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ghostly-cabbage · 3 years

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Party In The Graveyard (Shiptember 2021 : Drunk)

It’s a day late but heres the Danny x Wes fic I wrote for @ghostgothgeek ‘s Ship Event!! Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Mild Suggestive Themes Additional Tags: Post-Reveal, Aged Up Characters, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Getting Together

Summary: So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. And it's just getting better and better. Why? Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

Or a fic in which Wes sees Danny getting shitfaced and says, "Is anyone else gonna take care of him, or?" and then doesn't wait for an answer.

Words: 6,233

Ao3

“I take back all my poor words. Talk is cheap, but my mind is rich When I close my eyes You grab my wrist, And pull me in to your cold dead lips”

So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay?

This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea.

Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class.

And it's just getting better and better.

Why?

Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

He walked in like he owned the goddamn place and the reaction went through everyone like a Whoop—like some kind of synchronized celebration of a miracle.

What, just ‘cause everyone knows he’s Phantom now?

Give him a fuckin’ break.

Currently, Wes is standing adjacent to the fridge, nursing a god-awful drink Kyle shoved into his hands before disappearing back into the throng.

Lighten up, bro, he’d said.

Yeah.

Sure.

The music pounds through the house—a heart beat—a fucking jack-hammer.

People talk and yell and spill their drinks on just about every surface that can stain.

A cheer goes up from the dining room and he rolls his eyes.

He slams his drink and focuses on the outdated calendar on the side of the fridge to keep from shuddering. It makes his mouth water, burns the whole way down and Jesus, seriously, what the fuck did Kyle put in this?

He throws his cup at the overflowing trash can.

His cheeks feel warm, but not even a buzz touches the wound up feeling in his chest.

He passes through the dining room, stops to watch Danny and Dash shotgunning sixteen ounce Mike’s Harder cans. From the looks of the table, they've already gone a few rounds.

Danny finishes five whole seconds before Dash. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crushes his can.

“Slowing down already, Baxter?” he says, a smug grin plastered across his face. His shoulders are slumped and he talks just a bit too loud.

Dash finishes his and tosses it over his shoulder, which—cool. Fucking nice, what, does he think they have a fucking maid?

“In your dreams, Fenton. We're just getting warmed up. No way I'm getting out-drank by a twig like you, half-ghost or not.”

“Guess we’ll see.” Danny shrugs. He talks like he’s one of those people, has always been one of those people.

Wes rolls his eyes and is just about to slip out of the room when—

“Ohhh shit! If it isn’t the one and only Wesley Weston!”

Fucking hell.

He turns and levels as unimpressed of a look as he can manage at Danny.

“Imagine that. It’s almost like I fucking live here.”

Danny swipes up a plastic cup and then proceeds to walk through the table towards him. People act like they’re finding out all over again.

“Oh come on, Wes. You’re not still mad are you?” He comes up to him and slouches against the archway’s frame.

Wes scrapes his tongue along his teeth. “Mad? What could I possibly be mad about?”

Danny looks at him like a puzzle.

When he talks his voice is quiet, hard to hear over the music. “I dunno, the fact that you knew all along but no one ever listened? They thought you were crazy and you weren’t but no one's even said sorry?” His lips quirk up at the corner and Wes can smell the artificial black cherry dancing on the top of the alcohol in his breath.

He wrinkles his nose and it has nothing to do with the smell.

“I was being facetious, prick.”

Danny smiles bigger, and his eyes glitter, something doe-eyed.

“Right. So you are still mad?”

He pushes air through his teeth.

“Not like it matters,” he says, looking away from Danny, drifting over the room. “Where’s your chaperones? Weird to see you anywhere alone.”

Danny just stares at him for a few seconds before understanding sparks.

“Ah. Sam’s got a family thing. Tuck took a closing shift.” He waves a hand and his head lolls against the wall with a thunk. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a swig.

Everything about him looks heavy. It’s weird for Danny.

“Have you tried the jungle juice your brother made?” he says. “It sucks. You’ve gotta try it.”

Wes lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest.

“How many’ve you had?”

Danny looks down into his cup, swirls its contents. It’s silent for several seconds too long.

“I’m not really sure, honestly. Didn’t know I was supposed to keep count.”

Wes slides a hand down his face.

Jesus Christ.

“Listen, maybe you should slow down—”

“Yo! Fenton! Stop flirting with Wes and fucking get over here, we’re not done.” Dash calls across the room and—

Flirting?!

They weren’t fucking flirting.

What the fuck.

Wes’s face heats up far beyond the liquor in his veins.

Danny looks up and flashes Dash a thumbs up. And then Danny is even closer—grabbing his arm. The chill of his hand goes right through to his stomach.

“Hey,” he breathes, “come watch me outdrink Dash.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” He ignores the way his breath flutters in his lungs, the way he feels light all the way to his toes.

Danny smiles like what he’s about to say is a secret—like it’s just for him, and all of a sudden Wes wants to be as far from Danny as humanly possible.

“Isn’t watching Dash lose at something for once reason enough?”

Wes forces himself to keep breathing and he swallows.

“Fine,” is all he can force out and then Danny is dragging him towards the table. He ignores all the people looking at them.

The fragmented group of A-listers cheer again and Dash slams a bottle of Fireball onto the table, making people's drinks jump and slosh.

“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” he says, grin just shy of evil.

“Where’d you get that?” Wes asks.

Dash cocks a brow. “Paulina found it? Duh.”

God, Kyle really wasn’t joking about getting people fucked up.

Wes is not going to clean up anyone’s puke this time. This shit is all on Kyle.

“Dude, is it even cold?” Danny asks.

“No, it wasn’t in the freezer long enough,” Paulina says. She’s drinking from a champagne flute for some fucking reason. He didn’t even know they had those.

“Gimme that,” Danny says, swiping it from Dash. “No way in hell I’m drinking warm whiskey.”

His eyes glow blue, and when he breathes out its a thin vapor. Frost creeps over the glass and Wes can’t help but shiver.

“Dude, fucking wicked. I’m still not over this,” Dash breathes, clapping his hands together.

How could Wes forget that Dash is Phantom’s number one fanboy after all?

But Danny isn’t looking at Dash—he’s looking at him.

Only it’s different this time. Because before it was always a taunt, blatantly rubbing it in Wes’ face when he used his powers and no one else noticed.

But the way Danny is looking at him now… like he’s waiting for something, thinking about something.

Danny hands back the Fireball and his eyes slip away from Wes and he feels like a fish wrenched from water.

What the hell was that?

“Fuck yeah, Fenton.” Dash unscrews the whiskey, flicks the cap off the mouth with a finger, sending it flying. He pours directly into their cups, the liquid glugging through the frosted neck of the bottle.

“Two shots of vodka,” someone says and everyone laughs.

“No chasers?” Danny asks, eyeing his cup.

Dash puts down the Fireball. “What’s the matter, you scared of the burn?”

“Not a chance,” he says, and holds out his cup to Dash. They cheers each other and then they’re throwing it back.

It sinks in his stomach like a rock. There’s no way this ends well.

It’s on the sixth round of Fireball that Dash starts to look green. He sets down his cup and leans on the table. He stares at the clear storage container of jungle juice and Kwan comes up beside him, pats his arm.

“Dude, maybe you should call it.”

“I’m fine, ‘s fine…” His words slur together. He tries to stand up straight and Kwan and Paulina both have to keep him up right.

Danny laughs. “Not lookin’ great, Baxter,” he says, his own words falling sluggishly from his mouth. Danny goes to lift his cup to his lips again and Wes puts his hand over it.

“Nope. You two are done.”

“Come on, Wes. Don’t be a buzzkill. I’m good!” Danny says. “Dash is the one that lost!” He flings his hand towards Dash and knocks the Fireball over, spilling it all over the table.

The group all crows at once, a choir of “oh shit” “nice one” and “duuuude noooo”’s. A few people rush to grab their phones from harm's way.

Danny blinks at the table. “Oops,” he says.

A smile splits his face and he starts chuckling. It builds from him, a laugh, something outside of him—beyond him.

He laughs until he’s doubled over, holding onto Wes to keep himself stable.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’ve had more than enough.” He grabs Danny’s cup from him before he can spill that too and drinks it himself. The cinnamon burns through his sinuses and he shudders. Ugh.

Danny straightens and sways just a bit, stumbling into him—their faces inches apart.

“Hey, that was mine,” he says, voice twisted in a pout. “Not cool.” His breath is cold, thick with the smell of whiskey.

Wes feels frozen, feels like he can’t breathe.

His heart pounds in his chest and he prays Danny isn’t so close he can feel it.

Around them the choir starts again, a chorus of suggestive “ooo”’s. He can feel their eyes on him and it makes his skin crawl.

Fucking dammit, this is all Fenton’s fault.

He pushes Danny away from him. Not fast or rough, just to arms length. He coughs.

“Star, you should go to the kitchen and get them both some water,” he says.

She gives him an annoyed look.

“I don’t see you doing anything else,” he snaps.

“I’m drunk too, you know,” she says, but gets up and leaves towards the kitchen.

Paulina and Kwan coax Dash into a chair, and he puts his head down on the table, groaning. A few others are sopping up the Fireball with paper towels.

Danny sags in his grip, goofy smile still plastered all over his face.

“I’ve never been drunk before, this is awesome,” he says.

Wes rolls his eyes, and maneuvers Danny into a chair. His head lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second before perking back up and trying to go for someone else's cup.

“Dude, I’m serious.” Wes moves the cup out of his reach. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

Danny groans, sinking down in his chair like he’s boneless.

“Come on, Wes,” he says. “You think I don’t know my own limits?”

“You just said this is your first time being drunk.”

Danny blows a raspberry.

Star walks back into the room and hands Wes a glass of water and then slides one across the table at Dash.

“Here. Wanna drink? Drink this.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says.

He’s a few swigs into it when he stops.

“God, it’s hot in here. Is anyone else hot?” And before anyone can answer his eyes glow that bright blue and a chill works through the air, plummets the temperature.

“Danny—” Goosebumps rise over Wes’ skin and his breath fogs from his mouth.

At varying levels of exasperation, the people around cry out.

“Dude, cut that out,” he says, smacking Danny’s arm.

“Ow, why are you hitting me?”

“Because you’re being a pain in the ass.”

Danny looks at him, blinks heavy eyelids. He smiles.

“What.”

“Nothing, you just… You’re cute when you’re all annoyed sometimes.”

The ground feels like it opens up underneath him.

His thoughts screech to a stop. It smells like burnt rubber, like cinnamon and black cherry.

It’s just the alcohol. No fucking way Danny of all people would say that to him.

“You really are drunk,” he says, but his voice sounds off kilter.

Across the house the last song fades out and Usher��s Yeah comes on. People scream and cheer.

“Holy shit, I love this song,” Danny says and stands up. He sways and catches himself on the edge of the table, starts laughing again. “Whew, that was close. The spinning is normal, right?”

Fucking Christ, how did he end up on babysitting duty again? He rubs his temples.

Is he really about to do this?

“You should lay down.” He heaves a sigh. “Come on.”

“Jeez, Wes, that's pretty forward,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Heat flashes through him.

“Would you just shut up,” he hisses. “And stop making it cold. Jesus.”

Danny snorts and when he moves from the table he wobbles. Wes grabs him before he topples and slings Danny’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up.

Danny leans into him, almost unbalances them.

“You got a problem with the cold, Wes?” he says, this time his cold breath is against the side of his neck. It sends chills down his spine.

“I don’t have to help you, you know,” he says, voice thick. “You can get alcohol poisoning for all I care.”

“You’re a bad liar, Wes.”

Wes yanks Danny along beside him and out of the dining room.

“Shut up, Danny. You’re drunk.”

He hauls Danny past the living room and the knot of people dancing and singing. A few call out to them, ask them to come have fun. He steers them away before Danny can pull away and join them.

“But I wanna have fun, Wes,” he whines.

“Dude, you can’t even stand without my help right now, you really wanna try dancing?”

“Dance with me, then.”

Wes stops. He looks over at Danny and…

He—

He blinks, shakes his head.

“No, not—not right now,” he mumbles.

“There’s a whole reason I came alone, you know,” Danny says.

“What, so you could get fucked up and no one would stop you?”

“Yeah! I mean… well, that’s part of it.”

Wes guides them towards the stairs, ignoring the looks.

“Your house is bigger than it looks from the outside,” Danny says.

“Thanks?”

“Mmhm.”

God. This is so not what he thought tonight was going to be like.

“Where are we going?” Danny asks.

“Somewhere you can lay down and sober up.”

“Tha’s not vague.”

Wes starts pulling Danny up the staircase. The second floor is dark, and he gropes around to hit the light.

The first few steps are fine, which is to say the next steps aren’t fine.

What he’s saying is that Danny says, “oh shit.”

And then he’s falling—pulling Wes down with him.

More accurately, Danny trips and pulls Wes down on top of him.

They end up in a heap and Danny groans like someone does when they fall on the fucking stairs.

“Ow.” He reaches for the back of his head. Then he’s laughing, like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world, what just happened. His face screws up, the face of someone who doesn’t know he’s in pain, just pretending.

“Seriously?” Wes snaps. His shin smarts—must have hit it on the stairs.

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs each syllable. “You good?”

“No, I’m not—” And he looks down and he realizes how close they are. Realizes the way Danny’s hair falls into his face, the light catching the slope of his jaw.

Danny quiets at the same time and it’s like they get stuck there. Like nothing else exists other than this staircase and this moment and the way Danny feels cool and solid like a summer night underneath him.

“Hey,” Danny says—sounds almost breathless. “Come here often?”

Wes rolls his eyes and just like that the moment is over.

“Ugh.” He pushes himself up, detangles himself from Danny.

Danny reaches for him, that stupid smile back on his face.

“Oh come on, Wes,” he says.

“Quit messing around, dude.”

Danny pushes himself up, runs a hand through his hair and Wes tracks the motion with his eyes against his best wishes.

“You’re so mean. I could have a concussion and this is how you treat me?”

Wes stands up and straightens his clothes. “You’re fine.”

Danny gives him a look and then something sparks in his eyes. “I’m going to text Sam and Tucker and tell them how mean you are to me.”

Psh. He says that like they don’t already hate him.

“Would you just get up?”

“These stairs are actually kinda comfy,” he says, head rolling back, sinking back down and closing his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

Wes kicks his leg.

“You can lay down in the room. Get up.”

Danny heaves a sigh, throws an arm over his eyes.

“Fiiinnneee.” He pulls himself up by the handrail, stops in a sitting position. “Jesus,” he says, voice just above a whisper. His breathing gets weird. It makes Wes pause.

“You okay?”

“...Spinning,” Danny breathes. He’s quiet for a bit, and Wes just lets him sit there. Danny holds his head in his hands for a while.

Worry creeps into the back of his mind. Maybe Danny wasn’t kidding about the concussion thing. Maybe he should get someone—

Then Danny is standing up and Wes steadys his other arm.

“I got you,” he says. “Feeling okay?”

Danny sends him a weak smile. “Yeah. Laying down does sound good though," he mumbles.

They make it up the rest of the stairs, and Danny leans against the wall as Wes opens the door to his room.

It’s dark and quiet inside and he flips on the light.

He helps Danny in, and he flops face first onto his bed. He groans and rolls over.

“I’m thinking those last few shots of Fireball were a bad idea…”

Wes snorts and closes the door softly behind him.

“Oh, just the last few, huh?”

“I was havin’ fun, smartass,” Danny grumbles.

Wes leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms. “I said you should have stopped but noooo, no one listens to Wes.”

It gets quiet and he can feel the heaviness in the air. He clears his throat. “If you throw up in my bed, I’m kicking you out the window.”

“I’m not going to throw up.”

“Famous last words, Fenton.”

“Shaddup,” Danny says, and it gets quiet.

Wes can feel the bass from the music through the floor, the muffled sound of singing, laughing, talking. He’s used to ducking out at parties early. He’s used to laying in bed and listening to the songs through the walls until the voices slowly fade and the house is empty again. He listens to Kyle stumble up to bed and knock into the walls and yell “I’m okay” when he does.

He’s not used to having… company.

Danny sits up like a puppet on too few strings. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s still hot,” he sighs.

“It’s the alcohol, dude.”

Danny runs his hands over his face, and then reaches back and starts pulling his hoodie off. It drags his shirt up with it and Wes can’t help but look. He looks at the multitude of scars staining Danny’s skin and the way his muscles move over his ribs and—he pulls his gaze away and studies the floor instead.

“This is your bedroom, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t look how I thought it would.”

Wes wrinkles his nose. “How'd you think it would look?”

Danny takes his time looking around the room, hoodie pooled in his lap, before he looks at Wes and gives a boneless shrug.

“I dunno. More,” he holds his hands up, splays his fingers, “raah!”

“I… don’t know what that means.”

“You know! Like… newspaper-clipping red-web on all the walls,” Danny says, smile creeping back.

Wes squints at Danny. He pushes off his dresser.

“That’s still all you think of me?” He picks a pillow from his bed and throws it at Danny’s face. Danny lets out a yelp.

“Besides, I took all that shit down when the truth came out anyway,” he says, trying and failing to keep the inkling of a smile from his voice.

Danny looks at him blankly for a second before he starts to smile again.

“Wait, was that… Did you just make a joke?”

Wes snorts.

“You did! Holy shit, Wes has a sense of humor, this is bigger news than my shit. I gotta tell everyone.”

Danny looks soft, sitting like this in the middle of his bed, eyes warm in a way Wes didn’t realize they could be.

Something in him loosens.

“Good luck getting people to believe you…” he says.

“Oh, how the turn tables,” Danny says, and for a bit all they do is smile at each other.

Danny looks away first, he glances up at the light and squints.

“You got a light that isn’t so fuckin’ bright?”

“I thought the light sensitivity was supposed to happen the morning after drinking.”

“You’re full of jokes tonight.”

Wes rolls his eyes and flips on the bedside lamp and then shuts off the overhead light.

Danny hums and flops back down. “Better,” he says.

It’s silent for a few beats and Danny lifts his head to look at him. He smacks the comforter a few times with a flat hand.

Wes blanches; he’s all too aware of himself, of Danny and the dim light and the closed door.

“Dude, chill,” Danny says, like he can read his mind—wait, he can’t actually do that, right? Ghosts can’t do that?

“Sit down or something. You just standing there watching me is creepy,” Danny says.

Wes swallows his own heartbeat, shakes his head. “Seriously, between the two of us, I’m not the creepy one.”

“Says the stalker.”

“I didn’t stalk you.”

Danny gives him a look, with raised eyebrows and everything.

Wes sits on the side of the bed, scoots back so he’s leaned against the headboard.

“I was… investigating.”

Danny laughs. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say,” and his voice is like smoke—hickory and rough but winding through the air like silk.

They fall into an amiable silence, cotton soft, but cold. Danny has an arm over his eyes again, and his breathing is so slow it’s hard to pick out from the music downstairs.

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes out his phone. He unlocks it and scrolls mindlessly for a while.

He can’t focus.

Not with Danny so close like this. Not when everything is different now. His mind drifts off and he tries to keep track of every breath, wonders if he’s fallen asleep—

“Hey, Wes.”

He jumps. Just a little bit.

“Y-yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

He puts his phone down.

“...For what?”

“For making everyone think you were crazy.”

Wes twists his hand in his comforter. Why the hell is Danny apologizing to him? After everything he’s done to him… tried to do to him. It gets stuck in his throat.

“It’s… You don’t have to—” he wishes he’d had a few more drinks.

“Nah. I do. Looking back, I didn’t handle you knowing very well.”

He chews on his lip. He’s never felt so out of place.

“Danny…”

Danny moves his arm and looks up at him and his courage almost shrivels.

“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you. I—” He balls his hands into fists. “What I did, trying to basically out you, that wasn’t… that wasn’t okay.”

“You didn’t know the whole situation.”

“Did I need to? It was still fucked up and. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in wanting to be right that I didn’t care what it could have done to you.”

It feels like glass coming up from his throat.

He’s lost sleep, engraved in the ceiling all the ways he fucked up, all the times he's glad now that no one listened to him. His eyes feel hot and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fucking get emotional in front of Danny.

“It all worked out in the end,” Danny says. He says it easy, gentle. “You were still technically right, though, so… There’s that.”

Wes huffs. “Yeah. I guess.” He fights through all the mess. “I don’t know how this didn’t happen sooner though. You were terrible at hiding it.”

Danny props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, I'm a great liar.”

Wes leans his head back on the headboard. “Sure, but you’re reckless as hell. How many times did you stick your arm through your locker in front of God and everyone?”

Danny smiles wide and bright.

“Honestly, after a while, it was just fun to see how far I could go before anyone noticed.”

Wes can’t help but chuckle. “Pretty far, obviously.”

“No kidding.”

Wes runs his palms over his jeans.

“You’re good though, right?” Wes looks anywhere but Danny. “At home and all that.”

“Oh. Yeah. It was, uhm, a lot for my parents. But we’re getting there.”

“Good… That’s good.” The words feel sharp and blocky, and he doesn’t know what else to say. What else can he say?

His buzz pulls away from him, pulls him down, makes his lids heavy.

“How do you think Dash is doing?” Danny says.

“Pf. If he isn’t hugging a trashcan right now, I’ll be shocked.”

Danny laughs.

Wes leans over onto some of his pillows.

“How are you this okay after drinking all that?”

Danny shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling it. My guess is something to do with the healing factor ghost shit.”

“Right, makes sense.”

He feels tired and heavy and the darkness at the corners of the room get fuzzier.

“Paulina brought her own champagne glass,” Danny tells him. And he laughs because, who does that?

He rolls onto his back and they stare at the ceiling.

“Are you kidding? Paulina does that, it’s Paulina,” Danny says.

They stare at the ceiling like it’s not a ceiling, like it might become more than just ceiling. Wes imagines it disappearing completely.

Danny likes stars, doesn’t he?

When Danny talks again it’s like he’s far away. An arms length, an atmosphere’s length… he doesn’t know.

Danny says, “sucks that I’m missing the Super Smash Tournament.”

Wes tries to keep his eyes from slipping shut. The bed pulls him like quicksand, the smell of sleep. “Trust me, dude, Kyle always wins anyway.”

Danny says something, something about who he mains or doesn’t main. It becomes all the same, the sluggish rise and fall.

At some point between light and dark Wes decides that he likes the sound of Danny’s voice. He somehow likes that the room is colder than it usually is.

And maybe somewhere between all that he decides some other stuff too.

—

Wes wakes up before Danny. The sun streams in through a gap in his curtains, pooling on the wall and floor.

He doesn’t have a headache, but his neck hurts like hell.

Danny is lying on his side faced away from him and, fuck, thank God. He thinks about last night, about Danny in his arms and he—

He sits up and rubs his hands over his warm cheeks.

Water. He should get some water.

He slips out of his room and goes downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet.

Well.

Mostly.

He can hear the sink running and the clink of glass. When he comes around the corner he sees Kyle washing dishes. The house is only half as trashed as he thought it’d be.

Kyle looks up at him as he walks in.

“Morning.”

He grunts, going to pluck a clean glass from the drying rack.

“Hangover?”

“Nah. Slept wrong.” He fills his glass at the fridge and downs it all at once. The water helps wash the sour taste from his mouth. Ugh, he should still brush his teeth.

He fills the glass again and heads back upstairs. He pushes back into his room and when the door creaks he sees Danny jump.

He walks around the bed and offers the glass to a squinting Danny.

“Awake?” he asks.

Danny groans and pushes himself up. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes. It's infuriating.

He rubs the side of his face and when he takes the cup their fingers brush.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“We have pop-tarts and cereal and shit downstairs.”

Danny gives him a thumbs up while he drinks.

He wants to ask if he’s okay... He decides to leave it for later.

Wes leaves his room and goes back to the kitchen. When he gets there, he pulls the pop-tarts down from the cabinet.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Kyle says, “if you wanna clean the dining room, I’ll clean the living room.”

“Nope, no. This was your thing, dude. You threw the party.”

“But Wes,” he whines, “Dad’s gonna be home tonight.”

“Then you should probably get started,” he says and claps him on the shoulder on his way to the toaster.

“Dude, cold blooded. You’re just gonna watch me slave away for hours and not even help your own brother?”

“Uh... yeah.” He slots the pop-tarts into the toaster. He turns towards Kyle and leans against the counter, grinning at him.

Kyle gives him a look.

“How much.”

“No. No, I’m not gonna be bought this time.”

“Twenty bucks.”

“Kyle.”

“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Forty.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“‘This time?’ What happened last time?”

They jump and look at Danny as he comes down the stairs. He has his hoodie slung over a shoulder and the half empty water glass in his hand.

“Holy shit,” Kyle says.

“It’s not important,” he says, sending a glare at the back of Kyle’s head.

Danny walks up to the counter and sets the glass down to pull his hoodie on.

“No fucking way,” Kyle says, voice pitched up. “I didn’t believe it when everyone was talking about it last night, holy shit.”

Danny tugs the hem of his hoodie down and gives Kyle a confused look that he moves over to Wes.

He returns the look, just as lost.

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You two hooking up last night,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious.

It feels like for a second time stops—

Hooking up?

Hooking up?!

His heart skips in his chest and heat rushes to his face and the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s been slapped across the face.

Danny looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Uh—”

The toaster pops.

“Which, can I just say, I totally called it. I knew there had to be another reason Wes was so obsessed with yo—”

“Kyle!” he snaps, his voice higher than he anticipated. “Kyle, oh my fucking god, shut up. We didn’t— Nothing happened last night, we just—”

His breath feels tight in his throat and he wants to lock himself in his room forever. He can’t make himself look at Danny.

“Who the hell told you that-that we—”

“Uh, dude, a bunch of people saw you guys go into your room together. You know Pualina was telling me that Danny was all over yo—”

“Okay! Thank you, Kyle!” he cuts in. “Jesus fucking—” He buries his face in his hands.

This is it, this is how he’s going to die.

“I’m just glad for you two! I mean, like, jeez, finally!”

“Kyle, I’ll help you clean if you shut up right now and never bring this up ever again.”

Kyle stops, face lighting up. “Dude, deal.”

“Cool. Now please leave.”

“What?”

Wes grabs him by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen. “Leave. Go get the cleaning shit from the garage or some shit, I don’t know.”

“Oh. Ohhhh, I see. I get you. I’ll leave you two kids alone to enjoy your breakfast together,” he says with a wink and holy fuck, he’s going to kill his fucking brother.

Kyle heads for the stairs and calls down, “Lemme know when it’s safe to come back down!”

Wes drags his hands down his face. He lets out a slow breath and he tries to ignore his pounding heart.

Wes goes to the nearest counter and puts his head down. The surface is cold against his burning skin. He groans like an injured animal and at this point he really wishes someone would put him out of his misery.

“Well…” Danny says from behind him.

He hears Danny moving and the sound of the fridge being opened. He looks up, watches as Danny takes orange juice from the fridge. When he turns around he sees his face is red too.

“I mean… hardly the worst rumor to get spread around about us,” he says. That stupid smile makes its way onto Danny’s face.

“I once had this dude tell everyone at school that I was a ghost. It was super weird.”

Wes shakes his head. “Dude, shut up.” But he can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips.

Danny laughs, a quieter thing today than it was last night.

“I can have some, right?” he asks, lifting the OJ.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

They fall into silence while Danny pours a glass and Wes goes to numbly retrieve his pop-tarts.

“It’s probably spread through all of Casper now, huh.”

Danny glances at him. Something dances through his expression. He hums as he takes a drink of his juice.

“Uh. Probably further than that, now that everyone knows I'm… you know.” Danny shoots him an uneasy look.

Right. Right.

This was just getting better and better.

He takes a bite of his pop-tart. It crumbles in his mouth like sand.

“Are you… okay?” Danny asks. He reaches back and rubs his neck, and dammit, now he’s just adding insult to injury.

He looks at him, and he sees the nerves in the way he holds himself, stitched into the way the light hits him. He’s not asking just one question.

Wes swallows.

“Yeah… Yeah, I mean, like you said. There could be way worse rumors,” he says. He looks at Danny like he’s too far away, like he enjoyed last night way more than he should have. And he sees it in Danny too, some sort of mirror.

“I think so too,” Danny says, heavy the way he exhales it.

They break eye contact and Wes doesn’t really know what to do, what to say.

“Well, uh. You have cleaning to do, I guess. I should probably get home before my parents get too freaked out.”

Wes nods. “Yeah, probably.” He wonders if Danny knows what’s in his voice. The dark from last night is clouding his mind, pulling him, begging him to just say it.

“Yeah… I’ll, uh, see you at school?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

But Danny doesn't move.

He lingers like a shadow. He looks like he wants to go. He looks like he wants to stay.

“Wes,” he says.

Wes looks at him.

He worries at his bottom lip and moves along the counter towards him.

“Thanks. For last night.”

He lets out a puff. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t die the rest of the way from alcohol poisoning.”

Danny rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were pretty bad.”

“Not even.” Danny smiles.

And they’re close again, sharing each other's space.

“It wasn’t… awful, I guess,” he says before he can stop himself. “Even with you being a pain in the ass the entire time.”

“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” Danny murmurs.

“What, me looking after your drunk ass the whole night?”

Danny snorts. “No, I was thinking more like I match you drink for drink instead,” he says.

“At least then you’d last till the Smash tournament.”

Danny glances away.

“I didn’t mind missing it too much, actually.”

Wes’s breath gets stuck and his heart beats like a drum in his ribcage.

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

In some ways it’s just like last night; Danny’s close enough he can feel the movement of his breath between them.

“It’s way more fun, bothering you.”

It’s a slow motion sort of thing, a hair raising thing.

“Well you’re an expert at it by now.”

Wes thinks about theme parks. Sitting at the top of the sky and just before his stomach drops—

“Always room for improvement. I could get better at it if you want me to.”

And what if he does? What if he wants to see Danny in all the ways he can? What if he wants to know Danny for real this time?

Maybe he wants pictures, proof that it’s real.

Maybe it’s always been leading to this.

Maybe it’s fucked up.

Wes having the power to hurt him all over again.

“Drink for drink?” he says, barely a whisper.

“Drink for drink,” Danny says—closer, closer, breath against his lips.

Danny gives him time to pull away. But Wes doesn’t. Something to do with what he decided last night.

“Prove it.”

#Unidentified Flying Ship #danny/wes #Danny Phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #my writing #DP Shiptember 2021 #drunk prompt #one-shot #wes weston #wesley weston

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beccarooni · 3 years

Text

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

#my fic #fanfic #thor fanfic #loki fanfic #infinity war au #infinity war fix it fic #thor odinson #loki odinson #brodinsons #thorbruce #thorbruce fic #multi chapter #mcu fic #long post #2k #bruce banner #angst

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mandoalorian · 4 years

Note

hi i’d like max x reader where he’s having very stressful day at work like everything that can go wrong does go wrong and the reader is his gf and bc of all this stuff going wrong he forgets that she’s supposed to visit him at work so she comes in and starts talking about her day and how great it was and then he just shoots up and goes to hug her and starts kissing her and playing with her hair and she’s like ??? cause this never happens and he just lays his head on her lap and he rants about his day and she listens and she tries to comfort him as best she can thank u 🥺

Rough Day At Work [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Author's note: Oh. my god. This is a long one. I write a lot of Maxwell fluff but this one is by far one of my favourites. It's a journey of pure, unadulterated sweetness with a sliver of comedy. And it's set at Christmas— perfect to get you in the festive mood! Reblogs appreciated because this isn't showing up in tags.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: food mention, drink mention, brief allusions to sex, Maxwell is ~stressed~.

Rating: PG-13

Masterlist in pinned! Requests open x

Maxwell Lord had his fair share of bad days. Things almost always went wrong in his line of work, but it was almost never his fault. He could always squander up an excuse or find someone else to blame. But today it was one thing after another.

He was late. He had a meeting with the board team first thing but as the Christmas traffic filled the bustling roads of DC, he had already missed the first twenty five minutes of the conference. He practically fell out of the black limo that drove him to work every morning, plodging his feet through the thick layers of snow. It was so deep this morning, the ice cold water seeped through his leather Armani shoes and even through his favourite cashmere socks. The ones with little purple polka dots. He shivered uncomfortably as the clumps of ice sat in between his toes, melting, and so every footstep made an obscene squelching noise. He didn't have the time to fuss around and change his shoes. The bottoms of his tailored pants were dripping. He bolted through the glass revolving doors of Black Gold Cooperative, trailing a pool of water behind him. His receptionist Anna, and his assistant Raquel, stood up abruptly, their eyes widening as they saw their boss in such a hurried frenzy.

"Mr Lord! You have your nine o’ clock meeting and it’s now nine twenty-” Raquel raised her hand and called for him, but he didn't bother to stop in his tracks.

"Yes Raquel, I know!" Maxwell yelled after her, already tapping his feet impatiently as he waited for the elevator. "Cmon, cmon…" he grumbled as it slowly made its way down from the 25th floor to the ground floor.

When Maxwell entered the board meeting, his cheeks were a rosy pink from the cold winter weather. His eyes were glazed and the waves in his dark blonde hair were falling out of place. He had styled it perfectly this morning, the same way he did it every morning. You had even helped him, brushing through his locks when he had hopped out the shower. But now he looked as though he had just run a marathon, breaking out in a cold sweat. He swore if he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he'd have a heart attack. But surely, the day couldn't get any worse. Right? Maxwell had made it to the meeting, albeit late. At least he was there.

Wrong.

"I am so sorry." he scrambled, plopping his briefcase down on the table and slipping past the many occupied chairs. He slumped down in one eventually, pulling out in a notepad and pen. "Bad traffic," he huffed. "Can someone give me the lowdown?"

He eventually looked up to see his company. Twelve older ladies in pink button down dresses and white frilly aprons, their hair tied back into matching low buns. Maxwell froze up, his gaze wandering from woman to woman as it slowly began to sink in.

"Mr Lord…" the woman at the head of the table said cautiously. She looked just as baffled. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've worked for Black Gold Cooperative for five years now but never did I expect to see you in person."

Maxwell looked back at the other girls who were all nodding in agreement, beaming with excitement. "Uh." He didn't know what to say, but instead, he placed his pen and notepad back into the inside of his suit jacket pocket and stood up. "I think- I think I'm in the wrong meeting." he announced.

"We are the body of staff who are responsible for the cleanliness and hygiene of your company sir. We spend ten hours a day washing and tidying every surface, every inch of this building. We take great care of it." one of the ladies spoke up and Maxwell became even more confused. Although clearly, on a day like this, it didn't take much to confuse him.

"The cleaning staff have meetings in here?" He wondered out loud, immediately regretting the words as soon as they left his lips. He didn't want to come off as rude. "I mean, I'm your employer. Pft, of course I know that you have meetings. And I'm glad you do so. It's good to take direction!" he was doing that motivational voice he used on television, making the 60 year old cleaners swoon with admiration. "I- I should get going but. Uh, yes. Lovely to meet you all."

"Mr Lord!" A lady with ebony hair and crinkles by her eyes stood up, handing Maxwell his briefcase. He nodded appreciatvely and walked to the door where her hand met his arm and stopped him in his tracks. "Could I get your autograph, please? I'm just a huge fan of your infomercials."

Maxwell checked the time on his wristwatch. Almost half an hour late, but he couldn't deny one of his cleaners. Once upon a time he wouldn't have bothered giving them a second glance yet he leaned over the table and signed his name on a sticky note. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Pamela," she beamed brightly.

"Nice to meet you Pamela, have a good day." he pat her shoulder and went open the door when another voice yelled his name.

"Mr Lord!" a woman with white hair stood up, a grin pinned on her face. "I'm Doris," she introduced confidently, but her voice was shaky with her old age. "I remember when your father was on the television. I used to clean for him too, you know? Oh, he was such a lovely gentleman. And you look more and more like him every day. Such a handsome man, you are."

Maxwell stiffened up, his hand grabbing the door handle so hard he was sure his knuckles might've turned white. "Oh," was the only thing that could really leave his lips. He wanted to leave.

"Mr Lord, your father I mean-, every Christmas he'd give little old me a kiss," she recalled, her heart blooming at the memory. "Of course I wasn't old then. I was young. And beautiful."

Maxwell exhaled and nodded his head, unsure of really what to say or where this conversation was going. All he could think about was the board meeting that he was already extremely late for. Maxwell pushed down on the door handle and Doris let out a long dramatic sigh, making Maxwell pause once again to hear what she had to say. "I haven't been kissed like that, by a man as attractive as your father, in years." she sighed longingly, fluttering her eyelashes.

That was when Maxwell realised. He sighed quietly, his eyes scanning the room. All the cleaners were staring at him, expecting him to make his move on poor old Doris. Then, he turned back to Doris and offered her that familiar Hollywood smile. The same smile that the whole world was used to seeing on five o'clock television. He took her hand and brushed a soft kiss over her wrinkled knuckles before gently dropping her hand again. There was no denying the pink blush that coloured her cheeks. The action earned a few squeaks and squeals around the room and while they were all babbling with excitement about what they'd just witnessed happen to their friend Doris, Maxwell took the opportunity to run.

He did finally make it to the meeting. He squeezed past his business associates, trying to locate his chair around the table. In the process, he knocked over a cup of coffee. It spilled all over Maxwell, and one of his colleagues. Maxwell's pale blue suit jacket was now stained with brown espresso, and he knew it would take more than just a few washes to get the stain out. He muttered a small 'sorry' before finding his seat and taking out his notepad and pen. Just as he finished writing the date at the top of his piece of paper, the director of the meeting called it quits and everyone flustered out of the room.

All this had happened and it was only ten in the morning.

Luckily, that was the only meeting of the day and he knew he was going to be spending the rest of the day in his office doing paperwork. That was easy enough. Maxwell padded into his enormous office which took up the entirety of the top floor at Black Gold Cooperative headquarters. He shut the double doors, finding peace in knowing that there was no need for anyone to come in and distract him. Maxwell tugged off his blazer and hung it on the back of a chair. He unclipped his suspenders that held his tailored pants up, and threw them to one side, along with his shoes and soaked socks. He padded into the closet at the back of his office and shuffled out of his pants, changing into some grey sweatpants.

He smiled, beginning to feel warm again. Wearing the sweatpants reminded him of you and it made him feel like he was at home. He remembered a few weeks into your relationship; your surprise when you caught a glimpse of his wardrobe. Not a single piece of casual wear in sight. You wondered if Maxwell Lord had ever known the comfort of sweatpants and so, that afternoon, you went out and bought him a pair. They changed his life. Maxwell would always favour his suits, that's just who he was, but he would love to wear the sweats when he wanted to lounge about in the house.

He was tired. His hair was still damp, the dark blonde waves curling at the nape of his neck and falling out of place every time he tried to remedy it. He still smelled vaguely of espresso, and was still haunted by the interaction of Doris the cleaner. He pursed his lips together into a thin line at the memory of kissing her hand.

Maxwell walked over to his desk and sunk into his chair, holding his head in his hands. Finally some peace.

Until there was a loud knock at the door. Maxwell swung his head back and groaned. "Come in!" he shouted, quickly composing himself for whoever wished to see him. It was his blonde assistant, Raquel.

"Hi sir!" she beamed, waving her free hand and placing a glossy catalogue on the table.

"Raquel." Maxwell nodded politely, sitting up and looking at the catalogue she had positioned before him.

"For the Christmas gala," she explained, flicking open the pages and pointing out different things. She'd carefully highlighted and labelled everything she wanted to show him, making it easier for his conveience. "I was thinking huge black and gold balloons with the company name on. Gold confetti. Banners and streamers hanging from every corner. A buffet, and every table cloth will also have the company's name on, printed in small, glitter ink." Her loud and chatty voice was giving Maxwell a headache.

"Yeah, balloons with Black Gold Cooperative written on really scream ‘Have a Very Merry Capitalist Christmas’." he sighed, slowly looking up at her. She blinked a few times. "Well Raquel?" he quizzed, growing irritable. It wasn't her fault, it's just everything was beginning to build up. She blinked again, dumbfounded by his comment. "Is that what Christmas is about to you?"

"W-what do you mean?" she asked nervously, removing her hand from the catalogue and taking a step back from his desk.

"What about red and green balloons? We'll have a Christmas tree in the ballroom. We could even make it family friendly and hire a Santa Claus for the kids to meet." Maxwell suggested. "And no weird company merchandise."

Raquel blinked, not saying a word. It had never really dawned on Maxwell how much you had changed him. His staff realised practically instantly— from the moment he came into work after the first time you had spent the night, it was like he was a changed man. He held the door open for people, he wished people a good morning. And as your relationship with him developed, you opened up a brand new side to him. He became more affectionate and caring for those around him, a feeling he had shut off from the world for his entire life.

He had never cared for Christmas, never cared as much to host a Christmas gala either. His father died during the festive season and it hadn't been the same without him. His mother didn't do much to celebrate. Maxwell had everything he always wanted; all the new toys and fanciest designer clothes. But it meant nothing to him without his father. Christmas meant nothing to him without love. That's why it all changed when he met you. You finally brought love back into his life, and everything felt whole again. You completed him. You taught him how to enjoy events and celebrate. You taught him happiness but most importantly, you taught a cold and broken man how to love and be loved in return.

The Christmas gala was your idea. One night, around a month ago, you and Maxwell were both lying in bed together. Maxwell had expressed to you that he wanted to do something special for his staff at work. Over the past few years since he had met you, he'd slowly been softening with the people around him. Christmas time was no different and his staff were always jolly to receive a hefty bonus from him. But they didn't expect anything more.

You came up with the idea of a gala, and Maxwell couldn't help but smirk a little when you mentioned it. He knew that your suggestion was deeply rooted into the fact you had always wanted to attend a gala, wear a beautiful dress and have your hair and makeup done. More importantly, you wanted to go to a gala with Maxwell and have him by your side looking as handsome as ever. The prospect excited you so much. With Maxwell, you knew that you wanted for nothing. That he could give you anything and everything. But you would never ask. You wanted him to know that for as long as he was with you, you had everything you needed.

Normally for Maxwell, gala’s were a place for adults only. Bars that served the best alcohol and a place where men who were just as rich as him would meet and schmooze. Before you, gala’s were a fine opportunity for Maxwell to meet a lady and take her home. That's all he enjoyed them for. But you had taught Maxwell that there was more to life than wealth, women and good champagne. He was so sure you'd love the idea of turning the gala into a family friendly party, and he was certain that his employees (the likes of the cleaning staff, for example) would love the ability to bring their families to such a high class event.

"Don't worry Raquel," Maxwell smiled. "Forget about the party planning for now. I know someone who would love to organise the Christmas gala." Today was tough, but everytime he thought about you, he couldn't wipe the grin from his face. He was one lovesick puppy. "Could you bring me a coffee?"

Raquel nodded and picked the catalogue back up, padding out his office without saying another word.

At around twelve o’clock, Maxwell was about to take his lunch break- but the phone on his desk began to ring. "Maxwell Lord." he introduced himself, holding the phone to his ear. It was the CEO of Powergrid Electrics, an electrical company in Rome. Rude and unhinged, the boss man reminded Maxwell of a version of himself that he had left in the past.

Maxwell had almost sealed an amazing deal with the company, but it had seemed that the CEO hadn't received a vital part of the contract. Trying to regulate the anger that was building up inside of him, Maxwell shakily put the phone back on the hook and called his second assistant, Emmerson, into his office.

"It's impossible," Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows together in bewilderment, after explaining the situation. He scrambled amongst the papers that were stacked mountain high on his desk. "I put it in the envelope and had Raquel send it off to Rome last week. I remember… I know I didn't forget. I never forget." he said, trying to sound as composed and confident as possible. There was no mistake in the worried little warble in his voice, though.

Emmerson, Maxwell's second assistant, wasn't sure if he was going to regret his next move. "Sir," his voice was timid and small. Maxwell's eyes snapped up to meet Emmerson's and Emmerson felt his heart rate increase rapidly. Emmerson reached over Maxwell's desk, picking up a folded piece of paper with a sticky note on top that read 'For Raquel: give to Rome'. "Is it possible that this is the missing part of the contract? That maybe, you might have just, forgotten to give it to Raquel?" he said slowly, trying to beat around the bush as much as possible.

Maxwell slowly reached over to the slip of paper, unravelling it like he was scared to see what the contents would reveal. He sighed out loud when he realised he had, in fact, forgotten to give Raquel the document, and there was no one to blame but himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating what to do next. He didn't want to believe he was out of options. He wasn't one to give up, especially when it came to the sanctity of his business.

"I need you to go to Rome." He said immediately and Emmerson's jaw dropped.

"I- I'm sorry?" Emmerson quizzed, confused and still slightly afraid of how impulsive Maxwell was being. "With all due respect, can't you just call Rome and ask for an extension on the deadline?"

Maxwell scoffed. "Call Rome? I can't just call a country," Emmerson was about to interject to explain that wasn't exactly what he meant but Maxwell didn't allow it. There was something about the way Maxwell's brain worked… he didn't get where he was today from taking the advice of his assistants. "You will go to Rome and give Powergrid Electrics the remaining part of the contract yourself. I trust you."

"But sir-" Emmerson raised a shaky hand.

"Oh, I see, you're worried about accomodation," Maxwell assumed, chuckling lightly. "I'll get you a five star hotel and give you a spending allowance of three hundred euros a day, how does that sound? No need to fret. Hurry along now."

"Mr Lord," Emmerson deadpanned finally, causing Maxwell to look up at his assistant in bewilderment. Emmerson was still afraid of his boss, of course, but he knew he had to stand his ground. "I can't go to Italy."

There were a few beats of silence. "What?" Maxwell questioned. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a free trip of a lifetime. You have an easy job to do. You can spend the rest of the day souvenir shopping. I don't care. Just get the contract delivered." He ordered.

"No." Emmerson put his foot down.

"No?" Maxwell repeated, raising his eyebrows like he was due an explanation.

"Mr Lord, I didn't want to say anything because it seems… you've had a lot going on today. But my girlfriend, Katherine, she's due our baby. See, we're having a son. I'm not sure if you knew… I mean, you probably didn't know. But, I promised Katie- uh, Katherine, that I'd meet her at the hospital after my shift. I wish I could help you sir, I really do. But I love my girlfriend and I've been waiting nine months to meet our son so if you please-"

The old Maxwell Lord would've burned red with rage, firing poor Emmerson on the spot, right then and there. How dare he question Maxwell. How dare he deny Maxwell. How dare he choose his love life, his family over his job. But right now, Maxwell couldn't help the small smile creep upon his lips. He was overjoyed, just wishing Emmerson had told him of the amazing news before now.

"Congratulations," Maxwell said, his voice quiet but his eyes gleaming. "On the addition of your family. That's really great."

Emmerson stood as still as ever, blinking a few times. He waited for Maxwell to snap and finally lose it. He was waiting to get the sack. But nothing. "Uh, thank you, sir." Emmerson replied hesitantly, like he wasn't sure what to expect from Maxwell.

The following few moments of silence, Maxwell spent thinking about you. He thought about how radiant you glowed this morning and how he wished he didn't have to leave your side. You were the love of his life and quite frankly, since meeting you, he understood the priority of choosing love over wealth. He finally had someone he could hold onto during the dead of night, someone to ramble to about his feelings, someone he could kiss and love and cherish forever.

Maxwell Lord finally loved something more than his business and that was you. Emmerson coughed awkwardly, breaking the silence and Maxwell flicked his wrist up, checking the time on his gold Rolex. It was almost twelve thirty.

"Why are you still here?" Maxwell grinned, swinging his hand to point a finger towards the door. "Go! You have a son to meet!"

"Sir, I don't finish until five o’ clock." Emmerson replied, stiffening up.

"No no no! Go home, go see your girlfriend, please." Maxwell stood up and shook his assistants hand. "I have no doubt you'll be an amazing father," he said genuinely. "And I'll have Y/N send over some flowers and a donation after the birth."

"You- you're really letting me off work early?" Emmerson beamed and Maxwell nodded his head enthusiastically. "Oh how can I ever thank you?"

"I hear Maxwell is a popular choice of name for baby boys right now," the CEO charmed and Emmerson let out a small but genuine laugh. "Now go! Tell Katherine I send my love."

"I will do, thank you sir." Emmerson grinned, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack and merrily running out of the office.

Maxwell sunk into the plushness of his leather chair, still unable to escape the smile that played on his lips. He imagined the possibility of you, the love of his life, carrying his child. He thought about how beautiful you would look, how you'd glow, and how he'd simply give up everything to take care of you. Make sure you had everything you needed during your pregnancy. He imagined building the nursery with you and picking out some books on parenting, studying with you so he could ensure that he'd be the best father ever. He'd never wanted kids. In fact he hated the idea of having little mini Maxwell’s running around and causing fuss and torment, but the idea of you raising them alongside him made his heart flutter. He was certain of the unconditional love you’d have for them. Similar to the unconditional love he had for you.

His eyes darted back to the unsent report on his desk and he sighed. Guess I have to call Rome after all. He thought.

Maxwell was counting the minutes until he could go home and see you. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa with you, the fire on, and watch one of those cheesy Christmas movies you liked so much. He heard the doors to his office open, frustration racing through him as he prepared himself for the next bout of 'things going wrong'. He'd normally yell at someone if they entered his office without knocking but he was so tired. So so tired.

When he saw you, he swore his heart stopped. There you were, his blessing in disguise. His angel. You were wearing your red winter coat and knee high brown boots, and you plopped your purse and a bag on one of the many side tables in his office. You took off your gloves and pulled off your wooly bobble hat, stuffing them lazily in your pocket and offered him a happy smile. He scrambled to his feet, not taking his eyes off you for a second and ran up to you, sweeping you off your feet and spinning you around. You squealed, grabbing onto him for your life and he put you down, pulling you into a tight warm hug.

"You're freezing cold." he grimaced, pulling your hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants in hope they'd warm up.

"It's snowing again." you whispered happily, smiling into his neck. He was delighted, having you in his arms and being able to smell the familiarity of your shampoo and perfume. He knew for sure now, he was going to be okay.

"I can see." he replied, moving one of his hands up to your face and padding out the pearly snowdrops that were balanced in your hair. "I am so glad to see you sweetheart." he hummed, sending vibrations through your body. You felt your heart blossom in your chest at his sentiment.

"I told you I was coming this morning," you giggled, eventually pulling away from him and taking your arms out of his pockets. You cupped his face and ran your fingers through his dark blonde hair, fixing it as best as you could. "I brought us lunch." you told him, fishing into the bag and bringing out boxes of pastries and cakes. "From that bakery we like."

Maxwell gasped and you looked up at him confused. "Baby, I completely forgot you were coming."

"I hate to say Max but you do look a little disheveled," you folded your arms across your chest and checked out your boyfriend's appearance. "What's with the sweats and… where is your tie and suspenders?" Your eyes met his feet on the floor and they widened almost comically. "Max! Where are your socks and shoes?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Long story." he took your hand and pulled you over to the couch, pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around him and he placed a hand on your thigh, pushing under your skirt and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"Tell me everything." you replied and he looked up at you with nothing but adoration in his brown eyes.

"Traffic jam on the way to work because of the snowstorm last night, and the streets were so busy with it being so close to Christmas. We couldn't get parked out front so I had to get out of the car and walk through five inches of snow to get into work. I was already late for my meeting. Soaking wet and uncomfortable," you let him ramble on, watching intently at the way his expression would change as he recalled different events in his day. You began to play with his hair, seeing that he was getting flustered at the memory of it all. "I was late for the meeting, I ended up in a whole different meeting. I didn't know the cleaners in this building even had meetings!"

"The cleaners?" you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. "You sat in on a meeting with the cleaners?" Maxwell nodded sollemnley and you nudged him playfully. "I love that."

"Well, I didn't. They're all lovely women. But this one cleaner, Doris…" he fumbled around with his fingers. "I ended up kissing her." you pulled away quickly, knotting your eyebrows together. "No! No not like that," Maxwell said quickly, pulling you back onto his lap and wrapping his arm around you. "She's like 90, said she used to work for my father and every Christmas he'd give her a kiss. She'd start talking about how she's never had a kiss from someone as handsome as my father in years. So I gave her a polite one, on her hand. And baby, I ran. As fast as I could, I had to get outta there."

You smiled. "Max, you probably made her day. That was really sweet of you."

He brushed off your comment, taking a dramatic exhale and continuing his story. "Finally got to the meeting, spilled coffee over myself and one of my associates. But by the time I had finally settled, the meeting was over. So I went back to my office and changed out of my wet, cold, coffee stained clothes and sat down. Raquel came in. She was planning the Christmas gala but it all sounded so… corporate. Not what Christmas is about at all," he explained and you nodded in agreement. "Anyways I suggested that we change the gala this year so it's family friendly. In the spirit of Christmas."

"Oh Max!" you beamed, snuggling into his chest. He smiled to himself proudly, knowing that he had made you happy.

"You good with that?" he chuckled, running his fingers through your hair.

"Yes!" you squeaked, pushing yourself back up and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "I have so many ideas."

"That's great honey," he laughed. "Because I told Raquel to forget about the gala. I figured you could plan it. You're great at stuff like that, and I know how much it means to you. I want the gala to be perfect for my staff and their families, and I trust you more than anyone else in the world."

"I can't wait," you smiled merrily, already weighing up the different ideas you had in your head. "Was Raquel okay with you taking the party planning duty away from her?"

"I think so," Maxwell replied. "She has a lot on her plate, being my assistant and all. It's a busy time of year and I think she'd appreciate having less to do."

"Well, it really does sound like you've had an eventful morning."

"Oh, I'm not finished," Maxwell grimaced and you braved yourself for the impending chaos. "Rome called and told me that the CEO of Powergrid Electrics only received half of the binding contract. So I was going to send Emmerson to Rome because I needed that contract in the hands of the CEO by midnight tonight. But Emmerson told me he couldn't. His girlfriend is having his baby today. A little boy. So I let him go home early."

"Emmerson's going to be a father?" you gasped and Maxwell nodded. "That's so wonderful! I should send him some flowers."

"I already told Emmerson you would." Maxwell grinned.

"Oh a baby boy too! How lovely. We have to go meet the baby when he's born. Please please please." you whined, fluttering your eyelashes.

"Okay darling." Maxwell pressed a kiss into your cheek.

You stood up and brought the bag over to the couch, taking out the little boxes and handing them to Maxwell. You opened them up and started to eat, as you told him how your morning had gone.

"After you went to work, I cleared up and did the dishes that you had left from breakfast. Max, I was soooo tired from last night," you blushed and his mouth twisted into a proud smile. "So I went back to bed and slept for another hour. Then I got up and took a bubble bath. Oh!" you scrambled around in your purse, taking out a fresh Polaroid and showed him it. It was a photograph of his white long haired cat, Lady, with bubbles balancing on her head. "She kept me company while I was in the bath." you smiled and Maxwell laughed.

"She looks so funny with the bubbles on her head." Maxwell took the Polaroid from your fingers and admired the cat. He was never particularly fond about animals, or having pets, but you loved them. In the first year of your relationship, Maxwell asked what you wanted for your birthday. As always, you told him that you didn't want anything materialistic, that he was all you needed. But you did tell him about an animal charity that you were so passionate about. He remembered leaving you at home and telling you that he was simply 'heading out'. He had planned on visiting the charity and making a donation in your name, as part of your birthday present. But he didn't leave the shelter empty handed.

A white fluffy cat with long whiskers and big blue eyes. Her eyes reminded him of sapphires. She mewled and padded towards him, her tail waving happily as she rubbed her cheek on his leg, circling around him. "Ah, she's a darling," the lady who was showing Maxwell around told him. "Unfortunately, she's been here with us longer than any of the other cats. She's not that good around people. But I must admit, she likes you a lot. In fact, I've never seen her so confident around another person before."

Maxwell dropped to his knees and tickled her head. She began purring erratically, rubbing her face along the edges of the rings on his fingers. "Nobody wants her?" Maxwell asked, not taking his eyes from the happy kitty. He picked her up, ignoring the white cat hair that malted onto his suit. She rubbed her soft face against his cheek and sniffed his cologne.

"No." the lady replied sadly. Maxwell smiled.

"I'll take her."

And that night, Maxwell came home with a new addition to the family. You were overjoyed, but no one was happier than little Lady Lord who had found her fur-ever home.

He placed the Polaroid on one of the side tables, promising you he would find a frame for it. "How was your bath darling?" he cooed, pressing his lips along your jaw.

You giggled, nuzzling your head into his shoulder. "Relaxing, lit some candles, done a little reading. After my bath I got dressed and tidied up the bedroom. I turned on the radio and they were playing Christmas songs. Oh! WHAM have just brought out a new one, it's really good. Hmm, me and Lady played for a little while and she let me brush her hair. Jeeves offered to drive me to the bakery but I really wanted to walk in the snow. Get some fresh air. And now I'm here! With you!"

It was safe to say Maxwell's morning was a lot more chaotic, but he was comforted knowing that you had been relaxed while he was going through all the antics.

"Your morning sounded amazing, darling." he kissed your forehead and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You let his lips brush over your skin, fall down to your nose, and eventually take place on your own lips as he leaned his forehead against yours. You giggled, his hair falling out of place again slightly and tickling you as he kissed you. You pulled him closer, encouraging him to deepen the kiss and laced your fingers in his hair. He pulled away to catch his breath but peppered small yet passionate kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“You’re being so affectionate,” you smiled, eyes sparkling with love.

“What can I say? I like to kiss you.” Maxwell exhorted and leaned in again, pressing another kiss into your lips. This time he swiped his tongue along the plumpness of your bottom lip, begging for entry. You pulled off him and he moaned. “Whaaat?” He pouted playfully and you rolled your eyes, earnestly laughing at how cute your boyfriend was.

“We shouldn’t do this at work,” you giggled.

“Baby we’ve done a lot worse than just kissing on this sofa, if you remember.” Maxwell charmed and you felt your cheeks heat up as you nodded slowly.

"The highlight of my day though, is being here, with you." you promised.

"Yeah," Maxwell hummed. "Me too."

"I'm proud of you." you said out of the blue, putting your sandwich down and wiping your mouth. Maxwell looked at you, confused. "You've had a bad morning. But you acted so selflessly today. Everything from signing autographs in your office to kissing that old maids hand, giving Raquel less work to do and letting Emmerson be with his girlfriend. You… you surprise me everyday Max. And I fall in love with you more and more everyday."

"I remember when we first met… I would've never dreamed of doing any of this." Maxwell admitted sheepishly.

"I know, I remember," you recalled. "I fell in love with the man you were then, but I somehow think I love you even more now."

And with that, Maxwell pulled you into a kiss. The curve of his nose nudged against yours and his hands pulled you into his lap, knocking the boxes of food onto the floor as you straddled him. "I love you so much." he announced.

Maxwell rarely said I love you's. But that was okay because you knew he loved you from his actions. You knew he loved you from the small kisses he'd give you on a morning, and the way he'd pull you into a hug every evening after work. You knew he loved you from the way he'd shelter you from paparazzi and squeeze your hand tight whenever you felt overwhelmed. Actions spoke louder than words. But coming from Maxwell Lord, hearing those three words struck you like a bolt of lightning. They were just words, but they meant everything to you.

He meant everything to you.

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

innocence - 22

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m so sorry this one took a bit longer, i literally panicked and rewrote it several times and had to stop myself from rewriting this section. hope you enjoy xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The things drained out slowly, the sounds of the coffee machine buzzing warm liquid into brown stained porcelain cups, the meshed chatter of those surrounding her, the bell ringing once anyone came into the coffee shop. Things dripped like honey from a wooden spoon yet everything registered as messy, scream-ish sounds with images of beige bleak environments. Her hands were folded over each other, resting under her chin, lips slightly open and eyes looking at the fading wood of her table. Her breathe condensed as it hit the cold air, vanishing like time itself as she waited for Chuck to arrive.

The bell rang once again, this time calling for her attention. Chuck stepped inside the coffee shop wearing a long brown trench coat and oversized black sunglasses like some contemporary Humphrey Bogart. He sat in front of her, tense expression.

- Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?

- Yes. - her voice wavered as she slide a white envelope towards him yet it remained in the middle of the table.

- You’re gonna regret it. - he took the envelope, putting it on the pocket of his trench coat. - Does Bucky know?

- No. - her fingers were tangled in her hair, pulling it ever so slightly as she looked to the side.

- Don’t you think you should know before you make this decision?

- I know what I’m doing, Chuck. - every breathe seemed to exit her lungs as she got up from the sit, pulling her bag over her shoulder. - I have to go, Bucky’s expecting me. I’ll see you on set.

- You can change your mind.

- I won’t. - she put on her dark rimmed sunglasses, turning on her heels to exit the coffee shop.

The surroundings were different; that of a coffee house and of Brooklyn streets but everything still ran painfully slow, like a deteriorating movie shoot. The weather was cloudy, foggy, not allowing for anything but the lights of the Christmas decorations wrapped around the light posts and the traffic lights to be seen in the horizon. The cold wetted her lashes and lips as she strode through the ends of Brooklyn’s autumn. She didn’t know how far she was from James’ yet all she wanted to do was walk and hear nothing but the sound of her heels clicking against the sidewalk.

Y/N knew an abstract way of getting to his flat yet all she wanted to do was let the cold hit her face and hair, swallow her whole and leave her stuck. Maybe Chuck was right but she couldn’t tell him, she shouldn’t tell him. Maybe she was a coward yet that was something she surely had heard before.

The young actress allowed the wind to move her down the street until she mindlessly ended up in front of Bucky’s apartment. Her head moved to look up to the top of the building, observing every single window decorated with Christmas lights except for Bucky’s. Her breathe once again condensed, flying high in the air as she scavenged her pockets for her keys. Once in hand, she exited the cold into the warmness of the building he lived in, her once strong convictions melted as she felt she walked on glass as she approached the door she had left early this morning. Maybe she shouldn’t have left, what if she had stayed with Bucky, cuddling, coffee and granola breakfast. As she twisted the key opening the door, her eyes focused on the mirror which laid as mere decor on his living room. Her brain played tricks on her, showing the same red lipstick word only to fade away leaving her holding the key on the door and staring at nothing but clear mirror.

- Princess? - Bucky appeared from the other side of the living room, dressed in loose clothing. - Hypnotised by your own reflection?

- Yeah. - she snapped out of her own cage of memories, closing the door with her feet all with a little smile on her face. - I’m sorry, the meeting was ... long.

- How was it? - he paced to her, arms wrapping loosely around her waist, pulling her close to him. - I hope it wasn’t too bad.

- It was fine. - she lied, leaning against his chest. - Nothing too different from the rest. Same old.

- You’re freezing. - he kissed the top of her head. - You need warmer clothing.

- Cold is psychological.

- Sure it is, princess. Why don’t you go grab something to eat while I set you a nice warm bath so you don’t get sick?

She merely nodded, not exactly knowing how to react as guilt started to weight on the bottom of her throat. Even if she tried to tell him not to, to just rest himself which he deserved much more than her, her own guilt kept her shut and staring at the inside of his fridge while he disappeared into the bathroom. He had a fully stocked fridge, probably had gone shopping while gone, as she couldn’t pin point a single thing missing. Yet, she didn’t feel like eating and instead poured herself a glass of unsweetened cranberry juice. Chuck was right, she knew he was right and she knew she should tell him yet she also knew she shouldn’t. Her eyes didn’t focus on anything, instead she was lost in her own mind as she drank the red juice from the beautifully crafted glass.

She knew it would be out tomorrow, it would be out tomorrow and he would see it and so would everyone. Her bag was standing on the counter, she could call Chuck and just go back on it yet she couldn’t. She wanted to regret it, but she could only feel guilty about blindsiding Bucky.

- Hey princess, you ready? - his voice echoed from the bathroom. She felt even guiltier as she stepped inside the bathroom wrapped in his robe to see the low dimmed light courtesy of some tea lights accompanied by a bubble filled bath. - I had these from when the light went off the compound. I don’t think they smell like anything.

- Bucky ...

- I also didn’t know if you were allergic to my shower gel so I used soap to make bubbly water.

- Bucky, you shouldn’t have.

- You’ve been through some past bad days, you deserve a treat. Get in before it gets cold.

She wanted to cry. As she felt the water warm her skin she wanted to cry, the guilt bubbling up to the surface. Laying under the bubbles, neck and head only visible she couldn’t help but feel awful that she didn’t regret it. Looking into his blue eyes she felt awful but she still didn’t, she couldn’t say she would’ve done things differently but she felt guilty, guilty it was the wrong thing to do. It was the wrong thing to do and he did not deserve it. Bucky did not deserve this and as she looked back at him she couldn’t stop silent tears from rolling down her face.

Bucky frowned, looking around and wondering if something had made her upset. The mirror. He should’ve covered the mirror.

- Princess, I’m so sorry about the mirror. I’ll have it taken away tomorrow.

- No. - she cleaned her cheeks with the back of her hand. - I did something terrible, James.

- No, you didn’t.

- I did and I don’t even regret it. - she looked at the bubbles covering the palms of her hands. - I can stop it and I ... I don’t want to.

- You can’t do bad things, princess. You’re too good.

- I’m not.

- Maybe it’s not a bad thing ... morally ambiguous? - his finger caressed her cheekbone, moving from the very end of her bone to her hair, pushing it behind her ear. - Whatever it is princess, it’ll be alright.

He leaned to kiss her, cupping her face in his hands. It was sweet, soft, full of emotion and she would rather lose herself in his kiss than her guilt. Her hand bunched the fabric of his white jumper pulling him closer enough that had it not been for his perfect balance, he would’ve fallen inside the bath tube. They broke the kiss once the oxygen ran out and she could only think of how sinful he looked with his cherry red wet lips open.

- Get inside the tub, please. - she pleased with those eyes which Bucky couldn’t deny. He quickly got rid of his clothes, submerging himself in the bath with her.

Bucky pulled her on top of him, resting his chin on top of her shoulder, feeling her soft skin against his scruff. She turned her head kissing his cheek before learning against his chest.

- You’re gonna hate me tomorrow. - she mumbled, eyes fixated on the tiles of the bathroom.

- We’ll see what happens tomorrow but I can assure you I’ll never hate you,

She didn’t believe him and instead let herself sink against his skin, hoping she could remember what he felt like, remember his breathe hitting the top of her head or his hand intertwined with hers. The water got cold and both of them exited the bathroom to go to sleep yet she couldn’t. The only time she could close her eyes was when the daylight painted both of them golden once her lids were to heavy for her to remain awake. However, both of them wouldn’t be asleep for longer as when silent settled on the room it was rudely interrupted by Bucky’s phone ringing. Bucky groaned grabbing it from his side table before exiting the room. Sam.

- What’s wrong?

- You need to turn your TV on. - he said in a stern voice. - Channel one.

Bucky rolled his eyes, probably another video of him looking great during a press or some kitten stuck on a tree. Turning off the television and switching to channel one, it quickly dawned on him that it was none of those things as blasted on his television was a slightly blurry yet very recognised photo of him and Y/N. He dropped his phone on the couch, eyes glued onto the screen.

- So ... do you hate me now?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir

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estrel · 4 years

Text

The Christmas Compromise

merry christmas, @lilliankayl !! ‘tis i, your secret santa! this ended up getting a little long, so there will be multiple parts up...soon. here’s the first one, which you will also eventually be able read on ao3 when it’s complete. hope you enjoy!!

Part One.

Dean feels his mouth start to form a lazy smile.

Through the winter chill and the foggy annoyance that his blankets are skewed around him to provide the least amount of heat and warmth, there is a distant recognition that the smell of coffee in the air isn’t just any brew.

Despite the effort to untangle the sheets from his legs and feet, Dean manages to bare his skin to the winter cold of his room, provided the damage to his heater. He makes a mental note to fix that later, after they come back. Dean can last a few days until then.

He can practically see his breath hanging in the air when he yawns, pulling on warmer clothes as quickly as his stiff muscles and numb fingertips will allow him. Sweats, then t-shirt, then hoodie, because he isn’t expected to be anywhere until later and he can always change before that if he needs to.

Better to die comfy than in plaid.

It’s early morning, judging by the darkness outside and Dean’s alarm clock that blinks 5:30 AM at him in white block numbers, but he can’t find it in himself to care that he’s awake to see hell freeze over. Lucky for him, there’s a quick fix to his sleepiness less than twenty feet away.

The socks take entirely too long to fit onto his feet. When they finally do, Dean yanks his door open and pads down the hall, stopping at the entrance to his kitchen.

It’s a modest kitchen—a modest home, really, but it does it’s job—and it’s empty save for an occupied chair at the kitchen table.

Dean stares for a second.

He’s allowed to notice clothes and posture before that second is disrupted by Miracle making a racket coming into the kitchen, and Cas turns to face them.

“Morning,” Dean greets him. The smell of coffee is much stronger here, and Dean can feel his mouth beginning to water.

Cas pushes a full mug towards Dean’s seat.

“Good morning, Dean. I made you—”

“My favorite brew,” Dean finishes for him. He sits, letting his fingers thaw under the ceramic of the mug and breathing in the heavy scent of Cas’ coffee.

“It’s everyone’s favorite brew,” Cas says, taking a sip from his own cup. “That’s why it’s the priciest.”

Dean levels a look at him.

“I have to make money somehow,” Cas defends.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves him off, bringing the drink to his lips. The first taste is hot—too hot—and it burns his throat on the way down.

“You never learn,” Cas says. Dean doesn’t need to meet his eyes to know that they’re squinting at him. “You’ve been burning your tongue on my coffee for years, you’d think it’d make an impact by now.”

Dean only frowns and mumbles into his coffee something about “not every time,” to which Cas rolls his eyes.

They can only pretend to be angry with each other for a few more minutes before it subsides into companionable silence. Dean lightly kicks Cas’ foot under the table to get his attention.

“You gonna need a ride to work?”

Cas sets his mug down and shrugs. He’s still in his night clothes: a white t-shirt—Dean has never understood how Cas can stand the cold—and borrowed sweats, but he’ll probably burrow through more of Dean’s wardrobe to get his outfit for today. The guy might as well live here with the amount of time he spends at Dean’s place and the fact that Dean’s closet is practically Cas’, too, now.

I could always just ask him…

Dean swallows the last of his drink and stands before he can contemplate the question again. He busies himself at the sink, and then ducks under the counter to get Miracle’s food from the cabinet.

“Yes,” Cas says eventually, evidently having gone through every other option before arriving at that one. “Is it a bother?”

Dean pokes his head over the counter to look at him.

“No, man, you know I like driving Baby around. Besides, I’ve got some shopping to do, and, y’know…”

“Free breakfast,” Cas adds for him, a teasing note in his voice. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the muffins that go missing every time you drop by.”

Dean sets down Miracle’s food and whistles softly, standing straight once Miracle trots into the room and to his bowl to eat.

“Hey,” he points a finger at Cas, “Consider it a compromise since you never pay for gas.”

“It’s not like I haven’t offered,” Cas meets Dean by the sink to wash his cup out. “Do you want me to pay for gas, Dean?”

He’s standing close in that way that Cas always stands close—in the way that Dean has stopped correcting for years now. That’s just how he is, he reminds himself, and puts visible effort into keeping his eyes trained on Cas’ blue ones.

“No,” he says, “You don’t need to pay for gas. All I’m asking is that you look the other way when I happen to find a cookie just laying there for the taking. Do that, and it’s free rides for life.”

“When you say ‘laying there,’ I assume you mean in the casing, behind the counter, where only employees are allowed,” Cas sasses back, face stripped of emotion except for the slight furrow to his brow. Imperceptible, if it wasn’t Dean that was staring.

“So now I’m an employee?” Dean asks, finally pulling away from their bubble to pretend to clean the counter. “Jee, Cas, you shoulda told me. I would have put my apron on.”

Cas punches him lightly on the shoulder, done with washing his cup but fingers still wet from doing so. It leaves an imprint on Dean’s hoodie, which Dean acts like he hates, but it gives him a motive to attack Cas back.

They scuffle, elbowing each other and pushing each other around the kitchen—Dean even manages to try for a few tickles to Cas’ armpits and stomach, but still to no avail—until Miracle joins in and they stop so as to not accidentally step on a paw.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Cas says, once they’re done with the rough housing. Patting Dean’s back once, he leaves the kitchen and enters Dean’s room down the hall.

Warmer, now, with the extra movement in him, Dean leans against the counter to catch his breath. At least that’s what he tells himself, watching Cas mill around from door to door until he hears the bathroom shut and the shower start.

When Dean is sure that Cas is out of hearing range, he pulls out his phone.

“Bitch,” Dean starts, pressing the cold surface to his ear and cheek.

“Jerk.”

He smiles. “How’s it goin’?”

“Same old, same old. Got a case about to close up here real soon, so. Expect to see me at the Bunker in a few days.”

“You’ll be there,” Dean confirms. “Glad to hear it.”

“And you? Everything good?”

Dean shifts at the accusatory tone in Sam’s voice.

“Yeah, man. All good. Shop’s runnin’ just fine. Bobby says hi.”

A huff of laughter. “He still kickin’ your ass?”

Dean nods, even though Sam can’t see him. “Bobby’s Bobby. You know how he is, never a moment’s rest. Come to think of it, I actually had to remind him that it’s Christmas this week. The guy was asking if I’d be in on Friday. Had to tell him he wouldn’t be in on Friday, crazy bastard.” He hears Sam chuckle. “Oh hey, by the way, I think Rufus is coming with this year.”

“Really? Haven’t seen him since—”

“Yeah, I know. Well, he’ll be there—you can recount the tall tales of Rufus and Sammy to everyone as a Christmas present.”

There’s a pause, and Dean checks to see if the call had cut off before returning his phone to his ear.

“—coming?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Is Cas coming?”

Dean hears the shower shut off. The guy makes quick work.

“I was assuming,” he says.

“Well, you should ask.”

“Why?” Dean scoffs, “It’s pretty much a given, dude, he always comes.”

He can practically feel Sam’s eye roll over the phone.

“What?”

“I dunno, Dean, c’mon. You can’t just expect him to come whenever you call. He’s got his own family, you know, and—”

Dean grimaces, folding an arm over his chest. “No, he doesn’t. We’re his family. Those dickheads are—” He sighs, tries to contain the outburst before it can be unleashed. In…out.

“Trust me, Sam, he doesn’t want to see them. He’ll be at ours on Friday.”

“Dean—”

“Nice talkin’ to you, Sammy. I’ve gotta go, taking Cas to work.”

“Wait, he’s there?! Hang on a second—”

“Bye!”

He cuts the call before he can hear another word out of Sam, and just in time to see Cas in the bathroom doorway. He’s looking at Dean with his head tilted curiously, and Dean’s breath immediately catches in his chest.

“Was that Sam?” he asks. As if his hair isn’t all wet and towel-rustled, as if he isn’t dressed in Dean’s clothes.

“Yeah,” Dean croaks. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yes. He says hi.”

“I’m sorry I missed him,” Cas frowns, making his way over to Dean. Dean stills.

“It’s six,” Cas continues, “I should be at work by seven, if you can manage it.”

When Dean just stares back, Cas adds, “You should get dressed.”

“What’s wrong with this?”

“You’ve been wearing that hoodie for three days straight and you’re beginning to smell like Miracle,” he deadpans. “Go shower, I can wait.”

Dean pushes himself off the counter and brushes past him. “Thanks, Cas. How considerate.”

When Dean parks Baby in front of Heaven and Hell Cafe, he does so in his grey henley and several layers of long-sleeves, with jeans that do nothing to combat the cold.

Shivering, he follows Cas inside, and warmth envelops them upon entry, along with the jingle of the door bell.

“Cas!” comes a familiar voice. Dean hears more than sees a set of doors opening, and Jack is suddenly in front of them wearing a huge smile.

“Oh, Dean! Good to see you,” Jack lifts a hand in greeting, but it looks more like he wants a hug. Dean smiles back at him and waves.

“Hey, kiddo. Everything alright?”

Jack nods. “Yes. Although, I…I do need to see Cas for a second.”

“Oh, um. Of course.” Cas glances at Dean with a look that says ‘I’ll be right back,’ and follows Jack through the double doors that lead to the kitchen.

Dean trails after them half-way, stopping behind the counter to sleuth after some morning treats. He decides on what he thinks is a cinnamon roll, pulling it out of the casing and shutting the door as quickly as he’d opened it.

He stuffs the pastry in his hoodie’s pocket for later, and thanks the universe that it’s wrapped and won’t get covered in fuzz this time (he’d learned the hard way).

“—makes sense. Just let me know if anything changes.”

Cas appears through the doors looking slightly stressed. Dean fights to urge to get up and soothe, to run his hands across Cas’ shoulders and ease the tension there.

“You good?” Dean checks instead. Cas nods.

“Fine. Just…It’s fine. Didn’t you say you had shopping to do?”

“Are you kickin’ me out?” he jokes.

“No, but the shop opens in thirty minutes. Feel free to stick around if you’d like.” Cas’ eyes drop to Dean’s crotch area, and he quickly looks down to see what Cas is looking at.

“You can eat that here. No point in hiding it since the gig is up.” Dean lets out a breath. Cas had been staring at the lump in Dean’s hoodie pocket, where Dean was keeping his breakfast. What happened to ‘looking the other way?’

“Thanks, but you’re right, I should probably get going. I’ve gotta do errands and be at the shop later to work for a few hours. You coming over tonight?”

Cas pauses in the middle of putting his apron on, contemplating the question.

“No,” he says slowly. “Not tonight.”

Dean tries not to frown. Suddenly the weight of his phone in his pocket is ten times heavier than it was a few seconds ago. ‘Well, you should ask,’ the little voice inside his head that sounds like Sam, says. He sighs softly.

“How about, um. You’re—you’ll be there on Friday, right? Do you need a ride? I was planning on leaving on Thursday, if you wanted to come with. I know Claire’s heading out earlier. Jody, and all them, too…so.” Dean forces himself to meet Cas’ eyes. Something in his chest feels tight when he notices Cas’ expression has only gotten worse.

“I,” Cas starts, gaze falling to his shoes. “I don’t know, Dean.”

That thing in Dean’s chest solidifies and sinks to his stomach, settling there uncomfortably.

“Don’t know what?”

Cas starts rummaging through the bakery cases, adjusting things that don’t need to be adjusted, meticulously cleaning crumbs from platters and making sure the little banners with the pastry names on them are all straight and perfect.

“If I’ll be able to go,” he says finally, not looking up. “It’s the holidays and I’m busy here this season, people have been ordering pastries for Christmas, and I don’t know if I plan to close on Christmas day, because my regulars might want to come in still, and—“

“Cas,” Dean stops him, leaning over the counter. Cas notices and lightly tries to push him off so he can start on the counters, but Dean grabs his wrist to get his attention.

“You’re going to work yourself to death, man. It’s the holidays. Your regulars will understand if you don’t show up on Christmas, okay? And you’ve never had this issue any other year, so...” Dean makes Cas look at him. “What’s really bothering you?”

to be continued...

tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@castiels-a-lamp @jellydeans @writtenmemxries @cestladean @randomblabbling @fluffiestlou @dreamnovak @weird-dorky-little-d @depressivedemonnightmaredean @castiels-pussy@friedchickenangelwings @galaxycastiel @destielle @dickspeightjrs @on-a-bender @organicpurplepants @casbelieves @samuelswinchester @spacegirlstuff @seffersonjtarship @winchester-novak @professorerudite @squintingg @holmesemrys @imnotrevealingmyname @festivemish @merry-things-do-happen-dean @angxlsgrxce @casandeans @castielscrookedtrenchcoat @destiel-in-its-natural-habitat @gracelesschoice @superduckbatrebel @iheardyourprayer @top13zepptraxx @that-one-fandom-chick @scoobydean @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh @maxguevra @cursed-or-not @i-think-im-humanbut-cant-besure @fitinmypoems @madilineskingdom @awolfnamedaliac @castee-yel @tearsofgrace @credentiast @fivefeetfangirl @my-favourite-hellatus

#okay quick note:#i hate this sdfnjhsdf #i think its Not My Best and for that you have my apologies #i blame it on not having written fiction for like two weeks and instead writing like.#18 pages worth of essays #so. ANYHOW #i will probably come back to this and fix some things idk but i hope it suffices for now!#rambleoncas writing #destiel #spnfamsecretsanta

106 notes · View notes

sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

intoxicated

Akaashi x Reader - Scenario

event request: “Congrats on 600!!! maybe i request 8. intoxicated with akaashi pls??🥺🥺🥺💕”

a/n: i’ve always been one to admire strangers from afar. sooo, i thought Akaashi might enjoy seeing your sweet face in a uni/campus setting. fluffy sweetness right here <333

warnings: maybe slightly suggestive (but hardly??)

wc: 1720

---

It all started with a glimpse.

His speculative, grey-blue eyes catching yours from across a full lecture hall. They flickered over, soaking you in at every class period. At first, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been looking right past you, but at the tilt of his head, you were sure that his eyes were set on you. A connection formed instantly, sending shivers straight down your spine, giving pause to every mental function.

It got to the point that you had to remind yourself to breathe whenever the pretty boy sent you a modest smile, leaving you a flushed mess.

Because never have you seen someone that captivating.

How at the flick of his ember hair, brushing a too-long piece away from his eyes, you heart would be pounding and skipping. The way he spun his pencil around on his fingers or rested a studious hand on his chin, squishing his face slightly. How his eyes squinted thoughtfully at the prompt of a tricky question, focusing on a specific object to concentrate, only glancing back up when he came to a satisfying conclusion.

You were spell-bound... and you didn’t even know his name.

But you could dream. And dream you would.

About what his voice would sound like whispering softly to you, his lips brushing against your ear and jawline. Or in the morning with a raspier tinge, waking you up with the gentlest of tones, a hint of coffee lacing with yesterday’s cologne.

How his arms would feel wrapped around your core on a lazy Saturday, soaking in his warmth and sinking back into his secure hold, adjusting accommodatingly for your comfort. To have his eyes drink in every inch of your face, analyzing you instead of his notes for a change.

But for now, you reluctantly settle for distant glances and curious expressions. Separated by a lecture hall and busy class schedules.

That is until you show up to class, finding someone in the usually empty seat next to yours.

Their back is toward you for a moment, so you take it as a chance to scan their appearance. You quickly note the clean outfit, brown boots and simple colors complete with a long, grey cardigan. If you were forced to sit next to some mysterious person, you’re glad they at least knew how to dress well.

But your entire body runs cold as a familiar face shifts toward the tapping of your light footsteps.

Soft, navy glasses with thin frames. The gentle features made up of soft cheekbones and a sharp, slim jawline. Those bewitching eyes that could outshine the profound shimmering of a deep-blue sea.

It’s him. The one you’ve been fascinated by for weeks. And he’s sitting right there.

“Hi.” The tone is soft and pleasant… inviting even. And his eyes, so warm.

His voice is silk, skimming the surface of your skin giving you chills. Your current infatuation is speaking to you. And it’s definitely no longer a dream.

You should probably start responding now,

“Oh, uh, hello!” You stammer out, a flush dancing across your cheeks.

He just smiles at your dazed response, aware of your confusion but unfazed by your reaction.

Dammit, act like a normal human, y/n, you scold yourself for just standing there, your hands shoved in your pockets.

“I’m y/n. it’s nice to meet you!” You return the smile, but it hardly begins to reveal the exhilaration of being so close to him.

“I’m Akaashi. Do you care if I sit with you?”

Oh, you could sit on me, you think to yourself but shake the thought from your head swiftly.

And Akaashi… a pretty name for such a pretty face. He’s polite too. Maybe a little formal, but friendly.

“Oh, sure! It’s not like I’m saving it for anyone or anything like that…” You let out a breathy laugh as you set your bag down next to his backpack.

The bustling of the room before class starts covers for the awkward silence between you two. You do your best to calm your nerves. This was the last thing you’d expected from your day and you sure as hell never planned to make a move on him. Your interest was supposed to fade as the semester closed out. It was going to be a lovely thought. Just a nostalgic, intangible tale of stolen glances or a story to tell about a beautiful stranger and what could’ve been.

But Akaashi had other plans.

He wanted to feel you out. To understand why your eyes rested on his figure whenever you thought he couldn’t see you. Because, to Akaashi, you’re the enigma.

A puzzle in need of solving, determining, and piecing together until a full picture is resolved. And he hasn’t been this intrigued by an individual since high school… so who’s to say he shouldn’t pursue his curiosity?

He took a leap of faith, deciding that you were also potentially interested, which is how he’s found himself seated next to you. And you’re way more attractive up close than he could’ve imagined.

As the professor begins to ramble through some odd topic, Akaashi’s side glances begin.

The way your lips part as you try to listen to the lecture, beautiful eyes scanning your notes, and then flickering back to the PowerPoint on the projector screen has him shifting around in his seat, wishing he could hear the song of your voice through them. He can tell that there’s so much more under your surface. Behind your shy smiles and the way your tuck strands of hair behind your ear. That there was already a lifetime of morals, beliefs, habits, experiences, and stories that you could share with him. There is only so much he could examine in the span of an hour… and it’s not often that he’s drawn away from his studies. But in all honesty, he’d much rather listen to you, falling in love with your mind instead of just your body and entrancing facial features.

Akaashi craves to discover it all.

You bite your lip, attempting to concentrate on anything but the boy next to you… but it’s hard because he’s close enough that you can smell his complex cologne mixed with the chai latte sitting on his desk. You even find yourself leaning toward him, your body urging you to break the distance between you two. Throughout the class you have to control yourself, sitting up straight, keeping comments and conversation to a minimum, because forget about learning anything… you’re barely able to think without being submerged in his presence.

When his arm intentionally brushes against yours as he reaches for another sip of his tea, you almost lose it. Infatuation or not, he was doing something to you.

You barely register that Akaashi has leaned in to whisper something to you, but when it does, goosebumps race down your arms.

“Y/n…”

Your name feels so good rolling off his tongue.

Heat spreads across your face, “Y- yes?”

Very smooth, y/n. Nice stutter, you cringe at yourself.

“After class, would you want to go over notes?” His suggestion, though innocent in nature, sounds far more alluring… and you can’t tell if it’s just your brain making up the sultry tone or if Akaashi just sounds this good.

“Ah, actually I would love to… where to?” You recover, leaning back as a small smile plasters itself onto your lips, trying not to make your excitement too obvious.

“My dorm?” A fleeting smirk crosses his face, but ghosts away to conceal his feelings.

Oh.

---

“Keiji, you’re tickling me.” You squirm, trying to tug your self out of his grasp.

“No, I’m not, you just happen to be ticklish.” He counters sleepily. His fingers continue to dance down your back, running in soothing circles and tracing curves.

You huff, but you stop struggling to get out of his arms.

As terrible as the dilapidated campus dorms were, you’ve never felt safer than when you were buried in a blanket, tucked under your boyfriend’s arm, staring up at the old, cracked ceiling. The tired building was so close to falling apart that it was almost laughable.

But you don’t seem bothered.

It’s hard to worry about it when you’re constantly drowning in the pools of his eyes. Under the influence of his grazing touches and strings of thought flowing from his pretty mouth. An enrapturing blend of sophistication and authentic thought.

You shift in his hold, your back no longer pressing to his chest, choosing to lay face-to-face instead. For a moment, you are met with sloping features and the most peaceful of expressions. A sweeping wave of adoration flows through your body. It’s a warm tightening in your chest followed by a heavy, contented exhalation. He’s an angel.

But soon, Akaashi’s eyes softly blink open, making your heart do little flips. You would never be able to get rid of the butterflies that fluttered their way into your heart. He moves straight to reading your mind, analyzing every quirk of your eyebrow, what kind of smile you were wearing, how long you held his gaze for.

It’s funny how he’d assumed that you would only distract him from that one class. Instead, you have him in a dizzying spiral, taking up all of his attention. Filling his whole heart. His eyes naturally sought you out in noisy rooms full of people. His soul ached and burned for you and your pillowy-soft voice whenever you weren’t around.

It’s undeniable.

You’re intoxicating.

Placing butterfly kisses on his cheeks, you earn a soft, closed-mouth smile. It’s easy to drown in his mesmerizing stare, taking it in, processing what he’s feeling and thinking, you lose track of time and forget about the dingy dorm room.

Because it didn’t matter where you were. A classroom? A house party? A burning building? His artistry and perfection would outshine the most interesting of discussions and the brightest of flames. He’d bled through the pages of your life, leaving beautiful strokes of ink containing hues brighter than you could’ve ever imagined. Dipping into your past and pressing his way into your future.

And it’s clear.

Akaashi is intoxicating.

The feeling is perfectly mutual… and to think it all started with a simple infatuation with the prettiest boy in your lecture hall.

With a beautiful stranger.

A mere glance.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @starboybokuto

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

#haikyuu #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi #akaashi scenarios #akaashi oneshot #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq scenarios #hq imagines #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyu #600 follower event #sneezefiction

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weirdfanaus · 4 years

Text

The Path that Leads Home

Summary: Azriel, on a mission in Day Court, finds himself in a moment of weakness, but somehow he finds his way back home with a life-changing dream in mind.

Rating: Mature

Words: 3347

Pairing: Azriel (ACoTaR) and Original Character

Author’s Note: All characters except the original one are from A Court of Thorns and Roses. The original one was created by a friend and she allowed me to use her in this story. You can find her under @majolishdustybooks .

No spoilers for A Court of Silver Flames

Also on Ao3

Azriel didn't know what to do.

He had always known what was going on, but now he was lost.

He was in the middle of nowhere, had muddy attire, no trace of the target he was chasing and a mood at its lowest.

He sat down on a stump and felt how his syphons hummed in agreement; they needed a break too. He sighed, combing his hair with his fingers and angled his head towards the warm light.

The sun shone and through the dome of leaves, its rays got to his tanned and tired face.

And the only thing he wanted was to sleep.

Azriel and his spies had been chasing his target for more than three months. And when they found that they had been hiding in a forest over the border with the Day Court, he didn't care who was supposed to take care of them. Thus, he winnowed near the frontier and used his connections and knowledge about that court to pass it as silently as possible.

But the mission after passing it… was not as easy as it was supposed to be.

The Day Court had always meant something else for the Spymaster. He was feeling closer to home, calmer and even younger. His instincts were different than usual and his lazy syphons, having a mind of their own too, were enjoying their time in the court of light more than they should.

He was sitting against another tree, half of the front of his leathers open due to the heat and was trying to find the will to fight the sleep that was slowly conquering his whole body.

A voice broke the silence of the forest, the birds stopped singing and the Illyrian opened an eye and looked at at the owner of the voice:

"Wow! The Night Court's Spymaster sleeping? During daylight? I've lived to see this day! I thought that you, bats, slept only during the night. Is the Night Court no longer good for you, old man? Decided that you preferred the sun over the moon and the stars?"

His siphons suddenly woke up.

"Nice to see you're alive too, Cyra," he replied with a tougher voice, sleep already clouding his body.

"Darn! You really must like me, if you are still half asleep right now."

If it were autumn, her proximity would've been alerted by the fallen leaves. But because they were still enjoying the calm weather and longer days, the summer gave Azriel the lisp of the leaves’ help.

"One of our guards caught Edgard trying to break into the main building." That sentence was a wake-up call for the Spymaster and when he stood up, back in the middle of the clearing, he noted how close he was to the female.

The silence was familiar. He didn’t like to talk too much when it wasn’t needed, but her presence demanded it and his heart and mind was happy to oblige.

And that's why, even though it was not needed, Azriel's right corner of the lip rose and a "Hi" broke the silence.

Cyra's hazel eyes sparkled at his tone and, because of the light, they became greener. Her lips curved in a smile too, while saying: "Hello, Azriel. Nice to see you alive and well. Heard you made new friends."

The male shrugged and stretched his wings lazily, while the female was assessing him, looking judgely. He knew that his wings were something meaningful to her, not only because they were his, but also because of her Illyrian heritage. His wings, scarred and darker than wet tree branches, connected her to her mother, whose wings brought the late female more pain than freedom.

“Can we go to where you hold him? I need to winnow him to the Court of Nightmares and get him to talk.” Cyra was somehow caught by surprise by his voice, but she shook it off fast.

“Yeah, he is kind of asleep now. You hit him hard.” Her voice was calmer, her body more relaxed than usual, not as guarded as she was the first time he met her. Back when she was cold, young and with strands of brown hair flying in the bitter winds of the Winter Court’s mountains, possessing a look in her eyes that would’ve killed him right there.

“It’s of no surprise that you look like you got hit by a volley of arrows. Yeah, minus the blood. That’s all mud and probably… poop.” her hands moved with such speed, while she spoke, that only by looking at them, he felt more tired than before.

“Cyra… I know I look like actual shit, but can we not talk about my attire right now? I would prefer to sleep, I haven’t slept five hours continuously for days and I think that I might pass out.” He stepped towards her in a manner very unlike him and Cyra’s face turned into an open book, worry filling its pages.

“You smell…” was her reply when she caught him right before he could fall. It was a sure thing that she was thinking whether she had a dead man in her arms or not, but his head moved against her hair, white strands finding their way through his dark locks and some even reaching in his mouth. He tried to get rid of them without using his hands, but when he realized there had been no progress made, he tried to use his hands, but the female moved faster than him. “And still act as a baby.” Azriel’s face was empty of any sign of emotion.

One moment they were in the middle of a clearing, in the forest, under the sun and the other they were in the middle of a living room. Warm colours, browns and a lot of white surrounded them then.

He would never get used to the great number of plants in that house. Even though in the years he had known her and they had started to get closer to each other, his house back in Velaris was almost as crowded as the one he was in. Stalks, leaves and flower petals covering almost every surface.

He asked her once, while she was bringing yet another potted plant into his apartment, back in Velaris: “Why are you so keen on growing a forest inside my apartment?”

Cyra just shrugged and while he waited for the more elaborated answer, which was coming, he watched how she played with one of the white hair strands that were framing her face, the rest of it was kept together with a clip.

"More oxygen won't hurt you."

"Yeah, but when there is no light outside, they use my oxygen. So…?"

She made an annoyed face then and raised a finger in his direction. "You are already dark and broody, why not brighten the place a little bit?"

"I get that you don't like my colour preference, even though we are in the Night Court, sweetheart. You didn't have to fill this place that much that I don't have any place to even stand. And it's my apartment!"

The female shrugged, pissed off by his statement. She bit her lip and looked at the plant she was still holding.

"Plants show us that even after weeks of cold weather, there is still a moment when the sun will come and we will have our moment to be reborn. They bring us all joy. I thought you needed some joy in your life, Az."

He had always known, deep down, that happiness would come at some point, even though for much time he had lived in darkness, hurting.

Cyra, with her bright hair and hazel eyes, sometimes even the colour of the plants she loved and cherished, was like the light at the end of the tunnel for him. She brought him joy, freedom and he felt like light, weightless, although he was always in the shadows.

And then, in the Day Court, surrounded by plants and flowers and vegetables, he was home.

But he was still unsure what to do next.

The female started walking around the room, moving blankets on the sofa, opening cabinets and pulling out packages, cans, jars, utensils and plates.

The water was boiling on the stove when he finally decided to talk.

"I should've gone to sort the problem with Edgard."

"Don't worry about him, he will be there after you take a shower and have something to eat. We need to catch up. It's been a while. I want to know everything about your brand new High Lady." Cyra didn't raise her eyes from the cutting board, where vegetables started gathering. But her tone showed that she was in the mood to gossip.

"I heard she likes soup." She rose her eyes to him and cleaned the tomato juice off one of her fingers.

Azriel chuckled at that.

There was a joke between the Inner Circle, about how Feyre gave Rhys canned soup when they sealed the mating bond. And Azriel knew that there was no way, the Spymaster of the Day Court would not find out about it.

She lived off tormenting his friends, usually the males.

"Can I at least have a bite… small bite… from what you have decided to cook?" He tried, but he was very aware that he was full of mud, probably smelled of deer poop and looked like he had got run over by dozens of wild horses. He knew Cyra very well and her eyes told him that he needed to get cleaned as soon as possible and there was nothing else to discuss.

He puffed, sad that he had lost that ‘battle’ and aimed for the bathroom.

The bathroom was the same as he had seen it last. Toiletries spread out on the counter by the sink: toothbrushes, razors and different kinds of soaps, each specially created for certain use.

He swiftly undressed himself and lowered in the already filled magical pool. The water was always warm and his muscles sighed in approval for the moment of peace. The last week had been filled with the smell of grass, branches and flowers. Their pollen sometimes disturbing his senses, a problem, which was once a disadvantage but had been redeemed by knowing the woman in the other room. After all, he basically had a garden in his house back in Velaris.

He rubbed all the mud off and when he decided that he had spent enough time in the bathroom, he got out. And with a towel around his waist, he walked into the bedroom linked to the bathroom.

Sunlight bathed the room and the plants were sprawling towards it. On the bed placed against the wall, right in the middle of the room, sat a pile of clean clothes, black pants and underwear and a white short-sleeved shirt, which he put on.

Back in the kitchen, the female, now with her long white hair bound, was mixing something in a bowl, the water in the pot boiling behind her. He reached it and the smell it emanated was a sign that its contents were done. Opening cabinets with familiarity, Azriel strained the vegetables and dumped them in an empty, clean bowl, placing it on the counter. He seasoned them and watched Cyra take a tray with meat out of the oven.

"Take a plate and pick your favourite." She said, tray in one hand and a fork in the other, gesturing towards a cupboard where he knew she held plates.

Minutes later, the two of them sat at a table by the window, plates before them, glasses filled with lemon water. The sun was covering everything on the table, the flowers in the vase spreading their petals in approval.

Everything in that house loved the sunlight. He preferred it over the darkness of his past and shadows.

"I've heard that Rhysand got a mate." Cyra, even though she wasn't a fan of talking, was the one that usually started a conversation between the two of them.

And this conversation wasn't something he felt like doing after the week he had just had.

"Yeah, he did," was what left his lips as he chose to pick at his vegetables and steak instead of looking at her.

"When?" she stopped eating altogether, now sitting in the chair in a way that favoured conversation.

"When what?"

"When did the mating bond go… boof." she moved her arms as if she had just finished a magic trick.

"I don't know… maybe around the annual snow fight? We were in the Steppes when Feyre found out that Rhys kept the fact that they were mates from her. “

“So, she is what… angry at him, takes some time off from all of you and they sort it out?”

She jumped in, making her usual assumptions, and Azriel just nodded his head in approval. “And they do the whole cook a meal thing and stuff like that.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“What do you mean by ‘something’?” she looked at him confused.

“Cans.” the word made her burst into pure laughter. She moved her hands and was almost going to spoil a glass’ components on the table, but Azriel caught it just in time.

When she calmed a little, she wiped some tears from her eyes while saying: “If Cassian gets the same treatment, I swear to the Cauldron that the three of you are destined to have mates that know nothing of the culinary arts.”

Azriel just puffed at her statement, which made Cyra shrug and plaster a small smile on her slightly tanned skin.

“She will learn…” he said hopefully, but Cyra just continued to look at him, smiling.

“It’s not like she will starve by not knowing” They looked at each other longly, thinking about a night around 200 years ago in a cabin in summer court, during a horrendous storm and a bag of potatoes.

“At least I knew how to mash potatoes,” she added a second after while grabbing another bite from her serving.

Her words, her tone and her actions right after she said that, made Azriel burst into a laughter of his own. He didn’t stop for a while, thinking of the awkwardness that went on between the two of them that night. Possibly thinking about that she started laughing too.

Still laughing, she collected the dishes off the table when they were finished, his plate almost empty, except for some leaves she used for seasoning.

“How’s Cas?” she asked while cleaning the dishes. Azriel walked around the counter, right from the dining area and propped himself against the now clean marble.

“In the Illyrian Mountains. He is trying to help Feyre's older sister figure life as Fae out.” he said while crossing his arms.

“Oh… is he all right? After what happened during that last battle…”

“It’s been a rough period of time for all of us. And I also know that I should’ve come by sooner…”

“I knew that you were alive. I could feel that you were also well, as much as somebody can be after a war… That’s what mattered,” she told him while drying her hands with a cloth. They looked at each other for seconds that felt more like hours. The silence was familiar, calm and it assured both of them that there was still time left, it wasn't running out, just yet.

“I think…”

“We should…”

They started talking at the same time. And sharing a mind connection had never been weirder and more useless before. But they held their minds from each other most of the time and that path that connected them was used in the most important situations.

And that was one of the reasons why they were that day together, because, in his state, Azriel used that connection to call for help. Help that he knew would come unconditionally.

They had decided decades ago that for this eternity to not be a burden, they needed their space. Also, the secrets of their Courts were bigger than them and they needed to be kept safe.

But the last war woke up something in him. Something that he had known since he had first met her during that mission in the Winter Court.

“You say first.” As she could feel the fight that went on inside his head, she broke the silence. Cyra looked off guard, something that he wasn’t used to, but he had seen before.

His hands were sweating, he was nervous and he didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like that was the first time they shared their hopes, dreams and insecurities with each other.

They were mates.

“I think… I think that we should try to have a baby.” He said. His voice small, eyes partially filled with fear, scared of rejection. He didn’t expect her to be always on the same page as him.

But Cyra didn’t look as angry as he had expected. She played with her fingers, one holding her wedding ring with a blue stone, the same colour as his siphons, which shone in the midday sun. And when she raised her eyes, hazel mixed with silver, she just nodded.

"I think so too."

And his whole world became even brighter than before.

He hugged her and kissed her whole smiling face, forehead, cheeks, nose, eyelids and lastly her lips a couple of times.

Their last kiss was longer than the previous ones, minds open to each other, secrets still hidden in the darkest depths of them, but happiness was buzzing between them.

Their foreheads were together when Cyra opened her eyes to look at him. He could feel her eyes on his face, his olive skin, the scars on his brows and cheeks, the circles under his eyes, but also the wrinkles created by the smile still present.

He started kissing her skin again, but this time his lips took a different path. Her throat was covered by his warm, chapped lips and in their trail, the skin was left wet and sometimes red, from sucking. She brought her arms closer to his neck, fingers running through his dark locks.

Small sounds were leaving her full lips when Azriel’s hands gripped her thighs and she was lifted off the floor and carried to the bedroom.

The sound of a closed door was followed by the rustling of clothes. Laughter filled the air again when the Illyrian stuck his shirt in a talon of his wings, but she helped and they kissed again.

The world seemed to be suddenly set on the right path when they finally joined. His kisses covered the inked skin of her chest, their marriage tattoo set right over each of their hearts. And with each step they took in their dance, they got closer and closer to the end.

Her legs hugged his waist, her arms, his neck, hands massaging his scalp, his elbows on the mattress, one hand at her nape, the other keeping him from crushing her, lips glued and their hearts were over the other, skin on skin, tattoo over tattoo. His hand searched blindly for hers when he felt that they were close to the climax, his movements speeding up. When their fingers laced through each other on the bed, the moment came.

Ragged breaths replaced the sounds of pleasure and their foreheads were once more against the other, bodies still joined and coming down from the high.

“I love you.” Her hoarse breath broke the silence. Her hand covered his cheek, trying to wipe some sweat off of his face. In a movement so similar to a cat’s, Azriel nuzzled his nose, face and hair against her damp face and placed his head in the crook of her neck, kissed the pulse point and hugged her body even more. She replied to his action by moving her hips higher and squeezed his middle. He muffled a swore in her now wild hair.

I love you too. Filled her head and a smile crept on her lips.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #acotar #acofas #weirdfanaus

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hajimewhore · 4 years

Text

Million Reasons ⛅ (Matsukawa Issei/Reader) on [Ao3] ➸Rated E, fem!Reader, 7k+words ➷Part 2 of the Haikyuu Song Fic Collection ➷Angst, depression, fluff, this one is pwp ➷Left in Matsukawa’s wake, you find yourself struggling to come to terms with your break up. Everything reminds you of him. From the sheets that smell like him, to something as simple as coffee.

After everything, you know you should let him go, but you can’t help but search for reasons to stay.

[Masterlist] [part 1]

A/N:

Here’s part two for my song fic collection, as promised! Highly recommend reading part one, linked above.

This one is Million Reasons, Lady Gaga. Despite it endlessly being played on the radio in the car and at work, I can always jam to it. I think it’s a nice follow up to Harry Styles’ Falling!

It had been a long week, and you found yourself mindlessly going through your days.

You rely entirely on muscle memory to carry you through daily tasks and basic human needs, but barely have an appetite to finish meals or the energy to leave the house.

You haven’t seen Matsukawa or heard from him since your ‘break up’, you’d only gotten confirmation from Hanamaki that he ended up staying at his place.

After the first day, you noticed Matsukawa had picked up some of his things when you came back from work.

The closet you shared was emptier, stray coat hangers and missing sweaters and tees. You’re ashamed to admit that you slept in one of his tee shirts that night.

Wrapped up in his scent between his shirt and the sheets, you were able to wake up the next morning in your sleepy haze, believing that it never happened. That Matsukawa hadn’t said any of it.

If only you said more, told him all the things that he needed to hear. But any words of encouragement went out of his head, and no amount of I love you’s would get through to him.

And as the week progressed with radio silence, the intrusive thoughts in your head began to convince you that he might have meant everything he said.

You told yourself otherwise, that he just needs a break to sort everything out himself. He just wasn’t in the right state of mind when he snapped at you, he hadn’t been for months. Matsukawa struggled to love himself as much as he did you, and though you tried to support him, he wouldn’t accept it.

You lay back in the empty sheets, lonely sigh bouncing off the walls into white noise.

You already miss being wrapped up in the sheets with him, whispering in each other’s ears and laughing about nothing. You’ve missed it for awhile now, but now that he’s not here the longing sits heavier on your chest.

You’d noticed the signs, Matsukawa had started to lack affection and his depressive episodes became more frequent. You thought you were acknowledging them, but every time he brushed you aside, you stepped down so easily.

Every time he interrupted your concerns with a subject change, you accepted it. You’d confront him later, you always told yourself.

Curling into your side, arms aching to wrap around him, you fret yourself over things you should’ve and could’ve done.

After tossing and turning, you’re finally able to drift to sleep, caught in the dream of a memory.

“Welcome home!”

You cheer, when Matsukawa arrives home from work.

You’d been used to serving food at the restaurant, but not cooking it. You’re grateful Matsukawa at least knew his way around a kitchen, you mostly aided him to the best of your abilities. But tonight, you wanted to make sure a meal was sitting at the table when he arrived.

Despite your underwhelming talents in the kitchen, you’d researched recipes to prepare his favorite hamburg steak.

Admittedly, you played the recipe video back about six times after every direction to make sure you were doing it right.

But you’re pretty confident how it turned out, and you repeated the process with several other dishes he liked, all in time for his arrival home.

You’d even spent the day cleaning and organizing. Even though it wasn’t your designated cleaning day, you wanted him to come home to a brighter apartment.

You’d decorated the walls with photographs that the printing place finished earlier. High school photos from Hanamaki line the wall, mostly of their volleyball team, as well as photos of you and Matsukawa together.

You got caught up sorting through the old pictures of Matsukawa, excitedly giggling at his younger face, his hair style then, how lanky he was, same thick eyebrows.

You almost thought you hadn’t given yourself enough time to prepare the food.

When the front door swings open, you set off a party popper, just for the sake of being extra. Simultaneously, you scare the living shit out of Matsukawa.

“Woah! What is all this?”

Overcoming the initial surprise, his eyes flick around the room. His arms outstretched, you accept the hug eagerly as he peers at you with curiosity.

“It’s not our anniversary. Or my birthday. Or your birthday. What’s going on babe? Are you pregnant—“

He mentally ticks off important dates, before his eyes blow wide at his own assumption.

“No, no. Nothing like that, silly. You’ve been working so hard at your new job, I figured I’d reward you for it!”

You slide your hands up to link behind his neck, attempting to tug him closer as you straighten your posture.

He laughs, leaning down to meet your awaiting kiss. Your lips feel warm against his, and you can feel him unable to resist smiling into the kiss.

Matsukawa’s hands move to caress your hair, he separates momentarily to read your expression.

You open your eyes and peek through your lashes to see his warm gaze.

Ever since he had to work at the funeral home for his father, his mood had plummeted.

It was completely understandable, his goals and aspirations were put on the back burner.

And when he was told he needed to take over the business entirely, the dreams he worked tirelessly for were completely out of his reach.

Needless to say, he’d been despondent. For awhile, nothing you could say could pull him out of it.

But day by day, he grew accustomed to it, even told you things he started to like about the seemingly grim business.

Even though he managed to find a silver lining, it never brought him back to his usual self.

So seeing the light in his eyes and his rosy cheeks made you beam with pure, unadulterated, joy.

“I’m so proud of you, Issei.”

You mumble, words dancing across his lips, and he thanks you with a contented expression, running his thumb softly across your cheekbone.

He reconnects your lips into another gentle kiss, and you easily find yourself lost in it.

Despite complaining about how cold he is all the time, he radiates warmth, and it encompasses you wholly.

He trails his hand down your cheek, slotting his thumb and fingers to either side of your jaw.

When you feel the soft pressure of his fingers, you open your mouth at the gesture, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his tongue against yours.

Threading your fingers through his curls, you hear the softest moan of satisfaction from him. As your hot tongues slick together, you drag your nails from his hair, down his neck, broad shoulders, to his chest.

You pop open the buttons of his collar with relative ease, but as your excitement grows the difficulty of the task increases.

Matsukawa’s arm wraps around your middle, pressing you close to his body. He rests his free hand to the back of your neck, and to accommodate your tight proximity you tilt your head back.

Bodies now flushed together, you feel the heat exchanging and rising between the two of you, and he hasn’t stopped attacking your mouth for a moment.

Matsukawa bites your bottom lip softly, teasingly, and his mouth covers the gasp that threatens to escape your lips.

He presses a knee between your legs, and you stagger back.

“Ah,”

You separate momentarily,

“Fuck,”

He grunts out as your bottom hits the edge of the dining table. His palm quickly flattens against the surface of it while using his other arm to maintain your balance.

“Sorry, I got a little excited there.”

He mutters close to your face, but the clatter of the plates at the table echoes in your ears. The noise winds up bringing you out of your haze, back to your senses.

“Ahhhh! The food is getting cold!”

You press your hands to his chest, and he lets you push him off with minor hesitation.

“Mmm, and we were getting to the good part.”

He sighs, running his hand through his dark hair.

“We can get to the good part later! We need to eat before all the food dies!”

You settle at one end of the table, and he smiles taking his seat across you.

“This part is just as good too...”

He comments, making you flush as he helps himself, his eyes practically glitter at the meal you worked so hard to prepare.

“I can’t fuck you as good if I’m running on empty, anyways.”

You sputter at his brazen comment, and by the look on his face you can tell he feels zero shame.

“Issei!”

Your cheeks brighten, and he holds a piece of steak up to your lips as a peace offering.

“Kidding.”

You know he’s absolutely not kidding, but you accept it nonetheless, laughing with a blush after getting over the initial shock value.

You banter and laugh through the meal, blushing at all the praise he gives you for your cooking. It leaves you satisfied that your efforts payed off and he enjoyed everything.

When you clean up the table, you try to convince him to let you do the dishes yourself.

“I’ll take care of it! Don’t worry,”

You collect the plates on your arms with practiced ease, despite not working at the restaurant anymore you can still balance everything perfectly.

“You cooked, I should clean.”

Matsukawa insists, of course, and he’s much stronger than you so you don’t resist (much) when he takes the plates from your hands.

In the end, due to your excessive pouting and puppy eyes, you compromise by cleaning the dishes like you two normally do. Side by side at the sink together, elbows brushing occasionally.

The domesticity of doing a regular household chore together with Matsukawa makes your heart feel full.

When you leave the kitchen, you catch him staring fondly at the photos of the both of you, newly framed and hung.

“I like how this one came out.”

You point out your favorite one. You were a brand new couple then, eager to impress each other and afraid to mess things up.

Matsukawa wraps his arms around you, pressing his front to your back. He rests his chin at the top of your head, and you hold his hands softly and lean back into the touch.

You take the next opportunity to roast the fuck out of Hanamaki’s haircut in high school, pointing at the old Seijou volleyball team photos.

“Maybe that’s why he put up a fight when I asked for them.”

You snicker, he didn’t look... bad. But it was certainly a contrast to his K-Pop reminiscent hair style now.

“How’d you manage to convince him?”

“I told him I’d just ask Oikawa for pictures instead, and Hanamaki immediately said he could find some for me.”

Matsukawa snorts at your response, knowing exactly what your play was,

“You’re pretty evil. I’m positive Oikawa has a stockpile of team photos where he’s the only one that looks good.”

“Really? Should I text him now for some?”

“Please don’t.”

“Mmmm, I’ll let it slide. But only for tonight.”

You tease, and you feel the laughter rumble from his chest.

When you make your way to the bedroom, the both of you make good on your promise before dinner.

Matsukawa is quick to press you into the mattress, lips back against yours.

Before you get too excited, you make sure to finish unbuttoning the rest of his dress shirt this time.

You don’t trust yourself enough to be able to do the job right later, especially now that his hot breath is trailing past your jawline down to your neck.

The feeling combined with his tongue now laving at the junction between your neck and shoulder sends a shockwave down your spine.

You arch into him, just barely muffling the noises behind your lips shut tight.

“I wanna hear it all, baby,”

Matsukawa whispers against your neck, sliding his hand up to grab your chin. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, and you open your mouth obediently.

He’s careful not to leave any marks behind, despite how badly he wants to. But recalling how you scolded him fairly recently for the discolored bruises in obvious places, during the summertime no less (where it’s impossible to wear scarves or turtlenecks, apparently), made him think twice.

The feel of his hot breath ghosting across your neck makes you sigh with pleasure. You make a noise of upset when he pulls away, lips turning down into a pout.

Your disappointment doesn’t last for long, when you see him shrugging his dress shirt the rest of the way off.

Your eyes catch his broad shoulders, traveling down to his abdomen, and you thank god for high school volleyball for giving him a routine as you trail your hands across his chest to his abs.

“You’re so hot it hurts.”

You whine out, pouting as he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s gonna hurt for sure.”

You know he’s just teasing, and you roll your eyes.

Matsukawa wouldn’t hurt you if he could help it, you’d have to beg for it before he did anything remotely close to harming you.

“You’re full of it.”

“Hey, I’ve got a big dick and the attitude to back it up.”

He shrugs, slipping his fingers under the bottom of your shirt.

You laugh at the route your conversation turned.

At least he didn’t say something like ‘You’re about to be full’.

You aid him tugging your shirt overhead,

“You really do though.”

And you can feel said ‘big dick’ pressing against you when he leans back down to kiss you.

The first time you saw it, released from the confines of his unbuckled pants, you thought instantly that it wasn’t going to fit. His briefs and pants dropped to the floor along with your jaw.

And you’d never thought something so ridiculous before, but that was how big Matsukawa’s dick was.

But he took things slow, let you grow accustomed to him, and only fucked you hard into the mattress when you cried for it.

Matsukawa is proud of it to this day, and you’ve never told another soul, but he wound up putting you out of commission the next day.

You had to call in a favor for Iwasaki to cover your shift because there was no way you’d be getting in thousands of steps at work after the night you had.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, you moan against Matsukawa’s mouth when he grinds against your lower half.

The two of you have gained a lot of experience in the bedroom over the course of your relationship, attuned to everything the other likes and dislikes, and what feels best for the other.

And Matsukawa is able to find the right spot and angle to grind his hips into you, and he does so with practiced ease.

As much as you love the feeling of his hard on pressing through his slacks and your shorts, the friction and pressure driving you wild,

“You’re wearing to much.”

You break the kiss with a whine.

“You’re wearing just as much as me.”

He laughs, but doesn’t wait another moment longer to pull your shorts down.

You raise your knees to make the task easier, and he tosses the garment aside carelessly. It falls to the floor to join your previously discarded shirt,

“Hey, I worked hard to clean today you know,”

You tease, as he makes quick work of his belt and his own pants.

“I’m sorry, babe. Do you want me to fold it as I go?”

He laughs lightly, pulling his slacks down.

You wonder in the mean time how he’s able to get undressed in bed without looking awkward.

He actually starts to fold them, and you snatch the fabric from his hands with a laugh, tossing it to join the rest of the clothes.

“I was kidding, just hurry up and kiss me!”

You pull him back to meet you in another searing kiss, and he laughs against your lips, pressing you back into the sheets.

Your banter is quickly forgotten, in favor of hot mouths and tongues getting reacquainted.

He snaps your bra and you meet his satisfied smirk with a glare, but the bite is lacking due to your lust addled state. He unclasps the hooks easier than you can yourself, but before you can feel jealous of his skill he’s slipping the lingerie off.

He’s sure to give your breasts the same attention your mouth received, licking and biting gently.

Matsukawa’s fingers trail down your side, the touch so light it’s almost nonexistent, until his hand is slipping past your panties to the wet heat behind them.

“Issei,”

You gasp, body tensing on reflex at the touch, and he tucks his face back into your neck with calming words of reassurance.

You sigh contently when his fingers slip inside, giving a few slow thrusts.

Your hips arch into his hand, and he bites your neck, causing you to moan out his name once more.

“You’re so wet baby. Were you waiting all night for this?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod with a hum, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Hm? You’re usually so good with your words,”

He clicks his tongue, pumping his fingers at a slow and teasing pace,

“Slow, or faster? Use your words baby.”

There’s that hot breath against your neck that sends shivers throughout you, and the pet name that warms your body in an instant.

“F-Faster, please!”

He smiles against your skin, kissing up to your jaw.

“You even said please, good girl.”

He praises, increasing his pace. The sounds become embarrassingly loud, and you can hear what he’s doing to you as well as feel it to your core.

You gasp out when he presses his thumb to your clit, hands dropping to find purchase on his back. The bundle of nerves so suddenly abused sends your back arching off the mattress.

“I-Issei, please, I think I’m ready—“

And with that, he slips his hands out and tugs the flimsy garment down your legs.

Your body misses the feeling of his long and slender fingers deep inside you, but you know very well that his cock can reach the places his fingers can’t.

And though you love the way the dark under armour briefs look hugging his thighs, barely concealing his hard on, you’re way more excited to see them coming off.

You let out a gasp when he hikes your leg up his shoulder, and you’re physically brought back into the moment when he lines up his erection against your slick folds.

He rocks his hips gently against them, cock sliding just outside your heat. His voice sounds thick with anticipation and lust,

“Ready?”

You love how even now he’s still looking to you for permission, and you nod eagerly,

“God yes, just do it, Issei.”

And with that he slowly pushes his cock inside you with a low moan. Your jaw slackens, and your eyes screw shut with a moan of your own.

You swear, every time it feels like he’s splitting you open. But his fingers and care from earlier certainly helps, and you feel your walls accommodating the width of his girth as he slowly pushes in.

It’s tight, it always is with him, but you love the feeling of being so full of him.

He pauses when he’s nearly fully in, and you peek up to catch his hesitant expression.

“Keep going, babe,”

You instruct with a pant, your raised leg and hips shaking despite your wishes.

He smooths his hand over your thigh up to your knee, waiting for it to subside while he gently pets caresses your skin.

When your body arches for more contact, he decides to push all the way in.

You’re panting, and it’s barely started. Sweat drops down Matsukawa’s brow in concentration, and you internally praise him for his willpower to not absolutely plow you when you know he really wants to.

“How are you feeling?”

His other hand traces at your hip, thumb brushing gentle circles.

“I’m good, how are you?”

Your lidded eyes catch his and he laughs at the mundane response.

“Ready for me to absolutely rail you?”

If you could muster any excess energy, you might even roll your eyes at him,

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, the sweetness of the action contrasting heavily with the indecent things he’s about to do to you.

He quickly busies himself with the task of ‘shutting up’ and ‘fucking you’, though with the rough moans slipping out of his mouth he’s not sure he could even tease you properly.

He feels a surge of pride at the delighted noises coming from your pretty lips, and he eats them up with a kiss.

You keen when the leg you have hooked on his shoulder presses to your chest to accommodate the kiss, his pace not faltering as he thrusts his hips to yours.

“I-Issei!”

And you can tell by the way he speeds up he loves the way you call his name so impassioned, and despite his increased tempo he remains attentive.

It’s when you feel his fingers back to abuse your clit in tight circles that you immediately start meeting his thrusts sloppily, not quite aligning with his rhythm.

Your mind (and body) is so full of Matsukawa, you don’t think you can concentration on matching his pace properly, but your sloppy thrusts at least give you a shred of the satisfaction your body is desperately craving.

Various iterations of his name spill out of your mouth, alongside other blissful noises.

In your hazy vision you take in the the man before you. The sheen of sweat covering his neck, his chest, abs, catching the dim lighting.

Every part of your body is practically bouncing as he pushes you harder into the mattress, his thrusts unforgiving and unrelenting.

Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you cry at a few consecutive thrusts where his cock hit deep, but you glance back so you can catch his expression.

His brows are knit tight in concentration, eyes fixed shut, lips parted occasionally for every curse and moan that escapes him.

And when it all becomes too much for you, his cock pushed as far as it can go, if not farther, his fingers keeping up their mission to stimulate your overly sensitive clit, his other hand gripping your hip tightly, your nails raking across his back, every sound filling your ears whether it’s from his lips or your bodies, you throw your head back with a cry.

“Come with me baby—“

Matsukawa voice is rough and hot, he thrusts deeper than you thought possible. Your name falls from his lips, soft flesh red from biting.

He presses his palm beside your head, creating an indent to the mattress. In the process, he catches your hair as he grips the sheets, balancing himself on a shaking arm.

You arch into him, hot skin pressing to hot skin.

White hot flashes over you when you feel his body shaking, painting practically your guts with his release as he pants and moans above you.

And it throws you headfirst into your own euphoric release.

And against better judgement, you cry out,

“Mattsun!”

Matsukawa’s dark eyes, hazy with lust and the satisfaction of release, immediately blow wide with momentary confusion.

“What the fuck—”

He scrambles off of you in a disoriented haste, and the bed dips when he presses his knees beside you on the mattress.

“What the fuck was that?”

He growls out, but it sounds more like a cry, or maybe a whine.

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, stifling it behind your palm as you will your aching body to sit upright,

“I-I’m sorry!”

You’re still laughing, and his glare eases when he sees your rosy cheeks, watching your shoulders shake with mirth.

“Thanks, my dick is completely soft now.”

“You wanted to go again? You have work early tomorrow.”

“I might’ve stayed up for another round. But now we’ll never know, because of that stunt you just pulled.”

He pinches your nose, and you have the audacity to giggle as he grabs a stray towel to clean you up.

Pitching it with a perfect arc into a bin across the room, he lays back beside you grumbling something about your aforementioned audacity.

Even though he was mildly distressed by the prank you pulled in the throes of passion, he still made sure to clean you himself.

You turn on your side with a wide, blushing smile, wrapping your arm around his middle.

“I can’t believe you’d use that nickname. And while I’m cumming, too.”

He complains again, grudgingly slinging his arm around you.

“Oikawa always calls you that, and you never let me use it when we first met. I thought it would be funny to try it then.”

“Right. As much as I’d love to talk about Oikawa in the afterglow of our mind blowing sex—“

“You would?”

You snort, and he rolls his eyes,

“No. Honestly, I wish I could convey to you how much I don’t want to do that.”

The sour look he sends you makes another laugh bubble up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Issei. You just... have seemed so down lately. I wanted to do something special for you, and make you laugh.”

“You thought something special would be using one of that guy’s crappy nicknames during hot sex?”

You slap his chest lightly when he raises a skeptical brow, deciding to ignore for now how he verbally sidestepped your concerns with a jest.

“No, I meant the dinner, and the pictures. That was just so you could look back and laugh!”

You pout, feeling the rumbling from his chest as a laugh escapes his lips.

“Ahh, now I can look back on the night my beautiful girlfriend made a special dinner, and decorated our apartment with lovely photos. And when I had sex with her she called out the terrible nickname one of my best friends gave me.”

“Issei!”

You drag out each syllable of his name with a cry, of course when he says it like that it sounds more like a bad idea.

“I know, I’m just teasing. I’m very, very grateful for tonight. You really surprised me, in a good way.”

He gives you a soft expression that makes your chest warm up.

“...but I’m letting you know now, I’m not telling anyone how it ended. Not even Hanamaki,”

He pinches your thigh and you yelp, grabbing for his wrist as he continues,

“And you better not tell anyone either.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t! Just don’t start tickling me!”

He flattens his palm against your thigh, leaning over to kiss your pink cheek.

“Good girl.”

The pet name sends butterflies stirring in your stomach, and you pull him closer to cuddle.

Matsukawa pulls the covers to settle comfortably over the both of you, tangling your legs together and wrapping a strong arm over you. He settles snug against you, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, Issei. So much.”

“I love you too,”

He whispers your name affectionately, kissing your nose this time, as you both let sleep overtake you.

“I don’t think this relationship is working out.”

“I cheated on you.”

“You’re in denial.”

“Stop looking for excuses!”

“—I don’t love you anymore!”

Matsukawa’s last words to you rattle your sleep addled brain, and you blink awake, the haze of your pleasant memories forgotten.

Tears sting at your eyes, and you wipe furiously at them as they start to pool.

Regretting the nap, and your next actions, you pull your phone from the covers to call him.

You don’t end up building the courage to press the call button in the end, and hastily settle for a text reading ‘I miss you’.

And god, you miss him so much.

But the immediate silence that follows puts that pit right back in your stomach.

You spend the rest of the day, periodically checking your phone for any updates.

Your hand constantly itches to grab for it in your pocket, and you resist the urge to check less often than you’d hope.

Each time you’re met with an empty notification screen, your lock screen ready to shove a photo of you and Matsukawa in your face.

But the wound is too fresh to replace it, and you ache to see his face even if it’s through a screen or a photograph on the wall.

You slip your phone back into your pocket for the millionth time, returning to your tablet to get some work done.

Every time your stylus meets the screen, you can’t come up with the ideas or muster the creativity to produce anything.

You miss when Matsukawa would have you snug in his lap, and you could lay your head on his shoulder while sketching away.

Those moments were second nature to you, you’d grown so accustomed to his company and comfort. You never thought once that something as simple as cuddling on the couch with Matsukawa during downtime wouldn’t be an possibility anymore.

You never contemplated losing the encouraging words whispered against your ear. About what colors he liked, what a good job you were doing, or even the silly doodles he laughed at when you were getting sidetracked.

Your head gets stuck in the same cycle you’ve gone through every day since Matsukawa left.

What could you have said? What could you have done?

You miss his voice, his warmth, his touch, his face, you miss him.

You look off and stare out the window, resting your chin against your palm.

Is this really it?

It feels like your breathing cuts off then, and you feel numb as your chest tightens.

Despite it all, you feel completely aware, as the thought sits heavy on your mind. Do you really have to let him go?

It’s nearing a month now, and since that moment in your apartment it didn’t take long for your thoughts to go into disarray again.

You desperately want to believe in Matsukawa, give him the space he clearly needs, but the radio silence ends up driving you crazy.

You’re left with your heartbreak, your intrusive thoughts, the devil on your shoulder constantly telling you he meant everything he said.

You’re clinging to anything that’ll convince you Matsukawa loves you, that he wouldn’t leave you like this, but the distance between you two has diminished anything to hold on to.

All you have to keep you sane are memories of I love you’s.

But he hadn’t said it in a long time, and he hasn’t been here to give you any semblance of closure, or a reason that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit.

He’s giving you a million reasons to let him go, but you keep hanging on.

Normally, you’d be curled up in your sheets letting your emotions run wild, the memory of that night playing back in your head as if it were a big screening of a drama.

Your friends convinced you to get outside, anything to make the worst seem a little better. You told them you would heed their advice.

Instead of lying in sorrow at your apartment, you’re at yours and Matsukawa’s favorite cafe.

Getting out of the apartment was a good idea, your friends were right about that. It never truly felt like yours alone.

It was yours and Matsukawa’s, everything belonged to the both of you. It was decided together, down to the furniture and the kitchenwares.

Getting fresh air was healthy for you, your friends weren’t wrong, but coming to this cafe was the worst idea possible.

You’d been a frequent customer prior to the incident, but you’ve since ghosted the place. You thought it would be fine, just one latte to bring your spirits up.

But you only managed to satisfy the sick, subconscious urge to feel sorry for yourself in the place you and Matsukawa made memories in together.

Your favorite drink overdosed with sugars tastes bittersweet on your tongue.

And it doesn’t help that the smells and images of the cafe are attached to memories that are starting to feel even more bittersweet.

“...Mm... It tastes great...!”

You struggle to keep your lips from turning down, and even more to swallow down the bitter black coffee. Nonetheless, you flash a smile Matsukawa’s way.

After Matsukawa had given you his number, your conversations flowed with ease. It was surprisingly natural texting him, and even more so conversing with him over the phone or in person.

After a few dates, you found yourself at a local cafe with him.

It seemed to be climbing in popularity, and you’d known Matsukawa was passionate about his coffee.

“You don’t have to pretend to like it.”

He laughs, eyeing the look on your face.

Your extreme distaste must have been more obvious than you thought, or maybe he’s just more perceptive than he lets on.

“Okay, you’re right. It’s actually pretty disgusting. How do you drink it like this?!”

You gently slide his coffee cup over, and try not to think too hard and combust when his fingers brush over yours to take it back.

You also try to convince yourself that the burning heat on your fingers is from the heat seeping from the to-go cup, and not from Matsukawa’s brief touch.

Taking a swig of your own coffee, you attempt to wash away his coffee’s aftertaste.

“How do you drink it like that?”

He points his finger at your drink.

“...Fair. I just like coffee with milk and sugar! It’s common.”

“You like your milk and sugar with coffee.”

He teases, expression straight and neutral. You smile thinking that you’re beginning to understand Matsukawa’s sense of humor.

You poke your tongue out at his deadpan correction, and his eyes flash with amusement.

“It’s better with flavor, and sugar makes almost anything taste good! You’re just drinking bean juice, but plain and without all the extra stuff.”

“If anything, you’re just drinking bean juice with sugar in it, and that doesn’t sound much better.”

He points out, and you hum at his wit.

“....I think we’ve reached a stalemate, Matsukawa.”

You pout. He laughs, and it sounds so charming to your ears.

You hold your hand out to him, and he cuts himself short to peer at it in confusion.

“Truce. I won’t make fun of your plain bean juice as long as you don’t make fun of my sugary bean juice.”

“I accept. But only if we stop saying bean juice.”

“Deal.”

You accept his hand into a firm shake with a bright smile, and a pink hue creeps up your cheeks when you notice how much bigger his palm is compared to yours.

You blink when you attempt to pull your hand back and he doesn’t let go.

“Come on, we’ve got a movie to catch. Don’t wanna miss making fun of the trailers.”

He stands from his seat, pulling you up to your feet.

Your brain short circuits then. Does he want to hold your hand?

How are the two of you going to hold right hands while walking?

Would it be too awkward to just let go and try to hold his other hand? But he’s holding his coffee in it!

You don’t have to think much longer on it, Matsukawa’s already swapping his coffee with his other hand, placing his newly freed one into your palm.

It’s warm from the heat of the coffee, and your heart swells when you come to the realization that he was in fact trying to hold your hand.

“Ready?”

You glance up to see his expression, and your heart practically skips a beat at the shy look on his face.

He’s looking for any distraction, sipping at his coffee as he waits for your reaction.

When he risks a glance at you, he catches the eager smile that spreads across your cheeks.

You lace your fingers with his, holding his hand tightly,

“Mm. Let’s go!”

After that memory, you start to feel sick.

You can’t even stomach the coffee anymore, and you toss it in the trash in a rush, ignoring the questioning looks sent your way by the customers and employees. You pull your coat tighter to your body, before hurrying out of the cafe.

Pacing down the street, you decide to head back to the apartment.

Anywhere else is just another memory.

The park, the theatre, restaurants, bars, you can’t even see Hanamaki, and you don’t want to bother your other friends.

It’s better to wallow in your misery at home than in the public eye, anyways. You can’t stand the looks of confusion or pity being sent your way.

You kick off your shoes at the door, freezing when you notice the pair that wasn’t there before.

Is your mind playing tricks on you?

No, Matsukawa took these before he left, you’re almost positive.

Your knees shake as you take the first step forward, scanning the living room, but there’s no sight of him there.

When you open the bedroom door, you find him sitting at the edge of the bed.

The bed you shared together, that you’d slept in alone for a month now.

When he perks up at the sound of the door swinging open, he’s at a loss for words when he catches your shocked stare.

Your name leaves his lips, and it’s almost a whisper, so easy to miss, but it’s what you’ve been wanting to hear for weeks now.

“...here to collect the rest of your things?”

Your voice is shaky at best, lacking nerve.

“No, no. I... really wanted to talk to you—”

“Now you wanna talk?!”

For the briefest of moments, you felt happy to hear he wasn’t back to grab his things and leave you again, but it’s quickly replaced by your pent up emotions.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“I get you needed space. I didn’t try to call you, I didn’t go to Hanamaki’s. I was happy to give you time, but what the fuck Issei? You ghosted me! I kept convincing myself that it was my fault, that I should’ve been better, or I should’ve done more for you. And you left me completely alone and heartbroken!”

You’re panting after the outburst, but there’s still so much more you want to say,

“You told me you wanted to break up, you lied to my face, and then you keep me in the dark! Did I not deserve at least a small explanation? Fuck, Issei, you’re giving me a million reasons to walk away!”

You don’t want to, of course, but the words spill out with everything that had remained unspoken in his absence.

Your lips purse shut, and your heart aches when you see his jaw clenched tight and his watery expression.

“Issei... I just need one good one to stay.”

You finish with a sigh, gazing up at him hopefully. You desperately want to reach out and hold his hands, but you clench your fists at your sides and keep yourself back.

The silence is deafening, the tension and dread in the air thick as you swallow tightly.

“...I love you. I don’t think I could live without you.”

Matsukawa finally says, staring at you resolutely. He immediately panics at the statement though,

“Fuck, I shouldn’t talk like that. I meant to say, I want to... keep living my life with you, or something like that.”

He runs a hand through his hair nervously before clicking his tongue,

“Shit, that sounded dumb. Ahhh... I’ve actually been seeing someone...”

His eyes widen at his own words, and he quickly waves his hands as if to wipe the words out of existence,

“N-Not like that though! You were right, actually, I lied about... cheating on you. I talked to Hanamaki, I’ve actually been getting therapy now. I haven’t had many sessions yet but...”

He trails off, fidgeting and wringing his hands together as your brain catches up with all the information he’s dumped on you.

Your eyes water as you lunge forward to pull him into a tight hug,

“That’s all I needed to hear!”

You cry into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you, petting your head softly, he missed holding you like this,

“That I got a therapist?”

“Not that silly,”

You whine, pulling away to peer up at him through teary-eyed lashes,

“That you love me. I haven’t heard it in awhile. I’m sorry I forgot... I just really wanted to hear it.”

He stares at you with a regretful expression, brushing your tears away. It only makes you cry harder, strange happiness filling you that he’s finally here in person to wipe your tears away.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I had a hard time believing someone like you could love someone like me. I know you were always there to support me and love me with everything you have, but I kept thinking you deserved better,”

He tucks his chin on top of your head and pulls you back in, close to his chest,

“And that was selfish of me to decide for you. I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You can hear how shaky his voice is, and press your face to his sweater. Your tears drip down and catch the soft fabric, and you think about how hard it must’ve been for him to come to terms with himself.

“But you really do deserve better,”

You pull away to scold him for that but he’s quick to interrupt,

“And I’ll be better for you if you’ll let me. I’ll work hard on handling these thoughts and anxieties.”

“Issei...”

You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, and it’s your turn to wipe the tears brimming at his eyes,

“Only if you accept that I can do better for you, and let me support you every step of the way.”

“Deal.”

You slide your hands around the back of his neck and lean in close.

At your gesture, he instinctively brings his hands to your sides, and tilts his face towards yours.

Your lips catch his in a kiss, filled with all the bitter and sweet emotions. Your longing and heartache fades away with your growing promise to each other.

“I love you, I love you.”

He says between each kiss, and you can’t help but smile into it each time.

“I love you too.”

A/N:

sorry for the absolute ANGST of the first part and a majority of this part, but I thrive in chaos. I made it better right? :’)

[Masterlist]

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu x y/n #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x y/n #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei/reader #matsukawa issei x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic

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wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 3 years

Text

Birthday → Jung Hoseok

↳ Pairing: Hoseok/Reader

↳ Word count: 3,137

↳ Warnings: Major depressive disorder, suicidal thoughts

⁙ Summary: In the midst of one of your worst depression episodes, Hoseok insists on celebrating your birthday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12:00 AM.

So this is it. Another year older, staring at your alarm clock from your bed. Glasses still on at midnight, unable to sleep. Fatigue blanketed you, but the chills of anxiety and dread still managed to burrow their way under.

It had been like this for weeks now. All you could think about was how you were getting nothing done, how you were eating too much and too little, about all of the garbage piling up in your room. You thought about how the dust settled on every surface and you haven't changed your clothes in days, maybe even a couple of weeks. You hadn’t showered, your hair was pushed upwards, more tousled and messy than a normal bedhead because of your ineffective sleeping mask and the oil collecting in your hair due to you avoiding washing it.

This behaviour disgusted you and made you feel worse than you already did, but you haven’t had the energy to do anything else but cry. You thought that life would get better once you moved away from your parents, but living alone in a small one bedroom one bathroom apartment didn’t help at all. At least your mother cleaned and told you to bathe on a regular basis and your father fed you. Now, everything was piling up and your depression episodes got worse.

Even if your boyfriend and your friends tried to lift you up, you wouldn’t let them in your house on a regular basis. You thought that if they saw what you had been neglecting to do, they would be disgusted and not want to be friends with you anymore. The thought of that made your heart feel heavy. All of you felt heavy, pressed into your mattress, curled up like a ball. You could barely move. You had barely any strength to.

Helloooooooo! Yes, sir, I’m one of a kind!

It’s your ringtone again. You snap out of looking at your clock, slowly moving your hand to the desk next to your bed and reach through the sea of dirty dishes in order to grab your phone, squinting at the brightness as you turn it on. You unlock your phone to see a text from your boyfriend. This late? Shouldn’t he be in bed?

Hobi: Happy birthday, (Y/N)!

(Y/N): Thanks, Hobi… shouldn’t you be in bed?

Hobi: I’m too excited! I couldn’t sleep knowing that your birthday was in a few minutes! Besides, I had to stay late at the studio.

(Y/N): Oh… you’re not overworking yourself again, are you?

Hobi: No, of course not. You made me promise, remember?

(Y/N): I didn’t think you took it seriously.

Hobi: Why would I not?

(Y/N): I don’t know…

Hobi: Hey, are you okay?

(Y/N): Do you want me to tell the truth or say what will make you go to bed? I don’t want you to be tired tomorrow. You’ll get exhausted faster at dance practice.

Hobi: Who said I was going to dance practice tomorrow??? None of us are going, it’s a Saturday!

(Y/N): But… you always are at the studio on Saturdays.

Hobi: Sorry, what I meant to say, it’s your birthday!

(Y/N): That shouldn’t stop you from working. That’s more important than me.

Hobi: (Y/N).... stop saying that. You’re more important than you know.

(Y/N): … I doubt it. What’s the point of even celebrating my birthday? I’m going to die anyway and all of it will be wasted…

Hobi: But you always plan a big day and bake a cake by yourself for mine.

(Y/N): That’s different because you’re actually worth it.

A few minutes have passed since your last text was sent. No reply.

More tears spring from your eyes involuntarily. Hoseok’s abandoned you, and that’s all that flooded your head. He doesn’t care. You knew it, you knew that he didn’t care and now he’s proven it and you should just continue to lie in your bed, hoping to die by the time the sun came up. Everyone hates you, nobody cared, and nobody wanted to help a lost cause.

You rolled over, thinking about what position would be the best to die in. On your stomach? Maybe. On your side? That hurts your hip too much. On your back? You lean back too much on your neck. You sigh, stomach it is.

There you lay, on your own, wallowing in guilt, garbage and anything else negative you could think of on the day that you used to count down to when you were younger. Now, you could barely get out of bed. You could barely eat or drink water. You were useless. Those thoughts spawned your usual tears, staining their usual tracks against your cheekbones to the dirty pillow beneath you.

You were startled into a small yelp as you heard a knock that came from the front door. Probably the drunk partiers next door playing a prank on you. You ignored it, there was no sense in worrying about them now. You turned your head over, adjusting your position a little bit, only to be startled again by the door opening and shutting.

Oh? So it seems like someone was here to kill you now.

Nice.

“(Y/N)?” That wasn’t the voice of a serial killer.

“(Y/N)? Are you still awake?” The voice came closer and closer to your bedroom. You couldn’t muster the strength to move from your position, to even say a word in protest to the person entering your bedroom. The door clicked and opened, a cold rush of air following it.

“Jesus,” you heard the person comment with mild disgust as your bedroom light was flipped on, causing you to groan at the assault on your eyes. “(Y/N), you should have told me.” The tone was softer this time.

Your throat convulses painfully as you gather all your energy to speak, “I’m sorry,” you mumble, still not moving as you heard a bag drop to the floor, your boyfriend approaching you through the rustling piles of garbage to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Come on, let’s get you into a bath.”

“No,” you protest.

“Why not?” He asks.

“Because I don’t deserve it,” you explain. “Because I’m useless and worthless and I don’t deserve to live anymore. Just let me get sick and die.”

“(Y/N), you know I can’t let you do that,” he says reassuringly, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Your episodes always end and you always feel a little better once we clean you up a bit. Please, will you at least soak a little?”

“Hobi-”

“I promise you can go to bed when we’re done,” he says, and that finally makes you adjust the position of your head to look at him. His nose was briefly wrinkled, probably at the smell, but he still smiled at you. “How about it?”

“Fine,” you whisper. You still, however, stay still. You can barely muster the energy to speak, let alone move. Hoseok takes note of this and gently takes a hold of you, slowly flipping you onto your back so he can peel back the sweaty covers of your bed and lift you up. Soon you’re in his arms, him bringing you out of the room and into your bathroom.

“Okay, operation birthday is a go!” He announces into the dark hallway. From the wall hiding your living room came six figures walking through the darkness, their faces soon illuminated by the light of your bedroom and bathroom, all smiling and waving at you as they went by. All of your friends: Hoseok’s roommates and group mates. They all trailed into your bedroom, carrying garbage bags, cleaning supplies, and it looked as if Jungkook was hauling in a new set of bedsheets, Jimin following close behind with a neatly folded comforter.

You were set down to sit on the edge of your bathtub, it already on it was a warm and folded towel, as Hoseok moved to close the door. He approached you, kneeling down and smiling at you.

“Ready for a bath? I bought the bath bombs you like. Strawberry kiwi.” He waited for your nod and a meek ‘yes’ before he began to undress you- sliding off your grimy “BTS” printed t-shirt, tossing it into the little hamper sitting by the door. You were able to stand for a few seconds as he slid down your pants and underwear as well. You sat back down on the warm towel as Hoseok started the bath, feeling the water.

“Is that too hot? Feel it,” he offers, taking your hand and letting you feel the stream of water, waiting patiently for your approval.

“It’s not too hot, it’s okay,” you tell him. “Why are you doing this?” You ask. You felt your eyes sting with more tears. What have you ever done to deserve this treatment?

“Because I love you, silly. No matter how many times you fall into the pit, I’ll be there with a ladder and a flashlight to help you back out. You may not think you deserve it, but you do.”

You hiccup, tears once more spilling out on your face. “I… I love you too, Hobi.” Out of the weeks that you weren’t able to take care of yourself, you were finally able to crack a smile.

“There’s my beautiful girl’s smile,” Hoseok chimes with a bright smile, leaning forward to peck your lips gently. “I think the mat is warm enough now. We’ll wash your hair first.” Hoseok scoots a little closer to you, standing up to help you move into the bathtub. Your legs are bent a little bit as you’re a bit too tall for the short tub, but the warm water sliding over your feet is relaxing, to say the least. Your bum is sitting nicely on the plastic mat Hoseok bought you during your last episode, and you look up at him.

Hoseok slips off your glasses, quickly placing them on the counter area holding the sink. “Where did you put your water jug?” He asked.

“Middle cupboard.”

With a nod, Hoseok retrieves a plastic jug from the cupboard under your sink and the bottle of citrus shampoo from the counter. He then rolls up his sleeves and kneels down in front of the tub again, you watching him closely as he fills the jug up with water.

“Ready?” He asks, waiting for another nod from you before gently pouring the water over your head, The feeling of the water cascading down your face strangely unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. You thought that Hoseok would have scolded you more, would have been more disappointed in you because of the state you were in, but it put you at ease to know that he cared enough to help. More water poured over your head and you hummed at the feeling.

“Better?” He asks, running his fingers through your hair to make sure it was sufficiently wet.

“Yeah,” you admit, humming with bliss as his fingers massage your scalp. “You’re not grossed out?” You ask timidly.

“No, of course not. Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo,” he replies with a chuckle. “This might be a little cold.” His fingers leave your hair for a moment, to your disappointment. You bring up a hand to get the strands of hair away from your eyes, watching as Hoseok took the bottle of shampoo and squeezed some of the gel onto his hands. He’s smiling as he returns his hands to your hair, gently lathering soap in.

“Not too cold?” He asks.

“No, it’s ok. Can you go a bit slower, please?” You request, biting your lip, closing your eyes to avoid getting soap in them.

“Of course, anything for you, princess.” His movements slow just a bit, allowing yourself to smile more. “Good?”

“Yeah. Good.”

Sooner than you’d like, Hoseok is finished washing your hair and fills the jug with water again, rinsing your hair of soap. It felt so much better to have your hair clean, to have it sit properly on your head and to have it swept behind your forehead as Hoseok crudely styled it. When you open your eyes, Hoseok is still smiling down at you charmingly.

Hoseok then put in the drain plug and allowed the tub to fill up. “We’ll wash your face next.”

“Okay… um…”

“Hmm?” He hums, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“When are we going to put the bath bomb in?” You ask, somewhat cheekily.

“Hey, it’s a little early in the game to be impatient,” he responds with a grin. “We’ve gotta wait until the water’s at least at your belly button,” he says, promptly poking your tummy gently, causing you to giggle.

Once you were all clean, comfortable and warm, the delicate perfume of the bath bomb replaced that of the three weeks of unwashed grime. You sat and enjoyed the warmth for a while, but then your bath was over. Hoseok pulled the plug and water began draining from the tub. He turned on the tap to fill the jug and rinse you off, making sure that any excess soap had been removed from your body.

“Ready to get out?” He asked, you nodding slowly. “Can you stand up by yourself or would you like some help?”

“Can I have some help, please?” You ask, reaching your arms up.

“Of course, baby.” He stood up, gently taking your hands and pulling you upwards, gracefully switching one of his hands from yours to wrap around your body and keep you steady. He helped you step out, sitting you back down on the towel at the edge of the tub. He made sure you were balanced before grabbing the hooded duck towel you kept on the little hook attached to your bathroom door, wrapping it around your head to begin drying you.

“How do you feel?” He asked, gently drying your hair. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” you admit. “Thank you.”

“Like I said, anything for my princess (Y/N).”

Occasionally, as Hoseok was drying your hair, he would lift up the front of the towel to look at you and press a quick kiss to your lips, your nose, or your forehead. Anything to make you smile. When he was finished with your hair, he moved to gently dry your body. He would continue to beam at you, make his funny faces and sing for you.

In these moments, as Hoseok is taking care of you and making sure you smile, is when you actually felt truly happy. Hoseok returned your glasses to the bridge of your nose, you sighed in slight relief that you could see clearly again. He gently ran a comb through your hair until it was styled the way you wanted it, placing another kiss on your forehead.

“Ready to put your pyjamas on?” Hoseok asked, hanging the duck towel back up on the hook.

“I don’t have any clean ones,” you say dejectedly. “That shirt I had on before was the last of my clean laundry.”

Hoseok only winked at you. “What day is it?”

“It’s (B/D), I think,”

He nodded, “Yep, it’s (B/D), and what do we give on someone’s birthday?”

“Presents?”

“Ding! Right again! Sit tight for a second, ok?” Hoseok quickly left the room and returned with the bag he brought in with him. From the bag, he pulled out a soft and new (F/C) onesie, one that even had the little booties attached to it. He also took out a pair of soft brief boxers, the underwear you preferred to have.

“Where did you get that?” You ask wistfully, admiring the onesie as Hoseok spread it out on the floor, instead, grabbing the underwear to help you put them on first.

“I have my ways,” he says cheekily, getting you to lift up your bottom as he slides on your underwear. “I know how much you’ve wanted a onesie, so hopefully you like it.”

“I already do,” you smile in contentment.

Once you were dressed and the zipper of your onesie zipped up the front, you felt so much better than you had in the past three weeks.

“Are you going to stay over?” You ask, hoping that the answer was yes. You grasped the edge of your tub and smiled triumphantly as you helped yourself stand up.

“Of course. I wouldn’t leave you, especially not today. Are you ready to go back to bed?” Hoseok gently took your hand, leading you to open the door to the bathroom. He smiled in the satisfaction that you could now walk on your own.

“Yeah, I am, but…”

“But what?”

“My room is a mess… more than a mess, it’s… a dump. You saw it yourself.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Come on,” Hoseok led you back through the small hallway, back to your room, where the overhead light was still shining through the bottom of your door. He opened it, revealing all six of your friends and a completely (mostly) spotless room. It even smelled like a habitable environment, nothing like it had an hour ago.

“Happy birthday,” Namjoon declared softly as the two of you entered the room, everyone dressed in pajamas, night bags piled up against the wall, the free space of your room containing a hefty wad of sleeping bags, blankets and pillows, formed in some sort of a nest topped with eight more pillows and a giant quilt that you had forgotten that was formerly living in your closet. Your bed was clean, made up in a new set of sheets, even including a new comforter and pillowcase.

“We thought that we could all have a giant sleepover to make sure you’re okay,” Taehyung explains as he gestures to the wad of bedding on your floor. “If you’ll accept?”

“Of course,” you say, a smile spreading across your face as all the boys beamed at you. “I love you all so much, thank you…” you did your best to sniffle away your tears of happiness. You had done enough crying for today.

“You know that we will always love you, too, (Y/N), no matter how bad things get,” Jimin smiled warmly at you, all of the boys nodding in agreement.

It didn’t take very long for all of you to settle down and sleep, turning the lights off and retreating into the makeshift giant bed the boys made for you. All of you were practically glued to one another in an eight-person cuddle pile, and you slept peacefully for the first time in weeks, your friends and the love of your life surrounding you, loving you.

You could never ask for a better birthday.

#jung hoseok #hoseok x reader #fanfic #reader insert #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #bts #jung hoseok x reader

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passivenovember · 4 years

Text

@coffeeandchemicals (I’m doing all three because ily) asked: For the drabbles, 55 or 60 or 72 with harringrove! Please and thank you!! 💙

60. Before you decide to murder me, let me explain.

Strain Through a Clean Napkin.

The tiny wicker cabinet is all but hidden from view because, well. It’s hideous.

Turquoise, and like. 70s vibrant. Janky and scuffed, covered in glued-on seashells and so not what Mrs. Harrington allows to orbit their perfect world. It clashes terribly with the cheerful pink walls of the powder room, and.

It’s handmade--has Steve written all over it from the way the wicker door on the left hangs a little bit crooked. He imagines Harrington sat on a wooden bench, googly eyes and pipe cleaners littering the table in front of him as he constructs a treasure chest. The contents unknown. Some of the seashells have fallen off over time and leave wax stepping stones in their wake.

Billy almost misses it the first time he jerks off before their study date just to be safe and instantly falls in love.

He washes his hands in the sink, not bothering to dry them before wrenching the doors open and snooping through its many shelves and hidden corners.

He expects to find, like. Q-Tips, maybe. Nail clippers. Lube if it’s a good day, but. Instead comes face to face with lotions and potions and little bottles full of magic.

Glass jars with handwritten labels stretching as far as the eye can see.

Billy wipes his hands on his pants before lifting them to eye level, because. The labels, they.

Say things. Cute, disgusting things like, “Hair Milk: Lavender and Honey,” things that Billy can’t even begin to understand on a good day.

He gives the first jar a quick shake, watching mesmerized when the contents float and swirl in the pale yellow liquid. Dried flowers, maybe? Rosemary and something softer, something like--

Billy pulls desperately at the cap. Yanking and tugging gently, so as not to shatter the jar or like, spill Steve’s potion on the ground and burn a hole halfway to China. “Come on, useless piece of shit.”

He bites down on the pretty round topper.

Pulls at it with his teeth until the bottle gives way. The yellow liquid sloshes down his chest, tangling with the wiry patch of hair he’s got going, and--

“Fucking, shit.” Billy grabs a wad of toilet paper and scrubs. It smells yellow. Summertime peaches, melted ice pops, vanilla and orange, and fucking.

Steve.

It smells exactly like Steve. Billy lifts the bottle to his nose, eyes falling shut in a crescendo of soft, breathy sighs as he takes greedy gulps of this fuckin. Steve concentrate.

And okay. He jerks off in this bathroom two times a week before settling in for three torturous hours of Steve’s thigh pressed against him and Steve running his hands through his hair while he reads over the notes and Steve licking his pretty pink lips.

And, yeah. Billy just came, but. He’s is holding Steve in a bottle, and like.

Billy will take twelve.

He can’t get his hands in his pants fast enough. Billy gets the zipper down, wrapping his hand around himself, and. Yup. Works himself over with the vial shoved up under his nose like a fucking. Insane person. Considers sneaking it home, this bottle of magic.

Storing it in his pocket for safekeeping after tacking the pretty round cap back on, nice and snug so it doesn’t look like he’s pissed his pants when he sits on the overstuffed couch in Steve’s den to go over their chemistry homework.

Billy startles at that, hand stalling mid-stroke.

He’s been helping Steve with Chem for fucking.

Months.

Twice a week, Stetson’s orders, so the kid’ll actually pass this time and here Steve is. Mixing chemicals in his bathroom like some kind of.

Scientist, or. Witch. Something.

“Little shit,” Billy murmurs, but it doesn’t. Burn, doesn’t. Sizzle like it usually does. He thinks about taking his hand from his pants. Thinks about, like, pulling them all the way off. Bending over the sink and switching things up a little when someone knocks on the door.

Bangs on it, more like.

Billy starts, pouring half the bottle on his dick from fear. It’s cold. Colder than it was before.

Steve clears his throat from the other side. “Billy, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m--”

“You sure? Was worried maybe you fell in.” Bambi jokes, and fucking. Jiggles the handle. As if Billy would be stupid enough to leave the shit unlocked.

With his pants around his ankles and Steve’s name burning through his tongue on every stroke.

“Yup, hold on a sec and I’ll be--”

“It’s just. You’ve been in there for a while and I. Need help with this equation?”

Billy scrambles. Turns on the faucet, soaps up his dick to get rid of the Steve which burns because. “Who has peppermint wash in their restroom after Christmas, fuck.”

“My mom likes the smell--”

“Jesus Christ--I know, Steve.” Billy must make some kind of noise. Must wince in pain, or swear or bang his fist on the counter because Steve’s jigging the handle again, voice tight with worry.

“Bills?”

He winces. “Yeah, just gimmie a minute here, I’m uh. Allergic.”

Silence. Steely and cool, and.

“I’ll be right back.” And then he’s gone.

“Oh shit.” Billy swallows around something. Fear, or like, arousal from the fear of Steve barging in here while he’s got soap dick and a bottle of Steve wetting his skin from sternum to groin.

He waddles around the room.

Tries to pull his pants up, winces because yeah. The mild allergic reaction, kinda. Makes it impossible to slip in and out of skintight denim.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Billy waddles some more. He searches the cabinets for a robe, maybe. Settles on a towel hung loosely around his hips just as the door swings open and Steve’s there with a packet of oatmeal and a little white pill in his hands.

Looking windswept and pretty, and.

Pissed.

He takes in the room. The peppermint soap, and the open cabinet in the corner. The three additional seashells that fell off when Billy was tearing the place apart looking for a robe, and.

The empty jar of lavender honey hair milk.

Those brown eyes finally settle on Billy. On the towel poorly concealing his erection, because. Anaphylaxis be damned, apparently.

Billy shows his palms. “Before you fucking murder me, let me explain--”

“You didn’t think to read the bottle?”

Which. “Huh?”

Steve shakes his head, “The soap. You didn’t read the bottle before. Doing whatever it was that gave you a reaction?”

He shoves the pill into Billy’s open palm before he can say anything else. Stalks over to the sink and fills a cup with water. “Here,” Steve says. “Drink it, dumbass.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Billy swallows the pill, wincing as the rough fabric of the towel grates against his erection.

Steve hasn’t stopped staring, and.

Billy hasn’t moved to hide it, so. “Sorry about your bathroom.”

“Eh, is what it is.” Steve starts putting the place back together. Wetting a hand towel and scrubbing at the water on the carpet. His head is bent over the sink when he says, “Wanna tell me why you were digging around in my cabinet?”

Like Billy wasn’t just relaxing into the hilarity of the situation. Billy sits on the edge of the tub, opening the packet of oatmeal with his teeth.

“No, not really.”

“Don’t think that information’s important if I have to drive you to the hospital?” Steve leans against the counter, a pretty soft smile tugging at his lips, and.

It does nothing to help the tenting of Billy’s towel so he turns on the faucet in the tub. Dumps the oatmeal in and like, goes to town on trying to make sure the temperature won’t burn his dick off.

“Don’t wanna tell me why you were taking a bath in my hair milk?” Steve leans over, trying to catch Billy’s eye. He grins when Billy ducks his head. “I use that stuff everyday. Got an extra tub whipped together, so. I can forgive you this time.”

“I know, I.” Billy’s cheeks are on fire. He shrugs his shoulders. “Smelled good.” He says, because. It’s the truth.

Steve blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yup. That’s it.” Billy says. He runs his fingers through the water, mixing until the surface turns murky from the oats.

Steve hums. Pushes off the counter and digs through his little wicker cabinet for a knife, or maybe that nightmare bat Billy’s seen tucked in the corner of every room in this house at least once.

Billy pretends to be interested in filling the tub to the right level, eyes sharp on the give and take of the water when---

“Not allergic to aloe Vera and Chamomile, are you?”

Billy shakes his head. Steve hums again and settles in next to him, thigh pressed against Billy’s as he removes the cap from two short vials and dumps the contents into the water.

Steve leans back. Billy leans forward, because.

He turns on him, eyes narrowed on Steve’s face. “How does everything about you smell so fucking good?”

Harrington’s face lights up. “Oh, I smell good, huh?”

Billy holds out a palm. “Lemme see that shit.” The vials, when Steve hands them over, are lime green and pink with residue. The liquid is smooth, silky like it was spun fresh this morning. Billy makes a face. “How’d you get it like that? You a witch?”

Steve chuckles, soft and sweet. He leans in close, watching the water fill the tub with dainty pink bubbles. “Nah, just. Strain it through a napkin, is all.”

Billy tosses the bottles at Harrington’s head. “You don’t need my help in chemistry, do you.”

“Nope.”

“Then why am I wasting my two nights off stuck here with you, Harrington?”

Steve turns to look at him, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. “Because you’re cute. And I like having you here.”

Oh.

Billy feels like he’s on fire. Searing a hole through the carpet, already halfway to china when Steve cups his cheek and fucking.

Pulls him in. Separates Billy’s lips with his tongue and makes soft noises that almost get drowned out by the roar of the faucet next to Billy’s head.

When Harrington pulls away his cheeks are pink. Like bubbles, like secret potions. He grins. “Got lots of stuff in my cabinet.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy sounds out of breath, even to his own ears.

“Yeah.” Steve tugs at the towel hugging Billy’s waist. Doesn’t even notice the hives, which. Okay. Billy forgets all about it when Steve leans in close. “Mind if I join you?

#harringrove #so okay #I have no fucking clue what this is #kellie I swear to GOD every freakin time #.every time I write something for you I legitimately never stop #I hope this is fine #maybe gives you some haha's on this tuesday night #ilysm

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the-fiction-witch · 4 years

Text

I Hate You P2

TV SHOW: THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER RATING: FUNNY

I laid my head on the door frame of the battered old Blue beetle listening to the engine hurry along the empty roads, the darkness interrupted by the waves of the streetlamps light that rushed over the head of the car. I tried to sleep but the trip had been taking so long that I had slept so much it was getting hard to stay asleep even if I was tried. I could hear occasionally tapping as Benny tabbed his rings against the wheel when he drove down the road.

"Y/n? are you sleeping?" He asks

"I was." I sighed

"Sorry"

"what do you want?"

"We're almost there" "You could have woke me when we where there"

"... I said I was sorry wifey" He says pulling me to rest my head on his shoulder, I smiled a little getting cosy on his shoulder with his nice soft shirt

"You're boney"

"thank you? I... I really don't know how to respond to that. Yes I am"

"You're a dumb husband" "I know" He smiled giving my head a kiss

"How much further to your house?"

"Apartment" he corrects

"apartment?" I asked and he nods ".... what floor?" I asked carefully

"..... a basement"

I took a breath sitting up straight, "We are going... to a basement apartment?"

"Yes"

"We are not living in your apartment"

"why not? it's great"

"We are married"

"We're newlyweds. little basement apartment it's perfect for us"

"Fine" I sighed "Until we have the money for a house"

"We are not going to get a house in new York y/n"

"Yeah we will" "No we won't, it's ridiculously expensive. Rentals are insane why do you think I live where I do?"

"I'm not renting." I pout "What about when we are not newlyweds anymore? when we are a married couple, with a baby? You think I'm slumming it in some little cracker box with a baby?"

"No of course not if you get pregnant then we will get a house"

"If?"

"...When"

"Yeah I will" I smirked

"What about your place? I haven't actually ever heard you talk about it?"

"I live downtown with my friend Lisa. it's a first floor apartment with parking and a gardren"

"we could live there... that would be good actually I don't have parking"

"Lisa's not moving out any time soon"

"Fuck" "Yeah" "we could trade?"

"How so?"

"We move into yours Lisa has my old place?"

"we don't wanna live at my place, there's a lady with rat's next-door"

"So?"

"Like a lot of rats. like she has an open sewer and just feets what turns up in her garden"

"Ooohhhh.... yeah no"

"Why don't we move out of new york?"

Ooohhh that hit a nerve, he glared at me like I just fucking bitch slapped his mother "No"

"Why not? It's expensive, parking is a joke, it's either rainy or cold ninety percent of the time, and it's full of rats"

"and go where?"

"anywhere? you're a chess player, I am a poker player. Practically speaking we can live anywhere"

"I guess so"

"Didn't Beth just buy that big two bedroom house?"

"I am not moving to bum fucking Kentucky?" He argues

"Why not? all your friends live there?"

"I am not moving to Kentucky"

"Even if we could afford like a two, three bedroom house for our children?"

"No. I am not going"

"Fine" I sighed "But somewhere" I sighed

"somewhere... I'll think about it" he sighed "but we are staying here for a while" he says

"Yeah, for a while" I smiled "This place better be clean benny"

"....uhhhhhhhh"

"Well then we know what your doing when we get home"

"Okay" he sighs "To be fair when i left the apartment the situation was... considerably different,"

"Yeah it was" "when I left I was single, and lived on my own, and didn't really intend on bringing a lady back so"

"So it's a tip"

"Well you'll see"

"And now your coming home with a wife" "It's been a weird week"

When we parked up I gathered my stuff carrying my suitcase and my coat, I glared at benny a little as he picked up throwing his one bag over his shoulder he slightly rolled his eyes and picked up my other suitcases for me

"Thank you husband" I giggled

"Yeah, yeah" he sighed locking his car so I smiled and took his arm

"Lead the way husband"

"Are you going to keep calling me that?" He sighed and I nod "Fine, Come along then wifey" he smirked slapping my butt as he headed down the stairs I followed down into the darkness seeing a few doors

"WHich-" I began

"Down here" He calls from the other stairway down

"Really?"

"Yeah?"

"I am not going up and down these lugging groceries, Hell no" I sighed as I wondered down trying not to touch the foul smelling wall and less said about the handrail the better. the one light outside a dark metal door shining so brightly with that artificial sting, he unlocked the door pushing it open and flicking on a light switch, I followed him down as he put out stuff down on the floor slipping his jacket and hat onto a rack by the door, I peaked in seeing nothing but darkness. He wondered though clicking more lights on revealing the apartment and My now home.

it was fairly large I couldn't deny, the large door to my right, a small metal pole protecting me from the small drop down of about two steps, the rack of jackets and such on the wall with the light switch. I could see the little kitchen even if there wasn't much of it, a small four person dining table, books and book shelves on every surface, a old tattered leather chair and ottoman in what I would guess as the living space, with various black and white cushions. a few lamps stern around, as there was only maybe three beaten up celling lights, But the thing that drew my attention was the clutter around the place, clothes, chess books and various just... stuff.

"so?" He says rubbing the back of his neck a little "Welcome home wifey"

".... you expect me to live here!"

"Yeah"

"Why! is the shower! in the living room!"

"I'll be honest. I don't know"

"the sink and shower is in the living room, ohh god no what is the toilet in our bedroom?"

"no, the toliet is in there" he says point to a door to my left

"Oh thank god," I sighed "Bedroom? or do we sleep on the floor like hamsters?"

"There is a bedroom" He sighs showing me to the bedroom "Hang your clothes up in the closet. here's the bed and my tiny tv" he explained

"why is there a window in the bedroom?"

"I don't know" He shrugs "watching people have sex?"

"Benny!" I argued

"what! other then pervy reasons can you think of any reason for putting a window in a bedroom?"

"I guess if you had kids, so you can watch them without getting out of bed"

"But then they can also see you... making there siblings"

"true" I sighed "we are not going to be living here long"

"If you say so wifey" He shrugs "You wanna divorce me?"

"I'm not gonna lie.... I'm thinking about it" I sighed "I need to powder my nose"

"Alright, I'll get dinner going" he says so I headed over to the bathroom seeing the little toilet and sink, having a look

"AHHHHHH! BENNY!" I screamed

"what's wrong?"

"YOU ARE CLEANING THIS BATHROOM THIS ISTANT! OR YOU ARE GETTING THE MOST CUT THROAT! TAKE ALL DIVORCE!" I scream running from the bathroom

"Ooooh? giving me a divorce so early darling?" he smirked

"Clean.. or I will make your life a living hell"

"Yeah how?"

"I will fill this apartment with femanine nick nacks and scented candles faster then you can beat luke at speed chess now clean this bathroom!"

"No" He smirked

"Clean it... or I am never sucking your dick again"

"You've never sucked my dick"

"I haven't?"

"Not that I recall"

"Then I won't ever suck your dick"

"Nope"

"Benny... clean the bathroom"

"No"

"Husband!" "wife!"

"Clean it" I sighed "and you can have sex with me"

"what kind" He said clearly thinking about it

"Missionary, mild forplay, and I'll let you go without a condom"

"... Deal" He shrugs going to get the cleaning stuff out from under the sink

"Umm all good marriage is compromise"

"Or bribery"

"and you just lost your without condom privileges"

"Oww!"

"should leave leant to keep your mouth shut benny" I giggled taking my stuff to his bedroom and starting to make myself at home putting my stuff everywhere making space for all my stuff once the bathroom was clean I actually powdered my nose had some food and headed to bed with my book

"so... this is life now?" He asks leaning on the door frame

"Yep"

"... we are really married and living together"

"Yep" I giggled "Feel free to divorce me at any time Benny"

"Ohh no, you got so close to divorcing me already no way I'll break before you" he laughs coming in and starting to get undressed

"Ohh just you wait till I get pregnant"

"You think I'm getting you pregnant?"

"You will," I giggled

"will I now" He smirked climbing into bed with me "Hi"

"Hi"

"sooo... I believe there was? wifely promises of sexual favours if I cleaned the bathroom?" he smirked trying to kiss me

"There was" I smiled shutting my book giving his lips a kiss "But I have a headache" I smirked putting my book on the side laying down and stealing as much cover as possible "welcome to having a wife Benny"

"I hate you" He sighed pulling the cover away so he could spoon me

"I hate you too" I smiled giving him a kiss before getting as cosy as I could in his bed.

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tisfan · 4 years

Text

May I take Your Coat?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288321 For @livewire28

Bucky is a selkie, headed into the human world to find a potential mate. He has no intention of staying very long... until he does.

Wanda is closing up the tiki bar for the night and wishes this last-minute customer would hurry up and go... until she doesn't.

Inspired by several tumblr posts I’ve seen where the human offers the coat back after knocking it down, or whatever.

Bucky flopped up on shore, scratching his belly over the sand and wending his way up to the rocks. There was a cave there, long since used for such purpose. Human things were stored there, neat and tidy. If he was lucky, the rain barrel would be full and he could take a bit of a bath.

Long gone were the days that a half-dressed, scruffy stranger could walk into a seaside town and not immediately be run out by the local coppers. There were standards. He couldn’t look like a vagabond.

Humans were weird.

Bucky made his way to the cave and then shrugged out of his coat.

It always took him a moment to find his land legs again, and he was glad enough that there weren’t people looking at him. Not even his own kind.

The cave was cool, and well laid out, the earthen floor long since cleared of stone and debris, flat and firm under his feet. A few human style chairs were set around a flat surface. Tabul, Bucky thought was the word, or close enough.

The rain barrel was full and he drew a few buckets into the tub to wash the salt smell from his skin, to scrub out his hair. Things they didn’t really worry about during their day to day lives.

He checked the gift box; trophies from past loves and gifts for new courted mates. Never stolen. Selkies weren’t thieves. Take one, leave one.

A fine string of black pearls, intermixed with a rose pearl every five beads. That should be well enough. Human women preferred jewelry, men preferred weapons. Or gold. There was some of that in the chest, too.

Bucky took his own offering, a handful of pirate treasure that he’d gotten from one of the wrecks nearby. The sea was hard on things from the land, aside from treasure. Eventually, someone would come, check the box. Gather up that which could be crafted. Everyone contributed because the system benefited everyone.

If you wanted a child, or a mate, you went through the cave.

Bucky found clothes there, sealed in a zip locked bag. He knew about those, too. Plastic. It filled the ocean, no matter how much the selkies tried to gather it up and toss it back on the shore. But it kept clothing dry and free from dirt and stains while waiting for someone else to be able to use it.

He dressed. Finger combed out his hair, gently untangling the strands. He looked well enough to pass for a local, he guessed.

Slinging his coat over his arm, Bucky put on loose-fitting shoes -- he hated shoes, all selkie hated shoes, but the humans got mad if you weren’t wearing them.

Stupid human rules.

But it was the only way to be sure.

If a selkie mated with another selkie, they could birth seal pups, which was tolerable, or a selkie, which was ideal. Or a human child, which was not ideal at all.

Humans no longer looked at a child left on the beach or the docks as a blessing. The child would end up in the human foster care, sometimes adopted out, sometimes neglected, but often taken far away from the sea, too far for their parent to find them, so they would never know… until some years, or even generations later, when they had their own child.

Who might be a selkie.

But any selkie who took a human as their mate, the child would be selkie.

For the women, it was easier; come ashore, spend a few days with a relatively tolerable human, come home and have the baby. The only time that went wrong was if the human found and stole the selkie’s coat.

For men--

Well, there were a few options. Selkies weren’t thieves.

But the cost of a child was high; the cost of living a half-life among humans was high.

Many selkie men chose to raise a child not of their blood, help provide for a child with a selkie mate, adopt the offspring.

It wasn’t a bad plan, not really.

But Bucky wanted his own child.

Was that too much to ask?

Wanda sighed as the man walked into her bar. There was no dress code, aside from yes, please wear clothes. It was a beach bar, tiki themed and tacky, but it meant no one expected the floor to be swept. It was almost closing time, though, and she’d already shooed the rest of the locals and tourists out.

“It’s already last call,” she said. “I can get you one drink, and anything that’s left cooked in the kitchen, but that’s all.”

“That will be well enough,” the man said, and he was beautiful, really. Dark, windswept hair that looked like he’d been swimming most of the day. Blue eyes, cleft chin. Cheekbones that would worry the TSA, they were that sharp.

The clothes, not so much. A tourist tee from one of the shops up on the strip and ugly shorts with pineapples on them. Sandals, which wasn’t typical. But he carried a brown silk sport coat tucked over his arm. Gorgeous, almost golden. Glittery, reflecting back the light from the imitation tiki torches. The shop owner didn’t like smoke from real torches, so they had ugly fake electric things. And light up palm trees. It was tacky as shit.

Which meant, at least, her customer mostly matched the decor.

She wished she didn’t have to work the night shift -- she was always cranky during the evening -- but school was in the morning. One of these days, she was just going to collapse. Trying to do two full time gigs, and her side-hustle where she consulted for people doing gardening and helped them lay out and select plants. She barely got any time to breathe. Certainly relaxing was all the way out of the question.

Which didn’t make her the best host to a customer coming in to eat a plate of cold fries and drink a beer.

“Long day in the sun?”

“Something like that,” the man said, sitting down at the bar, moving gingerly. He didn’t look sunburned. Maybe he was just sore. Too much swimming.

“Well, we’re closing soon, so you enjoy your food. Yell if you need something, but I gotta start clean up. I was supposed to have help today, but both the other girls called out,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do to assist?”

Wanda didn’t quite scoff. Like a tourist would want to help do the dishes or put the stools up. “It’s just basic stuff. Put the seats up on the table, rake the floor for trash, empty--”

The man got up, drained his beer, and Wanda half expected him to leave without paying, saying he was going to leave a bad review and would be back to talk to the manager, because honestly that was what she was used to. Tourists were people with money, and most of the time, they were entitled pricks.

Instead, he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, and then-- got to work putting up the stools.

“Thank you,” Wanda said. She probably shouldn’t let him help; Thaddeus Ross, her boss, would not be pleased with her if something happened to the man. Or even if he complained-- or if someone else complained. But she was so tired, really, what could it hurt, just this once? “My name’s Wanda.”

“Bucky,” the man said.

“Thanks, Bucky,” she said. “If you can do that, I’ll get the kitchen shut down, then take out the trash.”

“Will do, Wanda,” he said, and he stressed her name, like a caress.

She suppressed a shiver, headed into the kitchen. She didn’t have time or energy to worry about some guy.

Loaded the dishes into the industrial washer and started it. Sometimes she wished she had one of those at home. Once the dishes were in the rack, it took about four minutes to clean them. She had to be careful unloading because the dishes would be hot as hell, but it was nice.

And then she’d look at the space it needed and the cost and decide if she needed a plate in four minutes, she could just wash it in the sink.

By the time Wanda came back out to wipe down the bar, Bucky had put all the chairs up except the one he had been using, stacked all the trash bags by the door, and was raking the floor to get up all the random cigarette butts, spare change, and cruft that gathered around the tiki bar.

“Wow,” she said. “Nice job.” She took his plate back into the kitchen and left it by the washer. There was no point unloading the whole thing to wash one plate. Opening shift could get it tomorrow. “Here--” she snagged his jacket, flipped up the last stool, and then offered it to him. “Thanks for your help.”

Bucky reached out his hand tentatively for the jacket, as if he were shocked that she’d touched it. Or given it back. Or something. She couldn’t help petting it. The material was so soft.

But when he reached for it, his fingers brushing the fabric, a jolt of heat, of desire, of-- something passed from her to him and back.

“You-- want to go to one of the all night pancake houses up the way and buy a girl a cup of coffee?” her mouth said before her brain engaged. She never asked anyone on a date, even if she was interested.

“Yes,” Bucky said, and his voice was husky and seductive. “I would like that very much, I think.”

#winterwitch #bucky barnes x wanda maximoff #selkie AU

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strangerthanfixion · 5 years

Text

A King Needs Her Queen (v)

Summary: Much has changed for the citizens of Asgard. From moving to a new home in New Asgard to Thor, your former king, leaving— many of your people were confused and concerned with the future. But your new ruler has taken well to being king, raising Asgardian spirits with good firm leadership. All that’s really left is to find someone to rule by her side.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking

A/N: IT’S ABOUT TIME I’M SO SORRY. Also, I don’t know if you can tell but this is so GAYYY

You stood in front of a humble wooden cottage, waiting for someone to answer. The homes in New Asgard weren’t very extravagant— needless to say, there wasn’t a palace for the king— but maybe that was exactly what your people needed. Quaint, small, easy.

Finally, the door swung open. Valkyrie stood, blinking at you for a moment, before turning quickly around. Her dark hair swung over her shoulder as she made her way back to the cottage’s dining room.

“Hi?” you said, taking that as an opportunity to step inside and follow her.

“Yes, hi, Y/N,” she said as she sat down at the table. She seemed tense, which didn’t surprise you. As the new king of Asgard, Valkyrie had a lot to think about. Thor gave her a few pointers before taking off with the Guardians, but anxiety had gotten the better of her. She’d had a little too much Midgardian wine that night. Over sixty-five bottles if you were remembering correctly— it takes a lot to get an Asgardian drunk. (Valkyrie especially.)

“Are you alright?” you asked, sitting beside her and looking at the documents she had spread out in front of her. She didn’t answer. “Oh Y/N thank you for asking, I’m fine just a little tired—”

Valkyrie looked up at you huffed a laugh through her nose. “Sorry, Y/N,” she said. “I’ve just been working on these negotiations for so long… I think I’m losing my mind.”

You smiled sympathetically and stood up to make your way toward the kitchen. There was a kettle on the stove that was still half full, you stooped down to light the flame and waited for the water to boil. You couldn’t even imagine the stress Valkyrie was under.

Right as things had started to feel normal on Midgard, everything started to crumble. Those who had been affected by the stones all came back. You knew it was for the greater good, but as the population in New Asgard skyrocketed in a matter of seconds, tensions only grew. Not only had it become apparent that the Asgardians may, once again, be without a home, but feelings of envy and survivors guilt rose to the surface.

Half of your people had been killed by Thanos— not snapped away with the power of the stones. He slaughtered them in cold blood. Irreversible. You thought of that day, feeling lucky to have come out of it alive, but mourning the ones you had loved. It tore you apart.

The screaming kettle snapped you out of your thoughts. You set a steaming mug in front of Valkyrie and without hesitation—

“Got anything stronger?” she asked and you shook your head.

“You’re not going to finish making these negotiations while drunk. For the sake of our people I won’t let you.”

“That’s how I finished the last four!” you glared at her. “Kidding! I told you… I’m sober now.”

You and Valkyrie became good friends working at the docks. Unloading and cleaning the boats can really bring people together. The two of you would get drinks after work often. Valkyrie tossing them back without even blinking an eye, you simply sipping on a few beers, enjoying your time. Valkyrie was very popular with the old fishing crowd.

“Never seen a woman drink like that before!” is what you’d hear most often, which only spurred her on to drink more. Maybe you did enable her from time to time. Chanting “chug” or “go, go, go” with the rest of the patrons. But when she came to you and told you she wanted to quit, you promised to help her.

She wanted to be a good and proper king. You admired her for that. You admired her for a lot of things.

You hadn’t realized you’d been staring at her until she suddenly dropped her head onto the table. A loud thunk sounded throughout the small cottage.

“Are you okay, Val?” you asked— reaching your hand out to put it on her shoulder. She hadn’t told anyone her name since her return to Asgard, but Valkyrie felt too formal for you. You took to calling her ‘Val.’ You were the only one she’d ever let call her that.

“Is being a king always this hard?” she muttered into the table.

“I think so,” you said warmly.

“Thor didn’t have this problem!”

“Thor was in his living room playing Fortnite and drinking all of our beer,” you reminded her. “You were the one making sure everything in New Asgard was going smoothly. You were making sure everyone had work, everyone was fed, everyone was happy.”

“But what about now? Thor was king then! Thor gets all the recognition for that! If my first announcement as king is that we’ll have to leave this place, I’ll be burned at the stake.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.”

“I’m starting to think that it’s not,” she looked up at you with desperate eyes. “I don’t want them to hate me.”

“Asgard would never hate you,” Valkyrie sighed and looked back to the papers. She took a breath, trying to calm down and clear her head to make a proper decision.

“Okay, what about… we still have the ship we escaped on. Those who need it can sleep there for a while and all of the able-bodied of us will work to expand the homes we’ve been working on,” you nodded, listening to her speak. “It’ll take a long time but we just have to make our case, right? Asgardians are strong we’re valuable to this place. I want to make it clear that we aren’t gods to them anymore, they shouldn’t worship us anymore, we just want to work and live like anyone else.”

She’d do that a lot. Just talk aloud, not looking for a response, but forming her ideas. You felt a smile spread across your face as you watched the gears turn in her head. Her brow would furrow as questions formed, then unfurrow as they were resolved. You were still listening, just getting a little distracted. Finally, she looked up at you looking for your approval. She didn’t need it, you knew she didn’t need it, but she wanted it.

You nodded, your smile growing wider as you reached out to touch her arm.

“I trust you, completely,” you said. Valkyrie felt herself swell from the validation.

Suddenly the silence felt heavy, neither of you knew why, but both of you were stirring in it. You had a sudden urge to pull your hand away, to stand up and walk to the other side of the room, to hide your blushing face. But you also wanted to fight it. You wanted to stay looking at her forever. Valkyrie cleared her throat and you pulled away. Damn.

“I, er,” she stumbled, picking up her mug of tea and holding it to her lips. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Oh, of course,” you smiled. She looked at the clock and stood, gathering her papers and pulling on a coat.

“I should take these to the council,” she said and you nodded.

“Right, I’ll head back to the docks then, they’re probably waiting for me,” you said. Valkyrie stopped for a second as you made your way back to the door.

“Y/N, maybe if all goes well,” she could feel anxiety rising in her stomach again. It was a different kind of anxiety though. “You could come over again and… we could celebrate together— sober of course!” she said quickly. You felt your stomach flip. Why were you so nervous?

“That… I’d love to,” you smiled. She nodded at you, awkwardly, officially, but there was a warmth to it.

It had gone well, all things considered. The council members only told her they would take her propositions into consideration, but they didn’t seem to take any issue with them. ‘Consideration’ was more... principle. After returning home, Valkyrie quickly realized that she didn’t have anything very nice to wear. All of her clothes were practical, seeing as she never really went out. She was always working.

Valkyrie finally settled on a sweater and pants that didn’t smell too heavily of the ocean. She was pacing around anxiously, trying to busy herself as she struggled to control her flipping stomach. She was gently stoking the fire she’d started when you knocked on the door. Valkyrie opened it a little too fast.

“Hey,” she said, also a little too fast.

“Hi,” you smiled back. She stepped to the side and you entered. She was acting much different from this morning. She was shifting her weight, trying to decide what to do with her hands as she looked at you. You were also quite nervous. Why? You’d been to this house so many times before— yet tonight felt so different.

After a pause that felt incredibly long, Valkyrie spoke and jerked her thumb towards the kitchen.

“Tea?” she asked. You answered with a quick ‘please.’ “Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

You felt your heart beating fast, your cheeks hot. She returned a while later with two steaming cups and sat down next to you. You smiled and thanked her, holding the mug close to your body. Valkyrie sighed and pulled her legs up on the couch.

“How did your meeting go?” you asked, finally saying something.

“Well, I think— I hope,” Valkyrie sighed and rested her head on her hand. “They told me they would talk to me again soon, I just… I don’t know how soon that will be.”

You felt your heart sink as her face fell. She had been so hard on herself, everything was up to her now, and what would happen if she failed?

“We can’t be displaced again,” she said. A sudden seriousness fell over the two of you. “If all of us lose our homes again, I don’t know if we could recover.”

“We won’t move, I know it,” you said.

“Did you lose anyone?” Valkyrie asked after a pause. “That day?”

“Yes,” your voice was low as memories came flooding back to you. Flashes would appear every time you blinked. “My partner. They,” you swallowed past the lump that had formed in your throat. “They switched places with me... at the last possible second. They sacrificed themself for me.”

You remembered their face as you were pulled apart. You were being pushed towards one end of the ship as Thanos’ soldiers guided them, and many others towards the escape ship. You remembered hearing them scream, pushing past to get to you. The feeling of their fingers pressing hard into your skin as you were spun the other way. Then the feeling of being dragged away. Dragged towards the ship as they were pulled the other direction. It was too late when you realized what had been done. The door of the ship was already closing by the time you called out to them, the sound of blasters and wails already filling the air.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Valkyrie said. You dabbed at your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve. “Really, I am.”

“Thank you,” you said softly as you tried not to let your voice break. You smiled at her. “I’m okay, now,” you said. "It was a long time ago and I met you!”

Valkyrie gave you a small smile, her features softened as you continued to look at her. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as the orange glow of the fire before you flickered. “Thank you,” she said. “Really, Y/N, you’ve been an extremely great help.”

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for,” you laughed. Valkyrie turned her face towards the flame. She’d had an idea for a long time now. A feeling, but she never acted on it.

“Y/N,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you felt your stomach flip.

“Val,” you said quietly.

“I mean it, you’ve been there for everything. Even when I was getting sober— I was so mean and awful but you were there for me.”

“You were going through withdrawal, I can’t fault you for that—”

“I haven’t felt this close to anyone in a long time, you know?” she said, her face was warm and it wasn’t from the fire. Yours was too. “Not since…” she trailed off and you knew she was thinking about the battle with Hela. You put your hand on hers, letting your thumb run over her smooth skin.

Valkyrie looked up at you, her breath catching in her throat as she took you in. You looked so beautiful in the dim, warm light. She was mad about you, she had been since you’d first said hello on the docks.

Both of you were silent. You let your hand travel up from her hand and over her arm, caressing her neck until you had reached her face. Valkyrie felt her chest rising and falling heavily as you continued to rest your hand on her cheek. Without a word, you leaned in. Valkyrie did the same. When your lips touched, the nervous feeling in your stomach subsided. You moved closer to her, bringing your other hand up to the other side of her face. You heard her sigh as the kiss deepened. You hadn’t fully realized that this was exactly what you wanted until now. Until you were holding her, kissing her, falling further and further into her as time seemed to fly by.

When you pulled away you watched a small smile form across her face. You touched your forehead to hers and took a deep breath.

“I…” she couldn’t think of what to say. Her mind was still reeling and slightly fuzzy from what had just happened. How would she say this? “I want Asgard to feel like a full kingdom again, you know what I mean?” she rambled. You were still leaning on each other, but her eyes were cast down to the sofa. “And, you don’t have to say yes, of course, but,” she was speaking fast now, still not really able to look at you. Only stealing glances every now and again. “I would be honored if you would be my queen.”

You couldn’t help your mouth falling open a bit. You sat up straight and Valkyrie inwardly winced at the loss of contact.

“I thought a lot about it, and I think you would make a wonderful ruler. You’re extremely capable and I think Asgard would be happy to have you watching over them,” she waited. Now the time was going painstakingly slow. Each second that passed in silence mad Valkyrie’s stomach turn.

You still hadn’t said anything.

“Y/N?” Valkyrie was hesitant, but the moment had to pass. Even though you hadn’t said yes, you still hadn’t said no. She wanted an answer, though she was afraid to get it.

“Queen?” you finally said, your mouth still hanging dumbly. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” Valkyrie said. You squinted at her in disbelief. “Y/N, you were making decisions with me from the very moment Thor made me king. When I couldn’t even stand because I was so nauseous you worked at the docks in my place. You went to council meetings in my place. As far as I’m concerned… you’re already queen.”

You laughed and she smiled at you.

“I trust you, completely,” she said.

“I would be honored to rule by your side,” you said after another moment. Valkyrie smiled widely before crashing into you, enveloping you in a tight hug, peppering the side of your face and neck with soft kisses. Who knew a Valkyrie warrior would be such a softie?

You fell onto your back, her on top of you with an arm next to your head to support her. You watched as her eyes flicked down towards your lips. The giddy smile became sly and hungry as she met your eyes again.

“May I, your highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” you shook your head. “But yes, you may,” with that, Valkyrie leaned down to kiss you. It was much more intense than the first, as she tugged at your lip with her teeth boldly. You hummed as you brought your hand up to cup her cheek. “I think I’m going to like being queen,” you murmured.

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divineluce · 4 years

Text

Grounded || Ulfric & Luce

Location: Al’s diner

Timing: May 26th, 2020

Tagging: @big-bad-ulf and @divineluce

Description: Luce and Ulfric have a less than successful heart-to-heart. More of a guard-to-guard.

With a tired smile at the waitress who led them to their booth, Luce took a seat on one side, the material of her jeans sliding against the vinyl. “Thanks for lunch,” She said with an attempt at her typical grin and a flick of her hair over her shoulder. “Consider us working towards getting even.” As they sat there for a moment, Luce stared at her hands, at the small triangles tattooed onto her middle fingers. The alchemical symbol for fire. Her fire. She hadn’t really sat down to think about what had happened in the woods with the blue flames that had erupted from her hands. But, ever since that morning, she’d been unable to conjure up any other kind of flame. Her power hadn’t been diminished-- if anything, it was a stronger, hotter flame. But, the blue remained, no matter how she tried to channel the energy. Realizing that she’d just been staring at her hands for a while, Luce cleared her throat and looked across the table at her boss. “I hope those wards haven’t had to be put to use yet.”

It had been awhile since Ulfric had been to Al’s, not since before he’d found out Celeste worked there. But he missed his old haunt, and he’d grown accustomed enough to the former hunter’s presence that it wouldn’t be enough to stop him from enjoying his favourite lunch spot anymore. “You’re welcome, I know we’ve got a long way to go.” He replied, sinking into the familiar worn leather booth across from Luce. “Not yet fortunately, purposely or accidentally.” He assured her, the map she’d drawn out had made sure of the latter. He wanted to say something about her drawn out pause, and even more about her disappearance. It wasn’t like her, she’d always had a wildness to her that he appreciated, but she’d never just blown things off like that. He fiddled with the napkin dispenser absentmindedly, unsure how to bring it up, they usually stuck to banter not earnest heart-to-hearts. “The jewellery your sisters set us up with has come in handy, though.” He continued after a moment, thinking that was a logical, neutral topic to follow the one she’d brought up, and one that might provide some insight into if there was something going on with her at home. “I still need to think of a way to properly thank them.”

“Damn right we do.” Luce responded, though the words lacked her usual warmth or joking tone. She was just… going through the motions. It was all she could do to try and maintain the cocky bravado that usually came so easily to her. Now, in the wake of… Bea’s death? Her emotions were raw. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally. Weariness had settled into her bones, into the very core of who she was. But, she had to stay strong. Strong for Nell, for her only sister. “I’m glad to hear that.” She said with a nod. Running her hands over the laminated tabletop, she traced shapes onto the surface with her fingertip. Geometric patterns, wards, meant to call forth an inferno of flame and heat and death. But, without her pouring power into it, she was just drawing invisible designs onto the table. At the word “sisters,” her finger came to an abrupt halt, her blood running cold. Doing her best to recover, she wiped a nonexistent crumb off the table before nodding. “Yeah. I’m glad they could help. Don’t-- don’t worry about it. You don’t need to thank them.” She said, hoping her voice didn’t catch on the word “them.” There was no them. There was only her and Nell.

“Sure, I don’t have to, but I’d like to,” Ulfric countered, noticing her stammer. He probably could have picked up on an increased heart rate too if he’d been listening, but it would be rude to invade her privacy that way, when he considered her a friend. “Occasionally I do feel like being nice to someone just because I want to, it isn’t alway about being professional or… whatever else.” He vaguely alluded to the deep sense of pack loyalty he figured she was now at least a little aware of. “I just thought you might be able to give me intel on what kind of things they like, so I don’t send them something embarrassingly cliche like a crystal ball, or something.” Perhaps he was pushing the topic a little, but he did genuinely plan on sending them a proper thank you gift soon. A waitress carrying a pot of coffee strode past and he waved her down, to refill both of their cups. “You look like you could use some,” He suggested, hiding concern behind the light ribbing. “You never told me what you were drinking that night, anyway? Seemed like strong stuff.”

Luce’s lips pressed together in a tight lipped line as she glanced from her boss out the window of the diner. Outside, she could see people walking down the street. The sun was shining, there were birds flying from roof to roof of the various buildings, the flowers were in bloom. Further down the road, she could see a mother and her daughter walking down the road, hand in hand. A lump formed in her throat. She and Nell had decided not to tell their mother what had happened-- how could they? How could they tell her that kind of news, over the phone, when she was half a world away? Ulfric’s words filtered in through her thoughts and she let out a surprised chuckle. “Yeah… Maybe no crystal balls.” Swallowing, Luce nodded as she looked at the tabletop again. “Nell likes plants, she keeps a greenhouse. Something for that would be nice. Bea… candles. Candles are always good.” She said, forcing the words out as quickly as she could manage, as though the less time she spent thinking about them, the easier it would be to say. “Coffee sounds good.” She said with a polite nod and quiet thank you at the waitress who poured her a mug. “Uh… whiskey. Just whiskey.” Just lots of whiskey.

Ulfric smiled at Luce’s chuckle, glad that whatever was going on that she didn’t want to show, he’d still brought her a little amusement. “That’s much better than anything I would’ve come up with on my own,” he thanked her sincerely for her suggestions, making a note to pick out stop by the market on the weekend to pick something out for them both. Ulfric muttered thanks to the Waitress as well, and reclined further back into his seat, staring into his coffee and making every effort to sound casual as he asked, “And what was the occasion? Did your mime self ask you for a second date?” He joked, thinking maybe she’d let slip a bit more if he leant into keeping things light and humorous. “You know, the last woman I went out with actually ran away from me. Not that our outing counted as a date,” He clarified, taking a long sip of black coffee. “But, clearly I could benefit from some pointers from an expert.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no problem.” Luce managed with a nod as she poured creamer into her coffee and watched as blooms of light brown appeared in the mug of dark coffee. Stirring it with her finger, she didn’t even feel the way the heat burned against her skin. Instead, she just lifted the mug to her lips and took a drink. This was… normal. This was fine. She could hold it together for lunch with Ulf. She could do this. The coffee was scalding, but the bite of pain was a welcome relief to the numbness that had consumed her over the past four days. “No, nothing that fun and exciting. Just the… usual.” She said with a weak grin. Ulf had thought she’d just… cut loose for the weekend. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t usually text him that she wouldn’t be in for work, not unless she was absolutely trashed after a night of debauchery and excess. The mention of Ulf’s own “not a date” situation felt like a buoy in the midst of a sea and she latched onto it as enthusiastically as she could. “Oh really? How’d you manage that one, huh? You didn’t try and convince her to try some pickled herring or something, did you?” She asked, doing her best to play up the teasing nature of her words. She could do this, she could make it through lunch.

“Hmm,” Ulfric hummed skeptically at her non-explanation, eyes narrowing slightly over the coffee cup at the contradictory state of her. Luce was clean, and dressed in her usual style, but the clothes were decidedly more rumpled than usual. The dark hollows under her eyes spoke of little sleep, and if he looked carefully he could make out various small bruises and scrapes that were reminiscent of someone who’d run through a dense thicket of woodland without wearing protective clothing or having the benefit of supernatural healing. He felt a little skeevy, assessing her in a way he normally reserved for hunters when he was trying to learn their weaknesses. But if he was doing it out of concern, and planned to use the information gathered to make things easier for her than surely a little clue collecting was okay? “It tastes better than you think. There are even sweet versions some people consider a treat,” he defended his national delicacy. “But no, she gave the classic, ‘It’s not you, it’s the smoke monster’. It’s… a long story,” he told her, enjoying the warm response he was getting, even if it was only because he’d given her ammunition to make fun of him with. It seemed like she needed it, since she wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. “You had to be there.”

“I highly doubt that making it sweeter would make it any better.” Luce said, wrinkling her nose, “And this is coming from a girl who grew up eating korkorec, I feel like I really gave it the old college try. There’s just something off about the after taste that I can’t handle.” She said, thinking back to some of the traditional dishes that her mother had fed their family growing up. Which only brought a fresh wave of pain-- Bea had cooked like their mother. She’d cooked with more variety to her dishes, but there had been nights when Luce would come back from a shift and smell her sister’s iskembe corbasi wafting through the house, a bowl of hearty soup waiting for her in the microwave. “Uh huh? The smoke monster? You sure now how to show a girl a good time, don’t you.” She said with a shake of her head and another long sip from her coffee mug. “Maybe, but if you’re out there pulling moves on a lady, I’d really rather not.”

Ulfric shrugged, he would just have to bring another flavor to the Ink Inc. Yule Party this year, then she would change her mind. “There weren’t any moves,” he protested, beginning to regret creating this conversational trap for himself. “But fair enough. Look, I think we’re getting a little off track…” he started hesitantly, downing most of the remaining coffee in one gulp. “I asked you here because I got the sense that you might not be entirely… alright. And that’s alright, if they’re not, I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do?” He sighed, he’d never been any good at these kinds of speeches, it was much easier for him to leap into action than any discussion of feelings. “I know you’ll handle… whatever it is, but if I can do something to make it easier along the way, let me know? I need to work off my debt of favors somehow.” He thought it might make it simpler for Luce to accept or refuse his help if he said it was for that reason, though as he’d mentioned earlier it wasn’t always about obligation, there was care behind it too.

“Well, there’s your problem. No moves means no game.” Luce joked but the attempt at easy bravado faded when Ulfric changed the subject. Hands clasping the coffee mug tightly, her shoulders tensed as she waited for the shoe to drop. What was he going to ask? What was she going to say? What could she say? That… that Bea was dead? No. No, she couldn’t… Not here. Not now. But, as he began to talk, his voice soft and compassionate as he tried to offer her as much support as he could, Luce couldn’t help but wonder. If not here, where? If not now… when? And if not with Ulf, one of the people she trusted the most, one of the people she held in such high regard… who? The coffee in her cup began to boil and froth, the sound jolting her from her thoughts. Releasing the burning ceramic cup from her hands, Luce stared at the table for a moment before speaking, “No, things aren’t alright. And I don’t know if they’re ever going to be alright again. But,” Luce took a deep breath before looking at her boss from behind sad, tired eyes, “Thank you. For asking. There’s nothing you can do, but, thank you.”

Ulfric flinched back quickly, dodging boiling coffee as it spilled over onto the table, but otherwise didn’t call Luce out on it. “Okay, I understand,” he said simply instead, swallowing any disappointment that he wasn’t able to be of more service after she’d been so helpful dealing with the Bennett situation. Whatever was affecting her it wasn’t about him. The waitress passed again eyeing the mess. “Sorry, I get clumsy,” he took the blame, slipping an extra tip in with the bill before starting to wipe it up with a fistful of napkins. “No harm in asking, right? See you back in the shop as usual tomorrow?”

Watchng the way he flinched back, Luce mentally kicked herself for losing control like that. She shouldn’t have lost her cool like that. Grabbing some napkins, she also began to sop up the boiling liquid, not at all bothered by the heat. “Thank you. Really,” Luce said quietly as she cleaned. “It means a lot to me, that you’d offer to help. Means a lot to… my family. But, this is something I have to handle myself.” She said before shutting her mouth as the waitress came by. Typical Ulf, taking the fall for her. What a guy… He deserved to have someone better working for him. As Luce gathered up the coffee soaked napkins into a pile, she glanced over at him. “Yeah. I’ll be there.” She’d be there for Ulfric. She couldn’t let him down. She’d already let down so many others, she couldn’t drop the ball here too. “Bright and early.”

#p: ulfric haakonsson #p: g #wickedswriting

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