You’ve been someone that exists in the background, part of his routine to be sure, but he justifies that your attention to detail is likely the reason why he prefers this shop to the dozens of other coffee houses that litter the main street by the MSBY training facilities and stadium. Your head shifts, and he can tell you can feel his gaze, so he swiftly plucks up his icy cold cup, his nose involuntarily trying to seek out that perfume you’d been wearing the other day.

Strange. His brow furrows, and he hunches into his sports jacket, walking back to his chair and his glowing computer. He can’t smell it today. Maybe you’re too far away, or perhaps you’d forgotten to put it on before coming in.

Pity. He’d liked it.

“Running a little late today, I see,” your voice snaps him out of his stupor, onyx eyes lifting to rest against your open expression.

“Kind of,” he replies blandly, his deep cadence muffled by the pull of his mask.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be late! Want me to push your drink to the front of the queue? I’ve got the power to do that, you know,” you tease, tilting your head as a mischievous grin settles over your quirked lips. Kiyoomi blinks impassively down at you and shakes his head. How would he even reply to something like that? You were joking, right? You must be. And if you weren’t, the people who are clustered around the handoff plane would certainly realize that he was being given his drink first, clearly ahead of all of theirs, and they’d probably toss him a few disgruntled stares or mouthy jabs, and likely accuse you of playing favorites.

Wait. Favorites?

Does he count as a ‘favorite’ here? He looks away, lips drooping into a pursed line. You’ve always been…nice…but there’s no way he’s a favorite of yours. He’s hardly spoken to you in the year and a half that he’s been coming here. But is that all it takes? Just take up space in the cafe a few times a week and get special treatment?

No. You must be joking.

All the same, your jovial tone and that welcoming smile is a little intriguing.

He shuffles closer to the heat of the espresso machines, easily lifting his head over the lip of the bronze metal, watching you. You’re looking down now, fingers gripping the dark handle of the portafilter, holding it under the buzzing grinder to gather a fine sprinkle of dusky espresso grounds into the waiting basket. Then, you lift a lustery tamp to the heaping mound and press expertly against the delicate remains of the arabica, packing them to an even level before clamping the filter under the display of the machine. When you flick the switch that activates the group head you must sense his stare and lift your eyes to his, eyelashes momentarily fluttering against your cheeks when you spy his unabashed observations of you.

For a second, your hands falter, trapped within the unexpected intensity of his curious gaze, and you pat blindly for the cup that’s sitting to the right of your curled arms, embarrassingly disarmed by his transparent focus. But once your grip wraps around the waiting plastic, it seems to ground you and you let out a huffing chuckle, eyes crinkling up at his half obscured face.

“I’m only kidding about moving your drink up, don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble. Besides, it’s against our policy. First come, first serve and whatnot,” you assure him, halting the stream of water that’s pouring the carefully timed flow of espresso into the clear shot glass that’s waiting against the gleaming metal of the drip tray.

“You’re busy today,” he notes, jerking his curly head toward the gaggle of college students sprawled across some of the bigger tables, their laughing voices and overly loud conversations easily drowning out the hum of lofi jazz that’s playing from the recessed speakers.

“Ah, yeah, finals are coming up for a lot of us that go to the university. I know my classes are starting to gear up for that last push and sometimes you just need a pick me up and coffee is great for that. We also get a big boost from the smoothies and frappes that we sell in the afternoons, so we get a little packed. Most of our sales happen during the weeks leading up to finals and midterms, uh, anyways, not that you asked for an economic lesson on a small cafe’s profit margins.”

“You’re a student?” he asks, head dipping back, eyes glittering in the lights. Wait. How old are you? Not that he can boast any sort of seniority on that front, he’s only 24 after all, but you just seemed, hmm, more mature? He didn’t picture you as a co-ed. Not that he’s actively picturing you when he’s not here. Well, he is a little recently, but you’ve always felt sort of timeless? Ageless? Is that the right term? You give off an air of confidence. So he’d assumed that you were older than him. Not in a bad way, in fact he’d sort of like it if you were. Why, that is, he’s not willing to look too deeply into, at least, not right now. Maybe later, when he gets back home and can…oh, you’re talking again.

“I’m a graduate student, but not for much longer. I’m finishing up my dissertation this week! Thank God. This semester has been the pits, I’m so ready for a break!” You sound genuinely happy and he can smell that faint aroma of your perfume each time you move.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, unsure if you’d heard him since you’re stepping away from the machines that he’s posted himself behind. He watches you set up two steaming drinks, topping them with a lazy swirl of silky, housemade, whipped cream, a crosshatch drizzle of caramel, carefully snapping a set of black plastic lids on top, before calling out the handwritten names and handing them off to their respective owners. Then you’re back, hands already unhooking the portafilter, knocking out the used espresso pucks into the trash and bringing him back to that spicy smell of summer that sits on your skin.

“Haha, it’s a little early for a congratulations. Don’t jinx me, will’ya? But seriously, thanks, that’s nice of you to say,” you continue, flowing easily back into this half-hearted conversation he’s accidentally struck up with you. He winces at that thought and dips his hands deeper into his jacket, hunching his shoulders into a habitual slouch that he instinctively imposes upon himself when he’s out in public.

“You want a lid?” you question over the hiss of the machine, and he lifts his head, finding your bright eyes through the misting remains of the cleared steam wands.

“No.” His response is clipped, and he gulps down a sudden burst of hazy anxiousness when someone brushes past him, jostling him closer to the low wall that divides the bartop from the cafe floor. He braces himself against the warming top of the machine, his large palm steadying himself, shoulders caving forward, his dark curls falling over his eyes, obscuring his face further. He clenches his jaw, a scowl blooming over his lips.

His social anxiety isn’t anything new, and it’s likely exacerbated by the bustle of the nearby college students, who seem to be getting louder by the second. The noise is needling under his skin. He starts his carefully ingrained breathing exercises, tugging in a deep stream of air through his flared nostrils.

But the smell is coffee is too overwhelming and suddenly his ritual doesn’t help much.

He can feel blood leaving his fingertips and toes, or as his cousin Komori puts it [ the inescapable dread of some imagined ailment, which is making him think that his body is rushing blood from his extremities to his vital organs, his fingertips cold, hands shaking, when in reality ‘you’re just feeling unsure of yourself, man. It’ll be ok in a minute, promise!’ ]

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls it, or how they think he should feel during these heart pounding moments, he just knows that he wants to get out of here, now.

His agitation must have twisted the top half of his expression because the feel of your warm fingertips against his wrist jerks him out of his head, causing him to suck in an unsteady breath as he lurches backwards, pulling away from your offending touch.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t think…I just…” you bite your lip, a look of stark worry passing over your usually open features. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, teeth clenched, right leg bouncing in place against the tiles. Shit. It’s not like he could have predicted that you’d try to touch him, so you can’t really blame him for his misplaced reaction. Just get him his coffee and he’ll be on his way…

Come on…come on…

“Here you go. Sorry for the wait, Sakusa,” you lift on your tiptoes, the stretch of your legs and arms apparent as you hold his cup out, careful to balance yourself against the lever of the steam wand. He takes the proffered drink and nods his thanks at you, his gaze dark. The gesture might be a little strained, and he knows you likely think he’s some kinda freak at this point, but he’s glad to see your customary smile before he turns, shouldering his way out the door and into the promise of open air.

“Stop being so secretive about this place. It’s not like you can’t search for it online, Omi Omi. I saw you come in with the logo of their shop last week and I wanna try it out. Don’t cha’ gimme that look, I deserve to have good coffee too! And if it’s close by you can’t just keep it to yourself! Think about the rest of us, huh? Besides, I think they’d like to see something other than yer’ prickly face every once in a while.” Golden haired Atsumu Miya, his fellow teammate and setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been walking beside him for five blocks, jabbering on about the bland offerings of the big box coffee chains that surround their home gym, and how he hasn’t had a good cup of coffee in days. Tch, he’d said months originally, but that was an obvious lie. After all, Kiyoomi pointed out, slipping his mask on before the two stepped into the strong midday sun, he’d come in with an iced coffee two days ago, proclaiming to the whole team it was the best he’d ever had, bar none.

“It’s a small shop,” Kiyoomi glumly elaborates, his dark hair soaking up the rays of sunlight as they crossed the bustling pedestrian walkway. “I think it’s run by an American. The staff speaks English, besides Japanese. There’s one barista in particular, a young woman, she has–”

“English? Oh, hell yeah! I can practice! This is perfect! They got any specialty drinks? I couldn’t see any from the menu that they had online, but I told ‘Samu I’d send him a picture of the place.”

Hmph, what’s the use of bothering to hold a conversation with this guy, Kiyoomi thinks, obsidian eyes narrowing as his brows furrow over his scrunched face, watching Atsumu chatter on about the vague sampling that he’d seen on their website. He’s not listening, anyway.

The coffee shop bell dings as the two of them step into the space, greeted by a waft of freshly ground coffee and the sharp tang of disinfectant. “Ahhh,” Atsumu says, propping his hands on his trim hips and fixing Kiyoomi with a pointed look, “totally see why you like the place. It smells like they have a freaking bleach, whaddya call those, ah, an air freshener! Yeah, smells like they have an ‘eu de bleach’ wall plug in.”

“It’s clean,” Kiyoomi affirms, his own hands sliding into his pockets, fingers wrapping around his wallet as he steps into the line. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” Atsumu grins, resting an arm on Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he glances over the chalkboard menu. “Just can tell that must be why you like this place so much. Bet you huff cleaner as soon as you get home.. Speaking of, I still need to see your new apartment, heard you let Ushijima come by and that’s not fair at all. Kinda– ow! Omi, ya’ friggin ass!”

Kiyoomi jerked his arm upwards as he stepped toward the register and the abrupt displacement sent Atsumu’s hand flying up, managing to perfectly strike himself on his nose as he attempted to counterbalance his sudden shift in momentum.

“HA-ah, ahem, I mean…hello! Nice to see you again, sir!” the barista calls out, poorly concealing his mirth at Atsumu’s fumbling behind a gloved hand. Kiyoomi nods curtly, his order on the tip of his lips, but before he can utter anything Atsumu is beside him again, leaning against the well lit pastry case and peering over his options critically.

“Hmm, ya’ got any of those little madeline cakes? They’re vanilla, kinda look like a shell? Saw em’ on yer’ website.”

The barista gives Atsumu a broad grin and twists to talk with someone who’s below the arched dome of the food case, quietly asking a few questions before looking back at the blonde man. “Yeah, we do! We’re actually just putting them out, my manager is checking for the–”

Atsumu steps impossibly closer to the gleaming glass and pops his head over the dome, peering down at whoever is restocking the sweets. “Oh! Hey there!” he chirps, lowering his chin, his face pulling into an exaggerated, cocky smirk. “Ya’ know what I mean, right? It’s kinda like a cake, but it’s small, like a cookie. It’s French. No, it’s not that. Maybe on the next tray? What? I can’t hear ya’. It’s smaller. I can step around, see if–”

A familiar voice pipes up before Atsumu can move closer and Kiyoomi turns, ears instantly pricking up at the sound of your reply. “I said, I know what a madeline is, sir. I’m rearranging and organizing my cart at the moment and, if you’d like, you can order your drinks first. I’ll have the madeline waiting for you on the other side of the bar.”

“Lemme just see one,” Atsumu grins, resting his hands against the glass. Kiyoomi’s lips curl at the sight, watching Atsumu’s hands leave lingering prints behind. Great, now they’ll need to clean and re-polish the display. Besides, you’d said you had them. Why keep pushing the issue? Ugh. If he wasn’t regretting his decision to show his fellow teammate the shop before, he certainly is now.

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, is all. Ya’ might give me something else by mistake and that’s a waste of time for both of us!” Atsumu’s smile broadens, a shadowed look falling over his angular features.

You hop up from your crouched position, a wrapped package with bright blue lettering that clearly says [ French Vanilla Madeline ] on the side, clutched between your fingers. “Oh no, I get it,” you begin, mimicking Atsumu’s cheshire grin with startling accuracy. “You just want to double check! I mean, the words on the packaging do say: Madeline. So unless you mean something else, something that’s not called ‘A French vanilla madeline, made with real vanilla extract and buttery goodness,’ I think we’ve got you covered.”

Your voice is saccharine sweet, lilting over the words, a well-practiced smile lifting your lips. You’re still clearly mirroring the one Atsumu is giving you. It’s the snappiest your tone has ever been, and the fact that it’s being used against his annoying teammate is priceless. Suddenly, he can’t help the laugh that’s already snickering its way past his mask.

“Oi!” Atsumu cries, pushing himself off the case at last, his teeth gritted at Kiyoomi’s obvious amusement. “I just wanted to check! And you, manager lady, don’t be so mean!”

“Pfft, manager lady? It’s (Y/N). And me? Mean? I was not mean, I told you that we had them! I just needed to FIFO some of the other pastries first,” you defend, a surprised exhale falling from your lips.

“FIFO? What is that? Don’t use that food jargon on me! I get that enough from my brother. He does that crap all the time, like it’s some sorta secret lingo. ‘Don’t do that ‘Tsumu, gotta make sure it’s in date’. ‘Don’t come on the line!’ ‘Gotta wear a hat or a hair net if yer’ gonna be back here!’ ‘Don’t mislabel the rice!’ On and on. What’s with you food people? So uptight. Look, I just wanted to try one. Yer’ reviews said they were good! Here, tell you what, give me two. Don’t laugh! Omi, help! She’s picking on me!”

“Stop it, you’re making a scene. Any other inane questions? Or anything else you’d like to order, because I’m certainly not buying any of this for you,” Kiyoomi replies, sneaking a glance at your bemused expression. You catch his eye and give him a quick wink and he finds that his smile stays with him long after he, and a chastened and satiated Atsumu have left the warmth of the coffee shop.

“Mmm, these are pretty good,” Atsumu mumbles between bites of his madeline. “Ya’ want some?”

He stops by after his evening practice, when the sun has long since fallen past the horizon of the city, but as soon as he rounds the corner he regrets his decision.

The cafe is brimming with people. They’re everywhere; outside, they are clustered on the pavement, sitting on the collection of iron wrought chairs, and gathered in groups. Inside, most are sprawled close to the hand off plane, or draped over the couches and tables. They appear to be animated, with computer screens and voices bright, too bright. His usual spot is taken, and he’s already made up his mind to keep walking on but somehow, somehow, he catches your eye.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

“Hey! Glad I could catch you. Wanted to tell you good luck on your upcoming game! I think I saw on the news that it’s tomorrow? Right?”

“Yes, we’re playing Azuma Pharmacy. They have a good starting lineup. It’s entirely possible that we’ll lose.”

“Jeez,” you exhale, cocking your head at his serious expression. “Kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a realist. I’m perfectly prepared to beat them, but things always play out differently on the court, no matter what your personal expectations are.”

You give him another smile. This one comes quickly, and it’s bigger than any of the others, the pull of it lighting up your face. It’s different, and he can tell that the way you’re looking at him has shifted; that you’ve liked this answer. He’s not sure why, it’s the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Good point. Well, win or lose, you’ve got my luck! I better get back inside. Your drink is on me by the way, for the other day…when I touched your hand…well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, see you, Sakusa!”

He watches you slip past the packed lines of students, already rolling up your sleeves so you can wash your hands. Once you’re behind the espresso machine you’re hidden by the burnished copper and he walks on, shouldering his MSBY bag higher, lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s got a rich flavor, well balanced and expertly poured. Once again, he’s reminded that you’re good at what you do and, despite the balmy heat of early spring, that makes his fingers tingle and his skin break out in gooseflesh.

Later, when he’s falling asleep, he keeps seeing your eyes. Watching as your colored irises come alive in the moonlight, hopeful, shining, and wholly focused on him.

At practice, Atsumu insists on completing his post workout stretching next to him. He’s used to Kiyoomi’s sullen silences and barbed retorts, content to chatter however he pleases, flitting from topic to topic as he eases into his cool down routine.

“I need to go back to that coffee shop. Ya’ been back lately?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, brushing a stubborn wave of curls out of his sweaty face.

“Too bad. Maybe after Friday’s practice? That girl really knew her stuff. Made some great coffee, too. What was her name? Ah, that’s right, (Y/N). She’s cute, what’s her story?”

Something twinges against Kiyoomi’s rib cage at the word ‘cute.’ Hmm, that’s not normal. He flips to his left side, facing away from Atsumu’s greedy eyes and leering smiles.

“How long has she worked there?”

“Not sure,” Kiyoomi replies, flattening his palm against the cool flooring of the gym. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“That other barista said she was a manager. She’s not one of the owners, is she?”

“Dunno.”

“Is she a student? Kinda strange to see an American working in Japan, and she’s definitely an American. She’s good with the Japanese, but her accent is off.”

“Your accent is off, so I’m not sure what your point is. I can understand her, and I can’t say the same for you.”

“Jackass!” Atsumu snaps, flopping up from his splayed stretch to butterfly his muscled legs. “It’s called a regional accent, and it’s perfectly normal. Ya’ got one too, city boy!”

“See? No one says things like that. You sound like a cartoon character. Sometimes I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer’ full of it!”

“Hmph,” Kiyoomi hums, curling himself onto his haunches and flattening the tops of his hands against the floor. The satisfying crunch of his wrists as his fingers settle makes Atsumu visibly shudder and Kiyoomi flashes him a quick smirk of his own, hoping it will spook his stretching companion enough that he’ll leave him be. He prefers to do his cool down in silence.

“She do anything else? Other than diligently slaving over yer’ coffee, that is?”

Tch. It seems that luck isn’t with him today. “She said she’s a graduate student.”

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

“Yer’ about as fun to talk to as a stack of bricks, ya’ know? Bet if I’d asked you what her name was the other day all you’d say was, ‘I use’ta just call her barista: first name: cute, last name: girl.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Something about these questions is bothering him. He doesn’t like that he can’t answer them properly– it’s frustrating, really. All he can honestly tell Atsumu is that you’re neat and efficient, that you have a smile that he can’t quite shake out of his head, a perfume that he wishes he could place, and that, to date, you’ve given him one free coffee. The fact that he knows that you’re a graduate student is sheer luck, information that you’d happened to share with him, not that he’d asked you about. He uncoils his hands and flips them over, letting his eyes rest against his reddened palms. Oh, and you’d touched his wrist once and the sheer metaphysical weight of that contact had nearly sent him stumbling backwards.

It’s stupid; he’s stupid.

It’s not hard to talk with people. It’s just…he knows he’s not good at it. Besides, when would he practice? He’s surrounded by extroverts; extreme extroverts. Extroverts who defy all sense and who usually can’t be silenced unless they’re tucked into a deep sleep, and even then it’s doubtful. Both Hinata and Bokuto have demonstrated that they can, and will, talk in their sleep. Still, it’s frustrating to find himself boxed into a corner, completely at a loss and unaware of the most cursory, mundane, simple, facts about you. For almost two years, he’s seen you at least twice a week, shouldn’t he know more? Why doesn’t he know more?

“Why not give her a ticket to a game?”

Atsumu’s question makes him lift his head, abandoning his musings as he lets the weight of that suggestion sink in. The setter is crinkling his eyes at him now, that all knowing smirk back on his lips, umber eyes hooded, mischievous. “The front office can do that, ya’ know? We’ve got extras. They keep em’ for that purpose. Just say she’s a special guest, or a potential sponsor. They ain’t gonna question you.”

Kiyoomi looks away, crossing his legs and leaning to his right side, feigning disinterest as Atsumu tells him who he can speak with, where he can see the upcoming calendar, and what seats might be open. It’s a good idea, a great idea, and he can’t help but loathe that Atsumu thought of it first.

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

It’s situated in the best spot. He’d picked it out himself, carefully looking over the colored diagram of the stadium and belaboring the proximity of the sight-lines, wanting to let you have a bird’s eye view of the court. Where would he like to sit, if he could watch a game? What works? What doesn’t? Too high and you can’t catch the movement of the ball. Too low and you can’t see the players. Too far to the right or left and you can’t see the breadth of the court. It’s tricky, and he’s cautious with his selection. He can’t help it.

Kiyoomi only considers you not even liking the sport when he’s placing his order, watching as you carefully tuck his empty cup down on the polished steel of the bar. Shit.

The cafe is quiet. The students are gone, and when the register barista goes to the backroom it’s only him and you in the well lit space. The click of the burr grinder almost makes him jump, and he compromises with his nerves by shifting toward his usual table, resting his bag in the chair and taking in a deep breath.

The gentle press of the tamp is audible over the low beats of the music and he hears you knock the side of the portafilter, no doubt leveling off the crushed arabica before you hook the device under the grouphead. Seconds later he sees you flip the switch for his shots, already grooming his heated, foaming, oat milk in the short pitcher, popping the liquid free of any errant bubbles. You’re gentle with this part, and he’s always loved to watch you pour his cortado, liking the raise of your arm and the flick of your wrist as you let the creamy milk flow into the paper cup, swirling a rosetta design through the ochre of the waiting espresso.

Usually, this well-oiled process of yours calms him, but today he feels fidgety and his head is buzzing. The sooner you finish the drink, the sooner he’ll have to talk to you. Shit, shit. When you move the dark lids forward, his hand feels like it’s heating around the slick paper of the ticket, making it clammy and tacky. He bites his lip and removes his hand from his jacket, wiping his palm against his dark jeans.

You’re already looking up at him, nodding toward the fragrant cup that’s waiting at the edge of the handoff plane. Automatically, he lurches forward, completely in-sync with his familiar routine. The question [ would you like a ticket to one of my games? ] is resting on the tip of his tongue and his fingers are hovering beside his cup. He can see that they’re shaking and that sight doesn’t ease him. Then you ask him something and he feels everything skitter to a halt. Why is this happening? It’s just a ticket, it’s just a game.

Wait. You asked him something?

He does his best to ignore the humming of anxious tension that’s filtering down his fingertips and lifts his bowed head. “What?” he mumbles, lips unsticking at last.

“Just asked how your game went the other day. I tried to record it but my stupid cable box isn’t working. I need to try and see you guys, I know I’ve probably said that before, but it’s pretty pathetic of me to not catch one game when the stadium is only two miles away. Plus, I know y’all are a great team! Heard you made the playoffs last year, that’s so awesome!”

It’s a perfect segway.

But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot, like his tongue is trapped against the roof of his mouth, and his hands are too heavy to move, content to shake beside his cooling drink as he whittles his time away, too filled with the what if’s to do anything about the here and now. He’s going down a mental checklist, mulling over each possibility, cautiously tampering with that heady rush of excitement that’s threatening to bubble out of his masked lips. Shit.

He’s gotta check his vitamin intake, maybe he’s low on omega 3s? The team has a general practitioner on standby. He really should call him after this, maybe run by his office before the next practice.

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked.

That shift in his whirring thoughts broke him out of that suspended state and then, before he completely fucks this up, the ticket is down against the counter and he’s muttering something about unlimited uses, that if you can’t make it now, then you can always switch the date, or add someone on, if you have a [ boy ] friend you want to take; the next game works best with the seat that’s listed, he’s checked. He knows it’s open. Again, zero pressure and no worries if you can’t make it. See you around.

You might have responded, you might have smiled, fuck, you might have laughed at him. He’s not sure.

All he knows is that as soon as he is out of the shop he’s calling the team’s gp and confirming an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’s not natural for his heart to stutter and thump like that. It could be an arrhythmia.

It could be any number of things.

He hasn’t felt this nervous about a game in years. Sure, it’s a good team, and they have four players that are of his generation, most of them powerful outside hitters that will probably give the Jackals a good run for their money, but they’re not insurmountable. They can beat VC Kanagawa; they’ll have to if they want to advance further in the lineup for the playoffs.

It’s just…

He keeps looking for that seat. Your seat. He’d gotten to the stadium early; opting to forgo the first team meeting, saying he needed to practice his wall drills, work on his spin, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. At least, not before a game. He steadies himself, reiterating that it’s not practical or helpful for him to worry about things like that.

Nevertheless, he’s pinned the seat in his mind. He studied it as the lights shuddered on, the maintenance staff flashing him bewildered looks as he stepped into the empty brightness of the court. He’d found it again during the pre-game warmup, onyx eyes committing the location to memory, searching for the little details that he could watch for if he wanted to find it again, later, when the arena was packed with thousands of eyes and waving signs.

As they open the main doors and the seats fill up, he’s still looking at the seat.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hinata asks, his burst of orange hair already slicked with sweat, vivid eyes sharp.

“Nothing.”

The results of Kiyoomi’s physical had shown no outliers, no cause for worry or concern. Everything was fine. He should just get a little extra potassium in, maybe eat a few more bananas in the morning, or after his practices. He’d been a little miffed when he opened the manilla folder, eyes hunting for abnormalities, for a reason, an explanation. If nothing is wrong, then why does he feel like he’s tingling with adrenaline all the time? It makes him light-headed, sluggish, and that’s detrimental to his playability, to his value to his team.

He looks away from Hinata and paces past Atsumu’s arched eyebrow, ignoring the implications of that wicked grin that’s resting on the setter’s quirked lips. It’s fine; he’s fine. His eyes look up to the balcony again. He really shouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It’s a distraction, and he doesn’t–

Oh. There you are.

He can’t make out details, not from this distance, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about his face. There’s no mask. He doesn’t wear it when he plays, and this will be the first time you’ve seen him without it. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t cared so much about the visibility of the court. Why did he plant you so far away? If he can’t see you, then there’s no way you’ll be able to tell which one he is either…oh…wait…his name is on the back of his jersey and they’ll announce his number. Nevermind.

The referee calls for the teams to line up and he diligently follows his teammates, standing in his usual spot, ignoring the dull thump of his heart as it beats a ragged tattoo under his ribs.

They won.

They won, and he’d racked up a whopping 23 points for himself, a personal milestone. It’ll be something that will go down on his athletic record, that the local and national news reports will chatter about, that he can feel proud of. He’s glad; you always show him your best, so it’s only fair he does the same for you too.

He’d peeked up at your seat during each time out, each break, every time the momentum shifted, and before he hit every serve. You looked like you had your feet propped up, resting against the metal barrier of the balcony, and he could see that your arms were wrapped around your knees. You were paying attention, and that knowledge made his lungs swell and his pulse quicken.

Now, after he’s finished toweling some of the clinging sweat from his brow and the matted droop of his obsidian curls, he twists back, facing your seat, but you’re not there. An empty curve of plastic greets him and his heavy brows furrow, his fingers dropping the towel onto the bench as they curl up into his palms.

Did you leave? It would make sense, he supposes. The game is over. He just thought you might come down. Might want to talk. Not that he’d have much to say. He never does. Stupid; what would he talk with you about? See the game? Yeah, duh.

The distant voice of MSBY’s public relations manager is calling for him. He’ll worry about it [ you ] later, he thinks, he’s still got a job to do.

During his interview he can hear Atsumu’s voice. It’s annoying. While the setter doesn’t attempt to tone himself down, he rarely talks that loudly. Kiyoomi glances over at his straight back, watching as his hand cups against the back of his golden head, an infectious laugh bursting from his turned lips. Strange. It’s not like him to chat with someone for that long, not when he’s got his own post-game interviews to conduct. He usually–

Ah, it’s you.

Suddenly, questions like: [ how does it feel to be considered for the 2025 Japanese Olympic team? ] don’t matter. His head is half cocked now, dark eyes following the two of you, his comments to the national reporter falling into clipped monosyllables. This is unprofessional; he should focus on the matter at hand, it’s not like him to be distracted.

He’s been thinking about that a lot lately. That so many things are suddenly not like him.

When you push playfully at Atsumu’s shoulder, he lapses into a stormy silence, nails biting into his clenched palms, pressing half moons into his calloused skin. After answering one more question: [ something about his future plans - how’s he supposed to know? That depends on trades, on opportunities. And right now he’s not in the correct frame of mind to answer honestly, not when he can see that you’re right there ] he bows to the smiling face of the reporter, formally concluding his participation in the interview. He knows it’s abrupt; he knows he’ll likely get an earful from the MSBY PR director, from his coach, and from himself, when the full weight of his uncharacteristic rashness hits him, but right now he doesn’t care.

His feet feel like lead and the steps that he’s taking shudder against the gym’s polished flooring. He’s usually smoother than this, more collected, but can’t will himself to stop lurching forward. He tucks his hands into the darkness of his team jacket, coiling his numb fingers into tight balls, and hunches his shoulders. He likely looks like thunder and this suspicion is confirmed when a ball boy scuttles out of his path, eyes wide, but Kiyoomi doesn’t care.

Atsumu hasn’t noticed his approach, but you do, and that shy wave and familiar smile makes his breath catch in his throat. Damn it. What’s going on with him?

Atsumu notices your wandering attention and turns, following your gaze. Once he spots Kiyoomi, he gives him a cheeky smirk, dipping his chin, lazily fixing his amber eyes on Kiyoomi’s arched figure. “Look who caaame!” he calls, lacing his tone with poorly concealed glee. “She said you gave her a ticket. What a great, absolutely original, idea! And you had your record breaking scoring streak today too! Hey! Maybe she’s good luck! Watch out (Y/N), pretty soon we’ll be hooking you up with a personal mascot job if ya’ can light such a fire under our stoic hitter’s ass. Must be something special in that coffee yer’ serving him.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Atsumu’s blatant needling and the setter chuckles, flipping his focus back to you, sensing the rising agitation that is rolling off of Kiyoomi in waves now. “Well, sure was good to see ya’ again! Talk to me next time, huh? I’ll get you a boxed seat. It’s much better than those nosebleeds in the balconies.”

You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips, and make a show of rolling your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, you know? And what boxed seats? Feels like I’d see them if you had them,” you tease, earning yourself a last laugh and Atsumu’s back, a friendly hand waving a last goodbye as he finally strides toward the waiting cameras. Kiyoomi watches him go, his shoulders tense, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Is Atsumu doing this on purpose?

He almost snaps a retort at his retreating figure, but the sound of your voice immediately snatches his attention toward you. His dark gaze meets yours and the look in your eyes makes his palms feel itchy and his feet scuff mindlessly against the floor.

“This is gonna sound so dumb, but it’s been on my mind since I got here…”

Kiyoomi’s fingers twist in his pockets, coiling over each digit, and his pulse feels like it’s speeding up again. “What?”

“It’s just…well, you look so much younger without the mask,” you let out a small laugh and duck your head, teeth pulling at your lower lip as you face away from his widening eyes.

“Is that bad?”

“No! You look good! Uh, I mean, not that you didn’t…I just wasn’t sure…not that I’d thought about it…a lot…uh, I…yeah, I’m…No, it’s not bad!” You press your hands against your mouth, steepling your fingers under your nose and fix him with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, but Miya was right about one thing, you had a great game. I had a lot of fun and it was so nice of you to get me that ticket, and well…”

You pause, lowering your hands to yank your purse forward, fingers digging into the leather before you right yourself once more, returning with a small, zipped bag, and a plastic card that’s balancing atop the metal teeth. “It’s a…well…I sorta tried to think of some things that you might like. To say thanks! It’s nothing fancy. A nail filing kit, because I read that volleyball guys like to keep their hands in tiptop shape, one of those portable ball pumps and some masks.

The masks are from a great company, back home, er, in the states. Well, at least I like them, they’re super durable. And the card, uh, ha, um, the card is to the cafe. I know it’s not super original, but I didn’t know if you liked any other places. And I didn’t wanna assume or — Haha, oh God, I am talking your ear off. Just…here! Take this from me so I can get my foot outta my mouth, okay?”

You press the bag forward and before he can tell you he doesn’t accept gifts from fans, his hands are already out of the safety of his pockets, firmly wrapping around your offering. “Thank you,” he bows. He wants to say more, but he’s not sure how.

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe.

He thought he’d go for a quick run before practice, maybe loop the block, or jog toward the university. None of these things are close to the cafe, but apparently his feet had other ideas. The shop bell rings when he steps inside, wiping some hand sanitizer against his heated palms, onyx eyes alert, already searching for you.

A male barista [ is it Kane? ] greets him and before he can stop himself, he’s asking if you’re there. “Oh, (Y/N)? Nah, she’s off today. But I can make your cortado, you get almond milk, right?”

“Oat,” Kiyoomi replies, voice muffled by his mask. Damn. Why did he come here? He didn’t mean to and now it’s looking like it was a wasted trip. A useless instinct. He’d wanted to thank you properly for your gift, which had been on his mind a lot the past few days. Perhaps that’s why he felt so compelled to jog the extra mile, why he can’t seem to keep away, why he keeps looking for you as he waits, even though he knows you’re not here.

Maybe he can text you his thanks. That would make all of this easier. Oh, wait, does he even have your number? He pulls his phone out of his pocket and examines his contact list, searching for you. No, nothing under your name. Maybe he put it under something else? [ barista? cafe? ] Again, there’s nothing. Damn. Why didn’t he ask at the game? Or when he gave you the ticket?

When he picks up his drink and paces back into the sunshine, he’s still kicking himself that he hasn’t asked for your number yet. It would have made things so much simpler, he reasons, sipping at his coffee; now he’ll have to come back.

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned.

There’s just too much going on. Too many team meetings and late practices. Too much preparation. The pace of his schedule has never bothered him before, but now he keeps hoping for some kind of reprieve.

The other morning Atsumu strode into a meeting with a cup from your cafe, proudly flaunting the familiar label. It made Kiyoomi’s blood boil [ did he see you? talk with you? Did he get to see that addictively pleasing smile of yours? ] and later that afternoon he experienced his first scolding.

“What’s going on, Omi? Five missed digs? This isn’t like you. You look like your head is in the clouds. Come on, get it together. Big game in five days.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” It’s all he can say.

When he’s heading toward the team showers, he catches sight of Atsumu’s knowing leer and he grits his teeth, ignoring the huffed snicker and scoffing head shake that the setter sends his way.

Finally, two days later, he’s got some free time. There are other errands he needs to run, things he should do, but the only thing he can think about is you.

He’s walking up from a side street, one he rarely takes, when, at long last, he catches sight of you. You must be on a break. You’re sitting at a bench, facing a small, but well laid flower bed, flipping the pages of your open book languidly as you read under the cool shade of a gnarled tree.

He’s glad he’s wearing the mask that you gifted him.

You’d said that they were durable, and their quality had genuinely impressed him. When he got home, after the game, he slipped them out of their individual plastic cases, fingering the thick, well made materials before washing one. He’d left the others in their containers. He’ll use them, eventually, but not right now. He wants to savor them. He wants them to last.

Kiyoomi is almost to your side when you look up and he bites against his lower lip as soon as you give him that friendly smile of yours, already closing your book and standing, waiting for him to step closer. He comes to a stop in front of you, peering down at you through his dark lashes.

You always smell so nice, he thinks, unconsciously shifting closer, seeking more. You must have showered before coming into your shift because the crisp scent of peppermint and gentle lavender makes his nostrils flare hungrily under his mask.

“Hey there!” you begin, tucking your book into your arms. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have practice later. I came by the other day. I…” he lapses into frustrated silence, dark brows falling, letting his hands grip at the material of his jacket. Why is this so hard? You, all the others on his team, Motoya [ hell, even the notoriously impassive Wakatoshi has come out of his shell over the years ] can slip into a conversation. Damn it, how can everyone else make this look so easy?

“Saw you’re playing the Adlers soon. They’re the team the Jackals have a sorta rivalry with, right?”

He blinks down at you and lets out a shallow exhale. There you go again. You’re giving him a life raft, a conversation he can fall into, something he enjoys talking about. He remembers his stilted conversation with Atsumu, the one where he did not know about any of the basic things, the obvious things, the things that made you, you. It’s nice that you’re looking out for him, that you’re helping him along, but he doesn’t want to talk about volleyball, not right now.

“We do. How did your finals go? You said you had a dissertation?”

“Oh!” you blurt, your eyes widening, but you’re clearly pleased, even a little excited that he’s asked. “You remembered! Finished it up last week. Now I just need to knock out my revisions and I’ll either go back to committee, or they’ll approve it! I’m hoping they approve it. I’m sick of looking at it, haha.” Your fingers tap against your book and you duck your head, a quick smile passing over your smooth lips. “Uh, did you want to come in for a coffee? Not trying to hold you up, if you’ve got practice to go to.”

“I was the one who came over.” He sounds a little harsh, he thinks, nose wrinkling under his mask. He’s never worried about being blunt, but that doesn’t work here. He doesn’t want to be, not with you. “I mean, I wanted…wanted to say thanks, for the masks and the other things. I like them.” He points to his covered face and you let out a chuckle, gleaming eyes crinkling as you look up at him. Damn, you’re pretty. How has he not noticed that before? He wants to see you laugh again, he’s just not sure how to go about it. Does he even know any jokes? Shit.

“Awe, I’m glad you like them! Speaking of, Atsumu came by a few days ago, I guess you must have worn one around him because he was trying to sniff out if I’d given them to you. He’s a funny guy, but I cannot get a good read on him. It’s almost like he’s doing stuff on purpose, but he’s never blatantly obvious about it. The way he was talking, I was kinda worried he was trying to play a prank on you. Does he like to get under your skin or something? He’s–”

Kiyoomi’s not thinking when he leans down. He’s been doing that a lot lately, not thinking. It makes his skin prickle. Or is that the smell of peppermint on your clean neck, the fragrant lavender in your hair? The kiss is soft; more of a press of his lips than a real caress. But it’s nice, and he actually likes being this close to you, but something feels off and, ah, damn it.

His dark brows knit together, furrowing his forehead, when he realizes what he’s done. He didn’t take off his mask. How stupid. But that shaky gasp of air that you let out when he pulls away, and the following upward lift of your body, your lips chasing his, clearly wanting him to come back, oh that’s so worth it, mask or not.

Your eyes are the first thing he sees when he looks back down, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so perfect. They’re bright, vibrant, and rich with an excitement that makes his toes curl.

The smell of lavender and peppermint, of you, is almost overwhelming, and yet somehow it’s all together, not enough. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you.

What is there to say?

That one, half-formed, touch said it all. It expressed every frustration that he’s felt over the last few weeks, every faded memory of your voice, of your playful smiles, of those hesitant conversations you’ve helped him through. It’s all there, sitting quietly between the two of you, shimmering in the sunlight as you take a step closer and his hands finally fall out of his pockets, waiting, hoping for yours.

“(Y/N)! Break’s over! Coffee’s not gonna brew itself!”

The distant voice of your coworker shatters the euphoria and you tense, pulling away, your head turning toward the barked command as you call out your reply. Kiyoomi huffs out an impatient breath. He wanted to try that again. Do it right this time. How pathetic is he? Kissing you through a mask? But his annoyance dies when you face him again, slipping your hand tentatively into his.

His digits fall limply around yours and he can’t help but marvel at the softness of you. One of his thumbs lifts and he traces the skin along your knuckles, unsure if he’s even breathing anymore. “Come on,” you say, looking down at his touch before lacing your fingers through his, showing him how to hold you. “I’ll make your coffee.”

You’re walking forward and he has the inane urge to snatch you back, wanting to see how the rest of you feels, wanting to know how you’ll fit into his arms, but he distracts himself by following you. There’s a budding warmth that’s spreading from his palm, where your hand rests inside his, to his chest. It feels like a low burning fire is coursing along his veins and his heartbeat thuds out of rhythm, but for once he doesn’t care.

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

He sits in the cafe for too long, his coffee cold, the cup almost empty. But before he leaves [ already so, so late for practice ] he gets your number.

He taps the unfamiliar digits carefully into his device and you watch from the counter, your chin propped in your hand, a gentle smile kissing against your palm. Then he stands, pausing beside you and you run your index finger down his arm, lingering your touch beside his wrist, making him shiver in the warm sunlight, a pleased grin hidden behind his mask.

notes: this man has what, 10 pages of interaction? idk why and idk how, but he is stuck in my brain - like, seriously send help, i think i’m in love.

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tomtenadia · 4 years ago

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Till food do us part - Rowaelin one shot

Good evening everyone.

I am back with a quick Rowaelin oneshot. This short fic came to me last week while I was in my hotel in Inveress getting ready to check out. Once on the train back to Aberdeen I had two hours and a half and I wrote this.

It’s a simple story and just pure undiluted Rowaelin domestic fluff. I think I had to compensate for the angst in ALB. There’s no angst, just our two lovebirds being their adorable selves.

The title is ridiculous. It took me more time to choose it than to write the whole fic. And it’s still bad. Sorry, I hate choosing titles.

Ach well, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy.

Word count: 2.5k

Aelin was in the kitchen all alone, in front of her on the counter she had all the pots and pans she would require to prepare her meal. At one side she had her cooking book and on the opposite side she had lined up all the ingredients needed.

That was meant to be a special night and she wanted everything to be perfect. And because of that she had been nervous. She was not good at cooking like her boyfriend so for her to prepare a full meal from scratch was a monumental task. She just hoped not to burn down the house. He had been teaching her slowly, starting with very simple things but that evening, no matter what she was going to cook for him.

The plan was to prepare everything a part from the dessert which she had bought from the local bakery. Although her boyfriend was not a fan of sugary stuff, the night called for dessert.

She and Rowan had been together for five years. They worked for the same company but on different floors and departments. She was in marketing, Rowan was part of the legal team and was one of the company’s lawyers.

They had a bit of a turbulent start. They met in the cafeteria and Rowan had the bad habit of being always a bit of ahead of her in the queue and always take the last portion of the food she wanted. Far too many times she had ended up eating food she did not want because of him. She had even tried to go to lunch at a different times but the man was always there. Her own personal hell. So after a whole month of that she had decided to take matter in her own hands and slowly plan her revenge. Rowan was a creature of habit, so she spent a few weeks studying him and his routine. Aelin had learned he loved to eat alone. He had friends but the lunch hour was his time to wind down and he did not want any drama or any shop talk. That would make her plan much easier. Eventually she hatched her plan. She started swapping the content of the salt and pepper shakers or even replacing them with other stuff. Aelin had also started making his table sticky or cluttering with empty trays. He still had no idea it was her but she enjoyed watching him muttering and probably cursing whoever did that to him. She had quickly learned that the man was hard to tick off completely. She would notice some small signs of irritation but that’s all the reaction she got, so she decided it was time to go big.

And her final plan came into existence the day the cafeteria served mac and cheese and he took the last portion from her. She was fuming. If she could not have mac and cheese so wouldn’t he.

She waited for him to make his way back to his table and then she walked straight into him. Their trays smashing against each others and the food landing on his shirt. She had muttered a weak sorry and had fled with a grin on her face.

She had later found out that she had made him late for an important meeting and caught hell from his boss Lorcan.

Until one day he started to retaliate. Apparently, she had found out, he knew all long it was her messing with his meals.

And so a long series of pranks had begun between them, most of them taking place in the cafeteria since that was the place they used to share the most.

However, sometimes along the way, Aelin realised pranking him was not fun anymore and that pesky feelings had started to take root in her.

Until one day he showed up in her office with two portions of mac and cheese from Emrys and a peace offering. They had the lunch in the privacy of her office, they talked and she realised very quickly that he was quite a fascinating man. Also, she would have lied to herself if she had ignored the fact that the man was hotness incarnated. He was tall and had a healthy muscular build. He would always wear impeccable tailored suits which made his backside very prominent and more than once her eyes had wandered. He had the most beautiful pine green eyes and she adored his silver hair.

Soon she had to admit that she had a crush on him. And then some.

And when Rowan finally asked her out she could not believe her ears. The sexiest man in the company wanted to go out with her. So she said yes.

Fast forward five years and Aelin was now cooking for their fifth anniversary and as a joke she had put mac and cheese on the menu. It was their dish and their own joke as well.

Aelin had a look at the clock and realised she had half an hour tops before he came back home.

While preparing mac and cheese she took a sip from the glass of wine at her side. She had bought two bottles of Rowan’s favourite wine and she had started the celebrations a bit earlier.

In the oven in the meantime, the pork roast and the potatoes were cooking and she was busy checking the food that she almost missed the sound of the front door opening and closing.

“I am home,” shouted a happy voice.

“Kitchen.” She shouted back.

When she stood she saw him in leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, his arms at his chest and a strange grin on his face “you are cooking?” He asked surprised, raising an eye brow in a question.

Aelin grabbed a glass of wine, took a step closer to him and gave it to him “Happy anniversary, buzzard.” And she went to him for a kiss he did not deny it to her.

“Oh, so you waited five years for your final revenge and win with food poisoning.” Still leaning against the doorframe he took a sip of wine and looked at her with a smirk.

Aelin just glared at him “I can cook.”

“Aelin, I love you, but cooking is definitely not your strongest asset.”

She waved her wooden spoon in his face “I’ll show you.”

Rowan chuckled happily and stooped for a kiss “happy anniversary, menace.”

Aelin moved another step in his direction “now go,” and she patted his chest “get changed and let me finish.”

Half an hour later the dining table was all set, with some candles on to set the romantic mood and a new bottle of win in the middle. Everything looked perfect and she was chuffed.

“This looks lovely,” his voice reached her as he re entered the room and his arms wound around her waist.

“I hope it’s good as well.” She said while pulling back from the embrace and pushing him to his seat.

“Let me help,” he offered but Aelin pushed him again.

“No, just sit down.”

Quickly she went to get the appetisers: she had prepared raw smoked salmon on oatcakes with cream cheese and chives. They had that at a party and they loved it and realised it was something easy to make and almost impossible for her to mess it up. The only thing she had to do was to assemble the ingredients in a nice display.

Rowan in the meantime poured some wine for both and made happy noises at the wine.

“Fancy,” he added, commenting on the appetiser.

“Easy mostly. I took inspiration from the last party we went to.”

Rowan took one of the oatcakes and she relaxed when she saw him smile. Oh well, at least if the rest of the meal was a disaster they could eat oatcakes and salmon.

“Did you have a good day at work?” She asked, she had a day off and she hadn’t seen him since the morning when he left for work.

“It’s the end of the month and as you can imagine Lorcan has been his unpleasant self.”

“I need these reports on the desk by the end of yesterday?” She said, imitating the man’s voice.

Rowan chuckled and took another oatcake “that’s the gist.”

Once the appetisers were over, Aelin stood and went to get the next course. That was the surprise and the dish that meant the most.

She brought the oven dish to the dining table.

“You made mac and cheese.” Rowan’s tone was full of love.

“I did.” She took his plate and was ready to serve him his portion. It looked great and for a moment she had hoped. The recipe was for the baked version and the crust at the top looked golden and crunchy. Then she dipped the spatula to cut it and terror took her. It was runny.

“No, no, no, no, no…” she panicked.

“What happened?” Rowan stood and moved at her side.

“It happened that I should not be allowed to cook.” She sat on the chair and sniffled.

“I am sure it’s not that bad…”

“Ro,” Aelin almost shouted in frustration at his tone “you can drink it with a straw, mac and cheese is supposed to be creamy.”

He looked over “I think you put too much milk,” and with his hand he brushed her lower back in support.

Aelin started sobbing “I messed up the main dish. It was meant to be like the one we shared in my office.”

Rowan was about to reply when he smelled smoke “is something burning?”

“Holy fuck,” Aelin stood abruptly and ran to the kitchen and when she opened the oven a cloud of smoke engulfed her. The roast and the potatoes where charcoal. She sat dejected in front of the oven and Rowan joined and sat at her side “you have the most useless girlfriend ever.”

He brushed her hair off her face “ I do not.” A gentle kiss on her lips “my girl is brilliant, fearless, intelligent and very, very hot.” She gave him a wet chuckle. Gods, she loved him.

“I ruined our anniversary.”

Rowan stood and offered her his hand “you did not.” She took it and stood in front of him.

“We are going to Emrys, he does some amazing mac and cheese.”

“Fine,” she conceded.

Rowan cupped her face, refusing to let her be sad. He knew Aelin was not good at cooking and he had tried to teach her but once on her own she seemed to struggle.

But as the boyfriend madly in love with her he was more than happy to cook for both, everyday, forever.

Aelin did not seem convinced and still pouted at her mess. Rowan noticed that and cupped her face in his hand and kissed het tenderly “Hey, it was a lovely gesture and I am proud of you.” He took her hand in his, “now let’s go.”

They got changed and not long after they were walking to Emrys. Rowan’s arm on around her shoulder.

Aelin looked up at him and noticed a strange light in his eyes and a small grin. Whatever it was, he did not seem bothered by her fiasco.

Once they reached Emrys froze and cursed the evening that was turning into pure hell “it’s Monday, they are close. We are two idiots.” But all Rowan did was to push her toward the front door.

“Ro, they are closed.”

“Shush,” he said gently placing his hand on her lower back.

A moment later Emrys’ smiling face appeared on the door “hello Rowan, come in, it’s all ready.” Said the man stepping aside to let them in.

Aelin was stunned. speechless. He had an evening planned.

She turned to him “did you know I was going to mess up so you had a plan b?” Her tone full with irritation at his lack of trust in her.

Rowan looked at her, his eyes dancing with mirth “I didn’t even know you were going to cook. I booked all of this over a week ago.” He told her “I knew our anniversary would fall on a Monday, so I asked Emrys and Malakai if it was okay to use the place for our dinner.”

She stood on her tiptoes “I love you.” And kissed him. Rowan took her hand and walked inside the main room of the restaurant and Aelin again was stunned. The whole room had been decorated with white fairy lights, the table had candles and there were kingsflames in a vase as well.

“Happy anniversary, Fireheart.” And pulled her to his chest “I hope you’ll love this.”

“It’s perfect,” she said to him, feeling teary.

They sat down and Malakai brought wine “Emrys is just finishing up the last few things, it should not be too long.” Explained the man while pouring the wine.

He came back a moment later and brought back freshly baked pitta bread and hummus “just as a starter.”

Aelin attacked the appetisers, realising she was starving.

Once the appetiser was out of the way Rowan took her hand.

“I am glad I burned dinner, this is so much better.”

They had gone to Emrys for their first date which turned out to be their favourite restaurant and slowly their weekly dinner treat. It had become their place pretty quickly.

She was talking to Rowan when she noticed Emrys walking to them with a large oven dish and when Aelin looked, she saw mac and cheese. And it looked incredible.

“Of course,” said Rowan at her expression and poured more wine. It was a good thing they walked. Emrys plated their dinner and then walked away with a Cheshire cat grin.

“Go on, tuck in,” Rowan said to her once he noticed her eager expression.

Aelin did so and almost moaned savagely. It was divine.

After a few bites Rowan put the fork down and took her hand again, brushing his thumb on the top of it “thank you for walking into me that day in the cafeteria.” He told her, his green eyes on her “I know we had our ups and downs but these five years with you have been incredible.” He stood and took her hand inviting her to follow him. She stood with him and Rowan pulled Aelin to his chest. She wanted to complain she was eating, but whatever he was doing it seemed important.

Violin music spread in the room and Aelin recognised one of her favourite pieces of classical music. He swayed gently as if to dance, placed her hand on his shoulder and held her, his hand on her lower back.

“And I hope we’ll have many more together.” Aelin looked up at him and nodded, emotions threatening to overwhelm her. He kissed her with passion and then he pulled back a little “Aelin, my fireheart, will you do me the honour of joining me in the next adventure of our life and become my wife?”

Aelin sobbed loudly “only if you promise to keep cooking for me.”

Rowan laughed “Always.”

She threw her arms around his neck “yes, yes I will marry you.”

Rowan placed the ring on her finger then lifted her in his arms and kissed her.

He would cook for her, make her happy until his last day.

To whatever end.

#rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #fluff #domestic fluff

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fanfictionfansmiction · 4 years ago

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Get Over You

Another Sirius reader insert! Are you surprised? So to summarise you and Sirius are friends and big shocker you love him, but you just don’t think he feels the same so you decide tonight's the night to get over him once and for all. But that doesn’t work out too well when Sirius is also out that night. If you have any requests for me please feel free to send them my way now that I have plenty of free time! Enjoy :)

Word Count: 3030

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“I’m not sure about this!” I say adjusting the tight-fitting clothes Marlene picked out trying to twist the dress, so it sits right. The seam still wonky and the hem line not quite straight I plod my way out of the bathroom into the kitchen to show her. She stands with two large bottles of liquor in her hands cackling when she sees me.

“How did you manage this?” She asks in a high-pitched tone that gets carried off with giggles waving the bottles around gesturing toward my body.

“Well, I thought the back was the front.” I huff.

“That reminds me of my days as a straight. Let me help you out babe.” She slinks up to me wearing a gorgeous midnight blue velvet dress that’s clung to her in ways I would never understand to be humanly possible. With force she grabs the fabric pulling it in the right direction for a few moments huffing and puffing as she does. She steps back with a smug look on her face. “You look hot. Now what are we doing with your hair and makeup?” She asks rubbing her chin as though she had a beard to ponder with.

“Just what I normally do. What time is it Mar?” I ask not particularly worried with the rest of my ‘hot bitch party look’ as Marlene put it.

“Oh, don’t worry we have plenty of time, have a drink and I’ll do you hair and makeup. Lily and Dorcas will let themselves in, so we don’t have to worry about it. Tonight, is going to be great.” Marlene spoke with a glint of mischief in her green eyes. Quickly she mixes me a drink in one of our fancier glasses which turns a strange brown, hands it to me like a child showing their parent a finger painting. I take it with caution and then she drags me into the bathroom sitting me down on a bin she turns upside down getting to work.

“So, are you looking forward to seeing Dorcas?” I ask knowing the answer.

“Knock it off you know I am. Also, I am the best makeup artist you look incredible. I was thinking of telling her tonight that I want more than just sleeping together. Do you think that’s a dumb thing to do?” She asks.

“Mar why would that be dumb?”

She huffs putting down the brush in her hand letting her head fall to one side. “Well, you keep saying you can’t tell Sirius how you feel about him because it would be a stupid thing to do.” She looks at the ground finding the product she was after next.

“That’s different you and Dorcas have a connection. You have a history together. I am just Sirius’s friend; I like being his friend it’s comfortable. He is someone I trust but I wouldn’t feel secure with him if he felt the same. I mean he’s Sirius Black he’s hot and he is just… uh I’m not enough for someone like that.” I say before gulping down the rest of the strange drink feeling it burn in my throat and warm my chest. Marlene doesn’t stop what she’s doing but I can tell she disagrees, and she wants to have this argument with me once again.

“Okay. Fine. If you don’t think it’ll work out how about we find someone else. To help you get over him. That’s the plan babe, tonight’s the night to get over Black.” She says finally standing back with a prideful look on her face. “All done.” She says holding up a mirror for you to see her work. She’s not done too much to change my normal look, but I think she mainly took over to have that moment with me. But either way I do look hot and feel good which is exactly what she was going for.

“You are good.” I say and then we hear the door open followed by the loud singing from our already drunk friends. We jump up from where we were sitting and comically rush into the living room to join in with the David Bowie song they’re singing. Marlene takes Dorcas by the hands and Dorcas holds Marlene as they sway singing and laughing. Lily pouts and then does the same with me.

“You look stunning babe.” I say to Lily who never has a bad hair day.

“Uh says you, I mean who allowed you to look this good?” She asks me, kissing my cheek and dragging me to the kitchen in need of another drink. “Have you already got a glass?”

“Yes, I do. I hope you’re a better barman than Mar whatever she made me should be taken to a lab for testing.” I laugh grabbing the glass from the kitchen. Upon returning I pull Lily in for a big hug, “I missed you Lil.”

“You were only gone for less than a minute.” She says squeezing me tighter.

“I know it was horrible!” I jest breaking away from her.

She dramatically overpours vodka into my glass followed by orange juice from the fridge and hands it to me overfilling with pride as she takes a sip of her own drink, cringing as she does. “That is so good.” She says pulling a face. “Did Marlene tell you that James and the boys are coming over before we head out?”

My widening eyes and downing of my drink tell her everything she needs to know. Which of course causes her to laugh and shout to Marlene to bring her cute ass into the kitchen.

“Did someone ask for a cute ass?” Sirius says waltzing into the room with a bottle of tequila in his large hands. James, Remus and Peter follow in after him and eventually so do Marlene and Dorcas. Sirius places the bottle down then searches our cupboards for shot glasses. He immediately goes to the right cupboard and grabs enough for everyone. “Shall we do shots?” He asks wiggling his dark brows. He pours out a shot for everyone without waiting for an encouraging response. I take the sherry glass repurposed into a shot glass and hold it up in a cheer to my friends. Sirius takes this opportunity to loop his arm round mine, so we take the drink with our arms intertwined. I can feel the blush creeping up my neck, but I quickly create space between me and Sirius wandering around to the other side of the kitchen ignoring the pout he gives me when I do. I look up at Remus who stands next to me.

“You look lovely tonight darling.” He says affectionately placing a friendly arm round my shoulder giving it a squeeze. We start a small conversation between ourselves discussing the books we’ve been reading, and the course Remus had been taking at the local college because he just missed studying that much. “I can’t even begin to tell you how interesting the speaker is! She thinks I should do a master’s degree and I am considering it you know. Put off the job stuff for a while and I do love literature.”

“Do it Rem that sounds exactly like something you should be doing.” I reply.

“Hey Moony, do you want another drink?” Peter asks dragging Remus away from me with a look of determination on his face.

I lean back on the kitchen counter behind me laughing at Lily and James dancing together slash play fighting. He picks her up off the ground and twirls her around, she just can’t stop herself from laughing. Her hair swinging around with a life of its own. When she’s back on the ground she playfully hits his chest, and he feigns pain. Then they both forget whatever they were fighting about. They just stare at each other with admiration and love.

“It’s disgustingly sweet isn’t it?” Sirius says leaning to one side so he’s closer to me. “I’ll be honest though I never thought he’d manage to get a girl like Lily.”

“She always fancied him more than she hated him. Good things James grew up a bit or who knows if they would have worked it out.” I say sipping on my drink.

“Nah they would’ve found a way.” He looks down at me and with grin. I look him in the eyes for the first time tonight. They’re warm and he holds my gaze with such intensity I can’t help but look away with a sharp intake of breath. “You look good tonight love.” He says in a low tone, so it stays thick in the air between the two of us. “But you always do look beautiful.” Which adds to the weight growing within my chest. I catch Marlene’s eye which I now notice has been on the two of us for a while. She understands that I require an intervention, so she drags me over to her and Dorcas saying they need someone to decide who’s right in their debate.

Under her breath Marlene says, “We need you to find you a rebound fast.” You nod taking her drink from her and downing it.

“Right shall we make our way out into the night?” Remus inquires clasping his hands together like a teacher.

Everyone queues for the toilet and makes sure everything is left clean enough, so it won’t be a problem for us when we’re hung over tomorrow. While I wait, I go into my room to grab a jacket or a bag to take with me. I hear someone follow me assuming its Marlene I ask, “Do you think I should wear a jacket with this dress?”

“Oh, definitely not, it would ruin the integrity of the look.” A low voice answers.

“Sirius hasn’t any ever told you not to follow a woman into her room uninvited?” I retort.

“Well, I normally wouldn’t love you know me, but you’ve been avoiding me.” He says playing with the fabric of my dress.

“What if I am?” I say picking up a bag and walking past him.

“Well, it’s okay if you are, I just thought I was imagining it. Good to know you are indeed avoiding me.”

I stop and turn around to look at him, “I just… look tonight I’m looking to get over someone and I’m not sure hanging around you will help me attract people Sirius. If I spend the whole night with you, I’m giving off the wrong impression. It’s not personal.”

“It feels a little personal.”

“Come on Sirius lets go.” I say holding out my hand to him, which he takes placing a kiss on the top of my had.

We walk out of my room into the hallway where we hear the others calling to us telling us its time to go. The walk to the club is colder than expected but Sirius wraps his arm around me to keep me warm. I can’t protest because it’s just for the small walk once we get into the club it’ll be fine, I tell myself, when we get in, I’ll keep my distance. But it doesn’t stop the electricity I feel when his fingertips brush along the exposed skin on my back. It doesn’t stop my heart beating too fast when he jokes with me speaking right in my ear. The heat of his breath on my neck and the idea of him being so close to me. All too soon we reach the club with a line along the stretch of the road. When we get in line, I position myself between Lily and Marlene to keep my distance from Sirius. It works to he doesn’t try to stand next to me or wrap his arm around me or even really talk to me.

When we enter the club the thudding music pulses through my body, and I make a beeline to the bar letting my friends scatter throughout the club. I find myself waiting to be served next to a tall man with bright red hair who has a gleaming smile and a large nose. He leans down to speak in my ear asking if he can buy me a drink, I accept.

“Sorry I don’t think I caught your name.” I state.

“I’m Fabian. I think I know you from somewhere.” He answers.

“Well, I work in the local bookshop so you might know me from there.” I respond. “Actually, you do look a little familiar… Do you have any siblings?”

“I have a sister you might know, Molly?”

“Oh yes! I know Molly, she’s dating Arthur.”

“They’re actually engaged now.” He says.

The conversation dies down a little after we talk about his sister and he soon excuses himself, “I think my brother is doing something stupid in the smoking area and I have to join in.” He explains shooting me his bright smile again before leaving me alone by the bar again.

“You’ve got a real determined look going on right now love.” Sirius speaks sliding into the free space next to me. I look up at him not caring about just how close his face is to mine. “Maybe that’s why Fab left.” I open my mouth to respond but Sirius offers me a drink, so I don’t bite his head off.

“You know him?” I ask.

“We run in the same circles. Look what asshole are you trying to get over with random people in this gross club.” He responds pulling a face.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I think I do.”

Biting my lip nervously I look him right in the eyes and tell him, “It’s you Sirius you’re the asshole.”

He swallows and raises his eyebrows. Seemingly unsure on how to respond. He runs a hand through his long intentionally messy hair and then rubs his face as if trying to understand what I’m saying. Trying to pull it into focus. I try to smile at him, but my face won’t let me, and I feel my sadness catch in my throat and pull at my chin. Quickly as though to make the emotion disappear, I wipe away a stray tear with my finger. Sirius catches me doing it and then he really sees how he has affected me, and I see the guilt bubble up through him. He says my name too quietly for me to hear in the club but the look on his face tells me that he doesn’t feel the same. The room feels too hot. Like there isn’t enough air for me in here.

“It’s okay Sirius.” I pause letting out a small sob, “You don’t have to say it I already know.” The heat builds up and I must get out of this stupid club because the room suddenly feels a lot smaller than before. I think he tries to call after me but all I can focus on is getting out of here. I break out into a small run bumping into people as I push my way through. When I get outside, I sink to the cold pavement and let the sobs rack through me like waves. This really isn’t how I imagined the night going. I look up to the night sky and a feeling of loneliness latches onto me. I don’t even try to avoid it. I go into full pity party mode, already thinking of the uncomfortable conversation I’ll eventually have to have with him about this. About how this will probably ruin our friendship for good. What will happen to the whole group of us? Then I hear his voice calling out for me in a panic and the loneliness washes out of me. He spots me and gently sits down next to be shrugging his leather jacket off and placing it over my shoulders.

“Love I didn’t realise how you felt. I wouldn’t ever want to make you feel like this. I hate myself right now.” He places a hand on my leg, and I look at him. He is crying too. I wipe away a tear holding his face with my cold hand.

“Why are you crying?” I laugh.

“Because I’m an idiot love I didn’t even realise you were an option for me! Are you kidding? Why wasn’t this something I knew about. Who else knew?”

“Just Marlene. But what difference does me being an option make?”

“Well only because I’ve been trying to get over you since we were 15! I always assumed you didn’t think of me that way, that I was just your hot friend.”

“Well, you are the hot friend, but I have had feelings for you for years. I just never thought I was good enough for you.”

“Good enough for me! I never thought I was good enough for you.”

The tears turn quickly into laughter realising how blind we’ve both been. I stand up offering Sirius my hand he takes it placing another kiss on my hand and we walk back to my apartment. I invite him into my bedroom where he kisses me passionately holding my body flush against his. He kisses me like he’s been waiting to kiss since the moment he met me. I kiss him back with the same emotion. We kiss until we break apart foreheads pressed together panting, trying to catch our breathes. Both smiling once again. A warmth exploding in my chest.

“Sirius I’ve been waiting to be with you for longer than I would like to admit. As much as I’d love to jump into bed with you right now and let you have your way with me.” Sirius laughs at this, “I just don’t want to go too quickly because I want this to work out. So instead of sex could we just hold each other until we fall asleep?”

“I do love that you worded it that way. Makes me feel like the guy in one of those sappy romance books. Yes, I’m more than okay with taking it as slow as you want my love. I can wait as long as you want. I would happily wait thousands of lifetimes for you.” He speaks kissing me again.

#Sirius Black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius imagine #sirius x you #sirius reader insert #Sirius x Y/N #sirius black reader insert #marauders imagine #marauders era #marauders reader insert #marauders x reader #marauders era imagine

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crispychrissy · 4 years ago

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Connected - Part 4

Summary: Dr. Austin's theory is put to the test, and she shows Tony, Bucky, and Steve the woman behind the mystery. Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2976 Warnings: Angst, medical stuff, stretching the medical science behind the super soldier serum, discussion of Bucky's previous trauma & a mention of the horrible things the Nazi's did A/N: I apologize for the late posting, I fell asleep so hard last night I didn't have a chance to queue this, and then I was out all day (good 14 hours out and about) so I am just now able to post the new chapter since I'm home now. As I mentioned in a prior post, I no longer have a forever taglist, but I will still tag series specific people if they request. You can also follow this story & others on my Ao3 as well. The series was beta’d by the lovely @idjitmonkey and I hope you enjoy! Please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in the series. :)

Series Masterlist – Marvel Masterlist

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Bucky made a quick call to Shuri who, after a thorough interrogation as to why he was asking, assured him his arm would not be affected by the magnets of an MRI machine. So now, Bucky was laying down on his back inside the machine and staring at the small glass covered camera embedded in the inside curve of the plastic above him.

“Stop staring at the camera, Barnes, you’re giving off some crazy resting murder face right now,” Tony’s staticky voice came through the pair of disposable earbuds he was wearing to protect his hearing from the noise of the scan. “Might sell these scans to Ripley’s Believe It or Not. You actually do have something going on in that head of yours.”

“As much as I know you want to answer, Sergeant Barnes, please do not speak or move,” Dr. Austin’s voice came through after what sounded like a small scuffle for the microphone.

Bucky blinked several times in an unnatural yet controlled fashion, and when he heard Steve’s laughter coming through the earbuds, he had to fight the urge to smile, knowing Steve got the message he blinked out in Morse code.

F-U-C-K Y-O-U T-O-N-Y

The scan was over almost a half an hour later, and Bucky couldn’t hide his exhale of relief once the table began to slide out of the massive scanner. Confined spaces still made his skin crawl and flash back to the cryo tube he was kept in, but the MRI was surprisingly open in design and not like the ones he usually remembered seeing in hospitals. When he brought it up to Dr. Austin on their way back to her office, she smiled at him and explained most of the soldiers they treat have PTSD and claustrophobia, so an open MRI design was necessary for the comfort of the patients she treats.

It made sense, and when they entered her office and Bucky’s stomach growled for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes, she tossed him the orange he’d been eyeing earlier before taking a seat at her desk and flipping open her laptop.

“Normally we have to wait for the images to be reviewed by a radiologist, but I’m well versed in how to read brain scans,” Dr. Austin explained, clicking a few times before leaning forward to study the screen. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Bucky asked, using his teeth to bite a chunk of the orange’s peel off since his right hand didn't have nails long enough, and his left didn’t have nails at all. Once he could see the flesh of the orange underneath, he slid his flesh finger under the remaining peel and began to remove it in large pieces, trying to avoid getting sticky juice on his metal hand.

Dr. Austin spun her laptop around to show Bucky the image on her screen. It was a scan of his head, he could tell that, but the mess of swirling bright colors on the inside where his brain was made his eyes hurt. There were bright greens and blues swirled with more vibrant reds and pinks dancing around inside the image. “This is your brain.”

“Looks more like those posters… the ‘this is your brain on drugs’ pictures if they were made in the sixties, Doc,” Tony said. “I’m guessing it’s not supposed to look like that?”

“No. There’s so much brain activity that it’s likely what’s been burning through your energy and why you’ve been hungry all the time,” Dr. Austin explained. “Any type of brain activity, including emotions and problem solving, requires energy, whether it’s planning a complex strategy of attack for a mission or a simple math problem or crying at a sad part in a movie. Overworking the mind usually leads to tiredness, which leads to sleep, naturally refreshing those energy reserves. Most humans don’t expend enough energy, even when the brain is very active, to require major replenishment. Take Mr. Stark for example.”

Tony looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes, you’re a very intelligent man, and I’m guessing that when you’re elbow deep in your inventions or developing something, you don’t sleep and will go days without rest… so you find you get somewhat hungry at random times, right?” Dr. Austin asked.

“Well, yeah, I usually keep snacks around the lab that I nibble on so I don’t have to leave to make an actual meal. It ruins the momentum,” Tony said, confusion in his voice. “Pep’s found me passed out over the kitchen counter halfway through making a sandwich.

“Your body shut down and went to sleep before you were even able to replenish that energy via food since sleep is more efficient. So, that is a normal human mind.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, when Dr. Austin rolled her eyes and switched analogies. “Fine, that’s a standard engine, if you will, that can easily be refueled by a small energy source for a limited amount of time before it needs to be shut down and rebooted,” Dr. Austin said, slowly twirling her right pointer finger in a circle.

“Alright, I’m following you so far.” Tony’s head was slightly moving along with the circular rotation of her finger.

“Now, in the case of our super soldiers here, imagine that engine, but amplified almost five hundred percent,” Dr. Austin began to rotate her finger faster and faster until it was a blur of movement. “The need for sleep is suppressed by the serum, since alertness is crucial in combat, so that reboot requirement is easier to put off. In order to keep this kind of engine going at the same speed and level of activity for prolonged periods, it would burn through a small snack, or a small source of energy, too quickly and would signal the driver of the car, if you will, that it needed more.”

“So you’re saying that something is making Bucky’s brain so active, and he’s burning through so much energy, that it’s manifesting as hunger to make sure he keeps up with what’s being expended?” Steve asked, his mouth slightly open in shock. “I mean, I always remember being hungry after mission strategy and planning meetings, but I just assumed it was because I was bored or had skipped a meal.”

Dr. Austin shook her head. “Nope. You were using your brain in overdrive, doing quick calculations and mission scenarios in your head to find the best possible plan of action, much faster than any normal human brain would be able to calculate. It makes you an excellent strategist, but that kind of brain power burns a lot of energy.”

Bucky snorted in disbelief and leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “It makes sense. I was a good sniper when I was first in the Army during the war, but after Zola… after he injected me with that bastardized version of the serum… I could calculate trajectory angles and wind velocities and distances in my head in seconds, didn’t have to write them out to do the calculations. Didn’t even need a spotter anymore.”

Dr. Austin nodded. “Exactly. The serum allowed you extra mental acuity at the expense of more energy consumption.”

“But that doesn’t explain why Bucky’s brain is lit up like a psychedelic Christmas tree,” Tony said, gesturing to the laptop image. “Barnes obviously isn’t doing any kind of advanced calculus in his head right now.” Tony looked at Bucky. “You’re not right?” Bucky shook his head and Tony continued, “so why is his brain so active?”

“And that leads me to my theory about Y/N,” Dr. Austin said, standing up from her chair. “Follow me, gentlemen. And Sergeant Barnes,” he looked over and raised a brow as he trailed after her into the hallway, “please let me know if you feel any increased feelings of hunger or exhaustion. The effects might come on quickly, so please let me know if, or when, you feel anything.”

Bucky nodded, and looked over to where Steve was walking to his right. Thanks to their childhood friendship, Steve could always see anxiety and nervousness in Bucky even when he tried to hide it, like when he saw Bucky off the morning he shipped off to Europe. Bucky kept his face stoic, but when Steve hugged him goodbye, Bucky was practically trembling under the Army-hardened mask he had worn then.

Steve reached over and clasped a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze of reassurance.

The doctor led them down several hallways, until they reached another wing of the military hospital which held secure patient rooms that could be locked down if necessary, whether due to outbursts of violence due to psychological issues from recovering soldiers or to hold prisoners who had been injured and needed medical intervention. Dr. Austin stopped in front of a room at the end of the hallway and gestured to the one-way mirror in front of her.

“Gentlemen, meet Y/N Y/L/N.”

The three men stepped closer and looked into the room, all eyes frozen on the figure sitting upright in the hospital bed. Y/N had shoved herself in the farthest possible corner of the bed, her knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. The photo in her file, and even the video of her they’d seen looked nothing like the woman before them. She looked almost emaciated, her skin a sickly pale that was almost translucent, and her stringy grease matted hair twitched slightly as her body trembled.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed. “She… she looks like those prisoners… the ones—”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “From Natzweiler, yeah, I remember.” Bucky took a deep breath, fighting against the telltale tingle in his mind of a long since forgotten memory beginning to rise up like a wave. “Doc… is she eating?”

“She was when she first got here, but only if the food was left for her after she passed out from exhaustion,” Dr. Austin explained. “Now, ever since things have escalated, she rips out her IV’s, pulls out NG tubes, and refuses any food we bring her. I’m not going to sedate her just because it’ll make it easier to feed her, we haven’t reached that level of intervention yet, but we’re getting close. She told one of our staff yesterday, in Russian, that she was not going to eat any of our poisoned food, that she wasn’t some kind of lab experiment and that we were animals for not just shooting her in the head to get it over with.”

All of the air in Bucky’s lungs came out in one hard breath like he’d been punched in the chest, and he had to brace himself against the windowsill to keep his knees from buckling. “Fuck.”

“Bucky?” Steve gasped at Bucky’s sudden weakness, grabbing onto his friend’s arm and placing a gentle hand on his back. ”What? Are you feeling the stuff Dr. Austin mentioned?”

Bucky grit his teeth and closed his eyes at the onslaught of memory fragments bombarding him. “No, I’m… I don’t know, maybe? I just… she’s…” Bucky’s thoughts were so jumbled he could barely form a coherent sentence, even in his head. He made a choked off noise that sounded more like a sob before he lifted his head to look at Y/N. “She’s reliving my captivity with Hydra. This… this was after I was transferred from the facility the Russians held me in after they found me to the one where Zola did his experiments. They were, umm, they were testing the limits of the serum, trying to figure out what I could survive.”

Steve’s face dropped and he took a sharp breath in. Bucky’s captivity and torture was not something he talked about often outside his therapy sessions. Steve only knew a handful of stories, ones that had come directly from Bucky’s mouth, and even then they were very hard stories for him to tell—lots of starting and stopping, frequent breaks, and plenty of tears. But here, with two extra people with him, and one being a stranger?

“Buck, you don’t have to talk about it,” Steve whispered.

“No, I need… she said exactly what I said to the guards who brought me food one day.” Bucky swallowed hard, flexing his fingers against the painted metal of the windowsill, the cold against his flesh hand grounding him. “They were testing different poisons and how the serum would fight it off… arsenic, ricin, even different kinds of snake and spider venom. I had seizures, strokes, and my heart stopped so many times I lost count.”

“Fucking hell,” Tony murmured, leaning against the wall behind them, his face a few shades paler than it was ten minutes ago. “Y/N is reliving your memories, reliving your life.”

“We need to find a way to pull her out of this,” Bucky said, straightening up with determination even though his bones felt like liquid and his mind was full of numbing static. If Y/N was reliving his life, even if it didn’t seem like the moments were in order, he knew it was only a matter of time until she would experience how the Winter Soldier was born, how he was forged, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Dr. Austin nodded and looked back at her patient through the glass. “If my theory is correct, which I believe it is based on your shared memories and brain scans, Y/N’s mind has somehow melded with yours. And your memories, powered by your mind’s energy, have somehow taken over hers, suppressing her personality completely. I don’t know if it was some kind of dormant mutant ability that was activated by the trauma of her captivity and torture, or something else… but there is obviously some kind of link between the two of you that we don’t have the technology to test for and verify. You’re essentially feeding her your memories, which is why your brain is lit up like that and why you’re expending so much energy.”

“It’s like she’s stuck inside one of Stark’s virtual reality headsets and can’t take it off, experiencing everything I went through while my brain keeps playing her different…” Bucky trailed off and his eyes widened before his head snapped to look at Y/N through the glass.

In a flash of movement, Bucky grabbed Dr. Austin’s ID badge from where it was clipped onto her white coat and darted for the door to Y/N’s room, scanning the badge so the door opened with a green light and soft click. Bucky, ignoring the shouts of his name and hands trying to grab at him to pull him back, opened the door and shut it firmly behind him, engaging the door’s auto-lock safety feature that he knows secure wings of hospitals have. The group outside would need to find another ID badge to get in, which would buy him some time.

Y/N’s wide and terrified eyes settled on him, and she tilted her head in an almost confused dog-like fashion, her eyes softening with an air of familiarity. Bucky could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach turn into sharp cramps that almost made him double over, and there was a soft circle of darkness starting to creep in around his vision.

Bucky took three large steps forward, and even though she flinched away at his sudden movement, Y/N didn’t scramble away to try and avoid his hands as he lifted them. Her weary bloodshot eyes were full of unshed tears, and the closer Bucky’s hands got to her face, the more she began to tremble.

“You’re safe,” he whispered to her in Russian, before repeating the same sentiment in English.

The moment his fingers, both flesh and metal, touched the skin on either side of her face, it felt like he was on the wrong side of an attack from Thor’s hammer. Whatever weakness and hunger he’d been feeling was burned out of his body at the sheer shock cascading through his entire being. It didn’t hurt, but it was bordering on wildly uncomfortable, and Bucky was afraid he’d never be able to let go, his hands stuck to Y/N like a magnet.

There was something different passing between them, more than what touch alone could provide. Trying to understand everything that was happening was overwhelming, but when Bucky focused, he could almost feel Y/N inside his mind, like another whisper of a presence, a ghost in his consciousness. When he reached out in his head for her where he’d felt the ghost of her presence, he was assaulted with bursts of memories he knew were not his own, images of unfamiliar people, places, and things flashing in his mind like photographs. Bucky's curiosity was almost childlike, awestruck and trying to understand what his brain was comprehending, sorting through what Y/N was showing him.

The more information Bucky absorbed, the darker each memory became until it felt like he was wading through molasses, each image being harder and harder to move past. A hoarse whisper of “No” echoed in his mind, and Bucky couldn’t tell if it was his own voice or Y/N’s.

A solid arm wrapped around Bucky’s middle, one much more firm than human flesh would be, and pulled him backward until his hands dropped from Y/N’s face, breaking whatever connection had refused to release him when he’d touched her. Reality came rushing back, and the room and people around him flashed into existence, the change in environment and sound disorienting him and leaving him panting for breath, his knees wobbling.

“She…” Bucky looked over at Y/N, who was just as distressed, and watched her collapse onto the bed, unconscious, before his vision blacked out and darkness took him as well.

***

Connected Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @that-one-gay-girl @fanofalltheficsx @joseyrw @lana-writes-04 @gia-25 @klanceiscannon14 @ahahafudge

#connected #part 4 #marvel series #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #reader insert #bucky barnes x y/n #angst #medical stuff

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Too Loose And You’ll Lose It

Ch7: Old Habits Die Hard

Part 1

Co-Written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Summary: The Losers head to Mexico for Pooch’s wedding but there’s something wrong with Stella…

Pairing: Jake Jensen x OFC Stella Stevenson

Warnings: Bad language and a whole heap of angst.

A/N: So this chapter is a LONG one- so it’s split into a number of parts, to be posted over the next week or so. A LOT going down, and we really hope you enjoy it as it’s our favourite one to date for these pair of dumbasses.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. We do not own any characters in this series bar Stella Stevenson and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

TLAYLI Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 6

April 2008

Clay, Roque, Cougar and Jake arrived in Mexico on a glorious Thursday morning, two days before Pooch's wedding and wasted no time in settling into their hotel and kicking back with a few drinks, soaking up the sun and taking the chance to relax. Cougar was in his element, being in his native country and an area which he knew particularly well. That evening he took them away from the resort of Cozumel to a little village fifteen miles or so inland where they visited a few back alley bars he knew, meeting up with a couple of his friends. The Losers then found themselves roped into several games of poker, all of them losing a fairly substantial amount of money until Clay, rather sensibly, called time on the gambling to avoid Future Mrs Pooch going thermonuclear at them for gambling away any future Mini Pooches’ inheritance money. They somehow made it back to the hotel and managed to deliver Pooch safely to his intended. The man could hardly stand by the time they got back thanks to the copious amount of Tequila he had consumed, something Clay, Roque and Jensen were quick to blame on Cougar when an irate Jolene opened the door to their suite, a furious look on her face.

As it stood, the hangovers they were all suffering on Friday morning were clearly their penance for leading Pooch astray. Jake had woken up with a mouth like he had been eating sand, and had stood in a cold shower for fifteen minutes solid trying to find it in him to function like a normal human being. He headed down for breakfast ten minutes before the hotel was due to stop serving and spotted Clay, Cougar and Roque sat at a table on the outside balcony, all sporting sunglasses and looking as bad as he felt. Jensen helped himself to as much as his plate could handle from the buffet and tucked in. He was beyond thankful that the food went someway to actually settling his churning stomach as opposed to making it worse. As he downed his fourth orange juice of the morning, he felt his mobile buzzing in his pocket and he pulled it out, his lips quirking into a smile as he read the message.

"It's Stel." He announced to the table. "She says ETA about forty minutes."

"How come she isn't here already?" Roque asked and Jensen rolled his eyes.

"Agent Shit-name was working, apparently. Meant they could only fly out early this morning." He swallowed the bite of toast he had rather viciously taken at the thought of Stel’s asshat boyfriend.

"Touchy subject." Clay looked at Roque. "Pooch is still low-key pissed she missed his Batchelor party."

Roque said nothing, simply raised his eyebrows as Jensen leaned back in his chair, massaging his now full stomach. "The guy is a dick." He spat venomously.

"Yes, but there's gonna be no trouble." Cougar turned to him, tipping his hat up slightly so he could see him.

"I'm a lover, not a fighter, Cougs." Jensen grinned and Cougar gave a snort, shaking his head.

They finished breakfast and after several more coffees were eventually ushered out of the restaurant by a very harassed looking waiter. As they wandered back through the hotel lobby, Clay stopped and waved, causing Jensen to turn and look, a smile spreading across his face as he saw Stella walking through the door pulling her suitcase. He frowned at the fact asshole wasn’t carrying it for her, but as Stella approached them he realised that Evan was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s agent Shit-Name?” He blurted out by way of greeting, and Stella responded with a filthy glare, otherwise ignoring him completely. She turned instead to greet Roque and Cougar before she gave Clay a huge hug.

“Good flight, Arty?” Roque asked and she smiled at him, popping a shoulder.

“As good as it gets. But they didn’t have tomato juice. Would you believe it?”

Clay gave a huge laugh. “Since when have you drunk that stuff?”

“It’s not that bad, plus if you drink alcohol on a plane you get severe dehydration.” She replied.

“You’re making that up.” Jake looked at her and she turned her attention to him, giving him an appraising look.

“I read it in Science.” She quipped back. Jake blinked, before he burst out laughing and she grinned and shook her head. “I’m just joking. I had several gin and tonics and glass of wine. I’m good.”

Roque looked at Clay. “What just happened?”

“They do this.” Clay answered. “Have you not noticed yet?”

Roque rolled his eyes and then Cougar asked the question that all of them had been dying to know the answer to. “Where’s Evan?”

Well, all bar Jake that is as he couldn’t have cared less.

Stella shifted a little, rubbing her neck, Jake instantly spotting her discomfort. “He errr, he couldn’t make it.”

“He bailed on you?” Roque frowned at the same time Clay blurted out.

“What do you mean he couldn’t make it?”

Stella licked her lips and at that point Jensen jumped in. He could see her flustered and despite his dislike of her boyfriend, he hated seeing her like that so he offered her a way out. “Work?”

She nodded, shooting him a thankful look. “Yeah, something came up.”

“Of course it came up.” Clay grumbled loudly. Whether he had meant for Stella to hear or not, hear she did. And what was more, it was apparent he didn’t believe Evan’s excuse any more than she did. Stella swallowed, she had always trusted Clay’s judgement and it was unnerving a little to realise exactly what he thought.

She took a deep breath. “I’m gonna go check in.” As she reached for her bag, a hand softly batted hers away as Jensen grabbed the handle.

“I got it.”

As soon as the two of them were out of earshot, Cougar turned to Clay as Roque shook his head

“Bastard.” Clay spat. “He’s not come and left her to pick up the flack and explain to Pooch.”

Cougs mumbled a swear word in Spanish as Clay’s eyes flicked to Stella and Jake before he pulled out his phone.

“’m gonna make some calls. Meet you at the pool bar in a while.”

*****

As they stood in the queue for the reception desk, a bunch of people all having descended to check in at once, Jake turned to Stella and took a deep breath. “Wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

“Nothing is going on, Jake.” Stella’s tone was level but firm, an indication she didn’t want to discuss the topic.

But Jensen never had been one to take heed of warnings. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you should.” She turned to face him, raising her brow a little. “Tell me, any Mexican chick fallen at your feet yet?”

He sighed, throwing his head back and giving a low groan. “C’mon, Stel, I thought we were past this?”

“Past what?” Her tone was innocent but Jake could tell she didn’t dare look him in the eye. Instead, she concentrated on searching for something in her purse.

“Holding out on one another.” He answered, looking at her. “You’re still my best friend.”

“Well, forgive me if I sometimes forget.” She rolled her eyes as she produced her credit card.

“Okay okay, you don’t wanna tell me then fine.” Jensen rubbed at his eye before pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Whatever.”

Stella looked at him before she gave a little sigh, and hung her head slightly. “Ev’s busy, okay? Something last minute came up and he...”

“Let me guess.” Jake rolled his eyes. “He asked you not to come without him and when you told him to fuck off you had an argument.”

“No, actually.” Stella fixed him with a glare, narrowing her eyes “He told me to come. It’s nothing like that at all.”

“Stel...”

“Jake, just drop it okay!” Her voice grew louder. “You couldn’t be further away from the truth if you tried.”

Jensen raised his hands in surrender, knowing it was time to drop the subject. “All right, all right. I really don’t wanna know.”

Before she could shoot back a response, she was called forward to the desk. Jake moved off to the side with her bag, watching her as she spoke to the guy behind the counter.

His hands dropped to his slim hips as he studied her, wracking his brains. Despite her protestations there was obviously something more going on, he knew her too well. The only thing he could think of was that for some reason they’d had an argument, a big enough one for Agent Shit-Name to leave her to come on her own. And, considering Jake knew he had told Stella to stay away from him, it must have been pretty serious for him to say he wasn’t coming.

As Jake watched Stella signing her name on the paper the guy behind the desk slid over to her, he saw her give a little smile before she tucked her hair behind her ear. He took a deep breath, shaking himself out of his thoughts and decided that he was going to make her forget about Asshole for a couple of days and enjoy herself. Being the Stel he’d always known and adored.

She nodded and said something to the receptionist before she turned towards Jake, heading over to him and he smiled. “All sorted?”

“Yeah I’m on the 4th floor

“Hey, cool! Same as me and Cougs.”

“Are you guys sharing?” She asked and he shook his head, giving a snort.

“Hell no. The Cougar is on the prowl, apparently. He’s a couple of rooms down.”

“Well I’m in 415.”

“422, Sweetheart.”

“Good to know in case I’m attacked by a spider in the middle of the night.” She grinned and Jake chuckled.

“Well, if you want I’ll do a sweep before you go in.” He looked at her seriously. “I am a highly trained killing machine after all.”

“So am I.”

“Yeah but I ain’t afraid of spiders... well, okay, not the little ones that is.”

Stella laughed. “Course not. But, that aside, I could use your help with my suitcase.”

“You don’t need to ask.” He said gently, picking it up. “I was already gonna bring it.”

She smiled and they made their way to the elevator which by some twist of luck was already on their floor. The door opens and they stepped inside, Stella turning to select their floor.

“Alright, I gotta ask.” Jake spoke and Stella turned to him as he gestured to the large case now by his feet. “You’re here for what, three nights? You bring your whole wardrobe, Stelly?”

She scoffed “I need all three nights’ outfits and daytime clothes as well. Toiletries, make up, underwear...bikinis.” At the last word she shot him a wink and Jake’s head dropped forward, his hands on his hips.

“Stop it.” He groaned playfully and she laughed.

“You don’t wanna hit the pool then, Jakey?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Why would it be?”

“Well this feels like the part where I’m supposed to make some rude comment only I’m not sure if you’ll laugh or slap me.”

“You’d never know if you don’t say it.”

Jake looked at her, he was utterly confused now and hadn’t got a clue what was going on. He licked his lips, swallowed before he sighed and rubbed his beard. Thankfully, he was saved from responding at all as the elevator stopped, the doors sliding open as they’d reached their floor.

****

Once the slightly awkward but friendly first time introductions to the rest of the guests that the boys had met the day before, Stell felt herself really beginning to relax. She had been on edge since arriving if truth be told, not least because her friends had hit the nail on the head, there was something going on with Evan. But, she didn't want to think about it. Not now. Instead, she settled herself on a sun-lounger, peeling off her little sun-dress to reveal a yellow bikini and Jake flopped onto the one besides her, whipping off his white wife-beater. They talked and laughed and joked. It felt good, just kicking back, not a care in the world. Soft, holiday themed music was playing, the atmosphere was happy, and Stella had a constant supply of cocktails thanks to the team persistently plying her with them.

She must have fallen asleep at one point, as when she turned Jake wasn't there, but it didn't take her long to find him, his distinctive laugh ringing out over the pool area. Stella led back in the sun, glasses covering her face, no one able to see her eyes as she watched him sat on the edge of the pool, one of the bridesmaids next to him, their legs dangling in the water. His broad shoulders and back muscles twitched as he talked with his hands, as usual, emphasising whatever it was he was saying, one large arm reaching up to brush through his short hair. The girl laughed and tipped her head back and Jake grinned before he said something else and stood up. Stella shifted a little as he headed towards her.

"Stel, you want another drink?"

She pulled her glasses down, and peered over them as she smiled up at him. "No, I'm fine JJ thanks."

"Cool, just, you know, ask me if you need anything."

"I’ll be fine Jake." She insisted. "Just enjoy yourself or... whatever."

He gave her a little smile before he turned and walked away. Stella watched him go, and it didn't escape her just how many heads turned in his direction. She took a deep breath then suddenly a shadow blocked her sun. She looked up to see Cougar stood beside her, hands on his hips, bright blue swim shorts and a plain grey tank covering his toned upper body.

"Enjoying the views, Arty?"

She rolled her eyes, then smirked at him as she spotted his ever present headwear. "Even round the pool you’re wearing the hat?" She sat up slightly, nodding towards it.

"Well it keeps the top of my head cool and shelters my eyes from the sun." He shrugged. "And helps maintain my youthful complexion."

"You gonna be wearing it for the wedding?" She grinned as he perched on the lounger next to her, before he led back over the top of Jake's towel, swinging his legs up to recline a little.

"Of course I am." He looked at her like she'd asked a dumbass question. "I’m making a fashion statement, Honey!"

At that she laughed. "Well, I look forward to seeing that!"

"I'll save you a front row seat!"

As the two of them continued to chat, over at a table a little further round the pool, Roque and Clay were sat deep in conversation. Pooch made his way over, flopping down heavily into a seat, shades covering his eyes.

“All right, so someone wanna tell me what happened to Shit-Name?” There was no disguising the bitterness in his tone. He was still pissed over the whole stag-do incident as Stella hadn’t gone, and the blame for that lay firmly at Evan’s feet. “Not that I care, in fact I’m glad not having to see him around but-“ he nodded to Stella “-well I don’t like her being upset.”

Clay took a deep breath and blew it out harshly. “So, I made some calls. Pulled some strings and…”

“What?” Roque took a pull from his beer and turned towards the Colonel. Clay simply shook his head and Roque rolled his eyes. “Spit it out, Clay.”

“The guy is not on duty this whole week.” Clay looked at him, and then to Pooch who pulled a face.

“The whole week? I thought she was flying in today because he had some work to finish before taking a couple of days off?”

“So did I.” Clay shrugged.

“So what? He’s been lying to stop her coming for more than absolutely necessary?” Roque frowned. “That is fucked up, Clay.”

“I don’t get it though.” Pooch shook his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “Why is he not here? If he’s so hell bent on keeping her away from us, well, specifically Jensen, why the fuck has he let her come on her own?”

“I don’t know.” Clay looked over at Stella before turning back. “But I don’t like it.”

“Don’t like what?”

The three of them turned to see Jensen stood by their table, pushing his shades up his nose a little.

“Your swimming trunks.” Roque was quick to quip. “Pink? Really?”

Jensen grinned “Gracie got me these! Special present for being her coolest Uncle.”

“Yeah, you see she’s six, Jensen.” Clay grinned, taking a drink of his beer. “Her taste is debatable.”

At that Pooch snorted. “And besides, man, you’re her only Uncle! Not like she has anyone else to compare you to.”

“Oh yeah?” Jensen shot Pooch a look. “Fine, watch this.” He cleared his throat and looked over the pool area towards Stella. “Yo, Stel!” She glanced at him from where she was sat with Cougar and gestured with her head for him to continue speaking. “What you think of my shorts?” He gave a grin, twirling on the spot with his hands out to his side.

Stella arched a brow as she pulled down her glasses and looked over the top of them at him. “I’ve seen you in worse.” She called before she turned back to Cougar, a slight smile on her face.

Jake grinned and looked back at the men round the table, pointing in her direction. “See, that’s a compliment.”

“Yeah, by worse she means naked.” Pooch snorted. Roque and Clay both burst out laughing and the three of them clinked their beer bottles together.

“You can all laugh but let’s face it, none of you could pull off this colour.” Jake sniffed.

“Who says you’re pulling it off, Jensen?” Clay arched his eyebrow.

“Well, he’s gonna need to as no one else is gonna pull em off for him.” Roque sniggered.

“Well, actually, Jolene’s cousins have already asked if he was free.” Pooch raised an eyebrow.

“They blind?” Roque shot back as Jensen grinned, ignoring him.

“Really? Which ones?”

“You were sitting with one of them earlier.” Pooch informed him.

“Oh, the red headed chick?” Jensen glanced around, and his eyes once more fell on Stella who was now sat up, turned towards Cougar as they talked about something. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, she’s not really my type. In a bit fellas.” With that he slapped Pooch on the head and wandered over to join Cougar and Stella.

“We cannot tell him about Evan.” Roque stated as Jensen sat down on the sun lounger next to Stella, leaning back a little on his hands.

“Nope." Clay agreed.

“Absolutely not.” Pooch affirmed with a serious nod.

*****

Stella was in her room’s bathroom, leaning over the counter to check her mascara hadn’t left any unwelcome blotch around her eyelashes when there was a loud knock on the door followed by the two softer ones that, ever since they met all those years ago, announced Jake Jensen’s presence. She gave a last glance at her appearance on the mirror, adjusting the thin straps of her pale pink dress to her shoulders, before she went to open the door for him.

“Damn, Stel. You look amazing.”

It was all Jake could express when he recovered from the shock of seeing Stella all dolled up for the first time since what seemed like forever. Maybe the last time being when Jane and Rob got married and they were still together and waiting for their military training to be over. She looked stunning in that outfit and he couldn’t fail but to observe it was Stelly all over. Her pale pink dress was covered in delicate lace flowers and flowed down her curves, the deep v neckline doing nothing but highlighting her gorgeous breasts which Jake so damned well knew and had cherished once upon a time.

Fuck, his mouth was dry…

“Thanks JJ.” Stella chimed, making Jake blink and shake his head. “I need a quick minute…”

As she turned to go finish getting ready he followed her in, closing the door behind him.

“Hey, you’re not gonna say anything about my slacks and this fancy waistcoat I’m wearing.” He asked opening his arms for her to take in his appearance which she did when she turned, looking him up and down. She took in his dark blue plaid tweed waistcoat, matching trousers, along with his pale blue and white striped dress shirt and matching tie and she grinned.

“No jacket?”

“Fuck that shit, Stel its too hot out!” He snorted. “I’m gonna boil to death enough tomorrow in my suit.”

Stella laughed, looking him up and down again before she took a deep breath. “You could almost pass as a grown up, Jake.”

He pouted though he was slightly amused at the comment as it clearly meant her brain had also taken her to the last time they both had worn such elegant outfits, as they had been basically babies then.

“Rude, Stel. You used to like this look on me when we were.... ummm.... did you change your perfume?” Jake suddenly asked in an attempt to change topic after almost sliding dangerously down memory lane.

“No it’s the same it’s been for years.” Stella rolled her eyes at him and turned to rummage in her make up bag.

“Yes. Right….” Jensen replied somewhat awkwardly but relieved she was busy with something else. “So Cougs is coming down with us, he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” She said as she finished putting her lip-gloss on before grabbing her sandals and sitting on her bed. “So like, is there a huge group of us tonight then?”

Jake stood there, his brain having a hard registering Stella’s question, his hands on his trouser pockets as he bounced on the balls of his feet and blushed furiously because, from where he was stood, as Stella was bent over doing her sandals up, he could see right down her dress and the line of her breasts. But when he finally did realise she’d spoken, he swallowed hard and tried to play it as cool as possible.

“I guess pretty much everyone invited who’s here already, it is a rehearsal dinner after all. Hey, did you know Clay’s chick is landing tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning? Stella frowned. “Cutting it a bit fine, isn’t it?” She asked standing up and readjusting her dress.

“Well, better late than never.” Jake muttered, more to himself than anything but Stella had clearly heard it as she was glaring at him.

“Don’t start.”

“Sorry, my bad.” Jensen raised the palms of his hands in surrender. But before he could continue apologizing there was another knock on the door. “That will be Cougs.” Jake took a hasty retreat as he went to open the door to Cougar who raised an eyebrow on seeing his friend’s flustered expression.

“Don’t look at me like that, Cougar.”

“What the fuck’s wrong with you, Jensen?” Cougar whispered but then his eyes landed on Stella who was coming towards them and looked at Jensen again as he mouthed. “Wow.”

On an impulse Jake dug him in the ribs with his elbow which made Cougar shove him hard on the shoulder in turn just before Stella stopped by their side and looked at them. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

“Playing tag.” Jensen blurted out.

Stella narrowed her eyes at him just as Cougar looked at him wondering what the fuck Jensen was dragging him into. Jensen gave him a look and Cougar rolled his eyes.

“I told him he’s buying the first round tonight and the jerk said he wouldn’t.” He turned to Stella, trying not to sound too eager or false.

Stella shrugged. “What else is new?”

“Hey, I’m not paying ‘cause it’s a free bar. All the rounds are on Pooch and future Mrs Pooch.” Jensen nodded lightly at Coug, rolling with it.

Stella grinned as they step out of the room and she shut the door. “Well boys, ” she linked her arms into theirs as they were at either side of her, “in that case let’s see how drunk we can go get for free.”

Jakey and Cougar both cheered loudly at the idea and she laughed heartily.

“And you’re walking into the party escorted by two of the most eligible bachelors in this resort, Sweetheart.” Jensen added cheekily.

“Yeah?” She asked as she called the lift and Jensen saw her eyes shine with mischief before speaking again. “You taking me to meet them? Are they downstairs?”

Cougar snorted but Jake wasn’t gonna let it die there. That was the playful Stella he so adored, his Stelly. They could go on at this type of banter for hours if they were in the mood.

“Face facts, I am desirable as Pooch told me before. Bridesmaids already asking for my number. How many asked for your number, Cougs?”

Cougar just smirked and tip the brim of his hat. “They only need my room number, you loser.”

At that Stella let out a huge laugh and the elevator arrived so she stepped in followed by Cougar, Jake behind them.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll give you that one.” Jensen admitted as the elevator doors closed and they headed down.

***

When they got to the big room where the rehearsal party was taking place, the bride and groom were already there greeting all their guests and Stella was immediately introduced to everyone in Jolene’s extended family who hadn’t been at the pool earlier that day. The drinks and conversations were flowing when the wedding planner, a woman with a thick Mexican accent, announced dinner was being served in a few minutes and politely asked them all to find their seats.

The Losers were set to share a table with Pooch’s brother and his girlfriend and a couple of Jolene’s bridesmaids who happened to be her cousins too. The food was delicious and by the time dessert had been served, Stel could swear her dress had shrunk in size but she was damned if she was going to say no to those sinful Tamales. The chocolate on her taste buds, together with all the tequila and cocktails they had consumed during the meal had her in good spirits. She could honestly say she was having a great time and was enjoying herself, only one thing casting a shadow over her jolly mood.

Jolene’s cousin Shanice, secretly renamed by Stella as Corpse Bridesmaid, who was sitting at Jake’s other side, insisted on flirting shamelessly with him, to the point it was embarrassing. So, when her piercing laughter at some of Jake’s shitty quips got everyone at their table startled, Stella shared a glance with Cougar who was sat at her other side and excused herself. Instead of going to the ladies restroom, she went outside, deciding some fresh air would do her good. She wandered out onto the beach a little and sat down breathing in deeply, taking in the peacefulness of the sea in front of her.

Her head was swimming but not just from alcohol. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it was jealousy. She was jealous of Jake and Corpse Bridesmaid when she wasn’t supposed to be. Right? She wasn’t supposed to be and she didn’t like the feeling either.

And then there was Evan. She knew he was lying about having to work. He’d just used that as an excuse not to come to cover up the real core of the issue. Although he still insisted he was stuck at the office she knew he didn’t have to be there, and that evening, when they had talked on the phone, he had been cold and curt, their conversation mainly made of void questions and monosyllabic answers. Stella breathed in shakily at the memory of that conversation and pulled her phone out for the umpteenth time that night. No messages, no missed calls. Nothing. She sighed and chucked it back on her purse hastily.

“A watched phone never rings, Arty”

She hadn’t heard him approach, absorbed as she was in her own thoughts, but she made no effort to turn around as Cougar was already sitting on the sand next to her.

“Any luck with the blonde bridesmaid, Cougs?” She asked with a soft smile. “Maybe she’s the type that calls.”

“I told you before, I don’t need her to call, just knock.” He joked before turning his head to look at her, studying her features. “What’s going on Arty?”

“Nothing Cougs, just getting a little lightheaded in there.” Stella explained as she nodded her head towards the muffled voices of the party inside.

Cougar nodded. “And I’m assuming it’s not only because of the drinks.”

Stella didn’t reply, she simply looked away not trusting herself to say anything without her voice breaking.

“You know I won’t tell anyone, right? Especially not Jensen.”

Stella sighed and lowered her head as her hands fiddled with the flowers of her dress. “I don’t believe Ev is working. I think he was making excuses not to come.” She finally spoke, before lifting her eyes to meet Cougar’s.

“And why would he be making excuses not to come with you?” Cougar frowned. “I thought he always wanted to spend time with you. That’s why you haven’t been hanging out with us so much anymore, huh?”

Stella raised her eyebrows. “He does. We kinda had an argument about it, well, not really an argument just a discussion about him crowding me and stuff, how he acts about Jake and you guys... and he admitted he was a little full on but said it was because he loved me.”

“Oh, so he threw the big L word there. That’s good, right?” Cougar asked, looking at her confused and a bit concerned as she had looked somehow embarrassed to admit Evan had said he loved her.

Stella looked at him. “Not really Cougs, because when he said it I was paralyzed and then realized I couldn’t say it back.”

“Oh.” He grimaced. “That’s not so good.” He paused for a moment before he continued. “You don’t love him?”

Stella shrugged, feeling calmer now, almost relieved she had finally got it off her chest and shared it with someone. “I thought I was sorta getting there you know, told myself it would happen in time but we’re almost six months in now. And each week I can’t see beyond the next, there’s no long term view there for me, Cougs and…”

“That’s a hard no disguised as a not yet, Arty.” He observed when he noticed Stella was trailing off. And she didn’t reply but looked at the sand instead as there wasn’t really a suitable response to that, least of all because he was right, she knew that much.

“Come here.” Cougar sighed, waving his hand for her to get closer before wrapping an arm around her shoulder and placing a kiss on the top of her head. “What you gonna do about it?”

“Finish it I suppose. That’s the right thing to do isn’t it?” She answered as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess it’s certainly the most sensible thing to do, anyway.”

“Well I’m a very sensible person.” Stella chuckled causing Cougar to snort.

“You spent years dating Jensen, I beg to differ.”

“Not my most sensible time.” She quipped.

Cougar laughed, shaking his head in agreement, and when he looked down to watch her he saw she was looking at the sand again, only this time she was smiling as she was clearly remembering something about the time he spent with Jake.

“He still loves you, you know? Jensen I mean.”

Stella’s eyes darted up at him and she scoffed. “You’re insane, Coug? You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh I know exactly what I’m saying. And more so you know it’s true.” Cougar stated as he tipped the brim of his hat and winked at her.

****

“Fuck, no, no more!” Jensen waved his hand as Roque grinned widely and held his hands up cheering loudly as Jensen grimaced. Both men had spent the last thirty five minutes doing shots while being cheered, as could not be otherwise, by Corpse Bridesmaid.

“All right, all right, you win Roque. I’m out.” Jensen admitted defeat as he turned around, scanning the dance floor. He frowned when he realized he couldn’t spot Stella, granted he was a bit drunk but he really couldn’t see her anywhere in the room. So he stood up from his seat and blinked twice as everything was a little hazy.

“Hey Clay, you seen Stel?” He asked when he finally steadied himself, brushing his hand through his hair before he pushed his glasses back up his nose. They’d gotten a little too close to falling off whilst he’d been doing those damned shots.

“Nope, it’s been a while since I last saw her.” Clay replied, glancing up at him from where he was sat on his spot at their table talking to Pooch’s brother.

“She went outside a while back. Didn’t say goodbye so I assumed she was coming back but…” Jolene, who had come searching for her cousin, offered but then someone Jensen couldn’t quite place tapped her shoulder so she turned round to talk to them and they left together a few seconds later, leaving him a little puzzled, without answers.

“Okay, I’ll go find her myself. You guys are useless.” He sniffed as he loosened his tie and turned to leave.

Clay rolled his eyes and looked at Roque who shook his head and snorted. “Whatever Jensen, just keep an eye on that tie. Too loose and you’ll lose it.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jensen.” Clay warned him, earning a frown from Pooch’s brother and causing Jensen to stop in his tracks.

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” He asked, turning to look at Clay.

“It means you’ve drunk a lot with Roque and she’s got a boyfriend who is clearly making her upset.”

“I’m fine I…” Jensen began to protest but he immediately paused as Clay’s words registered. “Hang on, what do you mean Shit-Name is making her upset?” He frowned as Clay groaned, realizing he had said too much “Do you know something?”

“Well he’s not here, isn’t he? That should be enough.” Clay tried to brush it off.

Jensen looked at him for a moment before he turned and left the room, contemplating what Clay had just said. Despite the colonel’s attempt to brush it off as an innocent comment, he had once more raised the point that Shit-Name wasn’t here, and none of them really knew why. There was also the fact that Stella had been uncharacteristically flirty with Jake that day, more than their usual good natured quips…was it possible they had split up? But, if they had, surely she would have told him right? But then again, maybe she wouldn’t have told him, not wanting to cloud Pooch’s big weekend with her issues?

The thought was enough to make Jake grin, but the grin disappeared as fast as it had come and he couldn’t help but groan at this train of thought. Nothing would make him happier than that dick to be gone for good but he also didn’t want Stella to be upset and heartbroken. That was part of the reason that, despite his vow on New Years’ Eve to Clay in his parent’s dining room about fighting for her, he’d really tried to behave. He’d watched as her and Evan had gone from, what appeared to be, strength to strength, and, if he had to be honest, he was just grateful they were on good terms and wouldn’t want to jinx his recently fixed friendship with his Stelly for all the gold in the world. Plus, he just wanted her to be happy, she deserved that at least. And, until now, he thought that Agent Shit-Name was making her so…

All those noisy thoughts were clouding his alcohol intoxicated head when he finally made it outside after a quick stop at the restroom. As soon as Jensen’s feet landed on the soft beach sand, he spotted Stella in the distance but she wasn’t alone as Cougar was sitting next to her on the sand with his arm round her.

“What the fuck, Cougs?” He whispered to himself, his jaw twitching a little. “Seriously, you’re going there?”

Both figures wheeled round and looked at him as he drew closer, his constant groans about tripping over on the sand alerting them to his presence. And when they did turn, Jake could see Stella had been crying.

“Stel, what’s going on?” He asked her softly.

Stella hastily wiped her tears and sniffed before speaking. “Nothing, I’m fine. It’s just….” She trailed off as she looked at Cougar with pleading eyes.

“I was telling her stories of my childhood here in Mexico.” Cougar looked at Jake.

“Yeah…” Stella nodded eagerly. “… and it just got me thinking a bit of dad and stuff.”

Jensen glared at Cougar as he squatted beside them both, not for a minute believing the bullshit he had come up with, but then Cougar shot him a look and shook his head gently. Jensen’s frown deepened a little, before he looked at Stella who was now watching the ocean again. He knew she was lying, she had been lying about Evan and about them being fine since she had landed in Mexico that morning, but he also knew now, from Cougs, it wasn’t what his tequila mushed brain had thought some minutes earlier.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed all that to the back of his mind and fixed a smile on his face.

“Well, Stelly, I think the only thing to do here is come dance your sorrows away.” He tried to lighten the mood up a bit as he knew his Stelly had always loved dancing.

She looked at him like he was a moron before she burst out laughing and he shot her a cheeky grin.

“Yasss, come on, Sweetheart.” He pressed as he stood up, helping her up in the process and once they both were standing on their feet Jensen turned around and bent a little. “Jump up! We’re going dancing.”

“You’re not carrying me, moron!” She shook her head as he turned to look at her. “And it’s just one. I had an early morning and I need some rest.” She bent slightly, brushing the sand off her dress, giving Jensen another front row view of her cleavage line and without even looking at him, he nudged Cougar to stop him staring, sending the man sprawling over onto the sand, a string of Mexican expletives escaping his mouth.

“That’s my Stelly.” Jake grinned and she took his hand as she put her sandals back on before Jensen dipped and slung her over his shoulder.

“JJ put me down you ass!” Stella squealed.

“No can do Stel, don’t trust you not to run.” He said amidst laughter.

“Don’t mind me…” Cougar quipped as he remained sprawled on the sand.

“We won’t.” Jensen shot back as he strode up the beach to the bar with Stella over his shoulder, laughing as she slapped his back.

“Jake my boobs are gonna fall out of my dress!” She shouted, slapping his back harder once they were almost reaching the sliding doors that led to the room where the party after the dinner was now in full swing.

“I see no issue with that.”

“God, you’re a dick!” Stella scoffed and Jensen chuckled, eventually putting her down on the bar and looking at her chest. “Hey, my face is up here.”

“I was just… erm…” Jensen gave a goofy smile as he made a grabbing hand gesture in front of her boobs “…checking the twins are still in place and you’re good.”

Stella rolled her eyes at him as she rearranged her dress. “Pervert.”

All in all, and as Jensen had expected, Stella stayed for a little more than one song as she was letting herself go and forget everything. The pair of them just enjoyed themselves, and it was almost as if no time at all had passed, and they were still at some sort of crummy, homecoming or end of year dance at their school’s over decorated sports hall.

Just as they were winding down a rather energetic dance to some form of Nineties dance song, the name of which, Jensen had no idea, Pooch cut the music and stepped up to thank everyone for coming, before he started talking rather drunken and lovingly about Jolene. As Roque and Clay began to heckle, telling him to save the mushy ‘I love yous’ for tomorrow, Stella zoned out a little, thinking about what Cougar had said earlier at the beach. If she was honest, whilst she’d been able to push it away for large chunks of time as she’d been dancing, it had been in the back of her mind all night. Because Cougar had hit the nail on the head, she didn’t love Evan, she didn’t think she ever would, and she couldn’t keep fooling herself. She needed to finish it.

Almost as if he had read her mind, she felt Jake gently take her hand and give it a squeeze and that was it. It all became too much to handle again, and she turned to him giving him a shy smile.

“I’m gonna go Jake, I really am tired.”

Just as she had anticipated, he tried to get her to stay but she refused, declining his offer to walk her back up to her room. She kissed his cheek softly, gave him a smile, and headed off to say goodnight to everyone.

***** Jensen watched her go before dropping his head in defeat. He took a deep sigh, hands on his hips, before Cougar appeared at his side, thrusting a beer he hadn’t even asked for into his hand.

“Thanks.” Jensen whispered, taking a large swig as he studied Cougar. “So what really happened at the beach?”

Cougar hesitated, looking for the best way to give his friend a comforting answer without betraying Stella’s confidence, and it was proving a really difficult task. “She… umm, she told me Evan had said he loved her.” He answered a second or two later, hesitantly.

“What?” Jensen asked, swallowing hard. His beer suddenly felt a bit sandy.

“She didn’t say much more but I’ll let you draw your own conclusions how the whole thing went from how she’s been and the fact he isn’t here.” Cougar shrugged.

Jensen glared at him before taking another sip of his drink. He couldn’t think clearly, it wasn’t time for mind riddles and someone had definitely added that fucking sticky beach sand to his beer, plus, now he was pissed and his mind started spiralling.

Fucking Shit-Name dropping the fucking L word!

But then again, how could he not love her? It was impossible once you knew Stella, and he should know, he had tried it.

And what the fuck? Why hadn’t she told him when he had asked, instead of avoiding the topic all day long and then telling Cougar instead?

And yeah, Cougar could fuck off as well. With a final glare at him, he thrust his beer bottle back into Cougar’s hand and left without as much as a goodbye word.

What might seem common, rational sense to everyone else was never that common or sensible in Jake Jensen’s fucked up mind, least of all when it came down to Stella Stevenson. So, as he headed back to his room and passed hers on his way he stopped and turned back, making her way to her door. He stepped forward, ready to knock, but he dropped his knuckle when it was still mid-air and with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh he carried on.

And now he was also pissed at himself. Great.

******

Chapter 7 Part 2

#too loose and you'll lose it #jake jensen #jake jensen x original female character #jake jensen x ofc #the losers #the losers fan fiction #chris evans #chris evans characters

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