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43sparrows · 4 years ago

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l o n g e d - {Five x Reader AU}

Read Part 1 & Part 2 & Part 3 / Part 3.5

Warning: smut

Word Count: 2,713

Note: please come scream at me in my inbox

Call me.

You've been dreading this note from Five for the past week. It's not that the words are new--a week ago, it would've been excitement causing the twisting feeling in your stomach--but it's the fact that this is the first note you've gotten since you're meltdown. Sure, he'd brushed off your apology, but it's been almost a full week since you've seen each other, and something just doesn't feel the same. Even your roommate has noticed something's off, and while you've shared the news about your ex, you can't bring yourself to tell her how you've gone and proven yourself to be more work than you're worth to Five. So, while the note itself is normal enough, you have the sinking sensation that this is his version of "We need to talk."

And you don't want to talk.

That's why it takes you hours to finally steel yourself up enough to return his call. The sky's growing dark by the time you dial in the number, standing in the hall with you head tilted back against the wall, the phone cord weaving between your fingers.

"Five." His brusque voice makes you want to hang up the phone. Instead, you adjust your grip and tug at the cord.

"Hey," you say, softly. "It's Y/N."

"Took you long enough." His voice is still flirting with being abrasive, but he's saying more than just a couple of words which must mean something. You're not sure what though. "What are you doing in...two hours?"

Confusion knits your brow together as you wrap the cord around one of your fingers. "Nothing, I'm free."

"Howling Rock Cafe. I'll be at the bar."

"Ok," you agree. There's a pause and then the other end of the line goes dead.

You sigh before slowly untangling yourself from the cord so you can hang up the phone and get ready

It's glaringly obvious within the first few seconds of entering the bar that this is not Five's scene.

You can't help but compare this place to the smoky night club where you first met. It's like night and day--and not just because this place has strobe lights bathing just about every inch of the room in colorful lights.

For one, it seems to be crawling with barely legal drinkers. It's not like the two of you are that far removed in age from the rest of the crowd, but Five doesn't exactly seem the type to want to relive college nights out.

And then there's a cover band with the amps turned up way too high as they work their way through pop covers. You miss the lyric-less music of the other bar with its relentless beat that seemed to reverberate in your chest.

It crosses your mind that maybe Five had meant another place or that you'd misheard him on the phone, but then you catch sight of him sitting at the bar with a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

"What are you drinking?" You ask, slipping into the seat next to him. He looks at you with heavy lidded eyes, pupils already blown wide. His gaze slides from the curve of your breasts that disappear beneath the plunging neckline of your little black dress down to your legs.

His eyes flick back up to meet yours. "Brandy. For now."

The line would be clumsy on another man's lips, but something about the way he says it has you dizzy, and it's the one piece of Five that's seemed anywhere close to normal since that night.

You tear your eyes away from him, flagging down the bartender to order yourself a gin, neat.

"So," you say, anxiety knotting in the pit of your stomach as you toy with the question that's been on your mind the entire way to the bar. "Howl's?" You change course last second, asking a different, less terrifying question.

"I've heard things about this place," Five said with a shrug. "Figured I'd check them out."

"What'd you hear?" It's genuine curiosity, and maybe it's the refocused attention or maybe it's the large gulp of gin, but you feel yourself relaxing slightly.

"I heard they're heavy pourers," Five says, taking a sip of his drink. He lifts both eyebrows and places the glass back down on the bar. "But it would seem I heard wrong."

You laugh. Nothing about this place suggests they have strong drinks. The prices are too cheap. The crowd is too young.

"At least the atmosphere is nice," you quip, and Five looks around the room before shooting you a mildly amused look. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by a loud group of co-eds who just walked in the door. You turn to look. One is draped in a pink "It's my birthday!" sash. This does not bode well.

"Let's go back to mine. I've restocked," you offer, but Five shakes his head. You wait for him to share a reason or even pick up the sentence he didn't get out, but he doesn't, instead taking another sip of his subpar brandy.

You wish that you had your own drink in front of you, shooting a look at the bartender who looks to be making about four drinks at once. The knot inside of you has come back, growing even tighter as the silence extends. Silence has never been uncomfortable with Five before.

You attribute this largely to the fact that up until this point you've always been so careful about following the rules of engagement, as it were. And while you don't know for sure, it feels like you're guilty of a breach of contract. You wish you could remember what you said, but you can hardly even remember what you did. It's all a blur.

You know he came over, you announced your ex's engagement, and then he tucked you into bed and made sure you had coffee the next morning.

There had to have been more to that night than just that, though. Because emotions and caretaking--that wasn't part of the deal.

Then again, neither was going out to bars.

The bartender placed your gin in front of you and gratefully you took a long drink from it. You could feel Five's eyes on you as you lowered the glass back down.

"That kind of day?" he asked.

You returned your attention to him. "That kind of week," you corrected. He nodded and toasted you with his own glass before the both of you drank.

You tapped your finger lightly against the side of your gin, the alcohol had yet to take hold but you could feel the warming sensation flowing through you. It was enough of a comfort to know that soon the nerves that had been humming beneath your skin all week would be quiet. "So, why are we here?" The words slipped past your lips, earning a raised eyebrow from Five.

"I told you, I wanted to check this place out."

"That's it?" Your finger still beat steadily against the side of your glass.

You could see the awareness dawn on Five, a sly smile twisting at his lips. "I can't just want your company?"

Your heart skipped a beat. Or maybe it was three. And although the alcohol was supposed to have you pleasantly numb, instead you felt like you were on fire. "I would have thought you had enough of my company after last week."

Realization reached his eyes this time as he shook his head at you. "No," he said, angling his body more towards yours. "I haven't had enough."

The two of you are in the bathroom two hours later.

As far as bar bathrooms go, it's surprisingly clean and roomy. The second part is probably due to the fact the owners had opted for a single use closet style bathroom as opposed to anything remotely functional for the size of the crowd this place has drawn in with it's mediocre music and watered down drinks.

It's not the worst place to have sex, but if you were in your right mind you probably would have insisted that Five pop you back to your place instead. But the consecutive drinks and Five's hand trailing up your thigh had been so intoxicating, you didn't even protest when he took your hand in his and dragged you in here to push you up against the sink.

His mouth is on your neck now, his teeth lightly nipping at the skin there, his hands keeping your dress bunched up at your waist. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he moves your panties to the side, pressing a finger into you. "Five," you mumble, a moan escaping you as he curls his finger.

"Louder," Five commands, his lips grazing against your neck, moving down to trail love bites along your collarbone. He pushes into you again, and his name falls from your lips again, this time at a normal volume.

"Louder," Five urges, kissing under your jaw, as you fist the back of his shirt in your hands. Your entire body feels like a taut string, and he's just getting started. You know this has to be quick, there's probably going to be a line outside, but the way his fingers are moving has effectively killed all thoughts outside of the fact that you haven't lost him. He's still, in some small way, yours.

"Five, please," you plead, and you're not quite sure what you're pleading for--release or more of him.

"Fuck," he swears, withdrawing from you and spinning you around, so you have both hands on either side of the sink, your ass exposed to him. He leans in close, and you can feel the length of his entire body against your back. "I love it when you beg." His whisper is hot in your ear, and a needy gasp leaves you. Dirty talk isn't part of the usual routine, and you didn't expect it to have such an effect.

He withdraws, his fingers tucking into the sides of your underwear and dragging them down to your knees. Behind you, you hear his buckle clink as he frees himself from his pants. It's a second more of anticipation before his hands find your hips, and he slowly enters you, allowing you to feel each inch of him. His fingers dig into your hips as a groan leaves him. Warmth blooms in your chest, and you promise yourself that you'll remember this moment and that sound forever.

Five continues to move at a sensual pace, and your eyes flick up to the mirror, taking in his face. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and an intense but unidentifiable feeling builds in you. And then his hips unexpectedly snap into yours, earning him a loud moan.

It also seems to earn a knock at the door.

"Alright guys, wrap it up. Other people need to use the bathroom," a gruff voice says on the other side of the door.

It might have been a bit of a mood killer if it weren't for the fact that Five repeats the motion, leaving you gasping. He pulls you up close to him, one hand on your hip and the other toying with your breast. "Can't leave them waiting," he grunts, and your head lolls back onto his shoulder. Despite the fact that it's been shorter than the vast majority of your sessions together, you're more of a needy mess then you've ever been. Maybe it's the combination of the alcohol and publicness and the sounds coming from Five, but whatever it is, it's not long before you're cumming, and not long after, he is too.

There's now pounding at the door.

"Come on, you guys gotta get out. Let's go."

Five smirks at you from where he's pulling his pants back up--or at least, if he was anyone else you'd call it a smirk. It's softer than usual though--although it's still not quite a smile. Like you're in on the joke with him. It makes your heart beat a little faster, and you're just able to stop yourself from a full blown smile, the corners of your mouth turning down in an attempt to seem cool as usual. He gestures with his head towards the door, and after checking yourself in the mirror and making yourself seem slightly more presentable, you follow him out, keeping your eyes trained on the floor so you don't have to look at the bouncer or line of people waiting by the door.

Unfortunately, the bouncer seems to have other plans.

"Y/N?"

You know that voice. Without the door between you and the fake gruffness, it's clear as day, and it feels a bit like someone has dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. You feel painfully sober.

Your eyes widen, and you turn to see your ex dressed in the black t-shirt and jeans, looking just as shocked to see you.

"Oh my God," you mumble.

"Uh--" he says, pointing to the door, and you make your way towards it, Five still next to you, and your ex following up behind you. You stop just beside the door, across from where another bouncer is checking IDs.

"Sorry, I--you can't stay." He does seem genuinely apologetic, and you're not sure if it's just the awkwardness of the whole situation or if he really feels bad.

"No, no. I get it," you shake your head. Five's hand drifts to the small of your back, and your previously blank mind remembers that oh yeah--he's here too. This is the worst moment of your life. "Oh, this is, um, Five. Five, this is Jordan. We...we used to date." That seems like a wildly simplistic introduction for both of them, but you're still reeling.

"Five? Like the kid from The Umbrella Academy?"

Five's smile is so fake you wouldn't be surprised if Jordan could also sense the thinly veiled animosity. "The very same," Five says, holding out his hand and shaking Jordan's. His arm returns around you.

Jordan looks like he's a mixture of confused and impressed, and before this situation can get any worse, you open your mouth and start saying words, hoping they come out in order and make sense.

"I didn't know you work here."

Jordan's eyes linger on Five for a second more before meeting yours. "Yeah, I had to pick up another job...I'm getting married."

"Oh, congratulations." you say less than earnestly, pushing hair behind your ear. Emotion swirls in your chest, pressure building to react--to sob, to scream, to sink into the ground. Anything but stand here.

"Well," Five says, coming to your rescue. "I should take her home." You look up at him, and there's a ghost of smugness on his face. If you hadn't studied him for so long, you might have missed the look, but it's there.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Jordan nods, stepping back towards the bar. "It was good to see you, Y/N."

It's a lie. But he's not the only liar here. "You too," you say nodding. "Good luck with the wedding."

"Thanks," he nods again like a bobblehead, and you turn and head out the door quickly with Five.

The two of you walk down the sidewalk and towards the parking garage in silence. It's not until you're passing rows of cars that Five speaks. "Did you drive?"

You shake your head, your thoughts still on the way Five had handled that situation. You have a terrible feeling.

It's unspoken that Five will give you a ride home, so you don't bother to ask for a ride. Instead, you save up your question, waiting until the two of you are stopped at a red light, halfway home to ask.

"Did you know he worked there?"

The corner of Five's mouth turns up. "Might have been a thing I heard about that place."

You have more questions, but you don't want to ask them. That one was enough to shatter the illusion you'd been creating all night.

That he had brought you out because he wanted your company.

That he might return a hint of the feelings you had for him.

That this was something other than what it was.

Read the final part

#five hargreeves #number five #number 5 #number five smut #number 5 smut #five hagreeves smut #five smut #five hargreeves x reader #five x reader #number 5 x reader #number five x reader

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devilrainbunnie · 4 years ago

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.- anthurium -.

X/2/3

shigaraki x reader

a/n: kind of an au, first piece! hope you guys like, i was feeling angsty. part two maybe?

CW: anxiety warning, cheating, manipulation, reader is depressed, sexual themes and description of sexual themes. minors DNI.

—

“for the millionth time, nothing is going on!” he snapped, rolling his eyes as he shuffled in his chair. fingers carefully laced around the hand held device. the vermillion eyes were full of fire, a fire that burned in agitation. towards you. he dared not to look into yours, for that would be almost like he was admitting to the accusations.

“then why do you smell like perfume that isn’t mine? why are you gone hours at a time without ever going to a meeting? why can’t you even do as little as look at me? why do you—“ your voice began to shake, feeling your fingers tremble with the hem of your shirt.

“you’re being paranoid, quit projecting your fucking insecurities on to me y/n. this conversation is over, now fuck off and let me relax.” he snarled, shifting his body away from your stance. he continued to play on his device, paying no mind to the girl with a river of tears pouring from her eyes.

you knew how it would end, and it always consisted of him leaving for the rest of the day. coming home the next morning, sometimes not even bothering to shower. you weren’t stupid. you could see the love bites on his scarred neck, his swollen lips, the way his sea foam colored locks were in a tangled bunch, he reeked of expensive perfume... you’d even found hair strands that weren’t either of yours. you knew, he knew that you knew, but he didn’t care that you knew.

it’s been going on since tomura was declared leader, king of this new group— the paranormal liberation front. since then, he’s put himself on such a high pedestal and his eyes began to wander. it wasn’t too noticeable at first, you thought you were just being insecure. because your boyfriend of over a year was beginning to spend less and less time with you. for the first time since you both got intimate, he stopped sleeping with you in your shared bed regularly. his often touch starved nature of wanting to be held and hold you constantly, began to stop. after a while, he wouldn’t so much as ruffle your hair anymore, or touch your back as he walked past. he stopped smiling at you.

he stopped loving you.

you noticed a specific girl with him from time to time, she was so different from you. outwardly sexy, confident, and most of all, she had him. she had beautiful emerald eyes, and dashing natural red hair. her figure was unbeatable. someone who would’ve been regularly out of his league, just due to her status, and often snobby nature. deep down, you knew that’s probably why he felt so enticed. she was unattainable. just like you had been to him once. he was always one to strive for the best, you guessed that meant lovers too.

you almost felt bad for him, considering the knowledge you had about her... she did this a lot. fucked around with higher ups as a way to gain better status, be placed in a higher rank, and get special privileges bother plf members wouldn’t originally receive. you’d heard this from dabi, she apparently tried to do the same thing to him, but he said, he “had better standards than that”.

you chuckled at dabi’s comment, you were the only one in the league he treated like a genuine friend. thankfully he could always make you crack a smile or two.

then like usual, the sadness came back.

there you were, alone in your shared apartment inside of the plf building. you sat at the edge of the windowsill in the living room, the lights were off. nothing but the distance sound of owls, wind, and branches to be heard. the moons glow to illuminate the scenery just a touch. your e/c eyes red, and glistened with the aftermath of an overbearing storm of a meltdown. your cheeks still burning, lips chapped and your hands doing anything else but standing still. since it got bad a few weeks ago with him, this is all you’ve been able to do. cry. let out your loud sobs all day, and whenever tomura was due to return, you’d go back to the way he preferred you. quiet, distant, and minding your business.

even with your quirk, your depression had led to all of the plants in each room to wilt. it’s almost poetic how accurate that displayed to your feelings— and of course, tomura didn’t even notice them.

anytime you did anything, it agitated him. there was no use in speaking, unless he was the one to initiate it. asking you what you made him for dinner, asking if you’ve seen a certain item of his, or asking you to do something for him, like stitch his tethered hoodie. sometimes telling you that he was annoyed with you being around dabi.

you began to nibble on your bottom lip again, trying to stop the fresh new wave of tears that threatened to spill. you promised yourself to not cry anymore, stop it. you stood from your spot, adjusting the simple outfit you wore. just usual long sleeve and leggings. using your sleeves to dry your face from the evidence of your overwhelming sadness. deciding that you should just take a shower, get ready for bed, and sleep. what else was there to do anyhow?

you soon felt refreshed, your heart still aches but the overwhelming pain subsided. you rested your head against the familiar scented cotton pillow case and grabbed his pillow. holding it close to your chest.

this is all i really have left of him now... wow.

—

the next day was seemingly uneventful. with a rare spotting of tomura coming in, showering, getting dressed, eating, and leaving once again. he paid you no mind the entire time. just simply glazing over your figure as you sat in different spots within the hour or two he was there. there were no words to he spoken. he didn’t even greet you when coming in. he just walked in the bedroom, rummaged around. looked at you as you were just waking up, and went about his business.

the pain settled in even more. every day it hit harder, and harder, but today, you were numb. the tears you held were all gone. you couldn’t cry, you couldn’t aimlessly sob. nothing. the core of you was empty.

“how much longer can i take of this...” you whispered to yourself tucking your knees to your chest. arms protectively wrapped around yourself.

you looked over to the once beautiful anthurium, it was completely wilted. the vibrant red petals were beginning to fall off. that plant was the one you connected the most with, it had a piece of your soul with it at this point. it would’ve been an easy fix to keep it from dying. one touch, and it would be right back to normal.

would the flower remember it’s neglect? the times you slacked on giving it water and proper daylight? would it simply forgive so easily just by your touch? can you forgive him, just by his touch?

“i don’t know.”

—

days had passed, he hadn’t come by since that night to your knowledge. sometimes you stepped out for a bit, just to clear your mind. you began to grow anxious, something was wrong. definitely wrong. you needed to know, to have some closure. every minute that passed seemed to crush you, it felt as if the world was ending.

against your better judgement, you got dressed. fixed your hair, and shakily tried to calm yourself down as you looked in the mirror. overanalyzing every single detail about your appearance, you looked like hell.

you were planning to go searching for tomura around the building. maybe even ask dabi if he had seen him. you stepped into your converse, taking deep breaths as you prepared yourself to find whatever might lie ahead. the feeling in your stomach didn’t stop churning.

one touch can’t fix it.

he won’t fix it.

he doesn’t want you.

you hugged the jacket tighter to your frame, feeling clammy and weak in the knees as you began to search around. he wasn’t anywhere you were looking, you checked everywhere you usually found him. you came across dabi before stepping into the elevator. he seemed concerned, he grabbed your shoulder before you walked away.

“y/n?” he quietly asked. his tone laced with anxiety.

“o-oh, hey.” your trembling form turned to face him. “long time no see.”

“what the fuck is going on?”

“it’s nothing, don’t worry about it—“

“don’t lie to me.” he cut you off, his voice laced with venom. he was always like a big brother figure to you, always protective and so easy to catch on. “what’s going on y/n? do i have to kill that creepy little fucking gremlin?” he snarled.

“n-no! no! it’s fine, really. i’m just uh, trying to find him that’s all.” you said sincerely. your voice wavering the entire way, stepping away from his hold on you.

“y/n don’t walk away from me, talk to me about this. you look like shit.” he called after you.

“i’m sorry.” you said in a voice so small he barely was able to grasp it. dabi just stared at you with disbelief, and anger.

—

then came the room you dreaded most. subconsciously you wanted to search it last, due to fear of what you might see.

you knew he was cheating, but you were in denial until you could see it.

you were about to give up and go back to your room before you heard a specific sound. coming from the office tomura used most often, but wasn’t always in. the way the table sounded against the wall and hardwood of the floors made your body tense, the breathless panting, the high pitched moaning... and worst of all, the sound of tomura groaning in pleasure. did your ears deceive you? bile threatened to shoot from your stomach. you eased open the office door, to a sight you wish you never saw. there was tomura, thrusting into the girl you feared and envied most. he was lost in lust, suckling, kissing, and grabbing every part of her flesh that was visible. like he used to do to you.

used to.

you stood there in horror, feeling like everything was crumbling before you. he didn’t even notice your peering eyes staring right into the depths of his soul, and hers. his groans got louder, he muttered something he hadn’t told you in such a long time. it made you want to scream so loud that your lungs bled.

“f-fuck, i�� love you.”

you shakily slammed the door behind you. hard, and heavy breaths struggling to be let out, as you ran to the elevator. smashing the buttons to go back to your room. tears streaming down your face once again, you let out hushed cries, trying to regain your composure. as you ran to your room. it happened all in a daze, you loudly cried as you packed some of your things into a backpack, hating that things still smelled like him. you sobbed finding old polaroids if each other. deciding to throw the stack at the wall above the bed.

once you had everything ready, you realized something. you were still wearing a necklace he gave you a bit ago. it was a small anthurium made of ruby. you held the delicate item in your hands, debating what to do with it. the burden of owning it haunting you much more than letting it go, so that’s what you did. you placed the necklace on the counter. grabbing the notepad that was usually on the counter as well to write a quick note on top for him to find. your eyes flooded over the room, drinking it in as much as you could before leaving. all of the memories, decorating it with tomura, having sex for the first time on the bed, the first time he came home like he often did now... you felt a sob threatening to release again as you recounted the memory.

lastly you dropped the key next to the necklace, never to be seen again.

you exited the building with little hassle, tears still free falling across your face like usual. the hood of your jacket was up to conceal yourself, you wanted to leave without a trace. luckily it was late enough to do so, the only person who spotted you was spinner. for some reason he was alone by himself outside. he seemed concerned about your disheveled and unfamiliar appearance. but he didn’t utter a word to you, letting you walk out before him. you wondered what he thought of your pathetic sobbing form pacing out of the entrance.

you barely had a plan, a place to go for that matter. all that mattered now, was you.

you need to let go.

he can’t fix it this time.

don’t let him fix it this time, y/n.

>>>

tomura arrived to the apartment hours after you had left, he wasn’t expecting anything but a nice hot shower and a warm bed to sleep in. his body was sore from the steamy evening he spent with the red head. she really rocked his shit, he chuckled at the thought of her.

he didn’t bother to look around the main room, before heading straight into the bedroom. the light was on, which wasn’t that unusual. what was unusual though, was the mess around the room. the closets were wide open, pieces of film thrown all over the bed, and floor. at first he was mad, barging into the bathroom to yell at you. flipping on the light, to see nothing. you weren’t in the bathroom, or bedroom.

“y/n why did you leave everything such a mess? why did you throw pictures everywhere? what the fuck is going on?!” he called out to you. annoyed. like usual. he walked out of the bedroom, noticing finally, you weren’t here. “y/n.” he spoke sternly.

he walked cautiously around the space, looming over every detail, not able to make out your form anywhere. he remained calm but he was a bit worried, you were acting super unstable lately. though he’d never let you know that. he seemingly searched everywhere in depth, before he noticed some items on top of the island counter. switching on the light switch to get a better look. his heart sunk.

the necklace he gave you.

the beautiful ruby anthurium he gave you.

the one you wore every day since.

the one he gave to you as a promise to his love, the love he promised to be undying.

“fuck...”

along with the key to the apartment.

the one you both shared.

he noticed the note, it was written in your handwriting.

‘i hope you love her as honestly as you once loved me. i left everything behind i never want to see again. i won’t be ratting you out and i won’t be returning to you.

good bye, thanks for the memories.

y/n.’

#shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #bnha x reader #bnha au #shigaraki angst #mha shigaraki #tomura shigaraki fanfiction #angst #i’m sad now #pls lmk if you guys want part two #ahhh

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bibbawrites · 3 years ago

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Papa and Maggie’s Weekend - Single Dad!Charlie x Owen

THIS IS PART 11 OF THE SINGLE DAD!CHARLIE SERIES, YOU CAN FIND THE OTHER PARTS HERE

Request: none

Word Count: 5924 words!!!

Summary: Part 11 of Single Dad!Charlie, Charlie goes camping for the weekend and leaves Margaux in the care of Owen

Warnings: referenced drug use, swearing

A/N: i’ve had this sitting around for so long that i actually have almost two more full parts done so i figured i’d get this one out there before they stack up any more haha, i know most of you don’t care about this series much any more but it’s my comfort series so i’m gonna keep writing it for me (and ella, this is our series @happinessinthedarkesttimes lol) anyways, enjoy almost 6000! words of owen and margaux being the cutest little buddies and owen just trying his best

Tag List: @happinessinthedarkesttimes @herbrutals @youngbloodblog @courageous-she @littlemissaddict @gloomybrieyxb @itsyagorlemmalyn @jatpxmultifan @moneybagmgk @emeliii1 @mybradforddream @lovesanimals (the strike through means it wont let me tag you)

SATURDAY

“Be good, okay?” Charlie crouched in front of Margaux. She nodded sleepily, the early morning wakeup something she wasn’t used to.

“When will you come back?” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes with a fist. Charlie swallowed, willing himself not to cancel the whole trip. They needed to do this, he had to get used to spending time away from her eventually.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night. So you and Papa will spend all day today and then all day tomorrow together and then Daddy will be back in time for bed time tomorrow.” Charlie explained, his voice soft.

“Why can’t I go too?” Margaux pouted.

“Because it’s a big person trip.” Charlie sighed slightly. He knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“I’m a big person. I’m four!” Margaux protested.

“You need to be a little bit bigger to come. But I promise we can go camping next week, okay? Just you and me.” Charlie promised, knowing there was nothing Margaux loved more than going camping with her dad.

“Pinky promise?” She questioned, holding out her hand, and Charlie wrapped his pinky around hers.

“I pinky promise.” He agreed, before catching sight of the time on his watch.

“Fuck.” He mumbled. “I gotta go now baby, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m gonna miss you.”

He pulled the four year old into a hug, biting his lip as she started crying. Maybe leaving when she was tired wasn’t a good idea after all...

“Don’t go.” She sniffled, and Charlie pulled back, kissing the top of her head gently.

“I gotta.” He whispered. “I love you so much.”

“Daddy, don’t go.” She cried, throwing herself back into his arms and Charlie felt his eyes prick with tears of his own.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He promised. “I love you.”

“Love you Daddy, don’t go.” Owen stepped forward, reaching out and taking the crying four year old from Charlie’s arms.

“Go.” He instructed, as Margaux screamed out, Charlie’s heart breaking with every cry of his name. He stood up, hesitating, and Owen gave him a small smile.

“I’ve got her. Go have fun. We love you.”

“I love you too.” Charlie replied, and with one last glance towards Margaux he turned and climbed into his car.

And no one had to know if he cried all the way to the organised meeting spot.

Charlie’s car pulled away and Owen waved slightly, knowing that his boyfriend would be taking this separation just as hard as his daughter was. The blond boy sighed, carrying the still screaming four year old inside, humming softly as he walked in an attempt to soothe her, his mind drifting back to the first time Charlie had left him alone with Margaux on the first day he had met her.

“Just watch her for a second, I need to pee.” Charlie said, standing up and placing the two year old down next to Owen, before walking away. Margaux watched him go, her face scrunching up as she began to cry. Owen’s eyes widened. What was he supposed to do now? He reached out, patting the top of Margaux’s head awkwardly.

“Don’t cry.” He mumbled, in what he hoped was a comforting tone. Clearly it wasn’t, however, since Margaux’s cries got louder, causing people to start to stare.

“Hey, Maggie. It’s okay. He’ll be back soon.” He tried, moving to pat her back. Still no use, and Owen began to panic. What were you meant to do with a crying kid? He bit his lip, still awkwardly patting her back.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Charlie heading back over to the table, and Owen breathed a sigh of relief as the older boy scooped up his daughter, holding her close to him and mumbling something in French. Margaux relaxed into his arms

“I didn’t know how to make her stop.” Owen admitted, as Charlie sat back down, Margaux still wrapped up in his arms. The Canadian boy laughed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll learn.” He replied. Owen gave him a small smile.

He sure hoped so, for everyone’s sake.

As usual Charlie was right. Owen did learn, and now here he was, officially on his own for the weekend with Margaux having a complete meltdown in his arms.

He bounced her slightly, humming the tune to Stand Tall, hoping the familiar tune would calm the four year old.

“Daddy!” Margaux wailed, her face red with anguish.

“Papa’s here.” Owen reminded her, swaying back and forth with her head tucked into his shoulder.

“I want Daddy.” She protested. Owen bit his lip.

“Daddy will be back tomorrow but for now, think about how much fun we’re gonna have together! We can paint each other’s nails and get pizza for dinner and watch all of your favourite movies. Or we could go out if you wanted to go somewhere? We could go swimming?”

“Don’t wanna.” Margaux cried.

“Okay.” Owen sighed, moving over to the couch and sitting down on it, shifting Margaux so that she was in his lap. Surely she’d tire herself out eventually, especially since it was barely 7am... maybe the best thing would be to just let her cry.

So that’s what Owen did, let the four year old cry as much as she needed, as he held her tight and hummed whatever songs he could think of, his fingers tangled through her curls.

Margaux cried non stop for the first hour until she fell asleep in Owen’s arms, exhausted from her tears. Owen sighed. He knew there were things to do but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Margaux’s side.

So he stayed on the couch for almost four hours, Margaux curled into his chest, while he played video games on mute waiting for her to wake up.

Eventually she did stir, just before lunch time, which Owen decided was the perfect distraction.

“Good morning princess.” He whispered. “Are you hungry?”

Margaux yawned before nodding.

“I found a really cool place for us to go have lunch and some friends we can invite along to come play with us. How does that sound?” Owen suggested and Margaux just nodded again, staring at the TV blankly. Clearly it was going to be a bit harder to get her to talk than he’d thought.

“Should we get dressed? You can even pick your own clothes!” Margaux didn’t reply, so Owen just stood up, the four year old still held safely in his arms, and made his way down the hallway to her bedroom.

He kicked open the door, and placed Margaux onto the ground, before opening her wardrobe.

“What do you wanna wear?”

Margaux stepped forward and Owen internally cheered at the slight progress. The tiny blonde scanned through her clothes, eventually grabbing at a pair of overalls, before turning back and looking at Owen expectantly.

“You wanna wear those ones?” He asked, and she nodded, before grabbing onto a Julie and the Phantoms shirt that Madi’s dad had made her. Owen smiled slightly, taking the two items of clothing out and quickly helping Margaux get dressed.

“Now, what’s next?” Owen mused, hoping to get a reaction from Margaux. She didn’t answer, staring down at the ground as Owen grabbed her hairbrush and settled down with her standing between his legs as he sat on the end of her bed.

“How do you want your hair?” Owen asked, running the brush through her curls. Margaux thought for a moment.

“Bun.” She mumbled, and Owen grinned.

“There’s that beautiful voice of yours. I missed it.” He teased, and Margaux smiled slightly.

“Okay, let’s get this bun going.” He pulled her hair back, tying it somewhat messily in a bun. “How’s that?”

“Good.” Margaux replied.

“Yay!” Owen cheered and Margaux giggled, the sound warming Owen’s heart.

“Do you wanna go watch Paw Patrol while I get dressed? Or you can stay here and play?” Owen suggested, and Margaux shook her head, clinging to his leg.

“With you.” She mumbled and Owen sighed but took her with him nonetheless.

Two steps forward, one step back.

Almost an hour later Owen climbed out of an Uber, before unclipping Margaux from the safety seat, removing the safety seat from the car, and thanking their driver.

“You ready to make some friends?” He questioned, looking towards the large building that housed an indoor play centre where they would be meeting a few members of the cast.

“No.” Margaux replied and Owen laughed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like them.” He said.

They entered the indoor play centre and Margaux’s eyes widened in excitement, taking in the various areas of the room, before settling on a high ropes course in the middle of the room. Of course Charlie’s kid would choose the most adventurous thing in the room to be excited for.

“Owen!” A voice called, and Owen turned to find Cheyenne heading towards them, with his twins holding onto their father’s hands.

“Hey guys.” Owen greeted. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too. And little miss Margaux here, look at how much you’ve grown!” Cheyenne gasped playfully and Margaux grinned, Owen smiling at the switch in her behaviour.

“Cause I’m four.” She boasted. Cheyenne smiled.

“So are my little ones. This is Willow and Ethan.” He smiled, gesturing to each twin as he introduced them. “And this is Margaux.”

“Hi!” Willow grinned and Margaux smiled slightly, leaning into Owen.

“She hasn’t had very good experiences with kids her age.” Owen explained. “Plus we’ve had a bit of a rough morning.”

“That’s okay. Why don’t we head back to the table we’re at. Kenny and Sacha are there and Tori and Jadah are coming soon. Kenny booked the whole place out for the day so there’s no rush and no other people.” Cheyenne said, and Owen nodded, following the older man through the entrance and over to a table where Kenny and Sacha were sitting.

“Hey guys.” Owen smiled, once they arrived at the table.

“Hey Owen. How are you?” Kenny questioned.

“Not too bad. Hopefully will be better soon.” Owen replied with a small grin.

“Daddy can we go play?” Ethan questioned, and Cheyenne nodded.

“Why don’t you take Margaux with you.” He suggested and the twins both turned their attention to the blond, who turned to Owen, a worried look on her face.

“You’ll be okay.” Owen promised her, moving to take her shoes off as she clung to him. “I’ll be right here the whole time.”

“Okay.” She decided, and Owen placed her on the ground, watching as she hesitantly took a hand of each of the twins and allowed them to drag her towards the biggest playground.

“How was this morning?” Kenny questioned as Owen flopped down into an empty chair. Owen sighed, watching Margaux climb the stairs of the playground, any hesitation already gone.

“Not good. She was okay until Charlie said he had to go and then she had a complete meltdown. He was about 30 seconds away from cancelling his trip, you could see it in his face. So I grabbed her and made him leave, and then she cried for literally an hour until she fell asleep again.” He said, and Kenny smiled sympathetically.

“How long is Charlie gone for?” Sacha asked.

“He comes back tomorrow evening.” Owen bit his lip. “I’m worried about how she’ll go tonight when she realises he isn’t there to put her to bed.”

“You’ve got this.” Kenny assured him. “We’ve all seen you do it before and you do this all the time with Charlie around.”

“I hope so.” Owen replied. “I’m kinda hoping she’ll exhaust herself here and just pass out tonight.”

The group laughed.

“That’s pretty likely.” Cheyenne agreed. “I’m hoping for the same thing.”

The door chimed again, signifying another arrival, and both Kenny and Sacha stood up to go greet the newest guest. Cheyenne gave Owen a small smile.

“If you don’t mind me asking, you said Margaux hadn’t had very good experiences with kids her age. What happened?” He questioned.

“Charlie had something to do, I think it was some beach cleaning thing, so he enrolled her into a childcare program. She lasted a few hours before she got into disagreements with the other kids about her not having a mum, and the bitch teacher backed them up saying she had to have a mum. So next minute Charlie’s being called in to discuss Margaux’s “issues with authority figures”, and she never went back.” Owen explained, and Cheyenne frowned.

“That’s horrible.” He said. “I’m glad she didn’t go back.”

“Me too.” Owen agreed. Cheyenne gave him a reassuring smile.

“At least we know with my kids they won’t worry about her not having a mum.” He joked and Owen smiled, instinctively glancing towards the playground, where Margaux and the twins had decided to attempt to climb up the large slides the wrong way, the three of them giggling loudly as they slipped back down.

“She reminds me so much of Charlie.” Cheyenne commented, following Owen’s gaze. “They have the same adventurous spirit and cheeky personality.”

“She’s his clone.” Owen laughed. “Everything except the hair.”

“Personally I think her hair makes her look like your daughter.” Cheyenne said, and Owen’s heart skipped a beat.

“Really?” His tone was filled with disbelief. He’d never considered that before.

“Definitely. If people didn’t know they’d assume she was yours biologically.” Cheyenne nodded. Owen smiled slightly.

“That means a lot to me.”

“Anytime.” Cheyenne smiled, as they were rejoined by Kenny and Sacha, who were now accompanied by Tori and Jadah.

“Now,” Kenny started, as everyone sat down around the table. “Should we order some food?”

So maybe not all kids her age were horrible, Margaux decided as she sat at the top of one of the large towers in the playground. The twins seemed nice enough and her Papa promised her that he would be there, and she knew he wouldn’t let anyone be mean to her, ever.

“Do you have a brother or a sister?” Willow questioned, plopping down next to her. Margaux shook her head.

“No.” She said. “Just me and Daddy and sometimes Papa. But he lives in Oklahoma most times.”

“You don’t have a mummy too?” Ethan asked, joining them. Margaux shook her head again.

“Do you have a mummy?” She glanced between the twins, who also shook their heads.

“We have Dad and Daddy.” Willow told her. Margaux grinned. There was no way they’d be mean to her about not having a mum if they didn’t have one either.

“Do you like Paw Patrol?” She asked, and the twins nodded quickly.

“Yeah! I like Skye.” Willow answered.

“I like Marshall.” Ethan added.

“I like Everest cause she likes snow and I like snow too.” Margaux explained.

“Can we go on the slides again?” Ethan questioned, and the girls exchanged a look before nodding.

“You go first.” Margaux instructed, and together the three made their way through the tunnels, back to the slides.

Yeah, Margaux thought as she followed the twins, maybe all kids weren’t mean.

After several hours of running around, the three four year olds were clearly exhausted so the group decided to call it a day.

“Do you need a lift?” Cheyenne asked. Owen nodded, glancing down at Margaux, who was hugged tightly between Willow and Ethan. He couldn’t wait to tell Charlie that she finally had some friends her own age.

“That would be great, thanks.” Owen smiled, which Cheyenne quickly returned.

With a few last goodbyes to the rest of the group and promises to meet up again soon, Owen, Cheyenne and the kids left, Cheyenne leading the way while Owen brought up the rear to make sure the kids didn’t wander.

And before he knew it Cheyenne was pulling up in front of Charlie’s place and Owen was unclipping Margaux’s seat as she clung to the twins, begging to see them again soon. It was only after Cheyenne and Owen promised they’d organise something that she let Owen lift her out of the car and the two of them stood and waved goodbye to the car as they drove away.

“Come on Maggie, lets go inside and decide what we want for dinner.” Owen said and Margaux’s eyes lit up.

“Pizza?” She asked. Owen chuckled.

“Sounds good to me.” He agreed, unlocking the door and letting her in, placing the car seat near the door in case they needed it again.

“Can we watch movies?” Margaux questioned, squirming in Owen’s arms until he placed her down on the ground.

“We sure can.” He smiled. “Whatever movies you want.”

“Nemo?” Margaux suggested as Owen flicked the TV on, going to Disney Plus and finding the movie in response to her request.

And once the movie was playing Owen settled down onto the couch with her, and was determined he wouldn’t move unless he absolutely had to.

Eventually it was time for the moment Owen had been dreading. Bedtime.

“Okay princess, it’s time to go to sleep.” He said, as the credits rolled on Frozen 2.

“Daddy said he would come back for bedtime.” Margaux frowned.

“Bedtime tomorrow, remember?” Owen reminded her softly.

“Oh.” She pouted, tears threatening to fall. Owen’s eyes widened, trying to think fast.

“I know!” He exclaimed, and Margaux looked at him curiously. “We should have a sleepover. We can get your toys and sleep in Daddy’s bed and maybe even watch TV until we fall asleep.”

Margaux grinned widely.

“Yeah!” She squealed. “I wanna do it!”

“Okay, well we’ll have to go get your friends from your room.” He said and Margaux grabbed onto his hand.

“Hurry.” She giggled, tugging him down the hall to her bedroom. He flicked the light on as they entered, and Margaux jumped onto her bed, eyeing the large pile of Squishmallows stacked at the end of the bed. Madi had bought her one and ever since then she had been addicted to the stuffed toys.

“Okay, who are we bringing?” Owen questioned, sitting down on the edge of the bed, already grabbing the toy penguin that Margaux never slept without. The four year old frowned at the pile before reaching towards an orange octopus, depositing it in Owen’s lap. She scanned the pile again, grabbing a small brown and white cow, a grey dragon, a green dinosaur and a large purple and blue cat that was almost as big as she is.

“That’s all.” She decided. Owen nodded, grabbing the toys in his arms.

“Anything else we need?” He asked, and Margaux grabbed her blanket.

“Done.” She decided. Owen grinned, standing up.

“Lead the way Miss Maggie.” He instructed, and Margaux giggled, rushing out of the room and across the hallway into Charlie’s room, leaving Owen to follow her after struggling with the light switch. Eventually he got it off and entered Charlie’s room, dropping the toys onto the bed for Margaux to sort out.

“Do you want to watch one of those house hunting shows?” Owen asked, flicking the TV on. Margaux hummed in response, too busy figuring out the placement of her Squishmallows to pay full attention to him.

“What’s it ‘bout?” Margaux mumbled, settling into the middle of the bed. Owen pulled off his shirt before climbing in next to her, smiling when the four year old latched herself onto him in the same way she did to her father.

“It’s about people who are looking for a new house.” Owen explained.

Margaux thought for a moment before nodding.

“Okay we can watch it Papa.” She agreed, so Owen changed the channel to the lifestyle channel.

Hopefully the show would put the four year old to sleep.

It did not put her to sleep.

It was well past midnight and somehow Margaux was still awake, happily watching a couple decide between an apartment close to their ideal location, or a large house a little further out.

Owen yawned, glancing towards the time.

“Maggie, aren’t you tired darling?” He questioned, and Margaux shook her head.

“I’m awake! My Squishmallows wanna know if they buy the little house.” She informed him. “I want the big, big one.”

If Owen wasn’t half asleep he would have laughed at how invested Margaux was, but he was struggling to keep his eyes open and her not being asleep was not something he found funny in that moment.

“After this we’re gonna turn it off and go to sleep, okay?” He told her, and Margaux frowned, shaking her head.

“I wanna watch more.” She replied, and Owen groaned.

“We gotta go to sleep, otherwise we won’t be able to wake up for Daddy coming home tomorrow.” He said, and Margaux pouted.

“I wanna watch it more. You said I could watch it ‘til I sleeped, and I’m not sleeping yet.” She reminded him, and Owen cursed his past self for using those words, and cursed Charlie for raising such a smart kid.

“But I’m falling asleep.” He whined.

“You sleep then.” She answered, and Owen sighed. Time to put his “parent voice” on.

“Margaux, we’re turning it off after this episode, and we’re going to sleep.” He said firmly and Margaux glared at him.

“No.” She retorted and Owen tensed up. Now what was he meant to do? Margaux was rarely in trouble so he didn’t really have experience in how to discipline her if she acted out.

“Margaux Ivy.” He warned. “Do you want to go back to your own bed?”

Margaux shook her head.

“Then after this episode finishes the TV goes off and we’re going to sleep. And if you go to sleep straight away maybe we can go get breakfast somewhere in the morning. How does that sound?” He tried, hoping the promise of a nice breakfast would make her back down.

“Don’t wanna.” She mumbled. “Want Daddy. You’re a meanie.”

Owen stared at her, his heart shattering at those three little words.

“You don’t mean that, you’re just overtired.” He said, his voice sounding small, not quite sure who he was trying to convince. Margaux crossed her arms.

“Yes I do. You’re a big meanie and a bossy pants and I don’t like you now.” She replied firmly.

“Maggie...” He trailed off, not knowing what to do.

She ignored him, turning her attention back to the TV where the couple were about to sit down to decide between the three houses.

Owen bit his lip, reaching for his phone to text Charlie, even though he knew the chances of Charlie replying were probably slim. He was probably out of cell range, or already asleep, or both.

Messages between OPJ and Char

OPJ one day without you and she hates me

Charlie’s reply was almost instant.

Char she could never hate you O, i promise

Owen sighed, glancing at Margaux who had tucked herself into a ball with her chosen Squishmallows surrounding her, and was mumbling something under her breath in French.

OPJ she said, and i quote, that i’m a “big meanie and a bossy pants and she doesn’t like me now” so yeah, pretty sure she hates me

Char what happened?

OPJ she got sad at bedtime so i promised her we could watch tv until we fell asleep and now its 1 in the fucking morning and she’s still awake watching house hunters and i told her its time for it to be turned off, like the asshole i am, and she said no so i used my parent voice on her and now she hates me and she’s still fucking watching tv and i don’t know what to do

Owen had barely pressed send when his phone began to ring, Charlie’s photo appearing on his screen.

“Hey.” He answered sadly.

“Give the phone to Margaux.” Charlie’s voice came through the phone and Owen didn’t respond, holding the phone out to the four year old.

“It’s for you.” He said, and she glared at him, but took the phone nonetheless, face lighting up when she heard her father’s voice.

Owen flopped backwards onto the bed, relaxing instantly as Charlie’s scent engulfed his senses. He zoned out, just focusing on breathing, until he was jolted back to reality by Margaux poking his cheek.

“Daddy wants to talk to you.” She informed him, and he took the phone, pressing it back to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“She’s gonna go to sleep now.” Charlie said, and Owen breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” He whispered. “I’m sorry I disrupted your night and bothered you when you’re trying to have time off.”

“You didn’t.” Charlie assured him.

“I couldn’t even get her to go to sleep.” Owen mumbled, glancing at Margaux, who was already fast asleep, just proving how tired she had actually been. “I’m a failure.”

“You are most definitely not.” Charlie replied firmly. “You’ve made it all the way til now with no issues, even after the complete meltdown she had this morning. Parenting isn’t always easy Owen, even I struggle with overtired Margaux.”

Owen sighed, reaching for the TV remote and turning the TV off, engulfing the room in darkness.

“Fuck, can you just promise me you believe me? I’m too high right now to figure out a better argument.” Charlie whined and Owen giggled, only just noticing how out of it Charlie actually sounded.

“Kid free time is going well then?” He teased, thankful for the lighter topic.

“I haven’t been this high since she was born, it’s nice to be able to smoke without worrying about her waking up or not being sober by the time she gets up the next morning.” Charlie replied, and for a moment Owen felt an overwhelming sadness for the 18 year old Charlie who had been forced to grow up so quickly, with no chance to be an actual kid himself.

“I miss you.” Owen admitted. “It’s hard being here with her without you.”

“You’re halfway there babe, just keep going.” Charlie reminded him and Owen blushed slightly at the pet name.

“I will. Thank you again, for getting her to sleep.” Owen replied. Charlie hummed in response.

“Any time. How was the rest of your day?” He questioned.

“After you left she cried for a bit, and then slept until lunch time. And then we went to this indoor play centre thing with Cheyenne and his twins, and Kenny, Sacha, Jadah and Tori, and Mags loved the twins.” Owen recounted.

“She did?” Charlie cut in, and Owen could hear the smile on his face.

“She did.” Owen grinned. “She begged me to see them again soon, so you’ll have to organise something with Cheyenne. Then we just had pizza and watched some movies before we went to bed.”

“Sounds like you had a great day.” Charlie replied. Owen opened his mouth to respond, but instead yawned, eyes drifting shut for a second.

“Go to sleep babe.” Charlie’s voice was gentle and Owen nodded, before realising his boyfriend couldn’t see him.

“Okay.” He answered. “Night Char, I love you.”

“I love you too Owen. See you tomorrow afternoon.” Charlie replied, before hanging up. Owen let his phone fall to the pillow, too tired to even plug it in to charge.

And with Margaux’s steady breathing in his ear, he finally drifted off to sleep.

SUNDAY

Owen woke the next morning to Margaux attempting to braid his hair, Bluey playing quietly on Charlie’s iPad.

“You awake Papa?” Margaux questioned. Owen hummed in response.

“Yep.” He replied, voice deep with sleep. “You doing my hair?”

“Yeah.” Margaux responded simply. After a moment she spoke up again.

“Are you still mad with me?”

Owen sat up, reaching out to the tiny blonde. She wriggled closer, settling into his arms.

“Oh darling no, I could never be mad at you.” He told her. Margaux thought for a moment before looking back up at him.

“Do you still love me?” She asked, her voice small. Owen’s heart shattered.

“Of course I still love you. You’re my little girl, I will always love you. Just like how your Daddy will always love you no matter what.” He assured her.

“But I was mean to you.” Margaux frowned.��“And Daddy said that’s naughty.”

“It is naughty, but I forgive you. Because I know you were just very tired.” He told her. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Papa.” She said quietly. Owen pressed a kiss to her head, playing with her curls like he knew Charlie did, hoping the familiar gesture would reassure her.

“I know honey, it’s okay, I promise.” He whispered.

“Love you.” Margaux mumbled, pressing her face into his neck. Owen smiled, wrapping his arms around her tightly and squeezing.

“I love you too.” He replied. “Now how about we get dressed and go out for breakfast?”

“Yeah!” Margaux grinned, perking up instantly at the mention of food. Owen laughed.

“Okay then, let’s do it.”

Just over an hour later the two of them were curled into a tiny booth in the back corner of a café, the table chosen especially to try to remain unnoticed by any fans that may have been around. Owen loved the fans but sometimes they could be a little much, and having Margaux with him made him hyperaware of how necessary it was to remain anonymous. He had no idea how Charlie did this.

Owen glanced around the room, picking at his eggs. There didn’t seem to be anyone around who might recognise them, but there was never a guarantee that they wouldn’t be noticed.

“Can I have some of your one Papa?” Margaux questioned, catching Owen’s attention.

Owen’s head snapped back, his attention now solely on the four year old in front of him.

“Which one darling?” He asked.

“That one.” She pointed to the cooked tomato that he had pushed off to the side of his plate. Owen nodded, placing it on her plate and shaking his head when she dipped it into the leftover maple syrup. Charlie really was raising his clone.

“Are you full?” Margaux questioned after scoffing down the tomato, eyeing his eggs. Owen chuckled, scooping the eggs onto her plate too.

“Hungry this morning huh?” He teased. Margaux grinned at him, her mouth full of his eggs.

“Patrick says it’s cause I’m a growing girl.” She informed him.

“I think Patrick is right. You were only tiny when I first met you and now you’re huge!” He emphasised the last word and Margaux laughed loudly.

“You’re silly Papa.” She said between laughs. Owen grinned.

“Excuse me?” A voice came and Owen’s heart stopped for a moment, looking up to find an elderly woman smiling at him.

“Yes?” He answered politely. She didn’t look like the type to watch the show, but you could never be sure.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to compliment you on how well behaved your daughter is.” She smiled and Owen couldn’t help the light blush that covered his cheeks.

His daughter.

“Thank you.” He replied and the woman nodded, smiling at Margaux, before wandering away.

Owen took a deep breath, collecting himself, before tuning his attention back to Margaux.

“You ready to go kiddo?” He questioned. Margaux nodded, so Owen stood up, taking her hand and leaving the cafe, thanking the waitresses as they left.

“So what do you wanna do today?” Owen asked as they began the short walk back to Charlie’s place. Margaux pulled a face as she thought.

“Can we watch some more House Hunters?” She questioned, making Owen laugh.

“Of course we can.” He agreed.

It was just after 2pm when Margaux shifted in his arms, where she had settled down to watch House Hunters hours ago.

“Papa? I’m hungry.” She mumbled. Owen played with one of her pigtails.

“What would you like to eat?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, as Owen’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Why don’t you have a little think then.” Owen suggested, pulling out his phone and smiling when he saw Charlie’s name on his screen. He answered quickly.

“Hey!” He greeted.

“Hey babe. I’m just leaving now, will be home in maybe an hour?” Charlie’s voice came through the phone.

“That’s great, we can’t wait to see you. We were just talking about getting some lunch, would you wanna pick something up on the way home?” Owen asked. Charlie laughed.

“I can do that. Anything in particular?” He questioned. Owen turned his attention back to the blonde in his arms.

“You decided on what you wanna eat yet Maggie?” He asked. She shook her head.

“No.” She replied simply. Owen chuckled.

“Want Daddy to pick something? He’s coming home now and he’s gonna get lunch for us on the way.” He suggested. Margaux lit up at the suggestion. Or maybe the idea that her Dad was on his way home. Probably both.

“Yes please.” She grinned.

“Hey Char? Your pick. Just not pizza cause we had that last night.” Owen informed the older boy.

“Okay cool, I’ll see you guys in like, 30 minutes then.” Charlie answered, and Owen could hear his car starting in the background.

“See you then.” Owen smiled. He really had missed Charlie, and he knew Margaux had missed her father just as much, if not more.

“Love you.” Charlie’s voice came, breaking Owen out of his thoughts.

“Love you too.” Owen replied, before hanging up and turning to Margaux. “Okay Maggie, what house are they picking?”

The four year old paused, thinking.

“The blue one.” She decided.

“With the pool?” Owen checked, and she nodded.

“Yeah that one.” She said. He looked up at the TV, just in time to see the house again.

“Cause it’s got a pool?” He questioned. Margaux nodded, settling back into his arms again.

“And it’s blue.” She giggled. “Blue house and blue pool. That’s the best one.”

“You know what? I think you might be right.” Owen laughed, and the two of them turned their attention back to the TV to find out which house the couple chose.

Just under half an hour later Charlie arrived home, unlocking the front door and entering the quiet house, his arms full of Chinese takeout.

He could hear muffled giggles coming from his bedroom, so he dropped his bags and headed down the hallway, entering his room to find Owen and Margaux curled up in a pile of Squishmallows, the lifestyle channel playing loudly on the TV.

“Daddy!” Margaux exclaimed, jumping up and throwing herself at him. He stumbled, but caught her, handing the food off to Owen so that he could properly hug his daughter.

“Hey baby.” He greeted, squeezing her tightly as she clung to him like a baby koala.

“I missed you.” She whined. “Don’t go away again.”

“I’ll try not to.” He laughed. “Did you have fun with Papa?”

She launched into a complete recount of her weekend as Charlie placed her back down onto the bed and plopped down next to Owen, snuggling close to the blond in greeting.

“You survived.” Charlie grinned, placing a kiss to Owen’s shoulder. Owen chuckled.

“Barely.” He replied, scooping fried rice onto one of the paper plates that the restaurant had provided. Charlie shook his head.

“But you survived. That’s all that matters.” He said, and Owen glanced at Margaux before nodding.

“Yeah it is.” He agreed.

And as Charlie settled back into Dad life, he couldn’t help but wish that this was how life could be every day.

#single dad!charlie #single dad!charlie series #single dad!charlie x owen #charlie gillespie #owen joyner #owen patrick joyner #margaux

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deusluxuria · 3 years ago

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Headcanon: Jotaro Kujo: Hey Jupiter

(Warning: Stone Ocean spoilers, long-ass long post, serious as hell, eating disorder mention, smoking mention, child abuse implied, parent death)

(HC: Jotaro's wife's name: Kelly -- because i hate calling her just 'jotaro's wife' lol)

Jotaro & Kelly got along so well that people were shocked when they got divorced.

They seemed so comfortable with each other, were constantly joking around, and were excellent parents. All that despite both of them having previously thought they'd never find anyone who understood and respected them. They were both misfits.

They separated for Jolyne's sake, and they didn't get over the divorce for quite a while. It was extremely sad. Though, people who didn't know them very well made all kinds of horrible assumptions about why they got divorced. Which made it so much more painful.

Jolyne and her dad were close when Jolyne was a child. Jotaro had been looking forward to being a father one day, ever since he was a teenager. He had felt that was his purpose. He was prepared to be fully committed.

And when Jolyne came along, she was everything; the most important thing in the world. Jotaro finally understood everything his mother had felt for him and everything she'd endured for his sake. How emotional she would always get over every little thing Jotaro did.

But, eventually, Jotaro's gradually increasing distance from his family left Jolyne so hurt and angry that she never wanted any contact with him and she felt she could never forgive him. She felt she had lost her father long before he was actually separated from the family. She mourned the emotional loss of him.

Jotaro had made the mistake, from the very beginning, of constantly lying to Kelly and Jolyne, and being cagey about why he sometimes had to disappear -- he hadn't told them about Stands and how unavoidably dangerous it was to have one.

But no attacks or dangerous incidents had happened between the death of Dio, until the appearance of Kira Yoshikage.

So Jotaro never quite found out what he was in for, until after he had already gotten married and had Jolyne.

Kelly would ask him what was going on and where he kept running off to. Jotaro continued to reply, "I can't tell you."

Kelly knew Jotaro as well as she could, and was completely sure it wasn't something like an affair, or anything immoral like an involvement with the mafia. Not that it made her feel any better that it wasn't anything like that.

During Jolyne's preteen years (after she had gotten arrested at fourteen, and Jotaro couldn't be there), one day, Kelly and Jotaro mutually decided they couldn't go on like that and have that kind of tension in the house, especially with no one except Jotaro knowing what was going on.

Kelly had reminded him several times during their marriage, "I hate it when you don't talk to me."

Jotaro agreed that he wasn't going to put her and their daughter through that anymore.

Jotaro and Kelly remained friends, but not without an unbearable stretch of finding it too painful to spend time with each other. When they did hang out again, before saying goodbye, they would hug for a while in a manner as if they'd die if they let go. So many things reminded them of each other. If they had left something at one another's homes, they'd cling to that object.

Kelly had been the first person Jotaro had slept with who hadn't made him uncomfortable. (Before he met her, it took him a few awful experiences to learn that, to him, sex without love was a nightmare.) And she was the first to be open to understanding his approach to intimacy in general.

She was one of the few people who hadn't judged him as cold or emotionless because of the way he looked. She didn't make hasty assumptions.

And Jotaro had already been so tired of the closed-minded way people usually treated him. He believed that, if things didn't work out with Kelly and him, he'd finally give up at letting people in.

When they were together, Jotaro had done most of the housework, being the one who relies on a daily routine and who has the strongest need for things to be in order. But once he was on his own again, he had trouble finding a reason to keep his living space up to standard or to cook anything or pay attention to a schedule.

Shortly after the divorce, Holly died.

Kelly had already warned Jotaro that, of the two of them, he would suffer the most from their separation. Because he didn't connect with people very well. But he would've never expected himself to fall nearly as hard as he did, even if his mom hadn't died.

People at work who usually never even gave him a "how's your day going," started asking him if he was okay.

His meltdowns became different & more frequent from the ones he usually had (i.e. from Autistic sensory-overload). He would blurt out disturbingly honest things, only to regret it so badly later that he'd shut himself in the nearest isolated place and start sobbing.

He'd struggled with an eating disorder since he was a kid, but he had mostly survived it with his mom's cooking as the only thing he could always eat and keep down. As a teenager, smoking was added as another coping mechanism.

But, the emotional hell he was going through because of his separation from his family caused a particularly bad relapse. And Holly wasn't there to save him anymore. He lost an appalling amount of weight.

Holly's funeral was a nightmare, mostly at the fault of Jotaro's dad, who made a spectacle of it. Inviting his celebrity friends and turning it into a selfish exploitation that required his security guards to be in attendance.

Jotaro secretly established a small, quiet area behind the building for everyone else. Jolyne and Kelly were there.

Jotaro left many times just to sit in his car and smoke with trembling hands -- he had successfully quit smoking back when he and Kelly had decided to have a child (causing a heightened number of eating disorder relapses), but had skyrocketed to a pack a day after his mom died.

Something broke in him that day. He could feel it. Like a canyon suddenly formed in his soul.

The last time he went back to the funeral, he went inside the building, walked up to his dad, and started waling on him. People screamed. Jotaro got a few punches into his dad's face before Kelly stopped him, holding onto him from behind and leading him away.

Jotaro had told her a few things about his father before. But not everything.

Abdul was the only person Jotaro had told. And after that conversation, Mohammed was silent for a while, and then said, "If you ever need anything, anything at all, I'm a phone call away."

After Mohammed had died, Jotaro not only couldn't muster the energy to explain the situation to anyone else, but he didn't know anyone else he trusted that deeply. Mohammed had experienced similar trauma, and knew that depth of hopelessness. He was not only the other parent that Jotaro had always needed, but he had some of Holly's likeness, with his open heart and boundless compassion.

And there was Kakyoin as well. The only friend he'd ever had that he actually felt close to. The only friend he could say "I love you" to without it feeling strange. They'd had their misunderstandings and their peeves about each other, but they were absolutely best friends.

He never connected with people at quite that level again. His friends in Egypt had been more than family. Soulmates, in a sense. Though Jotaro did find love and friendship afterwards, something about it still felt trite in comparison.

Jotaro never really recovered from his crisis with his divorce and with Holly's death. A few months after Holly died, Jotaro got a gastrostomy tube for eating disorder recovery and got the color back in his face. He at least looked like he was doing better. And he had found at least some meaning again in his cherishing of Josuke, another family member he would die for in a heartbeat.

But the depth of his loneliness; the realization of just how alone he was, awakened a suffocating dread that gnawed at him.

(Title: "Hey Jupiter" is a soul-crushing breakup song by Tori Amos)

#this b/c i never ever finish fanfiction jfc #stone ocean #jotaro kujo #jolyne kujo #jolyne cujoh #jotaro's wife #headcanon #autistic!jotaro #holly kujo #stardust crusaders #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #demipan!jotaro

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izzabeean · 4 years ago

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Chapter 7 : Bad Luck

SUMMARY

Sunday morning starts off with a surprise, and it just keeps getting better.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,984

content : profanity, slightly suggested nsfw

tags : alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : this chapter was supposed to be a bit longer, but I decided to cut it shorter. I've decided to have the rest at the beginning of next chapter. I hope you enjoy!!

Post Thursday evenings PST, if not latest by Friday.

masterlist

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If your life didn’t hit rock bottom before, it most definitely did now.

It’s the fact you were thrown into absolute chaos first thing Sunday morning. It’s spending hours scrambling to move furniture to a dry place. It’s swiftly securing as many of your belongings as while trying to contain the severe agony coursing through you. Although the flood was very shallow, only damaging the floor and the bottom portion of the wall, which you’re thankful for, it really solidified the kind of luck you were having: everything you touched lately, seemed to fall apart. In fact, you were just ready to disappear at this point.

Your head is spinning as you sit on the steps of the apartment complex with your face buried in your hands, refusing to cry even if you really, really wanted to.

You peer up at Oikawa whose back is to you making a phone call. Thankfully he was there to respond when your first reaction was to freak out and call your parents, who (of course) were away on vacation. The way he jumped at the chance to quickly gather your stuff out of the apartment. The way he told you to get a hold of your landlord to notify them about the flood. The way he felt like he had everything under control.

But here you were, devastated, unable to function. Just frozen.

Hanging up the call, he walks back over to you. “Iwa-chan is going to be here with his car to pick up your things,” Oikawa says, almost breathless at the sight of the distressing aura protruding off you. “Did you get a hold of your parents?”

“No,” you utter, trying to pretend you’re not on the verge of a meltdown. “But I have a key to their place, so we can stash my stuff there.”

“Great! It might take a couple trips, but it will be fine,” he assures watching you grow more and more despondent. “At least your choice of decor is minimalist or we’d be at this all day,” he teases trying to lighten the mood.

You pause furrowing your brow, unable to even look at Oikawa. It’s a joke, obviously, but it feels backhanded. And you do what you do best, stay silent.

Oikawa sighs and sits beside you on the staircase. “Y/N, it’s alright this happens to a lot of people.”

And then you feel your eyes starting to tear up. Fuck, you can’t let him see you like this. So much has already happened and now is not the time to completely come undone before him. Taking a deep breath you turn to Oikawa.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you smile. It doesn’t feel genuine but you force it.

He knows, despite your reply, that you’re very frustrated. Looking down at your hands placed on your lap, he has this sudden urge to grab hold of them and tell you he’s here to help. He knows a lot has happened, and all he wanted to do was reassure you things were going to be okay… Eventually.

“What?” you ask.

It takes him a minute to realize that you catch him staring. When he does, he gives you a wry look, hiding the fact that he is visibly concerned about you. He turns his head just a fraction, narrowing his eyes on your cheek. “You have something on your face,” he lies.

You glower at him suspiciously, turning away from him as you wipe your cheek on your sleeve. If you had the energy to do so, you probably would have yelled at Oikawa for messing with you. But no, you couldn’t take your frustration out on him, he doesn’t deserve that shit. Of course, it’s not his fault all these different mishaps keep happening to you. He’s been everything but patient lately, the least you could do was try to tolerate his childishness more than usual.

“Y/N!”

You snap your head behind you to see an older lady standing at the top of the staircase looking down at you.

“Ito-san. Good morning,” you greet while standing up to give a little bow.

Ito-san is your neighbor from a couple of apartments down. You have an acquaintance kind of relationship, one where you help carry groceries whenever you’ve bumped into her on the way up to her apartment. The most you know about each other is just through small talk like she lives alone and is retired, spending most of her days trying to pick up new hobbies; there’s a new one each month.

She walks further down the steps meeting your gaze on ground level. “I heard about your apartment,” she says while eyeing up Oikawa. “Luckily your boyfriend was here to help out.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” you answer.

“Don’t be modest dear. Here,” she says, holding out a car key.

“Ah, Ito-san, you don’t have--”

“Of course I do,” she replies with a smile, placing the key in your hands. “For all that you do for me, I insist.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa chirps, giving Ito a deep bow to which you follow.

“Get your things somewhere safe. Good luck!” she says with a wave walking back up the stairs.

Turning to Oikawa, your face pales, “Tōru, I can’t.”

“Huh?” Is all he replies.

You begin to shake as the stress surges through your body. Had you given quicker at a response, you might have declined the offer. “I don’t know how to drive.”

Oikawa blinks then bursts out laughing while snatching the keys out of your hand. “So you need my help, again,” he teases with a smirk.

“Yes,” you sigh full of irritation. If you knew he was going to act this way, you would’ve asked him to leave and you could figure things out on your own. But before you could, a honk echoes from the loading zone in front of the apartment complex. And it’s Iwaizumi.

Trying to push down the feeling of excitement you feel when you see him step out of the vehicle, he straightens up peering at you with a radiant expression. Your eyes suddenly brighten while the corners of your mouth curl into a smile. He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks toward you.

“How’s the wrist?” Iwaizumi asks, looking into your eyes with a warm reassuring gaze.

“It’s fine,” you reassured, rotating it in a circle proving that it’s fully functional.

“Oikawa and I will move your stuff,” he instructs. As you’re about to challenge him on his plans, he cuts you off, “Unless you’re planning on injuring your wrist more, you're not allowed to help.”

You frown slightly at his stony remark, but you’re still happy to see him, beyond belief. Biting the inside of your cheek, you watch Oikawa lead Iwaizumi to your apartment. It’s so pathetic that you always need to rely on someone to come to your rescue. How could you stoop to this level? What happened before you met Ushijima? Were you always this reliant on others?

------

“Good morning!” Ushijima greets while walking into the classroom.

“Good morning,” you respond, checking out your boyfriend dressed in his joggers and hoodie. Even though it's not the most stylish attire, you still thought he looked so good in them as you could see the outline of his strong, muscular build (plus, his casual outfits warded away unwanted attention from girls and you were fine with that). “Did you get the assignment done?”

Ushijima stares at you blankly, “What assignment?”

“I texted you last night to remind you!” you explain exasperated at his inattentive behavior.

Ushijima whips his phone out of his pocket, staring intently at it. Suddenly the sound of the device turning on rings and his face lights up. “I got it.”

“Just now?” you shriek, gaining the attention of other students in the room.

“When is it due?” he asks nonchalantly, as the blood in your veins starts to boil.

“Today!”

“Oh,” Ushijima eyes you stoically, then kisses you on the cheek. “Thank you for reminding me.”

You clasp your cheek while looking at him and your face grows hot from the act. “N-no problem.”

“Can I copy off--”

“No!” you scold.

------

“Y/N?”

Iwaizumi’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, did you say something?” you ask, sitting in the passenger seat beside Iwaizumi.

The morning chaos wears on into the afternoon as you drive to your parent's place with Oikawa following in Ito-san’s car behind you. Fortunately, the drive is only thirty minutes out of the city, you didn’t want to take more time out of Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s day. You feel guilty.

“Yeah…” Iwaizumi replies. “So, uh- how do you know Oikawa?”

“Um, first year of university,” you exclaim. “It was pouring rain after classes and I was waiting for it to stop.”

“Did Oikawa use one of his shitty pickup lines?”

“More like his smug remarks,” you giggle. “It’s been like… Four years? Oh my god, how have I dealt with him for that long?”

“Four years is nothing compared to the fifteen I’ve known him,” Iwaizumi grins.

“Fifteen?” you gasp as your jaw drops. “How many years has he taken off you?”

“More than I’d want,” he laughs.

You eye him carefully when he responds. It’s the first time you’ve seen Iwaizumi laugh since you’ve met him. And truthfully, it was alluring, something you’d hope to see again soon.

“He’s a good guy though,” he adds.

But not as good as you, you think. Your heart stumbles over its own rhythm as part of your brain screams at you to continue the conversation, seeing this is the only opportunity you have ever been alone with Iwaizumi. You try to take a look at him in your peripheral, noticing his muscular arms flexing underneath his t-shirt as his strong hands grip the wheel. The same hands that guided you away from the alley to the restaurant, were now helping you again.

Did you even thank him? You doubt you had the chance in your drunken state. To be honest, you were quite embarrassed that that was his first full impression of you. You can’t believe you had the audacity to get to that point of intoxication. It hurts your head just thinking about it.

“Oh, just a left at the next turn,” you indicate. “It’s not much further from here.”

Upon arriving at your parent's place, you instruct Iwaizumi to park in front of the double car garage to which Oikawa pulls up beside. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you slide out of the car.

“Wow Y/N,” Oikawa breathes looking up at the bigger than the average house. “You never told me your parents are rich?”

“Let me unlock it,” you instruct, ignoring Oikawa. “We will unload everything into the garage.”

As you rush off, Oikawa whistles observing the two-story house taking up two lots worth of houses. “This is where she grew up?” he assumes. “Wow.”

Iwaizumi gazes at the contemporary styled home. He recalls when he heard you moved from the suburbs closer to the city and now he understood as to why.

The sound of the garage door opening startles them both as they quickly gain composure to start unloading the furniture. You let out a deep sigh, not quite ecstatic both men are at your childhood home. Not because you’re embarrassed, but because of all the questions that are followed up like what do your parents do for a living or why didn’t you tell me you had such a big house?

Oikawa and Iwaizumi diligently manage to fill the garage with your stuff. You wanted to help but only received scolding from Iwaizumi when you even lifted a finger. But in no time, the task was complete.

“Is that it?” you ask as Iwaizumi nods in compliance. “Okay, wait outside and I’ll lock up.”

But before you even get a reply, you notice Oikawa is missing and the door leading into the house from the garage is open.

“What the fuck Tōru!” you yell walking into the main part of the house in search of the annoying troublemaker. Iwaizumi follows behind, looking at the high-ceiling living space that leads into a kitchen. He’s never seen anything remotely like this before.

Oikawa pokes out from a room on the side, “Y/N, why have you never invited me over?”

“Oikawa let's go!” you snap.

“Oooh, using my last name, somebody’s pissed,” he taunts, sending you a shit-eating smile. “I’m going to look for Y/N-chans room!”

“No! Don’t!” you screech, and he laughs while running up the stairs. That stupid laugh. It can get on your nerves but you don’t have the strength to run after him. “Fine, he can do what he wants.”

You turn back to the living room and let your eyes roam around. It’s a lot different than you last remembered with a more modern take on traditional Japanese houses. There’s neutral furniture with a very minimalistic feel, almost a cold feeling.

“They’ve changed it a lot since I’ve been last here,” you whisper.

Iwaizumi looks at a picture of you and your parents mounted on the wall; your graduation photo from high school. You look good.

“So, uh, how's your wrist?" he asks.

"It's alright," you smile. "A little swollen."

"Want me to wrap it up for you when we get back?"

"Uh, sure," you reply. “Actually, I’m sure there’s some first aid supplies around here.”

He follows you down a hall into a small bathroom. He lingers in the doorway watching you open the cabinets in search of something he can use to wrap up your wrist. By some luck, you take out an elastic bandage and present it to him. “Does this work?”

He nods, taking the bandage, and holds out his hand, “Let’s see it.”

You pause before rolling up your sleeve to show the damage which is now a tinge of dark purple and red. He doesn't react though, he keeps a straight face while maintaining calm upon analyzing the bruised area. Taking your hand into his, your face grows hot, his hands are warm, the perfect temperature, making your entire body tingle. Slowly you trace your eyes back up to his face, his eyes narrow as he tucks the bandage up and around the wrist then pulls to tighten it. The gesture makes you shutter causing him to stop.

“Is it too tight?” he asks, scanning for any pain in your face

“A bit,” you squeak.

Iwaizumi loosens the bandage a bit to rewrap it again. This time he’s gentler, drawing the bandage around the wrist then wrapping across your hand and palm with a soft tug; still firm, but not quite tight.

“That should help decrease bruising,” he says, cutting the bandage and securing it with a pin.

“Thanks,” you mutter, holding your hand out to inspect it. “How do you know this stuff?”

“I’m majoring in sports sciences,” he answers.

“Woah, that’s so cool!” you smile while putting the bandages away as he continues to linger in the bathroom. “How many years do you have left?

“This is my last semester--”

“Y/N-chan! Your room is boring,” Oikawa interrupts pouting. “I couldn’t find anything embarrassing.”

“Why are you looking for that kind of stuff, Shitty-kawa!” you groan.

Iwaizumi laughs at the nickname and you have to stop yourself from smiling too hard from the sound.

“Okay, the tour is over. Let’s go!” you exclaim, pushing them towards the front door.

------

Stepping into the Oikawa’s apartment, you didn’t think you’d ever get back so soon; from driving back into the city, to dropping off Ito-san’s car and keys to finding out more information from your landlord of what’s going on. You were exhausted. Absolutely over today.

“Why do you have so much stuff,” Oikawa whines while setting your bags down in the foyer.

Maybe you should have stayed with your parents, then you wouldn’t have to deal with seeing Oikawa 24/7, but by public transit, their place was too far away and you really didn’t want to say no to Oikawa after he insisted that you bunk at his place. Plus you couldn’t agree more if Iwaizumi was going to be there.

“Stop complaining!” Iwaizumi scolds who has two of your bags in his hands. Again, he refused to let you carry anything to avoid putting any more strain on your wrist. But you didn’t mind because the sight of him carrying your bags for you makes you swoon.

“That’s not nice Iwa-chan,” Oikawa cries while closing the door then turns to you. “You can take my room until you move back in.”

“What? No, I can’t--” you begin.

“It’s either that or we share a bed,” Oikawa smirks.

“Uh, no.”

He snickers at your reply as you shuffle off to his room to put your stuff away. You blinked in surprise, almost startled by the fact how surprisingly tidy his room is. Reality sinks in as you walk up to the window looking outside to the new view of a courtyard between two apartment buildings. You’d be staying here for who knows how long and it sort of worries you. You’ve never had roommates before, the last thing you wanted was to annoy the shit out of your only friend and his hot friend.

“You good?” Oikawa’s voice scares you, to which you jump and gasp for air.

“Don’t do that!”

“Ok, well, it is my room, I just came in here to grab my things to take a shower,” he adds. To his credit, he doesn’t even look tired after such a long day. “Want to go to the library after?”

“Sure I have some assignments I need to get started on.”

“Cool!” Oikawa smiled, turning to head to the bathroom. “Also, no peeking!”

You send him a growl as he scurries away.

You exhale a deep sigh while collapsing on Oikawa’s bed feeling subtle hints of the hangover but trying to repress it with a huff. Whilst contemplating what the hell you’re going to do for a week at Oikawa’s, you feel yourself drift off...

You take a peek into the crowded classroom. A bunch of students are grouped in their cliques, chatting and laughing. You sigh, not able to recognize anyone you know. Your hands start to sweat as you hold your laptop tighter to your chest.

"It's alright. Just take it easy, everything will be fine," you mutter in an attempt to hype yourself up.

You walk into the massive lecture hall hugging the wall closest to the door to make your way up the stairs. About midway through, you glance down the row of desks and spy a seat available off to the center.

As you approach your seat, you notice someone's coat laying on the floor.

"Oh, you dropped your coat," you note, picking it up off the floor and carefully draping it back over their chair.

You glance down at the person. A young man about your age stares at you with wide stunning eyes. His hair swept to the side, slightly spiked with a tawny hue and his complexion was glowing appearing fresh and radiant.

Initially, his aura exudes kind and pure, until the mood in his eyes shifts, painting a mysterious narrative, bubbling with a playful and coy kind of hunger.

“Thanks,” he purrs.

You awkwardly smile at him and go to sit a couple of seats down from him. Just as you take your spot, the professor enters the room addressing the start of class. You look back at the brunette who looks oddly familiar, almost like Oikawa.

And it is, but he's sitting next to you with heavy lustful eyes.

Suddenly you aren't in your lecture hall anymore but in the campus library.

You're sitting at a desk, merely inches away from each other. You feel his leg lightly brush against yours. A tingling sensation jolts through your body as his touch lingers. The heat of his body warms up your exposed skin.

Oikawa leans in. "I notice you've been staring," he whispers.

His words make your insides melt at the firmness of his tone. And your heart pumps faster as he gently touches your leg with his hand. You can feel his breath on the shell of your ear as he places his hand behind your head, tangling his fingers in your hair.

You start to tense up as he pulls away, with a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth.

"Do you want me?" His voice dropped to a low growl, sliding his hand up your leg.

You wake up startled, gasping for air.

What was that, you think, trying to process what has just happened. You feel a pit in your stomach grow by the second as this disoriented sensation swirls in your head. Then there’s a beat. You hold your head as the temples start to throb and the headache you’ve been waiting for rushes in so fast you couldn’t even feel it approaching.

Taking a look around, you were still in Oikawa’s room.

What the fuck.

Honestly, in all your years of friendship, you’ve never counted on having that sort of dream starring Oikawa. In theory, you had plenty of opportunities to, but why now? Something about it was strangely arousing, but you couldn’t believe you had admitted that to yourself… Oikawa is your friend.

You notice through the half-opened blinds the daylight fading low as the glow between evening and day paints the room orange. You wonder how long you’d be asleep and quickly get up realizing the day is nearly done.

Walking out, you are face to face with Iwaizumi who’s about to walk down the hallway. You let out a little yelp and clasp your chest catching your breath. The sudden excitement surprises him and he nervously laughs in response while rubbing the back of his neck.

“H-how long was I asleep?” you stumble on your words trying to process what to say.

“Not long…”

The air is filled with silence and awkwardness. Somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable, you stand in each other's presence waiting for someone to speak first. Your eyes are groggy still from your nap and you’ve accepted your mind will be hazy but didn’t feel the need to go back and rest. The dream already spooked you enough and preferred to avoid a sequel.

“Do you know where Oikawa went?” you ask, the only appropriate topic that comes to mind.

“I think he went to the library,” he answers, walking down the hall to his room.

“Oh…”

You wanted to say something more, you felt in debt to him, even Oikawa. But mostly Iwaizumi. For saving you from the creep last night, helping you with your apartment, and even wrapping your wrist today. You wish you could do anything to repay him but didn’t quite know how…

Unless.

“Hey, so,” you call Iwaizumi who stops to look at you. His gaze is soft and you feel like your heart is going to stop. “Where’s the nearest grocery store?”

“Oh, it’s not far from here. Why? Did you need something?”

“Kind of,” you look down at your feet, unable to look at how handsome he is. “I was just thinking of making you guys something… As thanks, you know. For everything.”

Iwaizumi blinks at your response. Your cheeks felt like they were heating up as you feel his prolonged stare.

“I’ll get my coat,” he says, walking past you.

“Oh, you don’t have to come with,” you plead, following behind him to the foyer.

“Well, who else is going to protect you if a creep shows up again?” he teases.

You give him a smug smile at his words. Are we joking about this now? Well, it doesn’t matter because you would quite enjoy his company anyway. Besides, you were happy to spend more time with him.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x y/n #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #ushijima x reader #ushijima x y/n

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ochabestgirl · 3 years ago

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I have so many good ideas and prompts for fanfiction, and I HAVE tried my had at writing, but it never turns out how I’m wanting it to. I would love for an experienced fanfic writer who loves kachako, to maybe feel inspired to write a specific prompt that has been in my head for years.

So the story starts out with an established Katsuki and Ochako relationship.

Ochako hasn’t been feeling her best, with fatigue and weakness, wt loss, easily getting winded which has been putting a dent in her hero training. Ochako has never wanted to be a burden on anyone, so she keeps how she’s been feeling to herself, brushing off any concerns from her friends and teachers, saying she’s just been overworking herself as an excuse.

Things then take a turn for the worst when she passes out after giving blood at the yearly blood drive that pops up at UA every November. Nobody really thinks anything of it, since it is a normal reaction to donating blood. She wakes up in recovery girls office 4 hours later with a passed out Katsuki in the chair next to her bed. He wakes up and is worried but she eases his worries and sends him back to his dorm room after recovery girl comes in to check up on her. Once their alone, she informs her that after running a few tests on some of the blood she had donated, they discovered that her labs showed an increased in the number of leukocytes which point to one think, leukemia.

Recovery girl wants her to run more tests and have a bone marrow biopsy to confirm and come up with a treatment plan but Ochako is in denial. She can’t possibly accept the fact that all her hard work the last two years at UA could all be for nothing, so she goes harder than ever and does her best to hide it from everyone, including Katsuki.

After getting pared up with Kirishema for a class hero project, Ochako starts having worse symptoms, like bleeding gums and nose bleeds. Recovery girl says that this is a sign of worsening leukemia so she gives her an ultimatum, she either go’s to get her biopsy done or she was going to tell Her teachers, HIPAA be damned.

Reluctantly she agrees, but on the days following, Kirishema notices that she’s been slacking and feels frustrated to be the only one doing the work. On the day of her biopsy, she dips out of training early. Kirishema, having had enough, confronts her saying it wasn’t fair to him if she wasn’t going to take their assignment seriously. Ochako ends up having a compleat meltdown saying, “ you wanna know what’s not fair, I have cancer!” Kirishema in shock tries to respond but she cuts him off “ I’m going to my first bone biopsy today, that’s why I had to leave early, I’m going through this alone, but I’m sorry if all of this is an inconvenience to you!” Tears rolling down her face she turns on her heals and walks away, leaving Kirishema standing there speechless.

After a few moment he takes off to recovery girl desperately looking for answers, now extremely worried about his friend. He grills her for answers. Recovery girl, not able to give him much information, tells him what she can. That Ochako isn’t wanting to tell anyone or be compliant, and where her biopsy is taking place.

Ochako is on the table and they are about to start but before they even take out the needle a nurse walks in and whispers something to the dr. He nods his head and the nurse leaves. She doesn’t thank anything about it, until the door opens and Kirishema walks in. She is confused. “I couldn’t let you go through this alone.” He says shrugging his shoulders with a wary look on his face and tears in his eyes.

He sits by her side holding her hand and brushing his fingers through her hair as she gasps and cries in pain. Tears both running down their faces.

* I don’t have much in between this part and the next. Mostly just Katsuki worrying to death, seeing the bruising on Ochako body and the amount of weight she has lost, not to mention her lethargic behavior, and Kirishema wanting to tell him what’s been going on but not being able to because it wasn’t his place. Ochako swearing him to secrecy, wanting to be the one to tell him but not feeling ready, so she keep putting it off.*

Kirishema has enough when Ochako passes out during breakfast, right in the middle of eating. Katsuki beside himself with anxiety and worry, urging her to take it easy. Ochako looks at Kirishema, noticing the terrified look on his face and excuses herself to go to her dorm room, but not without giving her boyfriend a calming kiss saying she was going to take a nap. Katsuki watch’s her disappear through the elevator doors, with a hopeless look on his face. Kirishema has made up his mind and sneaks off after breakfast to confront Ochako.

They end up getting into an argument and Kirishema says that she has to the end of the week to tell Katsuki or he was going to and storms out of her room, leaving Ochako sitting on her bed staring off into space completely spent with the day already.

Katsuki comes up after cleaning up the dining area to find Ochako passed out rather uncomfortable looking on her bed. He adjusts her to where her head is on her pillow and draws the covers up over her shoulders. She is shivering so he looks for another blanket in her dresser drawers only to find a large plastic bag full of an assortment of colorful pills. (Ochako put them in a plastic bag so she could hide them better.)

Completely shook, thinking that Ochako has a drug problem, he takes the pills and leaves, and in typical Katsuki fashion with no warning or tact, confronts Ochako in the common room after dinner in front of all his classmates. Completely consumed with worry, frustration, anger, concern and sadness, he doesn’t even think that he probably shouldn’t have approached it the way he did, but he was too desperate to care.

He throws the bag of pills out on the coffee table in front of Ochako. “Care to explain why I found a bag of pills in your dresser?” He asks with so much tension he is shaking a little bit. “I should have noticed sooner, it makes so much since now.” He says to no one in particular.

“Katsuki it’s not what you think, let me explain, I….”

“Don’t even fucking lie Ochako, you’ve been lying to me for weeks, I’m sick of it damnit!” He is shaking uncontrollably now. “I’m telling Aizawa, and we’re getting you into the first rehabilitation facility we can find that has an opening!” He’s so unhinged that he doesn’t even notice the stunned looks of concern on his classmates faces.

“Ochako, is it true?” Mina asked with both hands cradled to her chest. “ If it is, we all love you and want to help you.”

At this point Ochako is slumped over with her face in her hands, trying to make herself as small as possible.

She had been sitting between Deku and Iida, who are now rubbing her back with worried looks on their faces. “Ochako we will get you help, everything will be okay.” Deku says with tears in his eyes and voice thick with emotion.

Ochako springs off the couch so fast it startles everyone. She’s pacing around the room, and the color looks to be drained out of her face. She’s breathing heavy with tears in her eyes, borderline panic attack mode. Katsuki’s face softens and he approaches her, arms lifting like he was going to try to calm her down.

Kirishema then decides to speak up “ Chako, I think now is the right time to tell him.”

Katsukis head snaps up and his eye meet the ones of his best friend. “What the hell are you talking about, you knew what was going on this whole fucking time, and kept it from me?!”

“It wasn’t my place to say anything bro.” Kirishema responded with regret.

Small explosions leave katsukis palms as he leaps over the couch grabbing onto Kirishema’s shirt getting a few punches in before Deku and Sero pull them apart. Katsukis is still thrashing trying to get out of Dekus grip.

“I have leukemia!” Ochako screams loud enough for everyone in the building to hear. She then falls to the ground curling into herself sobbing.

Everyone and everything just stops and everyone freezes, Kirishema is laying on the floor rubbing his face while katsukis just stands there, with a blank look on his face directed at Ochako.

“Leuko-what now??” Kaminari asks from his place beside Kirishema.

“But that’s” Deku starts “ That’s cancer right?”

A strangled gasp is heard from Tsyu, who is trying not to cry.

“How can this be? Your so young, you have your whole life ahead of you.” Iida says like he hasn’t processed the information yet.

This comment causes katsuki to spring to life, “ w-why the fuck are you still here then, we need to get you to a hospital! Som-someone go get recovery girl! Why are you all looking at me like I’m crazy! She needs to go to a fucking hospital!” He’s not pausing for breath and in a half second, he is crouching down next to Ochako, ready to pick her up and bolt to the closets hospital himself. “ W-whatever, I’m going to get Aizawa myself!”

“You can’t!” Ochako desperately clings to katsukis arm, both trying to ground herself and to stop him from leaving. “You cant tell anyone! N-none of you all can tell anyone.” She looks like a cornered animal.

Katsuki looks at her like she has grown a second head. “what the hell are you talking about?! Do you even get how serious this is?! You could fucking die Ochako!” He’s panicking now “ That is not a risk I am willing to take!”

Anger boiling up inside her she yanks her hands away and stands up, causing katsuki to fall over.

“This isn’t your decision ‘Bakugou!’” She seethes. “I have worked so hard and I have come so far! I can’t give all that up! I won’t!” She is standing so still, fist clenched and shaking slightly.

“Chako, you have to-“ Kirishema is silenced by Ochakos loud “No!”

“I don’t Have to do anything! This is my decision!” Ochako starts backing away, eyes darting around the room, obviously looking for an escape. “It’s my decision…” she whispers once more before she bolts to the door leading to the outside, having jumped over the couch in the process. By the time anyone had realized what had happened, she had already disappeared through the doors vanishing into the night.

The class explodes into a frenzy.

“What is going on down here.” Came the calm voice of their teacher from the elevator doors.

“Mr Aizawa…” Kirishema takes it upon himself to explain everything that had happened, all the while katsuki curls more and more into himself. He is still on the floor, head between his legs and hands in his hair.

Deku is close by, trying to talk to him but it is lost on def ears, he can barely make out the panic in his voice.

Trying to get control over his breathing he starts in though is nose and out through his mouth. He is filled with so many emotions he doesn’t know which one to focus on. Angry tears well up in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

He is aware of Kirishema’s face replacing Deku’s, and the ringing in his ears has stopped enough to hear him say that Aizawa, Mina, and , Tsyu have went after her.

He doesn’t remember when or how he winds up on the couch, and he doesn’t even care. He feels hands push him down so he is laying down with his feet propped up, and a cold washcloth is placed on his head.

By the time he starts to breath normally, he’s not sure how much time has passed. When he opens his eyes, he sees that some people were still lingering. Kirishema was sitting in a chair next to him with his head in his hands. Deku, Iida, and Todoroki were hovering by the door, looking for any sign of their return. Sero and kaminari sat on the love seat across from katsuki with sad, forlorn expressions on their faces.

When he slowly sits up, Kirishema lifts his head. Looking him dead in the eyes, katsuki asked, “Did all of that really happened? Is this really happening?” Katsuki hates how his voice cracks.

“ I’m afraid so.” Kirishema says gaze lowering to the floor. “ listen man, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t my place.”

“ I understand why you didn’t. It’s okay.” Kirishema looked like he wanted to say something to that but suddenly the door opened.

Katsuki shoots up from his seat on the couch and faces the door.

Tucked underneath Mr. Aizawa’s arm was a rather small looking Ochako. Face puffy from crying, and bags under her eyes from exhaustion, she looked like the walking dead. Beside her with her arm locked with hers was Mina, face also a little read and puffy, Tysu bringing in the rear holding Ochakos shoes, despair written all over her face.

Ochako refused to look at anyone, even the remaining members of the so called “Deku squad.”

Katsuki makes a move to meet them at the door but one look from Mina makes him stop in his tracks. She shakes her head and mouths ‘not now,’ so not knowing what else to do he just stands there and dumbly watches them make their way to the elevator.

Katsuki tries to sleep that night, but can’t, his mind too full with visions of Ochako dying. Giving up he goes to his desk and opens up his laptop. He spends the next 3 hours researching leukemia, the survival rate, symptoms, causes, treatments, reactions to the medication, by the time the third hours came to a close it’s 2 am and katsuki has had enough. Without second guessing himself, he makes his way out the door, down the hall to Ochakos room and knocks.

It takes a few minutes before the door opens revealing a wide awake but an extremely exhausting looking girl he calls his girlfriend.

Her face contorts in pain and her eyes well up with tears when she sees him. “I’m so sorry katsuki” she sobs.

Without saying anything katsuki grabs her face with both of his hands and kisses her with the power of every emotion he had felt and is still feeling. Pushing her back into her room, he kicks the door shut. She’s on him in seconds, tears still leaking from her eyes as he kisses them away.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much cheeks.” It’s comes out as a choked whisper, like a plea for her to live. He’s got a lump in his throat but he pushes it down. She doesn’t need him breaking down too.

Ochako steps back for only a second to remove her shirt, then she leaps and wraps her legs around katsukis waist, opening up a whole other can of worms.

Not having any control at this point, he pushes her against the door, devouring her mouth like it was his only lifeline. “ I love you too! So much, I’m so sorry.” He silences her words with a Searing kiss. He moves them over to the bed and gently places her down. then settles himself on top of her. “Are you okay? I’m not hurting you am I?” He’s so afraid now.

“You could never hurt me.” She says with such certainty.

That night they gave themselves to each other in every way they could think of.

Him needing to feel her, to know that she was still alive and whole in his arms.

Her needing to feel alive and needing reassurance that she wasn’t alone in this, needing to feel close to the one she loves.

*So that is all I have so far. I do have some thoughts about her treatment and how katsuki struggles with watching her suffer. I would like the story to include weather or not Ochako makes it. But I’ll leave that up to whoever wants to take this story on. Also feel free to write smut if you want. I’m just not good at that, so I didn’t include it.

Please let me know what you all think and if you can make this fic come to life.

Disclaimer: Art is not mine! I got it off of google search. All credit goes to the artists.

#bakugou katsuki #izuku mydoria #kachako #katsuki x ochako #ochako uraraka #my hero academia #kirishima eijirou #mina ashido #kirimina #my hero fanfic #sad fanfiction #leukemia #my hero academy fanfiction #kachaan #deku x ochako #friendship #kirichako #brotp inspo

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hanniiesuckle17 · 4 years ago

Text

Late Nights & Late Wishes

A/n: this was such a cute request and I hope that it is what you wanted!! (not thoroughly edited) feel free to request again bb!

Requested by: @ahnelovesyou

Tagging: @distrikt9 @mini-meanhoe (if you would like to be added to the general tag list just send an ask, comment, or reblog!)

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: slight cursing? legal drinking, Jisung being a dork

Summary: Jisung and Y/n have been best friends longer than anyone can remember. Both have been silently pining for the other behind closed doors. Is one friend’s stupidity going to release their secrets?

Genre: non-idol!au, romance, fluff, friends to lover!au, best friend!au

✮

Jisung had always been by me. He was sort of like my lighthouse. Guiding me through my darkest times even when I felt as if all hope was long gone. Jisung was my very annoying, very cumbersome lighthouse.

He had stuck by me all the way back in high school and even when we lived apart during university. Jisung still managed to find a way to always be next to me despite the distance. Even now, when we lived only a few blocks apart, the distance seemed like across the world when my best friend wasn’t next to me.

Jisung had been there for all the breakdowns. All the horrid boyfriends. All the bad jokes and embarrassing moments. Luckily, I had been around for all of his terrible meltdowns, his (still) awful jokes and (frequent) awkward moments, and all the bitchy vexing girlfriends. I was almost certain there was nothing about Jisung I didn’t know and he would be proud to say the same about me.

The light from my laptop illuminated my dark bedroom at the late hour of two o’clock in the morning. My covers were pulled up to my chin and my eyes were laser focused on the drama playing on my screen. My eyes widened seeing the male lead inch closer to the leading lady.

Jeogiyo noona, hokshi namjachingu isseyo?

My phone blasted the cringey song my best friend had featured in as a university underground rapper. I paused the romantic moment the drama leads were having and blindly felt around for my phone.

WOW SHE’S HOT. HOT HOT HOT. WOOOOOW. SHE’S HOT.

The song seemed to get louder the longer it played. Why was he calling me at this ungodly hour? Finally, my fingers fumbled over my phone. “Jisung what the hell do you want? I was sleeping.” I said answering the phone and lying back down, cuddling into my pillow.

“We both know that’s not true.” His deep happy voice chimed through the phone.

Jisung laughed hearing my huff over the receiver. “What do you want, Han? You better be interrupting my dramas for a good reason.” I could hear the smile in his voice. The smile that made my insides feel like warm honey.

“You’re watching dramas and I’m not there?” He clicked his tongue making me roll my eyes. “Anyway, look outside your window.” I kicked my covers off, legs flailing widely in the air. I stilled and stared at the ceiling. “You do actually have to get out of the bed.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Rolling out of bed, my feet padded against the wood floor of my apartment. I pushed the curtains outside and looked down from my bedroom window into the parking lot. My best friend leaned against his red sports car he had spent three years saving for. Seeing me peek out from behind the white shields of fabric he waved, mask pulled down below his chin. His smile lit up the night even more than the street lamp.

I watched him open the car door and pull out two grocery bags, holding them up with a Chesire grin, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Rooftop?”

“Jisung-”

“I have alcohol and snac-”

“I’ll meet you up there.”

Jisung burst out laughing. I didn’t need the phone to hear how loud and joyful it was. I hung up the phone when I saw Jisung start towards the stairs. I pulled on some shorts from my closet and quickly let loose my hair from how I had it previously. My hands raked through my hair, tossing it this way and that until it was more presentable. As a last touch, I grabbed some cherry flavored lip gloss and swiped it over my lips before running up to the roof.

A cool breeze whisked over the top of the roof as I pushed open the squeaky door. Jisung was laying out a blanket over the cold concrete. This was not the first time we had met on the roof of my apartment building. It had become like our secret little hideaway from the world. “Hey, you.”

He turned at the sound of my voice and smiled. His brows furrowed and then his bright laugh rose up into the night. “Are you wearing pants?” He asked pointing at my bare legs. I nodded and lifted up the baggy shirt. In all honesty, it was probably a shirt Jisung had left lying around after borrowing my washer.

“Even if I wasn’t, you’ve seen me in a swimsuit. Shouldn’t matter.” He reached out for me, pulling my body into his arms. Jisung’s hugs were the best. It felt like his arms were shielding me from all the bad and ugly things the world could possibly throw at us. I always felt happiest in his arms.

“Okay, enough happiness. Let’s drink.” Jisung said pulling away and plopping down on the blanket. His dark hair, almost black, fell in front of his eyes as he reached for the plastic bags. I lounged on the blanket looking up at the stars.

My ears picked up on the clinking of glass. Turning I saw Jisung pulling out to wine glasses and a bottle of Moscato. “We are drinking wine?” I asked, pushing myself up on my elbows. “What happened to cheap beer and chips?”

“Come on it’s not that fancy. It was only like twelve bucks.”

I let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching my heart. “Han Jisung you spent more than five dollars on a bottle of alcohol? Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?” He laughed when I clutched onto his jacket, pretending to faint.

I watched his long fingers wrap around the glass and steadily pour the white wine into it. He gently handed the drink to me and I swirled the sweet alcohol in the glass before sipping it. “Good?” He asked, pouring some for himself. I nodded and took another sip, stretching my legs out on the blanket.

“Are we celebrating something?”

Jisung shook his head and set down the bottle. “Nope. Can’t I spoil my best friend?” I scoffed and leaned on my elbow, looking up at him. “You’re right I never do that.” Instead of giving me another reason Jisung looked up at the stars, a content smile on his face.

If he didn’t want to tell me I would respect that. After a few glasses later we both lay on the blanket looking up at the twinkling night sky. Jisung’s arm cradled my head as we both stared up into the starry skyline. His jacket was wrapped around my shoulders shielding me from the whispering breeze floating across the roof. Quiet murmurs were exchanged between both of us as we marveled at the sky. Stars winking at us from above.

The wine was giving me a very light buzz, keeping me awake. “Oh,” I exclaimed. My eyes trailed a flash of white across the sky. “A shooting star!” I pointed it out to Jisung who started wildly looking for what I had seen. “Quick close your eyes and make a wish!”

Shutting my eyes tight and clasping my hands together I began to wish for a raise at work. I would love to have a little extra money lying around, especially so I could pick up the dinner check every once in a while. MY eyes squeezed themselves shut as if it would help make the wish come true.

“I wish that I could finally get the courage to confess how I feel to my best friend,” Jisung said at lightning speed.

My eyes shot open and I turned to see him looking up at the sky. He watched me sit up from my previous position next to him. Silence hung in the air. Jisung continued to look up at the twinkling sky while I stared at him in disbelief. Did he not realize he said it out loud? My heart seemed to jump out of my chest waiting to see what he would do next.

A siren screamed into the city from a distance. The sound seemed to awaken my best friend from whatever sort of oblivious trance he was in. His eyes turned to saucers and a dark heat flooded his cheeks. “Uhh....” Jisung slowly sat up.

I pulled the sleeves of his jacket further over my hands, playing with the edges. Jisung watched me warily, clearly aware a very serious talk was about to follow. “Umm...I’m gonna need some more wine for this conversation.” My voice came out breathy and almost a whisper.

Jisung nodded and quickly poured another glass from the bottle of Moscato. I thanked him and downed the glass, wincing at the burn down my throat. “Look we can just like ignore what I said. It doesn’t matter.” He nervously laughed and looked anywhere but me.

“Jisung,” My hyperactive nervous best friend turned back to me, leaning on one arm. his dark hair fell in front of his eyes. I resisted the urge to fix it. “What did you want to say to me?”

He sighed and looked down, long fingers playing with the soft fabric of the blanket. “So...I may...be like...in love with you....or whatever.” My heart pounded against my chest so much so I was sure Jisung could hear it. “How do you feel?” He asked shyly looking up at me.

“I may be in love with you too....or whatever,” I said with a timid smile.

“You know what it’s fine we can forget I ever said anything. I knew you wouldn’t- wait what...” Jisung looked up at me with a precious confused expression, his brows tilting upward and eyes going soft. “You love me? And not like...oh he’s just a brother or a really good friend way?”

I nodded and he let out a heavy sigh, collapsing back down onto the blanket, hand on his heart. Jisung looked so relieved. I was relieved. We were just two idiots who couldn’t see how the other felt until now.

After a moment of Jisung calming down from his tiny freakout, he reached for my hand, threading his fingers with mine. “Will you kiss me?” He asked, a cute smile appearing at the corner of his lips.

“Why me?”

“Cause I still don’t have the courage to do it.” The wine glass in my hand clinked when I set it on the concrete. Jisung watched with expectant eyes as I leaned over, hand finding a place on his cheek. He let out a small sigh when my lips pressed against his.

Jisung quickly took the lead, tangling a hand in my hair and pulling me down into his chest. His lips danced against mine like we had been doing this for years. He pulled away, eyes still closed before dragging his lips slowly over my own. His thumb ghosted over my waist, dragging up the fabric of my shirt.

Jisung pulled away and his teeth caught on his bottom lip. “Y/n, are you wearing cherry lip gloss?” My hand came up to my mouth. I had totally forgotten I put it on. He giggled leaning up for another kiss. “It tastes good.” He whispered making my skin tingle.

“You’re such a dork.”

“I’m your dork.”

✮

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

Note

Billy having a meltdown in school and the school security nearly kill him while holding him down, (supportive) Neil is pissed and he comforts billy in the car -🦖

I love me some autistic Billy, but I do think it would be especially hard for him because he doesn’t look like the standard of what an autistic teenage boy is expected to.

Trigger warnings are in the tags, triggering content starts after the read more.

It was an accident. Billy was just upset, he hadn’t meant to scare anybody.

He had to learn a long time ago that he wasn’t like the other kids in his class, the sweet girl with Down’s or the scrawny freshman with Asperger’s, Billy was big, and he looked like a man at 17. But no matter what he looked like, he still couldn’t just stop the way he was feeling because of his appearance.

School had already started off on the wrong foot when he got yelled at by his teacher for forgetting an assignment, but what had really made him reach that emotional threshold was when someone popped a chip bag on the other side of the cafeteria, and it made another girl scream. The sounds had felt like daggers in Billy’s ears, a kick start to his heart, and almost instantly he feels himself start to slip into a familiar panic.

He does exactly what he’s been taught to do when he felt a meltdown coming on and has time to try to prevent it by removing himself from the situation, but as he’s hurrying back to the special ed classroom, where there were bean bag chairs and pillows and things already laid out for times like these, humming and hitting one hand off of his chest over and over as he goes, a teacher stops him.

She just wants to know where he’s going, but he can’t answer her, the words just won’t form in his throat, so, in the absence of an answer to her question, the concerned teacher reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, stepping closer to him so she’s looking him in the eye.

Billy flinches, her touch feels like a hot iron under his skin, and he backs away a couple of steps, his back hitting off of some lockers. She tries to touch him again, clearly just wanting to help a student in crisis, but this time he grabs her wrist, not hard enough to hurt her, he would never, but to let her know in the only way he knew how to communicate at a time when he didn’t have his words to please stop touching him.

But to lay his hands on a teacher is very much against the rules, especially the rules he specifically was supposed to follow, and the man who enforces them just so happens to already be following him after he saw him leave the cafeteria. That was the way it went, the school officers kept close tabs on the kids like him, waiting in the wings for the moment they got in trouble.

Billy doesn’t even know exactly what happens, just that the officer is suddenly there instead of down the hall and prying his hand away from the teacher, which isn’t hard, because he’d barely even touched her. He pulls Billy away so he stumbles a little, and pushes down right on the back of his neck until his knees hit the floor.

Prone restraints are nothing new to him, he had been put in them countless times before for everything from kicking a teacher to crying in class, so Billy knew not to fight, to just let the officer push him until he was face down on the floor, kept there with a knee in his back. It only ever hurt him worse if he tried to get away.

He hears the teacher who’d stopped him in the first place ask, “I-Is that really necessary?” In response, she’s given the standard subject cooperation speech, and she must be appeased by it, because her heels click across the floor Billy’s face is pressed into, and then they’re alone in the hall.

There’s something very wrong with the way it feels this time though. The man restraining him is much heavier than Billy is used to, and his ribs are pressed way too hard into the floor. He tries to tell him, but the words are still escaping him, and he realizes he can’t breathe.

His instinct is to try and sit up, but he only gets a hand on the back of his head pressing his face even harder to the ground, making his neck hurt from the angle and his teeth dig into the inside of his cheek until there’s blood in his mouth.

The officer shifts forward, his knee digging so far into Billy’s back that he can physically feel the rest of the air leave his lungs, and he starts to panic, clawing at the floor, defenseless and unable to ask for help.

When he stops moving, his body feeling too heavy to even try it anymore, he’s asked. “Are you ready to behave?”

He’d say he was more than ready if it meant the officer would get off of him, but there’s nothing he can do at all respond. One of his bones cracks when the man moves again, but he doesn’t feel anything other than the way his lungs are burning and the pressure that’s building in his chest and the way his face hurts.

If he moves, he’s afraid the officer will think he’s still fighting and he won’t get up. If he doesn’t, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

Billy squirms, a whimper in his throat, and the officer asks, more edge to his voice now, “I asked you a question. Are you going to behave now?”

He nods as best he can, but the angle of his neck hurts too bad. Impatiently, the man moves again, and there’s another crack as his bones grind into the floor, “I want to hear you say it so I know you aren’t lying to me.”

With a sob Billy forces out the answer, it’s wheezy and snotty and it burns like fire in his throat, but he whines “Yes!” loud enough it echoes in the empty hall way.

The officer waits ten more seconds, he counts them off out loud to make sure Billy feels every last second of being restrained, the equal parts pain and numbness tingling in his whole body until he learns his lesson, then finally he stands up.

As soon as the pressure is off of his spine, Billy takes in a big breath that tastes an awful lot like copper, bloody spit down his chin from the effort it takes just to breathe.

His chest rises too shallow, too rattling, so he rolls over onto his back to try to catch his breath a little better, and the officer offers him a hand. But Billy doesn’t take it, he can’t just yet, but if he could he wouldn’t anyways, and the officer just scoffs at him, then sternly, he threatens, “You know I’m going to have to tell the office about this, now.”

Billy nods and does his best to sit up, only getting halfway propped up on his elbows because of the blood that’s rushing to his head combined with the slowly registering and extremely overwhelming pain in his back and his ribs knocking him dizzy.

That must be good enough an answer anyways, because Billy is told to, “Report back to your class.”

He can’t stand up quick enough at the officers orders, his shoes scuffing up the waxed floors as he scrambles to get away from him with permission. He ignores the pain in his body and the way it draws tears to his eyes, and he doesn’t look back even once as he walks the rest of the way back to his classroom.

The worst part, he realizes, is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided if he were just a little fast; he was only two doors down from his classroom.

His special ed teacher tisks when she sees and tells him to come straight to her next time, as if that wasn’t what he was trying to do when he got restrained, but she’s still at least nice enough to give him an ice pack and let him stay in her room on the memory foam mattress in the back.

Billy had been planning on getting back to his coed classes as soon as he calmed down, but the ache in his ribs hadn’t gotten any better, only turned to a sharp, stabbing feeling in his entire chest, and his throat was hurting really bad, and he just couldn’t quite catch his breath, so he was still there when the final bell rang.

The teacher looks over her glasses at him when he doesn’t leave the room, and says quietly, “Honey, it’s time for you to go home.”

Billy tries to respond, only coughing instead on the first try, then wheezes out his answer, a simple, “Can’t.”

Because he finds he can’t sit up anymore, every time he tries it he feels like he can’t breathe all over again, so, after more prompting, the teacher grimaces and helps him to his feet.

She walks all the way with him out to the parking lot too so she can explain his injuries to his father, maybe try to save face a little, but this wasn’t the first time the school system had let something like this happen, and they were done with excuses.

The moment Billy sees his dad waiting at his truck for him and Max is when he finally cracks, all of the emotions inside him that had been exhausted by his meltdown coming back overwhelmingly quick, and he’s instantly a crying mess, sobs wracking through him that make his ribs feel like they’re made of broken glass.

Neil’s face is tight with concern as he gets Billy into the pick-up, barely listening to his teacher ramble on about school procedures and necessary precautions. He shuts the door in her face before she’s done with her bullshit explanation, focusing solely on Billy, and getting him calmed down.

Neil doesn’t touch him, doesn’t speak to him for fear of making things worse. When Billy was on meltdown two, it took hardly anything to set him off again, so he settles on turning the truck on, the vibrations of the engine more calming than anything else he could try to do for him.

It doesn’t take long of that, the radio going gently and the car rumbling, for the tears to slow to a sniffle, accompanied by hiccups that ache deep in his chest, and when he’s feeling better, Neil asks him, after giving him a moment, “Will you be okay if I leave you here with Max?”

Billy nods in agreement, so when the junior high lets out and Max gets in the truck, Neil opens his own door and tells her, “Stay here with your brother.”

“What happened?” She asks, her eyes wide, but Neil blows her off, “Doesn’t matter, I need to talk to somebody.”

Max watches him go, then turns to Billy, taking note of how bad he looks, but not bringing it up. They don’t talk to each other much, but she does take up his hand, which is noticeably shaking badly, and rubs her thumb over his knuckles to try to calm him down.

“Are you okay, Billy?” She asks after a silence filled only by wheezy and uneven breaths, to which he replies by shaking his head no.

The parking lot clears out around them while they wait for Billy’s dad to come back, Max getting more on edge the longer they just sit in the truck, and Billy getting more worn out after two meltdowns and not being able to cool down.

Neil slams the trucks door when he comes back, answering before either Billy or Max can ask, “It’s taken care of.” and taking them home finally.

Max gets dropped off at home and told to explain the situation to her mother, while Neil takes Billy straight to the hospital. They tell him that two of his ribs are fractured, and when he asks, they tell Neil too that he can’t make the school pay the medical bills because it was Billy’s fault.

And that’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The very same night, Neil announces that they’ll be moving again, this time instead of a few towns over or just to a different school district, he wants to move them out of California entirely to a small town over in Indiana, where he lived before moving to Berkeley with Billy’s mother. Where things will be different, and safer, hopefully.

Max doesn’t get it, why it’s worth uprooting for a chance that things might be different for Billy, and she’s mad, at him and at his dad.

But she’s not the only one, because Billy isn’t exactly too keen on the idea either. It seems to him like it’s just an excuse to please Susan, like they’re leaving town because of the reputation their family has built with an autistic son that she’s always trying to run from, and he feels betrayed.

Susan is also being much snappier with Billy than before, getting on his case for everything from getting distracted and taking brakes while packing, for being too loud in the car, for being stupid and lazy and the reason they had to leave their idyllic life behind.

Nobody knows where to pin the blame, and it’s tearing their family apart.

Hawkins is the kind of town that’s supposed to be perfect for them, quaint and reserved, but they’re thrown head first into it, no time even to adjust, and the second day at his new high school, Billy has another bad meltdown.

There are already too many new things to take in about his new high school, but then he gets lost trying to tell the difference between the A and B wings in the halls, and he just gets so overwhelmed that the next time the bell rings he gets pushed over the edge.

He waits that first one out in the bathroom, terrified of the consequences, of being hurt again before he’s even done healing from the last time, but it never comes. There are no dark rooms or officers or anything of the sort at his new school, they just let him do his thing.

Even the times when he doesn’t get away and melts down right there in the hallway or class room, they just work around him. The first week in, he even finds a friend in Tommy H.

So maybe things were a little shaky at home, and there were still a couple of kids would snicker behind his back or a few rumors would spread, but the more time they spent there, the more Billy is actually maybe, just a little bit, looking forward to being in Hawkins.

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curlynerd · 3 years ago

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@spnwomenweek Day 7: Free Space because I'm bad at deadlines and missed AU day.

Harvelle’s Sweet Treats - Home of delicious cupcakes, cookies bigger than your head, and the prettiest baker Charlie has ever seen. Now if only she could ask her out without making a total fool of herself.

1.8K word count, copious amounts of Jo and Charlie fluff

Read on AO3

Five days. That was long enough, right? Five days between visits to a bakery was a totally normal, non-stalker-ish, “oh hey I just really like cupcakes, ya know?” amount of time to wait to go there again.

Right?

Yes. Definitely.

Hell, after five days, the cute girl behind the counter had probably long forgotten Charlie. It was a popular bakery, after all.

Yeah, she’d definitely forgotten Charlie by now.

Well...that was depressing.

Charlie huffed and readjusted her backpack on her shoulders. Whatever. She’d just make Bakery Girl remember her! They’d had a great conversation. A totally memorable chat.

About cupcakes.

In a store that sold cupcakes.

Okay, probably not so memorable.

She stifled a groan. Dammit Charlie! This wasn’t hard! She knew how to flirt! She flirted all the time!

...Not with girls this cute though. Not girls with beautiful blonde waves to make even Galadriel jealous. Not girls who smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and sugar.

Charlie shifted from one foot to another as she waited at the crosswalk. Her time to chicken out was rapidly dwindling. Harvelle’s Sweet Treats was just on the other side of the road. But, hey, nothing wrong with being a chicken. Six days between visits was better than five, right? Even less weird?

The crosswalk sign changed.

Charlie groaned out loud and earned herself a concerned look from a businessman walking alongside her. She forced a smile and started jogging the rest of the way to escape his judgement. Unfortunately that left her staring at the door to Harvelle’s much sooner than intended.

She took a deep breath. “You got this, Bradbury. Woman up! Just don’t think about how she smells like cupcakes and you’ll be fine.”

At that moment the blonde woman behind the counter noticed her lurking outside the door and grinned at her, gesturing for her to come inside.

Charlie’s eyes went wide as saucers. “I don’t got this,” she squeaked.

But it was too late now. Bakery Girl had spotted her. If she ran away now…

No, she couldn’t consider that.

Charlie squared her shoulders. She felt like Link staring down the entrance to Ganondorf’s castle, only without any of the sages to back her up. If only she had an ocarina on hand to teleport her out of here if things went awry... No. Focus! Charlie shook herself out of her thoughts and entered the store.

“Mornin’!” Bakery Girl’s smile was cheerful and casual. “You know what you want?” She leaned against the counter on her forearm, which caused her gorgeous hair to cascade over her shoulder and frame her face.

And just like that, Charlie’s carefully planned script flew straight out of her head. “Um.” She blinked. Once. Twice. Think, Bradbury! Think! Do not answer “you,” okay? That’s just weird. Think of literally any other answer!

Bakery Girl chuckled at Charlie’s dumbstruck stare. “We sell coffee, if you’re still waking up,” she said with a wink, which only drove Charlie even closer to a full-fledged hardware meltdown.

“Coffee! Mm-hmm!” Charlie squeaked with an over-enthusiastic nod. “Yes! I will take one coffee and one...er, cupcake,” she added, determined to get back on script before she blurted out something stupid and completely ruined any chance she might have with Bakery Girl.

“Coffee and cupcake. Interesting breakfast.” Bakery Girl raised an eyebrow as she tucked her hair behind her ear. God, why did she have to keep smiling like that? Charlie was going to have a heart attack!

Charlie nodded again before mentally smacking herself for looking too much like a bobblehead toy. “Well that’s me. Interesting.” Her eyes widened. “I mean, not interesting. Not, like, full of myself. A-And not weird interesting either!” she added hastily. “I mean, okay, yeah, I’m kinda weird. Pretty weird. Comes with the whole...nerd territory. But hey, ha ha, at least I shaved my neckbeard this morning, right?”

Bakery Girl listened to Charlie’s increasingly unhinged rambling with a bemused grin on her face. She shook her head. “Yeah, definitely weird,” she agreed with a laugh, but somehow it didn’t sound like an insult. She pushed off from the counter and rung up Charlie’s order.

Charlie forced herself to take a deep breath. Okay, so operation “Woo The Hot Bakery Girl” was definitely going off the rails, but it wasn’t unsalvageable! She just needed to regroup. Charlie smiled her brightest, sweetest “don’t think I’m a total loser, please” smile as she paid for her food. Bakery Girl grinned back, and any flirtatious comeback Charlie had was lost in thoughts of cinnamon-brown eyes and absolutely adorable apple-round cheeks.

“You got a name, Miss Interesting?”

Charlie blinked and shook off her daze. Bakery Girl was holding a pen up against a coffee cup. “Um.” Charlie looked around the otherwise empty store. “It’s not like you’re gonna mix up my order.”

Bakery Girl pursed her lips and fought down a new smile. “Humor me.” She honest to god winked, and Charlie honest to god let out a tiny, mortifying squeak.

“Charlie!” she blurted out, hot on that noise’s tail. Maybe she was fast enough to cover it. God, she hoped she was fast enough to cover it. “Bradbury. Charlie Bradbury. Though why would I tell you my last name? You don’t need my last name. That’s ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.” To Charlie’s horror, she couldn’t bring herself to shut up no matter how hard she tried. “You obviously don’t need to know my last name, but um, yep. There it is. Bradbury. Like Ray Bradbury? That. And--”

“You know what flavor cupcake you want?” Bakery Girl cut in, and Charlie was so grateful she almost hopped the counter and kissed her then and there.

“Um…” Once again, Charlie’s carefully planned out script was trapped behind the mesmerizing distraction of Bakery Girl’s smile. No, wait! She remembered! “What do you recommend?” She batted her eyelashes a little and shrugged one shoulder. Yes, this was perfect. Whatever was offered would oh so conveniently be one of Charlie’s favorite flavors. Of course, all cupcake flavors were her favorite, because they were cupcakes. Not a lie. Just an exaggeration.

Bakery Girl glanced down at her display case. “Red velvet,” she said with the hint of a smirk. Her eyes seemed to linger on Charlie’s hair, but surely Charlie was imagining that. Definitely imagining that.

Charlie bit her lip. “Sure! Let’s go with that,” she said in a rush, while internally she screamed about her carefully planned cupcake flavor ruse. Bakery Girl nodded and set about getting Charlie’s order ready. Charlie breathed in deeply, disappointment building with each passing second. This was a bust. This was clearly not going anywhere. Charlie was way too flustered to pull out her usual stops. So far all she’d managed to do is look and act like a socially awkward nerd. Which...well...Pot. Kettle. Black.

Maybe if she came back in another five days, things would go better that time. Or six days. Or sixty.

As Charlie put her wallet away, her eyes landed on the pen cup. There was a cute one with an oversized cartoon cupcake on the end, large enough that it partly obscured the little rainbow flag stuck in there too.

Deep down, Charlie knew that could mean anything. Maybe the owner was gay. Or one of the other employees. Maybe the store did a lot of gay wedding cakes. Hell, it was San Francisco. Pride flags were just good business sense. Charlie had to admit her gaydar could get a little frazzled when confronted by stunningly attractive women. Or maybe she was just exceptionally optimistic.

She decided to pounce on the opportunity anyway. This was her last shot.

She pointed to the little flag and flashed a grin that she prayed wasn’t too awkward. “Hey cool. Samesies.” Dear goddess Selûne, did she really just say samesies? She tried not to cringe.

Bakery Girl laughed. “Yeah, I’m aware,” she said as she brushed her hair behind her ear. And okay, Charlie had to give her that. She gave off that vibe. Also there was a lesbian pride pin on her backpack.

Thinking about it, that might have been the biggest giveaway.

“So…” Charlie began. This was her opening. She knew this was her opening. And if this were anyone less cool, or less hot, or less…all of everything that Bakery Girl had going on, Charlie would be on top of things. She’d have gotten her number and made date plans before she even placed her order.

Instead she rocked back and forth on her heels like a helpless dweeb. Like some sort of awkward middle schooler trying to ask a date to homecoming.

“So…” Bakery Girl agreed, her voice barely containing her laughter. The silence dragged on until it became agony. Charlie thought for certain the pressure to ask her out inflating her chest would burst before she worked up the nerve. But right when Charlie opened her mouth to either speak or let out a pathetic squeak of compressed air, Bakery Girl leaned forward on the counter and raised an eyebrow at Charlie. “So are you gonna ask my name before or after I get your phone number?”

Charlie jerked her head up in surprise. “Phone number?” she squeaked. Her eyes widened. Bakery Girl was asking for her phone number?! SUCCESS! “Um, yeah! Yeah, I…” Charlie grinned from ear to ear. “Name? Your name? Er…” She cleared her throat. “What’s your name anyway? So I can stop calling you Bakery Girl in my head?”

Bakery Girl smirked. “Bakery Girl, huh?” She grabbed the cupcake pen from the cup and held out her hand. Her eyes darted to Charlie’s arm and back to her face as she wiggled her fingers. Charlie hastily held out her hand. “It’s Jo, by the way.” Charlie’s skin tingled where Bakery Girl--Jo! touched her wrist. Jo scrawled out her number on the inside of her arm.

“You know, I coulda just punched it into my phone,” Charlie said, already wondering how weird it would be if she didn’t wash her hand for awhile.

“Yeah, but I like to be old school.” Jo winked at her. Her fingers slid down Charlie’s hand as she released it, and Charlie’s heart skipped a beat.

“Old school, huh?” Charlie grinned. “So like...dinner and a movie, pick me up at eight old school?”

Jo paused a moment to size her up. She bit her lower lip. “Pool,” she said with a cocky smile. “There’s this bar I like where we can play pool.”

Charlie’s shoulders dipped a little. “I don’t know how to play pool.” Could a date fail before it even started? Charlie was beginning to suspect Jo was way cooler than she could ever hope to be.

Jo just shook her head, a knowing twinkle in her pretty brown eyes. “Oh, I figured. I plan to teach you.”

Charlie’s heart leapt into her throat. “Can’t wait.”

#spnwomenweek #jo/charlie #charlie/jo #charlie bradbury #jo harvelle #katie writes things #my fanfic #look I know Charlie's got game in canon but it's *MY* fanfic I do what I want and I wanted her to be an awkward nerd around Jo #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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secondhand-trash · 4 years ago

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A/N: words cannot described how entertained I was when I was writing this...

Warning: suggestive themes

Word count: 1888

(click here to see more of Osamu’s bento)

(taglist in the notes, please go to the link in my bio or send me an ask to be added to the bento taglist uwu)

Previously...

You were so determined to tell him everything as it was, but you immediately didn’t have the heart to do it when you were met with his round eyes fixed on you.

You had it coming…

“Yeah,” you said, “we are going through this real big project right now and everyone is on edge.”

He took your hand and pressed it against his cheek. You smiled as he leaned into your touch, caressing his jaw with your thumb. He was lucky that he’s cute, you thought to yourself, silently deciding that maybe you would try to be a little bit more openminded the next time he turned your lunch into a meme canvas.

“Then I should try to bring you some excitement with your bento then! Something that both taste good and can motivate you visually!”

You might have deliberately left out that the true reason to your exasperation was the fact that your brain was squeezed dry after playing a game of edible pictionary under Osamu’s drive, but you didn’t exactly lied about anything either. There was really a big project your department was undergoing and it was pushing everyone’s mental well-being to the edge. Your friend, the one who sat at the cubicle opposite to yours, nearly had a meltdown in the office the other day because the drafts of a powerpoint was printed in greyscale instead of in colour. The head of the department, a middle aged man who looked like a round department store mascot and never raises his voice, was heard sobbing in his office after getting off a conference call with the management board. Needless to say, you had been walking on eggshells in every waking minute and you felt like you had aged by years just from theses few days.

The only bit of joy you had in the office was the short 30 minutes you were mercifully given each day to fuel your body with food so you could continue to be tortured by work. Osamu kept his promise with changing up what was in your bento every single day with no repeats. Making count of what you had seen in your bento had become part of your daily routine. You had gotten several different pepes, a few cat memes and some very ambiguous looking faces (most of which you assumed to be him). You were hesitant to accept his new hobby of using your lunch as a creative outlet but now you appreciate it to no end.

Slamming the door shut, you placed your palm flat on the wall and sighed as the soreness in all the muscles you did not know was in your body started getting worse and worse.

God could give you 48 hours in a day and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m home...” you muttered, kicking your shoes to the side as you limped into the living room.

Osamu appeared from the doorway and took your bag from your hand. You groaned at the weight that was finally off of your shoulder, rolling your neck to feel each joint cracking. He caught you in his arms swiftly when you latched onto him, putting all your weight on him as you allow your tired legs the rest they needed.

“Urgh...” your voice came out as an inaudible noise as you groaned into his chest, rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt. He let your bag fell onto the ground with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around you as he felt you sinking deeper into his embrace, “if it goes on like this I’m not going to live to see tomorrow’s sunrise..."

You whined as he rubbed soothing circles on your back, the warmth reaching from his palm to your body. You felt your limbs slowly reviving under his touch, his hand trailing from your back to your shoulder blades then down your spine again. You could feel the rumbling from his chest as he spoke, his voice low by your ear and his breath ticking your neck, “Do you need me to give you some motivation?”

A sound that resembled a choked moan slipped from your lips when his hand pressed down at a particularly stiff spot on your back, “Please do.”

The corner of his lips curled up at your breathy reply. Brushing your hair away with his finger, he dipped down to the sensitive skin of your exposed neck.

“Can you make nanban chicken for tomorrow’s bento?”

He froze in place at your request. Ah, you had taken his suggestion towards a completely different direction. He thought that he sounded pretty sexy when he was whispering in your ear but perhaps the suggestive tone lacing his words went lost in your tired brain.

He bite back the sigh that was threatening to leak out, “Of course.”

Osamu didn’t try to initiate anything again the next couple of days, mostly because you came back looking like your soul had flown away from your body every single night that he felt bad for even thinking about doing anything that might tire you out even more. Was it bad that the thought of not being able to do anything actually made him even needier? Perhaps. But it had been a while and quite a while since you had done anything intimate and being a normal young man with normal needs, he felt like the even the slightest bit of skinship he could get from you was setting off something indescribable in him.

Like right now, on the long weekend that he had been looking forward to every day for the past week, he swore he would combust if you shifted around next to him for just one more time on your couch that felt particularly crowded today.

You smelt so nice, he silently thought to himself as he buried his nose in your hair, and your skin was so warm. Your body fit against his perfectly, each sharp corner and soft bump molded together like the world created you two to fit with each other like this.

This was good, and all he needed was a slight push...

His arm around your waist tightened and his hand started wandering to the side of your thigh, "You know, it’s been a while since we... you know...”

He tried his hardest to not press against you when you pushed your hips back as you turned around to face him, “Hm?”

“And I miss you...” his voice was dripping with honey as his lips ghosted over where your ear connected to your neck.

You grinned, feeling the way he got more and more handsy all over you, “Is that so?”

Osamu felt his chest swelling when you didn’t push him away, “Uhm.”

Your hand was on his toned chest as you slowly sat up and he couldn’t help but let out a heavy breath in anticipation when you inched towards him.

He nearly lost balance and fell off the couch when the doorbell rang.

He wanted to scream when you perked up, snapping towards the door in excitement, “Oh it must be my parcel!”

A million different curses in all the languages he didn’t know he knew ran through his head as you leaped out of his arms, leaving his hand hanging in the air as you hopped over to the door.

His eyes followed your frame like a puppy who got kicked to the side as you, not sparing him a glance, happily walked into your room with the card box in your hand.

Running his hand down his face, he let out a muffled groan as his plan was spoiled. Throwing his head back in frustration, he felt the dread building up inside of him when he felt the familiar stuffiness in his pants.

Oh. Oh hello.

Not that you were aware, but he had gotten rather familiar with the shower and its temperature settings the past week and as he once again shivered under the cold water that rained on his head like a waterfall, he contemplated the possibility of being drowned in a cold shower.

Your hand was shaking as you moved the mouse so that the arrow on the screen hovered over the send button.

Was this all? Was there anything you needed to add? You paused, your mind in a state of blank before your finger bounced against the key. You stared while the page buffered, before it returned to your mailbox.

You blinked, processing this sudden overwhelming feeling that was the fact that there was nothing you needed to do anymore.

It’s over. The earlier hollowness caught up to you in the form of thundering joy and trumpets going off in your head. You finished up everything.

You could not help the little squeal that you let out as you stretched your arms wide, rolling your shoulders bac to reward them for carrying you through. Clasping your hand together, you almost felt like humming when you saw that it was just in time for lunch.

You could not be in a better mood. Your work was done and you managed to get it cleared out before lunch. How long had it been since you last had the leisure to really savour your food instead of gulping it down to squeeze out more time?

You paused when you opened the lid of the bento, tilting your head to the side as you took in the very oddly shaped onigiri that was sitting in the center.

Hm- oh? Oh.

You scrambled to shut the box up with flailing hands when you realised what it actually was, looking around in panic to check if anyone had seen what was inside just then.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

What was he thinking? Your chest was pounding and your face was steaming with embarrassment at the very visual representation of the last thing that was safe for being shown in the office. How the hell would he think that this was a good idea?

Sliding your lower body off your chair, you carefully lifted up the corner of the lid so that you could peak inside to confirm your suspicion.

For fuck sake.

You attracted the bewildered gaze of a few concerned colleagues when you flopped down onto your desk, hiding your burning face on the cold surface to calm down your mind that was going haywire from what you have noticed in addition to the what you had figured out earlier.

That dummy did not model it after his own...

You were not sure if you wanted to be angry or amused when Osamu gingerly, but also a bit anticipatingly poked his head out from the doorway to observe you from afar when you came home that night.

All that was left was for him to have a tall to wag behind him when he stared at you with his round eyes like he wanted to say something but was also too scared to bring it up.

“Samu.”

He immediately stood up straight, “Yes?”

“I’ll give you 10 seconds to explain yourself.”

He blinked, his eyes skittering around the room before focusing back on you, “Was it not obvious enough?”

You found yourself unable to question his logic. Palming yourself, you did not know if laughing was the right reaction when he snuck up next to you and very awkwardly pulled you closer to him before resting his chin on your shoulder, looking up at you with a look that he deemed to be extremely irresistable.

Fine, he looked kind of cute.

You wanted to smack him when he very eagerly latched onto you when you turned to face him, his hands being everything but well-behaved as he leaned over to kiss you square on the lips.

His eyes widened when you put your hand on his face right when he was almost touching you.

“Should I worry about you doing that again?”

He shook his head frantically, looking at you from behind his bangs with a pleading look.

You laughed, before moving your hand away and let him close the distance between your lips.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu imagines

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bcdwhcre · 4 years ago

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“Stars Aligned,” Ch. 4

A/N: fanfic is on my wattpad @/ xTodorcki

Word count: 2024

Warnings: none

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

It's been a few days since the incident that occurred with Bakugou. You two haven't spoken much, except him calling you dumb nicknames or talking about how powerful he is.

But the day came to where it was the UA sports festival and you weren't all that excited about it. For one, you hated sports and two, Aizawa made it clear that class 1-A will most likely get most of the spotlight and being the center of attention especially on tv made you uneasy.

You made up many excuses in your head to get you out of this situation but it was of no use. Your father made it clear how excited he was to come and watch you and that made you even more terrified. The overwhelming eyes of your father watching you made you shake at the thought of it.

He was very judgmental, even a slight mistake and he might turn it into a lecture once you get home and you weren't prepared for that.

All of class 1-A stood around the waiting room in their gym clothes. You had spoken to Midoryia a few times about how you didn't want to do this but he had reassured you it would be easy and fun.

The amount of anxiety you felt built up inside of you was begging to explode and send you into a full meltdown but you held yourself up and tried to convince yourself to stop being so dramatic.

Bakugou had noticed how uneven your breathing was, it kinda made him chuckle.

"Quit being a baby, newbie." You scoffed at his words, looking away from him and heard Present Mic shouting.

You wanted to just crawl in a hole in the ground and lay there. How did you manage to even let your dad force you to attend this school?

Your face started to grow red as you stepped outside in the middle of the arena with your classmates, trying to hide yourself behind Todoroki considering he was much taller than you and nicer at that. Your eyes managed to look up for one second and met your fathers gaze, a stern look on his face and you knew if you disappointed him out here, it'll be a tough time for you later.

"Don't overthink it, you'll do fine— your quirk is better than most of these kids anyways." Todoroki mumbled from in front of you, noticing how much you were trying to hide and moved aside as he put his hand on your shoulder.

The last few days, Todoroki and Deku have both been really supportive after the event of you and Bakugo. Everyone else seemed too terrified to even talk to you longer than 10 minutes but the two boys have stood by and made sure to hang out with you after class and even help during training days.

You three even have hung out after school a few times by grabbing a bite to eat or just going to the study hall. Ashido and Uraraka have joined once or twice to be there for you as well but it seemed like everyone else was keeping their distance.

You took a deep breath in, closing your eyes to think about everything and build up the self confidence. Your quirk is great, you can do this, you can make it up on top, you're overthinking it. You repeated to yourself over and over again until it was time to do the first event.

An obstacle course, great.

You heard that we can use whatever we needed to, quirk and all. Everyone was on their own and they had to make it to the finish line in order to get to the next level.

Once the alarm was blasted. You managed to start running and luckily for you, you were pretty good at it but you obviously used the boost of the your weather quirk and breeze you through most of the students with the wind.

Bakugou had noticed you when you caught up to him and a few others. He wanted to make sure he was number 1, to prove to everyone that they're beneath him and he was practically the King at UA.

"Fuck off, Y/N." He tried to blast you back and you glared at him for trying to play dirty but you expected nothing less from him.

As much as you hated this stupid sports festival, seeing Bakugou's ego get trampled on a little will definitely make you happy and make this festival worth doing. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped your mouth from the thought of it.

"Sorry, Katsuki but I'll make sure you're behind me today." You winked at him and made the wind much stronger to push you past him and his face turned red as he pushed his limit.

Todoroki had done the same and it was now down to the three of you but Katsuki and Shoto were too busy with each other to even realize Deku blasting his way through past all three of you at such a intense pace.

You were impressed but this had pushed you to try to use your quirk at its full advantage. The two boys behind you did the same and all of a sudden, the race was over. It was down by an inch but your eyes widen hearing your name through Present Mic.

"What the hell?!" Katsuki yelled, seemed like steam was coming out from his ears and you looked over at him.

"Can't handle losing to a girl, Kacchan?" You used the nickname he didn't really like, that made him more angry and he started mumbling under his breath. All you managed to hear was, 'fucking newbie'

As the day went on, the sports festival had finally ended and you came in too short. Third place. It wasn't terrible for someone who didn't want to be here but Bakugou was angry for winning in a way he didn't want to.

As the class gathered back in the waiting room they were in before the festival, the room was just filled with complaining coming from him. Yelling and screaming at Todoroki and the whole class just stayed quiet, including you.

Bakugou was a confusing character to know. One minutes he wants to destroy everyone and the next he's mad because he won first place. You never know what's going on inside that thick skull of his but the constant bickering and yelling at everyone for something no one could control is a bit ridiculous.

After changing back into school uniforms, Bakugou had simply vanished and your mind had wondered where he went considering how upset he was. You stepped outside by yourself, you were supposed to wait for Midoryia and Todoroki but you felt as if you needed to check on him before he ends up exploding something.

You finally seen him from afar, near the training grounds the students used on training days. He walked inside the room and you hesitated before walking to him. You clung onto your school bag and walked inside the building, watching him hit the punching back that sat in the coroner of the room.

You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out, deep down you were a bit scared even though you did manage to handle him and keep him on his toes when he annoyed you.

His back was facing you, he was still wearing his gym clothes which you found quite odd but he continued punching the back over and over until suddenly he used his explosion to rip the bag apart and watched it drop on the floor and make a mess throughout the room.

Suddenly his eyes met yours, he looked a bit shocked but still was angry behind it. He scoffed when he seen you, looking down at the punching bag and back to where there was another one.

"Are you going to destroy that one too?" You questioned, your feet making their way over to him once he started to punch that one too but he stopped to look back at you.

"If I have to, yes. It's better than beating Todoroki's face in." He admitted, shaking his head to try to get rid of the thoughts of the sports festival.

He was beyond angry and frustrated. He worked so hard to come up on top and when he ends up winning, he doesn't want to accept the way he won. He was better than that, his training was better than that.

"Maybe talking about it could help?" You knew it was a stupid attempt, Bakugou would never talk about his feelings nor would he even talk at all.

"I mean- I still consider you a friend, ya know. You can always rant if needed." He glared at you once you mentioned the word, friend. He barely had any and he never considered his classmates his friends. Maybe Kirishima but even then, he still gets on Bakugou's nerves.

"I don't have friends." He stated coldly, his hard stare felt as if he was seeing right through you and you closed your mouth as you thought about something else.

"Even though you hate to admit it, Katsuki, you have friends. Stop with the tough act like you're better off alone, it'll just end up hurting you in the long run." You shrugged, picking up your school bag off the floor and dusted off your uniform skirt and turned to walk out the door.

"Hey, dumb ass." He spoke before you could walk out the door and you turned to meet his gaze, his eyes softened up a bit and he seemed less angry. You were hoping you calmed him down even just a little.

He stood there, he wanted to say something but then again he didn't want to say anything at all. He was a mixed signal, you didn't know how to read him or how to tell his emotions apart except for his temper and his anger.

He was a pain, has been for the few weeks you've been here but you couldn't help the sudden urge to help him when you feel like he needs it. Even though he hate to show emotions and his feelings, you knew when he needs at least someone to help him out of his deep hole of anger and rage.

"It's okay, I get it." You understood what he wanted to say, maybe it was a thank you or maybe it was something along the lines of the weird friendship you both had.

You waved goodbye at him, walking out the training room and towards the front gates when Midoryia and Todoroki stood, still waiting for you.

"What took you so long?" Izuku spoke, excited once he seen you walking towards them.

"Oh, I had to do something sorry! Are we going to go eat? I'm starving."

"Let's go to that place in town?" Izuku said excitedly, walking beside both you and Shoto.

"We went there a few days ago!" You protested, the obsession he had with this restaurant was insane but you couldn't deny that it was good.

Bakugou had looked outside the door, watching you walk away with the two boys and he had a sense where maybe he wished you stayed a little longer. He would admit, not out loud, that you could understand him in ways nobody else would. I mean, you did come search for him after all- knowing he was angry and unapproachable.

Deep down he hated the sense of being alone and as if he had no one to really rely on. The tough act he put on was to hide the fact he never had any friendships where he felt okay and safe to fully express himself.

He hated you though, he hated the way you would test him and challenge him. He hated the fact you weren't scared to one up him, to defend yourself or anyone else against him. He hated a lot of things about you but he also hated himself deep down because he might considers you a friend.

• Main Masterlist •

#bakugou imagines #bakugou fanfic #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo #katsuki Bakugou imagines #bakugo imagine #bakugo imagines #bakugo x reader #bakugo fanfic #mha fanfic #mha x reader #mha imagine

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musicalluna · 5 years ago

Text

disaster duo

i think this was for last last year’s birthday and I’M VERY SORRY. but here’s an unbirthday fic @flange5 i wanted to make you something super good so this took me 1230948302 years. i hope you like it even if it’s not super good. ily!!

The sound of Steve's voice coming down the hall from the kitchen is enough to make Tony's heart jump a little higher in his chest. He feels himself start to bounce with each step and mentally covers his face. God, he's embarrassing.

“I know I'm probably putting my foot in it, but I don't know who else to ask.”

“Did someone tell you you were doing that?”

Ah, Pepper. Pepper is a good person for Steve to ask things. She's far too used to Tony to bat an eye at anything Steve might ask.

“I've been told I have no idea how to talk to women.”

Pepper laughs and covers up Tony's snort of amusement. He buys that without needing to be sold. “Well, why don't you ask me and I'll help you remove it if it gets wedged in there.”

“It's...a little personal,” Steve warns, an edge of shyness creeping into his voice.

Tony pauses outside the kitchen door, curiosity piqued.

“Well, that's all right,” Pepper says, a warm smile in her voice. “I like to think we're friends.”

“You do?” Steve says and then goes quiet so fast Tony knows he's turning beet red.

“Oh, Steve, yes. Absolutely.”

“Then I guess that makes my question a little less out of line,” Steve says. His voice is doing that uncertain, self-depreciating thing that does things to Tony.

“Hmm,” Pepper says thoughtfully. “Well, we'll never know if you don't spit it out.”

There's a brief pause and then, rushed: “I want to go on a date.”

–

Tony steps backward without a conscious thought, his heart plunging to his toes.

“Oh,” he hears Pepper say, surprise thick in her voice. Clearly she hadn't realized either, that Steve—that Steve was interested. In her.

Tony's hand comes up to rub at the arc reactor, which suddenly feels like it's being twisted agonizingly in his chest. Steve's interested in Pepper. Of course. Why wouldn't he be? Pepper's…Pepper, and, okay, wow, Tony had gotten his hopes up higher than he thought.

Stumbling back down the hall, he barely hears himself mutter, “Hey,” as he passes Natasha. Tony thinks she says his name, but he doesn't answer, doesn't stop, just numbly makes his way back to his room and shuts the door behind him.

His best friend-cum-crush and his ex.

That's fine. That's great. If it makes Steve happy—

Tony makes a noise, a horrible, wounded noise, and presses his back to the door, sinking down to curl up against it on the floor. It feels like the reactor's been torn out of his chest, hollow and empty and excruciating.

Steve is one of his best friends. That should be enough. It should be enough that Steve is there in the wee hours of the morning when Tony's staring down a bottle and it should be enough to see his smile, limned in blue in the workshop when Tony's showing him his latest work, it should be enough when Steve slumps sideways into Tony's shoulder on movie nights, but it's not, it's not, Tony can't stand the thought of seeing Steve with someone else. Even someone like Pepper.

Maybe more because it's someone like Pepper. At least if he didn't know them he could hate them.

His tears are hot as they streak down his cheeks, tickling as they slip into his beard and Tony burns with mortification. Steve was never his to begin with because he'd been too much of a pansy to say anything and now—

Tony buries his face against his knees, smearing snot and tears on his jeans. His breath is coming in sharp, shuddering waves that hurt down into his gut.

How much false hope had he built up that it hurts this badly?

Whatever.

It doesn't matter. He'll let himself grieve until he's sick with it and then he'll be fine. He'll be okay with being Steve's best friend and giving him advice on how to be less awkward for Pepper in a few days.

Tony presses a hand over his mouth, throat working convulsively.

Okay, maybe a week.

But Steve deserves this, to be happy, to have someone who enjoys art the way he does, and who told Tony that they couldn't date anymore because she couldn't be Iron Man's mistress.

Oh, god.

So now she's going to be Captain America's mistress. It's just him she can't stand by—bullshit, the reasonable part of Tony's brain spits. The only person who's stood by him longer is Rhodey.

Then—what if she turns him down?

Tony hates himself for the wave of cool relief that washes through him at the idea. She'll break Steve's heart and...the thought makes Tony's stomach turn.

Why can't Steve be in love with him? He'd work so hard to make Steve happy. He wants to say that's all he wants, but he doesn't want to see Steve happy with someone else. Thinking about it makes him feel cut open. He wants Steve happy with him.

Too bad, he thinks, letting his head fall back with a thunk against the door and feeling his sinuses start to drain.

Steve wants to be happy with someone else.

–

Tony doesn't come out of his room for two days.

He tells Pepper he's sick and he must sound pretty awful because she just says, with a faint air of concern, “Okay, Tony. Let me know if you need anything.”

The part of him that's still in love with her—that will probably always still be in love with her—aches.

When he finally emerges, he's showered and put on fresh clothes and he's cried long and hard enough that he can put the masks up.

His resolve is immediately tested, because he nearly runs into Steve in the hall.

“Tony!” he exclaims and then his brow dips, mouth pulling into a frown. His gaze sweeps over Tony from head to toe and Tony very carefully reins in the urge to build something from that look. “Are you okay? Pepper said you were feeling under the weather.”

Tony pulls on a smile. “Yeah, caught a little something, but I'm all good now. Just needed some rest.”

Steve's expression softens and warms, piercing Tony through like a shard of glass. “Good. Glad to hear it. Say, speaking of Pepper—”

Tony freezes, smile fixed on his face. Jesus, already?

“I'd like to get Pepper a gift. Do you think you could recommend something?”

“Sure,” Tony says stiffly. “Why don't you get her a massage? That's—” He can't make himself say 'romantic'.

Steve's expression flickers. “Really? You don't think that's—well, you know her best.”

“Yep.” Tony's very proud of the fact that he doesn't scream or otherwise do something unreasonable.

Steve smiles at him, Sunday morning sunshine, and Tony dies a little inside. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it. Feel better, okay?”

“Do my best,” Tony croaks and Steve moves past him.

After a moment, Tony coaxes stiff joints into movement and heads down to the workshop.

A distraction, that's what he needs.

–

The distraction doesn't work.

Tony's pulled up at least half a dozen different projects he's been neglecting, but all he can think about is Steve going to get Pepper a gift. Are they already dating then? Like, in an official capacity? They’re at the point where Steve is getting her gifts?

Dammit.

–

The next week is like a waking nightmare.

Tony can’t focus on anything he’s supposed to; all he can think about is Steve and Pepper. Steve keeps checking on Tony, giving him these worried looks. Every time he looks like he wants to say something, but decides better of it. Tony can’t help but be grateful, he doesn’t want to hear about how Steve feels about Pepper—it was bad enough listening to him talk about Peggy and she’s been dead for three years. Christ, he’s a piece of work.

It can’t last though. Steve finally says, “Hey, Tony, can I talk to you?” one morning in between sparring. Tony isn’t even coming close to holding his own—he’s too distracted.

He chews his lip and nods. “Sure thing.”

They move over to the little set of bleachers on the side of the room and Tony sits down, deliberately occupying himself with drinking from his water bottle. Steve sips out of his own, pacing in front of him. He’s wound up for some reason.

Steve blows out a breath. “I talked to Pepper and she said I should just talk to you.”

Tony’s stomach drops out his ass. He swallows hard, barely managing to keep from choking on the water halfway down his throat. Oh god. Pepper knows, of course she knows, and she told Steve oh god.

“Look,” he blurts, “my feelings don’t matter. I’ll get over it, I’m used to it. Just—don’t tell me what you and Pepper are getting up to on dates and for crying out loud, don’t ask me for anymore gift ideas.”

Steve stops, back going stiff, and then turns to stare at Tony. “What Pepper and I get up to on dates—” His eyes go wide. “Tony, no!”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Tony, I’m not dating Pepper! She’s great, don’t get me wrong. I gave her that gift as a thank you for giving me advice about how to ask you out.”

Tony feels like Steve just cold-cocked him. “What? You asked her on a date! I heard you!”

Steve puts one hand on his hip, pressing the knuckles of the other to his forehead. “That’s what you thought?” His head comes up with a jolt. “You told me to get her a massage!” He turns bright red. “I thought that seemed strange, but I don’t know enough about the 21st century to know for sure.”

“I thought you were trying to give her a romantic gift!”

“That explains her face when I gave it to her.” Steve groans.

Tentatively, because he still can’t believe what he’s hearing, Tony says, “You were asking for her advice on me?”

Steve softens and he smiles the crooked, self-depreciating smile that gets Tony every time. “I don’t exactly have a good history with these things and all the experience I do have is with women. A woman,” he amends.

“Oh my god,” Tony says faintly. “I had a meltdown for nothing.”

Steve rubs the back of his head. “Guess I’m hopeless even with help.”

Tony holds out his hands, hope and happiness rising inside him like a warm tide. “Lucky for you, I’m into that.”

Steve huffs and gingerly puts his hands in Tony’s, his smile solidifying a little when Tony squeezes them and pulls him closer. “So...do you want to go on a date with me?”

Tony pulls him in until he can press his forehead to Steve’s, and he grins, all but bubbling over with euphoria. “Absolutely, I do.”

Steve beams at him.

“Oh, and Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“We are never telling anyone about this. Ever.”

“Agreed.”

#musicalluna writes #flange5 #birthday fic #stevextony #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #misunderstandings

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exactlyenoughglitter · 4 years ago

Text

Tea

Modern 20th century AU, political allegory, vague communal apartment aesthetic. Warning for dubious consent

She should have never taken that last gig. She should have never fallen through that last door, despite the pickings having been slim with death at her heels. She should have never gotten into the habit of talking to strangers.

All of this, Ciri realises, when she hears the knocking on her door.

But this world itself, this regime is a stranger. And hindsight is 20/20.

Three knocks.

Dust hovers above oilcloth in a beam of dusky light penetrating the lace curtains of the kitchen. The former communal apartment in the four-storeyed, grey-brick house located on the dead-end street is dark. A single street lamp erected, as per regulation, in front of the kindergarten has lit up five, maybe six minutes ago. The children have gone home.

In the small kitchen – squashed between the cylindrical washing machine and the refrigerator, where the bucket with old newspapers usually goes – sits her who is not at home. With her knees drawn against her chest, she sits on a three-legged stool, and listens. The refrigerator has gone quiet and with it the rest of the two rooms that she can call her own.

A bedside clock ticks behind the wall.

This is the only place in the apartment where you would not be able to see a person should you decide to check through the windows. Facing the street, the ground floor windows are not very high off the pavement. If someone wanted to, they could support their foot on the protruding line of bricks above the grated cellar windows and pull themselves up by the windowsill. They would not see between the refrigerator and the washing machine though, not unless they decided to enter through the window.

They have not decided to enter through the window.

They have decided to knock.

Gently-gently, on and on, rolls and steams ahead, the light blue wagon.

Dull pain reminds itself to her in the lower abdomen. The silence presses down upon her windpipe, spreading nasty, prickling warmth down her arms and chest. This is a mistake. This is simply someone who did not notice the uncollected mail downstairs, who has confused the dates, perhaps even the addresses.

The clock ticks.

The light fades.

Three knocks.

Ciri closes her eyes. Exhales. Carefully, she lowers her legs to the floor.

Half the infernal heat that has gathered in her throat falls away when she stands – there’s no one on the window. It picks up again when she takes a step and hears the beginning of a creak of the floor board. Clutching the knife hidden behind her forearm, she lifts the crappy, yellow oilcloth, and slides the blade in-between the table top and the drawer. The kitchen window does not have grating, the frames have not been taped – she can clear out in five moves, and then...

She makes it into the narrow hallway and they have not knocked again. The girl holds her breath, eyeing the padded front door: the chain, the rim lock, the lower one. They have not knocked again. Slowly, silently, she breathes out. Perhaps they have realised? Perhaps they have left?

The lower lock emits a strange sound.

The door handle presses down.

They simply won’t knock for the third time. She walks up to the door, flips the upper lock, and places her hand on the handle, pulling. The pressure on the other side of the handle lets up, the chain rattles. She yanks.

‘Who are you looking for?’ she demands loudly, ready to run.

Silence.

She pushes against the door, but feels a foot apply pressure from down below. Five moves. But they’ll just take the stairs and catch her outdoors. It will not work, unless they press in first.

The yellow light in the bleached turquoise corridor blinks rapidly and she hears the stranger move as the pressure applied to the door intensifies for a moment. A shadow appears in the gap she has created. In the low light, she catches a glimpse of strands of blonde hair tucked behind the edge of a sharp ear, sharp features sunken behind a raised collar.

The girl’s stomach jolts as she hears the familiar voice:

‘Are you alone that you would rather pretend not to be here at all?’

Through the lamp’s buzzing and her blood pumping in her ears she hears Ninsk-15 start up in the kitchen. Not here. Not now. How? How did he find me? Her insides churn as she stares at the intruder from the darkness. A gloved finger rises to the thin chain. Five moves. Fifteen? Forty-five... She should not have returned here today, Ciri thinks, lifting a shaking hand to the chain and sliding it out of its socket.

‘There you are,’ the elf says, smiling down at her and twining his hands in front of him as the door opens before him with a creak. ‘Good evening, Ciri.’

My name. My true name.

The stairway looks deserted. A faint smell of sausage and burnt meat-sauce lingers from earlier, but the veteran who cooks this does not seem to be hosting the local tipplers in his bootleg-liquor den tonight. No clatter of the third-floor window. No radio that usually plays incessantly, drowning out the fighting. It’s sickeningly quiet for once.

Under low ceilings, in the cramped corridor of this grey-brick building, he is even taller than she remembers. Tailored overcoat hangs off broad shoulders, a web of melted frost gleaming off dark green wool and long black boots under the ugly yellow light dripping off the walls. There is no one else. He has come alone. Perhaps then...

‘Well,’ the man says softly, too softly, the leather of his gloves creaking. ‘Will you invite me inside?’

An aberrant fever conjoins with the adrenaline flushing under her skin at his request, and her thoughts begin running on twin tracks, as always happens in times of meltdown. She does not want him to come inside. She does not want anyone to come. However, for the moment, she lacks a clearer plan.

Wordlessly, she shuffles aside, and the elf smiles.

‘You left so suddenly, my dear girl. I admit, though we still know each other only so briefly, I already feel responsible before you. Will you not share with me, what scared you off?’

She closes the door, leaves the chain down, and slides her fingers along the padding, listening to the floorboards creak under the weight of his steps. Everything sounds terribly loud. Everything sounds like an accusation, admonishing her for her folly.

Iskra was right. I should have never taken that gig.

Words of the overheard conversation in the witching hour before dawn ring in her head and fill her with dread. Does he know? About her, about her parents? Has he come to –?

What does he expect?

‘I had work,’ she lies, turning. ‘People depend on me.’

‘To recognise one’s duty to one’s country at such a tender age. How fine! If only more people were like you, Ciri,’ there is amusement in the man’s voice. ‘How was work?’

Ciri swallows.

‘Tiring. Rewarding. Full of screams and charges,’ that part is true. ‘I work at the kindergarten.’

‘The very same across the street?’

She nods.

The elf stands silently in the narrow hallway between the living room and the front door, taking up most of it in the twilight. Shadows move on the triangular face, gaping with darkness where she remembers eyes and a mouth. A shiver runs down her spine, and the dull ache in the lower abdomen re-appears.

The clock ticks.

‘You have no idea,’ he says at last, ‘how happy it makes me to hear this, Ciri.’

She doesn’t. Neither does she care.

‘Shall we sit?’

Brushing against the lapels of the elf’s overcoat she presses past him. In the kitchen, she flicks the switch and the bare light bulb under the ceiling buzzes to life, lazily gathering strength. No use in pretending there is no one around anymore.

Ciri sits down with her back to the window, on the side where she has hidden the knife under the crappy yellow oilcloth.

The elf does not follow instantly. He strolls through the space of the entire living room – the little there is of it – slinking beside the carpeted walls, stopping briefly before the rickety divider screen in front of her bed and before the double doors with glass inlay. Ever since the owner to three quarters of this apartment reached a settlement in the common property separation case, these doors have remained firmly locked. You can see the outlines of chairs piled on top of each other through the glass. The other lodger – a distant relative of some sort – hasn’t been back to get his things. Perhaps for reasons on occasion of which they would eventually notify third parties. Perhaps for reasons about which they don’t expect you to ask questions.

Shouldn’t he know if these walls have ears or not?

Eventually, Avallac’h joins her. He picks up the three-legged stool on which Ciri had perched earlier and sits behind the rectangular table between the girl and the doorway, facing the street. The oilcloth is grimy on his end – she filleted a fat mumps there before all things went to pot.

For a minute, or two, the man studies her intently. Like looking for an epiphany among tea leaves. It’s uncomfortable; she averts her gaze. Then, a few words fly off the elf’s tongue; nicely.

Ciri frowns.

It sounds like a variant of Elder Speech – a dying language – but faster, sharper. Just when she thinks she gets the meaning, the grammar somersaults and garbage takes its place. She is confused. Eyeing her closely, he repeats himself, and the only thing Ciri understands this time is her own name; elven in origin. Perhaps her birth-parents thought it would make things easier for her. Perhaps they didn’t think anything at all.

Aquamarine eyes look at her with pity.

‘What?’ she bursts, forgetting herself for a moment when he is about to repeat himself for the third time. ‘What are you saying? You see I cannot understand you.’

‘I asked if you are not cold in here.’

‘The boiler broke down,’ she replies. ‘I’m used to it.’

‘But it was nicer at mine, wasn’t it?’

Her throat burns, and her collarbones. She blinks slowly, biting the inside of her lip.

‘I am not surprised,’ he continues. ‘I am not at all surprised, Ciri, that a pretty girl like yourself would arrive at the capital and hope for something more than... this. These post-war cubicles – I would not keep a pack of half-breds in pens like these, believe me. Much less a young, sensitive girl.’

‘It is not that bad,’ she says tightly. ‘As I said, I’m used to it.’

‘It is truly fortunate we get to live at this latitude, isn’t it? They do not make them much better in the far-east, I hear. Do you know what it’s like, Ciri, at the end of the tracks?’

At the end of the tracks, where asphalt ends. Where the guard pushes us onto a road of bones.

‘Cold?’

‘Yes, Ciri,’ he nods solemnly. ‘Very-very cold. White. Silent. And cold.’

For a moment something reverent and hallow, almost holy, enters his pale aquamarine eyes, and he reminds the girl of a teacher or, perhaps, a priest? A priest to what? Such thoughts are criminal. She does not think such thoughts. Those who think such thoughts are not at home – they went out in the morning and never came back.

‘Offer me a drink.’

‘What kind of drink?’

‘Rosé.’

‘I don’t –’

‘Of course you don’t, sun. Is there seltzer?’

‘There is no seltzer.’

‘Then what is there?’

Ciri shifts on the chair, thinking.

‘Apricot soda.’

‘An herbal infusion will do.’

She begins to rise, hesitating – barely noticeably – over leaving the table where the knife sits securely hidden, but rises just the same. She’ll make tea. She doesn’t understand why he calls it an infusion. She doesn’t understand many things elves insist upon. It does not matter. Her head hurts. Tea. That puts her by the window and with her back to him.

‘You should know I was not trying to make fun of you when I asked if you were cold in here,’ she hears as the tap splutters water into the kettle with chipped enamel. ‘I have heard you speak our language. You understand what I am saying. You just don’t... you have forgotten. Forgotten what was never taught to you.’

‘I think it doesn't make sense to forget what one hasn’t learned in the first place,’ she replies. ‘I speak basic Elder very well.’

‘You are certainly a very smart girl. However,’ she hears a quiet snort, ‘there are limits to the expectations we can have of kindergarten teachers in the districts.’

Ciri fishes out a box of matches from behind an aloe pot, hoping, no, praying, the elf does not pursue the lie. She wouldn’t be able to cover for herself, unless the school director is lacking in something she can “procure” for them overnight.

What does he want from me?

Blue flames spring up in a violent hooray.

‘Careful now, sun.’

He speaks to her as if she was a stupid child. He did not speak to her like this at first. She sets the kettle down on the blue blossom, staring out into the street through thin lace curtains. At the single lamp in the gloom.

‘How do you feel today?’

‘Fine,’ she replies quickly and on instinct. ‘I am fine, thank you.’

‘I am glad to hear that. Would you believe if I said I felt very sad to discover you gone?’

She grips the edges of the stove, trying to block out the familiarity with which he addresses her. Somehow it had not bothered her earlier. Somehow she had thought this idea would be as good an idea as any other she had tried so far.

‘It’s very fortunate I know how to find you, Ciri. When you took off in such unnecessary hurry you see, you left something I thought you would appreciate having returned to you.’

There is a faintest, muffled sound against the faded oilcloth. She looks over her shoulder, trying to ignore the bright eyes that she knows observe and absorb her every move.

Her breath hitches.

She looks away.

He knows...

The teapot begins its rattling. She lifts it off the flames, turns off the gas, and reaches for a cup. Brown, crumpled tealeaves fall to the bottom, steaming water pours on top. The kitchen window has begun to fog over. Leaning across the table, she sets the cup down in front of the elf a little harder than necessary; it spills and the droplets hit the wolf-head medallion.

Ciri sits.

‘You look so scared,’ the elf notes, smiling like a friendly neighbour returning a cup of sugar. ‘Is there reason to be scared of me? I don’t bite.’

‘What do you want?’ she demands.

‘At the moment, I would like a drink.’

‘You have it.’

He does a thing with his lips. ‘Let us not argue, Zireael.’

It has a lost elegance to it, the way her name sounds on his tongue like this.

‘Do you know anything about him?’

‘Perhaps.’

Her heart skips a beat.

‘Is he alive? Whe-where is he? When will –’

‘Gently, gently now,’ he hushes her and she feels her nails digging into her palms, her neck warm – the anxiety scraping her throat having escaped its boundaries at last. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For starters, you should learn to ask me for these things nicely.’

He covers the silver medallion with his palm and pushes it toward her. The moment he lifts his hand she snatches it, cradling it against her chest. It’s all she has left.

‘I, too, do not like to lose things,’ the man says surprisingly warmly. ‘Dear, precious things into which one has invested a big part of themselves.’

We have not lost each other. We will meet again. I am sure of it.

‘It is interesting to me how strong your attachment is to this... killer.’

The leaden knowledge solidifies; he knows. He is not what he seems.

‘You don’t know him.’

‘He taught you, did he not? Took care of you in his own way in your most vulnerable years. He must be something like a father to you,’ he tilts forward a little, as if about to share a secret. ‘Much more so, certainly, than the man who sired you.’

And Ciri feels like she has been drenched by a passing van on the corner of Victory and Commandant’s.

‘How do you know about... about my father?’ she whispers, curling her legs around the worn stool legs.

Imperialist father.

‘Oh, Ciri!’ he laughs. ‘Do you honestly believe our paths would have crossed if I did not possess the answers to all of your problems?’

She doesn’t know. She thinks... she thinks they met because his had been the nearest door. Because it had been cold and the streets ice-capped, because busses wouldn’t run anymore, because her friends’ plans had gotten too ambitious, and the system’s contempt too voracious, and there had been nowhere else. They met because his was the nearest door to somewhere the Skeleton on her tracks could not follow. She had no idea...

He fishes out a small purple vial from the hidden pocket of his coat and uncorks it with a pop. The black gloves make a crinkling sound. One, two, three, four drops fall into the steaming cup.

‘What is that?’

‘This is what you will have, Ciri.’

‘What is that?’ she repeats, planting her feet firmly on the floor; leaning her weight on the right one.

‘So curious,’ playful dimples appear in the corners of his mouth. ‘So many questions. To learn, to learn, and to learn! Well, that is good. I had almost begun to think I had only imagined that bold-looking young lady who crashed my looking glasses amidst her pirouettes.’

‘I won’t drink it.’

‘You wound me, sun. May I have a spoon, please?’ he asks. ‘Oh, never mind, I shall help myself.’

The elf rises abruptly. The floorboards groan. Ciri tugs at the table drawer, opening it and pulling it out almost against her belly, knowing that he sees the carving knife that slides out with it in the process. It’s better than him finding it on his own. It feels like barbed-wire sprouts around her skeleton; it feels like being driven to the train station in the middle of the night. She picks a teaspoon from its compartment – one with a small, pink dwarf at its tail – and lets the blade drop into the drawer, where it belongs. As if nothing was amiss, she closes the drawer and sets the spoon on the table, looking at him looking at her from above.

The light bulb buzzes.

Don’t look away. Don’t look away now.

‘Please make me another, Ciri.’

She hears him move around as she re-fills the kettle with icy water.

The spoon clinks against the cup; black leather gloves flip onto the table. No longer making any attempts at hiding the glances she is now constantly throwing over her shoulders, she glances at the small smile that wounds across the elf’s lips as he closes the kitchen door. Ciri hits the lid on the pot and wipes her hand into her thin trousers. Floor boards creak. Out of the corner of her left eye, she sees him stopping before the foggy kitchen window.

‘I can tell you right now that as of three months ago your adoptive father was still alive,’ he says and unbelievable hope sprouts within Ciri’s heart, despite and in spite of seeing him secure the lock on the window frame. ‘It’s cold at the end of the tracks, but hopefully... Hopefully, Ciri. We must all hope, mustn’t we? Nobody denies the peril of securing virgin lands for our people, you understand, but in the name of our great struggle, sacrifices must be made. And Geralt – he volunteered.’

They all say that. They say they all “volunteer.” Yet another match breaks between her fingers. Mummy did not. Mummy...

‘At least that’s what my colleague tells me. He can be believed on counts – usually.’

... mummy is not here.

Footsteps.

A whiff of sulphur and blue flames bloom under cheap lace curtains.

‘Here, let me help you see how this goes.’

She is too frustrated, too expectant of a blow, too caught up with imagining an entire world of possibilities in place of the single, unspeakable one now that she knows Geralt is alive. Too frozen because of that junk boiler that will never get fixed, and because of the constant fear that overworks her. Too everything, in short, to register the breath against her numb ear, to protest against the loose half-embrace in which the elf envelops her.

He clucks his tongue, long fingers reaching around hers toward the blue ring of fire: ‘Who would have thought you would not know how to make one, hm? Who would have thought in a bleak and lonely place like this, you would not allow yourself small comforts.’

Her comfort is a filleted mumps, a heart of a katakan shrivelling into the size of a prune, a moneylender who ruins little girls falling from the fifth floor. Her comfort is not herbal tea!

She wants to say.

But she does not say.

‘Self-preservation is an important skill, Ciri,’ Avallac’h says quietly behind her ear, and the girl blinks as the flames reduce, then grow as of their own accord, warming the kettle. ‘I know it was not work that made you run from me.’

She is not seeing right, surely? A shiver descends along her back, her eyes widening, and she is certain he can feel it too, touching faintly, as he is against her slender back.

‘Particularly the kind of work you would have me believe you do,’ he chuckles. ‘It’s alright, Ciri. I understand, I do. We are all victims of our pasts, of ourselves. Aren’t we? You, for instance, cannot possibly believe in being able to raise children in a way that saves them from becoming what you hunt. What you are drawn to. Monsters, Ciri. Am I right?’

‘Are you going to take me away?’ she whispers. ‘Are you here to finish –’

‘Do you want me to take you away? Turn you in?’ he sounds a little surprised. ‘Silly. Why, I only just found you!’

‘Then what is it that you want in exchange for... for –’

She doesn’t know which of her wishes should take priority at the moment. Remembering the look in the elf’s eyes, she doesn’t know if one of those wishes isn’t contrary to what he might wish to name as the price.

Five moves. Fifteen. Forty-five. Hundred and thirty five. Four hundred and... It’s too much for her. Mother. God. The angels must be drunk. Mother. God. When will the summer start?

‘For my help, sun?’

Small blue flames under the kettle dance merrily. Pale puffs of her breath join with thin streams of steam rising like smoke from numerous small chimneys along an avenue of cold suns. It’s a pretty illustration on the enamel – chipped, imperfect, and unattainable. Cold suns aren’t suns – they’re as stars on Earth; dead.

She doesn’t hear more from him for a while.

The clock ticks behind the wall.

Fingertips touch behind her ear, stroking softly along the small, soft ashen hair that curls along her neck.

She flinches and the elf mutters something, inhaling her scent. A name? Not hers, she thinks. She doesn’t understand. She cannot parse this. It only works to tug stronger at the bottom of her stomach, which remembers better the things that never happened than she remembers words that she never learned.

‘I don’t –’

More words.

‘I don’t understand –’

‘I know you don’t,’ Avallac’h snaps.

Fingers tangle in small hair, pinching the skin of her neck.

‘I know you don’t,’ he repeats much more tenderly. ‘You should eat more, Ciri. You should keep warm. You should not talk to strangers. Such is a recipe for a long and pleasant life.’

To the rustling of fabric, she feels the elf’s arms move around her, pressing her against him, and the charged, heavy silence of sparrows impaled on barbed wire that has gathered inside her rushes upward, uncontrolled. His smell is everywhere around and inside again, mingling with the nasty aroma of burnt cooking from the stairway. Instinctively, her elbow jerks sharply back, connects, and she throws her weight against his left arm, which, to the girl’s dismay hardly budges from its hold around her.

Someone somewhere unreachable switches on the radio.

‘Gently, gently, my sun,’ he whispers into her hair with vaguest notes of displeasure. ‘I will not do anything unusual. Tell me, where does it hurt still? Here?’

‘I am not your sun!’

‘And why not?’ the elf’s palm is warm as it slides under the cardigan, over the tender skin of the girl’s abdomen. ‘Here?’

‘No! I – ah!’

‘Behold: an “ah”.’

Long fingers press down, rubbing patiently and methodically under her waistband. She remembers it had felt as good when he had sat with her: listened to her story, fed her dainty, tasty things, and covered her in thick, soft blankets. When he had, at first, drawn her near.

‘You don’t have to do this. Really. Please –’

‘Hush, silly. I can, and I want to.’

But I don’t even know you!

It had truly seemed to her that the elf had been even more bewildered than her – high on adrenaline, substances, and mad with fear as she had been that night. And still he had played her music. And still... in a high-ceilinged, warm room with twelve mirrors for windows.

Slowly, Ciri feels the same burning heat rise to her cheeks as seems to be emanating from the touch of his hand. It’s embarrassing. It’s disorientating. It casts a net around her spirit akin to how it traps the unpleasant sensations his fervent embraces have left behind, and the tugging discomfort that has dulled over the day at last begins letting up in earnest.

‘Silly-silly girl. Running at the first rustles in the underbrush,’ the voice in her hair comes in-between his own quickening breath. ‘You are so fortunate, Ciri. So, so fortunate. You have no idea.’

‘Fortunate to not have a bullet in my head? To not be packed and parcelled and on my way – I heard you! I saw –’

‘Oh, how menacing,’ grinning lips hug her pulse and long, knowing fingers dip down to where it’s hot and soft and moist. ‘Don’t chirp so loudly when all you know are your own impaired expectations. You did not hear anything. You did not see anything. You, Ciri, were asleep and stuffed and safer than you had ever been in your short and dicey life. You are still asleep, given how little gratitude and how much indignation and mindless fear I see.’

‘I only jumped through the first door. I did not ask you– s-stop. I – I don’t want – ah...’

‘But I missed you. I worried for you. I looked for you,’ the elf’s sardonic tone shifts abruptly, obtaining strange, so far entirely unheard of notes. Dripping with unfamiliar familiarity and... hurt? ‘Not much, Ciri. Not much for my help. I don’t want much at all. Only what is fair.’

She is pushed against the stove. The round metal handles press into her thighs, leaving her only one way to fall toward. His kisses have teeth, and the heat that had healed her circulates, calling for nervous impulses to fuel the arousal emerging under deft, strong fingers circling her pearl.

A plastic bag with milk and butter rustles outside the window.

His hands are so warm.

‘A communal? A carving knife? Oh, you people,’ contemptuous laughter blows across her cheek. ‘Priceless treasure rolling from pen to gutter, killing scum and beasts for profit. Unknown and unknowing even before herself. Toiling to get to where nobody returns from in order to rescue a killer already on his second lease. Oh, Ciri!’

Against the contrast of metal and his body, she shifts unconsciously more and more securely into his lap, and senses the elf gets a great deal of pleasure from it. His arousal is distinct through layers of clothes – quality on his side and bottom shelf necessity on hers – and he sighs.

‘Truly, you are a gem. That you would have found me and not someone more opportunistic. That you would have found your way to the one who can make all your nightmares go puff. Wouldn’t that be nice, Ciri? Wouldn’t we like that? Wouldn’t we like to put these days running relentlessly as a rat in its wheel behind us? Ah... that’s it, my sweet, just there. A half-life – high time you left it behind.’

Fingers that have been stoking her pleasure slip, tracing the folds of her skin and falling into her briefly, and Ciri wriggles. Only to have the touch disappear altogether in the next. The pressure against her back eases up. The hands disappear. He lets go of her.

Floorboards creak.

She breathes rapidly and clings to the rusting stove, pulling at the waistline of her trousers. Rapidly she regains sense of the sounds of the outside world. Of the count in her head: five steps. Fifteen... The clock ticks behind the wall. The pipes belch.

‘Pour me water.’

‘It has gone cold,’ she replies.

‘Just as well. I despise tea.’

The girl’s fingers unclench and clench painfully around the handle of the heavy kettle. That’ll have to do, she thinks. But either out of momentary sense of vertigo resulting from the stabilising circulation, or from the general malaise in her head, the swing she executes lands only half-way decently, knocking the lid off the kettle and spilling a fair amount as she hits the elf in the arm that is reaching out to support her.

‘Such manners,’ he sneers. ‘Be good, drink this. Calm yourself a little.’

Cheap porcelain presses against her lips, pushing her head upright as a palm comes to support at the back, and Ciri opens her mouth, accepting the bitter liquid and swallowing several mouthfuls before she can spit. Tiny brown leaves get stuck in her teeth. She realises it’s the cup the elf had tampered with. Blackcurrant? She splutters and coughs, and this time, through tears in her eyes, her swing lands as intended, kicking the mug out of his hand.

‘What the fuck do you want of me?’ she mumbles, tripping while pressing the kettle into his solar plexus as hard as she is able. ‘Why? Why did you follow me? If turning me in is not, then why – I have nothing –’

A wet kiss blesses her forehead.

‘Ah... Ciri,’ the elf whispers. ‘You awaken in me such... Perhaps you remind me of someone. Perhaps, someone dear. Once. How strange is fate, Ciri, have you ever thought?’

He pulls away from her and says the rest in a dying language’s lost dialect, and the girl presses her nails into her palms in despair.

I wish I had never gone through that door. I wish he would stop saying my name. I wish...

‘But I very much like your name.’

Tick-tock the clock goes; tick-tock.

Ciri stares, and a pair of eyes in which the aquamarine has almost entirely receded stare back.

‘How did you do that?’ she whispers.

‘How did I do what?’

‘How did you – how did you know... what I was just thinking. How do you know all these things about –?’

‘– you?’

The walls have ears – everyone knows that. If he is who she thinks he is then his loyalties grant him access to those ears. But... A nasty prickling sensation roars up in her as the man averts his eyes for the first time, licking his lip.

‘That, Ciri, was magic. Naturally, terrible black magic,’ he chuckles, looking at her conspiratorially. ‘You can think of me as of somewhat of a professor, if you like.’

‘There is no such thing as magic.’

‘Oh no?’

‘They’ll put you away for it,’ she shakes her head, which has begun spinning. ‘When I tell them, they’ll lock you up! They will shoot you dead.’

‘Who will shoot me?’

‘The higher echelons.’

‘Oh, Ciri. Cirilla. Zireael.’ A row of straight, white teeth lacking in canines flashes unpleasantly. ‘No echelons beyond the stars.’

He is mad. He is touched. This is a chantage and he is the charlatan. An agent only to himself! He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know anything about Geralt – where he is, why, or if... if he is still alive. He is just an opportunist taking advantage.

When she pushes at him with all her force and runs, she knows, dizzyingly, that that's not true. It is she who doesn’t know enough, who doesn’t know what she has gotten herself into, but she doesn’t care; she doesn’t want to know. She wants out. She wants to get away. Now!

The kitchen door springs open, and the floorboards groan.

Somebody somewhere unreachable listens to the radio.

The girl moves faster than the clock ticks.

Three locks.

Three locks await the girl at the padded front door, in the dull dark of the evening. She runs up to it. The chain’s dangling already, her fingers forget. Her heart tears at her throat. The locks open. She yanks.

And steps into a narrow hallway between the living room and the front door.

No...

The hallway is tiny. Even from here she sees: the elf stands before her short bed and, with his back to her, is removing his overcoat. He runs his hand through his hair, loosens his collar. Allowed some privacy by the rickety divider screen, in the faint light of a single street lamp erected, as per regulation, in front of the kindergarten, slender legs dangle off the cot.

Ciri’s hand searches blindly for the door handle.

Three locks.

Three locks await the girl in the dull dark of the evening. The chain’s dangling already, her fingers, they just forget, when her heart tears at her throat. The locks open. She yanks.

And a large, warm hand falls against her icy cheek, stroking, gliding, very softly, over her imperfection. Just so, until the elf’s fingers begin to squeeze the disfigurement, and force Ciri to open her eyes. Shadows move on the triangular face, gaping with darkness where she remembers eyes and a mouth.

‘Well, will you invite me inside?’

She takes him in against the door.

There is no undressing. There are arms under her body and spread thighs and a twitch, and she is unable to suppress a sob that tears from her throat; tender as she still is.

‘Shh-shh, let it happen. You can take me, sweet girl,’ the elf whispers. ‘You will like it a lot.’

She is not certain. She thinks she will hit that spot in his side raw by the end.

‘Yes, it hurts a little now. It hurts a little later,’ he squeezes her sides, holding her still as he pushes deeper inside; in search of parts of her that are not cold and battered and imbued with contempt for the world. ‘But in-between, there is only bliss.’

Her curses are more than alright, because he covers her lips with his in a moment, tearing at her through the choking gasps beyond which she will hear nothing of the world around anymore. It simply does not exist. Only this overwhelming, sick passion through which he seems to want to inflict as much pain on her as fits within himself. Of which his words speak not, but of which his teeth do.

Unlike formerly, he is not at all gentle. It’s not normal to be like this, she thinks, and she thinks of how little what she is and has seen is normal. His hands knead her tender with flushing marks, his lips and pleasant voice pressing wet promises of help, protection, and suns warmer than yesterday’s into hers. He doesn’t ask much in return – she will see. She has no idea. She feels Avallac’h wants to paint her with himself until she glistens, until nothing of her remains, so no one can find her. So no one can take her. She guesses it’s a selfish desire. She guesses he has no children of his own. She guesses it doesn’t matter much.

Silver threads skate along the high collar, glinting merrily under the meagre fare from the street lamp – as if from another era, and fading dim as an ember. He wants her to satisfy herself. To chirp. She wouldn’t mind, but she thinks he is being absurd. Hot palm lays down on her lower abdomen: it gives her surprising pleasure in conjunction with her fingers on her soaking lips and his relentless thrusts pressing her into the padding. Soon she moans into the man's mouth and feels him tremble. At her attempt to touch his face her hands receive a slap, though. A sharp jerk with his hips draws a pained whimper. She falls against his shoulder. But does not give up; she wants. So the elf gathers her wrists against her chest, clucking his tongue, and holds them in-between her breasts as his other hand crawls around Ciri's neck and presses down, strangling slightly. She listens to him move within her one wet slap at a time. His voice is like honey, smearing her with the heat that floods between her legs.

She imagines the poison accumulates in parts of him at intervals, and right now she touches upon its sources all at once through his stifling, devout embrace. With abrupt jerks he pulls her young body toward him as if wanting to weave her together with him. No further. Only further down his cock, until she sits nestled in his lap, straining and attempting to keep moving. Safe, stuffed, and warm. Up and down his cock deep-deep in-between her slick, tender insides. Where there’s sound. Where they are both warm. Where the tracks should end if their world was not already long sick of itself and of its children.

But gently-gently, on and on, rolls and steams ahead, the light blue wagon.

The plastic bag with milk and butter knocks against the window.

Outdoors, a small east wind is picking up.

#the witcher #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #avallac'h #cirillach #modern au #dubious consent #political allegory #wiedzmin #the witcher 3 #ciri x avallac'h

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floatingpetals · 5 years ago

Text

Call of the Mountains || Ch. 6

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes (Werewolf AU!)

Warnings: Nothin, a little bit of language

Word Count: 3100+

Summary: (Werewolf-AU!Stucky x f!reader) Life had begun to overwhelm her. Work was insane and her life was a mess. There was a tug in her soul that called her to take this trip, deep into the forest away, where there was the peace and stillness of nature. She didn’t know why, but she knew she needed to listen. It was meant to be a relaxing trip, but one misstep on some moss sent her tumbling into the rapids of the flooded river. She thought she was gone and the earth decided it was time to reclaim her. She didn’t expect was to be pulled from the river nor the creature that saved her. Her entire world is turned upside down and all it took was an accidental step to the left. (18+ Only Story)

A/N: Yaaaa! I started this during my move and just now finished lol. The move went smoothly and my roommates are actually really sweet. Now the fun part of emailing and begging for a job lol. The plan is to have a job by mid-March. I’m tired of hoping and dreaming. I’m going to get a job by mid-March. Just like how I was going to move to New York. This isn’t the year of hope and maybe. Its the year shits gonna happen. But back to the story, I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think! ❤

The gifs are not mine, credit to the owner.

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Series Masterlist

After Steve’s hasty retreat, Bucky and Y/N finished their dinner in relative silence. Bucky tried not to show how annoyed he truly was, but Y/N could tell from the tenseness in his shoulders that the interaction bothered him more than he let on. It also could have been how he was aggressively stabbing at his meatballs with his fork.

The sun was beginning to set when he led her out the back door. He was explaining something to her about his house, she wasn’t paying attention when a strange feeling washed over her. Y/N froze on the steps down when she felt a pulse, the hairs on her arms standing on end. She sucked in a sharp breath when a strange wave of blue light came from under the wooden steps and passed along the tips of the blades of the grass in front of her. Y/N watched in alarm as the thin glowing line moved at a leisurely pace, breaking around Bucky’s feet before connecting once passed by. She watched with morbid fascination as the light did the same with the trees, rocks, and houses before it disappeared out of her line of sight. It was pretty, she thought distantly, if not completely unnatural and in every way terrifying.

Bucky hadn’t noticed her stop, too busy talking about Natasha and her antics. When he didn’t get an immediate response, he turned back to Y/N where she still stood on the stairs, her eyes wide in terror. Frowning, Bucky walked back the short distance.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He asked gently. Y/N’s tried to open her mouth to reply, but she found it hard to find the right set of words. It only caused Bucky’s worry to grow the longer her silence went on. “Y/N?”

Gently, he placed his hand on top of hers. She jumped and her eyes drifted to his in a haze.

“I-.” She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. She wanted to tell him about the light, to badger him until she got the answers she wanted. Every fiber in her being was screaming for answers to whatever the hell this place was. Completely reasonable in her opinion. Clearly, this place wasn’t exactly human. But so far, she hasn’t managed a straight answer from any of them. The uneasiness settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t tell him. She was alone in this. Clearing her throat, Y/N finally replied. “Nothing.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side and eyed her curiously. He knew she was hiding something from him. He could smell the change in her emotions, sharp and bitter like burnt cinnamon. She was nervous, a touch scared and incredibly uncertain. It made the wolf inside him restless. He had to bite back the whine ready to burst from his chest, startling himself with its reaction. His wolf never did that, always letting him take the lead. Bucky immediately dropped his hand back to his side, needing to let sever that contact between them.

“If you sure.” He said slowly and took a step back. Y/N hesitated to step on the grass, her thoughts gnawing at the back of her mind. Bucky watched her inner turmoil, his scowl growing the longer she hesitated and the heavier her scent grew. Bucky was ready to step in, but whatever hesitancy Y/N was stuck in, she shook it off and pushed forward.

Forcing a shaky smile at Bucky, Y/N stepped down onto the grass. If he noticed the shake in her fingers and the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes, he didn’t mention it. He waited for her to follow, and the two fell in line as he led her to his house along the dirt road.

“I hope you like the room. We don’t usually have guests, but it’s always set up in case my parents come in to visit.” Bucky said to fill the quiet.

“Oh, you’re parents live someplace else?” Y/N perked up at the topic change, willing to take anything to get her mind off things.

“Yep. They used to live here, but they moved to Arizona a few years back. Somethin’ about needing a warmer climate.” Bucky chuckled and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Steve’s ma still lives here, but she’s got her own place further up the mountain. She’ll come up every Sunday to have breakfast with us before she goes off to shop in the town though. So really the guest rooms are just used as big storage rooms.”

“Well at least you have someplace for them to stay.”

Bucky snorted. “It makes it harder to get rid of them when they do come to visit. What about you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re living in a suburb right outside the city. Not too far from where I live so, I can go visit whenever I want. Not that I get much of a chance with my job.” She rolled her eyes. Bucky raised a brow.

“Oh? Don’t like your job?”

“It’s not that, entirely.” Y/N let out a heavy sigh. She noticed the road they walked down led away from the clearing and into the thicker forest. Despite not knowing the slightest idea where she was, she didn’t feel an ounce of unease being with Bucky. It was just the forest that freaked her out. “I like it well enough, but it’s just… A lot. It’s actually why I decided to come out here for the week. To relax and get away from the hustle and bustle. Doin’ a bang-up job of that.” She remarked dryly and glared at her wrist. Bucky laughed softly and shook his head, his pretty grey eyes dancing with mirth.

“Has it been everything you’ve hoped and dream?”

“Oh yeah.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Everything’s going according to plan.”

Bucky nudged her with his shoulder, smiling widely at her. It was nice to see her joking in such a short amount of time, all things considered. He turned right on a road and led them up a steep hill. The further they went up the mountain the thicker the tree line grew and the steeper the incline became. She also noticed the way the road cut through the trees but didn’t take more room than necessary to make way for the road. It was clear to her they wanted to blend in the environment. Almost as if they were hiding.

Eventually, after Y/N realized without a shadow of a doubt she was not in shape enough to be traipsing up the side of a mountain, the road lead them to what she assumed was Bucky’s and Steve’s house. Y/N stopped at the top of the road and hunch over with a wheeze, bracing her good hand on her knee. While she struggled to breathe, she caught sight of Bucky out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t look slightly fazed by their climb, not a single hair looked out of place.

“You all good?” Bucky teased. She glared at him and stuck out her tongue.

“You shush. Mountain boy.” She grumbled. Now that she wasn’t gasping for air and her side stopped cramping, Y/N looked over to the house.

It was smaller in size than the main building, but not tiny by any stretch of the word. It was a magnificent two-story wood cabin with a balcony and a wraparound porch perched near the cliffside, the back of the house overlooking the clearing below. There were a couple rocking chairs sitting out on the porch, and a few wooden tables between them. It looked straight out of a travel magazine. The house was adorable, quaint and screamed ‘lumberjacks in the woods.’

“It’s nothin’ fancy but it gets the job done,” Bucky said sheepishly. Y/N shot him a baffled look.

“What are you talking about? I love it!” She exclaimed.

Bucky’s ears went pink and he grunted in response, kicking the dirt with the toe of his boot. Her praise made his heart skip and the wolf inside him practically purred in response. An echoing rumble behind them made him pause and glance up at the darkening sky. The clouds off in the distance looked threatening and dark. It made Y/N’s stomach drop.

“Huh.” Bucky clicked his tongue. “Wasn’t supposed to rain for the rest of the week. Let’s get inside and I’ll show you your room.”

Y/N sent the clouds one last concerned glance before following him inside. She was surprised to see the inside was actually decorated tastefully, if not on the simple side. The front entryway led straight into the living room and she could see the kitchen and dining room off the left. There was a large black couch with a few blankets tossed on the back, a love seat and a giant flat screen tv mounted on the wall above the fireplace to the right. Dark shades covered the wall of windows, similarly like the main house. She wondered if the view was as breathtaking as she thought it would be.

“Kitchens there on the left, feel free to anything in the fridge. The TV has full satellite, so you're welcomed to use it and watch whatever you want. I just warn you not to delete Steve’s recordings of Chopped. He might have a meltdown again.” He chuckled unabashedly. “Steve’s room is upstairs to the left with the second spare room and mine is on the first floor here down this hall. Yours is right across from mine. Don’t worry. You’ll have your own bathroom down the hall so you don’t have to share with little old me.”

Y/N giggled at the wink he sent her way and followed him down the hall. He showed her the bathroom before leading her to her room.

“If I assume right,” Bucky began as he opened the door. “Ah, yeah, she grabbed it.”

Sitting on the floor next to a desk against a window was the backpack Y/N hadn’t realized she had been missing. She had other more important things to worry about than the pack, not like it contained anything valuable anyway.

“Natasha had taken it while you were unconscious and tried to dry what she could.” Bucky leaned against the door frame and glanced around. Y/N stepped in and headed towards the backpack. “You said you were camping near here?”

“Huh?” Y/N paused her shuffling through the pack. Her books, while crinkled, had been dried and the bookmark returned in place. “Oh, yeah on the nature reserve. I don’t remember the campsite number, but it was the closest to the waterfall. Hopefully, no one steals my stuff, or well, my dad’s stuff.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his brow creasing in thought. He shook his head after a moment and nodded to the stack of clothes on the desk. “Well, Natasha’s made herself at home and grabbed you some of my shirts and pants for you. There’s towels in the bathroom closet and I think there’s some conditioner and shampoo from when Becca stayed over.”

“Becca?”

“My sister.” Bucky sighed, sounding annoyed but the small upturn of the corner of his lips told Y/N he really wasn’t as bothered as he sounded. “She likes to drop in from time to time, unannounced of course.”

Y/N turned to ask more about his family, however, Bucky’s head snapped up and spun to glare down the hall. He wiped the emotions on his face, his features shifting into irritation. Y/N heard a door open and slam closed, the force rattling the house. She sent a worried look down the hall. She didn’t have to see who walked into know just who it could be. Bucky let out a slow calming breath and sent Y/N a strained smile over his shoulder.

“Make yourself comfortable. I need to go… handle something.” Bucky muttered before spinning at heel and stalked off towards the sound. Y/N was fully aware he meant he had to handle a certain someone. Letting out her own heavy sigh and went to pull a shirt and pair of pants from the neatly folded stack.

Now that all the excitement was over, Y/N wanted nothing more than to get out of her river water dried clothes and wash whatever dirt and grime was left in her hair. She stopped and stared at her splint with a scowl. She couldn’t get it wet, nor did she want to take it off and risk injuring herself further. It be would be easier if she could wrap it up but didn’t see anything in the room. She was already picturing the gymnastic routine she’d have to perform to make this work.

Groaning, Y/N grabbed her clothes and went to the bathroom. She stopped short when she noticed the box of trash bags sitting on the counter along with tape, body wash, a brand-new toothbrush, toothpaste, and a shower cap. Laughter bubbled out of her mouth. Natasha really did think of everything. Chuckling to herself, Y/N shut the door to start her shower, effectively cutting her off from the storm happening in the living room.

Bucky didn’t mean to leave her so abruptly. But when Steve walked up stinking of rage followed by slamming the door, he needed to say something. He might not like the situation, but he wasn’t going to take it out on her.

“What the fuck is your issue?” Bucky snarled, cornering Steve in the kitchen. Steve turned from where he was searching in the fridge and glared at Bucky. He growled low in his throat, baring his teeth at the other.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve snapped back and grabbed a beer before he slammed the fridge door shut.

“Would you quit doing that?” Bucky hissed, his face twisting into a snarl. “And the hell you don’t. I could smell you before you even walked in the door. You’re pissed and taking it out on the house cause you know I’ll skin you alive if you take it out on her.”

“So you think,” Steve grumbled and downed half the bottle.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve and stalked around the island to stand toe to toe with Steve. Steve glare never wavered as he lowered the bottle from his lips. There wasn’t much of height difference, maybe an inch or two, but Steve still managed to accomplish looking down his nose at Bucky.

“The thing is, I do.” He growled. “You aren’t that fucking subtle Rogers. Especially since your doin’ a bang-up job at keeping your alpha macho on low. Just because you don’t like having a human here doesn’t mean you need to be a little shit. Thought you’re Ma raised you better.”

Steve snarled and shoved Bucky back, or at least attempted to. Bucky didn’t budge, his hackles rising and teeth snapping in retaliation. Anyone else might have buckled under the strength and secretly Bucky was surprised by how much force behind the shove, but he wasn’t an alpha for nothing.

Bucky was right once again. Steve was really hating hearing that phrase in his inner monologue. He was losing control of his power, could taste it in the air around him. Steve usually always had better control of himself, the rage, power, and everything. The loss made him even angrier. All because he couldn’t figure out the woman and what she was doing to him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Steve huffed and stepped around Bucky. He sank onto a barstool and took another drink from his beer. Bucky glared and leaned against the counter, glowering as he did.

“Then why are you acting like this? Why?” Bucky pressed. “Cause it sure as shit doesn’t make any sense to me why you can’t at least be cordial. It’s not like she intended on potentially drowning and getting hurt. If you’re worried about the pack and how they’d handle her being here, don’t. Nat’s already on that. She likes the girl and is our beta for a reason.”

“I’m not worried about the pack,” Steve bit back.

“Then what’s your issue?”

Steve fell silent, glaring at the bottle. To be completely honest, he didn’t know. True, he wasn’t completely jazzed about her being here in their territory. Except he could handle the few ruffled furs and angry snaps from the members. There was something about her that stood out to him. He might have only said a few words to her, but it was still there. That’s what was bothering him. Why did his wolf raise it’s head for the first time in years? It’s never shown interest. Not since-

“Um.”

A soft voice behind him caused him to jump, his eyes going wide. Bucky even seemed startled by her quiet approach. They weren’t that deep in conversation to miss hearing her walk up, were they?

“Sorry.” Y/N said sheepishly when both men turned to stare at her in shock. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. But could one of you help?”

Bucky’s eyes dropped to the back and tape in her hand, blinking in confusion. Steve frowned and tried to figure out what she meant.

“I can’t get my splint wet and don’t want to risk taking it off and well… Slipping in the shower.” Y/N chuckled, ducking her chin to her chest. A slow grin spread on Bucky’s face before he pushed off the counter to help.

“Can’t have that can we?” Bucky teased.

“I figured we all had enough excitement for today.”

Steve watched quietly as Bucky helped tape the bag on her hand, his brows creasing in thought. She giggled at something Bucky said and Steve felt his breath hitch at the sound. Biting back a growl, he shook his head and glared at the bottle once again.

“There,” Bucky said looking down at the finished product. “Let me know if you need help taking it off.”

Y/N thanked him and Steve heard her soft footsteps retreat back down the hall. Bucky let out a sigh and slid in next to Steve.

“I just…” Bucky began slowly. “I just need you to not treat her like you wanted her to drown in the river. She’s actually really sweet and I know if you gave her a chance, you’d actually like her.”

Steve grumbled and finished what was left of the beer. He let out a deep sigh and sent Bucky a halfhearted glare.

“Fine.” He muttered and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll try to keep my attitude in check.”

“That’s all I ask pal.”

The two fell silent, listening to the distant sound of the shower running and the dark rumble of the clouds above them.

“You know I don’t like you sometimes, punk,” Steve muttered. Bucky snorted and nodded.

“Right back at you jerk.”

The two exchanged lopsided smirks, whatever cloud hanging over them both gone. They’d be fine, that they knew at least. If only they knew of the other clouds that hung heavy and dark above their home.

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