#when i figure out how to style my goddamn hair. then its all gonna come together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

Book Drop Boy (Twice x Reader)

✧ pairing: library student worker!Twice x afab!student!Reader

✧ word count: 9.9k

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, maladaptive daydreaming (twice), twice is chaotic af, commits library related crimes, use of the term sweetheart a few times, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, doggy style, afab terms, no pronouns for reader, gratuitous swearing this is potentially the softest thing I've ever written, like she's pretty tame idk what Twice does to me

✧ summary: In which Twice learns that sometimes dreams do come true, except those dreams are just the maladaptive fantasies of a broke library receptionist and, while sexy, also involve more fraud than he expected.

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, this is set in the same universe as my shiggy college piece, but you don't need to have read that. There are some fun little easter eggs though if you have tho. This is like the most tame thing I've ever written and it's way longer than it was meant to be but oh well. Anyway, Twice deserves some love. Enjoy <3

Logically, Jin was aware you probably had no idea who the fuck he was.

But that really didn’t have any effect on the wildly intricate fantasy life he had created for the two of you during his long shifts behind the library reception desk. That, in fact, was the only reason he hadn’t up and quit just to save himself the embarrassment of another loud outburst in the middle of the most silent place on campus.

What was truly more shocking was the fact that none of those said outburst had gotten his ass kicked straight out the door.

But he held out.

If only for you.

Late nights or lazy afternoons you were always in the campus library—studying he assumed or…

'Studying,' because a lot of the time he noticed you’d show up with a drink from the cafe a few blocks down, set out a line of colored pens and not touch a single one of them for hours, content to stare blankly at the chipped desktop. And even that Jin was more than happy to watch.

He did a lot of watching.

Mostly because he wasn’t permitted to leave the desk unattended unless there were piling up returned books which needed to be replaced quickly.

So instead, he pretended to be busy scrolling through something on his old as hell monitor—which was conveniently set up directly across from the comfy chair/desk combo you always managed to grab—and he indulged in day dreams where you’d bring him a coffee from the cafe when you came in and set it on his desk, maybe kiss him on the cheek, maybe loiter by his workstation and play with his hair and—

Yeah.

It was a lot.

But you were always in that chair, always working or pretending to work and you never seemed to notice the uninterrupted hours of staring Jin did, so what was the harm?

If you never knew, you’d never get creeped out—cause it was creepy, he knew that, oh fuckin' boy did he know it was real goddamn weird.

He just couldn’t seem to give it up. Especially when the conditions presented perfectly for some good uninterrupted, totally not stalker-y at all, fantasizing.

Sometimes he thought you might have some mundane superpower that let you always snatch that perfect seat right across from his computer, and made it so the library was just cool enough that he’d get to watch you shrug on that cute extra sweatshirt you always brought. So he could catch a glimpse of some skin—in a totally normal and not invasive way—when your arms went over your head. So he could imagine it was his ratty old sweaters you were wearing just so you could smell him on you and god he really wanted to get close enough to smell you—was that too weird? No. Yes? No.

Not at all.

But the best part, the part that really convinced him on those awful days when he really just could not be bothered to drag himself out of bed and walk the couple blocks to campus just to sit in awful silence alone, in his head alone with the fucking thoughts that made him want to rip his hair out—

What made it worth it was those times every few weeks when your classes would get new assigned readings. Because then you’d have to check out new textbooks, since you were one of those geniuses that had figured out the library kept a ton of those books in stock. Of course you were, cause you were fucking perfect.

And when you had to check out new books, you had to come to reception.

Jin got to watch as your lovely figure moved through the stacks like you were ballroom dancing along the halls of faded, sea-green shelves, almost floating over the linoleum trying to find just the right volume in the right addition before anyone else beat you to it.

It was one of the most gorgeous things he’d ever seen.

Spinner would call him a fucking simp if he ever dared to uttered any of that out loud, but it didn’t matter.

If it was you, he’d simp for fucking life.

And then, you’d walk that fucking glorious ass over to his desk and plop the books down, smiling—cause you were polite like that, so fucking perfect he couldn’t hardly believe it sometimes—and asking how his day was while he checked you out in every sense of the phrase.

In a completely platonic and not freaky way.

So Jin kept coming to work, to that god awful job he really hated and which hated him just as vehemently. He clocked in every day and waited patiently like a fucking puppy counting the hours till its workaholic owner arrived home, ears perking up when you walked through the door and flashed your ID to the attendant.

If only for that.

He’d put up with his boss’ complaints and the weird stares he got when the thoughts just wouldn’t stay in his head anymore and he had to start talking to himself to fill the silence.

If only for that.

Those few hours when he could lose himself in the fake inner life where you were waiting for him when his shift let out, waiting to gather him, tired and understimulated, into your arms. Where you’d sneak into the back room with him just to chat and lace your fingers with his and maybe sit that fucking wonderful ass up on the tables so he could stand in between your thighs and you’d pull him down to—

Yeah.

That was enough.

***

It wasn’t until Tuesday when he had to come in again that week, and he already knew it was gonna suck balls.

Friday he’d gotten another round of complaints from some stuck up fucking business students—it was always the fucking business majors with those silver spoons so far up their asses—snitching to his boss that he’s been ‘disruptive’ and ‘disturbing’ during his last shift.

“Not my fucking fault,” he muttered under his breath, kicking a rock along the side walk he’d picked up two blocks before. “Yes it is. No it’s not!”

Jin groaned and tugged at his hair, wishing he’d brought a Tylenol or something to curb the headache that was already sticking it’s ugly ass claws into his temples. He really, really heavily contemplated just ditching, calling in sick or some shit. Technically he was a student worker, so they had to work with his DRS accommodation and he was actually having a bad fucking time.

But one of his friends had already texted to ask if he’d try and reserve them that sweet ass study room on the third floor and Jin wasn’t really looking to disappoint anyone else this week. Besides, it was fun to abuse his minuscule power. Fun to go corrupt for once. Fight the system and all that.

He liked to think you’d be proud of him for it, based on the kinds of texts you checked out at least.

So, he dragged his sad ass back to the looming library looking far too much like a prison than was necessary and clocked in. Actually, the first thing he did was check the chair—your chair and nobody else’s chair, he might actually make a fucking scene if somebody ever did steal it—and his face visibly fell when you were not occupying it.

It was a bit early, Jin supposed as he paused briefly when he noticed the can of Monster and rando vending machine chips sitting next to it by the reception computer. The sticky note slapped to the top read 'For your troubles' in familiar handwriting and that pulled a bit of a smile from him as he quickly rearranged the scheduling of study room sign ups so the fancy third floor room would be free for the rest of the night.

Then Jin sat, staring at the study room schedules for a moment, feeling his eyes softly glaze over until a hand slapped down on the raised lip of the reception desk.

“Hey bro,” Spinner greeted him with a wild smile and a flurry of bright pink hair.

Jin had to blink a few extra times to get his vision to clear. When it did he saw, horrifyingly, that he’d been staring at the fucking blank screen for two hours without moving.

Why was it that his head was either deadly quiet, devoid of even a single errant thought or so loud as fucking shit at all times that he couldn’t physically keep the thoughts in?

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” Jin asked, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“Aren’t you supposed to like shush me or something?”

Spinner chuckled a bit at his own god awful joke and Jin couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed, too glad for the company.

“I mean,” he shrugged, popping the can of Monster and ignoring the dirty looks he got for the sound. “I would if I was, uh, good at my job.”

“Which I’ve heard you definitely are not,” Spinner wrapped his fingers over the lip of the desk and leaned back on his heels, swaying side to side idly.

“You’re just figuring that out now?”

Jin didn’t bother watching while Spinner nearly tripped over himself fidgeting as he spun to stand at the little gate that corralled Jin inside like livestock. He was too busy glancing over to check you hadn’t slipped in while his brain had taken a trip to the astral plane without him.

“No, I been knew, but my sources tell me you’ve gone off the rails my friend,” long legs stepped over the wooden partition until the only friend he had who was quite possibly more annoying than Jin himself was sat on the counter next to his computer. “Finally been radicalized have you?”

Jin huffed and sipped his Monster, “Guess it fuckin’ took me long enough.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Spinner was messing about with the stacks of multicolored sticky notes littered across the desk before glancing up to wink at Jin. “So what can I get you to do for me in exchange for free food?”

“Now I really am gonna fucking shush you,” Jin smashed his finger against Spinners grin only to get a hand covered in spit for his trouble.

“Right, right,” Spinner held his hands up in defeat, “can’t have you cheating on your sweetheart.”

“Not my—yes I’m in a committed fictional relationship thank you very much—ugh!”

Jin could feel the heads shooting up from laptop screens and textbooks to stick daggers in his back with their angry stares. Spinner at least had the good sense to look a little fucking guilty for egging him on.

“Sorry bro, I had to shoot my shot ya know?” a hand disappeared into the mop of bubblegum locks in apology.

“It’s fine…” Jin trailed off, mumbling and blushing more than a little profusely as he turned to check the book drop box. “Not like I’m ever gonna fuckin’ shoot mine anyway.”

“Oh we are not gonna have that kinda of shit discussion,” Spinner’s hand shot out and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, spinning Jin in his chair. “On god bro, we’re gonna get you a date one of these days.”

Jin didn’t dignify that kind of lie with a response.

Spinner once again, had the good sense to not push the envelope any farther.

“And in the meantime, you can come to the League meeting tonight!”

“Your gaming club thing?”

“Yeah, it’s Smash night and we need to fill a space sooooo…”

Jin knew Spinner and his roommate—the same friend who he’d gone study room rogue for—had started a gaming club their freshman year. Spinner had been trying to strong arm him into attending ever since. To, as he put it, ‘socialize,’ and ‘make new friends.’ All things which Jin was patently horrible at and avoided like the plague.

Needless to say, he’d refused every time.

It wasn’t just the whole being alone with like two people he kinda knew in a room full of strangers. Games themselves were just a lot for him. The flashing colors and the loud noises made his head—which was already so fucking full all the time and he really needed to keep any extra scrap of space for extra random facts he picked up about you and your future married life together—get a bit misaligned.

They just weren’t his jam most of the time.

“I’m good, thanks for the offer though,” Jin twisted out of Spinner’s grasp and craned his head to check your seat again.

Still empty.

He sighed.

Spinner continued to ramble and Jin continued to only half listen. It wasn’t as pleasant to day dream when you weren’t there for the added visual aesthetic. And he was trying to not be a dick and ignore the one friend he had managed to keep around over the years. But it was hard when his mind had a mind of its own.

Wow.

Meta.

“Jin?”

The voice—deep and dark in such a dramatically ominous way it might have been funny if it didn’t belong to his permanently disgruntled supervisor—interrupted his already derailing train of thought.

“Oh, uh, hello sir,” Jin stuttered, turning to find Kurogiri leaning against the reception desk with one arm, turning only slightly to accommodate Spinner’s form bolting over the gate and out the library doors.

He did manage to throw a fading, “See ya later, bro” over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.

Yeah thanks for the warning, bro.

“Aren’t you supposed to be reshelving the books from the drop box?” Kurogiri sighed, perpetually disappointed in a way that had Jin’s face burning and shame bubbling up in his throat.

He hated this job. He was objectively terrible at it, and so usually he wouldn’t give that much of a shit at not doing it well. Kurogiri just had some type of vibe—like daddy but not in the sexy way Spinner always joked about—that made it really, really upsetting to let him down.

Father figure? Yeah that's what it was called.

“Right, yeah um, sorry,” Jin nodded quickly and leapt from his chair, only mildly bruising his knee on the desk as he reached to empty the book drop.

Another incorporeal sigh was the only acknowledgement he received as he loaded the cart with wheels louder than Jin on a particularly bad day and rolled the pile of books back to the stacks. He paused once more, just before the sea green shelving units swallowed him up, to sneak another futile peak at your chair. But it still sat empty—empty and lonely with no you and cold without your body pressed against the worn upholstery.

Jin felt a chill too, a slow tingling thing that worked its way up from the base of his spine. It drove him deeper into the walls of books, away from the empty spaces.

It was harder to look.

Harder to be reminded of what he did not have.

Of what he’d never have cause he was too much of a goddamn pussy to ever just fucking talk to you—

But then what if he did? What if he did talk to you? What would happen then?

Those were the types of questions he tried to avoid when crafting your intricate, fictional lives together. Precisely because they were the easiest to answer.

You’d realize within the first five minutes or so of conversation—if Jin could even make it that far without embarrassing himself—that he was just a generic brand weirdo that all your pretty, normal, aesthetically pleasing friends would warn you to stay away from and because you were also pretty and normal and not a fucking idiot, you’d have the common sense to listen.

He’d lose you in the blink of an eye.

Your chair would sit cold and empty forever and the imaginary garden he’d been planting for you to come imaginarily home too would wilt and die like all the other happy thoughts in his head.

It was quite the conundrum and one Jin was not keen to solve soon.

Not that things ever really went his way. Cause problems could only be avoided for so long before all that time spent ignoring them came back to bite him full on the ass.

Which, apparently, came this time in the form of what had to be quiet, muffled sobbing drifting in between the shelves from the back hallway.

It was dark here in this section of the building—free of most windows so as not to cause any sunning damage to the books—and Jin had seen more than enough horror movies to know that it was a horrendous idea to follow the ominous crying sounds coming from the bowls of this old as fuck building. But even as he made up his mind to ignore it, the hand currently working one of the returns back into its proper place dropped the book to his cart as his feet slowly turned to face the corridor.

He looked around skeptically for a second, not entirely certain his poor brain hadn’t simply malfunctioned again, as it was wont to do, and fabricated the sound entirely. But as he peaked out from between the stacks, and down the dimly lit hall, he heard it again.

Echoey and soft in the wide, empty space it—was definitely coming from the hall and it was definitely a person.

Jin caught himself moving without ever meaning too, the books laying forgotten as he crept towards the source of the noise and paused just before leaving the stacks entirely. This hall was full of small alcoves built into the centuries old walls and led to the lesser used storage portions of the library that only the janitorial staff and the university librarians ever entered. He really didn’t want to stumble across someone from the special collections department bawling over a damaged or lost manuscript.

But his wayward feet pushed him forward, too sympathetic for his own good. He found himself shuffling down the abandoned hall, peering into each small dip in the walls to find the source of his distraction.

And when he did, Jin was—for once in his life—thankful for his lack of self-preservation instincts.

And cursed his blatant lack in interpersonal skills.

Because it was you.

You curled with your knees to your chest and your head in your hands, shoulders shaking, as you cried into your palms.

The universe had handed him maybe the only golden opportunity he would ever get on right on a platter.

But Jin didn’t have a fucking clue what do with it.

And there certainly wasn’t much time to formulate a game plan as his nervous breathing and sudden intake of breath upon discovering his imaginary lover sniffling right in front of him, had certainly alerted you to his presence.

Your head shot up in an instant, knocking dully against the stone wall with a thud.

“Shit,” you cursed and hands flying up to cover the area as Jin jumped on the spot at your outburst.

“Are you okay?” he asked lamely as you glanced over at him, eyes red and wet and so fucking sad oh fucking god, widening as you realized you’d been caught.

“Huh? Ye—oh uh, yes,” your words came out jumbled, legs unfolding quickly to push yourself off the bench and hands wiping furiously at your eyes. “I’m fine, sorry.”

“You sure about that?”

Jin cringed visibly and frowned at the way you deflated under his stare. God the first fucking time he actually talks to you and he already made an ass of himself.

Spinner’s roommate was such a liar, it really fucking sucked to be right sometimes.

“I mean,” you crumpled back down onto the ledge and Jin took a careful step closer, “no, but yes. Like I’m definitely having a breakdown in the back of the fucking library but I don’t wanna, uh, bother you with that. So, yeah I’m good.”

“You can bother me,” he replied way too fucking quickly.

But he couldn’t really be embarrassed about it. Your voice was just so captivating, and you weren’t talking to him in that raised pitch anymore like you usually did—the way everyone does when they’re trying to be surface level and polite. No this was your voice how you sounded when you were relaxing with your friends or making breakfast in the morning or talking to yourself in the shower (he liked to think you did that, or sang maybe as you worked the soap into your skin, one of the two but he always imagined you filled silences with how fucking pretty you were).

“No, really. That would be weird, right?”

Jin grimaced as you fixed him with a watery yet suspicious stare.

Yeah it was weird.

Everything he did concerning you was weird, objectively. He was definitely being over-familiar and too eager, especially considering you didn’t fucking know him.

But he knew you.

Jin felt like he’d known you for all months he’d spent pretending to be by your side.

And you were crying and he had to do something.

“I mean, yeah I guess,” he mumbled, taking a risk and plopped down on the opposite end of the alcove and resting his head on the wall. “But not any weirder than having a breakdown in the employees only section of the library building on a Tuesday.”

You kept staring blankly for a few moments before the most miraculous thing happened.

Jin had to physically stop his jaw from hitting the floor when the quiet giggle bubbled up from your chest and spilled out into the hall, warm enough to melt even the freezing linoleum floor.

“Yeah, you’ve got a point,” your voice cracked a bit as a few more tears slid like pearls down your cheeks.

“My name’s Jin,” he said, shocked stupid both by your laugh and the apparent success of his comforting methods.

“Oh, hi, well I guess I don’t have to call you book drop boy anymore,” you rubbed at your face again and tucked your legs back into your chest, though it looked a bit more relaxed this time.

Not so trying-desperately-to-fade-out-of-existence.

“You called me that?” Jin asked, brain still functioning at half capacity, only shocked at the fact that he existed as a concept in your head enough to have a name and realizing a bit too late how accusatory he must have sounded. “Shit, I mean it’s totally fine I just didn’t think you, uh, well I mean, like, knew about me I guess?”

You finally smiled and his brain power cut out another fourth at being personally graced by the expression this close up.

“Yeah, you always check me out—fuck sorry not that you check me out, just you scan my books and I just called you ‘book drop boy’ in my head cause I never got a chance to ask for your name but I have it now so that’s cool….”

Your head dropped back down to your knees as you groaned and Jin suddenly felt a lot less nervous than he had a few seconds ago.

You were weird too.

For so long you’d existed on this pedestal thousands of feet in the air, and now you were stepping down from the heavens and onto earth. Not in a bad way! Just, Jin had never really stopped to think that you might be a person too.

Well.

No, he knew you were a person, just he never thought you might get flustered and ramble and be nervous in front of him.

Cause he was a fucking train wreck—the bar was so goddamn low.

It was almost as comforting as your smile.

“Oh, yeah sorry I’m not the best at customer service if you couldn’t tell,” he sighed and ran a hand through his wild hair.

You looked back up with a wry grin, “I don’t know, I’d say you’re going above and beyond right now.”

And you were funny.

He was gonna fucking combust.

“Ha, yeah, I try,” he trailed off for a moment before glancing back at your curled in your corner, fuck he could just imagine sitting behind you, your head on his chest while you—”So uh, did you wanna talk about it or…?”

“Uh, yeah,” you picked idly at the grouting of the stone and mumbled, “I guess it’s not so weird if we’re on a first-name basis.

And that was how Jin discovered that you’d been hiding in the back of the library bawling your eyes out for hours—since even before his shift started. Apparently you’d gotten here extra early, even skipped a class, to snag some super specific required text for your final thesis and right before you got to the shelf some jackass swooped in, effectively hit and running with the only copy of that book on campus.

The book in questions was one of the newer additions that had special added footnotes you needed for your paper and was a whopping 500 fucking dollars to rent from every other place online. You couldn’t afford it, and honestly what fucking student could? But you needed it to complete the paper or you’d fail and Jin very much understood the need for a good breakdown after a catastrophe like that.

“Damn, that’s uh, fucking awful,” he frowned on your behalf as your head hit the wall a second time in frustration.

“Yeah so, I’m like royally fucked either way. Now I just gotta decide which hole I’m taking it in I guess,” you groaned.

Jin’s eyebrows raised at your choice of words but they were apt, he supposed. People really do get comfortable with each other pretty quick when bonding over shared institutional rage.

“Well,” he began, wringing his hands nervously at what he was about to suggest. “You might be in luck cause I’ve recently decided to abuse my library powers for good and I maybe, possibly, could try and see if there’s some strings I can pull?”

You perked up a bit, looking at him incredulously.

Jin felt comfortably full under your stare.

“Seriously?”

The word was soft and it bounced off the walls just as much as it did the inside of his skull.

Swapping study rooms to help a friend out was one thing. But falsifying checkout dates for someone he barely knew—had essentially married in his maladaptive fantasies—could get him fired.

He hated this job but he needed it.

Were you worth the risk?

Of course, he found himself thinking without hesitation.

You were everything.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, any lingering uncertainty washing away at the way you looked at him through your lashes. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

“Are you always this nice?”

Jin didn’t answer right away. He was too caught up in how you’d leaned forward on your hands across the bench, peering like he was some exotic animal or a stray cat in the parking lot—all soft wonderment with fingers curling like they ached to grab hold and rescue him from this parchment scented monotony.

“Not always…”

“Should I feel special then?”

If his face wasn’t red before, it was now. Red and blistering under the summer campfire heat that radiated off you—woodsy and warm and so painfully familiar like an old friend’s hand.

“...I guess you—fucking definitely, ” he quite nearly shouted the last bit, startled by his own volume and already mortified at the outburst but then you chuckled again from beside him.

He turned to see you standing and offering a hand which he gladly too if only to feel the weight of your palm against his.

“Well, you’ll have to let me pay you back then.”

“Oh, no you don’t actually—”

You held a hand up and the words turned to ash on his tongue in an instant, mouth glued shut by your gesture.

“Coffee on me or something, there’s a nice cafe a few blocks from here,” you dropped your hand and your eyes were clear now, no sign of the previous afternoon sobbing alone in the hallway. Jin felt a surge in his chest knowing he was the one who did that. “You gotta pass off the contraband anyway, and I don’t think it would be that great of an idea to do it here.”

God you were fucking perfect.

“Can’t argue with that.”

***

Jin was sweating profusely as he snuck past the library attendant, totally inconspicuous and not not all looking like he was doing a single thing wrong in the slightest.

Yeah they definitely didn’t suspect a thing.

The process of fraud was actually a lot less complicated of an undertaking that Jin had expected. All he had to do was search up the book, find the student that had stolen the success of his sweetheart’s educational career and flag his account. They’d get an automated message about the flag, instructing them to return any borrowed items or they’d be forced to pay fines while the account was examined.

Technically he needed administrator credentials to report student accounts, but luckily Kurogiri had his login info written on a sticky note hidden on the back of the monitor. All in all it was a pretty easy job.

The whole thing had taken only a matter of days, in which time you had returned to the library only twice—the first to get confirmation on the success of Jin’s newest descent into low level crime which had set his heart thundering in his chest as you bent conspiratorially over his desk, your face just inches from his.

The second time, Jin had horrifically been absent from his desk, however he was met with possibly the most wonderful sight of his life upon returning from the labyrinth of shelves.

On one of the hundreds of post-it note pads that littered the library reception area, there were scribbles that he was sure hadn’t been there before. He almost tossed it, but upon closer inspection, you’d written your number there and signed just below it. In the cutest fucking handwriting he’d ever seen—cute not for any stylistic reason, but it simply felt that way just by virtue of it being yours—was written the digits and “-for book drop boy”

The noise he made reading that turned more than a dozen heads and almost got him fired there on the spot before any of his indiscretions were even discovered, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

So, nerve wrackingly, Jin texted you as he nearly sprinted home from his shift after that piece of shit asshole who made you cry had trudged angrily in and dropped off his ‘stolen’ book.

— HEY IT’S JIN!

— from the library

— shit sorry that wasn’t meant to be in caps

— n e way….

— I’ve intercepted the ~package~ so whenever you’re ready for the hand off, I’m good

Most perfect fucking human being to…

Oh my god thank you so much!!!—

Is tomorrow at like 5ish good for you?—

Also send me your order—

so we don’t have to do that awkward waiting in line for drinks bit—

Holy fuck you multi-texted too! Spinner would roll over in his fucking grave, he hated when Jin did that. But there was always so much to say and he could never think of it all at the same time. Plus, you wanted to save him from that god awful silence where you both stand in line next but he can’t talk cause he has keep repeating his order in his head over and over or he’ll blank when he gets to the register so it’s just this painful weird glancing back and forth—

Ugh, maybe all the shit about manifestation that girl who always loaned him exacto knives in his sculpting class always talked about was real.

Cause there was no way you weren’t just heaven-sent, handcrafted especially for him and all his general brand of weird.

The hours which usually flew by without Jin’s notice dragged all that night. He was so full of excess energy that made his hand shake and his thoughts race, not sure what to do with themselves now that they didn’t need to fantasize about you.

He decided to use all that extra motivation to vacuum the kitchen at 4:30 in the morning, much to his roommates' chagrin. She liked to get a nice solid eight hours every night and constantly reminded Jin of this, trying to sell him on that sleepy time tea before bed, though he really hated the smell of camomile.

Magne may lose out on some of her beauty sleep—not that she needed it and Jin would tell her that constantly, even if he did have some patently horrible judgment most of the time so he wasn’t really the best at offering reassurance—but the kitchen would be clean when she woke up so win-win really.

When she did wake up—wandering out of her room looking effortlessly put together in a way Jin could never hope to emulate—she sat at the table, sipping her tea and appraising him worriedly.

Jin was still in his jeans from the day before, hair spiking in every direction but down, and chewing his nails nervously despite losing most of them to the hour or two of early morning floor scrubbing.

“Babe,” she shook her head slowly, “take a breath.”

“Yeah okay,” he sighed and inhaled deeply, letting himself slide off the couch cushions and to the newly sparkling floors on the exhale.

“There, now wanna share what the hell is going on?”

He glanced up at her from the hardwood and groaned as she looked back down, brows furrowed over her glasses.

“Huhh, okay. So that absolute work of art from the library is meeting me for coffee later cause I have trade over this book I sort of stole, it’s a long story, and I don’t know if it’s a date—it sounds like a date, cause that’s where people go for dates and shit—but it might just be to pay me back for stealing the book. And if it is I’ve only ever been on that one date before which was with fucking Spinner like two years ago so—”

Magne held up a hand to quiet Jin before the speed of his words tied his tongue in physical knots. She looked contemplative, taking another soft sip of tea and nodding her head for a moment getting up to crouch on the floor by his head.

“You think too much for your own good, but never about the right things,” she mumbled, smoothing some of the hair from his face. “Does it really matter if this is a date or not?”

Jin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she chuckled in that way people do when kids ask them obvious questions—kindly, appreciative of the curiosity, “either way you cut it, you’ll be spending time with this person you like, yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and sat up to face her as she stood.

“A date is just hanging out with a special name anyway,” Magne’s hands were firm but gentle as she hoisted Jin off the floor and onto his feet. “You’ll be fine.”

His shoulders slumped both in mild relief and dejection that he’d waisted so much precious time he could have been preparing possible topics of conversation or strategies to ask you out for real date on worrying over how this first time would go.

How did Magne always fucking know all this stuff?

Other people were such a mystery to him.

To be fair, though, Jin was a mystery to himself most of the time as well.

“Thanks, sorry for not saying anything about it earlier,” he sniffed as she smiled and pinched his cheek way fucking harder than necessary.

“It’s alright, I’m only a little insulted you waited until now to tell me about this massive crush you’ve developed.”

“Yeah it’s got its own gravitational pull at this point.”

Magne laughed at that and Jin felt the room lighten.

“I do expect details when you get back though,” she said pointedly, finishing her tea wandering back to her room to grab her bag. “Spinner asked me, very begrudgingly might I add, to fill in at another of his club tournament things tonight so I’ll be out late.”

“Really? I didn’t think you liked that stuff.”

Jin shuffled over to her doorway and peaked into the neat little space. Magne was rummaging through the meticulously organized closet and frowning as she answered.

“I do, Spinner just doesn’t agree with my battle strategies,” she huffed. “My alignment is far too ‘chaotic’ and ‘recklessly violent’ for his tastes apparently.”

“Oh, yeah that makes sense,” Jin laughed this time just envisioning the two of them stuck on a team. “Well have fun with that.”

“Yeah well,” she brushed by him into the hall, keys jangling as she went and calling over her shoulder. “Text me how it goes, and wear that new button up you got last week, it looks good on you!”

***

Much to Jin’s surprise and delight, Magne was right.

He was fine.

Fine was a bit subjective—as he was most certainly still highkey panicking on main as he got out of his last class and walked the short few blocks to the cafe on campus—but regardless he was perfectly okay.

Of course that all went right out the fucking window in the split second between him walking in and you already staring at the door as he entered. Your eyes widened just a bit and this smile broke out slowly across your cheeks when you waved him over and it was like suddenly every single creepy as hell day dream had just become reality.

It was a little overwhelming to say the least.

His heart may have actually stopped in his chest for a bit and he did contemplate the possibility that Kurogiri might have actually discovered his little plot, murdered him in cold blood and stuffed his body in the records room. This might all just be the afterlife, but that would mean that Jin had gone to some kind of heaven which didn’t really add up with his current tract record.

But it was fine.

Because you were really fucking easy to talk to.

Like, really fucking easy.

It was sorta strange actually, how you seemed to know all this shit he was into before he even really mentioned it.

After you traded off the goods, you both sat in the big comfy couches upstairs in the loft and you listened to him info dump, inevitably getting lost down innumerable unrelated tangents. You managed to keep up well enough though and not question the winding conversation.

“Damn,” he said, sipping at the last dregs left behind in his cup. “How do you know about all this stuff?”

“Uh,” you paused then, looking maybe just a bit sheepishly into your own drink. “I may or may not have spent a considerable amount of time eavesdropping into your conversations while you’re on shift.”

He saw flashes at that moment—dial up sounds going off between his ears.

Jin.exe has stopped working.

“...What?”

You grimaced and hid your face in your hands for a moment, “I know it sounds really creepy, my friends just sorta made a, um, game out of it? They tease me a lot about going to study at the library just cause of the cute guy that works there, so we all kinda stalk you a little bit just—wow this is sounding exponentially worse and worse every second.”

He gaped a bit despite himself as you cringed visibly and Jin tried to discreetly pinch his thigh to make sure this really wasn’t some sort of cruel, cruel fever dream.

“You think I’m cute…?”

He blinked once and your eyes shot up to meet his, a pained, half smile caught between your teeth. “I mean, yeah. I kinda thought I was being a bit obvious, sorry.”

“What no, holy fuck,” he spluttered, face on fire and legs bouncing restlessly against the couch across from you. “Don’t apologize, I have a, uh, staring habit too I guess.”

“I know,” you rubbed at the back of your neck and Jin didn’t think it was possible for you to be anymore endearing. “I’ve noticed, that’s like the whole reason I insisted on buying you a drink.”

“So wait is this a date?”

Jin wished almost immediately that he hadn’t asked, because Magne was right, it super didn’t matter but fucking shit on a stick he really wanted it to be a date!!!!

“Yeah,” you nodded. “If you’d like that.”

“Yes!—ah, I mean, uh yeah mhm,” Jin choked on his spit with enthusiasm, but it did earn him a concerned shoulder pat so he’d take the win.

It also afforded him the opportunity to walk you home after hours chatting until the streets were lit by burnt orange lamps and the cafe was closing. You didn’t live all that far from him actually and when you stopped to point out your door, the two of you were overcome by that telltale, charged silence.

Filled with potential.

Like a gas stove waiting for a spark to go up in flames.

It was you that struck the match.

“So, um, I promise I don’t just, uh, do this with everyone but, do you wanna maybe come inside,” you let your hand trail down his arm and slip into his palm, “I don’t feel like you’ve been properly compensated for saving my ass.”

Jin’s mouth was watering at the thought. He nodded slowly, eyes like saucers as you pulled him up your steps and through the door which shut promptly behind him.

Your place was nice in the sense that it fit you. He wasn’t really paying all that much attention to his surroundings as you locked the door and squeezed his hand in yours, leading him towards the end of the entrance hall.

When he stepped through to your bedroom, you toed off your shoes and he did the same, staring nervously and waiting for you to show him what exactly you meant by ‘further compensation.’

It was exactly what he’d hoped.

You approached him, still in the doorway, and stepped close so your chests brushed together. It was soft, the way you looked at him, sort of fuzzy around the edges while your hands trailed down his arms to place his palms at your waist.

It wasn’t like Jin hadn’t done this before—he totally had and definitely remembered all of it and wasn’t shit faced at all nope—but it hadn’t really mattered before. He knew in theory that he should take the lead, be a gentleman and make the first move and holy fucking god he was dying over there with the desire to finally live out his months and months of fantasies

But what if he did it wrong?

What if he ruined it now when he was so close to the finish line?

He’d never fucking forgive himself for it, and he could goddamn hear Magne in his head.

“You think too much for your own good.”

And he did, and he was right now, cause the room was only dimly lit by the street light streaming in through the window and you were reaching out to loop your arms behind his neck.

Should he lean down now?

Tilt left or right?

What if he clacked your teeth together?

What if—

Your lips were soft and hot against his, rubbing at the stubble on his chin before pressing close in that precious, puzzle-piece way human bodies fit together. He didn’t do much thinking after that.

His hands were too busy digging into the flesh of your hips separated by way to many fucking layers of fabric, and he couldn’t quite stop himself from indulging just a bit. Jin sucked gently at your lower lip, knees going weak at the glorious fucking sound you made in the back of your throat as he licked over the taught skin and tugged it between his teeth.

He could feel you smiling into his mouth, sharing breath and raking your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. Jin groaned and you—fucking cheeky little bastard—slipped your tongue right past his lips and licked at the back of his fucking teeth like a popsicle in July.

Your hands in his hair hard tugged and his breath was coming faster, lips gliding against yours as the room turned to steam around him.

Through the haze he clung to the few remaining seconds of clarity.

Jin pulled away for one painful second to mumble against your lips.“You meant have sex, right?”

“Yeah,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, but you nodded frantically and rolled your hips against his.

“Ohh fuck, ‘kay good, thank god.”

For once Jin had nothing more to add.

And you weren't exactly willing to give him back his tongue long enough for any interruptions anyway.

***

“Holy fucking shit, look at you,” Jin gasped into your ear.

Both of your clothes had been discarded long ago, and he had your bare back to his chest while he sat propped against the headboard with your legs hooked on either side of his knees. It didn’t afford him the best view, but he got your head resting on his shoulder and pretty moans spilling right into his ear.

He didn’t need to see your pussy anyway.

The slick pouring out of your pretty fucking hole and coating his fingers as he pumped two of them into you was more than enough. His other hand wandered in the lovely expanse of space between your chest and your waist, running softly over the skin and pausing to pinch and roll your nipples just to hear you whine.

His cock was so fucking hard, trapped between your ass and his stomach, twitching every time you thrust your hips to meet the movement of his wrist.

“Jin, fuck please-”

You used his name every time you begged him for more and it was really going to his head.

“You’re so goddamn perfect, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he groaned and sunk his fingers deeper into your soaking cunt while his mouth dropped to your neck and sucked hard to mark you lovely skin.

He licked at the indents of his teeth, tasting your sweat on his tongue that tangled with yours again as your hand reached for his cheek and pulled him in. It was less of a kiss and more of a sloppy forming of your mouths that left you connected by a silvery string of spit that flashed in the low light. Jin sighed at the sight, rutting his hips against the cleft of your ass.

Your thighs twitched where they were spread and your hips lifted off the mattress to meet the languid thrusts of his fingers that curled up on every push in to hear the hitch in your breath.

He took pity on you and brought his other hand down to rub circles on your clit, listening for the telltale whimpers and the way your nails dug into his arm to find the perfect rhythm.

“I don’t really—mm, there fuck—feel like I’m paying you back right now,” you mumbled nipping your own trail of stepping stone bruises onto his throat as he picked up the pace and held steady on that sweet bundle of nerves.

“Are you fucking serious?”

He didn’t really mean to full on growl at you then, but just the thought that you’d really believe he wasn’t about to fucking drown in ecstasy just from watching you get off—just from touching, speaking, being in anyway acknowledged by you at all. Jin nudged your head to the side and bit down harshly into the crook of your neck, shuddering as you moaned and arched against his chest.

In any other scenario, he could never really find the right balance between too many words and not enough. The sheer volume of thoughts and interjections that raced like cars reaching the end of rush hour traffic made the formulation of any coherent conversation impossible, but now—

Now with your body so pliant in his hands, so willing and sweet and wanting him.

Wanting him.

What a concept.

He needed you to understand, to know how fucking over the moon, sunshine bright you had him burning.

And for once, he finally had the words to do it.

After all, he’d had months to prepare.

It was surprisingly easy to change your positions, to pull away from you for just a moment so he could roll and cage you on your hands and knees under him, ass in the air nestled against his cock.

“You really don’t think I’m getting anything out of this?” he groaned into you ear, rocking his length against you both for emphasis and because it felt so fucking good.

“Ah, well ya know,” your voice was so wrecked he was desperate to find out how much it would take for you to lose it entirely. “When you put it like that—mmh—I just feel bad you’re doing all the work. ”

You had this cheeky fucking grin on your face when you rocked forward so back so his cock slipped down to your dripping lips. The heat of your cunt was mesmerizing and it took a fuck ton of self control Jin was unaware he possessed to not ram straight into you right then.

“Yeah cause I’ve wanted to for fucking months goddamn it’s driving me insane.”

“What?”

Now that he’d started, Jin couldn’t find it in himself to stop. His hands dug hard into your hips, rocking so the tip of his dick caught your clit and you shivered below him, hot skin sliding with the motion of your bodies.

“It’s all I think about whenever I see you,” he was shaking when his hand reached down to grip himself, spreading your folds and soaking his length in your slick. “When you come in to work I just fucking lose myself thinking about how bad I want you to be mine, my pretty fucking thing to bring me coffee while I work and let me fuck you in the backroom.”

You whimpered under him, face pressed into the mattress as he draped himself over you, chest to back with his breath ghosting over your ear.

“Literal hours I just sit there at that awful fucking job and I only keep coming cause of you, cause I can watch you sit all cute in your chair and watch the way your cheeks squish up when you put your face in your hands and imagine they’re my hands and I’m about to spit in your fucking mouth so you remember who you belong too.”

“I—” you were nearly choking on the drool that soaked through your sheets as Jin lined himself up with your pretty little hole, pressing just the tip into your heat. “I didn’t think you ever—nggh, shit—noticed much about me.”

The corners of his eyes burned as sweat dripped down his forehead, he had to hold back a sob as he sheathed another inch into those perfect walls.

“Notice you? You’re all I fucking think about,” he pressed his lips softly against your shoulder, hands running from your chest to your sides as you took his cock and every word that slipped from his lips without complaint. “I could take such good care of you. I just fucking know it, just please, let me take care of you?”

“Fuck Jin,” your voice was closer to a sob than anything else but he needs you screaming. “You don’t really have to convince me—”

His patience had run out long ago, not even willing to let you finish before he’d sunk in to the hilt, spearing you on his cock with one final thrust. You ass was flush with his hips and his balls hung heavy and tight against the back of your thighs. The strangled little cry that worked its way out of your throat had gooseflesh erupting across his arms where he held you to him.

Jin couldn’t really be sure—it wasn’t like his brain was all that functional on a day to day basis and it most certainly was not now—but your walls clenching around him and that addictive warm, wet feeling milking his cock was on a whole other level than any fuck he’d ever had before.

There was something about the curve of your back against his chest, and the way you seemed to suck him in, drawing his length back in just seconds after he’d pulled out. Some about the feeling of your chest in his hands, of the sweat on your skin that he licked off in a long strip up your spine. Like you really were made for him. As though all those months spent in dream land, concocting your pretend lives together had spilled over into reality, molding you into the perfect shape to take him deep and hard and cry while you came on his cock just like he knew you were meant to.

“Oh, fuck yeah, gonna make you feel so good, I promise,” he mumbled, forehead pressed to the nape of your neck as his hips drew back and he sunk into you over and over again.

He needed you to moan louder, needed your neighbors on the other side of every wall to hear what he did to you, how he fucked you dumb on his cock and made you drunk with the pleasure of it—slutty and perfect and better than any fantasy he could ever concoct.

The room was filled completely with the wet slap of your bodies—his balls tightening up just at the squelch of you taking him—leaving only enough space for your cries and his grunting, no room left for any bitter doubt to creep in and ruin the sweetness in the air.

He could feel the surge growing in his stomach, the tensing in his thighs as his hips stuttered, but he needed you to cum first. Wanted to tip over the edge to the feeling of you spasming around him, so he let a hand slip from your hip to your folds. Jin only paused for a moment to run a finger around your stretched hole, feeling himself plunging into you, before drifting back up to your swollen clit and working the sensitive bud.

The mattress creaked and rocked along as Jin increased his pace, shifting his hips until his tip knocked against something that had your hands fisting in the sheets and your tongue lolling out in between cries of his name.

You didn’t give him much a warning, not that he minded really. Just a muffled shout with your head smashed into the pillows and the tightening of your walls surrounding him before he felt your whole body wracked with tremors so hard he had to wrap both arms around your middle and hold you while he rammed into you.

Jin wasn’t really keeping track of the filth that was pouring from his lips as he brought himself closer to release. A lot of encouragement, that you were taking him so well, cumming so pretty for him, mixed with a lot of thanks—for letting him have this, have you, for not casting him aside like everyone else always inevitably did.

He did have the clarity to drag one arm up and link your fingers together, pressing hard into the bed while blood pounded in his ears and his hips stuttered in their relentless rhythm. When Jin did finally cum, it was a strangely silent affair, all the words and sound that usually roared inside him dying on his lips as his cock spilled milky release deep inside you and your walls fluttered at the fullness.

And then it was as though every muscle in his body changed physical states.

Boneless, he collapsed onto you with a little huff. You didn’t even complain, just squeezed his hand tighter in yours and hummed at the weight of him.

“Well I think that was a, um,” you panted while he nuzzled his face deeper into your neck, “pretty equivalent exchange yeah?”

“I don’t know,” Jin kissed and nipped at the sweet skin of your shoulder, “I think you might have over paid a bit.”

You laughed, the joyous movement of your chest jostled him from your back and had his soft cock slipping from you in a gush of combined release. “I doubt that very much, I didn’t know I’d be getting to take your fucking load as part of the deal.”

“Shit,” he felt his heart seize in his chest, raising up on his elbows to look down as you turned to him. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

Your hand came up to stroke his cheek, clammy but welcome. He sat up enough so you could lay on your back and pull him back down to your chest amidst the sweat and cum slicked sheets.

“Don’t worry about it, I would have asked you to anyway,” you kissed the baby frizz at his hairline and if Jin hadn’t already melted into a puddle, then he certainly was now. “If I’d been able to talk at all.”

“Ha, yeah….”

A short silence descended in your dark bedroom. The noise of cars and the occasional shout filtered in through the window, but there was no other sound than your evening breaths. Jin tried not to ruin the peace while he had it.

It was such a rare commodity.

But he couldn’t say he mourned the quiet when you finally spoke.

“Did you wanna stay the night?” you asked in that soft way he always envisioned you would.

Soft so he’d know it was just a courtesy.

That you didn’t want him to leave.

“Uh, yeah, yes I would,” he stumbled over the words a bit, trying not to sound too eager but wanting you to know he would work a thousands shifts at the reception desk if it meant you held him for just a second longer.

“Good,” you sighed.

He felt you scoot down the bed and flopped onto his back so you could settle your head on his chest and drape an arm across his stomach. After another few minutes he felt you go limp at his side, soft and relaxed as you slipped away into dreams.

But though his muscles ached and his eyes felt heavy, Jin resisted the call to sleep.

He didn’t need to now.

You were here, in the flesh, and he could study you intently while his eyes were open.

No need for his brain to conjure up scattered images of you.

Because he had you now, tucked safely under his arm for him to keep and hold and fuck and love the way he wanted.

So there was no more need for sleep.

And no need for dreams.

#twice x reader #twice x you #jin bubaigawara x reader #bee writes #bnha fanfiction #college au #library!twice x student!reader #twice mha #bee.writes

296 notes · View notes

imtheflash · 3 years

Text

Heartbeat

You're curled over her body again. It's the third time and you're pressing on her chest again. Sometimes you swear that if her job won't kill her you will. Your mind flashes back to after the first time this happened.

The first thing you do when Natasha wakes up is glare at her, or rather her eyes because you can't stand to see the bandages covering her torso.

"You absolute idiot!" You exclaim as you gently brush away hair from her emerald green eyes and hold up a glass of water to her lips.

After taking a sip of the water she looks at you sheepishly "I guess I deserve that.." You harden your gaze again still keeping your eyes above her neck. You can't bear the thought of her getting hurt. It always breaks you.

"Natasha" She winces at hearing her full name. Usually with you it was Nat or Love. Only Natasha if it was serious. "I can't lose you okay. I need you Nat. And I love you." You sit on the edge of her skinny hospital cot. "But please stop taking so many risks on missions you don't need to risk yourself on. You have to come back to me. Please." You beg her as your hand comes up to rest against her jaw.

"Hey. Listen to me." She grabs your hand " I will always come back to you" She takes your hand and unfurls it against her chest. "And my heart. You can feel it right?" She waits till you nod "my heart beats for you. God knows where I would be without you"

You smile through the tears welling in your eyes "probably dead in a ditch somewhere"

She scoffs "ditch? Please, Romanoffs go out in style"

She pulls on your arm until both of you are somewhat comfortable lying down on the hospital cot.

You're shaken out of your daze from Steve tapping your shoulder. "Help us carry her the Quinjet is here" You stumble from your knees to help carry the love of your life to a jet. Perhaps the one thing that might save her life. As the medical team sweeps her away you take a seat on the jet engulfed in the memory of her almost dying for the second time.

"Nat I swear to god I will kill you if you don't wake up soon" your tear filled eyes stare at her again. She had jumped. From the 18th story of a building into a mess of webs Peter had barely managed to shoot before she would've gone Splat! on the pavement. She broke both of her legs and had severely shattered her arm.

As if she somehow heard you she slowly blinks her eyes open. "hey there beautiful." She flirts with you as if she wouldn't be laying on her death bed without quick thinking. When you don't respond she reaches out for your hand. "Love I'm sorry" You stand up indignantly from where you're sat on a chair pulled up next to the same cot. "Sorry. You're sorry. Because you jumped from the eighteenth floor of a building or is it it because you almost died while doing so."

"both?"

She looks at you pleadingly "Let me explain please?" You go back to the chair you were sitting in earlier.

"I was surrounded on both sides of the hallway. I could either jump down the middle of the stairway or jump outside. I figured there was a better chance of survival if I jumped outside. Hopefully one of you would see me so you could catch me or something"

You put your elbows on your knees holding your hands in front of you again. "You flatlined for 2 minutes Nat" Your voice comes out shaky. It was cleared how spooked you were "Those were the worst goddamn two minutes of my life. You were gone." Her heart breaks at the expression on your face. She grabs your hand again and presses it against her chest once more. Leaving it there to feel the stead thump, thump thump, thump thump. You sigh and look at her.

"I know you already are but please, be careful. I can't lose you. Two minutes were hard enough. An entire lifetime would be agony." She nods and gets you to lay on the cot again "I know. And I promise you I won't go"

Wanda shakes you out of your daze this time. She hands you a bottle of water and nudges you to the door. "Go on. They've bandaged everything they could."

You nod a thank you at her hoping she doesn't mind your lack of ability to speak.

As you open the door to the medical center on the Quinjet.

"Hey there soldier" You try and force a smile upon seeing your battered girlfriend"

"What, are you the sexy nurse coming to fix me up?" You take a seat next to her.

She can see the hopelessness in your eyes.

"Hey look at me." You tear your eyes away from a bleeding wound near her ankle. "The doc doesn't think I'll make it"

"What? That's bullshit Nat. You can't leave you promised me you would stay."

She shakes her head and her green eyes focus in on you again. "I've lost a lot of blood love. According to them if we don't get back in the next hour I won't make it. And even if we do there's a 48% chance I'm not gonna live when they put me through surgery"

"Why won't you fight? Why won't you stay alive Nat! I don't know how to say goodbye" You ask her, your gut wrenching from the scene in front of you

"Then don't. We'll meet again I promise look at me I promise you I will find you again. I'm not as strong as you. I know it’s selfish, but it had to be me. I wouldn’t dare to be in your position. Look at me. I'm gonna fight. But it won't be easy."

"Natasha don't do this don't you dare die on me!"

"My love" she grasps your face in one hand "its time to set me free. You were destined to be the sun. I was always somewhere orbiting you. I don't want you to sit here and watch me die"

"Natasha don't go don't you dare close your eyes no You said Romanoff's go out it style right?" You sob reaching for the hand clutching your face.

Her hand grabs yours again and presses down on her chest. "Love. I'm at peace"

Thump thump, thump thump. thump -

"No no no no come back to me you have to come back to me" You cry out begging harshly until a nurse pushes you out of the room. You hear the doctors screaming at each other "Paddles!" "Charging" "its at 300"

Zap.

A/N: All of the Bolded lines come from @screnwriter and her "last words + dying in your lover's arms dialogue prompts" Many many kudos to her prompts.

..Sorry not sorry about the angst.

#Natasha romanoff x reader #angst #gender nuetral reader #major character death #oops #😅🤷‍♀️

130 notes · View notes

starsstruck · 4 years

Text

shampoo bottles

a friends with benefits gone wrong. harry can’t bring himself to get rid of everything you’ve left at his place after things fall apart. beat up red cars, crumpled sweatshirts and of course, shampoo bottles.

based off the song “shampoo bottles” by peach pit.

pairing: harry x reader words: 6.9k rating: M

a/n: this is just a little something i had inspiration for ! like i said its based off the song “shampoo bottles” by peach pit (great song great band). its an OU but im not regarding tour dates or quarantine or wtv, i just have dates so its easier to follow since i go back and forth a lot ! its a bit of a different writing style than ive done before so hopefully everyone likes it ! would love to hear what you think, and enjoy !

***

November 20th

The shampoo bottles taunted him.

The worst part was Harry wished they weren’t empty. He wished that there was still even a drop left in them so that he could rub it through his own hair. Although having milked them of their last contents weeks ago, they still sat in the corner of his shower.

The smell lingered on them. The sweet smell of some flower, maybe some orange blossom, he didn’t ever really know. All he knew is that he was addicted to the smell, and seeing the bottles sit in the corner as he showered made him feel like he could smell them, like he could smell you.

He remembered the day you brought the bottles over, claiming to be annoyed with the way his shampoo just wasn’t the same. The idea of you smelling like him brought a heat to his stomach, he liked the smell of your shampoo even better. And now the bottles sat there. Taunting him.

October 15th

“What’s with the bag?” Laughing as he pointed at the bag in your hand, he wondered what you could possibly be bringing with you to the washroom.

“Brought my own shampoo,” you pulled a bottle out of the canvas tote bag around you were holding, smile wide on your lips. “And some other things. Hope you don’t mind.”

He jutted his lips out in a mock pout. “What’s wrong with my things?”

“Don’t like your shampoo.” You hummed, disappearing behind the still open door frame that led to the washroom. “Don’t worry! I still like your nice moisturizer, does wonders for my skin.”

He scrambled up in his sheets at the sound of the shower turning on. Standing in the door frame of the washroom, he watched as you pulled off your underwear and dropped them aside. He knew that you could feel him watching you, and that you were pretending not to notice or care.

Stepping into the shower, shutting the glass door behind you as you let the water hit your back. He stayed where he was for a minute, until steam was beginning to fog the glass door that separated you two and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Let me do that,” humming as he stepped into the shower next to you, just as you were reaching for the shampoo bottle that you brought.

“Awfully nice of you,” moving aside slightly, you passed him the shampoo bottle. Moving around so that he stood directly in front of, you letting you stand under the stream of water. Squeezing some shampoo out onto his hand, he put the bottle down and rubbed his hand through your hair.

“Feels nice,” you shut your eyes, Harry watched water droplets fall down your forehead that end up getting caught in your eyelashes. He brough both hands to your head, massaging the shampoo in. Taking extra time to rub his fingertips into your scalp, enjoying the content smile on your lips as you leaned into his touch.

He knew you, he knew you well. In this moment he knew that you were doing it on purpose: the small moans in the back of your throat as he rubbed his hands against your head, the way you arched your back slightly, and the way you titled your head back in the same way you did when his head was between your thighs.

Tilting your head in his hands so that the stream of water hit your scalp, rinsing out the suds. The smell around him was only of the sweet orange blossom mixed with something else, he could never put his finger on it.

“All done,” he grinned, tapping your eyelid gently. He watched as you rubbed the water from your eyes, blinking them open to gaze into his.

He kept his hands around you, dropping to your shoulder as he pulled himself closer to you. Semi hard length pressing into your thigh, your eyes dropped down and were soon followed by your hands. Jolt sent through his abdomen as your warm hands wrapped around him, lightly tugging and pulling.

“’s nice,” he mumbled, feeling the blood leave his brain and relocate between his legs. Your grip tightened around him, thumb rubbing over his tip in a way that made his hips buck into your hand. His grip around you tightened when your eyes met his again, tongue darting out to lick water from your lips.

His legs nearly buckled when you dropped down to your knees, remaining under the shower stream. He didn’t mind being in the colder side of the shower, especially if you were going to be on your knees in front of him.

“Want to get me in your mouth?” His voice nearly surprised him at its hoarseness. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had you like this before, it was just that every time you had your hands on him it drove him completely crazy.

Watching your slow nod, Harry wrapped a hand over your head, tugging on the recently washed strands as he encouraged you. Not able to take his eyes off of you as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, slowly easing him into your mouth until your lips met where your hand was still wrapped around him.

“Look so good like this.”

November 20th

His hand didn’t do you justice, but it was all he had. It was like the smell of your shampoo filled his senses every time he stepped foot in his shower, no every time he stepped foot in his washroom. Every time he saw those goddamn shampoo bottles sitting. Untouched.

He just couldn’t bring himself to throw them out.

Nothing could clear his mind. It had been weeks, and nothing he did could get his mind off of you. Maybe that was his own fault. He knew it was his own fault. His place was littered with traces of you.

Part of him probably got something out of his pain, but he didn’t care.

Not when he couldn’t bring himself to clean out his bathroom, because of the way your toothbrush sat so nicely next to his. Or the way you had brought him some organic soaps, claiming they smelt really good and were made out of all kind of nice essential oils.

He couldn’t even bring himself to use that bar of soap, knowing the more he used it the smaller it would get, and soon it’d be gone.

But his wallowing really hit an all time high when he found your sweatshirt.

He really thought you had taken all your clothes with you. You didn’t leave a lot of them at his place to begin with. Clothes being the one thing you claimed you didn’t need as you helped yourself freely to his closet.

But when he was going through said closet, he found a bunched up blue sweatshirt he had forgotten he kept.

September 2nd

It was an odd rainy night, and Harry didn’t feel like going out. He was no stranger to poor weather, but the rain seemed to be the last thing he needed to decided that he would rather stay in. Relieved when you had shared his opinion, agreeing to come over with a bottle of margarita mix. It was just the two of you, Harry just wanted a calm night in with his friend and maybe a couple drinks, ones they could make themselves.

Soon you were seated on his couch, leaning against the armrest with your feet pointed towards him. Cozy in your sweatshirt, gripping your drink tight between your fingers.

“Would you let me draw one for you?”

You spluttered out a laugh at his request. “God no!” Your laugh deepened when you glanced up at him. “Nothing against you, Harry. Just want a professional to do it.”

The movie put in was long forgotten, now facing each other and talking about where you should get your first tattoo. You had told him what you wanted to get, you just had no idea where it should go.

“Fine,” he huffed, playfully of course. His head felt hazy, couple of drinks have come and gone and he was still nursing another strong cocktail in his hands. “So, where are you gonna get it?”

“That’s the problem,” you muttered, taking a big sip of your drink. “I don’t think I want it really visible, like not on my arms or anything.”

Harry nodded, knowing that you were nervous about regretting a tattoo. “You thinking maybe around your ribs?”

He watched as you lifted your sweatshirt a bit, finger tips brushing over your ribcage. “I don’t know – heard it hurts really bad there.”

“Not too much,” Harry thought over his own experience, although knowing you were a bit more uneasy with needles.

“I was thinking like,” you patted the spot where you hipbone was. “My hip. Kind of cute, no?”

He bit back a smile. “Very cute.” The alcohol spoke before he could. He thought it was much more than cute, he thought that a tattoo on your hip was the best idea you’d had in years.

“Plus it’s kind of,” you paused, licking your lips. “Intimate.”

He sucked in a breath. He didn’t like the idea of someone else finding your tattoo. A tattoo that he was helping you figure out. He didn’t like the idea of someone kissing it, of someone peeling off your pants and being delighted to see a little tattoo there, just for them.

It was selfish of him, and he knew it wasn’t right. The two of you had both been single for a while and he had gotten so used to having you around, he was getting jealous at the thought of someone taking you away from him.

“You’re out of it,” you giggled, after a moment too long in silence.

Harry broke himself out of his daze. “’m not drunk,” he muttered into his glass, although he was. And the alcohol was clouding his mind, and he didn’t know what to do about it. “Hip is a really good idea.”

Mentally wincing at how eager he sounded, he watched as you nodded, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “Think it’ll hurt a lot?”

He chuckled to himself. “It’s a tattoo darling, course it’ll hurt a bit. I can come wit’ you if you want, hold your hand and all.”

Smile broke out on your face, teeth no longer gnawing on your lip. “That’d be nice,” humming as you placed your drink on the table in front of you. “Did yours hurt a lot?”

“Couple of them were a bit more painful, yeah.” He nodded, honestly not really remembering. “Get used to it after a while. One’s on my chest were probably the worst.”

“I like your butterfly,” you moved a foot out, nudging his thigh with it. “I would be too scared to get something that big though.”

“You’ll see,” he laughed. “Once you get one you won’t be able to stop.” He mindlessly trailed his hand over his shirt, where his tattoo rested.

“Don’t know about that. I don’t know if I would want a too many,” you hummed into your cup. “I do like all of yours though.”

“Yeah?” He sat up straighter. “Which ones your favourite?”

You sit up straighter as well, shuffling towards him a bit on the couch. “Can’t choose just one.” He tried not to jolt when your fingertips met his forearm, gently trailing up and following the lines of his tattoos. “What about you?”

He was silent for another moment too long, watching your fingers move up his arm. Finally glancing up at you, meeting your eyes with a lazy smile. “Don’t know either.”

“You’re completely pissed,” you laughed at his slow response, his hand moved without thinking, and pinched your cheek.

“Maybe,” his mouth and hands were working without his mind. “Skin is burning hot darling.” Hand smoothing around your face, he moved away for a second to place his drink next to yours on the table before tapping your forehead with a cool fingertip.

“’s cold,” you laughed, eyes shutting in a slow blink. “I heard,” you paused for another moment, as Harry brought his hand away from your face. “Heard tattoos feel like a bunch of little scratches.”

“Something like that,” he hummed, not being able to recall any tattoos he’s ever gotten in this moment.

“It’s like,” he moved his hand to your waist, lightly pushing under your sweatshirt. If he weren’t so close to you, he would’ve missed the little gasp that left your lips. “Like this.”

His nails weren’t nearly long enough to properly scratch at your skin, but he slowly dragged them along your ribs. “But faster, and it’s a needle.”

“Doesn’t really sound like the same thing,” your laugh sounded nervous, nearly breathless.

“Not really no,” he laughed lightly. Shuffling even closer to you, leg pressing against your knee. The smell of your shampoo overwhelmed him, he had always loved it and in his intoxication, it was the most potent smell ever.

“What are you doing,” your voice dropped down to a whisper. Where his hand had earlier been on your cheek, he pressed a little kiss.

“I’m just,” Harry didn’t know what he was doing. He just wanted to feel your skin under his lips, he just wanted to be close to you. “Helping ya’ out with tattoo ideas.”

He pressed another series of kisses to your cheek, eliciting a sigh from your lips. You didn’t push him away, and his hand that had been scratching at your waist gripped onto your skin.

“’s just me,” he babbled. “Skin’s so warm, can’t help –” he breathed in deeply, hand on your waist moving to your knee. He gently pushed your leg aside as he settled himself in closer to you. His lips were by your jaw, and he wanted so badly to feel your own mouth under his. “– can’t help m’self.”

You didn’t move under him, except for a single hand coming up to grip the neckline of his shirt. “Le’ me,” he pleaded, voice low. “Please, let me.”

You tilted your head up a bit towards him, lips ever so lightly parted. “Go ahead.”

He took that as all the invitation he needed, mouth sliding from your chin to cover yours. He sighed into your mouth, knee coming up to the couch as he repositioned himself.

He kissed you deep, tasting you for the first time and not able to get enough of it. Your hand on his shirt slid around his neck, gripping tightly onto his skin as you pulled him closer. His hand gripped your leg, thumb rubbing small circles through the loose materials of your sweats.

“’s good, you’re so –” Harry couldn’t form one coherent sentence. He wanted to feel you everywhere, he wanted to cross this uncharted territory and feel your skin on his. A part of him, a tiny part of him in the back of his head was telling him this wasn’t right but he was pissed and he wanted you. Badly.

“Harry,” your voice was a dream. He had moved his mouth down your jaw again, this time biting and licking as he moved down your neck.

“Jus’ wanna kiss – want a taste.”

He lifted himself from you for a moment, helping you reposition yourself so that you could lay on your back, Harry hovering nearly awkwardly over you but he didn’t care. It was a flurry of lips on skin and quick moving hands. He pushed a hand under your sweatshirt, delighted in finding you not wearing a bra, while you shared lime flavoured kisses.

You were pushing your hips against his, rubbing against him in a way that made his breath catch in the back of his throat. He was hard and heavy in his sweatpants, drunk enough that he if he kept grinding against your hip in the way he was now, he wouldn’t last very long.

“Fuck,” you whimpered from under him, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipple under your sweatshirt while his mouth met yours again.

He snaked his hand down your tummy, only hesitating when he met the band of your sweatpants. “Want to,” he panted, “wanna feel you.”

“Yes.” The single word was a moan from your lips, as his hand pushed past your pants. Fingers snaking under your underwear, he nearly choked when he pushed through your folds.

“Fuck me,” he never wanted to leave you. “You always get this wet?”

You only whimpered from under him again, head pushing into the cushion of the couch as he circled your clit. He focused on the way you whined and pleaded under him; the way you jolted when he pushed a finger inside of you, and then two.

You were warm, he couldn’t get over how hot your skin was all over and how much it made him melt. His lips were gliding all over your skin, sucking sweetly on your neck and moving roughly over your mouth. Catching your moans into his open mouth as if he could keep them forever.

“I – Harry please don’t stop,” you were squirming underneath of him. Arching yourself off the couch, pushing yourself against him.

Rush through his body at how desperate you sounded, at the way his name was moaned from your lips. “Cum fo’ me darling,” he curled his fingers inside of you, pushing every spot that made you gasp.

He worked you over the edge, eyes narrowing on every move you made. And when you clenched around his fingers, thighs clamping together and back rising from the bed, he wished he could stay in this moment forever.

After a moment you peaked your eyes open, lazy smile on your lips as he pulled you in for a deep kiss. Wet fingers slipping out from under your sweats, gripping your skin.

“So gorgeous, you – fuck –” he bucked into your hand as he felt you palm over his bulge. Your lips pressed into this straining neck, your turn to lick and bite at his skin while you grabbed at his cock over his pants.

“That’s it,” he praises, hips bucking against your hand. Your fingers trickled under the band of his sweatpants, gripping him blindly. Your other hand was patting his shoulder, nudging him with a muffled voice. “Harry, move up a bit.”

He scrambled up to his knees, pulling you up with him until he sat with his back against the couch with you on his lap. You were pushing up his shirt, kissing at his neck while your hand gently jerked him off.

“Jesus you’re –” he fell into your touch, leaning against you. The whine that left his throat as your hand left his cock came from deep in his chest. Watching closely as you spat into your hand before shifting over him again.

He couldn’t help the way he gripped your thighs as you worked your hand over him, until he was bucking his hips into your hand. A whining mess, begging you over and over again to keep going, to not stop and to never leave him.

“You are – fuck,” he held you tight as he dropped is head in the crook of your neck, breathing uneven as he came on your hand. After a moment he pulled you in for a sloppy kiss, helping you off the couch with wobbly legs to get the both of you cleaned up.

November 20th

He remembers that day like it was yesterday. The way you whined and whimpered under him for the first time, the way he found himself intoxicated (and not just by the alcohol).

Shy smiles were shared as he offered you stay the night, too late and both still too intoxicated to drive. You had decided you were too hot in your sweatshirt and grabbed one of his shirts instead. He pulled you in close under his sheets, kissing over your exposed skin and wanting to melt in the warmth coming off your body.

And apparently, you had completely forgotten about your sweatshirt.

The next morning neither of you said anything. Nothing of the sorts was even brought up again until a week later when you guys were out for a drink and he suddenly ached to have you under him. He had kissed you outside the bar, pulling you home with him until you were sat on his thigh grinding and moaning against him.

It had continued that way for a couple more weeks, neither of you really making any mention of it except for slipping hands under clothing and stealing kisses after a couple drinks.

That was, until you had sex for the first time. He was barely drunk, only needing one drink as an excuse to call you. Bugging you nonstop from outside the bar, wanting you to be there with him. He had managed to get you to drive over and pick him up, in your sweats and his shirt because you had been just about to go to bed.

You had walked him into his place, making sure he drank two glasses of water before he pulled you into bed with him, saying that since you were already ready for bed you may as well just stay the night there with him.

Cuddling into you, he couldn’t help kissing his way down until soon he had you on your back with his head between your thighs. Telling you over and over again that it was a ‘thank you’ for coming to pick him up.

But it wasn’t enough for him to grind against the mattress, while he pulled an orgasm out of you. He was greedy, he wanted another one, he wanted to feel you everywhere.

He eased you up to your knees, bending you over on the mattress with your ass in the air while he fumbled with the condom. It was everything he could’ve dreamt of and more, so much more. He couldn’t get enough, and didn’t think he ever would. Holding your close against him, chest pressed to your back as he praised you endlessly. You were just as warm around him as you were his fingers, and he had to grip you so tight to make sure it was real.

Both ending the night passed out side by side, he knew the next morning he needed to say something.

September 19th

“Bit sore,” you laughed, following him around the corner from the washroom. He was getting some breakfast ready, and the sight of you standing in his shirt and nothing else made him want to take you over the counter again.

“Sorry about that,” he smiled, mind worrying over what to say next. “I – last night was fun, yeah?”

Leaning against the counter next to him, grabbing a handful of grapes from the bowl in front of you. “It was,” you voice was quiet, nearly timid.

“I –,” he paused again, unable to form the sentences he wanted to. ‘I like fooling around with you’ or ‘I like fucking you’ didn’t sound nice rolling off the tongue. “I like doing… what we’re doing. And I want to keep doing what we’re doing. If you do too.” He bit his lips together, mentally cringing at how awkward he sounded.

“I do too,” you said, averting your eyes from his as you nodded. “Both single, and it’s been a while, and…” Harry was relieved to see you also didn’t seem to know how to voice your feelings. “We’re friends.”

He nodded slowly, watching your every move. “Then, we’re doing this? Don’t need to wait for an excuse to have you come over anymore?”

Laughing lightly, you finally met his eyes. “Yeah,” you voice was airy. “But if either of us meet someone or need to end it, we do. Right?”

“Right,” he nodded, almost too eagerly and the new agreement. “What do you want for breakfast?”

November 23rd

Apparently, he couldn’t escape you outside of his house either. Deciding that wallowing by himself wasn’t going to get him anywhere, he thought that maybe a run would help clear his mind. It worked, for a good ten minutes before he stopped dead in his tracks.

Blocks away from his place he saw a red car parked. The same make and model of your red car.

Was it you? Could it be you? What are you doing so close to his house? He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks, not since the fight that made you leave in such a rush that you left your shampoo bottles in his shower.

Tentatively walking towards the parked car, not seeing the pendant that you kept hanging off the review mirror. He decided it was too risky, that if it was your car, he wasn’t ready to see you, especially if he was snooping around your car.

But the car was still there the next day. Deciding fuck it, and walked towards it, hoping he didn’t look suspicious for whatever reason. As he got closer, he saw for a fact that there was no pendant hanging from the review mirror, and that those dents by the door were not there.

It wasn’t you.

He didn’t know if he was upset or relieved. He almost missed those dents on the door, always telling you to get it fixed. Stubborn as always, constantly telling him that “I don’t need to get it fixed if it doesn’t affect how it drives.”

That car was the last thing he saw before you left his house the last time he saw you.

November 5th

“What are you feeling for dinner?”

You hummed, opening up his fridge to stare at the contents. “We can make…” you were mumbling to yourself, examining the contents. “Do you have rice? We can make a stir fry,” you squinted in the fridge.

“Sounds good,” reaching through his cupboards for a pan, as you grabbed a cutting board and a knife, always preferring to chop the vegetables. “How’s your week?”

“Fine,” mumbling from where you stood across from him in the kitchen. “Work was the same, not to stressful right now which is nice. I, uh –”

He looked up at the hesitation in your voice. “I had a date.”

He nearly let go of the pot in his hand. He felt his stomach dropping, happy to be occupied with turning on the stove as he didn’t have to face you. “Yeah?” trying to keep his face calm before turning around to you again. “With who?”

“A guy from work,” you were averting your eyes, twisting the ring around your middle finger. You were nervous, he realized.

“How’d it go?”

“Okay,” you shrugged, looking down at your hands as they worked chopping the onion on the board in front of you. “We um –”

Finally you looked up at him. “We didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t know what to say. “Didn’t do it for you?” He tried to joke, but based off your expression he realized that really wasn’t what he should’ve said.

“Just thought you should know,” you looked away from him again, voice quiet. “Since y’know, we’re…”

Condoms had been long forgotten between the two of you. It was a silent agreement, that one should tell the other if they were going to be having sex with someone else. But for some reason, Harry had never imagined that conversation happening.

“Are you,” he tried to not let his voice shake. “Are you telling me you want to sleep with him?”

“No,” you shrugged slightly, pushing the onion around with the knife. “Don’t think that’ll happen. Just thought you should know.”

He willed himself to seem unbothered. “Okay.”

Back towards you again, pouring some oil into the pan on the burner. He could feel you watching him. Spinning back around, he saw you with your lips pressed to a thin line.

“What if I did want to sleep with him though?”

“You said you didn’t.” He desperately needed to change the subject.

“But what if?” For the first time, he realized he couldn’t read what you were thinking.

“Are you saying you want to end this?” Avoiding the question once again, he hated himself for the way he did it.

You blinked quickly, as if physically affected by his words. “I mean no, but,” you paused, and he panicked over what the end of that sentence would be. “What we’re doing its not – I mean what are we doing?”

He hated the tone of your voice, he hated how anxious you sounded. But instead of wrapping you into his arms like he wanted – and should have – he tried to swallow back any feelings he thought he might have for you. “We – we’re both taking advantage of the situation, no? Both being single and all.”

Your eyes narrowed on him. “So that’s it then? Call me over when you’ve had a few drinks and your hand isn’t enough to get you off?”

Fuck. “Darling that’s not –”

“Don’t. I practically live here, Harry. It’s not just ‘taking advantage of the situation’.”

The oil popped on the pan behind him, burner getting too hot. Swearing under his breath, turning back around to shove the pan off the heat. “I have half my things here. Wasn’t like this when we were just friends.”

Facing you again, he breathed out a sigh trying to calm himself down. “You didn’t have to bring your things over.”

You snapped your head up at his words. “That’s a low fucking blow.”

Suddenly you were moving away from him, away from the kitchen. He swore to himself again, hating himself for the way he handled the conversation. He hated himself for the way he avoided where the conversation seemed to be heading, to having him admit he wanted more from your relationship.

Calling your name behind you, watching with wide eyes as you grabbed your bag form the table, throwing it over your shoulder. “What are you…?”

“’m leaving.” Muttering as you brushed past him, heading towards the door.

Fuck. “Wait no,” he reached for your shoulder, hating the way you shrugged him off although you still spun around to him. “I – I didn’t mean it like that. I just,” he needed to say something, anything to get you to stay. “What are you saying?”

You sighed, dipping down to tug on your shoes. “I don’t know what I’m saying Harry. Maybe,” you sighed, gazing up at him. You looked tired, and sad. He hated it. “Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe we should stop.”

All his blood left his body. No. “You want to stop?” This time he wasn’t able to hide the shake in his voice.

“I gotta go Harry.” You turned away from him, reaching for the doorknob.

“Wait,” he repeated your name over and over. “Don’t leave please –”

You refused to look at him, spinning away from him. He continued calling after you, pleading you to come back but soon you were backing out of his driveway and turning around the corner.

November 24th

In hindsight, he realized he should’ve just told you he wanted you all to himself. He didn’t handle it well; he knew that then and he knows it now.

What he didn’t know at the time, what he refused to let himself think was that he wanted more with you and probably always had.

Recalling the first-time boundaries were crossed when he kissed you; the jealousy he felt when he thought about someone else being able to see the tattoo on your hip.

He remembered when you had gotten that tattoo, the skin still sensitive and wrapped in protective plastic. He still kissed at it, pulling small whimpers from the back of your throat.

He supposes that boundaries were disappearing when you started bringing over and leaving your things at his place, including those goddamn shampoo bottles. You were right to question him over the nature of your relationship, but he was too stupid and stubborn in the moment that he chose to push you away instead of admitting his feelings.

Fiddling with his phone in his hand, opening and closing your contact in his texts. He had drafted countless unsent messages, but had ultimately left you in radio silence.

And how fucked was that?

He didn’t care if it had been three weeks, or two weeks and five days to be exact. He pressed his phone to his ear, holding his breath as the phone on the other end rang.

After the second ringer, he was sure you wouldn’t pick up. He was about to end the call altogether, not having the heart to face your voicemail when a quiet “hello” spoke through the line.

“Hi,” he couldn’t breath. “It’s me – it’s Harry.”

“I know,” your voice sent a jolt through his chest.

“Didn’t think you would pick up.” He laughed humourlessly, realizing in all the fake conversations he had with you in his head he never really was prepared.

“I can hang up if you wan –”

“No,” he spoke quickly. “Sorry I just…” I love you. “I just want to talk to you, need to talk to you.”

You remained silent on the other end. “Can we meet? I can come over are we can get coffee or anything, up to you, I just need to see you.”

You were silent again, and he needed to check his phone to make sure the call was still ongoing. “I can be at yours in 15.”

His heart flipped. “Yes, that’s perfect. I – yes, see you soon.”

It was probably the longest fifteen minutes of his life. He spent it pacing around his place, trying to tidy up but ultimately not getting anything done. By the ten minute mark he was sure you weren’t coming, but right on time you were pulling that beat up red car into his driveway.

The sight of you was making him flush. Seeing you in his space, in his company like nothing had ever changed.

“How are you?” He could hear the nerves in his own voice.

“Fine,” the word was muttered, as you tentatively sat down on his couch. The very spot he had first kissed you, he realized.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, Harry, I’m not here to chit chat.”

He nodded, knowing you were right and sat far across from you on the couch, watching as you hugged your knees to your chest.

“I know, I –” he looked down at his hands, fiddling with his rings. “I miss you. And I’m really sorry for everything, for the way I handled everything.”

You looked up at him at his words, fidgeting with your sleeves. “I miss you too.”

“I really… I really fucked up and losing you was the last thing I wanted.” He needed to look away from you. “You were right, about us. We shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have let things get to be the way they did.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was small, calculated.

“I mean… I was being selfish. I – fuck I wanted more and I was being selfish with you.”

He tried to gage your reaction, but just like last time he wasn’t able to read your expression. “When you asked me what we were doing, when you said all that I panicked. Thought you might try and end things, I was too in my ass about my feelings I just… fucked up.”

“You wanted more?”

“I did – I do.”

You were quiet, too quiet. After a moment in silence, you suddenly stood. “I have to go to the washroom.”

He could only nod, standing as well as he watched you disappear behind the door. Grabbing himself a glass of water, having no idea what you were thinking in this moment. He was wrong before, when he thought that those fifteen minutes were the longest of his life. This moment right now seemed to last so much longer.

You finally reappeared a couple minutes later, joining him in the kitchen but still standing at a distance. He had no idea what to say, he wished for you to say something, anything.

“You kept all my things.”

“What?”

You pointed to the bathroom behind you. “All my things, my toothbrush my shampoo… figured you’d throw them out.”

He smiled a weak smile. “Would never. Can’t bring myself to. Plus, you know I love the smell of your shampoo.”

“I’m sorry I left that day.” You were fiddling with the sleeves of your shirt again.

“Don’t be, I was a dick. I didn’t know … I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings. Couldn’t get my shit together. I just didn’t want to lose you.”

As you nodded, he was relieved to see your expression start softening a bit.

“I need you in my life, in any capacity. If you need time I get it, but I just can’t… I need to know you’ll be in my life.”

You were worrying your lip, slowly nodding as you took in his words. “I shouldn’t have pushed you that day. I was trying to… it wasn’t fair of me.”

“Stop apologizing darling,” he liked the way the pet name rolled off his tongue again. The two of you stood in silence for a moment again.

“I wanted more too.” Nearly giving himself whiplash for how quickly he snapped his head towards you at your words. You weren’t looking at him, eyes dropped down to where your hands tapped nervously against the counter.

“I – you did?”

You only nodded, watching as you twirled your ring around your finger.

“Never said anything…”

Glancing up at him finally, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well…neither did you. Plus, I thought I was, I don’t know, making it obvious. Spending nearly every night here and all… I was sort of trying to bring it up that day we fought.”

“Truly fucked that up, didn’t I?” He rubbed his hand over his forehead, pushing his hair up. You only hummed, and his heart nearly soared when you saw the corner of your lips twitch in a smile.

He couldn’t help the smile starting to build on his lips either, trying to swallow down his anxiety before asking you what he wanted to. “Do you still?”

“Do I still what?” You were really making him say it.

“Do you still… want more. With me.” He watched you intently, watched your eyes flick away from his; to your hands to the counter and around the room, before meeting his own again.

“Well… came over, didn’t I?”

Heat rushed through his body as he processed your words. “Is that a yes?” His words were a rush of a breath. He found himself walking across the kitchen towards you until he was standing in front of you, keeping a gap but still being the closest he’d been to you all night.

“Yes.” Every nerve in his body urged to jump forward towards you at your whispered word, but he held himself back.

“Good,” his voice matched yours: quiet, breathless.

He wanted to pull you in his arms, to push you against the counter leaving no room between the two of you but he also didn’t want to assume you’d jump right into it; maybe you’d want a bit of time, maybe you were still mad –

Any second thought flew out of his mind when the light touch of your fingertips met his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His own hand instinctively wrapped around your waist, other hand sliding to your cheek, fitting with you like nothing ever changed.

Mouth quickly met his, and it was like kissing you for the first time all over again. You were still just as warm against him, still smelt like the shampoo that you left in his shower.

Your lips were light against his at first, a ghost of a touch as you pressed yourself against him and bunched the collar of his shirt in a fist. His hand on your cheek moved to tilt your head up to him slightly, as he held you tight against him not wanting you to ever leave.

A small sigh left your lips as he took a step forward, pushing lightly back to trap you between the counter and himself. Kiss quickly deepening as you let him taste deeper into your mouth, wandering hands pushing up under your shirt.

You were tugging at his hair as he pulled small whines from the back of your throat, gripping your thigh tightly as he helped you sit up on the counter. Mouth leaving yours with a pant, he reveled in the way you hooked your legs around him to keep him against you.

“Missed you,” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “So,” lips moved down your jaw. “Fucking much.”

He loved the sigh you made at his words; he loved every sound you made. Resting his forehead on yours for a moment, lips barely brushing. “You’re so warm darling. Missed kissing you, missed being with you.”

“Me too,” you whispered, pecking a small kiss to his mouth.

“I get to be with you, right?”

“Yes,” his heart soared at the single word. He was enamoured with the smile that took over your face. “Might still be a bit mad a you though.”

His smile matched yours, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Sounds like I have some making up to do.”

#ah there was a mistake i reposted it okay !#hi yes #this is just my lil something hope u enjoy #its short and kinda dif writing #pls let me know what u think and share ! thank u love u #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

jtrbluv · 4 years

Text

resolutely, yours. | kth

summary: When your best-friend slash pain-in-your-ass, Kim Seokjin, drags you to a New Year’s Eve party that you didn’t want to go to in the first place, what better way is there to pass the time than to stay sober and watch all your classmates go berserk? Well, that is until Kim Taehyung steps into the picture, of course.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.7k+

warnings: profanity, slight alcohol consumption, implied drug usage (two words only, i swear), college party antics should say enough

A/N: first fic of the year! W O O! this was supposed to be for tae’s birthday but i guess it’s fitting since it is the new year. a special thanks to miss mei @sugacouture for her likeness and @koushiningg aka the eternal hypewoman. this fic (drabble) is rly short but i do have a lot coming up in store! for now, hope u enjoy and happy new year everyone!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You are going to murder Kim Seokjin.

The spiked punch that fills your red solo cup up to its brim has been waiting to be quaffed down for thirty-seven minutes now. Roughly five minutes before that, Seokjin had somehow managed to drag you through the front doors of the fraternity party he’s been wanting you to accompany him to for weeks now.

And it only takes ten minutes for the proclaimed party animal and people-person, Kim Seokjin, to vanish from your side. He leaves you to fend for yourself in a jungle full of plastered college students—priorities at the moment are to either drink so much liquid regret that they can’t even remember their own names, or to find someone to make out with when the clock strikes at midnight. From simple observation, you notice that most, if not everyone here, fall under both categories.

Well, the exception being you, of course.

One thing to note is that you actually do have a decent tolerance for alcohol. You were no stranger to it, and it would serve as a dutiful companion to you when times called for it. Like last week after your last final that you knew you fucking bombed.

However, the humidity of the room due to the accumulation of bodies that left little to no room for fresh air, in addition to the strong stench of alcohol mixed with sweat mixed with God knows what, just was not the ideal place for you to get wasted. It didn’t stand close in comparison to drinking with a solid group of close friends, or by yourself in the comfort of your bed while a shitty rom-com plays in the background on your laptop.

The atmosphere is suffocating all of your senses— tears pricking at the corners of your eyes due to the strong odor of the room, the curled front pieces of your hair dampening and sticking to your temples, your mouth and throat dry as the Sahara Desert because, of fucking course, there is absolutely no water to be seen.

The small black dress and heels that Seokjin forced you to wear was worsening the situation greatly—your legs practically glued stuck to the stool you were sitting on, leading to ugly red marks and stinging skin if you tried to stand up.

You could not take being inside any longer. Instead of passing out from being piss drunk, you were almost adamant that you were going to pass out from the grueling mix of heat exhaustion and secondhand high.

Your grip on the solo cup significantly tightens, nearly crushing the plastic in half. You quickly stand up from the stool you were sitting in, the sensation akin to getting your legs waxed as you take a deep inhale through your nose, mentally preparing yourself to dive into this sea of financially obligated, depressed monsters.

Peculiarly, you manage to shove your way through a good chunk of the mass, your eyes set on the door that leads towards the balcony. Your ankles almost completely give into your weight a concerning number of times, and if it wasn’t for all of the arms of oblivious partygoers that you had clung onto for dear life, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own two feet by now.

Solely occupied with trying to navigate your way through the crowd, you don’t even realize that someone bumped into you and spilled your drink all over your dress until you reach the balcony. The cold, night breeze passes over your body, leaving chills on the huge wet patch on your dress. The one goddamn time your dress sees the light of day, you just so happen to find a way to ruin it.

“Fucking hell!” You holler into the vacant balcony, your hands coming up to carefully poke at the wet patch on your dress. You wince as the soaked, freezing fabric comes in contact with your bare stomach. Angry, you chug down the rest of the drink inside your cup and chuck it off the balcony, too enraged to even react to its strong taste.

Shivering, you walk deeper onto the balcony, cradling yourself and staring at your shoes, a string of curses spewing from your lips. You scold yourself for not bringing a jacket while simultaneously plotting your revenge against Seokjin. A pair of black loafers intrude your vision, accompanied by a husky voice that calls out to you,

“Oh shit, are you okay?”

Your head shoots up, your eyes meeting the ones of the man standing in front of you. He towers above you significantly despite you wearing heels. His eyes are only a tad obscured by the soft, brown curls of his hair, perfectly styled and gelled to have that ‘purposefully messy’ look. The only difference being that models stood no chance against him when he was the blueprint himself. The black button up he’s clad in exquisitely accentuates every crevice of his lean, chiseled body. And his eyes that were already alluring on their own, were adorn with hazel-colored contacts that you swear you could stare at for hours upon hours. He is so otherworldly beautiful, you temporarily forget to breathe.

And you also forget that you are just staring at him, and he is staring back at you with a smile.

Times like this is when you wish you were at least a little buzzed. Sober ‘you’ is way too socially inept to fend for themself sadly. “O-oh i’m fine, someone just spilled their drink on me.”

Maybe it’s the way the moon sits behind him and casts a halo-like glow around his figure or how he’s just been staring straight into your eyes this whole time, like it’s second nature whilst you can only hold eye contact with him for two seconds before instinctively shying away. To say that his presence frightened you was an understatement. You were about to take cover and hide under the patio table like a five-year-old if he kept looking at you like that.

He blinks, his mouth stretching into a wide grin, rectangular-shaped and having the ability to ease your nerves. He places his drink on a patio table, dusting his hands on his pants, “Here, I’ll get you some napkins, just stay here.”

Stunned, it isn’t until he leaves that you yell out to him as he steps back inside the chaos, “Thank you!”

You carefully sit down on a patio chair, your arms still wrapped around your shivering torso while you try to breathe warm air into your cupped hands.

The man steps out onto the balcony minutes later, his fists full of paper towels as he hands them to you. “Here you go.”

You graciously take them, blotting your dress with the paper towels, your nose scrunching at the scent of alcohol that you had no choice but to inhale. “Thank you so much, really.” You say— still very much shocked to know that chivalry isn't quite dead yet. “It’s Taehyung, right?”

He nods, “Yeah, and you’re Y/N?

Your pause, your hand hovering over your dress as you look up and nod with a forced smile, “No but really, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry that it happened in the first place,” he says apologetically, as if it was his fault, “it seems like everyone’s already out of their minds, and it isn’t even midnight yet.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” you assure him, which seems to work because his eyes soften a bit, “besides, I guess it’s my fault for coming here in the first place. I knew something like this was gonna happen and now here I am, smelling like cheap, convenience store vodka.”

He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never been so elated to make someone laugh until now, “I somehow managed to beat the crowd. I’ve literally just been standing out here by myself for a good hour now.”

You sigh in envy, “Must be nice.”

“Too bad you couldn’t make it, it’s been awfully quiet up here.” He says, pivoting on his heel to look at the rest of the empty balcony.

Your eyes trail to the commotion inside the house, the crowd still going strong, “Are we really the only sober ones here?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, we’re just the only ones stupid enough to show up at a college party on New Year’s Eve, expecting to have a good time sober while everyone’s getting plastered.”

The unexpected truth pill causes you to enter a fit of laughter, small clouds of air leaving your mouth every time you exhale. He laughs along with you. “Yeah we are pretty stupid, I do admit.” You concur, while rubbing at your arms that were covered in goosebumps.

“Do you want my jacket?” He asks you while pointing to the black blazer that’s slung on top of the chair next to you.

You wrinkle your nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, before I put it on you myself,” he giggles with a roll of his eyes.

Shaking your head, you grab the blazer and wrap it around your shoulders. You stand up from your seat and turn towards him, brow quirked. “A-are you not cold? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I’m fine, I swear,” he counters, reaching out to help you slip your arms into his huge jacket sleeves, “I’m also not wearing a sleeveless dress.” He teases, eyeing you up and down as he takes in how oversized his jacket is on you. He thinks it looks much better when you’re wearing it, but he won’t tell you that.

“Right…” you drag out, following his footsteps as he motions you to follow him towards the edge of the balcony.

You two stand next to each other, leaning against the edge, arms nearly brushing against one another.

“So Taehyung, what brings you here in the first place?” You ask, knowing that he seems just as displeased to be here as much as you are.

“I got dragged here by a friend, Park Jimin, in particular.” He responds with a frown, “I have no idea where the fuck he is now, he literally left me as soon as we got here.”

Turning towards him incredulously, your brows raise and the corner of your lip curls into a smirk, “You don’t say.”

Confused, but also curious about the expression painted across your face, he quirks a brow, “Hm?”

You close your mouth, crossing your arms tighter around yourself, “I got dragged here by a friend too. Kim Seokjin. That asshole left me as soon as we got here too.”

He steps back, scoffing in disbelief, “Wow, we really just got stood up by our own friends.” Taehyung proclaims into the vacant balcony, for both him and you— the thought of it sounding even more pathetic after being said out loud.

“They’re pretty goddamn close to losing that title now.” You quip, shaking your head in dismay.

His head rocks back, a lively laugh leaving his lips due to your comment which makes you smile at the fact that you are even able to make him laugh like this.

“Damn it Y/N, you should’ve came out sooner, we could’ve been having a good time out here.” He tells you with a pout as his laughter starts to dwindle.

Sighing heavily, you too, feel regretful about the missed opportunity, “I really should have.”

He nudges you with his elbow, “At least you’re here now.”

The bass-boosted music from inside the house ceases, the room becoming momentarily quieter while someone bellows out, “Hey look, it’s the countdown!”

Everyone’s focus shifts towards the gigantic flat screen TV that hung above the fireplace, making you realize where the fraternity funds truly go to. You and Taehyung exchange glances before shrugging and moving closer to all the commotion since it was New Year’s Eve, above all.

He leans against the doorframe and you stay close to his side, the number ten flashing brightly on the screen—the crowd’s shouts getting louder as it reaches the final ten seconds of the year.

Instead of shouting out the numbers with the rest of the mass, you and Taehyung are simply witnessing it all fold out in silence.

“EIGHT!”

‘You got any New Year’s resolutions?!” You nudge him while attempting to yell over the noise.

His head whips towards you, “Me?!”

“SEVEN!”

Your brows furrow, “Does it look like I’m talking to anyone else?!”

His mouth splits into a grin once more, folding over in laughter just enough to meet eye-to-eye with you.

“SIX!”

“I mean! I didn’t have one originally!”

The crease in your brows dissipate, “Well, what changed?!”

“FIVE!”

His head tilts to the side, “I came here!”

You mirror his head tilt, confused as ever, “Um, so you wanna go to more parties next year?!”

“FOUR!”

He slaps a palm against his forehead, “From what you know about me, does it look like I like parties?!”

“How the hell would I know?!”

His jaw drops, “Y/N—!”

“THREE!”

“—I wanna get to know you better Y/N!”

Your jaw drops as well, “What?! Me?!”

“TWO!”

“Is there any other Y/N standing in front of me?!”

“I– oh...”

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd shouts together in unison despite all being under the influence. A confetti cannon erupts, flying around the room and falling into people’s hair as the mass starts to split into pairs, all partaking in the traditional New Year’s kiss that you personally haven’t had much luck in participating in yourself.

You rip your gaze away to look at Taehyung. He smiles, pulling a piece of confetti out of hair, making your cheeks flush. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Taehyung.”

The small amount of alcohol you consumed when you first stepped foot onto the balcony leaves you slightly buzzed. Just enough to leave you with the right amount of courage to vouch for the nickname.

You take a daring step towards the man in front of you, “I also have a resolution of my own, Taehyung.”

He takes an even more daring step towards you, having the audacity to lean down— your faces only inches apart. “And what is that, may I ask?”

Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you close the gap in between the two of you, locking your lips with his. The kiss isn’t short enough to be a peck but isn’t long enough to be considered making out. You pull away enough to be able to see his face, “Is to get to know you better too.”

He chuckles, “Y/N, your lips taste like spiked punch.”

Pouting, you bump your forehead into his, “All I drank was whatever you saw me have at the balcony, I swear.”

He pecks your nose, your frown immediately wiping away as he does so, “I trust you.”

You smile, giving him a peck on the mouth, “As you should.”

“I’d kiss you again, but you probably can’t stand being here any longer. Let’s get out of here.” He tells you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You slide your arm onto his, interlocking his fingers with your own, “I think you’ve already completed your resolution Taehyung. You seem to know me so well already.”

Pushing through the crowd, he hooks an arm onto your waist while he shoves a path for you two to get through, “Too bad I don’t know where you wanna go though.”

You hum, thinking for a moment before your grumbling stomach answers for you, “I’m hungry, let’s go grab burgers or something.”

You don’t see the way Taehyung is fondly staring at you because you’re too busy trying to open the front door. At last, you manage to pry it open, stepping back outside while Taehyung’s holding you in his arms. It’s not that cold this time.

Taehyung’s hands land on both of your shoulders— turning you around to face him as he swiftly latches his lips onto yours. You stumble back, but his hand is quick to support you as he kisses you deeply. You kiss him back, letting your fingers curl around the curls of his hair.

He pulls back this time, letting his forehead rest on yours, “Y/N, I think you are the one that’s completed your resolution. How the hell did you know that I fucking love burgers?”

MASTERLIST

315 notes · View notes

redgillan · 4 years

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 7

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,480

Warnings: none

A/N: This is long overdue, sorry - hopefully it’s worth it. It’s also incredibly long... idek anymore. I want to thank you all for your patience and support. It means a lot to me.

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

You grumbled into your pillow when you heard your phone buzz on the bedside table. Cracking one eye open, you lifted your phone and squinted to read the neon numbers showing on the screen.

7:12 a.m.

You had an email notification, nothing important, but it somehow managed to come through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ feature. You knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so you got up and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

A smile curled up your lips when you saw the leftovers from your made-up holiday. There were a few cookies and muffins in a plate, a large bowl of cereals, and two dirty milkshake glasses on the counter.

It had been a fun and relaxing couple of days. You ate, talked, played board games, and watched movies in your fanciest loungewear attire. Bucky sought your touch more than usual and it left you a little confused. Every time he touched you, the line between feelings of friendship and feelings of love became blurred.

Bucky was an early riser, always up before you, dressed in his usual khakis and long sleeved Henley shirts with his hair slightly tousled. He looked effortlessly sexy and always had a warm smile for you even though you looked like a hot mess in your mismatched pyjamas, staggering into the kitchen, blindly following the smell of food cooking on the stove.

Today, the kitchen was silent. Bucky was probably still asleep, so you decided to cook breakfast. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d catch him in his night clothes.

Wasting no time, you made a beeline for the coffee machine. You filled the water tank and measured fresh grounds into the filter, but your task was interrupted when you heard groans coming from somewhere nearby. You soon figured out that the sounds were coming from the living room.

Curious, you silently made your way toward the sound. The shades were up, and you could see the midnight blue sky fading into pastel hues of yellow and pink with the approaching dawn. Under any other circumstances, you would have been completely enraptured by its beauty, but something else caught your attention.

Bucky was standing upside down with his head on a yoga mat. His eyes were closed and his features were set in an expression of serious concentration. You half hid behind the wall and observed him.

You were impressed, his headstand was perfectly vertical and he was doing it without hand support, meaning that he was supporting his entire weight on his neck. He slowly lowered one toe back down, then the other, before he rested his forearm on the mat and lifted his butt toward the ceiling, his body forming a perfect inverted V.

“You’re up already,” he asked, sitting back on his haunches. “I can hear you breathing behind that wall.”

Busted...

You peeked out into the living room and cringed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you but that was sooo impressive.” You walked into the room and perched yourself on the arm of the sofa, facing Bucky who was kneeling at your feet. “How do you do that?”

He chuckled, his cheeks red from exertion and bashfulness. “Practice. Yoga’s good for building strength.”

He looked up at you with a boyish smile, his hair damp with perspiration. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, rolling too close to his eyes and making him squint.

His pants left little to the imagination, the fabric stretched across his powerful thighs, and his sleeveless shirt clung to his drenched chest, outlining his muscles. Your eyes darted to his left shoulder where his stump was visible.

Despite living with him for over two months, you had never seen him in one of those sleeveless shirts before, though you couldn’t blame him since it was the middle of winter and you hadn’t been wearing any either. It was warm inside the apartment but not enough to walk around bare-armed.

“It’s easier to do yoga when the sleeve isn’t slapping me in the face every five seconds,” Bucky said, looking at his stump. “But I can cover it up if you prefer.”

“No! Of course not,” you rushed to say. “I’m sorry. That was really rude.”

“You were just looking, it’s only natural,” he said. “People are curious. Staring... well, staring is different.” His frown smoothed away and he turned to you with a smile. “Are you hungry?”

You smiled down at him. “Starving.”

“I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll start breakfast.”

“Actually, I was about to start cooking before I got distracted.” Bucky looked away, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “But I think we have plenty of food left over from last night.”

“We’re not eating cookies for breakfast,” he said. “We’ll save them for later. Right now we need something healthy.” He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet and ran upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You shook your head at his antics and returned to the kitchen to finish making coffee. After all he’d done for you, it was the least you could do. You knew Bucky liked cooking –and he was damn good at it- but sometimes you wondered if this was a fair arrangement.

He had given you a place to stay, money, food to eat, your own artist’s studio, and you had given him... nothing. Admittedly, you knew that your presence calmed him, comforted him. You gave him the emotional support he desperately needed and it was important, but he could also have adopted a pet.

Too tired for coffee or tea, you poured yourself a glass of orange juice, hoping it would wake you up. It worked but your self-deprecating thoughts were still playing havoc in your mind.

You were fixing Bucky’s coffee when he came back downstairs after his shower, and you were pleasantly surprised to find him wearing a clean sleeveless shirt. You met his eyes and found that he was watching you intently. You offered him a smile and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“Looking good, James.”

He looked down at his feet with a bashful smile as he crossed the room slowly. You observed him in silence while he prepared breakfast for the two of you. It was a simple breakfast bowl with yogurt, granola, fresh fruits and honey but he somehow made it look like a gourmet dish.

“There you go, angel,” he said, setting your bowl in front of you. “What are you going to do today?”

You took a slice of kiwi and dipped in yogurt. “I think I’m going to paint. You?”

Bucky licked his spoon and you stared at it longingly before you quickly averted your eyes. No, you couldn’t be jealous of a goddamn spoon. Catch yourself on.

“I have an idea for a new book,” he said, running his tongue along his teeth to clean them before he spoke again. “I had a meeting with my agent last week. It went well, my old publisher really wants to work with me again. I’m signing my contract this afternoon.”

“Bucky!” you squealed after swallowing your mouthful of yogurt a little too fast. “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you,” he said, staring into nothing with wide eyes. “I’m nervous, scared and excited at the same time. It’s strange, y’know, all these feelings mixed together. It’s a bit overwhelming and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Don’t think too much,” you said. “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling.

You scraped your spoon around the bowl and licked it clean. “What’s it about? Is it a novel? Can I be in it?”

Bucky chuckled to himself and you figured that every single writer had friends who begged them to appear in their books. You couldn’t help it, the idea of living forever as ink on a page was too tempting.

“It’s not a novel,” he said. “It’s the third instalment of my series. The style is a little hard to explain but this is what I like to say: self-help book meets Bridget Jones’ Diary.”

“I tried to look you up but I couldn’t find anything written by a James Barnes or a Bucky Barnes.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you a fraud? Or are you using a pen name?”

He pretended to think about it. “I’m a fraud.”

“I knew it,” you mock-sighed.

Bucky took your bowl and placed it in the sink along with his. When he started cleaning them, you joined him and took a dish towel.

“I’ll tell you soon,” he spoke after a moment.

“It’s okay, take your time.”

You knew he wasn’t going to tell you what his pen name was, not now at least. His books were a reflection of his struggles, his success, and his fears, and you could understand why he preferred to keep you in the dark for now.

The people who read his books didn’t know him, they were just anonymous faces in a crowd but you were real. You were his friend, his new friend, and your opinion mattered.

“It’s been a couple of years since I’ve published my last book. My agent said that people haven’t forgotten about me but I still have to,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “’show my face’, just to remind everyone that I’m still writing.” He sighed.

“There’s a charity event next month at the museum of Natural History,” he continued. “It’s a huge event, a lot of important people will be there, including some of the most famous gallerists and curators in the country. You’re allowed to say no but,” he paused and turned to look at you, “do you want to come with me?”

You pressed your lips together while you mulled this over. There was no doubt in your mind that it was a great opportunity, one that you would have never had without Bucky, and you knew you had to say yes. But this was your least favourite part of being an artist.

You didn’t know how to sell yourself and you always felt like an arrogant asshat when you spoke about your paintings, even though you had every right to be proud of your work.

You had managed to persuade yourself that this new life would last forever. Eat, laugh, paint, repeat forever. But it wasn’t real. You had to put yourself out there, even if it made you uncomfortable because painting was only half your job.

Something else bothered you. You didn’t want to be the poor, struggling artist who took advantage of a charity event to make herself known. It seemed wrong and hypocritical.

You voiced your concerns to Bucky who looked at you with a pained expression.

“Yes, it’s a fundraiser but I can assure you that everyone at the party will be talking business and exchanging business cards,” he said. “And they’ll compensate with a huge donation to clear their guilty conscience. Is it false philanthropy? Absolutely, and I’m ashamed to say I’m one of them. You’re not taking advantage of a good cause, we are.”

“You’re nothing like them,” you said. “You’re kind and selfless, you’re a good person.”

“I’m not sure that’s true, angel,” he said with a tight smile.

When you opened your mouth to protest, he leaned forward and cupped the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, ending the conversation. He had never done that before and you froze, feeling equal parts confused, incredulous and appreciated.

He pulled back and wiped down the sink with the sponge, acting like kissing you so sweetly was something completely normal, like he was unbothered. Meanwhile you just stood there wondering if you would ever be able to breathe normally again.

You pressed your lips together hard and tried to gather your thoughts but your mind was reeling. You were about to leave the room when your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the kitchen counter.

The first letter was a cheesy view of the Tower Bridge, the words ‘Greetings from London’ written in bold cursive letters across the postcard.

You only knew one person who still sent postcards.

Wanda.

“What’s this?” you asked, nodding toward the stack of mail.

Confused, Bucky looked to you then followed your line of sight and saw the mail. “Oh, Natasha dropped these off last night. She wanted to see you but you were already asleep.”

You nodded distractedly while you picked up the postcard. The sight of it filled you with anxiety. Your sister didn’t’ send these postcards often, but every time you received one it reminded you that things were different now. Gone was the happy and supportive family you used to cherish.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read Wanda’s hastily written words.

I’m coming home.

She was coming home. A wave of nausea ran through you and your breathing came shallow and fast.

“Wow, wow, wow.” You felt Bucky’s hand at our waist, steering you toward a chair, and you realized your legs were giving way under you. “Deep breaths, angel. Look at me. There you go!”

“Sorry,” you said. “See what happens when you don’t let me eat cookies for breakfast?”

Bucky smiled at your poor attempt at humour. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You debated telling him but you weren’t sure how to voice your concerns so you handed him the postcard instead. You had told Bucky about Wanda. She had disappeared after Pietro’s death, sending postcards from time to time as proof that she was still alive and well.

“Your sister is coming home.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I haven’t seen her for six years. She doesn’t know our mom has Alzheimer, she doesn’t know I sold our old childhood home. She keeps sending those postcards there. I gave the new owners Natasha’s address in case they still receive our mail. They’re very nice.” You let out a humourless laugh. “I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I sold our house, and they could have taken advantage of me but they didn’t. I guess it’s not every day you buy a family house from a 24 year old girl. It probably screams tragic backstory, uh?”

“You did this on your own?”

“Yup.”

Bucky put his hand on your knee and gave you a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

You looked down at his thumb rubbing soothing circles just above your knee. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy.” You paused, then raised your head to look at him. “Living with you makes my life so much easier. I live in my own little bubble where I don’t have to be an adult. I feel like I can finally breathe. And I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me and all you continue to do.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, shaking his head. “We help each other. We’re good together.”

“Yes, of course,” you said with a smile. “But we both know it’ll have to end one day. It has to, one way or another. I want to be more independent, start my career and support my family. I don’t want to rely on others anymore. I want to rely on myself.”

“But there’s no rush, angel.”

“I know, but nothing’s gonna change if I stay in my little bubble. I have to do things that make me uncomfortable.”

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’ll come with you to the fundraiser.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but a smile broke across his face. “That’s great! But what about your sister?”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. She’ll probably go to our old house, realize it’s not ours anymore. If she’s lucky they’ll give her Natasha’s address. I’m sure she’ll have lots of questions but she can’t show up six years later and act like our bond is still intact. I’m not at her beck and call. I’m only responsible for myself and, Bucky, I’m so tired of trying to please everyone. I deserve to live my best life, goddammit.”

“I am so happy to hear you say that,” Bucky said, his smile blinding. “Celebratory cookie?”

“Yes! Two cookies, please,” you replied, out of breath. “I’m slightly freaking out.”

You spent the next couple of weeks planning for the event; painting, taking pictures of your work, posting them on Instagram, searching for gallerists and curators you wanted to work with and cross-checking the attendees.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if Wanda was already in New York and if she was looking for you.

“Check this out!” you exclaimed, shoving a business card in Natasha’s face before you pushed past her to get into her apartment. “It’s official, I’m an artist.”

She laughed as she closed the door, her eyes on the card. “Hi, it’s nice to see you, too,” she deadpanned.

“Sorry, hi.”

“Well, looks like you’re all set. When’s the party?”

“Next week,” you replied, taking a seat on you former bed, her sofa. “I’m a little nervous, but also excited. I don’t know, it’s a strange feeling.”

Natasha pinned your business card onto the fridge using a magnet before she opened the refrigerator door and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. She took two glasses from the cupboard and joined you on the sofa.

“But, yeah, I’m ready. I have over two hundred business cards, I know who I want to work with, and I even bought an external battery pack just in case.”

“And what are you going to wear?” Natasha asked before taking a sip of orange juice. You looked at her with wide eyes, panic written all over your face. “You forgot to buy a dress,” she concluded out loud. “Why am I not surprised?”

“With everything going on, I completely forgot I had to... wear clothes.”

“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind seeing you in your birthday suit.” She laughed when you practically shoved her off the sofa. “Come on, I’ll help you look semi-decent.”

You groaned. “I don’t want to go shopping right now. Plus, I blew all my money on business cards.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing outside, I’m not leaving my apartment,” she replied, reaching for her laptop. “You’re going to rent it.”

“Ew,” you made a face.

You remembered the formal wear store where you had rented your prom dress. The place smelled like moth balls and sweat, and the dress had given you a rash. Not a great memory.

“Trust me, I know this is your first but I’m a seasoned veteran. I’ve been to dozens of fundraisers, and I had to wear dozens of designer dresses. Do you even know how much a Saint Laurent evening gown cost? You can’t wear the same dress twice. That’s a big no-no. And it’s not just the dress. You need a clutch, a pair of shoes, jewelry, a coat. You have to rent them.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

She opened up her web browser and typed in the website address for the dress rental. As she entered your size and budget, it was obvious that she knew her way around the website and you had to admit that it was a lot easier than traditional shopping.

You looked at the collection of dresses, not entirely convinced, when you found it. You instantly knew it was the right one.

You stared longingly at the beautiful wine-red dress, made entirely of velvet. The bodice was cut on the bias, the fabric draping itself elegantly to contour the shape of the model’s upper body. The skirt was long and flowing, and the waist was cinched in with a thin black belt.

You clicked on the second picture and Natasha let out a strangled gasp. The open back was draped at the waist and weighted with a crystal on a golden chain.

The dress gave off 1930s vibes, it was elegant and refined but the back was daring and sexy. It was exactly what you needed. You paired it with a black wool cape, and Natasha offered to let you borrow a pair of shoes, jewellery and a bag.

The dress and coat arrived the next day. The woman who delivered them was kind and polite, she stayed in the kitchen while you tried on the dress. Once you gave the all-clear, she handed you your receipt.

The dress was yours for an entire week.

On the day of the gala, you were a nervous, sweaty mess. Natasha’s clutch was on your nightstand, filled to the brim with business cards. Your hair and makeup were already done. You sat on your bed in your underwear, staring at the dress hanging in your closet.

“I can do this,” you whispered to yourself.

You were adjusting the fabric around your cleavage, making sure everything flowed nicely, when you heard Bucky shouting from the kitchen.

“The car will be there in fifteen minutes.”

You took a deep breath and smoothed your hands down the sides of your dress, the tickling caress of the velvet calming you almost instantly. You reached for the handle, your heart hammering in your chest, and opened the door.

Bucky was standing at the kitchen island, looking down at his phone. He looked up when he heard the sound of your door opening.

“Hey, are you-” The rest of his sentence died on his lips as he froze. He stood there, staring at you, his eyes roaming your body in a manner that could only be called amazement. “You look-” He shook his head as if he couldn’t find the right word.

You looked down at yourself, grinning. After weeks of seeing you in your big woolly jumpers, pyjamas and painting overalls, you could understand why this was a shock. It was one to you as well.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding strangled.

“Thank you.” He stood a little straighter when he noticed you were checking him out. He wore a dark blue suit with black lapels, a white shirt and a black velvet bow tie. You matched. “You look like a real heartthrob in that suit.”

He laughed and looked away, embarrassed. It was your favourite look on him; when he couldn’t maintain eye contact and his cheeks were slightly red and his nose crunched up a little.

“You’re wearing your prosthetic,” you said, noticing the stiff arm and fake hand.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at his left arm. “This thing itches like hell, but I don’t blend well in a crowd when I’m not wearing my prosthetic. These people know me, they’ll be looking for me. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”

He finished his sentence with a wink and your entire body threatened to spontaneously combust. Do people still wink? Apparently. You walked over to him and briefly stroked his arm before you walked past him to the bathroom.

It gave him a great view of your bare back and the little crystal nestled just above the small of your back. You didn’t see his reaction but you heard his sharp intake of breath.

You left the bathroom door open while you rummaged through your makeup bag, relief flowing through you when your fingers brushed against your favourite lipstick.

You straightened up and looked at yourself in the mirror. Bucky was leaning against the bathroom door frame, observing you. You uncapped the lipstick and brought it to your lips, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

“Don’t worry, I’m almost ready.”

“I’m not worried,” Bucky replied with a mischievous smile. “Please, carry on.”

You rolled your eyes at his sudden smug expression, trying to look unbothered, but you could feel his eyes on you and you willed your hands to stop shaking. Today was not the day to look like Miranda Sings.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asked from the threshold, spellbound.

“No idea, the label has faded,” you said, rubbing your lips together to smudge your lipstick. “It has probably expired by now, my mom gave it to me when I was a kid.” You blotted your lips and tossed the balled tissue into the wastebasket. “She called it ‘Carter Red’.”

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips. “When we were kids, we used to watch her apply her lipstick. We thought she was the most sophisticated woman in the world. When she was done, she’d turn to us and ask ‘Who wants red lips?’ Then we’d leave the house in our matching red lips.”

Bucky entered the bathroom and took a seat on the edge of the tub. “Did your brothers wear red lipstick too?” he asked with a grin.

You laughed. “Pietro did. Scott was more into nail polish.”

“Do you think I can pull it off?”

You turned to him with a wicked grin and waved your lipstick in his direction. He stood when you took a step closer to him. He seemed to enjoy the playful glint dancing in your eyes. You beckoned him closer like some kind of old witch.

“I’m sure you’d look real cute with lipstick all over your face,” you said, taunting him with your tube of lipstick.

Something in his expression changed, darkened, making you feel hot and cold at the same time. His eyes travelled down your face to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he spoke so softly you almost missed it.

It was your turn to freeze. You parted your lips to speak but nothing came out, you just blinked hard and stared at him incredulously, waiting for him to explain what that meant. But he never did, and you took a step back.

Did he just...? Did he just try to kiss you? No! No, that’s silly. Why would he want to kiss you? He was just being playful and you simply projected your own desires onto him.

He took a step back too and gave an imperceptible nod. “The car should be here any minute,” he said, smiling. It was a tight smile and you didn’t like it at all. “I’ll let you get ready.”

After he closed the door behind him, you dumped your lipstick back into your makeup bag and took a long look at yourself in the mirror. You looked deflated, miserable. You sighed... the night was off to a great start.

Bucky waited for you while you finished getting ready. You picked up your clutch, slid your feet into a pair of high-heel shoes, and struggled with your cape until Bucky came to your rescue. To your surprise, his smile was genuine again, and it made your heart soar. Maybe you had just misread the situation and he wasn’t upset, offended –or whatever that tight smile was.

The heels were higher than you were used to, but Bucky gave you an arm to hang onto. The sky was already dark when you arrived at the Museum of Natural History. You walked up the stairs and left your coats in the coat-check room before you took a look around the room.

Hundreds of people were milling around the hall, a glass in their hand as they weaved between the jaw-dropping dinosaur skeletons that were on display. You kept your arm linked through Bucky’s and tried not to stare at anyone.

“Be careful,” Bucky whispered in your ear, making you perk up. “Someone once told me that the exhibits come to life after the sun sets.”

“Remind me to stay away from the Biodiversity Hall,” you chuckled. Then you spotted one of the curators you wanted to work with, you let go of Bucky’s arm and squared your shoulders. “Showtime. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, angel.”

“God, I’m sweating. Is it noticeable?”

Bucky smiled at you. “No, you look perfect.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I hope I won’t make a fool of myself. I hate small talk.”

As soon as you were gone, someone took your place by Bucky’s side. You grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and made your way over to the curator. You didn’t drink alcohol but the glass made you look like you were part of their little group.

It went horribly wrong; you stuttered when you said your name and everything went downhill after that. While you were talking, he subtly looked around to see if he could find a more interesting person to talk to, which made you stutter even more. Then as you opened your clutch and fished out a card, several others fell at your feet in slow motion.

Between the dress, the glass and the shoes, it was practically impossible to bend over. The curator left and you stood there alone.

“Let me help you,” one of the waiters said. He gathered up your business cards and handed them to you.

You sheepishly took the cards and shoved them back in your purse. “Thanks. Can you take this? I’m not going to drink it.”

“Would you like something else to drink?” he asked as he took your glass of champagne.

“No, thank you. I... I think I’m going to go find my friend.”

You smiled politely at the young man but he had a strange look on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“I saw you with Mr. Thomas,” he finally said. “I’m not supposed to talk to the guests but can you tell him I love his work.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Grant Thomas,” the waiter pressed on. “The writer. I saw you two together.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “He only has one arm.”

Oh...

Grant Thomas was Bucky’s pen name.

Your face broke out into a huge smile and you started giggling to yourself. The waiter recoiled a bit, confused and a little freaked out. You scanned the room for Bucky.

“Of course, I’ll tell him,” you told the waiter. “He’ll be very pleased to hear it.”

You went in search of Bucky, wobbling around in your high heels, a permanent smile on your face. After walking around for a few minutes, you felt more stable and in control, even going so far as to power walk from room to room.

You found him in the Hall of Ocean Life, entertaining a small group of people. You walked over to him, your heels clicking like typewriter keys. You heard bits and pieces of their conversation as you approached.

“Oh, it’s absolutely lovely,” a woman cooed, a hand over her heart. “Who was your inspiration for your new book, Grant?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly when he saw you. You gave him a small wave and he held out his hand in your direction. He introduced you to the group, and while it was strange to hear him say your name, you kept a straight face.

“I’ve looked everywhere for you, Grant,” you told him, emphasizing his pen name. “I should have known I'd find you in good company.”

“Oh, she’s the painter,” the woman said. “Darling, I hope you don’t mind me saying this but-” she extended her arms in your direction “wow!”

The woman next to her looked half amused, half exasperated. “It means you look beautiful in that dress.”

“Oh, she knows what it means, Sylvia.” The ‘oh’ woman swatted Bucky’s fake arm. “Grant, isn’t she gorgeous?”

Bucky looked at you with a fond smile. “Yes, she is.”

“Oh, my heart is about to explode,” the ‘oh’ woman squealed before enthusiastically waving to someone behind Bucky. “Sylvia, darling, take her contact details. We need new blood at the gallery. Please, excuse me, I haven’t seen Michael in ages,” she said, stretching out the last word.

She was gone before you could comprehend what was happening. Her laughter echoed through the room. Oh, I hadn’t seen the back of that dress! Sweet baby Jesus!

You found her whimsical and quite intense but if you had to work for her, you’d probably end up looking like her assistant, Sylvia, who seemed at her wits’ end.

She sighed and opened her leather-bound notebook. There were several business cards attached to the pages with paperclips. You handed her one of your business cards as her boss shouted, Oh, Michael, isn’t this party deliiightful? It was Sylvia’s cue to leave.

“Thank you. We’ll take a look at your work and get back to you as soon as we can. Enjoy your night.”

Sylvia rushed to her boss who was looking around like a lost puppy. When she saw her assistant, a look of relief crossed her face. It was a little over the top but it made you smile.

“So, Grant Thomas,” you said, planting yourself directly in front of Bucky now that you were alone. “Cute name.”

“Agh, I wanted to tell you before the party but...” He shrugged. “How did you figure it out?”

“One of the waiters saw us together. He’s your biggest fan. Said you were talented, humble and devilishly handsome in that suit.”

“The waiter said that?” Bucky asked with a frown as he led you toward an empty corridor.

“I think he has a crush on you.”

“I seem to have that effect on people,” he said, linking his arm through yours.

“So humble.” You entered the Hall of Biodiversity together. “What’s the meaning behind your pen name?”

There was a small pause before he answered. “Grant is Steve’s middle name, Thomas is Sam’s. I wanted to honor them. Steve literally saved my life, and Sam... well, he stood by my side even when we barely knew each other.”

“I’m sure they were touched.”

“Meh,” Bucky said with a grimace. “Steve said it sounded like a fake name, and Sam tried to make me use ‘Thomas Grant’ instead. I think deep down they like it.” He turned his head to look at you. “How did it go with the curator?”

You cringed. “Just to give you an idea, imagine an amateur magician performing at their first show. I was sweating, I stuttered, and I dropped my cards. It was awful.”

He laughed softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. At least he’ll remember me, right?”

You spent the next couple of hours mingling with a bunch of rich people; most of them were incredibly weird, the others were strangely relatable. You were a lot more cool and collected with Bucky by your side. He always had really nice things to say about you or your paintings, and his words rang true, giving you yet another reason to fall for him.

When you reached the planetarium, Bucky took your hand in his, his eyes sparkling with childlike wonder.

You practically had the place to yourselves, everyone else was either in the Grand Gallery or in the Roosevelt Memorial. Since no one was around, you decided to take your shoes off and walk around barefoot.

You lost track of time, listening to Bucky’s stories about the universe as he guided you along the spiralling walkway.

“We’re just tiny little specks living on a bigger speck, floating around,” he said, gazing up at a model of Jupiter hanging from the ceiling. “Our time here is so limited, our bodies are so fragile.”

“Umm,” you hummed. “At least we’re not at the bottom of the food chain.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that would be a bummer.”

“Do you know who’s at the bottom of the food chain?” you asked. “French fries. I’m starving.”

His laughter rang out, loud and clear, in the silence of the planetarium. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You headed for the coat-check room, where Bucky left one of his ridiculously generous tips, and stepped outside, shivering from the cold winter night. You looked up at the stars glistening in the dark sky while you walked the short distance to the fast food restaurant.

You ate your fries in silence as you glanced around the restaurant. It was bright and gave off a friendly vibe. There were several other patrons even though it was almost two in the morning, though you and Bucky were the only ones wearing designer clothes.

Your high heels and clutch rested on the booth next to your hip, and Bucky’s bow tie was tied around your wrist. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a tanned, muscular chest and a smattering of dark hair.

Bucky had removed his prosthetic after you’d found a booth. His fake arm rested on the table, scaring the hell out of the waitress when she came to take your order. Bucky apologized profusely, probably mentally adding another twenty to her tip.

You dozed off in the cab, utterly exhausted, your cheek resting against his shoulder. His arm was draped over your shoulders, his thumb sweeping up and down your collarbone. When you remembered that you still had to remove your makeup before going to bed, you let out a whine and nestled closer to him. He rested his head on top of yours, and you closed your eyes, enjoying his closeness.

A few days later, you told Natasha about the party, and she reminded you to be careful, to protect your heart. She wished someone had given her this advice when she’d met Sam.

It had never occurred to you that Natasha might have feelings for Sam, not because he was an awful person. No, it was quite the opposite. He was handsome and funny, always looking for some kind of trouble. She’d mentioned multiple times that he was really good in bed, which honestly didn’t surprise you.

You knew she liked him, but you didn’t know she liked him.

On your way home, you mulled over the things she had told you. About a block away from your apartment, you took your keys out of your pocket and stared at the little angel keychain, wondering if your feelings for Bucky were real. The line between friends and lovers was definitely blurred but you couldn’t cross it. There was too much at stake, you couldn’t risk ruining your friendship.

As you turned the corner into your street, you spotted someone standing outside the building’s front door. You slowed down, dawdled, so you could observe them.

You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, though you suspected a man. They were carrying a traveller’s backpack on their shoulders, blocking your view. Whoever it was, they had a fantastic ass.

They pushed the intercom button, waited a few seconds and pushed it again. When the doors remained closed, they turned around to leave and you came face-to-face with a man with long dirty blond hair, a bushy ginger beard and striking baby blue eyes. You immediately recognized him from the photos you’d seen on Bucky’s laptop.

“Oh my God, Steve!” you exclaimed, startling him.

Part 8

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

1K notes · View notes

little-mad · 3 years

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 9

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

After departing from the stream, it only took about fifteen minutes before Rael and his passenger reached the edge of Ostrad. The moment they broke through the treeline, Rael was greeted by the familiar sight of home.

Despite being the location in which the Emperor resided, Ostrad was not the largest city in the realm. This was due in large part to the fact that the city had originally only been built as a secondary residence for the Emperor. However, over a century ago a flood in the former Imperial Capital had forced it to be relocated to Ostrad.

That being said, looking from Gavin to the bustling city that loomed ahead of them, Ostrad looked positively massive. A slight frown tugged at the corners of Rael’s lips. The most direct route to the palace was straight through town, down the main boulevard and up to the main gates. However, going that way would require walking past a great many alteons. With so many people around, there was a high risk of accidents happening, whether intentional or not.

Having spent his youth running up and down the streets of Ostrad, Rael was quite familiar with its layout. He created a mental image of the city in his mind, mapping out the different potential routes they could take. After several moments of deliberation, he decided on a path that snaked along beside the outer wall. Such a route was more winding and less direct than going straight through the city, but it would decrease their chances of encountering other alteons significantly. After the encounter with Kaydin, Rael was simply not ready to subject Gavin to the possibility of being grabbed again.

Rael glanced down at his hands. He was surprised the human had kept quiet for so long and not interrupted Rael’s contemplation once. The reason became quite clear as he noticed Gavin staring at the nearby city with wide eyes. “Right, this is his first time seeing any kind of alteon civilization.”

Gavin’s expression was a mixture of shock, awe, and fear--which Rael supposed was a reasonable reaction. Even putting the size aside, the architecture was likely entirely foreign to the human. The structures in the human city Rael had seen had certainly seemed very different from alteon craftsmanship.

As if he could feel Rael’s gaze on him, Gavin looked up. “It’s like I got transported into a medieval movie,” he breathed in disbelief.

Rael blew out a soft sigh, the breeze ruffling Gavin’s crop of brown hair. “I don’t know what that means,” he told the human. Both the words “medieval” and “movie” were foriegn to him. He assumed they weren’t important words, considering he hadn’t learnt them during his study of human language.

“Oh right,” Gavin said with a light chuckle. “Nevermind then.” Although he appeared to be making an effort to hide it, Rael suspected the sight of the city had caused some nervousness to develop in Gavin. The little guy’s energy levels seemed slightly lower than they had earlier.

“Alright,” Rael carefully moved the hand holding Gavin up a bit so he didn’t have to tilt his head down so much to look him in the eye. “I’m going to take you around the edge of the city,” he began. “Our chances of running into anyone are low, but I’m going to keep you hidden from sight anyways.” While it wasn’t necessarily a secret that a human was being brought to the Emperor, Rael considered it safer if no one even laid eyes on Gavin until they were safely ensconced in the palace.

“I guess there’s not gonna be a parade held in my honor then,” Gavin joked, mock disappointment in his tone.

Rael shook his head. Not even the human diplomats and politicians that had visited the palace received any sort of celebratory welcome. “Consider yourself lucky you’re even getting to ride in my hands rather than the cage,” he snipped.

If Gavin had thought he’d been being smothered before, the situation he was in now was on a whole other level. He still sat in the center of Rael’s palm, but now his entire view of the outside world was obscured. Rael’s free hand caged Gavin in against the giant chest, leaving him in the dark except for the small slivers of light that filtered in between the massive fingers.

While Gavin was effectively trapped, he knew the action wasn’t hostile this time. In fact, it was actually meant to be for his own good. That wasn’t to say Gavin was happy with the arrangement. Despite how intimidating it had been, he had kind of wanted to take in the sights of the alteon city. Though, after the encounter with Kaydin, he could understand Rael’s reasoning for wanting to keep him hidden.

“God, I don’t think I’ve been this close to someone else in...well who knows how long,” Gavin thought to himself. He wasn’t really opposed to physical contact, in fact he had a tendency to maybe be a little bit too handsy at times. However, most of his friends and acquaintances were opposed to physical contact, and so would throw Gavin off whenever he greeted them with an overenthusiastic hug or overzealous handshake.

Now all of a sudden he was being effectively cradled by a literal giant. Gavin ran a hand down his face. How the hell had his life gotten so goddamn weird? Of course, his life was bound to be pretty unconventional as soon as he chose stealing as a career path--but come on, this was beyond bizarre.

“There’s a couple people up ahead, keep quiet,” Rael ordered in a hushed voice.

The urge to scream at the top of his lungs in order to freak out the alteons was quite strong for Gavin. He could only imagine the looks on their faces would be priceless as they tried to figure out who or what had made the noise when Rael’s mouth obviously hadn’t moved. But as funny as that would be, the risk of another Kaydin situation was too great. Not to mention the fact that he would no doubt incur Rael’s wrath. Although, that might actually be funny in its own right…

Suddenly he heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice say something that sounded kind of like a greeting.

Rael gave a perfectly polite, but perfectly simple reply. He slowed his pace ever so slightly, but never came to a stop. Gavin was just fine with that, he wasn’t really interested in having to listen in on small talk while stuck in Rael’s hands.

As they got closer and closer to the palace, the reality of Gavin’s situation was beginning to slowly set in. Surviving the journey to the palace had proven to be a challenge in and of itself, so much so that he hadn’t really stopped for long to consider what was waiting for him when he finally reached his destination. He knew his fate was entirely in the hands of this dimension’s emperor, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what kind of fate that might be. “I’m a criminal being brought in to be judged for a crime, it’s not like whatever it is is going to be good,” Gavin reminded himself solemnly.

“Do you guys have a rule against cruel and unusual punishment here?” Gavin asked Rael, his voice just loud enough to be heard by the giant.

“You’re supposed to be keeping quiet,” Rael immediately scolded, sounding more exasperated than actually angry.

“Is there anyone around right now?” Gavin inquired.

“No, but--”

“Then please just answer the question.” Gavin didn’t like the way his voice sounded, notes of anxiety and fear were obvious in it. Rael was perceptive, he would undoubtedly pick up on it, even if Gavin had spoken very quietly.

There was a long pause. Gavin began to wonder whether Rael planned to just ignore the question and remain silent, but then, “There aren’t rules for punishments, there are precedents.” Rael spoke so quietly Gavin doubted an alteon standing right beside them would be able to discern the words. “The current emperor is known for his fair but firm sentences,” Rael explained. “But you will be the first human he has ever judged, so it’s difficult to predict exactly what he might decide.”

Gavin didn’t really know what to make of that. He supposed it was good to hear that the Emperor wasn’t known for being sadistically cruel. However, the fact that Gavin would be the first human to ever be sentenced in this dimension wasn’t exactly encouraging. What if the Emperor wanted to make an example of him--to send a message to all humans that going against alteons was a horrible mistake?

“There’s no use fretting over it,” Rael whispered. Gavin knew he was right, and normally worrying about things he couldn’t control wasn’t really his style. Rolling with the punches was a part of being a good thief. But with so many unknowns in front of him, Gavin was having a hard time not letting his worst fears intrude upon his mind.

Honestly, Gavin’s question had thrown Rael off guard. He himself had been pondering what the future might hold for the human, but he hadn’t really stopped to think about how the weight of the unknown might be weighing on the little man himself.

At the start, the fate that might await the human criminal hadn’t mattered much to Rael. Whether Gavin was imprisoned for life, kept as the Emperor’s pet, or simply slapped on the wrist--it hadn’t mattered to him. All he’d been concerned with was delivering the human to the palace and getting the unwanted assignment over with.

Things had changed. Now Rael found himself feeling almost...nervous about what the Emperor might decide. After all, now he knew that Gavin wasn’t the one truly at fault for stealing from the diplomat. He had been nothing more than a pawn. Of course, the Emperor didn’t know that. “Should I...should I try to tell him?” he asked himself. However, he was quick to dismiss that thought. Speaking out of turn to the Emperor was a sure fire way to damage his reputation, which was something Rael simply couldn’t allow.

“I’ll just have to trust the Emperor's judgement,” Rael told himself. The ruler of the realm seemed a wise and just man. Despite being fairly young for his position, the Emperor had already made a name for himself as one of the best rulers the realm had ever seen. Surely Rael could trust him to make the right decision regarding Gavin.

It was just then that one of the servant’s entrances into the palace came into view. The door, typically used by cooks, maids, and other domestic servants, was always guarded by a single soldier. Today, the guard was familiar to Rael, but he didn’t know the woman well enough to know her name.

“Returning from an assignment?” the guard asked, apparently recognizing him as a member of the Imperial Guard despite his lack of uniform. She seemed confused as to why Rael would use this entrance rather than one of the ones specified for the Imperial Guard, but it didn’t appear as though she was going to press for information.

Rael nodded. “Yes, that is correct,” he replied. All of the palace guards were aware a human would be arriving soon, but this woman clearly didn’t realize that she was speaking to the one who had been tasked with retrieving said human.

“Welcome back then, head on in,” she said with a polite smile. Rael was thankful she didn’t ask about the specifics of his assignment, he really wasn’t in the mood to explain it all to her, nor was he eager to show Gavin to her. Despite now being at the palace, Rael, for whatever reason, preferred to keep Gavin hidden as long as possible.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael

37 notes · View notes

spooderboyandtincan · 4 years

Text

You Came Back to Me

TW: Poisoning, hospitals

Read on Ao3

Peter knew it was a waste to try to tame his curls. No matter how much gel he used (which must have been at least a full bottle by now) his hair would not stay flat.

Peter gave a frustrated sigh and threw down the comb in surrender. Not even a second later, as if he had somehow sensed his absolute agony, Tony strolled in.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony grinned at him. “Were you going for the half-drowned puppy look on purpose? Is this a new style I don’t know about?” he teased, tweaking one of his greasy curls gently.

Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed a towel to get some of the gel out. “I hate this stuff,” he grumbled, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. He did look like a half-drowned puppy, not that he would ever admit it. Tony chuckled and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and Peter looked up at him.

Tony’s hair was styled so perfectly that each individual hair was in place. His beard was combed and his sunglasses were folded in the front pocket of his smooth, cream colored Armani suit, and around his neck was a light, lavender tie. To Peter’s astonishment, he had managed to get ready in less than an hour.

Peter leaned into his father figure’s chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne, old spice, motor oil and something distinctly Tony that always soothed his nerves.

“How long is the party gonna be?” he mumbled into his chest.

“As long as we can suffer,” Tony joked, then in a softer tone, “We can leave whenever you want, okay? Just let me know and we’ll go.”

“M’kay.” He nodded, feeling a little relieved. He would much rather have a movie night and fall asleep in Tony’s arms than be at a loud, crowded party full of snobby rich people, and he knew Mr. Stark felt the same. But from what he had accidentally overhead of Tony’s conversation over the phone with Pepper, it was pretty important that Tony came to represent Stark Industries, especially because Pepper had to be out of the country that week.

“Let’s get your suit,” Tony said. They walked into his bedroom, and Peter sighed in relief at the simple black suit that was on the bed. He thought that Tony might have bought him an expensive Armani suit or a Tom Ford, but he hadn’t. Thank goodness. If he had, Peter probably would have passed out right then and there.

When Peter came out of the bathroom, fumbling with his tie, Tony nearly cooed. When changing, his curls had gone completely rogue and were frizzing about. His socks were bright purple with pink stars and were rather blinding compared to the dark suit. Peter gave up on the tie and handed it to Tony, his big bambi eyes wide and pleading for help.

Tony grinned fondly and quickly looped the fabric around his kid’s neck, easily knotting it into a perfect tie. “There. Signature Tony Stark.” He patted his shoulder.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You can’t have a style for a tie, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure I can. Draw a goatee on it and it’ll be a new fashion. I guarantee it.”

Peter snickered and they headed down to the garage where Happy was waiting. Tony grabbed a juice box and a granola bar for Peter and took the boy’s coat from the closet (Peter insisted he didn’t need it but knew he probably would).

“Hey, Happy,” Tony greeted. The driver looked up.

“About time,” Happy grumbled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Get in here, we need to go!”

Tony chuckled at the disgruntled driver. “We can be fashionably late.” He hopped in the backseat with his kid and put an arm around his shoulders.

“No, we goddamn can’t!” Happy grumbled to himself, though his words were quite audible. He shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the garage.

“Watch your language, there’s a kid,” Tony warned, cupping his hands over Peter’s ears. Peter rolled his eyes.

Once they reached the building where the party was being held, th father-and-son-duo stayed back while Happy cleared away crowds of paparazzi that had materialized all around the car.

“Remember, kiddo,” Tony said. “We can leave anytime you want.” He squeezed the boy’s knee reassuringly.

“‘Kay.” Peter smiled nervously.

“You ready?”

Peter bit his lip. “I think so.” He took a deep breath.

“We don’t have to go, baby,” Tony murmured, tracing a finger along his cheek bone. “Do you wanna go back home and just watch a movie?”

Peter really just wanted to nod his head and drive back to the compound and have a nice movie night with Tony. His cheeks turned red. How embarrassing would that be? Pulling up to your own party and then leaving. He didn’t want to embarrass Mr. Stark. It couldn’t be that bad. It would probably be fun (he doubted that, but maybe it would be). Peter took a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Tony gave him a loving smile. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Thanks.” Tony gave his hand a squeeze and opened the door, hurrying around the back of the car to open Peter’s door and promptly ignoring the renewed bright flashing and clicking of cameras.

“Okay,” he whispered, looping an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s do this.” He slid on his sunglasses and they started down the red carpet. Happy hovered behind them, glaring at anyone who dared to get too close.

Peter’s heart was beating so fast he could barely hear the separate beats. He began to feel slightly nauseous. He was already starting to regret his decision to stay.

Peter subconsciously leaned further into Tony as they entered the building. People’s attention turned to them, and not-so-subtle gasps and murmurs buzzed through the crowd.

Tony wanted nothing more than to glare at these idiotic people and lead Peter right back to the car and back home. However, he was sure Pepper was right that this would be a good experience for his kid, and he knew they would have fun once most of the crowds dissipated.

(Plus, Pepper would kill him if he left. She would have his ass hanging on the mantle in place of the Christmas stockings Peter had insisted they put up already.)

Happy clapped him on the shoulder and informed him was going to go patrol the perimeter. Tony dryly told him to “have fun,” and Peter waved as he stalked off.

“Tony! Who’s the kid?” a bright voice called. Peter flinched and inched behind the man as they turned around, a little nervous.

A tall, middle-aged woman with straight blonde hair and a silvery dress rushed up to them. She had even, pearly teeth that shone brightly when she gave them a smile. “Tony! Hi!” she said breathlessly. “How are you doing? I’m Stephanie Wright.”

Tony shook her gloved hand. “Pleasure.”

“And who are you, hon?” Stephanie bent down so her face hovered uncomfortably close to Peter’s.

He scooted backward slightly and tried to give her a charming smile like Tony had. “I’m Mr. Stark’s personal intern.”

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful?” she cried, far too enthusiastic in Peter's opinion. “You must be pretty smart!”

Peter smiled uncomfortably. Every instinct in him was screaming at him to get away. Something about this lady was definitely off, and he didn’t want to stick around to find out what it was.

“Why don’t we go get a drink, kiddo?” Tony interrupted, starting to lead him away from Stephanie. Peter knew he had sensed his discomfort and wanted to get him away.

Stephanie gave a piercing laugh and, to the pair’s displeasure, followed them. “Oh, we must think alike. I’ve been craving champagne all night. I hope you aren’t giving this poor kid alcohol, Tony.”

Peter frowned. He knew Tony would never even think of it. Even talking about alcohol could make the man uncomfortable, so he tried to think of something to change the topic.

“Did you know there’s a turtle that pees through its mouth?” he blurted.

Peter’s face turned crimson red. Of all the things to come out of his mouth, why did it have to be that?

Stephanie gave him a strange look and stayed silent in suppressed disgust, but Tony snorted and stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing. He squeezed the back of Peter’s neck gently to let him know he wasn’t laughing at him, but at Stephanie’s hilarious expression. Peter groaned internally and wished he could die on the spot.

Tony and Peter headed to the bar, chatting happily, but Stephanie narrowed her eyes and forced her way through some disgruntled young ladies so she stood a few yards from them. She watched Tony hand the kid a menu. He pointed to something she couldn’t see, which the man nodded at and flagged down a waiter.

She couldn't hear what he said but assumed Tony had ordered two of the same drink from the two fingers he held up. The bartender seemed to have prioritized their drinks (of course he had, that was Tony Stark) because not even five minutes later he rushed to them with two overflowing glasses of cherry red liquid on a silver platter.

Stephanie saw her chance, and she took it.

She ran towards Tony with a grin on her face, waving to get his attention. Just before she reached them, she pretended to trip in her silver high heels and bumped into Tony. “Oh my god,” she laughed, faking embarrassment. “I’m so clumsy, sorry.”

“No problem,” Tony said politely. The drink hadn’t splashed onto his expensive suit. In fact, it hadn’t sloshed out of the cup at all. He handed the glass to his kid, who was looking strangely at the tall woman.

You idiot! Stephanie cursed Tony silently. You fucking idiot! That was for you, not the kid! She took a deep breath. I can make it up later, she told herself. Relax and go with it. I can get the kid first and then later, him.

Feeling assured, she grinned. “Sorry about that, Tony. Glad it didn’t leave any stains!” Stephanie suddenly looked to her purse and dug through it till she pulled out her phone. “Oh. My fiancé is here somewhere and he’s trying to find me.” She sighed. In reality, she had received no text and didn’t even have a fiancé, but she needed to get a safe distance away before the kid took a drink from his Shirley Temple. “Well, I should go. It was wonderful meeting you Tony- you too Peter.”

“Yeah,” Tony said as the woman hurried off. “Huh. That was weird.” Peter shrugged and laughed. Tony ruffled his curls and they set down next to each other at a small table.

“How’s that Shirley Temple?” he asked when Peter took his first large gulp.

“Good!” he answered truthfully. Tony smiled fondly at him and reached out to ruffle his hair.

Peter took another sip, expecting his dry throat to be blissfully cleared by the sweet cherry flavored drink.

Instead, the liquid that trickled down his throat stung and burned. He choked silently and took another drink, hoping it would help.

The burning in his throat only grew. He felt like his stomach was turning inside out and his chest had been stabbed with needle-sharp knives. The back of his neck prickled and he felt like he was in the middle of a blizzard but also in a desert with the sun directly overhead at the same time.

He tried to reach for Tony, desperately needing the man’s comforting arms around him, but his arm and fingers would move. All that came out of his mouth was a strained gasp when he tried to get his attention.

Tony was texting Happy about the potentially dangerous Stephanie who had been following them all evening, when he heard a thud and the sound of glass shattering.

He whirled around. “Peter!”

One moment he was sitting in a squishy, comfortable chair, the next kneeling on the ground next to his kid’s small form, the chair falling to the ground loudly behind him.

“Peter?! Peter, baby!” There were glasses being set down and plates clattering on tables as people near them noticed the terrified billionaire. Tony quickly pulled off the boy’s tie and gathered him in his arms and cradled him close, his focus on his kid and nothing else. Peter’s head flopped against his chest limply, his face clammy and turning gray, his chest heaving with every strained breath. Tony cupped his cheek and smoothed his thumb over the hollows under his eyes. “Peter?” His voice came out in a whisper instead of a terrified cry. Tony didn’t know what to do.

Peter clawed at the man’s chest, his chest feeling as heavy as lead. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Peter choked and gasped, coughing and trying frantically to get air into his lungs.

Tony’s blurry face hovered above him. He could tell the man’s lips were moving quickly, could feel his heart beating a mile per minute in terror and panic, but he couldn’t hear anything except a blur of shouting and running.

Tony, sirens, heartbeat, Tony, kiss on his forehead, hand in his curls, shouting, shouting, sirens getting louder, Tony getting louder, heartbeat, glass, high heels running, Tony, sobbing, tears falling to his hair- not his tears, Tony’s tears. He didn’t want Tony to cry. “Don’t cry,” he tried to say, but nothing came out of his mouth but a strangled wheeze.

Bubbles foamed around his mouth. The tears fell more rapidly and the strong arms around him were almost painfully tight. A kiss to the forehead- more words. Another kiss, this time on the cheek. Gentle, calloused fingers, tears, voices- different voices, not just Tony’s. He wanted Tony.

And- Painpainpain. Suddenly Peter was drowning in white hot agony. Make it stop makeitstopmakeitstop. His teeth were grinding together, Tony was crying, words of comfort were coming out of the man’s mouth but Peter couldn’t understand them-

Pain. Great waves of pain washed over him. Make it stop, Tony, please. This time the tears were his own. Soothing hands in his hair- he could barely feel them. Too much. Too much everything. Make it stop! He needed it to stop. Toomuchtoomuch. Too much pain. Please. Please.

That was a word coming from Tony’s mouth. Please.

Please.

The pain stopped.

Everything stopped.

~~~~~

Tony felt like throwing up. His heart was beating so fast it felt more like an erratic hum. His hands shook violently and had he not been sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, he knew he would have collapsed long ago. His suit was dirty and wet with tears- not that he cared.

He dropped his forehead into his hands.

When Tony closed his eyes, all he could see was the cold, pale face cradled against his palm that was so unlike his beautiful, warm, rosy-cheeked kid.

He leapt to his feet and began pacing the length of the medbay waiting room, fear flooding through his veins, every instinct in him telling him to move, to get to Peter, to protect his kid.

But he fucking couldn’t, he couldn’t, because Peter was down the hall in a room filled with strangers, and oh god, Peter had been poisoned. His kid could be dying and he was stuck out here, so far away, and he couldn’t even fucking hold him and brush his fingers through his soft curls and tell Peter he had to stay. He had to.

Tony knew he couldn’t live without his kid. Peter was his everything- he couldn't do this without him. He needed Peter- and Tony knew he couldn’t survive without him.

He slid down the wall weakly, his breaths quickening. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “Peter, oh my god. I’m right here, Peter. Don’t leave me, baby, please.” He didn’t bother to wipe the tears trickling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me lose him, oh god please, I can’t. I can’t.”

Tony began to sob. He pressed his hands against his face to muffle his loud cries.

Peter, eyes closed, not breathing. Looking dead. Face gray and pale. His own anguished sobs flooding his ears as he hugged the boy to his chest.

Peter, on a gurney, taken away from Tony before he could process that his kid wasn’t in his arms anymore.

Too terrified and stunned to move- then sprinting after him and trying to fight through the doctors and nurses to get to Peter. Happy and two others struggling to hold him back.

“Tony,” said Dr. Cho, the door swinging shut behind her. “Are you okay?”

He spun around so fast he could hear his neck crack. Tony lurched to his feet, heart pounding. “Peter,” he croaked, blood draining from his face.

She gave him a weary smile. “He’s okay, Tony. You can see him now. He’s awake, actually, but he’s really out of it.”

Tony hadn’t processed even half of her words before he was running. He dodged past her and sprinted down the hall, skidding into a familiar room.

“Peter…” he breathed, his eyes blurred with tears.

Before he knew it, Tony was at his kid’s side, sobs racking his chest. He gently lifted the disoriented boy into his arms, carefully avoiding the oxygen mask strapped to his precious face, and rocked him back and forth.

He wept into Peter’s hair, pressing kisses against his curls in between sobs. “You came back to me,” Tony cried. “You came back, you came back. My Peter, my baby, you came back to me.” He squeezed Peter gently. “I thought I lost you, I thought you were gone- I- I can’t, I can’t do this without you, I-”

Tony took a long, deep breath, broken with small cries. He cupped Peter’s confused, tired, still far too pale face. “I don’t- I- oh baby, thank god you’re okay.” Tony tried not to burst into another round of tears.

He squeezed his kid close and pressed a long, tender kiss to his forehead. “My sweet boy,” Tony murmured. He ran his fingers through Peter’s soft curls.

Peter blinked up at him, a slight crease between his eyebrows. His lips parted, trying to form words, but Tony gently stopped him.

“Shh, shh, baby, no talking yet, okay?” He tapped the plastic of the oxygen mask. “We need to keep this mask on to make sure you get enough air, see? Just rest for me, bambino, I’ve got you.” Tony sniffled and tried to give him a reassuring smile, discreetly wiping away the tears that had pooled in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Peter had even processed what he’d said, but he seemed to relax and practically melted in his arms.

Tony felt such overwhelming relief washing over him as he watched Peter’s chest rise steadily. Wiping his eyes again, he pressed his lips to Peter’s forehead and let his eyes close for a long moment, desperately trying not to think about how close he had been to losing his baby.

There was a quiet sniffle, and his eyes flew open, his heart racing once again. “Peter? Peter, baby?” Tony was panic-stricken to find a pearly tear running down his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?” He wiped Peter’s tears away with the pad of his thumb. “What is it, bubba? Should I get a doctor?”

Peter shook his head, a squeak coming from his throat even though he was trying hard not to cry. He tapped his pointer finger on the rough skin of Tony’s hand, hoping he would get the message.

... -.-. .- .-. -.--

Scary

Tony’s eyes softened. “Oh baby.” He squeezed his hand comfortingly and traced his thumb along the boy’s cheek. Peter sniffed again. “I know, Petey, I was scared too,” he murmured. He still was, but that was beside the fact. “But I promise you’re okay baby, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, I promise.”

.--. --- .. ... --- -.

Poison

Tony flinched and held his kid tight. Peter was far more coherent than he had thought. “Yeah, sweetheart. Poison.” His voice was gravelly and Tony looked to the wall while he tried to pull himself together. “I was so scared I was gonna lose you,” he whispered.

-.. .. -.. -. .----. -

Didn’t

Tony grinned tearily but couldn’t find any words. He sniffed and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, stroking his soft curls. Peter’s eyes were slowly drooping shut- which terrified him.

The inventor knew that his baby was stable and safe and breathing- but he couldn’t get the image of Peter’s sheet-white, still body out of his mind.

Tony took a deep breath to steel himself and smiled down at his kid. “You can sleep now, bubba. I’ll be here the whole time. It’s okay.” He brushed a finger over Peter’s eyelids. “I love you, baby,” he whispered, softly kissing his forehead.

Peter closed his eyes and soon his breaths were slow and steady. Tony’s gaze was full of love as he cradled his sleeping kid. “I love you,” he repeated a little hysterically, somehow aching for the boy, even though he was already in his protective embrace. “I love you.” Tony pressed his lips against his temple for a long while.

Ever so gently, he lowered Peter to the mattress, careful not to jostle the sickly boy. He moved around so that Peter’s head was cradled in his lap and pulled the covers to his chin, adjusting a spare pillow behind his back despite the padded headboard.

The inventor looked up at a quiet knock on the door. Helen stepped in, giving the pair a fond smile.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, brushing her hair out of her face, then taking Peter’s wrist and checking his pulse.

Tony massaged his forehead and sighed. “I…. He responded to me. Um... he used morse code.” He gave a strained chuckle. “He’s so goddamn smart.”

“The smartest of us all.” Helen looked scrutinously at him. “And how are you?”

He snorted. “Honestly? Like I got run over by a couple of eighteen-wheelers.” Tony shook his head. “How are his vitals? Is he breathing okay? Is he okay?”

“Tony. Deep breath,” she instructed. “Yes. He’s fine, he’s doing great, actually.”

Tony breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Helen-” His voice broke. “Thank you. I-” Tony’s eyes watered and he looked away. “I can’t thank you enough. You saved my kid.” He brought Peter’s hand to his lips. “Thank you.”

Helen shook her head, smiling. “Tony, I don’t need thanks. I may be a world renowned geneticist-” her grin widened, “-but patching up your danger-prone kid every other day is a very important part of my job too.”

They shared a chuckle, and after checking several of the monitors around them, Helen left, giving him a little wave. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on him,” she said. “Try to get some rest.”

The door closed quietly behind her. In the growing silence, the heart monitor’s monotonous beeping seemed to grow louder. Tony gazed down at Peter’s lax face and he felt so much love. His heart seemed to burst with all the overwhelming love he held for his sweet kid, and he could only press a long kiss to the boy’s forehead.

Tony scooted forward and pulled the expensive blankets over his shoulder, wrapping Peter in his arms and bringing him close. He held him against his chest and combed a hand through his curls. “I love you, Petey,” he murmured.

Tony pressed a tender kiss to Peter’s temple and, after hugging Peter closer, he allowed his eyes to slip shut. Peter’s soft breaths heated the crook of his neck. After a few peaceful minutes of listening to his kid’s breathing, Tony’s own breaths eventually steadied.

~~~~~

Helen paused in the restroom, relieving herself and then fixing her bun. She washed her face with the warm water that came from the faucet and took a moment to breathe. The bathroom door slid shut behind her and she turned around, and nearly rammed into the one and only Happy Hogan.

“Happy!” she exclaimed.

“How is he?!” Happy gasped breathlessly, pulling at his tie. “Is he…?” The unspoken words on his tongue made him shiver and he shook his head.

“He’s fine,” she assured him. “He’s fine. Tony’s with him right now.”

Happy breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he muttered. He turned to discreetly wipe the dust out of his eyes.

Helen smiled. “Peter’s okay. He’s stable and already recovering.” She shook her head and sighed, the worry lines around her eyes creasing. “Happy, it was arsenic poisoning.”

Happy’s lips pressed into a thin line. He swallowed thickly and nodded.

“We caught her,” he said abruptly. “Stephanie Wright. All we know so far is that, um, it wasn't the kid she was looking for. Her target was Tony.” Happy cleared his throat. “I’ll let him know. Later. Not now.”

“But Peter’s okay?” he asked once more.

“He’s doing fine,” Helen assured him.

“Good. Good.” Happy nodded. “That’s… yeah, good.” He began making his way down the hall to the waiting room.

She gave the weary man a kind smile. “I’m about to go check on him. I’ll let you know how he’s doing.”

When Helen poked her head to Peter’s hospital room a few minutes later, she couldn’t help but chuckle fondly.

Peter was wrapped in Tony’s arms, barely visible in the protective embrace of his father. The man’s quiet snores and Peter’s adorable snuffles filled the empty, machine-like silence of the room. Even in sleep, Tony’s arms were still tight around his kid.

Helen slipped in and quietly checked the monitors, nodding to herself. She saw Peter’s hand move almost violently on the pillow out of the corner of her eye, and she had to hold back a laugh when Tony let out a loud snort and pulled Peter closer.

After adjusting a few wires, she smiled at the sleeping father and son duo and waved slightly, then watched the door shut behind her.

Back inside that serene room, Tony pressed his nose into Peter’s curls and breathed in deeply. His face was relaxed and peaceful as he held his precious kid. Peter, looking absolutely tiny in Tony’s arms, was snuggled against his chest, his lips parted slightly with a little drool dripping down his chin.

Though they were both fast asleep, a feeling of peace and love filled Tony and Peter. Warm and safe in each other’s arms, they would sleep for a long while.

~~~~~

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923

If you want to be added/ removed please let me know!

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

158 notes · View notes

thrillridesz · 4 years

Text

black magic ▫ sangyeon

➳ pairing: best friend!sangyeon x fem!reader ➳ genre: fluff, magic!au ➳ warnings/rating: PG ➳ word count: 2.7k ➳ requested?: no

a/n: this is written as a birthday special for tbz’s best leader sangyeon! happy sangyeon day everyone ^^ this story is also inspired by little mix’s ‘black magic’. This is unedited as of now and I finished this real quick so I’m sorry if it isn’t up to standard!

“Thanks for the surprise, I really appreciated it.”

The night was young as the luminous moon hung high in the dark sky, casting a soft, white glow on the earth below. A cool, night breeze whipped gently against your cheeks while you strolled the quiet streets with Sangyeon, a tranquil silence in the air safe for the soft scraping sounds of the fallen autumn leaves against the gravel ground as it got caught in the wind. Wrapped up tightly in your coat, you felt a sense of warmth spread across your chest, a warmth more cosy than anything else.

“It’s no problem! It’s your birthday, it had to be perfect.” You replied, shooting him a bright smile as you stuffed your hands into your coat pockets.

Sangyeon grinned, his eyes crinkling into crescents.

“It was, don’t worry. Not gonna lie though, I didn’t think it was Eric in that bear costume even for a second. You guys really scared me right there.”

Your laugh rang through the night as his smile grew wider.

“Well, it was a pretty impromptu idea! It was literally on sale for like 10 bucks, we just had to get it,” you threw your hands up in defense as Sangyeon chuckled softly, his breath coming out in white puffs from the cold.

“Always on the hunt for good deals, y/n. Always.”

“Of course! Though since you’re my best friend, I’m usually willing to pay just a little bit more.” You replied thoughtfully, tapping your chin as if deep in thought.

The two of you have been friends ever since you could walk. For the longest time, it was just the two of you against the rest of the world. When you got bullied by the other kids in the courtyard in second grade, it had been Sangyeon who stuck by you and defended you from them even if it meant he was to take some of the punches in your place. Likewise when Sangyeon had been dangerously close to repeating a year in eleventh grade, you had persisted in staying by his side to make sure he studied and understood everything the teachers’ had to teach. All through middle school and high school, the both of you have been thick as thieves. Whatever you did, he did as well and whatever he did, you did too. Things like spending Halloween and coordinating outfits, going to school and studying for exams… The two of you were each others’ constants and if anyone was to ever look up the term ‘best friends’ in the dictionary, they would no doubt find both your names in there.

What sort of ‘best friend’ would you be not to at least fork out a few extra dollars for the sake of an amazing birthday for the one and only Lee Sangyeon?

You didn’t notice the slight frown that crossed Sangyeon’s face which he quickly replaced with a soft smile but the look in his eyes were hardened and detached.

“Right.”

“Wait, what’s that?”

You stopped dead in your track, squinting as you pointed into a distance. Before Sangyeon could reply, you grabbed onto his hand, pulling him behind you while you made your way over. The colour in his cheeks darkened as he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, peering at you shyly. You were too engrossed in staring at the display in front of you to notice him, your nose practically touching the glass panel.

“Black Occult?” You mumbled under your breath, your eyebrows furrowing together.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to Sangyeon, a look of confusion etched in your face.

“You don’t find this weird?”

“What about it?”

“This was never here.”

At that, Sangyeon narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the store’s exterior. Wrinkling his nose, you saw the belated realisation dawn upon him.

“Oh, right. Didn’t this used to be an arcade?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re so dense sometimes, it’s unbelievable.”

“Can I help you guys?”

The two of you whipped around to see a certain pink haired boy standing with his arms akimbo at the entrance, staring at the both of you. His eyes were blue, almost unnaturally so, and he was clad in just about the most colourful suit you’ve ever seen anyone don on. It felt like an assault to your sights, with all the neon colours yet somehow there was such a mysterious aura to him. In a way, it felt like there was an almost mystical vibe that you got from him that made you inclined to think that he wasn’t in any way human.

“W-We… Oh, we’re sorry. We didn’t know you were open.” Sangyeon replied and you could hear a slight tremble in his voice. He definitely felt the same.

“Are you guys looking to purchase anything?” The scowl on the boy’s face disappeared as his eyes widened.

“Um…”

“Excellent! Please, come on in. I was wondering why you guys were standing outside acting all weird but I didn’t realise you guys wanted to come in. It’s this goddamn black glass, isn’t it? I’ve told Haknyeon so many times we should change it. Makes it so hard to look in, I swear.” He rambled on, holding the door open with a wide grin on his face.

“Come on in! Feel free to look around. If you need anything, I’ll be here. Just call my name, Chanhee.”

You and Sangyeon exchanged a look as if hesitating to enter but one look at Chanhee’s enthusiastic expression prompted you to see foot into the store. Seeing that you were going in, Sangyeon shrugged as he followed suit.

The moment you entered the store, the overwhelming scent of lilies and peaches hit you with a pang while the dim lighting made it difficult to navigate even within the store. Yet once your eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room, you couldn’t help but marvel at the oddities that surrounded you.

On the wooden shelves attached to the wall, were rows and rows of oddly coloured liquid, too bright or too unnaturally coloured to have come from a source of nature. Several sprigs of unknown herbs hung on the walls, tied into bundles by string while on another side, candles of all shapes, sizes and scents lined the table. Well-polished crystals were arranged meticulously on an old mahogany coffee table near the counter and a particularly interesting looking bird flitted around in a wrought Victorian-style iron birdcage. It was small with a white beak and purple and yellow feathers with its wings flapping so fast, you could barely see it moving. You have never seen a bird like that before and although you started towards it, something else caught your eye entirely.

Picking up a small bottle, you inspected the glowing golden liquid in it, Tilting it in your hand, the viscosity of the mixture and the velvety look it had was almost mesmerising to stare at. As you turned it over, you leaned in to read the faded label on it.

“Love potion.” You said aloud, causing Sangyeon who had been looking at a bunch of tarot cards to look up at you.

“Ah, yes! One of our bestsellers that is!” Chanhee exclaimed, his eyes shining with joy and excitement. “Guaranteed to work! It’s only 15 dollars.”

“Why would you need anything like that?” Sangyeon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as his biceps bulged ever so slightly.

“You never know… I just thought it looked pretty.”

Somehow, you couldn’t stop staring at it. It was as if it was whispering your name to ‘just buy it’. Then again, it could really just be the impulsive shopper in you but there was something so alluring and magnetic about it that you just felt like you had to have it in your possession. It was like letting a child go lose in a candy shop and finally seeing that one lollipop with the most beautiful swirls and crazy colours that just screamed flavour. You didn’t exactly care even if it wasn’t an actual potion, it just looked so aesthetic that you had to buy it.

“I’ll have it!”

Sangyeon looked at you as if you had just sprouted horns on your head as you handed over a dollar bill over to Chanhee who accepted it readily.

“Surely, you don’t actually believe that it’s a love potion.” He blurted out much to the disgruntlement of Chanhee who shot a deathly glare at him.

“It is! It’s been tried and tested. It works, okay?” He said with an air of haughtiness which Sangyeon grumbled at and instantly, Chanhee knew. He should have known earlier in all honesty, from the way he had seen the man stare at you. A slow smile began to spread across his face.

Interesting.

As Chanhee watched the two of you leave the store with Sangyeon still rambling on about how you ‘just wasted 15 bucks for nothing’, he leaned into his chair contentedly. With a snap of his fingers, a cosy glass of grape wine materialised in his hands and with a sip, he sighed.

“Darling didn’t even need a love potion.”

“I can’t believe you actually bought it.” Sangyeon said, his voice still carrying a tone of disbelief.

“Look at it though, isn’t it pretty? I mean even if it isn’t actually a love potion, it’s nice to look at.” You said, still looking at the glowing liquid in the tiny bottle. Slotting in the key and entering the shared apartment the two of you shared with Younghoon, a childhood friend to the both of you and Hyunjae, a mutual friend from university. Since Younghoon was away in Spain with his girlfriend, Bea, it was really only Hyunjae in the house who you found clad in a dinosaur onesie as he lounged in front of the television with a big bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap.

“Oh, you guys are back. I was wondering where you guys went after the party.”

“We were… A little caught up.” Sangyeon said slowly, casting you a knowing glance which you avoided.

“Figures. You guys left earlier than I did.”

“Because you were busy fraternising with anyone you can possibly bring home, which I can see you’ve failed.” You joked and Hyunjae tossed a pillow at you, with a scowl on his face.

“Ugh, get out of my way.”

You laughed out loud as you set the bottle on the kitchen tabletop, causing him to turn to look. When he did, his eyes widened almost comically large as he leapt to his feet.

“What’s that?” He shuffled over quickly with a look of awe.

“Some stupid love potion thing,” Sangyeon replied curtly before you could even open your mouth to say anything. You turned to him with a frown at which he merely shrugged off carelessly as he preoccupied himself in rummaging through the refrigerator for a late night snack.

Taking the bottle from you, Hyunjae held it up against the light, his dark eyes shining with overflowing curiosity and doubt. The light reflected off the smooth,clear glass, making the gold liquid inside it look even more luminous and even wispy with the liquid swirling almost in slow motion no matter how you look at it. You have never seen anything like it and judging from Hyunjae’s expression, neither has he.

“Looks interesting.” He declared after a moment of inspection as Sangyeon turned to him in disbelief.

“Not you too. That guy definitely ripped y/n off. Seriously, y/n.” He tsked, sauntering over and snatching the bottle from Hyunjae.

“Doesn’t seem like anything special. A love potion? In this day and age? I don’t buy it for a second.” There was disdain in his eyes as he pursed his lips in disgust. Popping open the bottle, a sweet scent of tangerines and pineapples rapidly permeated the small apartment and maybe it was just you but you thought you felt your heart flutter just a little. A smile made its way onto your lips quite unconsciously and a tiny jolt of electricity shook you in the most delightful way possible.

Could it be…?

You lifted your gaze to see Sangyeon stare at the bottle in his hand with a startled look on his face, his mouth slightly ajar and you knew that he had felt the exact same thing. Though that look of surprise disappeared just as quickly as it came and his expression hardened.

“That’s a lot of artificial flavouring for one bottle.” He clenched his jaw as his grip on the glass bottle tightened and you could see the veins protruding ever so slightly from his forearm.

You narrowed your eyes.

“If you’re just going to whine, then give it back to me. Just don’t look at it.”

As you leaned forward, Sangyeon took a step back.

“Why? Are you going to try giving that to someone?”

Raising an eyebrow, you regarded him with suspicion.

“Sure, why not? There’s a really cute guy in my statistics class, even if it doesn’t work - which I’m pretty sure it doesn’t so don’t worry - it’s still worth a shot.”

You barely noticed the flash of disappointment in Sangyeon’s eyes and how his shoulders sagged ever so slightly as you ripped it from his hands. Yet before you could cap it back, he grabbed it back so hastily that you didn’t even have time to react. Throwing his head back, you and Hyunjae could only watch in shocked silence as you gulped down almost half the bottle.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, he shot Hyunjae a piercing glare as the latter let out a wolf whistle, his eyes filled with mirth and genuine adoration.

“Damn. That was... Ironic.”

You didn't say anything except stare at Sangyeon and a moment passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. There was no burst of sparkles or anything growing out from anyone’s body, nothing crazy at all.

Huh. So maybe it was actually a hoax.

“That should be enough proof,” he said in an ‘I told you so’ tone which you rolled your eyes at. “That's some nice potion though or whatever you wanna call it.”

“Really? Let me have a taste.”

Reaching over, Hyunjae took a sip and hummed merrily.

“Oh dang, this is amazing. It’s like an orange smoothie except a million times better.”

Lifting his head, he turned to look at you and what you saw made you almost stumble back in shock. The colour of his eyes held a faint flash of pink before they returned to normal but when they did, they no longer held the playfulness and casual air that Hyunjae always wore but rather, they were filled with such intense passion and affection. It was like looking into the eyes of someone who was extremely, completely, slap me silly and deeply...

In love.

“Have I ever told you how pretty you look? I know I’ve never said this but... I think I love you,” Hyunjae said in a low, soft voice as he reached out to hold your hands in his.

“I...I...” You spluttered at a complete loss of words, wringing your hands frantically.

At that, Sangyeon swivelled around to stare at the two of you.

He could only watch as Hyunjae lifted his hand to gently brush your hair away from your face as his other hand reached up to cup your face.

“How could I not have notice- Hey!”

Grabbing him by the collar from behind, Hyunjae practically flew back as Sangyeon pulled him away with a disapproving frown on his face. There was a deep frown etched onto his face, his eyes crinkling as he looked at the latter with an almost irritated expression. Though somehow, you could detect a faint hint of fear in his demeanour. In a way, the uneven and volatile energy radiated so strongly off him that it was hard not to see it in any other way.

Was Sangyeon perhaps jealous?

No. It couldn’t be, he was your best friend. Furthermore, how did the potion work on Hyunjae but not Sangyeon? Unless...

You let out a soft gasp as the realisation dawns upon you. It seemed as if Sangyeon may have come to the same realisation almost as soon as you did because he turned to you with such an expression of sheer panic, the sound of his heart pounding so loudly you could hear it.

The potion didn’t work because he was already in love with you.

215 notes · View notes

cjsinkythoughts · 4 years

Text

The Night Shift

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4,189

Warnings: a few bad language words (sorry Stevie), fluff, I think that’s all

Summary: Your bad day turns worse when you're given the night shift at work. But you find it has more perks than you original thought.

A/N: Here it is! My first ever posted/published work! This is a bit new for me for quite a few reasons. 1. I usually write OCs. 2. I'm used to writing 3rd POV and past tense. 3. I like writing series and longer fics. 4k is actually pretty mild for me. Also, I'm planning on doing more first date fics with the Avengers, but we'll see if I keep up with that. Thank you and enjoy!

(Pictures not mine but collage is)

Today is not your favorite day. You woke up late, your laundry isn’t done because the machines were all being used when you tried, your roommate didn’t do the dishes so you had to do them before you left, your car broke down - meaning you had to take the Subway - and now you’re working an extra shift because your stupid coworker didn’t show up.

Who even comes in to get coffee at 9 at night? The sky is dark, the stars are out, and everyone should be getting ready for bed - including you. God. You love New York, but sometimes you wish the damn city would just go to sleep for once in it’s goddamn existence.

You’re practically asleep on your feet, getting ready to close in fifteen minutes, when the door opens, the little bell ringing in response. You rub your eyes and turn from where you’re wiping down the back counters to speak to the wackjob who wants coffee at this cursed hour.

You freeze, your eyes meeting stunning azures framed by dark lashes. Thick, soft, chocolate locks fall down past his ears and into those alluring eyes. Lips, perfectly pink and very tempting, pull up in a delicious smile. He’s got a jawline sharp as a knife, only accentuated by the dark scruff covering it. Jesus Christ this man is attractive. He’s also vaguely familiar…

He strolls up to the counter, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans that pulled taunt around his thick thighs. His shirt is pulled tightly across his shoulders, muscles flexing beneath the fabric, threatening to tear the material with every movement.

“Hello.” You thank whatever deity that might be out there that your voice doesn’t shake as you greet the gorgeous god of a man.

“Hi there, doll. Cody’s off today, huh?” Even his voice is breathtaking.

“Yeah. He didn’t show up. Is he a friend of yours?”

The man tilts his head in confusion, before his eyes light up realization. “Oh, no. No. I just come here a lot.”

“At nine at night?”

He shrugs, a small blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s the only time I get to myself really.” It clicks in your head who this man is when he raises his hand to rub the back of his neck. Black metal gleams in place of tanned skin.

“You’re Bucky Barnes!” You blink at him in disbelief. His hand quickly finds its way back to his pocket while he chuckles awkwardly. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. You’re one of my favorite Avengers! After Black Widow, obviously, but-” You stop rambling, feeling heat rise to your face. “God, I’m tired. Uh, what can I get you?” You punch in the order that he gives you and look up shyly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

He smirks and leans on the counter. “How about a name, darlin'? Yours, specifically.”

You roll your eyes, unable to contain the snort you give. “I’ll be right back with your order, sir.” You start making his drink, avoiding his eyes that you feel watching your every move. Usually you had another worker helping to make drinks, but since there’s only ten minutes until closing, you’re alone to close up the shop tonight.

You also usually only write on the cup when there’s more than one person, but you find yourself writing down your own name on his cup. It is part of his order, after all.

“Here you go.” You repeat his order, handing his cup to him.

He raises an amused eyebrow. “You forgot-” You interrupt him by clicking your tongue and turning the cup in his hands. He looks down at it curiously, before grinning and reading the ink out loud. The way your name falls off his lips has you holding in a shiver. “Thanks, sugar.” You watch him leave the shop, whistling a nameless tune, and wonder if Cody would mind switching shifts more.

Turns out, Cody had been arrested, so your boss had to hire a new kid who, because of school, couldn’t do the night shifts. Which meant your shifts changed. Not that you mind all that much; it gives you more chances to see Bucky.

When he said he comes in often, he wasn’t lying. Occasionally he stays while you clean and lock up and the two of you get lost in conversation under the city lights outside the shop. He usually orders and leaves with a witty comment and a wink, probably off to save the world from aliens or Nazis. He always orders the same thing, but he always asks for a little something extra, different every night.

“The usual?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anything else?”

“Your phone number would be great.”

“I’ll get right on your drink, Buck.”

“Awesome. Can you add your favorite flowers to that, too? Thanks, sugar.”

“I’m gonna change it up today, dollface.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll have the usual, but on the side I want to know what your favorite dessert is.”

He’s such a charmer. You aren’t sure if he’s just flirting or if he actually likes you. You think maybe he does that with every girl - waitresses, cashiers, secretaries - and he’s just being friendly. You’re sure after being stuck as a brainwashed assassin for nearly a century, flirting and cracking jokes with people makes him feel more normal. Still, you can’t help but wish that maybe the relationship you have now would become…more.

It’s not until he shows up a few weeks after your first meeting that you finally get an answer to whether or not he really likes you.

The bell rings, signifying a customer coming into the shop. You know it’s Bucky by the watch on your wrist; in the past few weeks of working the night shift, only one other person came in at nine o’clock.

“Good evening, beautiful.” A smile lifts the corners of your mouth at the familiar smooth voice that you could listen to all day. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

You straighten up and look over the counter. “It’s called inventory. How’s your day been, Buckaroo?”

“Better now that I get to see your pretty face.”

You roll your eyes, face heating up and a small smile gracing your features. “Give me a minute and I’ll have your drink done. Anything extra?”

“This is a bit riskier than normal, but I’ve been wanting to try it for a while. Can I get your schedule?”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion as he smirks confidently. “My schedule?”

“Yeah. I just need to know something.”

“What would that be?”

“You free on Saturday, doll?”

* * * * * * * *

Saturday comes much too slowly for your liking, especially considering he asked you out only two days prior. He didn't tell you what you'd be doing today, so you decide on a casual sundress that you can play off as fancy if you need it to be. The color and style compliments you and your beautiful features perfectly and you can only hope he agrees. Your roommate assured you you looked gorgeous before going out with some of their other friends this morning.

You're just putting the finishing touches on your outfit for the day when a knock on your door sounds throughout your apartment. You check your watch: 10:30 on the dot. Just like he said. You get up too quickly, causing you to trip on your own feet and stumble - but luckily you catch yourself before you fall. Feeling simultaneously embarrassed and relieved he didn't see your clumsy actions, you head to open the door.

A bouquet of your favorite flowers appeared once you open the door, bright cerulean eyes shining at you from behind them. He grins, said eyes scanning your figure. "You look pretty as a picture, doll."

You duck your head bashfully, taking the flowers from him. "Thank you." You not so subtly check him out as you put the flowers in a vase. Like always, Bucky is absolutely stunning: his brown locks frame his face, falling into those mesmerizing blues, which are even more so due to the dark blue t-shirt under the light bIue jean jacket hugging his muscled torso. Dark jeans pull taunt across those thighs, his large hands in his pockets casually. You find yourself frowning when you notice his left hand is covered by a black glove. You want to say something, but decide against it, too anxious to ruin the date with this god of a man.

He clears his throat, which brings your gaze back to his face. You feel yourself heat up at the smirk on his perfectly pink lips. "Uh, I, um, so...what are we doing today?"

"I thought we could have some fun today, since all you ever seem to do is work."

"I don't always work." You quickly defend. He raises a disbelieving eyebrow, making you drop your head again. "Okay. Maybe I don't get out much."

He chuckles. "Good thing. That way I get you to myself." There's that smug smirk again. "As for what we're doing, that's for me to know and you to find out. I'd wear walking shoes if I were you, though."

You give him a curious look, moving over to grab your keys, phone, and wallet, before slipping on your sneakers. "I don't get a hint or anything?"

"And ruin the surprise? Where's the fun in that?" You giggle a bit as the two of you head out your door and down the hall. "I didn't know if you mind motorcycles, so I just borrowed Steve's car." He tells you in the elevator.

You talk about motorcycles and your opinion of them as you walk out your building and into the bright Spring sun. Your eyes widen at the nice Camaro parked in the street that he leads you to. "Wow."

"Yeah." Bucky nods in agreement. "Tony had it custom made for Steve for their anniversary a few months ago."

"And he's allowing you to use it?"

Bucky chuckles, running a hand through his hair as a pink tint dusts his cheeks. "'Allow' is a strong word."

You laugh as he opens the passenger door for you. You thank him, sliding onto the nice brown leather seat. "Does he even know you have it?"

He shrugs, shutting the door and leaning into the open window. "He'll find out soon, I'm sure."

Another laugh escapes you, a smile adorning his lips at the sound. He walks around the car, doing a hood slide to make you chortle again. While you two start driving, you try to convince him to give you a hint, but he's stubborn, denying you answers with that annoyingly charming smirk of his.

You recognize the direction you're going after a while and bounce in your seat as you arrive. "Coney Island?"

"I haven't been here since before the War and I've been meaning to come see how it's changed." He told you with a grin. "Who better to come check it out with than the pretty dame who serves me coffee at nine o'clock without complaining?"

Rolling your eyes to cover how much comments affect you, you smile teasingly in return. "Have you always been such a charmer, Barnes?"

He parks the car before shooting you a wink. "Only to angels, darlin', and you're the first one I've met so far."

You inwardly curse, hating how easily flustered you get around him. He gets out of the car and you're about to follow when he opens your door for you and offers his hand to you like the gentleman he is. You take it, enjoying the feeling of your smaller one against his rough calluses, and he helps you out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

"You ready to have the time of your life, dolIface?"

"As long as you get me a treat." You joke, linking your arm with the one he offers.

"Like I wasn't going to?" He scoffs back. "Who do you think l am, sugar? Now c'mon. Fun's awaitin'."

You laugh, letting him drag you around, loving the child-like wonder in his pretty eyes. Whether or not you enjoy roller coasters, you have a blast: playing carnival games, eating food you both know is terrible for you, but tastes oh so good, and people watching the interesting crowds, all while teasing and playing around with each other. There's nothing better you can think of to do with your free day than goof off with Bucky, no stress or worries plaguing your mind like usual. He even wins you multiple adorable plushies! Being a super soldier wasn't just good for saving the world, evidently.

It was while you're eating lunch that you ask Bucky why he's wearing a glove. "I've already seen your arm. I don't mind."

He hesitates, opening his mouth before licking his lips nervously. "It's not...I know you don't. I just don't...I dunno. I don't wanna freak anyone out."

You frown and put down your food, leaning forwards on your elbows. "First off, I think you're an amazing person. Just throwing that out there. Second, I don't think anyone will mind. You're a hero. An Avenger. Basically a celebrity with a badass arm. And, finally, if anyone does say anything, I'll tell them off. Easy peasy."

He snorts at that, before looking at his gloved hand warily. You reach across the table to give both his hands a squeeze. He meets your eyes and you grin reassuringly back. "If you're not comfortable, that's okay. Just know that other people should never be the reason to hide yourself. Trust me."

"I do." He says genuinely. You give him a questioning look, playing with the tips of his gloved fingers. At his nod, you slowly start taking his glove off, giving him time to say no. He doesn't, letting you tug it all the way off. He blushes when you lift the smooth metal to your lips.

"So, what's next? Wanna win me one of those monkeys with the velcro hands?" He chuckles at your question, telling you he'd win you all of them if you asked. You giggle, tightening your hold on his hand and, after finishing the last bite of food, pulling him to the booth with the monkey prizes.

When it starts getting dark, Bucky convinces you to go on the Ferris Wheel with him, promising to hold your hand the whole time if you're scared of heights (even though you haven't let go of his hand or arm since lunch). It's one of the most stunning scenes you've ever seen. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, a few stars dotting the darkened sky, a rare sight living in New York City. The aforementioned city's lights were turning on, causing the skyline to glow brightly. It's hard to think of anything bad about NYC when she looks like that.

"Wow. " You breath, enchanted by the city you've grown to love as home. "There's something almost...magical about it, don't you think?" You turn to Bucky, still captivated by the view, expecting him to be the same. After all, New York has been his home for over a century and so much has changed. Instead, you find him intently watching you, a small, adoring smile etched on his features. You smile shyly, unable to keep his gaze while he's looking at you like that - like you're the most enthralling thing he's seen, bewitching his heart and soul, even with the magnificent picture before you.

"Yeah...there is." He agrees, grabbing your chin between his left thumb and pointer finger gently, making your eyes meet. His right arm is around your shoulders, pulling you into his warm chest, heating you up from the chill the night is bringing.

Your heart drums hard against your ribs when he glances at your lips and you're sure he could hear it, even without his enhanced hearing. Your eyes lock onto his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them. You're suddenly so much closer, his right hand holding the back of your neck delicately while his left cups the side of your jaw. Your hands are gripping his jacket, noses brushing.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice comes out low and raspy.

"If you didn't, I'd probably smack you."

You feel his deep chuckle reverberate through his chest, which you just notice is pressed solidly against yours. Before you can process anything, his lips are slanted over yours. They're softer than you originally thought and they move expertly against yours. It surprises you, before you remember he's technically over a century old, so of course he has experience.

The kiss is over before you want it to be, but the need for oxygen gets too much and your lungs start to sting, so you pull back reluctantly, your hands now in his hair while he's holding your face tenderly.

"Speaking of magic."

You laugh, rolling your eyes as the Ferris Wheel starts turning again. "Who knew Bucky Barnes is such a sap?"

He smirks, leaning forwards to peck your Iips a couple times. "I prefer the term 'romantic'."

Once you get off, you hold onto his elbow, leaning against his shoulder. "Thank you for bringing me, Buck. I really enjoyed today."

"Well that's good considering we're not done."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, what?"

Bucky scoffs in amusement. "You didn't think that was all, didya, doll? The day's not over; the night's still young!" His right arm slings around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing your head.

"Okay. What's next?" You ask curiously. He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on those delicious lips. "Another surprise?"

"Hope you're hungry, sweetheart."

"Dinner?"

Giving you a charming grin, he leads you back to the car. "Guess you'll have to wait 'n see, darlin’."

* * * * * * * *

"Buck.” You groan, toeing the ground nervously. The blindfold covering your eyes was keeping you from seeing anything and, to your embarrassment, you've already tripped more times than you care to admit. “Where are we? l feel like we've been walking forever. Can I take this stupid thing off yet?”

Bucky chuckles softly in your ear, holding you steady as you walk on the uneven surface beneath your feet. “We’re almost there, doll. I promise."

Letting out a huff, you let him lead you further along. Finally, after what feels like hours, though you know you're being dramatic and haven't been walking that long, he stops. "Stay right here," he mumbles, his hands that were on your shoulders leaving, along with his warmth behind you, with a kiss to your cheek.

"Haha. You're so funny."

A couple snickers leave his lips and you can just imagine the smile no doubt gracing his features - the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes adorably. You feel wind nip at your bare skin and shiver slightly, wondering where the hell you are.

"Okay. C'mere." His hands are on you again, the contrast of the two adding to the goosebumps the breeze was giving you. "Right here." You can practically feel his excitement and nerves as he positions you. "Alright. Ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be, I suppose."

His nimble fingers are suddenly at the edge of cloth covering your eyes, which he makes quick work of, tugging it off gently. "You can open your eyes, sugar." He chuckles, seeing your eyes tightly clenched shut. You do as he says and blink them open. The sight that meets you takes your breath away.

He brought you to a beach, which you had kind of already guessed due to the sad slipping through your shoes. In front of you, a blanket is spread out, being held at the corners by lanterns, which are connected by a string of fairy lights outlining the blanket. Pillows are scattered on the blanket, a picnic basket to the side while a single red rose is in a small vase in the center with rose petals surrounding the setup. He really is a romantic.

"Bucky. It's beautiful. When did you set this up?"

He rubs the back of his neck, turning red. You smile, enjoying the fact that you can make him just as flustered as he makes you. “Actually, the team helped me out a bit. It was originally just Natasha and Steve. But, uh, then Tony and Wanda found out and then...Sam."

You giggle, knowing his and Sam's brotherly relationship from previous conversation. "I bet he teased the shit out of you when he found out."

"Please," Bucky scoffs. "I'll be the butt of his jokes for at least a month. At least, this part of me will."

"Well, I love this side of you if that's worth anything."

He grins dashingly at you. "Then let the birdbrain tease, because that’s worth everything. Here." Taking your hand, he leads you over to the blanket and sits you down. "All those questions at the coffee shop and I never asked your favorite drink so I brought red, white, beer, Coke, Pepsi, root beer, and," he pulls out the last bottle he brought with a boyish smile. "Apple juice. There's water in 'ere too. And, o' course, the meal and the dessert, which I did ask about because I'm not a complete idiot."

Laughing, you can't help but pull him in for a kiss. "You're so cute."

He clears his throat, his face heating up while he rubs the back of his neck, tying his hair back in a knot. He hands out compliments like candy on Halloween but he can't take them to save his life. How adorable can one man be?

You two eat and talk about everything from hilarious childhood stories to what keeps you up at night. You love listening to his fascinating tales of playing through the 20s, scraping through the 30s, and fighting through the 40s. You especially love the way his face lights up when talking about his family, the Howling Commandos, and America's Golden Boy, both twink and tank stories.

After a couple hours, you find yourself wrapped in his warm jacket - which smelled amazing - leaning against him as he tells you about his new family. You sip on your preferred drink, your eyes fluttering shut, content to simply listen to his soothing voice talking about Clint and Scott's latest prank on Pietro.

"You tired, doll?" You hear him whisper tenderly, his arms around your waist while his thumbs run small circles on your sides.

You hum and look back at him over your shoulder. "Just feeling the moment." He smiles adoringly at you, kissing your temple.

"It's getting late anyways. We should get you home. Don't want your roommate worrying."

You scoff, but agree. You help him clean up and carry things to the car, despite his protests. You nearly fall asleep on the ride back, his big, warm hand resting comfortably on your thigh the whole way. He squeezes gently when you pull up to your building, murmuring lightly to wake you up.

Ever the gentleman, he walks you inside and helps you bring the armful of prizes he got you to your door. Once there, you unlock the door and lean against the frame, facing him.

"Thank you, James. As far as first dates go, this is by far the best one I've had."

He shoots you a smug grin. "Glad to hear that, beautiful. Does that mean if I asked for a second date you'd say yes?"

You give him a smirk back. "I'd say your chances are very good."

"And if asked for a goodnight kiss from the most gorgeous girl I've ever been blessed to be in the presence of?"

You giggle, ducking your head shyly. His hands grip your jaw, pulling your gaze back to him. He nudges your nose with his, whispering against your lips, "is that a yes?" AII you can think to do is nod. He smirks at your reaction, before he's pulling your lips against his. It's more passionate, less hesitant and experimental, than the few previous kisses you shared. He's angling your face to deepen the kiss, his hands tangle in your hair and his tongue prods your lips open, swallowing the little whimper you let out.

When you pull back, you're breathless, panting against his open month. "You workin' tomorrow, darlin'?" He rasps out.

"No." You try to collect yourself enough to answer, although it's hard with all your nerves on fire, his scent fogging up your brain. You manage to move your heavy tongue enough to say, "I have the weekend off."

A broad grin lights up his pretty face. "Great. I'll be over at nine. Have a nice night, sweetheart."

You nod, an airy "goodnight" leaving your lips. You watch him walk off, a pep in his step and his lips turned up. You lean back against your door, hugging all your new plushies to your chest, still wrapped up in his jacket, and let out a sigh.

You'll have to go visit Cody and thank him. After all, that dreadful night shift gave you the best day of your Iife.

#cjsinkythoughts #cjswriting #first written work #first published work #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #please excuse any mistakes #thanks for reading!#first dates w/ avengers #💙🦾

124 notes · View notes

hopelesshawks · 4 years

Text

Physical Fatality Part 3- A Night to Remember

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings for graphic descriptions of unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (receiving), creampie, and minor dom/sub themes

Masterlist

Let no one say Bakugo doesn’t make good on his promises.

You wore a black gown that hugged your figure perfectly and a matching black mask. The dress had been designed specifically with you in mind with silver detailing spiraling throughout. The designer had said she chose it because of the way silver would wind up and branch out along your arms when you used your quirk. “I’m not sure how else to incorporate telekinesis in a dress so I hope this is enough,” the small owl-eyed woman had fretted. “It’s perfect,” you had assured her, and now, as you stepped onto the red carpet with Bakugo on one arm and Midoriya the other, you were proving your assertion correct. The press had, of course, immediately picked up on the lack of an engagement ring on your hand and the lack of a fiancé on your arm but you ignored any and all questions about your engagement as you otherwise charmed the press. Then the minute you all were safely inside the hotel the event was hosted at, you and Bakugo had exchanged mischievous looks before making a beeline to the bar. It had taken Midoriya at least twenty minutes to coax you both from the hotel bar to the main banquet hall and by then you already had a pretty good buzz going. That of course didn’t stop your quest to get blitzed on the agency’s credit, however, as the two of you simply switched from the cocktails downstairs to drinking the complimentary champagne like it was water.

“Kacchan, (y/n)-Chan, please, slow down,” Midoriya fusses. “I didn’t think he’d actually fuss the whole time,” you confess to Bakugo. You’re taking the glass of champagne currently in your hand slower. As much as you’d talked about being the opposite of respectable you don’t want to tip over into sloppy territory. You and Katsuki are a little too friendly and a little too loud and that, in your opinion, is the sweet spot. “Tried to warn you. Go hang with your girlfriend Deku we’re fine,” Bakugo insists. “Are you guys fine though? You know this is technically a work event,” Midoriya chides. “If they didn’t want us to get at least a little drunk they shouldn’t have offered free champagne,” you point out. “We’ll be fine dumbass, go hang with your girl and we’ll stay here and be responsibly drunk,” Bakugo insists. Midoriya looks between the two of you multiple times before casting a look back over his shoulder where he can see Uraraka, Iida, and Yaoyorozu all talking. “We’ll even let you be the one to take us home! Promise!” you add on. Midoriya casts one last skeptical look before breaking. “Ugh, fine. But I’m serious guys! You better stay right here,” Midoriya finally relents. You and Bakugo both give him a mock salute before he finally relaxes and goes to join Uraraka. “Hey Katsuki?” you suddenly pipe up. “What?” “I just realized something.” “What did you realize?” “I’m pretty sure since Monoma and I broke up I’m technically fucking homeless right now.” It’s not funny but the two of you crack up anyway.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Tokoyami groans as he trails behind Hawks, who is on the lookout for Mirko. “Even Dark Shadow thinks this is a horrible plan,” he insists. “Dark shadow does not think this is a horrible plan. Don’t put words in his mouth to prove a point,” Hawks says rolling his eyes. “I’m not, look,” Tokoyami insists. Hawks sighs and turns to face his friend. As the now very familiar black form emerges from Tokoyami’s torso, Hawks is 90% sure he’s about to be proven correct. In reality it’s a very good thing Hawks doesn’t gamble. Dark Shadow had promptly agreed with Tokoyami and it had only made the other man even more smug. “Whatever, I’m still going to find her,” Hawks huffs. “Why are you so insistent?” Tokoyami questions him. “She’s the love of my life! I’m sure of it!” “Oh my god you finally snapped.” “Fuck off.” “She is not the love of your life and even if she was she wants nothing to do with you now!” “You just don’t understand. I have to fight for her back.” “Would you tell her your real name?”

The last question makes Hawks stop in his tracks and whirl around back to this friend. “What are you on about now?” he asks. “If she’s the love of your life would you let her touch your wings and would you tell her your real name and if you had to choose between her and work would you choose her?” Tokoyami presses. Hawks opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He wants to say yes. He wants to stick it to his friend and tell him he would indeed let himself be vulnerable with Mirko because she’s the love of his life so there! But Keigo has always hated lying and he knows the answer is no to all of the above. So he opts instead to say “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” “I give up. When Mirko inevitably slaps you or this otherwise blows up in your face at least try not to let it happen in front of paparazzi. Endeavor is very proud we’ve been bad headline free this month,” Tokoyami sighs before turning the opposite direction and leaving Hawks to his own devices.

“One question remains (y/n),” Katsuki announces to you as you both finish your drinks. “And what would that be?” you giggle. “Who are we taking home tonight? Or I guess who am I taking home and who are you convincing to take you to their home since you’re technically homeless,” he elaborates. “We told Midoriya we’d stay here and he could escort us back home so he wouldn’t have to worry,” you reply. “You were actually going to listen?” “No I was gonna sneak off during the speeches to bang someone and then be back here in time for Midoriya to escort us home.” “Smart woman.” “Thank you.” “So who are you thinking?” he asks.

Your eyes scan the banquet hall before finally alighting on a pair of red wings. He’s wearing a black suit with a tie and mask to match the color of his wings. His sandy blonde hair is wild and you wonder if it was styled that way or if the man had flown here and made it that way. Something about him is magnetic and you can’t explain why but you have a strong desire to follow its pull. “I may have found someone, not sure yet,” you hedge. Bakugo hums in acknowledgment as he too scans around the hall. “Why are you bothering to look?” you ask. “The fuck are you on about?” he questions back. “We both know you’re big gay for Red Riot. I would bet you have been since high school,” you tease. “Shut up,” Bakugo grouses. “Am I wrong though? He’s gotta be around here somewhere,” you say looking around. You finally spot the tell tale red hair of the man Bakugo once drunkenly confessed to you he lusts after. “There he is,” you grin. “I swear to god dumbass,” Bakugo warns, looking suddenly nervous. You roll your eyes and flag down one last glass of champagne. You press it into Bakugo’s hands and then you look him in the eye with all the seriousness your tipsy ass can muster. “Listen here Katsuki. Take this liquid courage, down it in one go, march right up to that sexy ass motherfucker and whisk him off his goddamn feet. You are Katsuki motherfucking Bakugo aka Dynamight aka explosion murder GOD, the number three hero in Japan. Now go get your mans,” you tell him. You watch his crimson eyes fill with determination and you have to resist laughing at the way he looks eerily similar to how he does before a particularly daunting battle. “I’m gonna do it,” he decides. “Fuck yes!” you encourage as he knocks back the champagne before passing you the empty glass and storming over to where Kirishima is.

Meanwhile Hawks is still searching for Mirko when he lays eyes on you instead. It’s like everything else stops. The rest of the world fades away as he watches you talk with Bakugo. There’s something about how casual and wild and free you look, even dressed as elegantly as you are. There’s something different about you and he can’t peel his eyes away. How has he never seen you before? Surely he would’ve noticed someone as captivating as you sooner. The speeches are due to start soon and he really should find a seat or something, but then Bakugo leaves and you’re standing there all alone and Hawks’ feet are taking him over to you without his brain having consciously decided to do so. “Mind if I join you?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it, taking a spot next to you leaning against the table. “Not at all,” you reply with a grin. Mirko walks right past the two of you and he doesn’t even notice, too caught up in your smile and your voice. God your voice is just as beautiful as the rest of you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Hawks admits. “I could say the same to you,” you fire back. “Trust me this isn’t my first rodeo around here. But I’d remember someone as stunning as you coming to one of these,” Hawks replies easily. “Probably not if I was on another man’s arm,” you admit. “Oh, you have a boyfriend.” “Had a fiancé. Now I’m free,” you pause, looking him up and down, “well free as a bird I guess,” you finish smirking. Hawks laughs at that. “Wow, I definitely haven’t heard that one a million times,” he teases you. “I never said I was creative, just that I was free,” you tell him. When your eyes meet again it’s like a million volts have shot through your gazes and suddenly you’re hungry for him in a way you haven’t been hungry for anyone in a very long time. The lights dim as the first speaker takes the stage, out of the corner of your eye you notice a familiar blonde head leading a red one out of the room. A quick search soon reveals Midoriya eagerly watching the stage for whatever crusty retiree is about to speak. Basically, the coast is clear. “As much as I would love to listen to a bunch of old people recount stories of their hero glory days, what do you say you and I sneak over to the hotel bar for a drink,” you offer. “I’d like nothing more,” Hawks grins.

As it turns out the hotel bar is closed, but you and Hawks have no intentions of letting that stop your fun. After a quick check for security cameras or nosy bystanders, you reach out with your quirk and carefully bring a nice bottle of hard liquor from behind the bar. You promptly pass it to Hawks who raises an eyebrow at you. “I’ve been drinking most of the night, you sir need to catch up,” you explain cheekily. “Fair enough,” Hawks laughs. He cracks open the bottle and takes a long pull from it, wincing a little as it burns down his throat. “Now where to since the bar isn’t an option?” he asks. You pause and think for a moment before coming up with an idea. “Follow me,” you whisper conspiratorially before grabbing Hawks’ hand and dragging him down the hall to the stairs, both of you abandoning your masks as you go.

Hawks has never done anything this wild and reckless before. Regardless of the press’s perception of him, Hawks has had a highly regimented life since the HPSC took him in, and his sense of duty and responsibility had only grown since he properly began his career. Sure, he’s had a few girlfriends over the years, but he truly was looking for love in every one of them. Yes, even the ones after Mirko.

You are something different entirely. What he felt for all of them combined could not compare to the feelings racing through him now as the two of you run up the stairs two at a time, the sound of your footsteps echoing up the tight stairwell. He can’t take it anymore and when the two of you reach the next landing he tugs you into him by your hand and kisses you. He can taste the champagne on your tongue but there’s also something uniquely you in the kiss that he can’t get enough of. So he takes and takes and takes like a man starving and you’re all too happy to give it to him. When you two stop to catch your breath you whisper, “come on, we’re almost there,” and then press another kiss to his lips quickly before tugging him out the door into the hallway.

You keep going until you finally find the door you’re looking for. When you try the handle it’s locked but you’re not concerned. You bend down and extend your quirk into the lock, closing your eyes so you can concentrate. You can feel the different tumblers and get to work pushing at each one experimentally until they click into the proper position and the door unlocks. You grin and push the door open. “After you,” you say. “That’s a neat party trick. You sure you’re a hero?” Hawks teases as he steps into the room. As he finally turns to take it in he realizes you’ve brought him to the hotel pool. “I’m sure,” you laugh, “just grew up a bit rougher than most have. Lockpicking is pretty simple to be honest. Regardless, we should have this place to ourselves.” Hawks can relate but he’s not allowed to tell you that, so instead he asks “Oh really?” “Really.” “Wonder what we should get up to then,” he muses before suddenly pushing you into the water.

It takes a half a second for you to register what’s happening and then you’re plunging under the surface of the water. You quickly resurface and you want to be pissed but your mystery man is laughing and it’s so beautiful it’s as if the sun itself is contained within his smile. Something tells you he doesn’t laugh like this much, so, instead of getting angry, you decide to get even. “Oh you think that’s funny bird boy?” you ask. “I do,” he grins down at you as he stands what he thinks is a safe distance away from the pool’s edge. “Then why don’t you come join me,” you smile back. You reach out with your quirk, feeling it wrap around his body and then tug. You can see the shocked look on his face as your quirk drags him to the water’s edge and then unceremoniously dumps him in the water. As he comes up for air, shaking water out of his hair he looks so affronted but you can see the amusement there too. He hadn’t expected you to retaliate. So now it’s your turn to laugh. Even though your dress is probably ruined and your perfectly styled hair definitely is for the night, you laugh in a way you haven’t in ages. “Oh it’s on now,” Hawks declares and suddenly the two of you are splashing each other like children, both trying to use your quirks to gain an advantage. It’s crazy and chaotic and soon splashing turns to all but wrestling and when he finally has you pinned against him and immobilized, your back to his chest and his arms holding you tightly so you can’t squirm away, both of you stop. You both try to catch your breath, the sound of the water and your heavy breathing echoing off the pool walls. You can feel his growing erection pressing against you and you know how the rest of this will go. You’ve got an impressive resume of one night stand experience, have heard all the lines, so you’re prepared for whichever one he’s about to use. At least you think you are. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, “I don’t usually do stuff like this. Someone like you is new to me.” You’re about to roll your eyes when you notice his hands are shaking and it occurs to you that he must mean every word.

You hadn’t expected that. Not at all. This is different than those one night stands. He’s different. The scariest part is that this is new for you too. You don’t do play fighting in the pool. Even with Monoma there had been no magic in the relationship. It was a necessary work deal and then it morphed into something comfortable. When you invited Hawks to the bar you had just meant to drag him away for sex and then leave to go back to the gala the minute you both were satisfied. You’d weather Midoriya’s concerned look and Bakugo would high five you and then you’d forget about the mystery man with the red wings. You turn in his arms, your eyes meet his golden ones, and immediately your heartbeat is kicking in your chest. This is not that. This is more than that.

And that fucking terrifies you.

Before you can fully panic Hawks is kissing you with an intensity you can appreciate and a yearning you are shocked by but can relate to all the same. This is a one night deal. That’s how these things go. But there’s a small, traitorous part of you screaming that it doesn’t have to be this way. So you kiss him like this is the first of many to satiate that small part of you, but you also kiss him like it’s the last one ever because you know that’s the more likely option. You kiss him until kissing isn’t enough and your hands move to push his suit jacket off. He catches onto the memo quickly and removes his jacket easily before tossing it aside. He goes to remove his shirt and fumbles, Jesus Christ his hands are still shaking, so you replace his with yours and carefully begin to undo each button as he instead reaches to pull down the zipper of your dress. Between the two of you and your quirks it isn’t much longer until you’re both naked, pressed together, your clothes laid out on the side in the vague hope they’ll be drier by the time the two of you have to leave the haven you’ve created. You don’t even notice that Hawks is walking you backwards until you feel the pool ledge against your back but small details like that feel irrelevant when he’s got one hand on your waist to keep you steady and the other on your breast to thumb at your sensitive nipple.

“Up,” he commands and it sends a bit of a shiver down your spine as you obediently hop up onto the ledge. You expected him to join you but he doesn’t, instead grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer to him. It’s interesting looking down on him like this but you think you could get addicted to the hungry look in his eyes. He slowly spreads your thighs apart, maintaining eye contact in a silent request for permission as you realize what he has planned for you. You give a short nod and then he’s diving in, his tongue immediately licking up along your folds. You shudder and your grip on the pool ledge tightens as he finds your clit and begins to lavish attention on it, licking at and sucking on the sensitive nub. You think you could get off on that alone but then he switches focus, not wanting to end things too quickly, as he instead begins to tongue fuck you like his life depends on it. You throw your head back and moan as you feel his tongue sliding in and out of you, his nose occasionally brushing over your still sensitive clit. He reaches one hand up to give your nipples some attention too and soon you can’t help the keening noises that spill from your lips unbidden. You card one hand through his hair and then grab onto some of the locks as you press him in deeper, helping guide him and that magic tongue of his exactly where you want it. It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to reach climax and the look of smug satisfaction on his face after has you hungry for more of him.

You’d let him be the boss so far but it’s your turn now. “I need you up here now bird boy,” you pant as you try to catch your breath, tugging on his hair to emphasize your point. He looks a little bewildered but you can tell by the way his dick twitches he’s not opposed. “Yes ma’am,” he replies cheekily as he climbs out of the pool. As soon as he’s on the side with you you move to straddle his hips and his hands instinctively go to your waist. “Ready?” you ask and he quickly nods his head. You don’t need any more encouragement as you line yourself up and then slowly sink yourself down onto his dick. For some reason the moment you’ve fully sunk down and he’s buried all the way inside you is incredibly overwhelming. So overwhelming, in fact, you think you might cry. It’s inexplicable, but when your eyes meet Hawks’ you can tell he feels exactly the same. You stare at each other with watery eyes as he whispers “This is...” and trails off, shaking his head as he struggles to find the words to describe this moment. “Heaven in hiding,” you finish for him and it’s like something clicks into place in both your hearts. “Yea. This is heaven in hiding,” he confirms and then he’s kissing you and there’s something there you’re too terrified to identify but you still give it back to him.

You start moving, lifting your hips slowly before sinking back down onto him again and the way he whimpers into your mouth is intoxicating. He lets you control the rhythm as you ride his dick, instead focusing on trailing kisses down your neck as he rubs and pinches your nipples. You’re so incredibly tight around him that he can barely stand it. So he allows himself this surrender, allows himself to be lost in you and wholly unrestrained for the first time in a very, very long time. “Can I-?” you ask with your hand reaching for, but stopping just shy of, his wings so he can see what you’re doing and decide first. He drops his hands to your waist to still you for a second as he stares at your face in wonder almost. “No one’s bothered to ask before,” he confesses and he hadn’t really realized how much that bothered him until now. “They should’ve,” you reply simply. He takes hold of one of your hands and brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles before guiding your hand to one of his wings. You carefully run your hands through the feathers beneath your fingertips, shocked at their softness, and notice the way he shivers at the touch. “Are they sensitive?” you ask curiously as you continue to stroke them. “Fuck. Yes baby, very,” he groans as he leans forward to rest his head against your shoulder, his grip on your hips tightening. You experimentally clench your fist around a handful of the feathers and tug slightly, immediately his hips buck up into you and he groans. “It’s ok I’ve got you,” you tell him. He pulls back so he can finally look into your eyes again and quietly replies “I know.”

You’re not even sure who initiated it this time when the two of you begin kissing each other again. You start riding him again, the two of you quickly finding a tender rhythm together to move in sync. His wings flare and puff up behind him as if loving the sudden attention you’re giving them and as you continue to stroke through them Hawks brings one of his hands to your clit to provide extra stimulation to you too. Your moans echo back to you and it’s like the two of you are creating a symphony in this little safe haven you’ve created for yourselves in the hotel pool and it’s all so much. Almost too much. You can feel tears on your cheeks and you’re not sure if they’re yours or his, but you don’t care. You don’t care in the slightest you just need him, all of him. Finally you give a particularly strong tug on his feathers and it’s enough to have him crying out as he reaches his orgasm. The feeling of him filling you up and the gorgeous picture he makes is enough to send you over the edge as well and there’s nothing either of you can do besides hold each other tightly, moans choking out of your throats like sobs as you’re overwhelmed by your climaxes and the unnamed feelings bursting between the two of you.

When the feeling finally passes it leaves both of you somewhat drained as you pant to catch your breath. Hawks carefully reaches a hand to your cheek and brushes away your tears. You’re more than happy to return the favor. Turns out both of you had been crying. “Was that as insane and overwhelming for you as it was me,” Hawks asks quietly. “Yea... Yea it really fucking was,” you confess. “Good,” Hawks replies before pressing another sweet kiss to your lips. Both of you have the distinct thought, “I could stay like this forever,” at the same time, but it would seem the universe has other plans.

Your quiet moment is disturbed by the sound of an alarm blaring overhead. You both curse your luck but still are in no hurry to move. You carefully remove yourself from his dick, trying diligently to ignore how obscene it looks to watch his cum start to dribble out of you and how it feels like a loss for it not to stay. Hawks seems to be having similar thoughts but tears his eyes away as he goes to get dressed. You use your quirk to squeeze out as much water as you can from your dress without further damaging it. The alarm is still blaring and you’re both well aware you should be moving with more urgency but it’s hard to make yourselves leave the little world you created for yourselves in here. Once you’re both redressed you quietly clasp each other’s hands and finally leave the room.

The alarm is even louder in the hallway and it’s like the magic of the previous moment is shattered by it. “We probably should arrive separately. Avoid scandal and all that,” you say. “You’re right,” he admits. Neither of you let go of the other’s hand. Finally you sigh, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, before slipping your hand from his and heading the opposite direction. You both jog away in a bid to exit the building and figure out what’s going on when a thought strikes you. You don’t know each other’s names. You decide it’s for the best. Hawks spins around to try and catch up to you and ask but you’re already gone. It feels like an ending.

It’s actually only the beginning.

Author’s Note: I typically try to keep the reader’s quirk nonspecific in my work because I know a lot of people have ideas of what they’d want their quirk to be if they were in the MHA universe but (y/n)’s quirk has plot relevance so I gave her a specific one. She can move objects with her mind (telekinesis) but she feels it almost like a physical sensation, as if there’s an invisible extension of herself reaching out to grab things. It’s why she can use it for something as specific as picking a lock. As y’all can see this one got away from me lol but I hope it’s worth the wait. OH ALSO the pool scene is inspired by the one from Baz Luhrman’s Romeo and Juliet.

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff

#hopelesspf #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n

87 notes · View notes

something-tofightfor · 4 years

Text

Seasons to Cycles / 1

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count: 9217

Rating: M (Mentions of drug use, sex with multiple partners, language)

Summary: A chance encounter brings someone new into your life. Is this the beginning of a serious change - and an important addition - or is it just chance?

Author’s Note: Well I am terrified to post this. Most of you know how important writing Logan CORRECTLY is to me, and so I’m really worried about this one, because it’s a very different take on him. There’s a lot that I have to say without directly saying it - but please, stick with me, and I PROMISE everything will be explained in good time.

I chose the “long chapter” route rather than breaking it up, because as I was editing, it didn’t make sense to end it sooner/the only cut point was at 3500 words, which would still have left a 7,000 second part.

Don’t be afraid to give me your honest opinions about this one... I want them, and I can take it.

This song sets the tone for the entire story. This is the mindset I’m writing Logan with. It’s not going to be pretty.

I figured I’d be able to get in and out before I went to see Jess, and now… You sighed, pushing your cart through the aisles of the grocery store and reaching around people to grab items from the shelves. Guess everyone else had the same thought. I should have just gone to Safeway. Groaning quietly, you sidestepped a woman and her child to get to the last aisle you needed - the flowers and cards. Gotta grab one for Jess, and then… But you stopped in your tracks at the sight of someone standing next to their cart in front of the card rack, taking up the majority of it. For real? Shifting on your feet, you leaned forward, eyeing the man’s back, and willing him to hurry. He’s taking up the…

But after nearly a full minute of the man standing still with his hands in his pockets, you decided to speak. I can’t stay here all night. “Excuse me.” The man still didn’t move, and you rolled your eyes as you cleared your throat. “Hey, you? In the dress shirt? Excuse me.” Finally, he turned his head toward you, and you again paused. Holy shit, what is someone that looks like that doing in here? “I know picking cards out is a pretty serious thing, but uh, you’re blocking the whole aisle.” Glancing into his cart, you raised an eyebrow. “And your ice cream’s going to melt.” His eyes going wide, the man turned further, looking down into his cart and swearing under his breath, one hand coming out of his pocket and raking through his hair - though the motion didn’t disrupt the styling. He looks familiar, but I don’t …

“Shit.” The man turned completely away from the shelf, reaching in to pick up the carton of ice cream, carefully inspecting it, even as his fingers pushed into the sides. “I didn’t even…” He set it down and then looked back at you, dark brown eyes fixed on your face. “I figured I’d pick one and be outta here, but it…” He shrugged. “Sorry, let me move the cart.” Before you could reply, the man was rolling it further down the aisle, where the only thing it could block was a spinning display of children’s books.

“Thank you.” Your cart out of the way too, you stepped closer to the shelf, crouching down and eyeing the birthday cards on the lower rows. The man stepped back next to you, still looking through the shelves, and after a few seconds, you looked up at him again, narrowing your eyes as you watched him reach for one and then draw his hand back. “Are you looking for something in particular? Wife? Girlfriend? Brother? S-”

“My housekeeper’s son broke his arm.” He sighed, pulling his left hand from his pocket and letting it hang next to his thigh. No ring. But that doesn’t mean… “So she had to cancel on me today, and probably for the rest of the week, so I’m here gettin’ my own groceries, and I thought I’d stop an’ take him some ice cream and a card on my way home.” Your lips parted at the explanation, and you shifted on your feet, hands resting on your bent knees. Maybe I should break my arm and see if someone that looks like him brings me a treat. “My sister broke her leg as a kid, and I remember all she did was eat ice cream an’ watch cartoons, so -”

“Well.” You stood, grinning at him. “You’re gonna want to get a fresh container, because that one you’ve already got looks a little sad.” He wrinkled his nose at your words but nodded, and you continued. “How old is he?” The man thought for a second and then shook his head. “Seven? Eight?” You watched his jaw work, noticing a small, thin scar high on his cheekbone. “I think he just had a birthday, but I …” You reached past the man, picking out a card with a chocolate chip cookie with a face on the front, a large, colorful bandaid affixed to the top of it’s head. “A cookie?” He sounded incredulous, but you just nodded, handing him the card and waiting for him to open it. “You’re one tough cookie… that’s so stupid, it…” But he was fighting back a laugh as he glanced over at you.

“It is stupid, but that’s the point. He’s a kid. It’ll make him laugh.” You shrugged. “And, it’s not that pseudo-inspirational bullshit that people always try to give people when they…” He laughed again and you stopped speaking, unsure of what was so funny. “Anyway,” you continued as he smiled at you, one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk that forced his cheek round. “It’s just a suggestion, but I -”

“Thank you.” The man nodded again and then looked away, reaching for an envelope, his long fingers plucking it from the shelf with ease. “I woulda stood here for another ten minutes, and probably picked out one of those… what’d you say? Pseudo-inspirational bullshit cards? Perfect for a kid, right? I have no idea what most of ‘em like.” Chuckling, you dropped down again, eyes moving over the cards in front of you and reading them quickly.

“Glad to help.” You grabbed a card too, flipping it open to read the inside and then straightening, noticing that the man was still waiting next to you. What is …

“I’m serious, thank you for the help.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he closed his eyes briefly for a second. “It’s probably pretty obvious that I don’t spend a lot of time in -”

“Hey, I’m not judging you.” You tucked your card into its envelope and pressed your lips together. “Like I said, picking out cards is a -”

“No, I…” He rolled his eyes. “I’m Logan.” Logan… you don’t hear that often. “You?” He’s asking me my name?

“Nice to meet you, Logan.” You stuck your hand out, smiling as you introduced yourself, Logan’s fingers sliding against yours and then against your palm before he shook it, grip firm. “Glad I could help you out.” He pulled his hand away first, but you felt one of his fingers curl slightly, the tip of his nail dragging slowly across your skin as he did so. Wh…

“And you.” Logan’s gaze moved away from you and toward the front of the store before his eyes drifted back to your face. “Guess I gotta go and replace that ice cream. Got any flavor suggestions for me?” Without a pause, you stared right back into Logan’s eyes and replied - straight faced.

“Cookie dough?” That time, neither of you could hold back your laughter, but after a few seconds, you took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. “I’ve gotta go, Logan. I’m meeting a friend for her birthday tonight, and I want to get home before it gets too late. I hope your housekeeper’s son is doing alright, and I’m sure he’ll love the card… and the ice cream.”

“Yeah.” Logan chewed on the corner of his lip for a second and the nodded twice. “I bet he will.” He will. Definitely.

Without saying anything else, you turned back to your cart, fingers winding around the handlebar as you began to push it. Well that was a nice distraction. As you passed the end of the aisle, your eyes went wide. Shit, I still need… After a few more minutes of navigating your way through the other people in the store, you headed back toward the cashiers, staring at the contents of your cart and frowning. Hope I didn’t forget anything.

Joining a line of people waiting to check out, your eyes strayed to the rack of magazines near the register, both of them widening as you saw one of the covers. Is that… “Don’t believe everything you read.” Spinning toward the voice, you saw Logan standing behind you, both of his hands on his cart. “Those magazines are mostly bullshit.”

“Are you telling me that…” You paused, head tilted to the side. “You’re Logan Delos? VP of Delos Inc., and engaged to the -”

“That’s me.” He glanced at the magazine. Of course he’s engaged, why wouldn’t he be? “D’you think that’s a good picture of me?” Chuckling you clicked your tongue, still watching him.

“Your hair looks better in person.” You let out a breath, lowering your head. “I had no idea, Logan, that you were … of course you got the ice cream before the end of your shopping trip, you’re probably not used to…”

“Hey, I’m not helpless, here, I just … I work a lot, and …” Yeah, you work a ton, and … Your thoughts were reeling at the realization that the handsome man you’d helped pick out a card - the one that you’d joked with without thought - was Logan Delos, one of the world’s wealthiest and most eligible bachelors. But he’s not eligible anymore, not since… “Can you believe that I’m on the cover of that goddamn magazine? Just becausea…”

“When you’re engaged to the daughter of the UK’s …” You trailed off. “She’s big news, Logan. And so are you.” Of course he is. “At least now I know why you look familiar.” He winced at that, looking away. No, I didn’t … “I’ve seen you before, Logan. You - and Delos - do a bunch of charity and medical work, right? I’ve seen you on the news, on CNN, I just didn’t…” Tell him the truth. “Didn’t expect to run into you in the middle of the Thousand Oaks Whole Foods on a Wednesday.”

“You saw me on CNN?” Yeah, where else would I… “Well that’s a change.” He gestured forward. “You’re next.” Flustered, you began unloading your items onto the belt, trying to collect your thoughts. Logan Delos? And I … The cashier began scanning your groceries, and you smiled at her, moving your cart to the end of the lane and stepping in front of the credit card machine, digging through your purse. “Don’t worry about it.” Confused, you glanced back at Logan. “I got your stuff. Call it … a thank you for helpin’ me back there.”

“Logan, I can’t -” He shook his head, fighting back a grin. “You don’t need to…”

“I want to.” He shrugged, wrinkling his nose. “Like I said, I probably woulda still been’ standing there.” You let your wallet drop back to the bottom of your purse, finally nodding.

“I appreciate it, Logan.” And now I get to tell Jess that I … “Thank you.” He signaled to the cashier, who nodded once, going back to your items. “I’d, uh, say that maybe I’ll see you here again, but…” You lifted an eyebrow, watching him closely. “I’m sure I won’t, since this is a special circumstance.” He laughed at that, too, agreeing with you, and you were struck by how warm the sound was, the way his eyes lit up each time it happened. “Good luck, Logan.”

Your bags loaded back into your cart, you moved all the way to the end of the lane while Logan finished putting his own items - including the melted ice cream carton - onto the belt. “Yeah, I’ll need it.” Leaning over to reach one of the final things he’d chosen, he lifted his gaze, looking up at you through his lashes, one lock of hair barely out of place and falling at a different angle than the rest. Damn, he’s good looking. “Thank you.” You had a feeling that Logan’s sincere thank-yous were few and far between, and he’d said it to you multiple times in the span of a few minutes. At least I did something right.

“Of course.” You have to go, you’re taking up time and space here, and this isn’t… going anywhere. “Goodnight, Logan.” Offering him one final smile, you began pushing your cart toward the exit, still collecting your thoughts. What are the odds…

---

“Hey, Jess?” you were stretched out on your friend’s bed, socked feet resting on the wall above her pillows. “You know Logan Delos, right?” You were scrolling through your phone while your friend got dressed. “The -”

“The tech guy?” She yelled back to you, poking her head out of the bathroom door a few seconds later. “The hot one with the -”

“Yeah.” You read the page you were on, chewing on your lower lip. “I met him today.” He’s only been engaged for a few months, but they’ve … “I -”

‘“Where?” She was back in the room, hands up and next to one ear as she fastened an earring. “Today?” You turned your head toward her, nodding.

“Yeah, I had to stop and get your card, and when I was in Whole Foods, he was blocking the card aisle, so I gave him a hard time.” You darkened your screen as you spoke, sitting up and folding your legs beneath you. “Didn’t realize it was him at first, because I wasn’t expecting him, but I helped him pick out a card for his housekeeper’s kid, and then we ended up in the same checkout lane, and …”

“Wait a second.” She sat down on the edge of her bed, tilting her head to the side. “What was he doing all the way out here? I thought he lived in LA, that’s where he’s always going in and out of that -”

“You know more about him than I do, Jess. But I’m guessing he was on his way home from work or something, or he stopped on his way to the housekeeper’s, but…” Because I looked, and there’s a Delos office over this way, but … “He was alone, and even though he had a dress shirt on, he looked like he was trying to … I don’t know, blend in, and -”

“You don’t look like that and blend in.” She turned her own phone toward you,an image of Logan on the screen, dressed in a full suit and standing next to a stunning redhead in a tight black dress. “I mean look at him. Look at them, they’re going to have great looking kids, and ..” I’m sure they are. “But you met him? What was he like?” He was … really nice. But you waited a few seconds, thinking, and then replied.

“Normal. At least he seemed like it. Seemed kind of overwhelmed, like he hasn’t seen the inside of a grocery store in …” You frowned. “But super nice. I made him laugh.” Jess raised an eyebrow, waiting. “I didn’t realize it was him, so I just… I was joking with him, and being myself, and …”

“I don’t know that I would have been able to say anything to him.” She was staring at her phone again, eyes wide. “Do you realize how …” She showed you another picture of Logan, courtside at a Lakers game, dressed casually - dark t-shirt and jeans, worn boots on his feet. “He’s an actual celebrity, and you just …”

“He paid for my groceries, too.” You shrugged. “As a thank you, because I helped him pick out a card, and reminded him that ice cream does in fact melt outside of the freezer.” Jess laughed at that. “But yeah, that’s my brush with a famous person. Guess you don’t need to go to The Grove to see ‘em, they’re right in the greeting card aisle when you least expect them.” She snorted, eyes still on her phone. You thought of Logan, telling you not to believe what the magazines said about him, that most of it was bullshit. But what did he mean?

You didn’t have time to dwell on it, because there was a knock on Jess’ front door, and the woman jumped up to answer, leaving you sitting up on the mattress, phone in hand. “That’s Max, he’s taking me to dinner!” I guess I’m leaving, then… You stood too, tucking your phone into your back pocket, and followed the woman into the living room, where you found her in her boyfriend’s arms, the man’s lips pressed to the top of her head.

“Get a room, you two.” Jess laughed, pulling away from the man, and you reached for your purse, slinging it over your shoulder. “I’m going to go, I just wanted to drop off your card and say happy birthday.” She turned away from Max, holding her arms out and you stepped into them, hugging the woman tightly. “Call me this weekend, if you’re off, and we can go get a drink or something?” I’m sure I’ll need it, the rest of the week’s going to be …

“Yeah, maybe your luck will carry over, and we’ll run into someone else famous.” Jess wrinkled her nose and you rolled your eyes. “Max, she met Logan Delos today at the grocery store, and -”

“Was his fiancée there?” His tone interested - though you could tell he was joking - the man widened his eyes. “That red hair is -”

“Max!” Jess turned away and playfully smacked his chest, his hand rising to catch her wrist and tug her toward him. “I’m right here, and it’s my birthday.” He ducked his head and kissed the woman quickly.

“I’m just kidding, she seems really high maintenance, even if she looks alright.” She looks more than alright, but I agree, she seems like she… From what you knew of the woman - seeing her through the years on gossip websites and MTV, along with magazine covers, you agreed with Max. I definitely know more about her personal life than her career.

You left a few minutes later, smiling as you walked to your car and began driving home. It was a long drive - nearly a half hour from Agoura Hills to Burbank, where your studio apartment was, and you spent it listening to a playlist you’d created weeks earlier, the scenery flying by. Logan slipped from your mind almost entirely by the time you parked on the street in front of your place, but after you’d showered and changed, planting yourself on the couch with dinner, you were thinking about him again. Don’t be stupid. Stabbing your fork into a piece of chicken in your salad, you frowned, narrowing your eyes. You met him for five minutes, it wasn’t a big deal.

Continuing to eat, you flipped through channels, zoning out. It wasn’t difficult to let your mind wander; you’d been busy at work, putting in longer hours than usual, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel there - at least in terms of working over. For a month or two, anyway. Then it’s going to pick up again.

Working in the admissions office for Woodbury University wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was steady work - and it paid decently, since you’d been there for a few years. Paired with the tutoring sessions you did weekly, you made a decent living, and could have afforded more than the studio apartment you rented, but you didn’t see the point. It’s just me. And I’m never home, anyway. Keeping the small apartment allowed you to save money, paying off your other debts at the same time, and you were perfectly content with it. For now. It’s nowhere near as exciting as what Logan does … or what Ariella does. Unwittingly, your thoughts went back to the man you’d met a few hours prior, the easy smile he’d given you, the laugh that had erupted from his lips when you’d joked with him. You’d never know he’s a … You frowned. Millionaire? Multimillionaire? Rubbing at your eyes, you stood, putting your dishes in the sink and returning to the couch.

But we can’t all be tech geniuses or born British celebrities, I guess.

---

Logan tossed back the remainder of his drink, eyes scanning the horizon. From 73 stories above the city of Los Angeles, it felt like he could see forever, even though the slightly smoggy air made it more difficult. Though he was in one of the private cabanas, the curtains were open, giving him a view of the rest of the bar - and everyone there. Typical Saturday. He nodded once at the smiling brunette that brought him another drink, thanking her, but as soon as she’d turned away from him, she slipped from his mind, Logan focused only on the cool glass he held between his fingers, the condensation dampening the pads of them along with his palm. Reminds me of the Mesa. He lifted the drink to his lips, ice clinking against his teeth. More fun there, though.

While Logan didn’t get out to the parks as much as he had previously, visits to the Mesa were still high on his list of enjoyable activities, the hours he spent in the mountainside facility almost as memorable as the time in the parks. But that’s just because I don’t have to pretend. He gave a young man a smile as he walked past, and Logan knew without a doubt that if he’d beckoned him with one finger, the man would have stopped in his tracks, the two of them disappearing back into the hotel where Logan had a room on standby only to emerge the following morning. And she wouldn’t care, but I don’t… He frowned, taking another drink.

His fiancée was thousands of miles away, likely sleeping, and Logan was alone. Like always. He closed his eyes. Wonder whose bed she’s in tonight. The engagement - and subsequent wedding and marriage were nothing more than a smokeshow; carefully orchestrated by his own father and Ariella’s, meaning that there were very few rules he had to follow. Until the ceremony. He’d met the woman a few years prior, traveling to London to meet with a representative for her father’s business - which turned out to be the woman herself. They’d hit it off, finding each other attractive - moreso after a few drinks and some additional stimulation, hand delivered in the form of fine, white powder by one of the woman’s friends. Logan woke up the next morning, one arm around the redhead, and the other around her friend, none of them wearing any clothes.

That night was … probably a mistake. He frowned, taking another drink as his eyes scanned the bar patrons, all of them engrossed entirely in what they were doing and who they were with. I’m usually not by myself here, this is …

The initial deal done and the Delos empire continuing to expand, Logan and Ariella kept in touch, meeting when they were both on the same continent, but Logan had tired of the “extras” quickly, the drugs and the sex boring him, while she only seemed to need them more, embracing the lifestyle that she’d grown accustomed to being the youngest child of a wealthy former actress and businessman. She’s never earned her position with that company, and I … Logan sneered as he took another drink, setting the glass down and cracking his neck. I fought for it all.

The trip to the park with William prior to the first meeting with Ariella had done a number on him - Logan returning to the United States a mess, no one believing anything had happened to him - except for Juliet, and even that had taken time. She’d still married William, still got pregnant only a few months later, but it hadn’t taken the man long to show his true colors, and when confronted by both the Delos siblings, William had folded quickly, agreeing to a divorce with no spousal support, no visitation with his daughter, and no continued association with Delos - or any competitors. That was a win.

Logan finally smiled, thinking of the last time he’d seen the man, Logan unable to contain his anger as he’d drawn his arm back, punching William square in the mouth without saying a word. There’s never been anything more satisfying. He’d been involved with Ariella then - and despite Juliet’s belief in him, Logan was still using occasionally, forgetting everything that bothered him for a night or two a week via some substance, somewhere. It got bad, before that, but after I hit him? After he was gone, and lost everything? It felt better.

He still drank, still occasionally accepted party drugs when they were offered to him, but he didn’t depend on them to get through days, as he had while recovering after being released from the hospital. He didn’t crave the feeling of forgetting his life and the pain he’d endured in the desert, didn’t need the high that came with lowering his nose to the tabletop and inhaling, or putting the sharp end of a syringe against the crook of his elbow. Instead he wanted something more - something that he was beginning to understand that he’d ever have with his intended wife.

Logan was surrounded with people nearly all of the time, but despite this, he didn’t feel connected to any of them, except for Juliet. And even that’s not … it could be… He lowered his head, thinking. Could be more. Should be more. He’d never willingly admit it to anyone, but the thing Logan craved more than anything - money, drugs, sex, opulence - was a genuine interest from someone else that he could return. Anyone found that out, and it’d ruin my reputation. He grinned, deciding that it was time to go; he’d only stopped in to make sure that things were running as they needed to, needing to report back to his father that everything looked good - and everything ran as it was supposed to, the redesign on schedule and as discussed.

He stood, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a bill to leave on the table, though he always drank for free anywhere in the building. Should I stay here tonight, or go back to my place? He tucked his wallet back into his pocket and unbuttoned another of his shirt’s buttons, looking around. Is it worth it to look for … Nah. He rubbed at his beard, looking around again, eyes moving over the well-dressed men and women sitting and standing throughout the open space.

The arrangement that he and Ariella had was that before the wedding, anything was game - for both of them - as long as they could keep it out of the papers. Being discreet was key, and though it was simpler for Logan to blend in places, finding willing partners for a few hours or a full night, he didn’t participate as often as he’d assumed he would when they were ironing out the details. It’s just asking for trouble. And I … Ariella reminded him often that the relationship was only a business deal, that there weren’t any real feelings involved, and that as long as they followed the rules set forth by the terms of the agreement, they could get back to their lives within a few short years, each hopefully a few million dollars wealthier. But that …

It hadn’t mattered to the woman that Logan never lied - his honesty wasn’t an important factor to her, and in her mind, the relationship itself wasn’t a lie - they were going to get married, they were going to act as though they were truly a couple, and they were both going to benefit from it - along with both companies, too. They need us more than we need them. He began walking toward the exit, sidestepping people every few feet. We could more than get by without the hotels, but they … they need the resorts, and the Mesa, they need the… He paused as he caught sight of someone sitting near one of the large panes of plexiglass against the outside wall of the bar, his eyes widening. What are the odds?

He took one step forward, tilting his head to the side, and tried to decide whether or not he was going to continue approaching, or simply walk by and through the doors, heading to the elevator. There are millions of people in this city. And I’m 45 minutes away from where I … Logan poked his tongue into his cheek, narrowing his eyes briefly. Fuck it. He quickly stepped toward the table, clearing his throat, eyes moving over the woman’s face, assessing it even though it looked entirely different beneath the low lighting and against the black sky behind her than the first time he’d seen it . “You were right.” He paused as the woman - and her friend - stopped their conversation, both turning their heads to look at him. “The card? The ice cream? He loved ‘em.”

---

Logan? You were shocked to see the man again standing in front of you, this time dressed more casually than he had been in the store. You took a moment to answer, eyeing him and noting his appearance; less product in his hair, shirt buttons undone enough to expose an inverted V of pale skin at the base of his throat and the top of his chest, no jacket in sight. Say something. “Did he laugh a the card?” You wrinkled your nose, grinning. “Did he get it?” The man nodded, stepping closer to your table as someone pushed past behind him, and you quickly moved your glass away from the edge of it, giving him space to rest his hands if he needed to. He’s not staying, he’s going to …

“Are you going to introduce me?” Jess’ voice interrupted your thoughts, and you waited until Logan’s eyes moved from you and to her to blink, letting out a breath that you were almost positive he noticed you release. “I -”

“Logan. Logan Delos.” He held out his hand to your friend, the woman taking it eagerly, unable to hide her smile “And you are?”

“I’m Jess.” She bit her lip. “We’re out for my birthday.” Logan glanced back at you, but then focused entirely on the other woman, leaning in closer.

“Well, then, Jess,” he wet his lips, the action not going unnoticed by either of you. “Happy birthday.” He raised one eyebrow, the smile on his face growing. “Would it be alright if I bought you a drink?” What is he…? Logan turned back toward you, expression changing as he gave you the same smile that he’d given you in the store. It’s not as bright as … not as fake. “Both of you? If that’s alright, of course. I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“We just got a new round, Logan.” You spoke quickly, eyes flicking to Jess, who was watching you in shock, confusion in her eyes. “I -” His eyes flashed, but his smile didn’t falter, the man lifting one hand to run his fingers through his hair. He already bought my groceries, he can’t…

“Sure.” Logan blinked. “I get it.” No, that’s not… “Let me at least tell the bartender that I’ll cover your -”

“Oh, come on.” Jess spoke again, leaning across the table toward you. “Let the man buy you a drink, it’s not like he’s asking you to jump in bed with him.” Your jaw dropped at her words, but she didn’t give you a chance to reply. What is she … that isn’t … he’s engaged. “I’ll take you up on that, Logan, and thank you for it, even if she doesn’t -”

“I really don’t want to interrupt.” He straightened up, eyes back on you. “I just thought that I’d offer, since … well, the chances we’d run into each other for the second time in a week are …” Nonexistent? “I …” He looked out of his element - only slightly - but you watched him collect himself, the easygoing smile disappearing, replaced with one that was just a little too formal. I offended him. I was just trying to …

“Logan.” You closed your eyes and reached out without thinking, your fingertips finding the rolled cuff of his sleeve, situated slightly higher than the middle of his forearm. “I’d love to have a drink with you. We’d love to have a drink with you. Thank you.” I just don’t want him to think that … The man visibly relaxed, and you wondered how often - if ever - people told him no, and if he reacted the way he’d reacted to you each time. You took a deep breath as Jess cheered quietly, not looking away from the man. “Here, let me change seats, that way you don’t have to -”

But Logan was already moving, stepping around the back of your chair, the pressure of his hand against the backrest pushing you forward slightly as he edged between you and the chair behind yours, going for the vacant seat between you and Jess. “Nah, it’s fine. This way I can still see the bar, an’ the waitresses can see me.” He didn’t say it smugly, but you realized as he spoke that Logan knew that the staff was looking for him, wanting to ensure that he always had a drink and was never waiting. It must be … He settled into the chair, back to the city, and instead of leaning back, Logan leaned in, taking a deep breath. “Watch.” He settled one elbow on the table and then lifted two fingers, one eyebrow raised, and before you had a chance to get a good look at the onyx ring he wore on his little finger, a waitress was tableside, asking him what he wanted. Jesus. That didn’t even… “It’s her birthday,” he spoke quickly, thumbing in Jess’ direction. “So whatever she wants.” With a nod, the woman looked at your friend, waiting. “I’ll…” Jess put a finger against her lips in thought. “I’ll take one of the Orion’s Polomas.” Tequila, Jess? Is that a… But the waitress was already tapping onto a small tablet, her eyes moving to you next, waiting. I have to order something, I feel like he’ll be offended if I don’t, and that isn’t … You glanced down at the menu, eyes scanning it.

“The Supermoon sounds good.” You glanced up at Logan, noting that he was watching you, dark eyes focused on your face. That’s kind of unsettling, but … “Can I get one of those, please?” The waitress nodded, and before you could thank her, Logan interrupted.

“I’ll take one of the Supermoons, too. You might as well make it a pitcher.” A pitcher? That’s too many… But the woman typed that in, too, and then turned to walk away from the table, short skirt showing off her long legs in the low light. Logan didn’t wait for her to get too far away before he shifted in his seat, saying Jess’ name. She leaned in, still smiling at him, but you saw that the expression was much more relaxed than it had been. She’s still kind of starstruck, but… she’s better now. “What else are you doin’ for your birthday?” Logan’s eyes flicked to you and then back to your friend. “She said she was buyin’ you a card the other night, and then coming over, but -”

“I went out to dinner with my boyfriend Wednesday, and I’m seeing my family next week, but …” She kept talking and you zoned out, looking over Logan’s shoulder and out at the horizon, the twinkling lights of LA partially distracting you. Absently, you listened to the two of them talk, waiting for your drinks, though you also kept an eye on his face and the way his low, smooth voice carried to your ears. Of all the people to see twice in a week, of course it’s him, and… While you watched him out of the corner of your eye, you tried not to stare at the way his cheek twitched every time Logan gave Jess a smile, or the way his eyes focused entirely on whoever he was talking to, only briefly moving at the approach of someone new. The waitress must … You watched Logan’s eyes follow the movement, though he kept speaking with your friend, and you turned toward the woman as she approached the table, a tray with three glasses and a pitcher balanced on it.

Smoothly, she set each item down, eyes lingering on Logan as the pitcher slid across the table’s surface, his hand reaching out, long fingers closing around the handle to lift and pour it. “Thanks, darlin’” You couldn’t help it and sucked in a breath as the word left his lips, your fingers flexing against the tabletop. I wasn’t expecting … But if anyone else heard - or saw it happen - they didn’t say anything, Logan looking up from the ice cube filled glassware and back at the woman. “And is the kitchen still open? I just realized I haven’t eaten tonight, and …”

“Of course, Mr. Delos. The kitchen’s always open for you.” She nearly purred the words, pushing her already full lips out as she finished speaking. “What can I get you? Would you like -”

He didn’t even pause before he answered, eyes on what he was doing as the liquid transferred from the pitcher to the glass, condensation already dripping down the surface of both. “Prawns and potstickers. The prosciutto?” He finally looked up, eyeing Jess first and then you, head tilted to the side. “That alright? Will you eat -”

“Yes.” You answered him and then looked at the waitress, smiling. “Sounds perfect.” How’d this go from one drink to food and a pitcher? But you didn’t ask out loud, instead extending your hand toward the man as he slid your glass toward you before filling the other for himself, lifting it and gesturing toward Jess in a toast. This isn’t what I would have expected from someone like Logan. But as the first taste of the drink hit your lips, strong but not overwhelmingly fruity, you realized that you didn’t know what you’d expected from Logan. I didn’t expect anything, did I?

---

I didn’t mean for this to… He took another drink from his glass, looking over the table between you and your friend, the second woman swaying slightly in her seat. I shouldn’t have. Logan was sober - he’d only sipped at the drinks he’d poured for himself after the second, letting the ice melt into them over time, and while your friend had continued to drink, you’d slowed yourself down, too. She’s bein’ smart about it. You were watching Jess somewhat warily, and though you didn’t say anything to the woman, he knew that you were mentally preparing to get her home, making sure that she was alright. People did that for me, too. But not enough of ‘em, they were too…

You’d eaten when the food came, thanking him again, and though the three of you had talked throughout the time you’d been sitting at the table, Logan was frustrated. This is bullshit. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a long drink, and though he could still taste the mint and lime, it was masked by the melted ice, the small, remaining cubes knocking into his teeth. But what is bullshit, exactly? Logan heard you speak, his attention focused back on you, watching as you reached a hand out to touch your friend’s arm. “Jess, we should probably think about calling a car, it’s a while back to my place, and -”

“It’s still early!” She wasn’t quite slurring her words, but Logan saw the expression on her face and the look in her eyes, recognizing it from his own experiences. You’re right, she needs to… Logan again raised two fingers without speaking, and within seconds, the same waitress was back at the table, lips pushed together and eyeing Logan with a look that he knew all too well. Do I know her? I feel like I … He furrowed his brow for a few seconds and then sighed. “Can we get another pitcher, but of water this time?” Both of you stopped talking, and Logan felt your eyes on him, though Jess let out a quiet whine. Yeah, I get it, but… “And the check, whenever …”

“I’ll bring that water right out, Mr. Delos, but you know that you -” She shifted her shoulders, pushing them back. “You know that it’s always -”

“Not this time.” He used one finger to indicate the table. “Everything from before I sat here, too.” Her eyes widened, but she nodded, the smile never leaving her lips as she turned. I think I probably … “And before you argue with me,” he said, turning in his chair to face you. “I got it.” You mouthed the words “thank you” and then turned back to your friend, who was still complaining quietly, though there was nothing behind her words. As the waitress brought everything back to the table, handing the sleeve with the bill in it straight to Logan and setting a new pitcher and glasses down before she began clearing the others, Logan heard a phone ring and watched Jess fumble in her purse, pulling the device out as she stood.

“Max?” The woman swayed slightly on her feet and then collected herself, holding the phone to her ear. “You’re never going to believe…” She pointed with one finger and you sighed, nodding as she began to walk toward an open seating area that was less busy than where you were, though it wasn’t out of eyesight. She’s a good friend. Logan opened his wallet and put a few bills into the sleeve, closing it and setting it at the edge of the table. Not at all what I thought tonight was going to be.

“The one night I’m not happy that I don’t live close by.” You groaned, putting your head down on your bare arms, which were folded on the tabletop. What? “I live in Burbank, and it’s only about twenty minutes, but she’s gonna…” You peeked up, wrinkling your nose. “She gets…”

“Carsick?” He leaned back, elbow resting on one corner of the back of his chair. “She was drinkin’ tequila.” You straightened up, laughing, and Logan stared at you while your eyes were closed, feeling himself smile. It’s different when it’s just the two of us, it… “How you gettin’ back?” He paused, thinking. “I can get you guys a -”

“Logan, no.” You stopped laughing, pushing the strap of your dress back up and over your shoulder from where it had slipped down. “You’ve already done more than enough, she’s going to tell everyone for the next year that Logan Delos bought her birthday drinks, and …” You rolled your eyes. “If she pukes in the Uber, she pukes in the Uber, and I’ll just make her pay me back.” She’s a really good friend.

“You know, I have a…” He spoke without thinking, the idea occurring to him suddenly. “I’ve got a room here. I’m not stayin’ in it or anything, but since this is one of the Delos Destinations property partners, I can get a room whenever I…” You opened your mouth to turn him down, but Logan didn’t let you. “I’ll walk you down, give you the key, an’ that’s it. You won’t have to worry about anything when you leave tomorrow mornin’, and you guys can take a car home without worrying about -”

“Logan, that’s unnecessary. You don’t even…” You weren’t looking at him the whole time you spoke, your eyes flitting through the crowd until you found Jess, the woman sitting on one of the green benches, legs crossed at the knee as she talked on the phone. “You don’t even know us, and you’re offering …”

“I know what it’s like to have too much to drink an’ then haveta try to get home.” He scrubbed a hand over his beard. “Trust me, it’s not a big deal. And since I’m the one that bought you all this alcohol, I feel responsible.” Where the fuck is this coming from? “I’m offering.” She’s gonna say no.

“Logan, I…” But he heard you swear under your breath, standing and leaving the table, moving in the direction that Jess had walked off in. Wh- But he followed you with his eyes, watching as you hurried over to the woman, one arm looping around beneath her arms as hers went around your shoulders. He stood, hand moving through his hair and walking over to you. “I’ve got her.” But Logan met your eyes again, watching as you closed them, giving him a nod. “We’ll stay, if it’s…”

“Yeah. C’mon.” He led the two of you through the crowd, and despite the fact that Jess was unsteady on her feet, there were no issues, Logan swiped his keycard at the elevator and urged the two of you in with him before the doors closed, the woman slumping against you once inside. “Hey, let me help you.” He could tell you wanted to turn him down, but you nodded again, and Logan’s arm replaced yours around the woman’s, his hand making contact with yours briefly as you switched places. Jess leaned against him, Logan holding her tightly, and by the time the doors slid open again, Logan had handed you the key, pointing you in the direction of the room. “They switch me out between the suites on this floor, an’ they told me which one was ready for me tonight when I got here.” It’s excessive, but …

The three of you stopped in front of the door to the Presidential Suite, and when Logan heard the quiet hum of the lock, you pushed the door open and stepped in before him, one hand reaching out to flip the light on. He’d followed countless women into hotel rooms in his life, had led even more into them, but when you glanced back over your shoulder to make sure he was following with your friend, Logan felt only confusion. I know nothing’s going to … but this … “I think I’ve got her from here, Logan.” You spoke as he helped the woman through the living area, bypassing the couch and heading straight for the door to the bedroom on the right. “I don’t -”

“It’s just a little further, it’s fine.” Jess squealed when she saw the bed, perking up and stopping in her tracks, kicking both shoes off. Yeah, they’re pretty comfortable, I don’t mind sleepin’ in them either, Jess.

“We’re staying here?” She pulled out of his hold, turning back to face Logan, a wide smile on her face. “I didn’t -” But he watched as the look in her eyes changed, one hand rising to cover her mouth, and without pause you again darted toward her, bumping into Logan as you rushed past him, pulling the woman toward the bathroom with another whispered apology under your breath. The door closed behind you, and only a few seconds later, he heard the sound of Jess coughing and water running. She was right. On autopilot, Logan turned toward the closet, pulling the hanger with the robe on it off the rack and heading toward the bathroom door.

He knocked twice. “There’s a robe out here if she needs somethin’ else to wear. I’ll leave it hanging on this chair.” He heard you reply with a thanks, and then Logan turned and left the room, walking into the open space of the living room after pulling the bedroom doors closed behind him. Rather than sitting on the couch, he stepped through the room, switching the lamps on. I should leave. I got ‘em here, I should go down to the lobby an’ call a car back to my place, and … But he didn’t, instead staring out and over the city, one hand in his pocket, the rectangular shape of his phone beneath his palm.

He hadn’t heard from Ariella in two days, and though it was barely midnight in Los Angeles, it was morning in London, meaning that there was a possibility that she was awake. He pulled the device out, opening their messages, but when he saw that the last one he’d sent earlier that afternoon still hadn’t been opened, he darkened the screen, putting it back into his pocket. Of course. Their arrangement wasn’t ideal by a long shot, but Logan had endured much worse in his lifetime, and for the sake of Delos - and keeping his word - would honor the deal he’d made. Even though it’s bullshit. He sighed, rolling his neck from side to side, watching as the lights twinkled in the distance.

“I’ve never seen LA from this high up.” He turned from the window, seeing that you were standing in the doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. “I mean, from a plane, yeah, but … We went to Spire tonight because Jess told me that it’s one of her favorites, but I’ve never…” You stepped forward, head shaking back and forth. “And this room?” You threw your hands up, rolling your eyes. “It’s three times the size of my apartment. And there’s a fucking piano?” Well, yeah, there... “Logan, this is…” You were only a few feet from him, standing in front of the window next to the one he was at, eyes out on the cityscape as you trailed off.

“Jess alright?” He ignored what you’d been saying, trying to get you to think about something else. “I’ve been there myself, but it wasn’t alcohol, it…” He bit down on his lip. Shit, she might not have … “I’m sure you’ve seen the -”

“You told me not to believe everything I read, Logan.” He looked over, surprised to see that you were smiling at him. I did say that. “But yeah, she’s fine. I made her drink one of those big glasses of water, and I’m pretty sure that aside from that and the ibuprofen I had her take, there’s nothing left in her stomach, so…” You sighed. “If she gets sick in the bed, I’ll pay for the damages, or -” He turned and reached for you before he could stop himself, his fingers closing around your bicep and squeezing gently.

“No, you won’t.” He immediately let go of you, dropping his hand back to his side. “Believe me, even if she does get sick? It’s nothin’ they haven’t seen before.” You let out a breath, head tilted down and eyes focused on where he’d touched you. I shouldn’t have done that. “She really wouldn’t have made it home in a car, though, and at least now you don’t have to worry about -”

“Logan.” You were biting your lip, and he watched as your head rose, a pained expression on your face. “Why are you doing this? You don’t know me - or us, and this is a totally unnecessary gesture. You’re engaged. And you’re not exactly the type -”

“So you did look me up.” He felt disappointment flowing through him, fighting the urge to raise his hands and rub at his eyes. I thought this was… You stepped backwards, hands reaching out until you found the back of the couch, and Logan watched you perch atop it, the pillows moving as you sat. Leave. Leave it at this. Tell her again that all they have to do is wake up and go tomorrow, and then go home.

You swallowed, eyes still on him. “I did, Logan. I knew who you were, like I said the other day, but I guess I …” He watched your grip tighten on the couch, head dropping forward. “I wanted to know more about you, after meeting you?” That’s normal, why are you … “It’s stupid, but … and now we’re here, and I don’t know -” He said your name, cutting you off, and when you finally looked back at him, Logan took a breath.

“I meant what I said when I told you that you couldn’t believe everything that those goddamn gossip sites say, or what’s in the magazines.” He felt his lip curl. “That’s not what I wanted for myself, but I had a couplea rough years, and it’s… it is what it is now. I can only keep so much of it out of the press, but I’m not …” He thought back to the headlines from his benders, the way they’d all speculated that he’d be dead by 30, that his father would remove him from the company, that he’d ruined himself with his habits. But I didn’t. I fucking gave everything… “All that shit? That isn’t really…”

“It’s fine, Logan, you don’t need to -”

“Look, I can leave right now. You guys are safe here, and you can spend the night - order room service tomorrow morning before you leave. I don’t give a shit, it’s all on my account and it’ll be written off.” Raking a hand through his hair, Logan scratched the back of his head. “I’m doin’ this because despite what people might say about me? What they think is true because they see one sidea me and don’t bother lookin’ for more? I’m not just Logan Delos.” Where is this coming from? She doesn’t care, shut up, Logan. “I’m sorry your night ended this way, an’ I’m sorry that your friend’s not feeling that great, but I -”

“Do you want to leave?” Your interruption surprised him, Logan stopping mid sentence. “It seemed like there was another option, but I don’t -” I … He blinked rapidly, eyes on you. I should leave. “Logan?” He pulled his phone out again, checking the time, and seeing that there were still no missed calls or replies from Ariella.

“I can leave right now,” he repeated, setting the phone down on the tabletop after locking it. “And that’s it, just … goodbye, and thanks for havin’ a couple drinks with me so that I didn’t look like an asshole drinking alone at that bar.” Or … He didn’t know why he had anxiety about the next suggestion he wanted to make - he had no reason to. “Or, we could grab a couple beers from the mini fridge and sit out here on the couches for a little while.” Your eyes moved to the kitchen area and then back to Logan, though you stayed quiet. “It’s up to you.” He saw the apprehension in your eyes and took another deep breath, closing his eyes and nodding his head at you. “Look, I’m not propositioning you. I’m not tryin’ to get you into bed, or anything like that, but you don’t look tired, and I’m not in any hurry to get back to my place, so …”

He waited in silence, unsure of what else to say. The truth was, though, that Logan was curious about you. You’d said you lived in Burbank, but he’d met you for the first time in Thousand Oaks. You seemed slightly overwhelmed by the opulence of the hotel room and bar, and had known him from CNN instead of JustJared or Daily Mail. I want to know more about you, and I don’t … You were watching him intently, and Logan returned the look, letting his eyes roam over your face, though he hoped it wasn’t making you more uncomfortable than you already seemed to be. Finally, after a long pause, you stood, taking one step closer to him and reaching up with one hand to tuck hair behind your ear. “Alright, Logan. What kind of beer’s in that fridge?”

---

Tag lists are open!

General: @the-blind-assassin-12 @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix @agentlingerie @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @dreams-with-thoughts @wangmangagavroche @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @malionnes @addictedtofictionalcharacters @marauderskeeper @lovemarvelousfics @pheedraws @fairywriter-oracle @aroyaldarknessblr @bisexual-space-slut @fific7 @maralisa124 @commanderlola @eternitydarkling @beautifuldesastre @not-a-basic-bitchhh @blackbirddaredevil23

Logan Delos:@nananananananananananabatman @damalseer @chibiyanai @life-is-a-melody @songtoyou @samfindsout @tartiflvtte

Uncategorized: @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @malik-payne @lynne1993 @ladyblablabla @audreychaz @tc-elliot @kind-wolf @honeyydippaa @binbonsadoration @jeanettexkillian @avengerswhore @elioelioeli0 @projectcampbell @giggleberts @elfmama @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

98 notes · View notes

there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Three (Bad Ideas) - Part 3 of 3

Jared x Jensen ( x Reader, but mostly J2)

Word Count: ~6720

Warnings: The most explicit guy-on-guy scene I’ve written so far in this series, I think. Rom-com-style miscommunication shenanigans, excessive fluff, bossy!Jensen and his dirty dirty mouth, Jared’s exhibitionist tendencies, polyamory negotiations, anxiety and the way it can fuck with relationships, no seriously so much fluff, boys being idiots, boys in a non-figurative closet, boys in love, boys in bed, and more fucking fluff.

A/N: I cannot believe I finally finished this, holy shit. Credit to @fangirlxwritesx67! Most of this series wouldn’t exist without her neverending J2 gif spams.

Catch up here: Part 1 / Part 2

This is the prequel to the original Everything story, which you can only read on Amazon these days; it actually overlaps a bit, and retells a few scenes from Jared’s POV, but this fic stands on its own. The original is thoroughly plotless, tbh. It’s like 18k of pure smut. Read it over here if you’re interested. More standalones/headcanons/ficlets in this ‘verse can be found here.

“Come on,” Jared pants, “Hurry up already.”

“Somebody’s fuckin demanding,” Jensen growls.

“Please, just — fuck, so close, come on.” He tries to buck forward but Jensen’s got him pinned, shoving him against the wall of the dark, cramped little closet while his hand moves in a maddeningly even rhythm, working him with long rough perfect strokes.

“Door’s not locked. If you don’t keep your voice down somebody’s gonna walk right in.”

He twists his wrist just right, and Jared groans, slumping back against the wall, trying not to let his knees buckle.

“Please,” he says again.

“Is that what you want? You want someone to walk in?”

“Shit, come on, stop teasing.”

“What would you do if she walked in?” Jensen says, practically purring, his voice deep and suggestive in the dark, close air. “God, I bet you’d love that.”

Jared wants to protest, but the image of it, the thought of her opening that door, thrills him like a thousand fucking volts. He whimpers, and Jensen just laughs. The guilt hits a split-second later.

“I wouldn’t stop, either,” Jensen continues. “I’d let her hear you begging, let her watch while I make you come...”

Jared’s so close he can barely breathe. He can feel it, building everywhere, from his toes and his fingers, up through his spine, coiling tight and hot and —

“So fuckin’ dirty, admit it, you want her to see you come all over yourself. Think she’d lick it off my fingers when you’re done?”

“Asshole,” Jared gasps, and his cheeks are burning but he can’t help it, he’s imagining her face and then his hips are jerking forward as he comes, so bright and sharp in his gut that he’s doubling over, clutching at the back of Jensen’s shirt and trying to stifle a shout.

Jared’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop, if he’s being honest with himself. Everything has gone so smoothly with them. It’s been over a year, and he’s still convinced he’s going to fuck this up; it can’t possibly be this easy.

Jared’s pretty sure the shoe hit the ground today, when Jensen mentioned someone else and Jared just — well. That.

Jensen has a territorial streak a mile wide. He’s quick to move in when he feels like someone’s too close to Jared, asserting himself with a hand on the back of Jared’s neck, fingers in his hair, something quietly possessive. Dirty talk is one thing; the way Jared reacted to it must have been more than enough to set off a red alert in that jealous corner of Jensen’s brain.

He’s already steeling himself as Jensen slides into the bed, turns the light off, and spoons up behind him to kiss the curve of his neck.

“We gonna talk about that?” Jensen murmurs. Jensen doesn’t sound mad, but he’s a good fucking actor.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t.” His huff of a laugh tickles Jared’s neck.

Jared’s not sure what the fuck is wrong with him, because he finally has what he’s wanted for so many years, finally, and he’s so ridiculously, breathtakingly, head-over-heels in love with Jensen that he can barely see straight sometimes. It’s hard to take his eyes off Jensen, and it definitely gets in the way of things like eating or sleeping or remembering his lines, and so it’s kind of amazing to him that his brain even has space to notice another person, but… he notices her. He can’t help it.

Jensen slides a palm over his hip, tracing the shape of bone and muscle with the tips of his fingers and then dipping down to cup his cock.

Fuck.

Jared tries to ignore the feeling that he’s walking into a trap, somehow.

“It was hot,” he admits softly.

“Fuckin’ right it was,” Jensen says, low and suggestive against his ear. “Ever thought about that? Somebody watching?”

He’s getting hard embarrassingly fast and he knows Jensen can feel it. Jared squirms back against him. For a second it’s easy to forget what they were talking about, and by the time he remembers, he doesn’t particularly care any more.

“Can you—” he breathes, and Jensen nips the round of his shoulder before rolling away for a second. When he comes back, there’s the click of a bottle opening and closing, and then Jensen’s teasing with one slick finger, grazing sensitive skin in little circles until Jared’s gritting his teeth against the urge to beg.

“You never answered my question,” Jensen whispers. One finger sinks in slow, and Jared shudders.

Right. That.

“It’s not a thing or whatever. I was close, and your voice — you could recite a grocery list in that fucking voice and I’d get hard.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jared can hear the smirk.

“It was just… in the moment,” he insists. “I’d never — hearing you talk about it was hot, but... I’ve never — not seriously.” He’s glad Jensen can’t see the way he blushes.

The second finger feels like a stretch, a burn that streaks up his spine and dissolves quickly into sparks, discomfort easing into a wash of pleasure.

“But you like talking about it,” Jensen rasps, and for a second Jared has no fucking idea what they were just saying. Jensen curls his fingers just right and white fireworks dance behind Jared’s eyelids.

“Maybe,” he gasps. He tries to brace himself against the mattress, pushing back, arching shamelessly. Jensen kisses the nape of his neck, dragging an open-mouthed kiss down the knobs of Jared’s spine.

“So let’s talk about it,” Jensen says, lips still touching, smearing the words across his skin. He kisses the curve of his neck, bites it, a bright grounding point of sensation as he pulls his hand away.

“More?” Jared whispers, just as Jensen’s fingers slide in again, three this time, slow, overwhelming.

There’s a prickle of heat all over his skin. Jared focuses on breathing. Jensen matches him so that they’re inhaling and exhaling in sync, and it’s deafening in the dark, silent, still room.

Jensen’s fingers fuck him open slowly, twisting, brushing up against the spot that makes Jared whimper, again and again and —

“Was it because you imagined somebody walking it? Or because you imagined her walking in?” Jensen asks.

Jared goes cold all over for a second, cold and then fever-hot again as pure panic zings up his spine. He can’t answer, but it doesn’t matter; if Jensen’s asking that question, it’s because he already knows the answer.

He bites back a whimper, torn between shame and arousal. He’s frozen.

“Whoa, no,” Jensen says, obviously alarmed. “That’s not — Jesus, I’m sorry, I would never — I don’t care.” He pulls his fingers away and curls himself around Jared, kissing the hollow behind Jared’s ear, making soft shushing sounds, crooning reassurances until Jared starts to relax. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay? Why would you even think that?”

Jared knows him, knows how he sounds when he’s angry, knows that this isn’t that, and he’s not really sure why he panicked, now; Jensen wouldn’t set him up like that. He just wouldn’t.

It’s Jared’s own fault, anxiety and guilt and relentless fucking insecurities. He should know better.

“Sorry,” is all he can manage, in a rough strangled voice. He doesn’t know what to do with the leftover adrenaline fizzing in his veins.

“Hey, listen to me,” Jensen whispers, with just enough steel in his tone that Jared can’t help but pay attention. “I just —I don’t care who you’re attracted to, because… you love me, right?”

“Of course. Why would you even—”

“So it doesn’t matter who you’re thinking about, because you’re still mine. Right?”

“Right,” Jared mumbles. He’s still not entirely sure why Jensen brought her up in the first place, if not out of jealousy, but Jensen’s fingers are sliding in again, thick knuckles opening him up. It’s distracting.

“If I was there too — if it was something we could do together — ” Jensen says, hesitant. “I wouldn’t mind sharing you.”

“Oh,” Jared breathes.

This is so not how he expected this conversation to go.

“If I was telling you what to do…” Jared groans, ragged and drawn-out, and Jensen lets out a shaky exhale before he continues: “You’re so good for me. So good at doing what you’re told.”

“Holy shit.”

Before Jensen, Jared would’ve considered himself thoroughly fucking vanilla, but Jensen has this way of pushing buttons that Jared never knew existed. Inventing new buttons, maybe. They’re, like, Jensen-specific buttons, and fuck, Jared’s not making sense even to himself, and he’s about to lose his goddamn mind here.

“On your stomach,” Jensen orders. He urges Jared forward and moves with him, sliding on top of him, hot soft skin and sinewy strength blanketing him and grounding him and holding him in place.

“Come on, just—.”

The words turn into a sigh as Jensen sinks into him. He grabs Jared’s wrists, squeezing almost too tight, pinning him down. He rocks his hips, pushing in deeper, inch by inch, until Jared’s shaking and full and so tense he feels like he’s vibrating.

“So good,” Jensen croons again. “I should show you off, let everybody see how well trained you are… is that what you want?”

Jared twitches under him, hips jerking, fingers flexing, uncoordinated and involuntary.

“Yeah. Yes. Fuck.”

He’s never imagined anything like that in his life, but the image sears itself into his brain, and he knows he’ll be thinking about that for a long goddamn time. His cock is uncomfortably hard, trapped between his stomach and the mattress, and every thrust has him rubbing against the sheets, too rough and nowhere near enough.

Jensen grinds in with this long undulating snaky movement that drags like a match being struck, and the friction ignites inside him, sparkling hot. He tries to muffle the raw ugly cry in the back of his throat by pressing his face down into the mattress. A few more of those rolling sinuous thrusts and Jared’s burning up, not really sure if those are words coming out of his mouth or just nonsense, but he thinks he’s begging, stuttering out curses and pleas.

“I’ve imagined the two of you together,” Jensen says, gravelly and shredded. “What you’d look like… what I’d tell you to do to her.”

“Fuck,” Jared slurs, and tries to bite down on the sheet. He’s so close, too close, just needs something —

Then Jensen slides a hand from Jared’s wrist to his hair, and he grabs, twists, forces Jared’s head to one side so that the next wild sound rings out loud.

“Mine,” he growls, close and hot and everywhere. He fucks in deep, pulls Jared’s hair hard, and that sting is exactly the catalyst Jared needed; he lets go, goes under, with Jensen repeating it like an echo: “Mine.”

“We can protect you,” Sam declares.

“It’s not your job to take care of me,” she says defiantly.

“I want to help. I can—”

“Because you don’t have enough to deal with?” she scoffs, but she’s blinking back tears. “What about you?”

Sam shrugs. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I can’t. I’d rather have you safe than—”

She practically throws herself at him, hugging him so hard it knocks the air out of his lungs, and Sam closes his eyes, holding her tight.

“Cut!” Rich yells.

For a moment, Jared’s frozen, caught in the scene, and he has to forcefully wrench himself back out. Her arms are still wrapped around him, her face buried in his chest, and he can feel the way she inhales, shaky, before pulling away.

“You okay?” he asks. His voice cracks. She gives him a watery smile.

“That was… wow,” Rich says, grinning from ear to ear. “Nailed it. That’s a wrap for today. Get some rest, you deserve it.”

Jared’s stuck in Sam’s skin, and it sucks. He’s never been good at keeping his own emotions neat and tidy; add Sam’s weight-of-the-world mess on top of that, and he’s a wreck.

Jared looks around automatically for Jensen, but Jensen’s been in production meetings all day, doing important director things. He texts instead:

Done soon? Duckin weird heavy day

Meant fuckin obv, no ducks involved

Ugh miss you

He heads back to his chair and starts gathering up his stuff, and she comes up next to him without a word, slipping an arm around his waist and giving him a sideways squeeze. He sighs and turns into it, bundling her up in his arms, softer and sweeter than the hug their characters just shared. She doesn’t let go, and after a moment he can feel the tension starting to drain away. He still doesn’t feel like him, not quite re-settled in his own skin, but… it’s getting better.

He kisses the top of her head, getting a whiff of the unmistakable scent of her shampoo, or whatever that fruity shit is that Jared has come to know as her smell.

“Walk over to wardrobe with me?” he asks.

“I need a minute,” she says, the words muffled in flannel. He hates the tremor in her voice. “Before I have to walk through all the chaos. Y’know?”

“Yeah. Want to just… sit with me, for a sec?”

She scoots her chair over to face his, close enough that their knees are touching. For a second she just looks at him, like she’s about to ask if he’s okay and does he want to talk about it, but the answer is a resounding no and she must read that on his face.

Jared’s always had that problem; everything he feels shows on his face. The only reason he managed to hide his feelings for Jensen for so long is that he never even acknowledged them to himself. He fidgets uncomfortably, self-conscious, and makes himself stop messing with his hair. He doesn’t really want to know what she’s seeing as she looks at him.

She grabs his hands and holds them, palm to palm, and it takes Jared a minute to catch on; she’s playing that stupid game where she’s trying to slap the tops of his hands before he can pull them away.

“I haven’t done this since middle school,” he says, flustered, trying to focus. “Dork.”

“Gotcha!”

He tries and fails an embarrassing number of times to get her back.

“No fair. My hands are like five times the size of yours, they make a bigger target,” he protests.

She giggles. “It’s true, you’ve got the bigass moose hands.”

She takes one of his hands in both of hers, laying it palm-up and leaning in closely to inspect it. Jared smells that fruity sweet scent again, and he has to fight the urge to run his fingers through her hair.

“Can you read palms?” he asks.

“Mmmhmm.” She frowns down at his hand.

“What?”

“See this super faint line right here?” She traces one with the very tip of her finger; it tickles.

Jared shivers. He’s paying attention to the feel of her soft hands more than her words, but he nods and says, “Yeah.”

“That’s your grace line. The way it’s all fragmented and faint means you’re clumsy as fuck.”

“Huh.”

“This one around your middle finger is the ring of the bird. Means you’re really bad at staying angry. This one is the line of the doofus, means—”

“Wait a second,” Jared says, laughing as the words sink in. “You’re so full of shit. I’ll give you a ring of the bird.”

He shoves his middle finger right up in her face and uses it to poke her forehead, and she giggles, swatting his hand away. It devolves rapidly into a sort of childish slap fight.

“Wow,” comes a low, teasing drawl, and Jared starts in his seat, turning to Jensen weirdly fast. He’s not sure why he feels like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. They weren’t doing anything wrong.

“Hey,” Jared says, breathless, and pushes his chair back awkwardly so that he’s not quite so close to her.

He expects jealousy, but Jensen’s not doing his usual steely jaw-clench-y thing. He looks uncertain, like he’s not even sure how he feels, but his smile is genuine and warm and crinkle-eyed.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

“Oh! Right. I’m… yeah, actually. I’m fine.” He’s stunned by how true it is.

“Thanks for that,” Jensen tells her quietly.

Jared frowns. “I don’t need someone to—”

“It was mutual,” she interrupts.

The sweet little half-smile on her face makes Jared forget his ruffled feathers. He looks between the two of them.

“Um… to wardrobe?” he asks Jensen.

Jensen nods and asks her, “You coming?”

She shrugs and gives Jensen another tentative smile, and they all fall into step. Jared can’t really accept how easy it feels, but he doesn’t want to question it, at least not now.

Jared’s used to the way Jensen shuts down sometimes, the way he curls into his shell when he’s anxious or stressed, but it feels different now that they’re together. They’ve been together for a fucking year. He feels like he should know how to deal with this.

For someone who’s remarkably direct in almost every part of his life, Jensen is a champion at stonewalling people when he really wants to; the more Jared pokes and prods, the higher the walls get. Jensen’s been edgy all day, and it’s bad enough that everyone has noticed. Jared’s pretty sure this is about him, so he’s determined to fix it; Jensen said he wasn’t threatened, but… yeah. It’s the only explanation, and it’s making Jared second-guess everything he says and does and fucking thinks, and he’s just pissing Jensen off more.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” Jared asks.

“You can stop bouncing your knee like that, for starters,” Jensen grumbles. “And then you can stop asking me that fucking question.”

“Sorry.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jensen insists stubbornly. “Okay? I just need some space.”

Jared sighs and knuckles at his eyes. This is fucking exhausting.

“Fine.”

Just as he’s about to stand up, there’s a loud knock on the trailer door.

“It’s open,” Jensen shouts reluctantly, already trying to control his own scowl. The door slams open.

“Hey,” she says cheerfully, juggling a large paper bag and a tray of coffee cups as she tries to shut the door behind herself.

“I got it,” Jared says, jumping up to help. She gives him a grateful smile and shoves the coffee tray at him. One of them has his name scrawled on the side. “Wait, really? For me?”

“Your favorite.”

“You’re my favorite,” he says, and immediately wants to smack himself in the forehead. “I mean—”

“S’okay, she’s my favorite right now too,” Jensen admits dryly.

“You mentioned wanting to try that new place, right?” She plops the bag down on the table and makes herself at home next to Jensen on the couch. Jared’s still standing awkwardly, hovering, not sure what to do with himself.

“The bakery?” Jensen asks. She caught him off-guard before he could fully put on his polite mask with the camera-ready smile. He doesn’t seem to know how to feel about that.

“Yeah! I got a little of everything, figured we should taste test.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jensen protests. She just waves a macaron at him until he caves, biting it right out of her hand and making a deliriously happy noise.

“Don’t get me wrong, this was not a purely altruistic gesture,” she laughs, taking a bite of her own. “Plenty to go around.”

She offers one to Jared, but he shakes his head ruefully. “I was just about to go.”

Jensen glances up again, and something softens in his expression. His smile looks like an apology.

“Stay,” he says quietly. He holds up a mini lemon tart as a peace offering. Jared takes a bite, letting out an obscene moan that’s only kinda exaggerated, before taking a seat on Jensen’s other side.

“Okay, let’s get down to business,” she says, straight-faced as she gestures to the spread. “We have our work cut out for us.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Jensen deadpans. They dig in.

Jared’s still not entirely sure what just happened, but he doesn’t care as long as Jensen’s smiling.

By the time they’re down to the last few cookies, Jared’s sugar-high and over-caffeinated and happier than he’s been all week. He’s also starting to suspect that maybe he’s not the cause of Jensen’s mood after all.

Jared sucks a smudge of icing off his own thumb, and there’s a flicker of heat in Jensen’s eyes as he tracks the movement. Then he shakes his head like he’s laughing at himself.

“Be right back,” he tells them, and heads for the bathroom.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Jared turns to look at her, wide-eyed. Her smile falters.

“Is this okay? I know he’s been… off.”

“That’s a nice way of saying it,” Jared laughs.

“I wanted to see if I could cheer him up.” She looks self-conscious now, which was really not the point.

“You did. This is awesome, but — I’m just surprised he let you,” Jared admits. “I’ve known him for a long fucking time and there are still days… I don’t know.”

“Figured if I asked, he’d just say no, so… didn’t bother asking.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Sometimes it’s easier to get out of your head when you’re with someone you don’t know as well, right?”

There are about a million things Jared wants to say, but he hears the toilet flush, so he just whispers, “Thanks,” and hopes she knows how much he means it.

“Jesus, I’m stuffed,” Jensen says, flopping back down between them. He reaches for the last raspberry puff-thing anyway and eats it in one bite, making a goofy face that’s 100% Dean, and they both laugh. He swallows and wipes his mouth, somehow managing to leave a streak of confectioner’s sugar from the corner of his lips down to his jaw.

“You’ve got a—” Jared says, but he just leans in and licks it off.

Jensen angles his head for a real kiss. He’s smiling, and he tastes like raspberries, and Jared really doesn’t want to stop kissing him.

When they break apart, she looks away quickly enough to make it obvious that she was staring. Her cheeks go pink as she bites her lip.

“I’m gonna go,” she says, fumbling for her bag.

“Don’t,” Jared says. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go all PDA on you, just—”

She’s already heading for the door.

“Stay?” Jensen asks softly. He clearly means it, and that makes her pause.

“It’s almost time for me to be back on set anyway,” she says, still blushing. “I should—”

“If you’re sure, but… thank you,” Jensen says sincerely.

“Any time!”

She grins over her shoulder and then she’s gone before either of them can get up to hug her goodbye. Jared watches the door close behind her, disappointed, and he’s almost embarrassed to be caught staring until he realizes Jensen’s doing the same thing.

“She’s… yeah,” Jensen muses. “Of all the people you could be crushing on? I like her.”

Jared’s kinda mystified, because if that’s not what Jensen was upset about, he has no idea what the issue was, but he also feels a thousand pounds lighter.

“Love you,” he blurts out.

“Love you too,” Jensen says, pulling him in for another sugary kiss.

There are a few moments in the next couple days when Jared can see that black cloud hovering over Jensen’s head again, but they’re shooting his episode, so Jared writes it off as director-stress. Instead of worrying, Jared just tries to distract him, and he’s amazed by how well it works.

Of course, as soon as he’s stopped fixating on it, Jensen brings it up. All these years and it never occurred to Jared that avoiding the issue entirely would be the best way to get Jensen to talk about something he doesn’t want to fucking talk about.

“I’m sorry for being a dick this week,” he says bluntly, sitting down on the couch next to Jared and passing him a beer.

Jared laughs, still channel-surfing. “It’s fine. Honestly. At first I thought — I don’t know. Whatever. It’s fine.”

Jensen grabs the remote out of his hand and mutes the TV, and Jared shifts, curling a little closer so he can take in the abruptly serious expression on Jensen’s face.

“I got a call… there’s this developer who wants to buy my property,” Jensen says. “And they’re offering a lot of money, but —”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jared asks. “You were gonna sell it eventually anyway, right?”

The tips of Jensen’s ears are pink.

“I wanted to look at my options, and… you know. Talk to you about it.”

Jared shrugs. “Okay. Will all your shit even fit in my house? Maybe we should get a storage unit.”

Jensen stares at him blankly for a second. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he asks, “Seriously? That’s it?”

“You’re talking about moving in, right?” Jared asks. “You’re always at my house anyway, it’s not — wait. Is that what you were stressing about?”

Jensen actually glares as Jared starts to laugh. Jared gestures vaguely around at the Vancouver apartment they’ve shared for fucking years, and eventually Jensen starts laughing too, burying his face in his palms. The back of his neck is flushed, and Jared can’t fucking believe him, or this, or… the whole situation, really.

Of all the absurd shit.

“It just felt like a big deal,” Jensen says sheepishly. “I thought… I didn’t want to assume, and I didn’t know how long I had to decide, and I wanted to go through all my options and have it all laid out for you, because I didn’t want you to think — I don’t fucking know. Jesus. Asking someone to move in with you is generally a big deal! I was just freaking out a little.”

“You pulled a me, in other words?” Jared asks, laughing again. Jensen jokingly tries to push him away and Jared scoots closer.

Jensen always seems so sure about things. Jared forgets, sometimes, that he worries too.

“It was a busy week, and I didn’t want to just jump into it, because if you said no and it turned into a whole big thing I worried it would get in the way when I was directing, and — fucking hell. You hate it when I say ‘we need to have a conversation about something but not right now.’”

“Well, yeah,” Jared huffs. “That’s the worst. But you could’ve at least told me it wasn’t my fault!”

Jensen makes a dismissive sound. “Why the fuck would it be your fault?”

“Seriously?”

“I mean… yeah, nothing happened, why would you —”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jared half-shouts, torn between exasperation and laughter. “I thought you were jealous! I told you I was attracted to somebody else, and — for fuck’s sake.”

“Did something happen with her, since we talked about that?” Jensen asks. Jared has a momentary urge to smack him.

“No. Obviously not. I just thought…”

They both just stare at each other, and then Jensen starts shaking his head slowly as realization dawns. Jared laughs, giddy and almost hysterical, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Did you think I was just going to sulk about it for a few days without telling you, and then… what, end it?” Jensen asks, as if it’s insane.

Jared shrugs helplessly. “I mean… yeah, I guess.”

Jensen sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he chooses his words. For a moment Jared thinks he’s angry, but when Jensen looks at him again, there’s nothing but this raw tenderness all over his face.

“Look,” he says, slow and deliberate. “I know I go all caveman when other people try to flirt with you, but it’s not because I don’t trust you. Okay?”

“That’s not —”

“Hang on. Hear me out here. You can’t beat yourself up for looking at someone, Jared. Or for pheromones, or what-fucking-ever. You can’t. I don’t care who else you look at, as long as you still want me, at the end of the day. Relax, okay?”

Jensen’s hands curl around his upper arms, holding him firmly, until Jared rests his forehead against Jensen’s and takes a deep breath.

“You really don’t mind?”

“I don’t. I’m fucking seriously in love with you, and I need you to know that you can tell me anything. It’s not going to change the way I feel about you. Just fucking tell me, and then we can deal with it together. As long as you’re honest.”

Jared can’t help but ask, “Do I need to point out how hypocritical —”

“Don’t even start,” Jensen laughs. “That’s different. Asking someone to make a huge fucking life change with you is different from… feeling guilty for thinking a girl is cute, or whatever. She’s fucking cute. You’re not blind.”

“You don’t think I’m an asshole?” His voice cracks.

“What? Why would I?”

“I feel like… I feel like the luckiest person in the fucking world, Jay, you’ve gotta know that.” Jared’s tearing up, because of course he is, and the intensity in Jensen’s expression isn’t helping, but the words start to spill out faster: “I never thought I could have this. This — us — it’s better than anything I ever fucking imagined, and it’s not like you’re not enough for me. You’re… this is everything to me. So how the fuck do I still want more? I don’t deserve this, let alone —”

He bites his lip to cut himself off. He didn’t realize he was going to say that out loud. It’s a little too true.

“Look at me,” Jensen growls, fierce and almost angry.

“Sorry,” Jared half-laughs, wiping away tears.

“First of all, you deserve the fucking universe,” Jensen says flatly, like it’s a very simple fact. “And even if you didn’t, I don’t give a shit, I’d still do anything to make you happy.” He brings his hands to Jared’s face, holding him so that he can’t look away. “But also? You feel more than anyone else I’ve ever met. If anybody’s got enough love for two people, it’d be you.”

Jared snorts. “It’s not like it could actually happen, it’s just —”

“Why not? As much as you like to think you’re a goddamn trailblazer, this isn’t revolutionary,” Jensen retorts, all snark. “Polyamory is a thing that people do. You can date her while you’re with me. Everybody can get what they want here.”

“Even if it was that simple—” Jared knows it’s not that simple. “—she’s not interested in me, so—”

Jensen cuts him off: “You’re an idiot. She’s fucking crazy about you.”

He looks fond and exasperated and very sure of himself, and for a moment, Jared wonders if maybe he’s right. Then he shakes his head, trying to articulate how he feels.

“I think… I’d feel weird if it wasn’t something I could share with you,” he says honestly. “I like sharing things with you. I want to share everything with you.”

Jensen’s expression goes soft and painfully sweet. “Sap.”

Jared shrugs. He can’t really deny that one. He leans in and kisses Jensen instead.

Jensen grabs him and physically hauls him closer, until they’re all tangled together, and kisses him again, hard enough to bruise.

“Is there anything else we need to get out in the open?” Jared asks wryly, when they finally break for air. “Now that we’ve established we’re both fucking morons who need to talk to each other?”

“Fuck it, while we’re on the subject of sharing.” Jensen looks at him intently. His lips are all red and swollen. “The whole threesome thing? Just for the record, I was dead fuckin’ serious about being into that idea.”

“Oh,” Jared says blankly. “But what if —”

Jensen curls a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, smirking. “Stop thinking. Not right fucking now. Not when we’re filming with her for a week solid,” he says, because he can read Jared’s mind. “Someday.”

“Someday,” Jared agrees.

“You ate those cookies,” Jensen says.

Oh.

Fuck.

Jared’s stomach swoops. He recognizes it now, the way she’s holding herself rigid, the panic that shows around her dark dilated pupils; he can feel it like it was yesterday, overwhelming and out of control and fucking humiliating.

“Fuck,” he says, shaking his head. What the fuck else can he say?

She stammers, squeezing her eyes shut like she’s refusing to think about it: “Drugs? Were the cookies drugged? Why do I feel…”

“Like if you don’t get some dick you’re gonna die?” he says bluntly. Her eyes go wide. “Been there.”

“What did you — um.”

It’s so fucking strange, thinking back to that night, just like it’s strange thinking about anything that happened before they were together. He remembers the electricity between them, the intensity of it, the way it felt to touch Jensen for the first time… he looks sideways at Jensen and knows he’s remembering it too.

“I’ll go back to my room,” she says, her voice strained and scared.

“Needs to be another person,” Jared says. His throat feels clogged, and the words come out thick and clumsy. “Believe me, I tried. But if you’re okay with it…”

His voice falters as he realizes what he’s actually offering. For a split-second, Jared feels guilty, like he brought this on somehow by sheer force of wishful thinking. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, though. Jared looks at Jensen helplessly, but Jensen’s watching her, brow furrowed with concern, and Jared is reminded (forcefully) that this isn’t about him.

“We’ve got you,” Jensen finishes, warm and sure.

She shakes her head. “I can’t ask —”

“You’re not asking.”

She looks so scared. Jared remembers that part, too: he didn’t want to look Jensen in the eyes, because he was so fucking certain he’d see disgust there, or pity, or something fucking awful like that.

Jared empathizes so intensely that he feels sick for a second. He flounders, wondering what he can say to put her at ease, make her feel wanted, and then he chuckles to himself, realizing that the truth is probably his best option here.

“It’s not like it’s a fucking hardship, y’know? Have you seen you?”

It shocks a laugh out of her, at least. Jared counts it as a win.

Then she squeezes her eyes closed again, face screwed-up and anguished, and all Jared can think about is getting rid of that pained expression. He settles on the bed next to her, takes the cool washcloth off her forehead and strokes her hair carefully, hating the way she’s frowning. She turns to look at him, and he feels like he’s about to burst with the urge to just bundle her up in a bear hug and protect her.

“Yeah, okay,” she says abruptly, soft but sure. “Yes.”

“C’mere then.”

Jared slides closer, resting a hand ever-so-gently on the curve of her waist, and she rolls onto her side to face him, eyes huge and desperate. Jensen is settling at her back. She fits so neatly between the two of them. She’s trembling, but it’s okay; Jared’s pretty sure he is too. He glances over her shoulder at Jensen.

Jensen just smiles, saying without words it’s okay and I’ve got you and together, and the last of Jared’s worries evaporate.

“You’re gonna have to stop thinking so hard,” he tells her gently, because he knows that expression a little too well. Jensen lets out a quiet snort of laughter, which is fair, because Jared saying that to someone else is like the pot telling the kettle to stop being black.

Then he’s cupping her cheek, tilting her chin, kissing her, and the noise in his head goes silent, for once; everything goes silent, just evaporates the fuck away, and all Jared can feel is the sweet soft shape of her lips as they part, the slick slide of her tongue, the way she sighs… he can feel her just melting into it, and there’s something about it that takes his breath away. She goes pliant in his arms, relaxing completely, like every muscle in her body is showing him: I trust you. The enormity of that trust is what has him spinning with need, rocketing from zero to sixty in five seconds flat.

There’s a warmth blossoming in Jared’s chest that is so far beyond a crush it’s not even funny. He’s pretty sure he’s fucked, but he can’t think about that, not now, not with the way she’s responding, surging up to meet him and draw him in deeper. The only thing that matters right now is taking care of her. He just wants to make her feel good; the rest can wait. He’ll deal with his own cracked-open heart tomorrow.

For a moment Jared’s convinced it was all a dream, but when he opens his eyes, she’s the first thing he sees. She’s curled up with her hands tucked under her chin, oddly childlike, and her face is totally serene.

She’s beautiful in a way that still takes him by surprise every time he looks at her.

Jesus pogo-jumping Christ. Jared is fucked.

Before he can really spiral out about it, though, Jensen is stirring at his back. Jared rolls over, muscles complaining about last night’s exertion, and he sprawls out half on top of Jensen, trying to keep his breathing even. Jensen runs a hand through Jared’s tangled hair, finger-combing gently.

“So that was… pretty amazing,” Jensen whispers, so quiet Jared barely catches the words.

“Yeah.”

There’s a question on the tip of his tongue and he’s burning to hear the answer, but he’s pretty sure it’s a bad idea to just spit it out like this.

Because he’s apparently a mind reader now, Jensen answers the question anyway: “I would really love to do that again.”

Jared exhales slowly. “Same.”

“But… I think it’s going to be complicated. Emotionally.”

Apparently they’re just diving the fuck into this.

Jared closes his eyes, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. He shifts, sliding on top of Jensen, propped up on his elbows. He pauses like that for a moment, taking in the pillow creases on Jensen’s cheek and the concern in his eyes.

Jensen hesitates, lips twitching down into a nervous frown before he continues: “I knew how you felt about her, but — well, I guess you’re not the only one.”

Jared blinks down at him. “What are you saying?”

Jensen reaches up and traces the line of Jared’s jaw, then his lower lip, and Jared brushes a clumsy kiss to the side of his knuckle. Jensen smiles, looking a little more sure of himself.

“Watching the two of you — I think it could be more. The three of us could be… something. It felt right.” He frowns. “Tell me that wasn’t just me?”

There’s this crazy swell of emotion happening in Jared’s chest, and he’s afraid he might choke on it for a moment. He kisses Jensen, smiling into it, and Jensen’s hands slide up his back, making his skin tingle in their wake.

Jared hesitates. “What if she — I don’t think she feels —”

“I think she’s been almost as deep in denial about this as you have,” Jensen says gently. “I don’t think she’s allowed herself to consider it, because of me, and if she knew…”

“What if —” Jared sneaks a glance at her; she’s still sleeping peacefully. He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“If this is gonna work, we need to lay it all out for her,” Jensen says, so quiet that Jared feels the vibration of the words more than he hears them. “Even if it’s just sex for her, or… if this was a one-time deal. We gotta be honest with her.”

“That sounds like a terrible fucking idea,” Jared says honestly. “How does that not scare the shit out of you?”

Jensen just shrugs. “It does, a little bit. But… you’re the only thing that matters, when it comes down to it. As long as we’re in this together, the rest doesn’t seem too scary.”

It sounds so fucking simple when he puts it like that.

“Yeah, okay,” Jared whispers, leaning down to kiss him again. “Together.”

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message over here!

#j2 #j2 fic #jensen ackles x jared padalecki #j2 smut #jared padalecki x reader x jensen ackles

93 notes · View notes

missorgana · 3 years

Text

everything i do (gonna think of you)

pairing: finn/poe dameron

fandom: star wars (sequel trilogy

rating: teen and up

word count: 4690

warning: swearing, alcohol

summary: Finn and Poe are on a break. Neither of them are okay. But Finn hears Poe singing about him on the radio, and they'll be okay. Always. (musician poe, artist finn, long distance break-up + getting back together)

(it’s been ages but my space bfs, it’s good to be back!! a long overdue installment in my finnpoe alphabet series. did not expect e to be the most difficult letter to work with !!! thank you to Cat / @wendigostag as ALWAYS for beta reading and supporting my messy ideas 🥰 love uuuu. enjoy??)

read on ao3

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, I’m sure!”

The audience erupts in a half-laughter, half-cheer, and the host smiles, looking a bit too tired for his age.

“Tonight’s special performance is by someone who has, quite frankly, taken the whole of America - and dare I say the world? - by storm!”

Previous cheers resurface, louder and more certain than before. Even a few wolf whistles, making the presenter laugh as well.

“Here to perform his new single ‘cardigan’ from the debut album ‘folklore’, Poe Dameron!”

Quite literally everyone in the studio goes crazy, and as the camera directs towards the stage, a light turns on and reveals the curly haired man in all his glory.

He smiles slyly to the audience. A few noises, bordering on the line of screaming, makes him chuckle, but he puts all his focus on the guitar. Snaps, strums, and as the piano starts accompanying him, a soft voice forming strange and unfamiliar words.

Finn wipes the tear away in frustration before it even gets a chance to move, just tiny droplets stinging his vision. He’s sniffling, and biting his cheek, staring at the already half-empty bottle of red wine on the table.

Never in his life has he ever felt more pathetic, that’s true.

He doesn’t know why he’s watching this. And judging by the two texts pinging in on his phone, his best friend Rey somehow knows he’s doing it, too.

His vision’s too blurry to type, he thinks. Fuck it, pour another glass of wine. Who cares?

On the screen, Poe smiles while singing each word. But Finn knows the man better than anyone in that studio to know that it’s not really a smile. It’s the kind that his boyfriend- ex-boyfriend put on at their last FaceTime call. The one where he suggested they took a break.

He figures he should turn off the television when the performance comes to an end. No need to rub anymore salt in the wound, as Rey said.

Yet Finn sticks around for the interview because… because what? He hates himself? He hates Poe?

Neither. Maybe he misses him. Of course he misses him, enough to fight back the sobs, far from sober. But he’ll fight that obvious realisation, as well.

“Thank you for coming in tonight!” the host tells the singer, who thanks him in turn for the opportunity. Always the golden boy. The image of polite, kind, heart full of love, yet so goddamn stubborn.

“Mothers love me.” Poe had told him, back in college, the smug idiot. Finn’s mother loves him.

It’s mostly questions about the album, the upcoming tour, pictures of his parents and his pearly whites gleam when he speaks of them, how proud they are of him. It envelops Finn like a warm embrace. Huh. They haven’t hugged in five months.

They haven’t seen each other in five months.

Then the host starts grinning like a maniac, and he’s got a hunch what’s coming now is what he’s been wanting to ask all along, “Evidently, you got a lot of ladies who love you here.”

Audience cheers. Poe runs a hand through his hair. He’s so nervous, it’s adorable.

“You got a special lady in your life?” a question that quiets the audience significantly, still, waiting.

The singer glances at his shoes like they’re the most fascinating thing in the universe. Finn can’t hold his glass still, because, yeah. He looks like he’s thinking about it too hard. He wants to save him from that situation.

And although it feels like a million years pass, it’s probably only ten seconds before the reply settles, “Not at the moment, no.”

The crowd is nothing less than thrilled. And not only women, as the host implied, nah, everyone in that studio recognizes what a heartthrob Poe Dameron is. Finn couldn’t agree more.

What he knows about his ex-boyfriend that the strangers in the TV don’t know is, obviously, that Poe’s not interested in the ladies.

So does his family and close friends, anyone out of show business, really.

He also knows why his ex-boyfriend isn’t out to the public about his sexuality, yet. Or he’s got an idea. Maybe. Finn convinces himself of that, because then, he can also convince himself that he’s not the only one still feeling he’s being torn to pieces by this breakup. Feels better.

Although the screen connecting to his boyfriend’s call tugs on his heartstrings with its familiar warmth, Finn is, above all, pissed.

And for some reason, he feels ashamed for that. He knows he shouldn’t.

Poe hasn’t been home in a month. He was supposed to be here two weeks ago, but due to press bookings, credit to his boyfriend’s brand new agent, he called Finn late at night apologising like a broken record and promising to make it up to him.

And it makes him feel like shit.

Every apology made him feel more guilty for… harboring his time. Which is crazy, because they’ve been going steady for three years. They talked about this, the possibility of long distance, and knew, definitely, that it was gonna be hard, especially since they’ve been attached by the hip for so long.

Thing is, this has happened three times now, and it’s made Finn question himself.

Is he good enough for Poe? then later, another thought creeps in, Is Poe tired of him? or… is he not in love with him anymore?

Finn feels like he’s going crazy.

And even when he sees his boyfriend’s soft curls and eyes full of sunshine pop on his phone, it’s those thoughts that still inhabit his head. Fuck.

“Baby!” Poe says, excitement gleaming right through him and into Finn’s bedroom. They’ve been talking about moving in together, but, well, with long distance, mostly only talk for now. He’s off chasing the fame, which he deserves more than anyone, thank you very much, and Finn’s already booked up with art galleries and auctions eagerly grasping for his paintings. It feels like they’ve made it.

Except, “Phasma’s got me on Jimmy Kimmel! Like, can you believe that?!” his boyfriend spills out everything from this week, and it warms Finn’s chest, his gut, all the way down to his toes. But at the same time, this being Poe’s first words to him stirs weirdly alongside that warmth.

His career’s important. Of course. Finn’s happy for him, like, over the moon, all the way across the solar system happy.

He wants him to be successful. So then… then why does it feel like Poe prioritises it over them? It’s probably him overthinking it, he reasons. Again.

Finn can definitely feel he’s supposed to be sleeping right now; that’s another thing, cursed with being in vastly different time zones. He listens, smiling half-tiredly, thoughts wandering to everything and nothing.

Which is why he finds himself, all of a sudden, replying to his boyfriend’s, “I, uh, I’m actually writing you another song. Don’t laugh, please,” with, “A secret kind of song? ”

It takes Poe by surprise, visibly, and it takes himself, as well.

Finn bites down on his tongue in the cringe of it all. His boyfriend’s blinking, slowly, probably waiting for some sort of elaboration, but when he has no idea what to say, Poe inquires, “What do you mean?”

He sighs. Wholeheartedly, wistfully, nostalgic.

Finn thinks about when Poe asked him out, driving up to his window in true cheesy romantic comedy style and having offered to write essays in exchange for a school marching band performance.

Their first date, eating cotton candy and the curly haired boy insisting on trying and failing to win Finn a prize, until finally facing defeat. He won Poe a prize instead, first try, so the previous grumpiness faded in a matter of seconds. The butterflies threatened to burst his stomach the entire day.

Their first time, clumsy and awkward, teeth clanging in kisses and stupid buttons in Finn’s shirt being stuck and they laughed until they were out of breath. It was more perfect than anything either of them could’ve imagined.

He thinks about this, because neither of them were out before they got together.

This coming out thing? It scared the shit out of Finn. He was so lucky to have a supportive family, supportive friends. The school was a mixed experience, but he and Poe were in it together. His boyfriend tried to play it cool, but he knew how scared he was, too. He knows like the back of his hand, almost.

And this concern, it makes him feel so guilty he might vomit.

“I just… I was just wondering if you wanted to be official.”

“We are official, Finn.”

“No, I-I mean, public.”

He gulps around the growing lump in his throat. Poe goes scarily quiet.

This is also something they’ve talked about before. Fame is so new, it’s a whole new leap, learning how to handle all this, so it didn’t bother either of them to be secretive about their relationship, so to speak.

Their close network still knew, obviously, but the music industry, Hollywood, that’s way, way different than Finn’s newly established and growing network of artist connections and colleagues.

It wasn’t a problem. Until it was.

Coming out is personal. But ever since his boyfriend said he wanted to go public, then didn’t, as they were both on edge, then decided they should move in together and go public to slam down journalists linking Poe to a member of a girl group he met last summer, then didn’t.

It’s happened a couple of times. And finally, it seems, Finn is coming to terms with being tired of being ready and then backing out.

He’s terrified. Terrified of Poe being embarrassed of him, which he knows sounds crazy, also. But fuck.

“Baby, we’re gonna do it,” his boyfriend reassures him, but he’s distraught now, “You know we are. My agent just talks about my image, you know, I need to make sure-”

“Your image?”

That… that pisses Finn off. Conclusively. Because what the fuck?

“Phasma thinks we should do it at Christmas, season of love, you know?” Poe smiles shyly, he always loved the holidays. And he just doesn’t know how to react. “She’s fine with it, like, she didn’t ask me to fake being straight, like the guy I talked with before. Just-

“Are you embarrassed of me, Poe?” he finds the words slipping out before he can stop his mouth.

His boyfriend’s eyes widen significantly on the small screen, opens and closes his mouth several times, and there’s definitely a yell from somewhere in the studio, but Poe ignores it completely, “Of course not. Finn, I’m the luckiest guy in the world because of you. I just really… really think we need to time this right.”

“I,” Finn starts, but he’s barely sure where he’s going with the sentence. All he knows is that he’s scared Poe might tell him that all this time meant nothing to him. He doesn’t know why he leaps to that, but he does. His boyfriend might find something better than him in the limelight, “I know. You’ve told me, and I get it, I do. It’s just difficult being so far away from you, and then…”

He feels himself drifting off into a cloud of numbness and nothing, but Poe interrupts the sentence, “I thought you’d be more supportive of my career.” Finn nearly jumps. The words don’t sound cold, per say. But it’s weird. The good old butterflies flutter hesitantly, sort of in question.

“I am, darling, I-” he sighs again, “I’ve always been. You’ve just seemed like you’re ready, and I got the feeling that your agent didn’t want you to, and-” “Phasma wants it.”

“But on Christmas, Poe. This Christmas. I’m just scared you’re…” Finn shakes his head at himself, decides to be completely honest, because that’s how relationships work. Right? “Waiting for the moment to end this.”

“End this?” his boyfriend’s voice raises just an octave, looking perpetually confused. He also, admittedly, looks pissed. Hurt. “Do you want to break up with me?”

“No! Why would I-

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

Finn rubs his eyes, feels like they’re on goddamn fire. Poe’s biting his lips, rummaging around after moving what he assumes is a more private room than before, and avoiding eye contact. They shouldn’t be doing this on the phone. They shouldn’t be doing this at all.

He wishes his boyfriend was next to him, so he could curl up on his chest and sleep the entire weekend. It’s all he wants.

Ultimately, Finn makes the suggestion, “Baby, I’m sorry, I just… why don’t I call you next time you’re free? Or can you… are you getting back anytime soon?”

He doesn’t know how to describe this feeling, what’s happening, in any other way than it seems like Poe’s on a different planet than him, drifting in a meteor rain.

What Finn doesn’t expect least of all is his boyfriend’s answer, “Nah, you know, if you feel like that, we should take a break. A breather.”

And Poe smiles, but he sees through that bullshit. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

He’s trying to play it cool. Fuck. Why are Finn’s eyes stinging, now?

“A break?”

“Yeah.”

That’s so much to process. Fucking process it. The protests are bubbling under his skin, boiling and ice cold at the same time, but he doesn’t get the time when the yells on the end of the world resume.

“I really should go.” Poe tells him, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to.

“Poe…” he tries to breathe around the butterflies currently panicking inside of him. He’d scream at them to stop for just five seconds, if he could. His boyfriend’s already getting up from the seat, which is why Finn pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to look at him, “Okay. Okay.”

The silence that settles between them, then, until they end the call in confusion and boiled up emotion, is far from the comfort they’ve been accustomed to. It ends without a goodbye. Without an I love you.

So, naturally, he gets absolutely zero sleep that night.

Whenever Rey told them they were being overdramatic, she was probably right. This is no exception.

Ever since the damnation of their FaceTime call, Finn tried to get into his head what went down. Namely, him and his boyfriend speaking over each other’s heads. It settles in the morning, the realisation that Poe assumed the worst of what he said, while he himself didn’t understand why he couldn’t come home . Just one day. Just to talk this out.

But in a recognizable stubborn fashion, his boyfriend ignored his calls and texts for the weekend. Finn tried so, so hard not to get pissed again. But also, Poe actively avoiding him made him want to cry. Not being able to just hear his voice made him want to cry.

Naturally, the following week, when his boyfriend decided to reach out, Finn became the one to ignore all forms of contact. It felt like they were walking in circles.

This is new and raw territory.

Finn and Poe don’t fight. It’s a basic law of the universe.

Which is why he doesn’t blame Rey for widening her eyes in shock at this new development. He also knows that she wants to intervene, badly so, given how protective she is of them, but because she’s lovely she always somehow knows when Finn needs his own space to think. Or scream into the void a little bit, whatever does the trick.

He’s pretty sure she didn’t expect this to go on for four months, now. He sure as hell didn’t expect it.

But… they’re both to blame. Finn’s pretty much dug himself a hole in the ground filling up with all his feelings, and as every week passes by, waits for his boyfriend to make the first move. He expects Poe to do the same. Nothing’s moving forward.

So, if Rey didn’t know him as she did, she’d ask him why.

Why don’t you just call him? He could. When his boyfriend stopped ignoring him, that is. Thing is, Finn’s world is sort of crumbling right now, and a confrontation with that isn’t something he can handle, he thinks.

It’s the thought of losing Poe for good. It’s the thought of Poe thinking Finn doesn’t want him anymore, when in fact he fears the exact opposite.

After watching that interview, though, he could breathe a little easier, he’ll admit.

And it’s weird. He felt inherently about a hundred times worse during it. The day after, he just kept thinking about Poe and his stupid curls and his nervous smile and what he might be doing while Finn was helping his sister with the dishes.

Maybe it’s knowing his boyfriend- ex-boyfriend (?) is okay. Does look more okay than himself.

It calms him. The next day, it makes Finn want to burn up all their polaroids and mail the ashes to the singers’ hotel in a massive envelope. As said before, this hole is deep, too deep, making it difficult to be rational.

A week after the interview, he’s just about on the edge to complete numbness.

Maybe he’s been reading those hilarious dumb gossip magazines whenever his boyfriend was on the cover. Shut up. If he acknowledges the ridiculousness of that, it’ll only make it worse.

Finn feels weak for being this torn up after a breakup… or break. He’s had breakups before Poe, but none of them hurt like this. Does it ever just fucking stop?

Apparently not, because when he picks up the phone with Rey’s name flashing, Finn expects it to be another question of what’s going on. How he’s doing, or not even a question, but an order to let her in as she’s probably already standing in front of his building carrying ice cream and bad horror movies.

He doesn’t get why she doesn’t just use the key he got her already, but it’s still endearing. Except, “Turn on the radio.”

“What?

“Finn, turn on your radio. Trust me.”

And so he scrambles around, the determination in her voice definitely not something to mess around with. Finn eventually uncovers it underneath the mountain of Poe’s vinyl records, and while his best friend doesn’t even tell him what station she’s referring to, he’s got a feeling about it. Also, it’s the first station that pops through the speakers when he turns it on, so.

Then, he has absolutely no idea what to listen for. The hosts are making some jokes about the song they’re gonna play next, thereozing about a “lost love” , and Finn’s about to ask until he realises Rey’s hung up on him, and a text.

just wait. u won’t regret it.

It’s too ominous for his best friend’s usual shenanigans. He’s a little worried.

But unlike the last hellish, unbelievable four months, Finn doesn’t have much time to worry, before the voices announce, “We present an exclusive live performance from our new favorite heartthrob, Poe Dameron!”

Oh God. Oh God, oh shit, oh my god.

Naturally, Finn’s anxiety kicks in like a punch in his gut.

In fact, he’s about to pull up his best friend’s contact again, sick of hearing the single that Poe wrote for him and not even being able to revel in the feeling anymore. Only it’s not ‘cardigan’.

Four months ago, a few days before they decided to take a break, his boyfriend sent him a couple of voice notes, containing lyrics and guitar pieces and other bits for the album he wanted Finn’s approval on. He always wanted his opinion first. It makes him all warm again.

This song, however, is brand new, unheard to everyone’s ears. Including Finn.

“I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit

Been saying "yes" instead of "no"

I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though

I hit the ground running each night

I hit the Sunday matinée

You know the greatest films of all time were never made”

The melody has the same calm like the other songs he’s heard, an image of fairytales and bare feet dancing in the woods and stars twinkling in the night.

The melancholy is unfamiliar, though.

“I guess you never know, never know

And if you wanted me, you really should've showed

And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow

And it's alright now”

Finn’s thumb hovers over Rey’s contact name, but he can’t bring himself to move.

It’s the alright part. Except, despite how much he tries to lie to himself, he swears to everything god that his boyfriend’s voice breaks over the word. It’s subtle enough that the interviewers could pass it on as him being hoarse, he reasons, but Poe can’t fool him.

He wants him to be okay. Actually, no, because being okay means not missing Finn like Finn misses him, and that would hurt more than anything he can imagine. But also, he’s too far away for a reassuring hand. That’s why he wants him to be okay.

“But we were something, don't you think so?

Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you”

For some reason, it’s only then it settles into Finn’s mind.

Oh.

The song keeps going, and his emotions keep going, from the chaotic jumbled mess he’s become accustomed to a quiet buzz. He feels like his breathing’s slowed down, and a pocket in his heart is being emptied onto the floor.

Poe feels exactly the same way, he imagines. He has to.

Finn’s abandoned his phone somewhere unknown between the couch cushions, and he’s stuck staring at the empty wine bottle he hasn’t had the energy to get rid of, his microwave dinner half eaten, until his ex-boyfriend’s song comes to an end.

‘the 1’ is the title. He doesn’t know if he’s crying or not, which sounds a bit dumb in his own head.

“Poe Dameron!” one of the interviewers yells obnoxiously, clearly trying to hold in their excited giggling, “Those were quite emotional lyrics. I’m guessing there’s a story there somewhere?”

Finn could roll his eyes into the next century at that comment. Jesus Christ.

The singer’s complained about these kinds of people before, of course, he chuckles, politely, hesitantly, probably spinning the best way to avoid opening that door of vulnerability on open air, “I think everyone writes from their own experience, really.”

His voice has the same elegance and softness and gruff that makes Finn think of home, despite the tinny speakers and distraction that vibes off of him, all the way over in the states. It’s unbelievable.

The interview keeps going in the most standard way possible, a couple more questions Poe subtly circles around (including about dating, obviously), some jokes, and they eventually get to that segment where the listeners can call in and ask their own question to the dreamy man.

Some are boring, some are weird, some are intrusive, some are just teen voices in awe of his relatability and what not, mountains of flattery which his boyfriend is all too shy and starstruck to handle.

Finn bites his lip.

They repeat the number of the radio twice. The programme ends at nine. That means about forty five minutes of fan questions.

He shouldn’t. This is ridiculous. But what if… what?

Poe’s voice somehow carries his hand to fish the phone up again, though, like a strike of magic. And then the tone sounds, one, two, three, and it’s too late to take it back now. Shit.

“You’re live! Can our next lucky listener introduce yourself and your question?”

He tries so hard, desperately so, to swallow around the lump in his throat, seeming impossibly massive. The eerie silence is simply too painful to bear, though, so Finn squeezes his eyes shut hard for two seconds, before forcing the reply out.

“Yes, uh, hi. This is Finn Solo. From Pennsylvania.”

A beat. “Pennsylvania?! Well, honey, that’s actually Poe Dameron’s home state, isn’t it?”

Two beats. The singer clears his throat. “Yeah.” Clearly, he recognizes his voice in an instant. Well, obviously, he’d be shocked if he didn’t. Still, Finn feels like curling up in a ball and hiding from the world. He wonders if Rey’s listening, right now.

The interviewer seems unfazed from Poe’s hesitated answer, or they just choose to ignore it, he supposes. “The floor is yours, Finn. Ask ahead!”

So… how is he supposed to do this, again?

This is the worst idea Finn’s had in his entire life. Seriously. And he accepted Rey’s dare to swing all the way up and around the swingset in fifth grade, he’s well aware of what reckless looks like. This is it.

Still, he’s stuck now. Poe’s listening to him. Kind of forced to.

And against his own better judgement, Finn silences the million overthinking thoughts in his inner ear by simply saying whatever hits him first, “Did you mean what you said? In the song?”

Seconds feel like fucking hours right now.

“Sorry, can you-” one of the hosts start, but he feels moved to continue. “When did you write it?”

It’s low, the feedback of his boyfriend’s microphone can just be made out. He prays that was only comprehensible enough for Poe’s own ears, because Finn could never possibly live with himself if he outed the person he loves most in the world. Seems so, given the interviewer once again asks the singer in confusion.

“What do you say, Poe? Do you need, uh… for him to elaborate?”

“No.” the man says simply, shyness seemingly having faded away in a glimpse. “Finn, I wrote this back in May.”

Four months ago. Same month as their FaceTime call.

“Only a week after our call. Took me five hours. I needed to get every word just right.” Poe says those words so steadily it shocks Finn. His hand feels numb and itchy around the tiny device, and one of the hosts gasps.

“I-” he starts, but has no idea where to go, where to turn. Finn didn’t expect any of this tonight. A deep breath is needed, “Do you mean… you wrote it about me?”

He feels like an absolute idiot for asking, even doubting it, but given the emotional rollercoaster he’s been through up until now, he’s grasping for straws of confirmation. Poe chuckles, barely audible.

“All my songs are about you, darling.”

What the fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Another gasp is heard in the studio, a little louder this time, but he sends a silent thanks, still, to them being too taken aback to intervene.

Okay, these are definitely tears in Finn’s eyes, now.

One rolls down, cool against his hot cheek, and he almost wants to laugh widely, processing what’s happening over and over in his brain.

What’s mostly replaying is the nickname that he’s missed… too much.

If they were in the same room, in front of each other, alone , he could say and ask a million things. This conversation is impossibly too vulnerable for open air, but Finn really thinks, really, that this step was needed. At least, it’s something he’s been longing to hear.

Instead of breaking down in the happiness and sadness he’s feeling, instead of talking about the miscommunication they’ve been the victim of, he smiles. Can’t stop. It’s hurting his whole face, actually, but his chest feels endlessly lighter.

“If… uh,” Finn chuckles at himself again, him and his stupid emotions, probably laced obviously in his voice, “Is there a chance that you still want to write songs about me?”

Poe laughs back, warmer and wobblier than before. “Of course. Of-fucking-course. There’s no one else I’d rather write about.”

Those hosts over there are probably freaking out big time, but Finn can’t bring himself to care much.

They sigh rather in unison. Him and his boyfriend. Breathing shaky and yet steadying themselves, almost. Together.

“Okay. Okay. Thank fuck,” he finds himself sniffling, “Okay.”

“They’ll always be about you.”

21 notes · View notes

friendandphoe · 4 years

Text

okay the formatting on this is gonna be a lil weird bUT!! have this figuring it out/something to last revamp that’s been sitting in my brain for the last few weeks @ahbonjour @museumlad @creativeskull95

There’s no way in hell she’s ever looking Professor Keelson in the eye again. “I’m sorry,” she croaks for the thousandth time, and finds a tissue being pressed into her hand.

“Quite alright, my dear,” Professor Keelson says soothingly, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his round belly. “Wipe your face, now, there you go. I’m — well.” And he rubs the bridge of his nose, just under his round wire glasses. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this, unfortunately.”

She nods numbly, ice trickling down her spine.

You ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she tries again, because it’s all she can think to say, but the professor waves her off with a weathered hand and pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane as he makes his way to the mini fridge he keeps under the bookshelves.

“Now, now,” he says, almost scolding, and pulls out a clementine, a bar of chocolate, and a bottle of water. “Don’t you start that with me, Ms. Ochoa. This is not the first time I’ve had students crying in my office, I daresay it won’t be the last.” And he sits heavily back down in his chair, setting the snacks in front of her. “Eat, drink. Now, I won’t press on what’s been troubling you, but you know, these tired old eyes of mine do still catch a few things here and there, and I have seen you — well. I don’t like to use the word struggling, but you know, perhaps it is a bit more apt than anything else I could think of.” And she knows he’s looking at her, knows those beady black eyes well, but just focuses on unwrapping the chocolate bar as quietly as she can.

What makes you think we want you around?

“You’ve had a rough time of it, this year.”

It’s not a question, but she still finds herself nodding confirmation. “I don’t know what happened.” She says hoarsely, and reaches for the water bottle.

Leave us alone.

“I’ve been wanting this for years, I worked so hard to get into this program, I just—” and she has to press her mouth shut to keep the lump in her throat from escaping.

Leave us alone!

“Some… stuff. Uh, came up, I guess.”

They sit in silence for a minute, then softly: “The human mind is a wonderful, confusing little thing.” Professor Keelson says. She dares a glance up at him, finds him — thank god — staring out his office window. “It tends to block out anything unpleasant we might not want to hear, and often that negativity will build and build and build until, one day, the weight becomes too much to bear.” He sighs and scrubs a hand through his short white beard, messing the hairs out of their orderly style. “And then we must face the unfortunate truth that sometimes what we thought we wanted is, in actuality, not at all the path we should be taking."

She drops her gaze back down to her bouncing knee. “Is it stupid?” She blurts out, watching her leg blur under her rising tears. “I just — this is a good school, a good program, and I’ll have so many job opportunities when I graduate—”

A weathered hand stretches out across the desk, just reaching to where her pinky would've been. “And yet,” Professor Keelson murmurs. “It won’t make you happy.” He sits back in his chair, looking every inch the benevolent Santa Claus his students know him to be. “And given how miserable you’ve been this year, Ms. Ochoa, I daresay your ultimate happiness is worth far more than any graduating job offers.” His smile drops for a half-second. “Though I can’t say I won’t be sorry to see you go. You’re already one of my best students, you know.”

You're an embarrassment to my name and reputation.

A wet little giggle chokes out of her throat, and she wipes down her face one more time. “Don’t tempt me, I’m half-considering staying,” she admits. “Even with all of this.”

“Ah, but if you do, what sort of state will you be in once you graduate?” Professor Keelson says, raising a bushy brow. “All you young folk are the same. You’re young, you have that wonderful, limitless energy, but you must learn to take care of yourselves now, while you have the space to do so. Won’t do you any good to drive yourselves into the ground every night when you’re my age, you know!” He looks at her appraisingly, then smiles wide. “And you know, my dear, there’s great strength in being able to admit you were wrong. I’ve always admired people who are strong enough to chase their dreams instead of following the easy path. Do you have an idea where you’re going, yet?”

Don’t ever come back here, you little—

“There’s a performing and visual arts conservatory,” she says hesitantly. “River Park, downstate. They’ve got really good photography and filmmaking programs, and, um.” She pauses, unsure how to explain how right it had all felt when she’d been reading about it online. “Well, I have an interview on Wednesday, so.”

Professor Keelson’s smile widens. “River Park! My partner studied illustration there, years ago when we were both young. You’ll do wonderfully.”

She can’t help but feel like his faith is ever-so-slightly misplaced —

I didn't want you.

— maybe it’s just the existential crisis talking, who knows —

Do you understand me?

— but she can’t quite bring herself to argue against the sparkling excitement in the professor’s eyes. She lets him press another chocolate bar and tissue combo into her hand as he shuffles her out of his office, with strict, cheerful instructions to come see him before she leaves for her interview.

You were a mistake.

Tuesday night comes in the blink of an eye; she’d barely dumped her meager wardrobe back into the suitcase she’d kept under her bed and her sticky notes are still haphazardly slapped to the wall above her desk. She’s not exactly sure where the time went — it’s not like she went to any classes. Or ate much. Or was sleeping, really. Granted she did try, but the third time in the same night she woke up sobbing because her blankets had twisted around her leg, trapping her in an all-too-familiar heat vortex—

window won't break it's too hot it hurts to breathe window won't break it's so fucking hot she can't think window won't break but it'll slide get out of this goddamn heat get out get out crunch fuck ow hurts hurts ow fuck hurts her toes shouldn't be ow fuck fuck fuck pointing that way hurts hurts fucking hurts can't feel her knee fuck fuck where's papá—

— she kind of gave up. She doesn't even bother pulling out her shitty, half-broken headphones to try and watch something on Netflix to try and pass the time, she just lays in bed and listens to Rebecca softly snoring five feet away. The ceiling is infinitely more interesting than anything else she could’ve been focusing on, anyway.

Except maybe her portfolio. Which. She hasn’t really. Looked at.

She’s so fucked.

Still, she drags herself out of bed nice and early at 7 am Wednesday morning, beating her alarm by the customary 4 minutes, and actually manages to gather the energy to sift through her remaining clothes to dig out something — well. She doesn’t really have anything “nice,” per say, but she does have an oversized sweater that’ll pass as a dress once she puts on some makeup and a belt and ties her hair up, and that’ll have to be good enough.

You show up to my door looking like that?

River Park is going to laugh her right out the door.

Everything she might need is already shoved unceremoniously into her backpack — wallet, keys, wrist brace, student ID, laptop, flash drive (in its place of honor in the tiny pocket), knee brace, fruit snacks, water bottle — but her eye catches on her DLSR just as she’s finished tying the laces on her most comfortable boot, and she hesitates. She hasn’t really looked at her portfolio much recently — she knows she’s got some old pictures from Manhattan, and maybe some from various campus events that might be good, but it’s been a little hard to go out and take nice shots when she’s been drowning in depression soup for the past four months. Four years. Whatever. Either way, she doesn’t have much to show for herself, and inspiration hasn’t really hit lately.

But River Park is — well, she has no idea, really, she hasn’t seen it in person yet, but the photos online are gorgeous, all glass-and-brick buildings framed by forests and gardens. Very much a college town, from what she can tell, the campus map isn’t really a map so much as a general directory pointing out which buildings were associated with the conservatory, but there was something that felt weirdly homey about seeing those pictures. Maybe it was the layout of the buildings, maybe it was the way they described their classes and professors, maybe it was just the simple fact that everyone in those pictures was genuinely smiling, but she’d gotten this weird, longing ache just below her collarbone that had made her close down all her other college-related tabs and email River Park’s photography and filmmaking department.

Something feels good about that campus. And maybe, if she gets there a little early, she can—

You don't get to come into my life and — and ruin everything I have here.

It’s only seven forty-two. Her interview’s not until one, and the train ride downstate should only take an hour. She’s got time.

Which is how she finds herself knocking on Professor Keelson’s office door, DLSR hanging around her neck, about two hours earlier than she’d been intending to be there, praying to who and whatever might be listening that he’s actually in and she didn’t just horribly fuck this up like she’s been fucking up, oh, who’s to say, just about everything she touches these past few months.

You’re not a part of this family. You never will be.

“Come in, come in!” She hears just beyond the door, and she cautiously peeks in to find the wizened old professor crouching over his printer, staring at it suspiciously as it slowly spits out some document. “Hello, dear. Wasn’t expecting you this early!”

I think you should leave.

“Sorry,” she manages, hovering in the doorway. “I just — change of plans.”

Professor Keelson nods, collects his papers, and creaks over to his desk. “Yes, very good.” he agrees, shuffling the papers into two piles. “Take a seat, I promise I won’t keep you very long. You look nice, by the way.”

She sits, already relaxing in the warm familiarity of Professor Keelson’s overstuffed office. Maybe this is why he’d wanted her to visit before she went, just to make sure she wouldn’t vomit on the interviewers. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome. Now,” he says, stuffing one pile of papers into a folder. “These are all your important documents: transcripts, transferable credits, disability accommodations, et cetera. Pardon my overstepping, but you did seem a little, ah, frazzled, shall we say? Last you came to speak with me and I was almost positive that you wouldn’t have thought of pulling the paperwork together.”

Which is absolutely true, she hadn’t, and she can’t even bring herself to feel insulted that he’d assumed she wouldn’t. “Thank you very much,” she says, trying desperately to seem calm and cool and collected and not crush her very expensive, very precious camera in her white-knuckle grip.

A mess. You're a mess.

Professor Keelson’s face crinkles into a smile. “You’re very welcome. You’ll be happy to know that, since you’ve already completed all your core classes and general requirements, all of those credits will easily transfer between the schools. There may be a class or two you’ll have to make up, but you should be able to jump right in with your major-specific classes. Now, this,” he says, folding the other papers into an envelope. “Is your letter of recommendation. I’ll put it in the folder with everything else, but I wanted you to know that you had it.”

Oh, fuck, she might start crying again. “Professor—” she starts, but he’s already slid the folder across the desk to her.

“Ms. Ochoa, if I may.” Her mouth snaps shut, and he continues: “Our time together has been short, yes, but you have been one of my favorite students to ever come through these doors. Barring your obvious intelligence, passion, and work ethic, you’re also relentlessly kind, despite everything you’ve gone through.” His gaze fixes on her cheek for the briefest of moments, tracing over the lumps and bumps of her scars, but his eyes are as soft as they’ve ever been. “I don’t presume to know your history, but I know bits of your present, and the person I’ve seen would make a valuable asset to any school she goes to. If you approach your new classes and projects with as much determination as you did mine, I’ve no doubt your new instructors will be as proud of you as I am. I let them know as much.”

...

She numbly takes the folder, desperately blinking back tears. “Th-thank you, sir.” She manages, thick in the back of her throat. “I-I’ll do my best.”

Professor Keelson takes up his customary position, hands laced neatly over his belly. “You will.” He agrees, smiling. “Now, you should be heading out soon. I’d hate to make you miss your train, especially if you want to get there early.”

“Yes — yes.” And she gets up on autopilot, sliding the folder into her backpack as carefully as she can manage. “Thank you. Thank you so much, professor, I can’t — I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

She’s halfway out the door when she hears him call: “Ms. Ochoa, one more thing?”

She turns.

The professor smiles benevolently at her from his chair. “Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started.”

And with that, she’s on her way.

Get out.

So, update: maybe deciding to take her portfolio pictures on her way to her college interview was a stupid idea, but to be fair, a lot of her stupid ideas have worked out pretty decently before, so. It’s fine.

Probably.

She definitely doesn’t almost miss the train by snapping shots of the mostly-empty station, but in her defense, the morning fog hadn't quite dissipated yet, and the spooky air of possibility that the tracks had been extending and disappearing into was just begging to be captured. And she absolutely doesn’t continually hop seats throughout the hour-long ride to get different angles of the seats, the blurry towns and roads whizzing past, or even a couple of self-portraits here and there. It’s not like there are people around for her to bother, anyway, so it’s fine. (Probably.) It’s a little hard getting a satisfyingly dramatic shot of her staring out the window, but she thinks the one where they’re passing through a tunnel and she’s locked eyes with her shadowy reflection might be a winner. She won’t really know until she opens them up on her computer, which will probably end up being just before the interview, with her luck, so. Who knows, she might just be wasting her time and battery life.

It’s the most fun she’s had in a while, though.

And. Fuck, maybe it makes no sense, but she's still got that feeling in her chest. It's creeping up to her ponytail, at this point, tugging on the ends of her curls, ordering her to pay attention.

Capture this.

It's important.

Last time she felt like that, she won an award, so. Y'know. Fuck her if she's going to ignore it.

She cuts herself off when there’s ten minutes left in the journey, just to be sure she’s not scrambling to put herself together as she’s pulling up to the station, but ten minutes, it turns out, is both much longer and much shorter than she thought it’d be. Just enough time to run down the list of all the possible ways this could (and would) go wrong, but not enough to steady her racing heart before the train’s slowing down.

You're delusional. This isn't one of your little fairy tales. This is — it's not going to happen.

Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started, she remembers, taking one last breath to steel herself, and swings herself up onto her feet and out the doors.

The station is nice enough, but not terribly different from the one she’d started in besides being a little cleaner, so she shoulders her backpack and makes her way down the stairs and into the town proper.

Which.

Wow.

Maybe it’s just a seasonal thing, maybe not, but all the buildings she can see are draped with hanging lights, and even the curving street lights have extra strands hanging over the sidewalks. She almost wishes she’d scheduled her interview later in the day, just to be able to get a shot of those lights against the dark sky, but contents herself with snapping pictures of the incredibly aesthetic sidewalk and shops. She spots an art supply store with a cheerful blue door sandwiched between a movie theater and an apartment complex that frames up nicely, and there’s a coffee shop with swirling, festive winter-y designs painted on the window with pots of poinsettias framing the corners that’s a — no pun intended — picture-perfect paragon of coziness. She stops maybe a little too long to zoom in on the red leaves and flawless paint, making sure to keep the actual inside of the shop out of focus, because as cute as the beanbags and mismatched armchairs are, she doesn’t really feel like going in to ask if it’s alright for her to take pictures of the small handful of people both in front of and behind the counter.

One last shot of the poinsettias and she moves on, turning her lens to the last few, dying flowers in their garden beds, then to the display window of a bookstore that proudly announces its support of the LGBT community with various painted flags, then to the churning river that cuts through the town and the elegant bridge that arcs proudly above it.

There’s not a lot of people walking around right now, but she can definitely see kids around her age up the street, chatting and laughing amongst themselves as their breath puffs out in front of them. A cute dog bounces over to say hello before its owner tugs it away with a sheepish smile, and even without their leaves, the trees interspersed along the sidewalk stand tall, proud, and lovely.

She’s got that weird ache in her chest again — stronger this time — that indiscernible pull that draws her to stay, and she puts her camera down, puffing out a shaky breath.

What made you think we want you here?

“It doesn’t matter.” She tells herself sternly, leaning up on the sides of the bridge. “It doesn’t matter unless you get in.”

Speaking of. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, fully intending to double check the email she’d been sent with instructions on where to go, but her eye catches on the time.

Twelve forty-six.

So. Maybe not the best idea to go gallivanting around a campus she doesn’t know, especially when she has an extremely important interview to get to, but even as she’s scolding herself, she knows the pink flush in her cheeks isn’t just from the cold, and she’s got more energy now than she’s had in months, so.

Worth it.

Thank god E.A. Archer Hall is straightforward enough to find; Google Maps tells her it’s a seven minute walk in a mostly straight line from where she is on the bridge now, which she just about manages even though it’s cold and her stump is starting to ache. The building is emblazoned with the name right on the side, so it’s impossible to miss, but she needs a keycard to get in, and somehow she thinks her current school ID isn’t exactly going to fly here.

But someone, somewhere, is smiling on her, because she’s only just gotten to oh, shit before a tall woman with vitiligo and long box braids strides towards the door, pushing it open.

“Alejandra Ochoa?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says as smoothly as she can behind her chattering teeth, and the woman smiles.

“You're right on time. Come on in, let's get started."

#I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT HOW DIFFERENT FIO/STL WOULD GO NOW SO IM REWRITING IT #i dont wanna spoil things bc i am in fact working on the next bits but here are some minor thoughts:#1: alexa starts out as an architecture major then switches schools to go into photography/filmmaking spring semester 2nd year #((not to toot my own horn but the way her major reflects her emotional arc is actually very clever of me if i do say so myself))#2: alexa and jaimey are half siblings through their dad and there will in fact be more Jaimey/Juno development than ive ever done before #((i have a lot of thoughts about their relationship and how it would grow and develop over time so. lowkey Jaimey redemption arc))#3: alexa obviously nails this interview and she hangs out on campus for a lil while afterwards to take pictures #((3.5: she does end up going into the coffee shop and there is in fact a Very Cute Barista and she gets Nervous))#4: the little interjections are things that have been said to Alexa somewhat recently but not all by the same person #thats about it i think anything else would be spoiler-y #n e way i cant wait to loredump all my new thoughts on yall im so sorry in advance for all the notifications you're about to get #im workin on some AU stuff too but lately ive been wanting to write about Normal Kids doing Normal Kid Things so here we are #i hope you enjoyed #movie house #alejandra ochoa #alexa darmond #my writing #shut up phoenix

67 notes · View notes