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warmau · 3 years

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a sour taste makes its way down jisung's throat

he pulls the candy out of his mouth and scrunches his face up

"did this shit expire?"

renjun's lips thin, "since when have you started cursing?"

chenle harks on the grass beside the other two

"ever since he got dumped."

jisung doesn't disagree.

out of everyone to pick up on his change of habits, it'd be his best friend.

he doesn't like to admit it, but the breakup that launched the beginning of his summer has made him feel different

bitter, angry, empty

he's sure if he told someone older like his parents or a professor they'd explain that it's normal.

it's part of growing up to have to process these horrible emotions and learn to feel them less extremely.

that somehow doesn't comfort jisung at all, why is it his fault that being young makes everything feel more vivid? the shatter of the heart in his chest and all the little pieces wedged up in his veins hurt so bad.

"jisung, you'll find someone better."

renjun ties his shoelaces and gets up, he's still chewing on the taffy they brought from the corner store.

jisung follows and he's never been so awkward about his budding height more than he is now

"i doubt that, i don't think i could find anyone better than my first love."

chenle gives a depressed sounding laugh and renjun starts a spiel about how he's being dramatic and silly

the sounds gloss over in jisung's ears, he tosses the candy he'd spit out and the wrapper over his shoulder

"you shouldn't litter."

three sets of eyes turn to the voice, you stand there with your gym bag over your shoulder on a path a little way down from the grassy hill the boys are on

you look at jisung with an unwavering gaze that drops to where he assumes the candy wrapper landed

you bend down and pick it up, shake your head and walk away

jisung follows your figure through the park as renjun and chenle mutter about how you're kind of right but kind of rude

"do you know them?"

jisung asks and renjun taps the bottom of his chin

"i think ive seen them at the tennis courts."

jisung doesn't know what it is about you.

he mistakenly thinks it is dislike that breeds curiosity when he shows up at the public tennis court the next day

you're out on the court with a group of middle schoolers, showing them the right way to swing a racket

jisung leans against the shade of a tree as you go through each step slowly and then have the kids copy you one by one

when you make a sudden movement to turn in the direction he's standing, he slinks behind the trunk

this is so fucking weird, im being a creep

he doesn't have anything to do for the rest of the day, or the rest of the summer, but still he cringes at himself

i should find something better than staring at a goddamn stranger. chenle was right, im cursing way too much.

so he leaves and he doesn't come back

but he visits the park for the next week with the slight hope that your path will cross with him on accident

not that he entertains that as actual hope - just that curiosity that nips at his heel like a cat asking to be feed

on day seven it happens

jisung is staring up at the expanse of the warm blue sky and you're walking from the direction of the tennis courts, you pause to check your phone and jisung springs to his feet

he's in front of you before he really knows what to even say

you don't look as freaked out as he was scared you might, you actually just blink and then point your finger at him

looks like they've got bad habits just like me

"you're the boy who litters!"

"i don't usually litter, i was just in a bad mood that day."

"doesn't excuse throwing your garbage around."

"is that why you remembered me?"

you slip your phone into the pocket of your duffel bag and shake your head

"no, there's another reason."

jisung itches to ask why but he realizes now that this conversation is going exponentially better than it could have

you could have said something like get the hell away from me....or who are you?

"do you want to walk with me for a little bit?"

fuck, i should have just asked why - asking them to walk is weirder

"why not."

you and jisung do loops around the park - it's pretty big so by the time you're on the third loop the night lamps are coming on and the sun is slowly disappearing

you two have talked about everything and nothing at the same time

jisung asks you if you're going to be at the park tomorrow

"i teach a summer tennis course for the park three times a week, but tomorrow is my off day."

"have any plans?"

he puts his hands in his pockets because they're sweating - i should have asked if they wanted me to carry their bag while we were walking. god did getting broken up with make me so stupid too?

"are you asking me out?"

jisungs palms stick to the fabric of his pants

"i got broken up with before summer started."

he blurts out before he can take it back, you poke your tongue into your cheek

"me too."

the genuine surprise makes jisung look younger than he is and you cross your hands over your chest as if you regret sharing the information

"sorry, i have to go."

you edge around him and jisung has one million thoughts run through his brain, how he should apologize or ask for your number or suggest something that could heal you both in the snap of this one summer minute

but instead he watches you walk ahead for a whole two minutes before you turn on your heel and uncross your arms

"can you meet me here at noon?"

"tomorrow?"

jisung feels the sweat on the nape of his neck now too, matching the moistness on his palms

"no, in twenty years. yes - tomorrow."

he nods and you don't give him anything else to work with as you disappear and jisung catches the last little slither of sunlight wave goodbye with you

"are you rebounding already?"

chenle's voice comes through the headphones as jisung clicks on a zombie with his mouse and shoots it

"it's not a rebound - we both got dumped so i thought we could like...FUCK! i died dude."

chenle groans

"maybe they can help you fix this cursing problem, but uhhh it totally sounds like a rebound to me."

jisung thinks about that as he waits for you at the park

rebounding has actually never even occurred to him as a possibility.

then again falling head over heels and getting tossed aside by the person he thought was his soulmate also never occurred to him as a possibility either - especially not before he's even managed to graduate university

but using someone to feel better about himself - that just isn't him.

"oh you actually came?"

he stops staring at the grass and meets the half smile you're wearing. he matches it with a shy one of his own.

you take jisung's hand easily - as if you weren't strangers a week ago - and tug him toward the park gates

"where-"

you look over your shoulder

"we have to eat ice-cream on a date."

jisung and you have the same taste, getting the same flavor of ice cream with a hard no to sprinkles. you tell jisung about this kid you teach privately for tennis and how he's a little rich brat but his parents always tip you nicely. jisung tells you that his best friend is chenle and they met when he nearly broke an elbow on the first day of middle school.

jisung pays for your bus ticket into the busier part of the city, you beat him at a couple of arcade games, and then he absolutely crushes you at mini-basketball. you pile all your tickets together and jisung tells you to pick the prize you want.

he watches you as you scan the cheap toys and then turn to your left where a younger girl is trying to see if she has enough for a sad looking stuffed panda

you dump the tickets into her hand and grin when her whole face lights up, jisung walks out behind you and goes

"you're actually nice aren't you?"

"oh - you didn't think i was nice when we first met?"

"i-"

jisung stutters when you look directly at him

"i just mean you- it was nice what you did in the arcade."

"why did your ex break up with you?"

jisung's world sort of stops for a moment. you still haven't looked away and he gets lightheaded by the sudden question.

"i don't know."

you nod, as if the answer is what you expected, and you take his hand again and make way toward the bus

he curls his larger fingers around yours and is silently thankful you don't ask for any more details

actually you both don't say anything the ride back, even though you rest your head on his shoulder the entire time

your hands are still clasped together and jisung finds himself not wanting to let go even when you stop in front of the park again

"thanks for the date."

you unwind your fingers first and jisung swallows

"do you want to go on another one?"

you shake your head

"sorry, i don't think i can do this more than once."

genuine shock sets in on jisung's face

"w-what do you mean?"

"i know being heartbroken makes you lonely, it makes me lonely too, but i can't just be someone's summer fling and get abandoned again. plus jisung -"

you tilt your head with a small laugh

"i think you're really cute and if we do this again i will start liking you seriously."

what the fuck do i say?

jisung thinks the summer heat in the air constricts around him - especially when he can't open his mouth to answer and you give a solemn wave as you turn and start to disappear down the sidewalk

fuck fuck fuck fuck

the curses start to hurt his brain and jisung breaks into a sprint to catch you before you make it to the end of the block

slipping his hand back into yours and spinning you to face him

"im not going to abandon you. and i - i already like you so please let me take you on another date."

the words fall out like letters into alphabet soup and you stare wide-eyed at him for about a second before you lean in and kiss him

and jisung forgets the entire language he's spoken since he was a child, curses and vulgarity gone with it

the second date comes and goes, then the third, and then the fourth, fifth, and sixth.

jisung watches you give tennis lessons and you even tug him onto the court one day to help with picking up the scattered balls off the court

the younger kids you teach really adore him, tall and smiley, they cling to him more than they do to you

and there really isn't any way you can stop them because soon enough you feel that urgency to be near him always too

it might be because jisung is so different from your ex, and you are so different from his

the reality is that when you finally tell each other what happened before your respective summers started

it turns out - it's almost exactly the same

jisung looks up at you as you lay across him in the tall grass of an empty corner of the parks sprawling fields, your tennis equipment abandoned and his shoes sitting beside yours in a lazy heap

"they just told me one day i wasn't enough."

you bury your face in his chest and sigh

"maybe im not, maybe something about me is still missing."

the tenor of his voice is sad and you put both hands on the grass to lift yourself up above him, you stare down into the prettiest eyes you've ever seen on a boy in your life

"shuttup park jisung. nothing is missing from you. you're enough."

he gives you a goofy smile and you want so badly to smile back and kiss him but you take the moment seriously and add

"remember when you asked me if i only remembered you because i caught you littering like weeks ago?"

the furrow of his eyebrow is enough of an answer

"i said there was another reason."

he sits up and you fall gently back against his knees and lap, jisung opens his mouth as if to ask what it was but you put your hands on both his cheeks before he can

"that reason was because i could see all of you - people tend to be shrouded in something, but it was all on your face the moment you made eye contact with me. jisung - you're the farthest person i know from being incomplete. you're you and no one else."

the weight of your words comes crashing down on you a second later and you get up off of jisung in a fit of embarrassment

even though you meant what you said it felt like something of a wedding vow than something you say someone you've been dating for only a month

but jisung just breaks into a bigger smile - he pulls you back down into a hug that gets you both covered in grass stains

"im so happy"

you smell the fabric softener on his t-shirt and suddenly wish you could slip it off of him and put it on yourself

his hands tighten around you

"i always thought the other reason was because i was ugly or something."

you scrunch up your nose and tell him to be quiet, but jisung just laughs and buries his nose in your hair

the rest of the summer is smooth and the happiest one you've had so far - and jisung, who had thought it would be hell, agrees

renjun points out that he hasn't heard jisung even utter the word 'damn' since he started dating you

and chenle cuts in that it's true - now whenever they game jisung just groans into the mic (or abandoned the game completely to fool around you with - as it is in chenle's imagination)

you notice it too, and you notice how everyday jisung grows further from the heartbreak that he had festered on for so long

and just becomes more open with you

on your last day at your summer job and what feels like the last day of summer in general, jisung picks you up with balloons

you both hand them out to the kids you worked with and keep one shaped like a big red heart tied around your wrist as you two walk through the dimming evening of the park

fall is coming, your shoulders shake and jisung pulls you closer into him, and when he stops suddenly

you see that you're in the place where you first met - when jisung had let that candy wrapper tumble down a grassy hill and you had picked it up with disdain

"is untying the balloon and letting it float off considered littering?"

he asks and you think for a second

"probably, it'll get stuck in a tree somewhere and we don't want that."

he looks down and leans in to kiss you gently, letting your lower lip sit between his teeth for a moment before he pulls away

"can we do it anyway to make the moment special?"

you look at him, eyes clear as day, and answer

"every moment is special with you."

jisung manages to get ten of those red balloons through the door of your shared apartment on your tenth anniversary

you fret about how balloons are bad for the environment, but still launch yourself at him in a big hug when he gets them all settled into your living room

he catches you, laughing as you both muse that you can't believe it has been ten years since you met

"and i haven't cursed once since then - can you believe it?"

you roll your eyes and say yeah sure, like he didn't curse when he stubbed his toe on your bed this morning

he pouts his lip and asks, "play along ok - just say i haven't cursed once."

"you haven't cursed once in the ten years we have been dating."

something twinkles in jisung's eye and you bite back your lip

"exactly - so is it ok if i curse this one time and say-"

he fishes something out of his pocket that looks like a small box, you think your breath catches in your throat

"i fuc-freaking love you - will you marry me?"

#i know this is read from jisung's perspective in the beginning but i didn't know how else to get across the like cursing thing #if i wasnt writing from his kind of vision but like the turning point shifts to the reader #anyway none of you give a fuck so ill stop talking #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #park jisung #jisung scenarios #jisung au #jisung imagines #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream au #nct dream #sfw #cursing/#nostalgia

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stylesberries · 4 years

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Masterlist

Last Updated: 07/07/21

Thank you guys so much for all the love that you’re giving my writings. It makes me so happy to know that they’re people who enjoy reading things I write. I will be definitely adding to this masterlist, so this is not all you’ll get from me ;) - Hamida

♥ - indicates fluff

✪ - indicates smut

☹ - indicates angst

Bundle Of Love ♥

Harry reflecting upon his love for Y/N.

Despite the fact that you’ve only been dating for a couple of months, he still knew you better than he knew himself. Every stir and every little sound you made in your sleep. To everyone before him they were just stirs and sounds, but for him they had a meaning. He never lets them slip without noticing. He watches your every move carefully to make sure that he makes you the happiest he possibly can and even if that is the case, he still does everything possible to make sure you’re even happier.

Call Me H ✪ ♥

You both walk straight to Harry’s hotel room because you can’t keep hands off of each other anymore. (Is a logical continuation to Stay With Me, but can be read separately.)

“You’re very sweet, Harry. There is just one problem.”

Your eyes become a bottomless well and Harry feels himself drowning in its waters. The curiosity grows in him when he hears mystery in the way the words leave your mouth.

“What problem?” He whispers innocently, his eyes darting at you.

“I really want to fuck you.”

City Lights ♥

Harry asks you a very important question as you drive through the streets of Rome.

The hand wrapped around your side, carefully going in circles, the repeating motions slowly soothing your anxiety.

Harry lowered his head and his lips touched the top of your ears. The warm breath created vibrations against your skin and sent a charge of electricity through your body.

I really love you.

Daddy ✪

Harry wins a Grammy. You weren’t able to be there. Or were you?

“Aren’t you coming in?” Harry asked Jeff as he exited the car, his hand wrapped under his new Grammy.

“I’m not. Enjoy the night, man. You deserve it.” Jeff spoke weirdly as he closed the door behind Harry and waved at him with a suspicious smile on his face.

“Enjoy my night? Don’t you want to come in and drink with me a bit befo-” Harry spoke as he watched the car with Jeff in it drive off.

Egocentric ♥ ☹

Memories of a fight with Harry overflow you, as you wander around the house and end up playing Fine Line on vinyl.

As the first few seconds of the song echoed through the room, I found myself being dragged into a different atmosphere. The one my mental state wouldn’t let me go in without crying.

All of the insecurities and doubts, that I have been overflown with, came over me and dragged me down with them.

Fireflies ♥

Harry has been acting weird for a couple of weeks, but when y/n finally finds out the truth, it’s far from what she assumed.

“Harry, what’s behind your back?” You asked straightforwardly.

He looked uncomfortable and seemed to have been taken aback by your question.

“It’s um-” He brought his hands forward. They held a black folder visibly full of papers. “It’s m’folder with song ideas.” He seemed unsure of the statement himself, but you put the blame on the fact, that he was left dumbfounded by your actions. What was that about though?

Flower Field ♥

Harry accidentally breaks his favorite guitar, which makes it an obvious choice of a present for his upcoming birthday.

“Is it small enough for me to carry it around?” Harry tried his best to guess what exactly you were getting him. He’d been like this since the early morning when you wouldn’t tell him what you’ve gotten for him.

“It’s not small, but you can carry it around.” It was the first question, for which your answer wasn’t exactly a “no”, so Harry smiled, thinking he’s finally onto something. The party took place in a closed down restaurant that you all would go to once in a while. There weren’t many guests. Just the closest friends. “Knowing Harry, it’s probably hundreds of people.” You thought.

Full Of You ✪

It’s your birthday and Harry has an idea of a birthday present.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Harry’s hold tightening around your body and his face snuggling into the crook of your neck. You whined, fighting for a couple more well-earned minutes of sleep.

“Nopies, bunny. Don’t whine at me. We have a long day ahead of us.” Harry excitedly informs you and lets his hands snake over your sides. Your boyfriend moves his mouth over to your ear and whispers this time. “It’s my love’s birthday today.”

Gucci Jumpsuit ♥

Harry pampering Y/N despite her attempts to stop him.

“They have the heels you love. The black ones, you know? They have those in pastel colours. Wouldn’t y’love that?”

“Harr-” I tried to say something in between his Ted Talk on why exactly I have to try those shoes he is talking about.

“And we could look for jeans f’you. You wanted wide leg jeans, remember?” He continued, without pausing even for a second.

Heat ✪

Your boi’s too vanilla for your liking. He refuted that tho.

As he filled you, even more tears started flowing. Your vision turned blurry and your head felt light. All you could feel was the stretch you craved so badly.

“Daddy, please fuck me.” Words leaving your mouth without a single thought in your head. You didn’t care that you’ve never got to ask him if he was actually into such things before, acting purely on instinct. All you wanted was to be filled. All you needed was the sensation of being penetrated by the man you loved.

Love On Tour ♥ ✪

Your parents are coming to meet him but you chose to keep it a secret.

“He deserves to know.” You thought. He was going to meet them today anyways. “He won’t have time to get too nervous, right?” You kept debating on whether or not you should tell him the truth.

Your brows furrowed and your lips were pressed tight together. Harry took a look down at you, and his brows creased as well.

My Princess ✪

You tag along with Harry to his Vogue shoot. The dress is definitely a turn on.

“Ah, please,” Harry whined, letting you wrap your arm around his waist holding him from running away from your wet tongue.

“Please what, baby?” You teased him further, running your nails against the wet trace along his spine.

“Please, touch me.” He begged, pushing his back against your chest in hopes that your arm would move a little lower and touch his crotch even though he knew how much you hated it when he wasn’t patient.

Rainbow Cardigan ♥ ✪

Harry loses his favorite cardigan. You learn how to knit. (Based on the JW Anderson cardigan knitting trend.)

“I cannot lose it. I can’t. What if it’s lost forever? How could I let it out of my sight?” The sight of him so genuinely saddened by the situation made you let out a sigh. You were full of compassion and understanding, trying to remember the last time you saw the poor cardigan. Failing to do so, you turned to your crushed boyfriend and tried to get information out of him.

Right Choice ✪

Harry has a moustache now and you want to get it sticky.

“I’m all for it, so it’s up to you.” Harry nodded and started applying the shaving cream onto his cheeks.

“Just know that you have to eat me out whenever you’re done here because I’m dripping.”

Shattered Glass ☹

You feel overwhelmed by intrusive thoughts and memories of traumatic events. Glass is shattered.

“Hm?” You let your eyes fall on his gentle and almost all-knowing expression.

“I said I know what you’re doing. You’re letting things get to you. I know you can’t stop the flow of thoughts but at least let me know what’s bothering you so I can try to help.” He spoke softly and chose every next word with care as he knew that if he picked the wrong words you would close off even more.

Stay With Me ♥

You meet Harry and fall in love to the art and architecture of Rome.

“You looked very passionate and I would love it if we could sit and discuss it maybe? I know it sounds weird coming from a stranger-” He paused.

“You bet, crazy man.” You thought to yourself and giggled softly, realizing that the possibility that this ball of nerves is a human trafficker is close to zero.

Vegan Cupcakes ☹

You and Harry have been quarantined together and he needs space.

Spending most of the spring together didn’t feel as suffocating for Harry as summer did. Your classes were over and you didn’t take a summer semester, so your time fully revolved around him. Which he liked.

In the beginning.

Until you clung on him like a koala for days and made him cuddle you all the time, which he enjoyed a lot until it became a routine. Harry couldn’t even tell you how he felt because it would hurt your feelings, so he didn’t say anything at all, keeping it all to himself.

Wooden Floor ☹ ♥

Reuniting with Harry after being apart during the quarantine made you realize something.

When I met Harry, and we started dating, I promised myself to give him space and not suffocate him with my love, for I was scared, that he would leave me like everyone before him did.

I had never been loved so much. I had never experienced what I gave people myself. The endless love and loyalty. Harry gave me his all, and I started feeling bad for not showing all of the love I had for him, and yet I still feared losing him because of my obsessive nature.

I sat at the kitchen table and scrolled through our texts with Harry.

#harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles masterlist #harry styles blurbs

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plsimsuchasimp · 3 years

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i’m sorry (ft: sugawara).

by request: “Hi!!!! Okay im so glad your requests are open - could I please request some angst with Sugawara? Where the reader is his best friend and secretly loves him but he doesn’t know? Then maybe the reader and Suga fight and then reader gets hurt or something (maybe a car accident) and when the Karasuno team finds out, Suga is devastated and goes to the hospital and tell the reader that he loves them?? Thank you!! ❤️” -anon

yes anon i’m happy to do this- i kinda changed up the prompt a lil bit so i’m sorry about that but i hope this measures up to your standards! (i’m ridiculously soft for suga so this makes sense)

genre: sadness (literal tears were shed in the process of making this)

ft: sugawara koushi x reader

warnings: car crash, fighting, cursing, hospitalization, death

wc: 2k

“Y/n, why are you so upset? I get that you’re concerned, and I’m grateful for that, but she’s genuinely a good person and I’m serious about her!” Suga walks away from you, his back turned, shoulders raised slightly in his sweater. You can sense his frustration, his confusion, but you don’t care. His face is pouty, lip sticking out ever so slightly, and you know you can’t look at him or you won’t be able to keep yourself from kissing him right then and there.

The thing is, you know she’s a good person. And that’s what hurts. See, you’ve been in love with Sugawara Koushi since the day you met him at the bus stop five years ago, on a hot summer day with a butterfly in his hair.

You can’t stop him from getting a new girlfriend, and you know it’s selfish of you to hope he likes you the way you like him, to hold on to him for all these years.

Sometimes when it’s late, you let yourself drift into your memories. The spring days when he would take you hiking, out into the mountains to show you his favorite spots, the times when your stomachs hurt from laughing at the dirty jokes he found off of random places on the internet, the rainy moments and baking cookies when it just seemed calm. With Suga, you felt at home like nowhere else.

Now, your eyes sting unfairly, and you turn away from him as he glares towards you, brow furrowed. Struggling to keep your voice even, you say, “I know, okay Kou? I just- I don’t know, she gives me bad vibes.”

You know he doesn’t mean to be rude, but when he scoffs, your heart squeezes just a bit and tears prick your eyes. “You’re telling me to call off a whole relationship because she gives you bad vibes? You did this with all of my exes, too!” Suga sighs, hands on his hips. “You know you’re my best friend, but honestly, y/n, this has to stop. You can’t control my life!”

He’s right. You know he’s right, and that’s the harsh thing about it. You want him all to yourself- everything about him is entrancing, intoxicating, familiar. Jealousy is a bitch.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

At this point, his jaw drops open at the sheer audacity of your remark. “I can’t do this with you today.” He throws up his hands and sits on the bed, making it clear he doesn’t really want to talk anymore.

Suga never really fights with you. He teases endlessly, but he always stops himself before he really hurts you, and the fights between the two of you are always calmer on his side. He’s usually the first to apologize, but it seems this is a sticking point for the two of you.

“Well? Go!” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets it. You flinch backwards at his words, and he doesn’t miss the unmistakable glint of tears in your eyes as you walk out of the room.

“Fine, I guess I will!” As soon as you’re outside, you cover your mouth with your hand, your vision blurred from large drops threatening to spill from your eyelashes. You muffle your sobs with the sleeve of a sweatshirt Suga lent you, and it just makes you cry harder when you breathe in his slight cologne.

He wasn’t going to let her go this time. You missed your chance.

You’re running, but where to? As soon as your thoughts stop spinning, your feet freeze, and you glance around you. Shaky breaths escape you as you duck your head and attempt to cross the street, questioning looks from passerby making your cheeks heat up.

All of a sudden, you hear a car horn and freeze to see a car speeding towards you, out of control. The last thing you see before everything goes black is a child pointing at you, and you almost laugh at the incredulity of the situation. Then you black out on impact.

Back at Suga’s home, he sits in his bed, running his fingers through his silky hair. He curses under his breath, already hating the feeling.

He hates when the only person he’s ever truly loved is mad at him.

Honestly, Koushi can’t fathom why he keeps getting other people to date him, momentary distractions from his everlasting affection for you. You, the only person who’s there for him when he’s hurting, the only real friend to stay near him through everything, the only person he fell in love with on first sight. He wanted to be with you, but he didn’t want to ruin this was.

Better to be certain friends with you and never get what he truly wanted than to try and lose you completely.

Suga picks up the phone to text you when he receives a call from an unfamiliar number, marked as the hospital of your district.

“Hello?"

“Is this Sugawara Koushi?” The female voice on the other end of the line asks.

“Yes, is everything okay?” He responds, curious as to why the hospital is calling him in the middle of the day.

“Well, we have Y/N L/N here, and you’re listed as one of their emergency contacts. Would you mind coming to the hospital to fill out some paperwork?”

Immediately, his world freezes. “W-what did you say?”

“I said, Y/N L/N is in the hospital and we need you to come in and see them.” She’s patient with him, voice even and calm, clearly used to people in shock from news of their loved ones. “They were involved in a car accident.”

He nods, momentarily forgetting she can’t see him. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

The line clicks, and he sits there for only a minute before hurrying down to his car, grabbing the keys and starting the car. He seems to forget basic movements, mind consumed only with thoughts of you.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, edging above the speed limit on the road. He was tempted to honk at someone, but refrains from it, knowing it won’t help with the turmoil of emotions he was feeling.

Then, it hit him. This was his fault. He almost stopped the car in the middle of the road, throat closing as guilt washed over him. Koushi didn’t know you’d take it so hard, didn’t mean for it to come off that harshly.

He arrived at the hospital, and as he walked in, the receptionist looked up at him.

“Sugawara Koushi?”

“Yes,” he said, and watched the smile slowly fade from her face. He noticed she tried to hide it, ducking her head, but it was too late. “Are they- are they going to be okay?” he gulped as she didn’t respond.

“Room 208,” she said curtly, “You should probably go in.”

The lights seemed to blur into each other as Suga practically ran to your room. Every footstep seemed to take forever, travel only a few centimeters forward. He couldn’t get there fast enough, accidentally bumping into the wall and muttering a hushed “sorry” to it.

He arrived. The door was almost too heavy, or maybe it was just the fear making his limbs heavy as lead.

There you lay, and it was worse than he thought. Tubes of all sorts trailed from your body to things around the bed, crowding and seeming to close you in. Scratches ran down your cheek and there was dried blood on your hairline, streaking down your face. The breath fell from his throat and he stood in the doorway, paralyzed.

This could not be happening.

One look and he could tell you weren’t going to be okay. An IV drip led into your left arm, and you were unconscious, so fragile, so angelic. It looked as if you were only sleeping, like the countless times you’d snuggled into Suga’s shoulder in the warm summer nights, staring at the blanket of glittering stars far above. The ones in your eyes, though, outshone them all.

When you slept, you always seemed so peaceful, so comforted, but now your brow was slightly furrowed, your lips drained of color and slightly parted. Even in this state, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

Shakily, he made his way to the chair and sat down in it. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and tears were dripping down his face before he could wipe them away. A choked sob escaped him as he reached out his hand, hovering over your limp one.

He took your hand, and he hunched over to feel how cold it was. Your hands were always colder than his, which made him a perfect match for you. Never before, though, had he felt this ice.

Suga’s shoulders began to shake, and he clutched your hand, silently begging you not to leave, please please please don’t leave me, i don’t know if i can survive without you. Of course, there was no response but the steady beep of the heart monitor, the only thing reassuring him that you were still there.

Shaking, he brought your hand to his lips, barely brushing them against your knuckles.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” Whispered words fell gently from his lips, trying to stay composed for you. “Please stay with me. Please don’t leave.” His tone rises, voice breaking in desperation. “P-please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rocked back and forth, holding your hand as if it was the only thing tying him down. “I-I love you.”

There. He said it, those three words he’d wanted to say since the day he saw you smile for the first time. Hopelessly, madly, endlessly in love with you, only you.

When you didn’t respond, he let himself sob, let the pain overtake him. Hot, salty tears spilled onto your hand, and he silently wished for a sign, a movement, anything to show that you weren’t gone just yet.

In that moment, he whispered everything he wanted to say to you, a thousand words choking him and clogging his throat to the point where he couldn’t breathe anymore.

The doctor came in, shutting the door silently behind him. “Sugawara-”

“Call me Suga.” His voice was quiet, reserved, threatening to break.

“I’m afraid y/n isn’t going to make it.” The doctor sighed, mercifully pretending not to notice Suga’s muffled cry. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You’re joking, right?” Suga raised his head, puffy, red eyes desperate. “Please- tell me you’re joking.” The silence from the doctor told him otherwise, and Suga felt his heart shatter in that instant.

He squeezed your hand, and just as he did, the heart monitor stopped beeping, a flat tone emitting from it. He couldn’t stop the heartbroken cry from spilling from his mouth, his breath stolen by the endless constriction of guilt and grief in his chest.

He stayed there for another two hours, crying over your hand limp in his grasp. When Daichi arrived at the hospital to drive him home, he didn’t want to leave.

Suga stared out of the car window, numb. It was impossible- the world couldn’t be this cruel.

It’s your fault, your fault, your fault, the voice in his head whispered. The broken sobs that spilled out of him hurt, stabbed at his breathing, but he didn’t care. It was his fault that you were gone, forever.

The rest of the day passed in a haze, the sun setting with flared colors that you would have loved. The stars were brilliant, but Suga couldn’t look at them. His pillow smelled like you, and everywhere he looked had some imprint, some memory of you. You were the only person he’d ever love, and you had been stolen from the world in an instant.

In the months afterwards, nothing was the same. He saw you everywhere, expecting to see your texts pop up on his phone, accidentally ordered your drink at the boba place you would always go to.

At the funeral, his stiff black suit seemed awkward, but you always said he looked handsome in one. That was the last time he got to see your face besides pictures, the fading memory of the person who loved him for who he was.

the person who he would love for the rest of his life.

you’re an angel in my eyes.

a/n: tbh this is probably one of the most painful things i’ve written so far suga im so sorry also THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 50 FOLLOWERS ITS CRAZY i finished this at 2am i’m going to be so sad if it flops <\3

#sugawara koushi #suga x reader #sugawara x y/n #koushi sugawara #sugawara angst #sugawara sadness #i'm literally so sorry this is very sad #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #haikyuu sad #suga x y/n #suga x you #sugawara x reader

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iconic-ponytail · 3 years

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there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.

#this is unhinged but i had to ok #I HAD TO #riverdalepromptathon #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fanfiction #riverdalepromptathonweek3

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH22

And we’re back! Chapters will resume posting on Fridays both here on tumblr and on AO3 (linked below). I hope you’re ready for the second half of this story. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that are different from last time, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Previous First Next AO3

Chapter 22: Mean

Marinette chewed her lip, picking at the hem of her shirt. She’d been too nervous to sleep, and the coffee she drank on the way to the hotel made her jittery. Clara and her manager flipped through her designs, the silence eating away at Marinette’s composure. Did Clara like them? Hate them? Had Marinette let her down? Why wasn’t she saying anything?

Clara glanced up at Marinette, a smile curling on her lips. She stood up with an amused giggle and took Marinette’s hands. “Oh, Marinette, you can chill. These designs really fit the bill. Choosing you was in good taste. Eloise, send these to my tailor, posthaste.” Clara winked, and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. “Truly, great work, Marinette. I love them.”

“I’m glad. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” Marinette bowed.

“Although your formality is rather cutesy, there’s no need since you and I are friends, you see.” She spun Marinette around and pulled her in for a hug. “I felt a connection with you right away. If you ever need anything, you just have to say.”

Marinette’s chest swelled as Clara pulled away and brushed her nose with a finger.

“Eloise, write a check for her beautiful mind.” Clara ordered, pacing over to the piano. “I’ve got an idea for a new song that will be simply divine!”

Clara’s manager tore a check from her book and handed it to Marinette as Clara began to pluck at the piano. Marinette did a double-take to make sure the decimal was in the right place, but before she could protest, Clara’s security guard ushered her out.

“Goodbye, my dearest friend. I’ll miss you until we meet again!” Clara blew a kiss.

As the door closed behind her, Marinette glanced down at the check, heart pounding. Clara liked her designs! She considered Marinette a friend! Oh, she’d love to see the look on Lila’s face the day Clara walked the red carpet in Marinette’s dress.

“I’m so proud of you, Marinette!” Tikki said as Marinette tapped the button for the elevator. “You worked really hard, and it paid off.”

“I’m just happy that Clara liked my designs. It’s not about the money for me. I want to design clothes that make people feel good,” she said, stepping onto the elevator. “I can’t wait to tell everyone over tea this afternoon!”

“Will there be cookies at the tea party?” Tikki asked.

Marinette shot her a knowing smile and brushed her kwami’s nose with one finger. “Control that sweet tooth of yours.”

“I want to celebrate your accomplishments!” Tikki shot back indignantly. “If there happens to be cookies there, then so be it.”

“Tell you what,” Marinette said as the elevator dinged on the first floor. “I told everyone to come over at 2. Why don’t you and I celebrate now? Let’s go get some ice cream.”

Tikki perked up, ducking down into her purse. Marinette shut the clasp as she paced out the front doors of the hotel. Pulling out her phone to see where Andre was stationed today, she failed to look up as she rounded the corner and collided with another person.

“Sorry!” she gasped as they both stumbled backward, but upon seeing the face of her victim, her face hardened.

“Finally apologizing for trying to upstage me? It’s about time,” Lila said.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you. Nothing else.” Marinette rolled her eyes and stepped around her.

“So, you’re not sorry for abandoning all of your friends then? For turning your back on Alya?” Lila asked.

Marinette’s hands balled into fists, but she didn’t stop. “Alya made her choice.”

“And she chose me over you.” Lila smirked. “She even got us matching bff necklaces. She’s so sweet.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure your genuine friendship built on honesty and trust will last a lifetime.” Marinette retorted.

“I’m just glad she finally deleted her blog dedicated to that insect. She has so much more time on her hands to do all of my work,” Lila said. “You know, I’m class representative now since you deserted your post.”

Marinette bit her lip hard. Lila was taunting her, and she knew it. How could anyone be this vindictive? Marinette had always known Lila was evil, but she really had a way of one-upping herself. Marinette made a promise with Adrien to stay out of it, but no matter how far she ran, Lila was always right behind her.

Marinette spun around with a sharp retort on her tongue, but a silver limo pulling up to the curb cut her off. She half expected blond hair to pop out, but to her surprise, it was Martin who appeared.

“Hey, Marinette. I saw you walking, so I had my driver pull over.” He flicked his gaze between them. “Do you and your friend need a ride?”

“Ha! She and I will never be friends. I have much better taste,” Lila said.

Martin eyed Marinette, eyebrows knitting together when she shifted her weight.

“Then if you don’t mind, please leave her alone. She’s my friend,” he requested.

“You don’t want to be friends with a loser like her. I’m the great-granddaughter of world-famous piano player, Victor Laurent,” she said, fluffing her hair. Her sinister smile said that she’d taken all of Marinette’s friends once, and she’d do it again.

“Victor Laurent didn’t have any children. He died alone at the age of 72 from pneumonia…” Martin tilted his head to one side. “And anyway, Marinette’s great-uncle is a world-famous chef with his own brand of cookware—my mom loves his knives. Not to mention she knows Jagged Stone and is good friends with Adrien Agreste. She has a lot of connections.”

Marinette stifled a laugh as Lila gasped in offense. Martin blinked in confusion as Lila stalked off with a huff, glaring over her shoulder at them.

“Who was that girl?” he asked.

“One of the worst human beings you’ll ever meet,” Marinette replied. When Martin seemed confused, she added, “It’s a long story. I was actually on my way to get some ice cream. Wanna come?”

“Sure.”

Andre was in Marinette’s favorite spot in the Trocadero—a fitting compensation for the unpleasant encounter they’d just had. They found a bench, ice cream cones in hand, and Marinette flopped onto it with a sigh. Lila was insufferable, but Marinette wasn’t going to let it spoil her day. Clara liked her designs. Nothing else mattered.

“So, that’s the girl who turned all of your friends against you?” Martin asked, and Marinette nodded. “Wow. No wonder you changed schools. I would have changed cities.”

“I thought about it.” Marinette took a spoonful of ice cream. “She’s super manipulative, and if you side against her, she does everything in her power to ruin your life.”

“She sounds like Gabrielle just without the muscle, but at least we don’t have to put up with her now that her family’s bankrupt,” Martin said.

“Yeah…” Marinette lowered her gaze. “I bet you were really happy when you found out about Gabrielle.”

Martin shrugged. “I’m glad she doesn’t pick on everyone anymore, but I can’t imagine losing everything. I feel kinda bad for her… Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said. “Actually, I feel the same way. No one deserves to go through that.” She pursed her lips, jabbing her ice cream with the spoon. “I’m surprised you of all people don’t hate her. She was the worst to you.”

“I try not to hate anyone,” Martin said around a bite. “I think everyone has good inside them deep down, and with the right influence, anyone can change if they want to.”

“So, you think Gabrielle could be a good person?” she asked.

“Well, sure. Why not?” Martin quirked a brow.

Marinette eyed him, a small smile curling on her lips. She sat up and turned to face him.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” he asked.

“It’s a long story, but Gabrielle and I are kind of friends now. I think…” Marinette admitted. “I haven’t told anyone because of everything, but I think you’re right. Anyone can be nice if they want to be, even Gabrielle.” When Martin seemed stunned, she curled her shoulders and added, “Do you hate me?”

Martin’s face softened, and he shook his head. “Of course not! I could never hate you.” He assured her. “I think it’s good. If anyone can help Gabrielle find the light inside of her, it’s you, Marinette.”

She leaned back on the bench with a smile, the spring sun warming her cheeks. Winter was over, leaving the cold and dreary behind. Nature was turning over new leaves. A fresh start, just like Marinette wanted. She took a deep breath, picturing all of the good things in her life. Adrien, Macy, Eliott, Martin, Gabrielle. Chloe, weirdly. Her parents, Tikki, Master Fu, Chat Noir, Clara. New opportunities. New beginnings.

She exhaled, letting all of the negative flow out with her breath. Lila had no power over her anymore, and after two months of running, Marinette was finally free.

♪♫♪ Cruel Summer ♪♫♪

Marinette hummed jovially, the heat from the tea kettle on the stove warming her arms. Her friends would be over soon to celebrate her presentation. After her run-in with Lila earlier, Martin dropped her off at home, where her dad made special macarons for their celebration. Talking to Martin eased her nerves, and Lila’s empty threats were far from her mind. Today she was celebrating.

It was the first time her new friends were coming to hang out at her house. After seeing all of their extravagant homes, Marinette might have felt self-conscious about her family’s tiny apartment, but her friends never gave her reason to worry. If only Adrien were joining them, but he was busy with a photoshoot. He promised to make it up to her, which had her head swimming with possibilities. Oh, she hoped whatever he had in mind involved kissing. Three almosts was driving her wild. Would she ever get to kiss those perfect lips?

And what were they now? Were they dating? Marinette didn’t know for sure, but they had to be pretty close, right? Adrien was so bold with her lately, complimenting her, touching her face, her hair, her hands… One of these days she’d snatch those lips down to hers if he didn’t kiss her soon. Kissing Adrien—the thought alone made her melt.

She wanted to hear his voice, but did she dare call him? He probably wouldn’t answer since he never brought his phone to photoshoots—always so professional. Then again, she could listen to his really cute voicemail… And she still hadn’t told him how her presentation went. Maybe she’d leave him a message. Girlfriends were allowed to do that, right? Oh god, Adrien’s girlfriend! She’d have to get used to calling herself that. Okay, no more stalling. New beginnings. Marinette wasn’t going to second-guess herself anymore. She was going to charge forward with confidence!

Pressing the call button, she chewed her lip with a giggle. This was really happening! One cute voicemail, then the next time they saw each other, she was going to kiss Adrien on the lips. Then they’d become boyfriend and girlfriend, date throughout the rest of collége and lycée, go off to university and get married, have 3 kids, and a hamster named-

Wait!

What was she going to say in the voicemail? She didn’t know how to be cute and flirty! Every time she tried, she ended up rambling about her toothbrush or falling down stairs. She needed to write a script. Abort! Abort!

“Missing me already?”

Marinette’s heart skipped at Adrien’s flirtatious lilt.

“Adrien! You answered,” she gasped.

“You called me, and you’re surprised I picked up?” he chuckled.

“Well, I thought you had a photoshoot, I was just going to leave a message,” Marinette said.

“I just got done with makeup, so I have a few minutes. I was actually thinking of calling you,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“No worries. I understand.” She assured him.

“I take it your presentation went well?”

“Yeah! That’s what I was calling to tell you. Clara loved my designs! I’ve never been so happy.” Marinette paced the length of her living room, biting back a smile. “I ran into Lila as I was leaving, but not even she could ruin my mood.”

“Whoa, wait! You ran into Lila?” Adrien asked.

“Ugh, yeah, but it was fine. Martin swooped in before she got me too riled up. She even tried to lie him out of backing me up, but he totally called her out. I’ve never seen her pout so hard.” When Adrien remained quiet on the other end, she added, “I’m fine, really. I’m not going to let her bother me anymore. This thing with Clara could open up a lot of opportunities for me.”

“I guess you’re right. Lila only wishes she were half as talented as you. You’re amazing, Marinette,” Adrien said, bringing a familiar warmth to her cheeks. “They’re ready for me on set, so I have to go.”

Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to tell you the good news, and…talk for a minute.”

“You can interrupt me anytime. I’m always happy to hear your voice,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Marinette bit back a smile.

“Oh, and congratulations! You deserve it, Marinette.”

Marinette hung up with a dreamy sigh, hugging her phone to her chest. She was going to replay that conversation in her head for the rest of the evening. Before she could get lost in her lovestruck daydreams, the doorbell rang.

“Congratulations!” Macy hugged Marinette’s neck the moment she opened the door. “Oh, I knew she was going to love them!”

“Uh, I think you’re choking her.” Martin pointed out, and Macy let go.

“Sorry! But you did it! A major celebrity is going to wear your designs to an official awards show. That’s huge!” Macy squealed. “Oh! Is this your living room? It’s so cozy!”

As Macy pushed past Marinette into the apartment, Martin presented her with a bouquet of flowers.

“We picked these up for you on the way.”

“Thanks! That’s so sweet.” Marinette gestured him in, moving to find a vase in the kitchen. “Where’s Eliott?”

“He’ll be here soon. He was auditioning for another play today, so he’s running late,” Macy explained. “Your house is so cute! Did you make these pillows?”

“Uh, yeah. They were one of the first things I learned how to sew,” Marinette said, filling a vase in the sink. “My dad made macarons, and I’m making tea if you want any.”

Martin helped himself, taking a seat at the table, but Macy moved over to the bookcase to look at their family photos. Marinette set the vase in the middle of the table and grabbed the cups from the cupboard.

“Are you feeling better now?” Martin asked while she set the table. “I mean, after running into that girl earlier?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, surprised by how much she meant it. “I’m not worried about her anymore. I’m fine.”

Martin relaxed. “Good. You seem happier now than when you first came to school,” he said. “I could tell how sad you were, even when you were smiling.”

Marinette grabbed the kettle from the stove and pursed her lips.

“I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s been hard, but I’m really lucky to have people that support me. I have you all to thank for that.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Martin smiled, an expression Marinette returned.

“Right.”

“Marinette? Is this you?” Macy held up a baby picture. “You were so cute!”

Marinette’s cheeks burned, but before she could snatch the photo away from her, the front door flew open. Eliott burst in, hair disheveled and eyes wide with panic.

“Eliott? What’s-” Macy started.

“I need help!”

#mdcspr #my writing

58 notes · View notes

sazc94 · 3 years

Text

Speak Now

Hello, I am back, with an unofficial entry into the lovely @msmarvelwrites 2k Challenge. This is heavily inspired by her challenge but, but I am also aware I am clogging up her mentions ;)

Speak now Pairs:

Steve x Reader, with brief mentions of Bucky x Reader and Historical Wanda x Reader cause its Pride Month :)

Words, around 6k.

Themes, suggestions of smut so 18+, lots of swearing, angst and heartbreak and some fluff.

Baby, I didn't say my vows So glad you were around When they said speak now

You looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. Today was the day you had been dreading for the last 8 months. Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter’s Wedding. Ignoring the pit in your stomach you smoothed your lilac chiffon dress down once more, before checking your make-up and French-braid updo one last time. You felt sick oh how could he be marrying her? Had you two genuinely meant that little to each other meaning it was that easy for him to marry her?

You felt the tears threatening to spring from your eyes and pinched your nose. The limo was almost here, and you didn’t have enough time to re-do your make up if you started crying now. Plus, you knew deep down if you started crying, you’d never make it to the wedding. As one of Steve's closest friends you knew you had to suck it up and be there at his big day.

Originally, he had tried to convince you to take up Sharon’s half-assed offer to be in her bridal party. You would much rather stick needles in your eyes. So, you apologised to Steve and Sharon (not that she cared or even listened) advising how you didn’t have the time free to commit to such a big thing. Steve had originally been upset looking crestfallen, his baby blue eyes pleading with you. You gave him a small smile before assuring him you would still be there for the wedding.

“Don’t worry about it Steve. I’ll be there on the big day. Would never dream of missing it, especially the opportunity to see Sam and Bucky in suits” you said ruefully. Steve didn’t skip over the fact you had called him Steve. You had always called him Stevie. Well. Up until he had announced his engagement to Sharon.

“Hey Dollface”, Bucky said kissing you on the cheek before opening the door to the car. “Hey Buck, Hey Sam, you two look delicious,” you said shooting them a playful wink. Sam mumbled a small thanks avoiding eye contact with you. Bucky however, took this an opportunity to move closer to you. His hand resting on your thigh. The four of you had been friends since college. That’s why you were riding in the limo with them to the church earlier than most.

The four of you had formed a strong friendship back then. Along with Wanda and Pietro Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff. Bucky and Steve had been childhood friends and you had met Sam at Freshman orientation where he had almost knocked you unconscious during his haste to catch a football.

You and Bucky had a complex history. He had liked you from the moment he had met you, however, you weren’t interested in him. To be fair, you hadn’t been romantically interested in any of the boys, instead, your interest had been caught by one of the red-haired females you were sharing off-campus accommodation with. It didn’t stop Bucky from trying to get you into his bed all through your freshman year though. He had eventually given up in the summer and had never brought it up again after realising his best pal Steve had a thing for you too.

“So, what do you say Y/N, after the wedding, you come back to my hotel and let me make you feel real fucking good again, just like I did all those months back”, Bucky whispered. His hot breath tickling your neck. You instantly felt yourself flush at the memory. Straightening up you removed Bucky’s hand. “Come on James, I told you. It was a one-time thing, never gonna happen again. The only hotel room I will be ending up in is mine”, you said. Determination filling your features.

From across the limo Sam snickered whilst Bucky sulked. “Sure Y/N we all know who’s hotel room you’re gonna end up in and it isn’t anyone in this limo’s” Sam smirked. You instantly felt yourself heat up with embarrassment at Sam’s call out. He was right though. Anytime things got rough for either of you, you and your college girlfriend Wanda always found a way into each other’s beds. You picked at bottom of your knee-length dress before sighing. “Actually, I’m fairly certain she and Vision are in a good place at the moment, and she is bringing him as her date. You examined your fresh manicure avoiding their eye’s.

After a quiet 15-minute ride the three of you arrived at the church. Bucky had been whispering sweet nothings in your ear the entire ride. Sam had ignored you up until you had gotten out the limo. Grabbing you by the elbow he pulled you to one side telling Bucky to go on in.

“Y’know Y/N I always thought it would be you up there with him today,” Sam said sympathy filling his eyes. “I know this day is hard for you. So just know after the wedding if you want to get out of here, I have your back and will cover for you”, Sam continued. His brown eyes boring into you. You felt that familiar lump form in your throat and instead of addressing it you threw your arms around Sam and buried your face in his chest.

“Thank you” you mumbled. You and Sam were great friends, but Sam very rarely showed you physical affection. However, at that moment he knew that the hug was grounding you, so he rested his chin on the top of your head squeezing you tight. Running his hands up and down your back in a reassuring measure.

You stayed like that for about 2 minutes, a few loose tears escaping, that was when you heard Steve and Bucky’s laughter coming down the hallway towards the churches front garden, where you were stood in an embrace with Sam. You stiffened before withdrawing from Sam’s embrace. You shot him a small sad smile, before shaking your head and running off before Steve had a chance to talk to you.

You knew he would tell you how much it meant to him that you were there. How he was so happy that despite all your history, how you had once again shown up for him. You just couldn’t face him. You had gone out of your way to avoid being alone with him for the past eight months. “Hey, Where’s Y/N rushing off too”? You heard Steve ask as you rushed off the nearby meadow.

Bucky and Sam were obviously a part of Steve's wedding party. Because of this, they were needed at the small church where the wedding was taking place an hour before guests were due to arrive. Steve had insisted on you riding to the church with Sam and Steve in the limo he was paying for. He refused to hear of you spending money on a cab to attend the big day. Especially not when there was plenty of room and you were on the way to the church. Eventually, you had agreed after Steve had worn you down. The goofy grin he had given you had simultaneously made your heart do a somersault and rip further in half.

It was warm summers day in Massachusetts and the little church really was the perfect venue. Well to you, and it definitely was for Steve but you knew that social standing meant more to Sharon, she had wanted the big fancy private venue which seated 500 plus guests in NYC as opposed to the quaint little church with a max capacity of 50.

The long grass tickled your ankles as you entered the meadow, your eyes were instantly drawn to the big oak tree with a rickety wooden swing hanging down. You had at least 40 minutes before you would need to head in. The wedding was in an hour, but you weren’t looking forward to the awkward encounter with Wanda that was waiting for you. The sun was beginning to blaze, and it was even midday. Deciding you had enough time; you undid your strappy beige sandals and ran towards the swing.

You sat on the rough wood, slightly warm from the heatwave MA was experiencing, the rope had frayed and aged but you didn’t care, the sun was fighting its way through the canopy of thick green leaves. You let out a deep breath before kicking your feet along the dried dirt. You leant your head back and closed your eyes, shutting the world out deciding to live in these tranquil moments.

Flashbacks.

You and Steve had been dancing around the sexual tension between the pair of you for the last 3 years. Neither one of you ever daring to make a move. Mostly because you and Wanda were either constantly fighting or fucking. Sometimes both. Okay, mostly doing both. Steve wasn’t much better, every few months he had a new girlfriend and then there were countless one night stands in between. However, it was your final year of college you and Wanda had decided to call it quits for a good 5 months ago.

You hadn’t planned on getting this drunk, originally Sam and Nat were coming over to your apartment for some drinks to check out your new place. But then Sam had asked to bring this girl he was dating Jane, and Steve had heard from Nat about the get-together, pleading with you the be included.

So that was how you had ended up drunk as a skunk belting out cheesy pop hits on your old PlayStation sing star. Natasha had left long ago, claiming she had a paper to write, Sam and Jane were snuggled closely on the small sofa.

“Come on Y/N sing You’re the one I want with me,” Steve said trying to pull you up from the floor. You whined and wriggled your wrist free-falling back on the cold laminate floor. The sudden movement made Steve lose balance as his feet had been on your toes.

“Stevie, now look what you did” you giggled as the blond hottie fell on the floor opposite you. “This never would have happened if you’d just agreed to sing with me Puppy” Steve replied pouting. Puppy. He called you that claiming you had the biggest puppy dog eyes and energy of a 6-month Puppy all the time.

“I told you, I don’t sing duets anymore jerkwad,” you said shuffling away from the blonde. Steve decided that he didn’t like this much and pouted. You let out a small involuntary giggle. This only seemed to upset Steve more, deepening his pout and raising his eyebrows, he let out an exasperated sigh.

The mixture of Steve’s adorable pout, the tension between you and the alcohol was too much and with that, you broke out into a fit of giggles rolling about on the floor. Your T-shirt etched up as you moved to try to quieten your giggles, showing flashes of your skin to Steve. Your giggles were intoxicating, mixed with the wafts of your favourite body spray, the way you screwed your eyes up when you laughed, and with the way your shirt was etching higher and higher, Something in Steve snapped.

In one swift movement he caught your wrists as you rolled over so you were on your back, pinning them above your head with one hand, his other holding your left leg in a bent position, Steve was on top of you using your leg to prop himself up so he wasn’t crushing you. Your eyes caught Steve’s baby blue eyes. You swallowed, unable to break the eye contact with Steve.

“Stevie”, you whispered uncertainly. With that, the daze Steve was in broke and he crushed his lips to yours. He tasted like beer mixed with the fruity makeshift cocktails you’d made when the beer ran out, his lips were slightly chapped.

His kiss started of hungry and frantic, you returned the kiss, drinking in all the sensations. The pressure on your wrists loosening as the kiss melted into a softer, gentler, more loving kiss. After a few moments, the kiss stopped and Steve drew back, You didn’t move, just as stunned as him.

You could see the blush slowly creeping over Steve's face, so you leant in, closing the small distance as Steve's face still awkwardly hovered inches above yours.

“I think we should kick Sam and Jane out” you whispered shooting him a sly smirk. Steve's blush deepened. He nodded his head and slowly drew back. Once standing he offered his hand to yours to help you up.

After Sam and Jane left you and Steve spent the entire night fucking each other senseless. It was the start of your 4-year relationship. You and Steve were practically inseparable for the rest of your time at college. You already were before that night, but after the kiss and the events that followed you two became insatiable for one another.

You were so caught up in your flashback that you didn’t hear Bucky calling your name. “Earth to Y/N,” he said waving his hand frantically in front of your face. You were so taken by surprise you couldn’t help but let out a small shriek, to which both you and Bucky burst out laughing. “Jesus H Christ, Bucky! You almost gave me a heart attack”. You said shooting him a toothy grin.

“Sorry Y/N, Steve sent me out here to look for you, he just missed you earlier, said he wants to speak to you and get a photo of the four of us,” Bucky said. You felt your heart squeeze, you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t talk to him before the ceremony, you just didn’t trust yourself. You didn’t realise it but you had started crying. Bucky caught it before you did. Pulling you up from the swing he enveloped you into a huge hug.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. Bucky’s got you. Don’t worry I’ll make up some lame excuse about you fixing your hair or makeup or something, don’t worry doll. Sam and I are gonna get you through this day and once the weddings done, we are going to get super drunk. It may be an open bar, but Sharon’s Daddy is paying for it”, Bucky said rubbing soothing circles on your back. Unable to speak or else the damn would completely burst you simply just nodded into Bucky’s chest.

Bucky stayed hugging you for about 5 minutes before heading back off into the church, you both knew that if Bucky stayed around too much longer, Sam or more likely, Steve would come looking for you both. As you watched Bucky jog off your phone buzzed.

Hey Babe, can’t wait to see you. Visions looking forward to it too, according to his sat Nav we should be arriving in 10 minutes. See you soon! Xx P.S I hope you’re wearing something sexy for me 😉– Wanda x

Of course it was Wanda, she didn’t need to sign of her text with her name. You still had each other’s telephone numbers. You dropped yourself onto the floor, not caring about the dried dirt around the tree. You knew this was going to mark your dress but with Wanda acting up now, you were well past the point of giving a flying fuck.

You leant your head back on the tree before uttering out a string of expletives. Attending your ex-boyfriend’s wedding was hard enough without your college girlfriend attending too. Wanda was happy (mostly) with Henry aka Vision (god what a pompous nickname). However, that never seemed to stop Wanda and you falling back into each other’s beds. Or Her sending texts like this whenever a group of you got together.

Flashback

“Steve, look at me, please. Say something. This isn’t something I’m choosing to do lightly”, you pleaded for Steve to look at you. Your Grandma in England was sick, she had been given a year, two max to live. Your mum hadn’t been around much for you growing up and your Grandma had practically raised you with her Son (your dad), you had chosen to go back to England to be closer to her during her final year.

“Stevie, please baby. This has nothing to do with you, or me, or us. It’s just the woman practically raised me and I want to be there for her. It will be a year, two max. You can always come visit, I’ll be over to visit, We can make this work. Just please say you want it to work”, you were practically begging by this point. Tears were falling down your cheeks and the man who held your heart in his hands and had the power to stop all the pain stood there at the opposite end of your shared apartment. With his back to you.

“What do you want me to say Y/N?!” Steve's voice came out in an accusing whisper. He still made no motions to turn to face you. “Of course you should be there for her during her final moments. But a year, maybe two? We have a life here, an apartment. I have friends here, Sharon, Sam, Bucky, and Thor. Hell, Nick even said I might even be up for a promotion in a month or two.”

You didn’t miss the fact that Sharon who had been eyeing up Steve since joining Fury’s Law firm 8 months ago was suddenly included in that list of friends. Steve was oblivious. But he wasn’t that oblivious. He knew mentioning her would hurt you. And he was right it did.

“You know what Stevie, I get that. That’s why I’m not asking you to come with me for the whole time, I’m just asking you to come over for two weeks whilst I get settled and then to do the long-distance thing for a while. But if your Friends and possible promotion are that important to you, Then forget it”. You grabbed your phone, the overnight bag you had packed and stormed out of the apartment.

You waited in the rain for 15 minutes, wishing for Steve to chase after you. He never did. So, you called Wanda and asked if she would mind lending you her sofa for the night. You had booked two tickets for a 6 am flight, believing that your precious Stevie would of course come with you to visit your family during this difficult time.

Spoiler alert, Steve didn’t show at the airport the next morning, he also spent the next 3 days avoiding your calls.

Eventually, Steve did apologise. But by then the cracks had formed and the damage had been done, after 5 months you called it quits. 4 Months Later Steve was dating Sharon Carter. You arranged with Wanda and Sam to mail back your key and have your belongings collected. Sam had offered to store them at his apartment in his spare room.

Your phone buzzing beside you pulled you from your flashback. “Natasha! No, I am here, I’ll meet you out the front of the church in a few moments.” You said before hanging up the phone. Showtime folks.

You stood, steadying yourself against the big oak tree before slipping your sandals back on one by one. You checked your reflection using the screen of your phone. Dusted the back of your dress down and plastered that well-known smile on your face before heading back over to the church.

As you approached you spotted the two familiar redheads, Natasha’s a deep red which blazed in the sun, whilst Wanda’s was a lighter shade which almost reflected the sun off of it. Also amongst the group of familiar faces were Pietro and Carol from college. Thor one of Steve's colleagues you liked him, his brother Loki who looked like he was about to melt in the sun, and of course the elusive but well renowned Nick Fury.

These weren’t the only familiar faces in the crowd. Sharon was one of the top socialites off New York, Reed Richards and his Wife Susan were in attendance, their two children were also here, Valeria and Franklin you had heard they were part of the wedding party.

Bucky and Sam appeared at the group shortly before you did, allowing you to slip in beside Nat and Thor. On the opposite side of the small circle like shape Wanda stood hanging off her partner Vision’s arms. She of course spotted you right away and broke through the group squealing your name with excitement.

“Y/N Baby, how are you? You look gorgeous in that dress if I may say so myself!” Wanda said pulling you into a hug and then kissing you on the corner of your mouth. Her lips the brushed against yours ever so slightly before she bounded back over to Vision.

Vision hadn’t missed her antics, but he like you had an unspoken agreement that when Wanda was in one of her giddy moods to just roll with it. He brought two fingers up to his head and half saluted/waved in acknowledgement of your presence. You smiled at him back. He was a good guy; it just didn’t help having their relationship shoved down your throat by Wanda every time you two spoke.

After a few minutes of catching up and posing for group shots with Sam and Bucky, everyone made their way inside. Sam and Bucky both shot you a reassuring smile before they headed of the end of the aisle.

“So Babe. Tell me what’s new? Any more saucy rendezvous with Bucky Barnes” Natasha asked as you all sat down on the pews. Somehow your plan to end up in the middle of the small pew did not work and you found yourself on the end of the pew closest to aisle. Oh well at least you were sat next to Natasha who in turn was sat next to Thor and then Nick. Wanda was sat on Separate pew behind you and was the opposite end of her pew. (one less ex to stress about)

“Nat” you hissed. “I told you, that was a one-time thing. Not even Sam knows. So, keep your mouth shut!”, you said rolling your eyes. Natasha was never one to take orders kindly, so she shifted around in her seat to talk to Thor and Nick.

Flashback:

“Sharon and I are engaged” Steve announced to the small group of you who had gathered at Bucky’s apartment. He made this announcement whilst avoiding eye contact with you (because of course he would). Nat and Sam jumped up to congratulate Steve. Bucky sat down next you with a cheerful grin. You felt your heart break, but you would be damned if golden boy wonder got to see that.

“Exciting news, aint it doll, you gonna be my date? I look mighty fine in a suit if you ask me” Bucky drawled. You looked up his ocean blue eyes and how they shined with such affection for you. You smiled at him before grabbing his beer and taking a long gulp. “Certainly is. Oh I don’t know Buck, I might ask Wanda or even Nat to be my date.” You replied shooting him a wink.

Bucky rolled his eyes, this was all part of the course with the pair of you two, he would flirt, you would joke back but never really return the favour.

After the five of you had all settled back down and congratulations had been shared, you checked your phone, half an hour had passed. Sufficient enough time to leave without making it look like you were leaving because of Steve’s announcement. Which of course you were. You grabbed your jacket from the back of your seat. Said your goodbyes to Bucky and Sam. Kissing them both on the cheek, Natasha had excused herself to make a call, so you would text her your apologies for missing her when you got home.

“Congratulations again Steve, I’m happy for you.” You said forcing yourself to sound sincere. The fact you had called him Steve and not Stevie hadn’t been missed by the three gentlemen at the table. Sam and Bucky shifted uncomfortably whilst Steve forced a small smile onto his lips.

You’d only been back in NYC for 3 months, so you were renting Sam’s spare room. You knew he wouldn’t be home for ages yet. No doubt he would stop of at Leila Taylor’s hotel room for the night as she was in town. So, when you heard a knock on the apartment’s front door 2 hours after leaving Bucky’s you were confused. None the less you opened the door. You expected it to be anyone but Steve.

“Steve!?” You tugged your robe around your body tighter. “What’s wrong? Is Sam okay?” You asked opening up the door inviting him in.

Steve shifted, his muscular frame feeling too big for your apartment. Avoiding your eyes he walked into the kitchen he helped himself to a beer he knew you and Sam stocked in the fridge. Steve was here often, especially for a regular Monday night boys night, recently you had been avoiding being in the apartment on a Monday night. Steve let out an exacerbated sigh and pushed one if his hands through his mess of blonde locks. Suddenly the tension between you cracked and Steve's usual happy demeanour clouded over.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Y/N?” Steve asked pointedly. “You’ve practically avoided me since you got back, I know you try and stay out late on Mondays, so you don’t have to face me. I tell you I’m getting married and you practically bolt out the door?!” his tone accusing.

“You left Y/N. You made the decision to go to England. You walked out the door that night” he said. The anger in his eyes and voice made you feel small. Steve had never been like this with you, never in all your years of friendship.

“You couldn’t even pretend to be happy for me Y/N?” Steve asked looking around utterly broken and wrecked. Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet yours. You stood there, tears in your eyes, arms wrapped around your body tight, you were trying to disappear. Where did Steve get off? Yes, you had left, but for Christ’s sake, Steve had practically pushed you out the door.

You felt all your resolve crack away. Fuck this he didn’t get to stand there and make you feel like the bad person. So, without a word. You walked over to Steven Grant Rogers and slapped him. Steve stood there shocked. You felt shame, anger, embarrassment, and most of all hurt, and with that your heart broke completely in half and you ran into your room sobbing.

Steve realised he had fucked up and ran after you, but you were too quick and shut the door on him locking him out. Steve sat outside your door pleading for you to let him apologise. You couldn’t hear him though, the sound of your blood pulsing in your ears and your heartbroken sobs drowning him out. Eventually you must have fallen asleep because when you woke up it was 2am and you were still in your clothes.

The next morning Sam had informed you that when he had returned Steve had been sat outside your bedroom door. He didn’t ask any questions but told you that Steve had asked if you would meet him at the Starbucks down the road for breakfast at 10. He also silently handed you a note.

You had met Steve that morning and accepted his apology, but your friendship would never be the same. Probably not helped by the fact that the night after Steve had announced his engagement, you went back round to Bucky’s with the intention of letting him fuck your brains out

Anticipation was building and you saw Sharon’s snotty family dressed in pastel, her mum made a mad rush along the side of the church pews, trying desperately not to get caught. It looked like one of the bridesmaids had left the bouquet behind. You couldn’t help but smirk. Certain that Sharon would be yelling at said bridesmaid somewhere in a back room. Such a shame how things always happen to the nicest of people you thought.

Natasha had stopped giving you the cold shoulder now and just as you and Thor were winding her up about her latest conquest the organ started playing. A hushed silence fell over the church, and everyone stood. The organ switched to the bridal march, all though to you it sounded like a death march.

Whilst everyone watched Sharon float down the aisle like the pageant queen she truly was. You let your gaze wander over to Steve. God he looked handsome in his tux. The black fabric stretched taught around his muscular frame. His usually deshelled blonde hair slicked back just slightly. You also let your gaze wander over to Bucky and Sam.

You couldn’t help but feel a stab of pride with the way they stood there in their sharp suits. Standing up straight and tall. Bucky’s usually loose long brown hair tied up into a neat man-bun. Sam’s presence could be felt from where you were sat a few pews from the back of the church. He always did know how to command a room. Just as you felt a small smile tug on your lips you flickered your gaze back to Steve. His eyes caught yours and your smile fell, and you felt that familiar ache in your chest once again.

The wedding started and everyone sat down, you fixed your gaze onto Bucky and Sam, not daring to let yourself look at Steve and his blushing bride. Everyone cooed about how beautiful she looked, and how handsome Steve was. Sharon’s family wiped away tears, you had blocked out the majority of what was being said focusing on the click of the cameras from the wedding photographers.

Then began the part you were really dreading. The Vow’s. Steve and Sharon exchanged vow’s nothing personal about them at all just the standard, I Steve rogers blah blah. You couldn’t help but feel your heart tighten a little when he slipped the ring on Sharon’s finger. The next few moments became a bit of a blur. Natasha had her hand on your leg in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

However, it seemed to spur you on for when the Priest spoke the words: “Speak now, or forever hold your peace” you stood up with shaky hands. Everyone’s eyes turned to you. Oh fuck what were you doing?! You were about to feign a medical emergency when you caught Sam and Bucky smirking out of the corner your eye. Their nods so slight that you almost missed them.

You didn’t need to look at the faces around you to know most of them were horrified, you were certain a few of your friends were putting it on for show, revelling in the drama. However as your eyes caught Steve’s, a look of hope flickered across them.

“Don’t marry her Stevie”, you said your voice barley a whisper. You had never been one for being the centre of attention in big crowds. You could feel yourself getting flustered. “What, the fuck, did she say?” Sharon screeched. Steve didn’t seem to be listening though and his baby blue eyes never left yours.

Taking a deep breath you continued “Don’t marry her. I know this is selfish, but she doesn’t love you, not the way I do” You stepped out into the aisle. No matter the outcome of this sudden outburst you were going to want to make a quick exit. “Fuck Steve, outside of your status, I bet she doesn’t know the first thing about you deep down, not really, not like I do” “You love summer, but not because of your birthday being in July. No, you love how everyone seems to always be happier in the sun. You prefer Winter over spring or fall because you love the way the nights draw in making you feel cosey as you curl up with a book. You’d also never admit it, but you’d take a bullet for Both Sam and Bucky, if it meant they got the chance to be happy. And lastly, you love the smell of sunscreen over anything else, because it reminds you of simpler times at the beach with Bucky when you were both younger” you were rambling now, and you struggled to stop.

Everything stood still, Bucky and Sam were now grinning like idiots. Steve stood at the end of the aisle mouth agape and Sharon was just in full on meltdown mode. Sensing that you may have just made the biggest mistake of your entire life, you went to leave. Something stopped you, the urge to address Sharon.

“He gets stressed every year around the anniversary of when Bucky went missing for 4 days on a hike up a mountain.” You said spinning around to face her.

“He still blames himself even though he was found thanks to Steve. He shuts down, but if you wrap him in a blanket and play old movie’s he’ll start to open back up” the tears in your eyes were falling faster than you could dry them. You were so busy staring at her you didn’t see Steve stalk up the aisle towards you.

“One last” you turned to face Steve again, however you were cut of by the feeling of his warm lips crashing on to yours. His hands cupped your face. “Shut up Y/N” he said pulling away. He grabbed your wrist and took of rushing back up the aisle towards the exit dragging you behind him.

The church erupted into chaos as Sharon screamed for Steve to come back. Many talked about the disrespect and tutted. Bucky and Sam whooped and cheered; a few people clapped in that slow confused sort of way. It was all a blur as Steve moved quicker than he ever had in his entire life. You were still in a daze. You couldn’t quite believe you had interrupted a wedding.

Steve moved off to the side of the church his grip on your wrist tightening as he fumbled in his pocket, it was like he was looking for car keys. Suddenly he remembered where he was. What he was wearing and that he was in a tux and did not in-fact have keys on him. However, the limo he had paid for to bring you and Sam and Bucky to the wedding could be seen just down the lane from the church.

Steve turned to look at you, before shooting you a wink and he took of running, you nearly stumbled over your feet trying to keep up. The driver seemed a bit a taken a back as Steve opened the door and pulled you in behind him. You still couldn’t hear anything as your heart was beating out your chest so loud you were surprised Steve couldn’t hear it.

Steve rambled of an address to the driver of the limo, assuring him that he would still get paid for the unplanned journey. The limo set off and Steve settled into the seats pulling towards him so that you had no choice but to straddle him. Finally, your heart beat slowed enough for you to process everything, and with that you started crying again.

He was yours again, after all this time, after all the heartbreak and angst he had chosen you. You didn’t believe it, which is why you were crying, certain this was a daydream, and you would once again snap out of it and find yourself back in the church.

Steve pressed his head towards yours, pecking gentle kisses on your nose, cheeks, and forehead, as if he seemed to understand what you were thinking. He opened his mouth.

“Baby, I didn't say my vows, So glad you were around, When they said speak now”

#marvel x taylor swift #avengers fanfiction #avengers au #wanda x y/n #wanda x vision #platonic!bucky x y/n #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fluff #Platonic!sam x reader #sam wilson #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #steve angst #steve x reader #msmarvelwrites2k

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sebstanseabass · 3 years

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Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 6

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SIX

Steve left a trail of cool breeze from the outside which sent shivers on the surface of your skin. You immediately closed the door, slightly annoyed at the cold air New York had to offer.

"He seems nice." Bucky commented as soon as you got back inside. The jukebox had stopped playing. It probably already used up Bucky's money. "Looked like he couldn't hurt a fly." He added.

You agreed with Bucky as you sat back down on the high stool. He managed to bring out the drink you guys hid from Steve and placed it in front of you. A big smile spread across his face, still urging you to drink what he made just a few minutes ago. He kept convincing you that the "y/n" drink was a good and mean drink, perhaps "the best drink you'll ever have, I swear!" (even though he hadn't tried it himself). He spoke like a true businessman trying to sell his product. He never broke eye contact and kept his voice firm and strong.

"This is the first and last time I'm taking a drink from a stranger." You mumbled, picking up the drink. It was cold like the air outside.

"Hey, I'm no stranger!"

Before the drink could even reach your lips, you caught a whiff of its smell. It was kind of fruity yet minty at the same time but the scent of vodka still lingered on top of the drink. Bucky added a little umbrella, perhaps finding it in one of the cabinets while you were walking Steve towards the front door.

The first sip tasted like New York's wintery air that soon left. It was replaced by the taste of both spring and summer, basked in a state of glorious heat. "Bucky..." You gulped until there was no more left on the glass. "This is -- "

"The best drink you ever had?" His nose scrunched up.

You didn't want to feed him a big ego but even you couldn't deny that yes, it was the best drink you ever had in your life. There was something weirdly familiar in it; the same feeling that you felt as you stared at Bucky's sleeping face.

"Indeed it is." You sent him a smile. "Something familiar in all of it. For some unknown reason, I can't explain it."

"Because the drink is you." He replied, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the dishwasher beside him. "Or what I thought about you the first time I saw you."

"The first time you saw me, you were butt naked and I had a bit of a concussion. You got fruity and minty from that?"

He smirked while opening the faucet. "Fruity and minty, huh?"

"Yeah," you replied, leaning back on the stool as you crossed your arms across your chest, "that's what it tasted like."

"Interesting." He hummed.

"Wasn't that what you wanted me to taste?"

"You tell me."

"You're confusing me, Bucky." You groaned. "Man, you didn't even get a taste of it. Not one single sip and you already assumed that the drink would 'fit' my personality."

"Fruity and minty." Bucky started to clean up the glass, then the rest of the counter. You stared at him, waiting for an explanation to what he just said. He looked like something out of Vogue magazine while cleaning the counter. You, on the other hand, must've looked like hell. "I'm like a magician when it comes to drinks, y'know -- "

"If you are," you interrupted, "you could've just made your one night stand disappear. But you're not, so you, Bucky Barnes, suck."

"No," he sighed defeated, "I'm like a magician 'cause a magician never reveals his tricks. And by the way, full name is James Buchanan Barnes."

"James is a lot easier to say than Bucky. It's one syllable against two." You frowned. "You know that, right?"

"What can I say, y/n?" He leaned against one of the cabinets with a smug look on his face. "I've been Bucky my whole life."

"You've also been James your whole life. Where did you even get the name Bucky?"

"Buchanan." He shrugged.

"You got Bucky from Buchanan?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Plus, if I really were magician, Bucky Barnes had a nice ring on it. Don't you think so?"

"Whatever you say, big guy. Now pay up." You rolled my eyes. "And Bucky Barnes sounds like a villain's name. Just sayin'." This earned you a couple chuckles from Bucky.

The wiping cloth slid easily on the smooth surface of the newly-washed glass. Once he was done, he placed it back to where he got it. Bucky moved swiftly as if he knew his way in the bar. He playfully rolled his eyes at you before giving you a hundred dollar bill. "You should be the one paying me, y'know. I made a drink and helped you with a shit ton of boxes."

"James," you chuckled slowly, "between the two of us, you're clearly the rich one. Not richer. Rich. I don't even have a hundred dollars in my pockets right now, except," you grabbed the bill in his hand, "now." You placed it inside your pockets but of course, that would go to the cash register in a bit. "And you did use up some of our liquor. Even those damn new ones."

"Fair enough, then." He smiled. "Now, let's see those photos of yours."

Right. The photos that hang lonely on these chipped vintage walls, sadly deprived of human touch and sight. Before leading Bucky to one of the walls where your printed photos were, he grabbed his polo shirt (more like Peter's) and wrapped it around his body once more.

Your photos were all scattered on the walls, like nesting birds chirping in their homes; except no one would dare to look at them.

The bar was now enveloped in silence with the jukebox not playing. The only thing you could hear was the constant ticking of the wall clock that hung in between two of your photos which Steve framed after buying them from one of your failed photo exhibits. The walk towards the wall seemed much longer than it should. There was a warm feeling lingering on your stomach, the drink from earlier. You just now realized that you haven't had any solid food. Right now, there was a protein shake and liquor swarming inside your stomach like a bunch of bees. Then, a small churn came out. The instinct to hold your belly kicked in, hoping that Bucky didn't get to hear that.

He didn't say anything as he sat down on one of the booths, his gaze fixated on your photos on the walls as if studying every subject, light, and color captured by your lenses. He looked like he was inside the Met, moving from time to time to admire each photo.

"Y/n," he whispered, "these are gorgeous." Then, he turned around, sliding out of the booth to see some more. You didn't say anything. Just a small smile was enough. You were never one to take compliments anyway. "These photos should be out there, y'know, not inside the confinements of a vintage bar."

"The reason why they're here is because people from outside didn't seem to like them." You replied, trailing behind Bucky. "But that doesn't matter anyway.

He turned around with a frown etched on his face. "What do you mean?"

You pursed your lips, avoiding his gaze. "I mean it's not like people like them here. But that's okay, I guess. I mean, I'm doing product photos for small businesses. That's something."

"They're both different, right? Those photos you take in your small studio and these ones." The photos on the wall stole his attention once more. "You have the freedom to take whatever you want."

You stood there, picking at the blunt edges of the booth table, avoiding any eye contact you may have with Bucky. Suddenly, a roll of images from an early memory came to mind: Bucky's school-of paintings, tiny sculptures and the White Wolf headstone. "You seem like you're really into art."

"In whatever medium they're made, yes." He replied. "Film, painting, photography, writing -- everything!"

As far as you remembered, the only things Peter told you about Bucky were his wild adventures during his youth, and how Bucky could "run a hotel even with his eyes closed!" Peter didn't dive into the deep stuff about his stepbrother's life. It was always about girls, party, money, and booze. Perhaps Bucky's stories were only as good as stories you tell when you just want to have a good laugh while drinking. The sentimental stuff, you knew, were reserved for solemn dinner nights or even days like this inside a bar.

"Why run a hotel, then?" You genuinely asked, looking at the back of his head.

"It's the only thing I know." Bucky snickered, slowly turning around. "Besides making a mean drink, of course."

"You're never gonna let that slide, are you?"

"Never. I mean, c'mon. You've tasted my drink. You can attest to it."

You hummed, raising both of your hands up in the air. "Testify."

He grinned in response and put his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. As you looked at him studying each photo you took, you could tell he didn't want to comment anything on his career path. Peter did say Tony Stark, his adoptive father and Peter's stepfather, just gave Bucky a share of his hotel until Bucky started running it on his own. You assumed Bucky just took it out of the goodness of this Tony Stark, for adopting him and caring for him. But the real reason for why Bucky took the chance, you may never know. Even though he was an open book, there were a few chapters in him that seemed intentionally hazy, as if he didn't want other people to read them. If Peter had anything to know about these "hidden chapters" in his life, you didn't know. It looked like Bucky would just tell Peter all his wild stories but not the stories about serious matters in his life. But of course, you were just getting this observation out of the back of his head and some of his body language.

"Peter looks so happy here." Bucky commented, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "These his colleagues?"

"That was the first time he went out with his colleagues." You replied while approaching him. You stood beside him and looked at the photo. It truly felt like you and Bucky were standing in a deserted museum. "They had a pretty good time but not me. They made such a mess that night. It brought me back to when Peter would go home drunk back in college."

"Peter? Drunk in college?"

"Dead drunk. Apparently, he learned that from you." The moment these words slipped out of your mouth, a wave of panic washed over your body as the expressions on Bucky's face changed. A frown started to form. His jaw immediately clenched. His breathing became heavier each second. The uncomfortable silence deafened. "Oh god, Bucky, I'm sorry. Learned wasn't the right word. What I meant to say was -- "

"I'm hungry."

His short reply sent me into a whirl of confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you hungry?"

"I -- "

"'Cause I'm hungry. Come, let's go get something to eat."

"Bucky, listen to me."

"I did." His voice faltered. "I heard you."

"But that wasn't what I exactly meant, y'know. I mean, come on, everyone experiments in college. Partying, getting drunk, all that kind of crap -- it's all normal!"

"That's not exactly how you put it earlier." He replied, suddenly facing you. His body towered over yours. "I believe what you said was he learned it from me?"

"I didn't mean that you taught him, it's just... Come on, Bucky, with all those wild stories of you -- "

"What are you trying to say, y/n?"

"Peter has a very curious mind, especially back in college. He jumped on every opportunity he had once he's offered a new thing or a new experience. Your wild stories would always pop out every time he's drunk or just some random nights really." you released an exasperated sigh. "Look, Bucky, the point is, he was just curious. He wanted to know what and how you felt during those wild times. It's not your fault. If anything, it's his. Peter may be smart but he's a much bigger dumbass. Even you should know that. You've lived with him since he was, what, in high school?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows, a grin slowly forming on his lips. "You know, I'm starting to think you're not his best friend. Talking behind his back."

"I say much harsher things to him to his face, don't worry." You smiled. "But I do love Peter even though he's a pain in the ass. We've been through many ups and downs, him and I. It's kind of what binds us together. And hey, him constantly drinking is none of your fault, alright? It's his." You assured Bucky once more. "He can really be a big dumbass."

He nodded and took out his hands from his pockets then crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm glad to hear he has you. Though, I'm quite surprised you two haven't dated yet."

You nervously chuckled then walked away from him . "What makes you say that?"

"If I were roommates with a girl, I would've slept with her the first day."

"I doubt you'd even have a girl as your roommate." You snorted. "How are you gonna get her out of the apartment?"

The bar was filled with Bucky's roaring laughter. "I like your sense of humor, y/n. No wonder why Peter likes you."

"What?" You stopped on your tracks and turned around.

"I meant, y'know, no wonder why you're still around."

You raised an eyebrow. "That poses more questions than answers, Barnes."

"He likes you as a best friend, is what I meant."

Your tummy started churning once more but you doubted Bucky had heard that with the groan coming out of his mouth after he bumped his toe on one of the tables.

"Hey, is lunch still on the table?"

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aggresivelyfriendly · 3 years

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Chapter 1- I saw Emma Kissing Santa Claus!

Hi all! If anybody is still there/ I’m caught up in this song. It’s given me the idea for like seven chapter- here is the first. MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄🎁! The rest will be late, like those gifts that trickle in when the glow of the holidays is getting hazy. We need Christmas cheer to linger after this year, so I’m gonna publish as I write! Enjoy! And share!

They talked about it later, years after their lives had taken off into space in opposite directions, the moment they knew.

Well, the moment he knew.

"Wait, what?" Emma asked, looking up from the hollow she'd found between his arm and chest when the December air found the crevices in the windows and chilled their skin. She'd get goose flesh and he'd run his hands up and down her limbs to warm her, then pull the flannel up and over them, no matter how warm he was from doing all the work near their end. "We kissed? When we were TEENAGERS?"

"Well, I was technically a teenager the first time we slept together too."

"We didn't sleep."

Harry wiggled his eyebrows at her and smirked, "Oh, I know."

"Oh my god, I really don't remember this!" She turned all the Christmas parties she'd attended at his mum's house over in her head. Emma figured she'd been at the annual event every year since she was 15 or 16, the age he says he was when they kissed. She has almost three years on him. Maybe she was 14 at the first one. That one she recalls well, She's pretty she still had braces. Nobody kissed her. If her math is good, it's her last Christmas before moving. "No wonder you were so ballsy last year!" She slapped at his chest and he grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips.

"Nah, that was more to do with last year. I was just flush and nobody had turned me down in so long I didn't think anybody ever would again."

"I did!" She at least pretended she wasn't captivated.

"You did. At first!" He reminded her and bit her fingertips before sucking them into his mouth. "Made myself irresistible evidently." He wiggled his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes thinking back at his dogged flirting. He'd found multiple reasons to be near her and had found her close enough to the mistletoe and was charming enough that she accepted the kiss he negotiated out of her as inevitable. Negotiated, that was laughable, he laid one on her and it overwhelmed her reason. Emma thought she played it cool enough, though she remembers they held hands for the the 10 minutes after, at least.

She accepted the other things he was offering on the strength of that kiss, and the fact that since he'd slipped his tongue into her mouth so seamlessly, convincingly, all she could think about for the hours intervening was what else his mouth could do.

While she replayed the memory of that first kiss, the one that counted for her, another blurry memory flashed in her mind.

"Oh! Was it underneath the mistletoe, too?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and her beneath him in the same breath. "You were under the mistletoe the second time!"

"I was mistletoe adjacent, at best." She sighed, she meant to jest, but his long lean body pressed along the length of her clouded her mind and convinced her she wasn't tired anymore or too tipsy off champagne.

"The first time, was me under the mistletoe."

"I kissed you?"

"You did." He confirmed with another kiss.

"How'd I kiss you? Like full on?" She was a little mortified she'd kissed little Harry.

Gemma would have killed her. Would still! That was why she and Harry always just flirted at the party and met up at the inn when the wine had everybody off their head. Nobody knew, it was their Christmas surprise. The secret she looked forward to all year.

"Well, you weren't brave enough to slip me the tongue." He stuck his tongue into the corner of his mouth; that was too attractive by half.

"Hmph." Was all Emma could come up to answer with. "Did I say anything?" She smoothed her hands up his back.

His face got dreamy, and he seemed to be reliving something. "Yeah, you told me 'you're getting cute little Styles.' I always hated that nickname, but I felt a little taller that night."

Harry was descriptive, which was funny considering he could be so quiet at times, but he was quick and he knew a lot of words, more than her. He was working on his third language. He would basically narrate while they fucked and it drove her crazy when he'd describe how she looked and felt and what it was doing to him.

"What do you want to ask?" He pressed his nose to the place her collarbones met and she could fill him growing between her legs.

"How'd you know I want to ask something?" He was too observant.

He reached up and pulled the lip she didn't realize was between her teeth free. Ahh.

"Ask." He kissed the lip still imprinted with her teeth marks.

"Tell me about it. Describe it, like you do for me when you're inside me."

He blew out a breath, "Should be easy, I obsessed over it for ages after, before even."

"Before?"

"Yeah, I have had a crush on you since you were 12 and started coming round with Gem." He revealed.

"No, I don't believe it!"

"I loved that you already had your whole life planned out and you were sooo smart and then the next year you had boobs."

"That started out so well." She almost protested, she had boobs at 12!

"I was very impressed by the boobs, you wore this sweater—" she clapped a hand over his mouth.

"No more talking unless it's about that party."

He smiled at her and his eyes went soft at their corners, his dimples were suggestions of a deep feeling. "I think you had this idea, like this was your last Christmas here, in Holmes Chapel—"

She had had that idea. She'd intended to leave for a summer term in Sweden that spring and wasn't sure she'd be coming back. And she'd always loved that party, and Gemma's family. Even Gemma's goofy weird brother who was getting cuter and more confident. "Why do you say that?"

"Dunno," he tilted his head and his mouth flattened out and his eyes went somewhere else, he was looking at her but not the version in front of him. "I think you reminded me of my cousins' when they could first drink. Seemed like you were just throwing caution to the wind, letting it fly. Like you had nothing to lose, cuz this place was about to be a memory."

Emma could only find the energy to stare, she thought she nodded. He was spot on, but she wasn't even sure she could have articulated those feelings then. And she hadn't been that reckless ever before or after that day.

"I'd been watching you, and like I said, had a crush for years, um, and like, you were wearing that shiny top, like liquid silver and your long brown hair was all curled up and your cheeks were red with your merry making and I'd always loved your laugh. You're usually so calculated—"

"That's not a nice word."

"I don't mean it like a bad thing, like maybe a better word would be careful. Like all your moves were preparation for the grand future you were working towards. But when you laugh, it all falls away. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and you bend at the waist and just lose it. That night you did it a lot." He kissed her knuckles. "Did you notice I was kind of shadowing you that night?"

"Honestly, not really, I was kinda out of it, or maybe really in it instead of 5 years ahead." She always was at least a week ahead in her mind. In the actual moment, she was usually just ticking that day's checklist off to get to the next thing.

"Yeah. I could see it, you were really in your body, and it made me want you more." He laughed. "The only other time I ever see you like that is...ah..."

"Go on!" She jostled his shoulder.

He bit his lip like the imp he was and said, "When we fuck, it's like when you laugh, there's no tomorrow, or next semester, or internship you have lined up, just the next orgasm on the horizon."

She knew she was blushing but she ducked her chin and shrugged. She couldn't deny it. She could feel that when he moved inside her, when they moved together, it was like when she really lost her head and laughed at something. Better, more. Emma definitely did not tell him it was never like that with anybody else.

Not her college boyfriend, or the Danish guys she'd enjoyed over their version of freshers, and certainly not the completely nice guy she'd been dating for two months back in Amsterdam. Not one of them made her get out of her head the way Harry could. They'd be following every direction she gave them from tongue placement to tempo and she'd be observing the feelings as opposed to experiencing them. But even remembering her first kiss with Harry was a sensory experience. She gave him direction because that's who she is, but she's fairly certain even if she didn't, he'd be able to get her off just by watching her.

She wondered if it was the same as her. He was more cerebral than anybody gave him credit for. Maybe if he talked more about the kiss she'd find out.

He caught her chin, "Where'd you go?" He asked with dopey green eyes.

"I'm just trying to remember." Emma lied. "Tell me more, maybe it will come back to me."

"Oh, from my memory of the proof of your breath you may never remember." Emma could feel her cheeks heat. She had really tied one on, she was absolutely rough the next day. Utterly useless.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure I'd ever be here again."

"In Holmes Chapel? Really? You thought you'd never come back?"

"I always wanted to leave so bad, I genuinely thought I wouldn't miss it."

"But you did? You do?"

She nodded. She didn't want to explain that the first time she was way more homesick than she expected and this year, well, this year she wanted him for Christmas again.

He gave her this face then and a kiss that made her think he really was a mind reader, his crystal ball in the shape of her body.

"Not everyday." Take that Mr. Intuitive.

He gave her a smile that looked like a wink and started talking, "Like I said, I'd always just found you so impressive and you were always so pretty. But you came back from Amsterdam different."

"It was all the bike riding," she deflected and ran her hands down his arms to his lower back.

"Nah, it wasn't your body. That's always been nice. You just seemed like you were so happy and it was coming out of your pores."

"With the mulled wine?"

"Yeah! Definitely the mulled wine." He kissed her one then pressed his mouth to hers," Might have been your legs."

She snorted, "See it was the biking."

"You also had them out!" He defended. She had worn a daring skirt. "And maybe the biking." He laughed with her. "You also did that snort laugh I'd only heard through the walls during sleep overs and I was kinda tracking you."

"Stalker." He made a face. "Sorry probably not a joke to you." They didn't really talk about the peculiarities of his job. He was just Hometown Harry to her. Gemma's little brother. Her Christmas gift wrapped in deliciousness the last two years.

"I didn't really mean to, honestly. Was just like water to it's path."

"That's poetic." She teased.

"Hey, I'm a songwriter."

"I'd like to see evidence of that." Emma raised an eyebrow.

"You will." She wanted to ask but he just kept going. "Wanna know the funny thing? I never really had to look hard to find you." He went on. "You always seemed to be in the corners of my eye, like a dream I was trying to remember.

"I kind of remember that." She rolled her eyes and summoned some courage, "You looked different, and I tried to ignore it, but the more wine I had, the more I found myself comparing you to the boy I remembered from two years before."

"Hadn't been that long. I was with Gem when she told you goodbye."

She cringed. "I don't think I really looked at you that day."

"Oof, good thing I have crowds of people to stroke the old ego." At least the laugh seemed genuine though his eyes were a little dull.

"I was really remembering you in your red jumper from two parties before."

"Tell me about that party- we got off track talking about the last one." Last year she remembered In technicolor.

"Where were you the year after?"

"Studying, of course."

"Yeah makes sense." He pinched his lip, then bit hers.

"I remember thinking your jumper suited you so well and—"

"Matched your eyes."

"Yeah." She could feel the wonder of his eyes.

"But by midnight I saw that guy Spencer with his arm around your waist. Went to get a drink and was sulking with my own wine when you passed me. You had this look."

"Drunk?"

"Mischievous." He raised his eyebrows and bit his lip, "And then you pointed to the mistletoe."

"And said, 'caught you.'"

"You do remember!" He accused with a still annoyingly attractive chicken neck.

"I didn't, but I'm having a sense memory now." She widened her hips so he fit in like a piece of ikea hardware.

"Care to relive it?" He was trying to sound nonchalant, but she could see the hopeful blush.

She answered him by fitting her lips between his perfect ones and giving a lighter pressure than she had for two Christmases, waiting for his direction of how her bold move had turned out. He moaned and she sucked just a bit like she suddenly recalled. She really thought that was a wine fueled daydream, she swears. And then her mouth opened on a gasp and she slid her tongue against his and licked into his mouth before sliding her nose to the other side of his. The kiss depended until it was all over them and they would have wound up naked if they hadn't been already.

"This is different."

"We can re-enact it a little bit more faithfully later. It can be your Christmas present." Emma whispered between kisses.

"Nah." He was actually blushing, all the way down. "You're my gift."

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #tis the damn season #chapter 1 #i saw Emma kissing Santa Claus #christmas fic #that nobody asked for

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arrivisting · 3 years

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wip amnesty: versailles

Did anyone else watch Versailles?

[crickets, probably]

I loved the first season of that show. The WIGS. The DRAMA. The GILT. It helped a lot that @gofuckinggentle and I watched the first season together in Paris, after a day-trip to Versailles, and in the after-throes of Les Mis/George Blagden passion. It was tremendous fun: the right show at the right place, at the right time, with the right person (<3). Season two was a tragic waste of potential and made me furious, and season three was unwatchable. But I adored season one - it was just the right mix of silliness, EMOTION, history, and fake history. I went off the deep end reading Bourbon history and began a lot of stories set after season one (and then season two happened and murdered them). Here is one:

We're leaving, Philippe said to the Chevalier, and we’re never coming back. He meant it at the time.

There are different types of wounds. Philippe’s no doctor, but he saw enough of them on the field to know; some you live through, and some you don’t. Some heal clean, without needing much fussing. Others need hot iron or tar to stop the bleeding. Still others fester, musket-holes where fragments of grapeshot, mud, and cloth linger; unexpected scratches that suddenly belch pus when you press on the hot and heated skin.

You die fast, or you die slow, or you get better.

At Saint-Cloud, Philippe gives orders to open up only his rooms, and then, after a moment’s thought, the kitchens.

“Are we not planning to entertain?” the Chevalier asks. “Silly me, I packed silk, not sackcloth and ashes.” When Philippe stares at him, appalled, he shrugs. “We’re expecting the king, aren’t we? Sooner or later.”

“I’m in mourning. Tell him I don’t want to see him.”

“That won’t work.”

“I won’t see him.”

“You’ll have to,” the Chevalier says. “I mean, for the funeral–”

“I won’t see him,” Philippe shouts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. When he speaks again, he’s in control of himself. “I only want to see you.”

The Chevalier blinks, then smolders at him. The effect is more affected than genuine, but that’s what Philippe wants from him right now. “Ah. Shall we christen the place, then, my love?”

Around them servants – his servants, not Louis’ - have been opening the shutters, removing the holland covers from the furniture, bringing in armfuls of new linen. They’re all not looking at him so pointedly it feels like he’s being stuck with pins. Someone he pays to attend to the niceties has begun hanging black cloth over the mirrors. Philippe should care about the example he’s setting.

“Take off your coat,” he says, and the room clears. Eventually.

Louis doesn’t come to Saint-Cloud. Which is a pity, really. Philippe would have liked to bar him from his rooms with pikesmen. They could see how he likes it.

“You wouldn’t,” the Chevalier says, languidly amused. The way he says it sounds like he’s saying you should.

“I wouldn’t,” Philippe agrees, giving it just the same intonation.

“You should order your mourning clothes,” the Chevalier adds, like he thinks Philippe won’t take offense if he slips it into the conversation in the same careless tone.

“We’re not discussing that.”

“But you like new clothing–”

Philippe says nothing, but he takes the Chevalier’s chin in his fingers and pulls his face close like he might kiss him just to shut him up. Then he tightens his hold until the Chevalier’s smirk turns into a grimace. “We’re not discussing that.”

“We’re not discussing that,” the Chevalier repeats, and when Philippe lets his grip relax he shakes his head, tossing his long blond curls over his shoulder. After a moment, for effect, he gets to his feet, brushing invisible dust off his cuffs in the way that means he’s piqued and he wants Philippe to know it.

Well, the dust could be real. Saint-Cloud has been shut up for months while the court festered at Versailles in the marshes. Philippe will allow him the benefit of the doubt this time.

“All the same,” the Chevalier says softly. When he speaks that low, Philippe is allowed to pretend not to hear him, and the Chevalier to pretend not to have spoken. “You will need to do something, my darling.”

Louis doesn’t come to Saint-Cloud, because he’s too awful to give Philippe the satisfaction of having his entrance barred, or to suffer the displeasure of crooking his little finger and not having Philippe obey. Instead, because Louis is awful, he sends Bontemps himself, and two royal heralds in most stiff and ancient costumes, little portraits of Louis set around their necks.

“Oh,” the Chevalier says, sucking in his breath with intent. “How charming.”

Philippe batts his nose fondly, like he’s chastening a lapdog. “Shall I get you one for your birthday?”

“A necklace, or...?”

“I prefer the one on the left, don’t you? I know how you feel about redheads.”

“Your highness,” Bontemps says, sounding and looking pained and disappointed. Luckily, Philippe doesn’t share Louis’s transparent yearning for a father-figure, so it has no effect on him. If he’s wished that Louis had some similar need for a brother – well, that’s the past, and he left that behind at Versailles. “His majesty wishes you to know that the funeral of Madame will be held this Sunday. You are expected.”

“I am busy,” Philippe says, and gestures at his surroundings like they speak for his overwhelming state of preoccupation.

Bontemps glances at the lake – calm as a mill-pond, a clear mirror for a clear sky – and at the chateau – shut up like an abandoned property, or a house under siege, a house in mourning – and at the Chevalier, who wiggles two fingers at him.

He says, “You must attend, your highness.”

“I must do nothing, unless my brother commands me. Does he command me?”

He wouldn’t dare.

“He does,” Bontemps says.

The journey to Paris is miserable. Philippe only manages to vent a little of his spleen by loudly ordering Cosnac to expect his return to Saint-Cloud within the next week. Bontemps, block of wood that he is, doesn’t change expression, but he manages to radiate the tranquil assumption that as soon as Philippe is back in Louis’s orbit, his plans will change.

If Philippe has to spend the next two hours shut up in a landau with his brother’s valet, he’s going to stab someone. “And it might be you,” he tells the Chevalier, who has started exuding an irritating smugness that his sotto voce avocations about the need for action have been proved correct. If he has to spend that two hours with the pair of them, bouncing over the ruts in the dry, cracking road with the Chevalier fondling his knee and Bontemps staring straight ahead, he’ll definitely arrive in Paris in more of a murdering mood than a burying one. “I’m riding.”

“Don’t you think you’re arriving under enough of a disadvantage without arriving in dishabille?”

Philippe ignores him.

His thighs are burning by the time they reach the Palais Royal. He’s dusty, the pervasive white dust of the road thick on his boots, but it’s not like he’s going to be receiving in these clothes, in any case. The guards at the Palais are wearing black. He’s going to need to outfit his own men properly. He should have done it at Saint-Cloud.

He hadn’t wanted to bring death into the house where he and Henriette had been young. That’s no excuse for ignoring etiquette.

“My rooms,” he says curtly over his shoulder, tossing the reins of his horse to a waiting groom in the second courtyard. Louis isn’t there to greet him.

He should have draped the damn horse in black; he should have ridden in with a black cloak that covered its hindquarters, a black feather in his hat as long as his arm, and a face nearly as long. That’s what everyone expects from him. Drama.

“Of course, your highness,” the waiting equerry says. Philippe doesn’t know him. Versailles has sucked up all the best personnel from the residences, the way it’s sucked up all the money from Louis’s coffers, all the freedom from France. “My condolences, Monsieur.”

It’s better that Philippe doesn’t know him; doesn’t know any of the bowing black-clad guards and servants and maids he passes as he stalks down the familiar corridors to his own suite. They’d been young here too, once.

There are white lilies and roses in clusters in their accustomed vases in the first of his rooms. Philippe stops dead for a moment.

They’re fresh; cut this morning, from the perfection of their petals. Their scent hangs heavy in the air, spring itself despite the late summer outside. It’s sweet and thick, and so familiar his throat closes for a moment and his fist clenches on the flower he’d reached out to touch, crushing it.

Did someone have them put out on purpose? For a moment, Philippe wonders. A mourning lady-in-waiting who’d admired his wife, perhaps.

Louis?

He shakes his head, angry at himself for the thought. It’s an order Henriette gave with a decisive clap of her hands a decade ago, and never revoked. Part of the pattern of this place, the pattern they all follow, weaving something greater together. The court hasn’t been at the Palais-Royal since his mother died, but the curtains are still drawn open and closed each day by the staff that remain, in case Louis should come: the gardens cared for, the flowers placed in his rooms as part of the usual preparation for Monsieur’s residence.

“There you are,” the Chevalier says, sounding aggrieved. “Do you know, I had to be quite firm with the guard on your doors before they would let me pass? You shouldn’t have ridden ahead like that and left the poor old fellow and I in your dust – Oh, good, you’ve found something suitable.”

Philippe turns around. The long black train of his mantle swirls around his ankles. “I’m being thrifty,” he says, the word in his mouth an unpleasant thing. “Am I quite out of fashion?”

The Chevalier smiles. “You look magnificent,” he says, and touches Philippe’s cheek with a fingertip. He smells like musk and ambergris, the scent of him usually enough to make Philippe’s stomach warm, his cock stir. Strong, powerful. Male. “Down to your shoe buckles. Jet?”

“Black diamonds,” Philippe says, giving him an appalled glance for the suggestion. “Oh, of course; you weren’t here for Mother’s funeral.”

“This is what you wore then?”

“I didn’t have time to order new clothes,” Philippe says, and the Chevalier glances at him, but forbears to mention the past three weeks at Saint-Cloud, enough time to turn out a full trousseau for even the least endowed of heiresses. “That will have to be attended to. There will be –” he swallows – “Ceremonies. Formal visits of condolence from members of the family, dignitaries of the court.”

“And then the funeral,” the Chevalier says. His eyes have gone soft, honey-hazel, salt-caramel. Henriette’s eyes were darker.

“And then the funeral,” Philippe says, and closes his eyes. Admitting that feels like one of Louis’s victories; a humiliating defeat. A painful thing, lodging in his throat like a stone. It was easier in Saint-Cloud to pretend that Henriette was still at Versailles, where he left her. Alive, only in the next room. He doesn’t want the Chevalier to look at him like that.

“I’ll be by your side,” the Chevalier says, and his voice has gone soft, too. Gentle. It’s not a common tone for him, although he’s not incapable of careless kindness when it suits him. Genuine tenderness is rarer still.

“I shouldn’t have brought you,” Philippe says, and opens his eyes. “You can’t be by my side. Not for this.”

The Chevalier looks like he’s been slapped. “Philippe –”

“We have to be serious. I have to be serious.”

“I only want to help–”

“You can’t.” Philippe smiles, unhappily. “This time is for family.”

“God help you, then,” the Chevalier says, in a tone Philippe's more familiar with, and takes a step back.

Henriette is dead. His wife died in Louis’s bed, the way she lived, choking on black bile and her own blood and then the air itself, thick with the smell of lilies.

As soon as Philippe is officially in residence, the visits begin. They continue with monotonous regularity for the next three days. Philippe is scrupulously well-behaved with most of the useless courtiers, lies rolling around their mouths like marble. There are a few who look genuinely sorry. He’s icily, regally Bourbon with the ambassadors from Spain and from Venice and from Genoa, from the German princelings and Scandinavias. With the cardinal from Rome. He’s a little less well-behaved with the two-tongued lying bastard from the Netherlands who condoles with him, saying how the stories of Madame's beauty and grace gone before her; what a loss she must be to France!

"She is a great loss to me," Philippe says. "She had already brought the greatest possible glory to France."

"Truly, your highness," the Dutchman says, and turns the sweaty colour of one of his pale cheeses. Philippe can only hope that he reports the conversation to his master verbatim. If William of Orange doesn't understand his meaning now, he'll understand it soon.

"Philippe," the Queen says, and kisses his cheek. Of course she looks good in mourning. She's Spanish. She's at her most comfortable in a black mantilla and clutching a crucifix.

Marie-Therese fills the formal role of queen admirably in court ceremonials, but she draws back her dignified skirts from the day-to-day of the court, the theatricals and the dances and the back-biting. It was Henriette's responsibility to be the female energy of the court, at the heart of each banquet, dancing the lead of each masque and court ballet. Louis overflows with meaning, produces it in excess, and one wife alone isn't enough to channel it for him, to fill all roles female for France the way Louis fills all male roles.

It'll be the Montespan's job, soon, if Philippe knows his brother - and he does. The women themselves are interchangeable to Louis. The work goes on.

"Sister," Philippe says, and kisses her cheek in turn. The lace of her veil is gritty under his lips.

Marie-Therese regards him soberly when he draws back. She doesn't like him. Philippe's always known that she doesn't approve of him, even before she made it clear in the regency conseil chamber.

She looks tired. Her face is drawn more tightly than usual, her dark eyes heavy. It would touch Philippe, if he thought it was truly for Henriette. "My husband sends his regards."

"Funny, then, that he sends them through you," Philippe says.

Marie-Therese stares at him. People think Louis has poise, but he's easy enough to upset if you know his weak places and aren't afraid to put your fingers in them - which, in all fairness, most people are. Louis has nothing on his wife. "He has been otherwise engaged."

"I do believe I could put money on just how he's been engaging himself," Philippe says. "How is dear Athénaïs?"

"She is well," Marie-Therese says. "And the Chevalier de Lorraine?"

"Prostrate with grief."

"Henriette is a great loss."

"It was her left side," Philippe says. "I was trying to help. It was her left."

Marie-Therese’s face, still and regal as a wooden Madonna, doesn’t change. He can’t read in her face whether she believes him or not. He wants to shake her until a real emotion comes out. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

“You of all people should know better than to confuse the king with God,” he says.

“Your highness,” Masson says. Her hands are clutched behind her back. She really is absurdly plain, brown from the sun and strained from whatever books she spends her time on. The male attire makes her look plainer. “Monsieur.”

There’s some kind of irony in the fact that Louis has made a pet of this girl dressed in boy’s clothing, but treats Philippe with such colossal scorn over his female finery. What’s her actual name? He can’t ask her that. Louis has forbidden it. The king states she is a man, and – voila! She is a man. “Monsieur Masson.”

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” Her eyes are earnest and blue in her simple face. Far too earnest for Louis’s court. “The damage done by the poison was simply too much. I wished so much – but I did all that could be done for her highness.”

“I’m sure you did,” Philippe says lightly. He holds his hand out to her to be kissed and looks pointedly to his left. “I thank you for your service.”

She doesn’t move.

Honestly.

“Etiquette,” Philippe says, “for male members of the King’s household, states that you go to one knee when dismissed by a son of France, mutter ‘It was my honor, your highness,’ kiss my rings, and get to your feet in one smooth motion. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Come now.”

“I came to make my report to you,” the boy-girl says, hands still clenched behind her. “About Madame la Duchesse’s death.”

“I was there. I know what happened.”

“Yes, your highness,” Masson says. Her eyes are still too sorry. He remembers them from that night.

What a horrid, intimate vigil it had been.

Henriette’s left hand in his, her blood gurgling in her throat; Louis on the other side of the bed, holding her right. She’d reached for him first, of course. Philippe had been the afterthought, her gesture to him the last attempt in a lifetime to balance the equation belatedly.

“You left the court after her highness’s death -"

“I was there while she was alive.”

“Yes, your highness. What I meant is that you were not there to receive my report on her death.”

“You report to Louis.”

“I must also report to you.”

“Well, that’s a new line,” Philippe says. He recrosses his legs, one gleaming shin in its black silk stocking replacing its partner in the ascendant. “I assume he told you to come here today. When is my dear brother planning to make his own sympathy call?”

Masson says nothing. What can someone outside their particular knot of Bourbon blood and loyalty and fear say? It’s best to say nothing at all. Philippe would approve, if he didn’t read her adamant loyalty to Louis into her strained face.

Louis trusts her. How unfair that she seems to be worthy of it.

“Well?”

“I conducted the autopsy on Madame la Duchesse, on the king’s orders. The stomach was flooded with a fermented bile, and the organs of the abdominal cavity were in an advanced state of gangrene –”

“Stop,” Philippe says.

He’s going to be sick. The room swims. His shoe-buckles glisten up at him, the dark diamonds in their silver settings performing marvelous feats of multiplication, dividing into twos and fours and eights.

Masson is holding his arm and saying, “Keep your head low, your highness. Take a full breath. And another. Do you have any scent?”

He needs her to stop touching him. No wonder she came into his apartments with her hands behind her back. Those hands had cut Henriette apart and opened her for study, had exposed the shadowy places in her heart, the secrets and the sadness.

Masson’s advice helps, and after a few lungfuls Philippe has a hold on himself enough to wave her aside. “Finish your report. It was poison?”

“Antimony,” Masson says. She’s still too close, still watching him as though he’s her patient, but she drops back into her report. “As we had suspected, but my tests have now confirmed it. She would have felt pain in her right, your highness, as well as her left. I could not have saved her once the poison was ingested.” That helps, somewhat; and not at all. “That is my private report, known to the king and the queen, and to Marchal and Louvois. His majesty has had it given out that her highness died of a colic in an attack of cholera morbus.”

“Of course he has.” Louis can’t be blamed for it if Henriette died a natural death. “He sent you to tell me this.”

“He wished you to know.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

Masson is still looking at him with earnest, diagnostic eyes. Philippe offers his hand again, in distance and in dismissal, and this time she manages an almost acceptable bow before leaving.

#wip amnesty #My fic #versailles

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

04: CHOCOLATE

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: real life, my dudes, it’s real life. (well, after a lil texting sequence.) writing drew is actually hard, believe it or not, and i edited this chapter right after finishing chapter 14 -- and the difference is huge. i’m really excited! as always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, and tell me what you thought!

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

drewstarkey | 10:53am Hey! I’ll be running a little late, so meet you at quarter past noon?

addisonmallory | 11:07am That's okay, I would’ve been late, too lol

drewstarkey | 11:08am Okay cool so it’s not just me hahah

addisonmallory | 11:09am Nope, I’ve got a reputation ngl

drewstarkey | 11:11am Let’s see who’s the worse one, then 😂

addisonmallory | 11:14am It’s on 😎

◇

It takes all in Addie to keep Marianne from tagging along. If the French-Brit is anything, it’s stubborn and persistent, which Addie claims to be the worst two stereotypical traits she could’ve picked up from the two cultures – and they both know she’s right.

‘I won’t bother you,’ says Marianne, looking at Addie through her rose-tinted sunglasses. ‘I’ll just be behind you. You won’t even know I’m there!’

Addie sighs and leans sideways against the doorway. Marianne’s foot is blocking the door from closing, and this is all dragging out way beyond rational.

‘Marianne, I’m going there for literally five minutes. It’s not a big deal.’

‘He’s a famous actor.'

‘He’s not even that famous. I met him in a fucking Tesco, Marianne!’

The look she receives for that statement is scorching – but the edge in the girl’s eyebrow relaxes, and Marianne gives way to one of her quiet sighs. ‘Fine. Whatever. Go have fun.’

‘Thanks,’ says Addie; a weak attempt to keep the bitter tone at bay.

The door shuts with a bang – she waits until she hears faint footsteps disappearing into the heart of the apartment. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Marianne, but the girl usually lives in her own world and tends to disregard the common notions of what would be okay in a situation like this. Addie doesn't hold it against her. She can’t hold who Marianne is against herself.

With this now over and done with, Addie walks down two flights of stairs and exits the building. It’s a sunny day, just like it was yesterday, and she takes some pride in the fact that she’s got her contacts in, and sunglasses, and a face that doesn’t look like somebody tortured her for a week. There’s a spring to her step even if she tries to control it, and really, Addie just feels great.

Although, she still can’t believe she’s about to meet up with Drew Starkey to exchange phones because he got startled and gave her the wrong one.

She doesn’t even have the damn photo they took together.

The thought makes her laugh, and relax a little, and somehow it clicks in her head that Drew really is just a regular guy, susceptible to ridiculous shitty things happening to him just like everyone else. It calms her on her walk down to Tesco, even when it’s a few minutes after they’ve agreed on meeting up and he's still not here.

Expected, really. He did say he’d be late, after all.

When he finally walks out of the car, she doesn’t realise it’s him, at first. The car he’s driving is a silver Toyota, looking a little older than she'd expect. He parks it a couple dozen feet away from her, and the only reason she even takes note of the car is because it’s similar to the one her high school friends used to drive when they were all still back in town. Her eyes land on the dark-haired figure inside the car and recognises him only when the Atlanta sun shines its light on him, making the brown strands appear almost blonde, blonde structure framed by the sun’s gentleness.

Something in Addie flutters. It’s not butterflies, but the feeling of excitement at the prospect of an adventure, or something entirely surreal yet about to happen.

Drew’s face breaks into a smile as warm as summer itself at the sight of her. She gives a little wave, clutching his phone in her hands. It takes him a couple of seconds to cross the distance between them, and he joins her under the shade.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi.’ Addie grins back, the sheer lack of knowing what to do bringing heat to her cheeks. ‘Nice car you got there. My friend had the same one.’

He glances at the car with pride in his eyes, nodding. ‘Yeah, she’s a badass. Stuck with me through thick and thin.’

‘You got the AC?’

‘Yeah, I had it installed a few years back, when I moved here. Your friend didn’t?’

‘Nope.’ Addie shakes her head, sighing at the mere thought of the days she spent roasting in that car during midsummer roadtrips. ‘Some AC would be good right now. I walked here and honestly, I pretty much melted off. Even wearing this.’

The girl grabs a handful of the dress below her waist, the lower part of the lightest fabric she could find in her closet. It’s an ordinary summer dress meant for beaches and walks under the Mediterranean sun, light blue with flowers scattered all over it, and reaching just to her knees when still. The day is windy, so the fabric sways on the wind, pulling itself a little higher, instead.

Drew chuckles at her comment and makes one about misjudging the temperature and choosing to wear long jeans instead of shorts, and stops himself mid sentence. ‘Ah, fuck.’

Addie recognises the sigh and the eyeroll, and figures something’s up even before he runs his fingers through his hair, saying, 'I forgot something. I'll be right back.'

Before she manages to mutter ‘Okay’, he’s making a beeline for his car. She watches him take something out of the glove compartment and he’s back within seconds, holding one of the biggest Hershey’s chocolate bars Addie has ever seen, and her phone is on top of it. She lets out a small chuckle, feeling her eyebrows come closer.

Drew holds the two in front of her, scratching the back of his neck with the other hand. ‘This is a little something for the inconvenience. And – and as congratulations, you know, for getting the internship.’

‘Oh my god, you didn’t need to buy me a chocolate,’ Addie says, voice high pitched in a combination of laughter and disbelief.

‘No, I did. Just – just take it, okay?’

‘Okay, thanks.’

Addie’s fingers wrap around the chocolate and she slips her phone into her pocket, handing him his. It feels odd—this whole interaction does—and she has the stupidly childish need to stare at her feet, but she makes herself look up at him, and he does the same once he glances briefly at his phone, putting it into the back pocket of his jeans. He’s squinting a little, and she can’t tell if it’s because of the sun and the fact that he’s not wearing sunglasses, or because that way it's easier to mask the awkwardness she knows he’s also feeling.

She offers him a smile, earnest as he can, and sees his shoulders drop a little.

The smile he gives in return is so genuinely apologetic that Addie finds it sweet – contagious, too.

‘Look, I really am sorry about this whole thing. I know I keep apologising, but I mean it. The chocolate was the least I could’ve done.’

‘And it’s more than enough,’ she reassures him. ‘Honestly. You’re all good. It’s not like you tried to steal my phone.’ She squints at him, jokingly, and crosses her arms on her chest. ‘Unless...?’

It makes him laugh, wide and bright, and his hair moves gently as his head shakes. ‘Fuck no. I’m not skilled enough for that.’

‘Yeah, you’re driving an old Toyota that does’'t even come with an AC. Not good enough for a thief.’

Drew’s laughter persists, and Addie lets herself relax a little. She leans against the tree with the side of her body, a little tired of being on her feet for so long, one of her hands stuck in her pocket and the other holding onto the chocolate that's getting softer between her fingers and her palm.

The man in front of her glances around with an edge to it, just like he did back inside the supermarket.

‘I should get going,’ he says. ‘It’s an interview week, so…’

Addie smiles. ‘Yeah, it’s cool. Thanks for bringing my phone back.’

‘Once again, I’m really—’

‘Okay. It was nice seeing you again. I can’t hear you apologise one more time so I’m going to leave.’

She considers turning on her heel and pretending to walk away, but she only takes a single step back and gives him a cheeky grin, instead. Drew is staring at her, squinting a little, probably because she’s all in the sun now and her dress is more than a little reflective.

He raises two fingers, gives her a little salute. ‘Bye, then.’

Addie repeats the word, mimicking his gesture.

Drew grins at that and it’s the last she sees of his face, as he turns toward his car and walks away. He waves at her driving out of the parking lot, while Addie fumbles with her headphones and her phone, and she waves back.

The moment he’s out of sight, she walks back under the tree, completely leaning her back against it. The breeze is enjoyable now, something between comfortable and warm, and Addie feels her heart thumping in her chest. Her eyes flutter and a shaky breath leaves her lungs, lips curling into a smile. Her hands may not be sweaty, but she feels sweaty all around, and knows she should be getting home as fast as possible because of the chocolate she’s holding, but she just... she can’t.

It’s not like Addie Mallory to get her head spinning at the sight of a boy – far from it. In fact, she likes to think of herself as an experienced person with a level-headed, realistic perspective on life and everything that constitutes. She’s put her career and future first for years now, and this is the first time she feels like she’s taking baby steps when talking to someone new, instead of striding.

Except, be as it is, Drew Starkey isn’t just someone new. Even if Addie is used to meeting people of far more importance than her, it’s usually in her line of business, and it’s usually people she knows what to expect from. This is someone who she feels like she knows what to expect from except he breaks all those expectations with ease.

It’s far from being the same, so Addie allows herself to be okay with her heart racing, palms sweating, and just getting overall excited like a schoolgirl. This doesn’t make her any less mature or her priorities any less set in stone.

As Addie goes into her text messages, rereads the one from Harry Martin, she realises that her life definitely took a 180 the day before. She texts him back, letting him know she’s available whenever and apologising for the late reply. Her phone rests against her chest, warm and familiar.

She’s glad to have it back.

But, even if she’s having a hard time admitting it, she’s not glad that her story with Drew is over.

◇

05: TOMFOOLERY

tagging. @jjmaybanksbaby @taiter-tots @sacredto @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @sacredto @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129

#drew starkey #outer banks #obx #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x oc #outer banks fanfiction #phone swap series

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nothinggold13 · 4 years

Text

Peter As Spring

An Explanation/Defense.

I’ve noticed that most people, when comparing the Pevensie children to the seasons, think of Lucy as Spring & Peter as Summer. And, with their reasoning, I can easily see how Lucy could be spring. She definitely embodies the youthfulness & hope & light & growth we associate with the season. But I cannot, for the life of me, see how Peter is summer; especially not when that means he is somehow more summery than Lucy is.

I mean, summer is HEAT. It’s sunlight and everything is deeply alive. It’s openness and freedom. And while Peter is kind, and warm, and wise, the qualities that make summer what it is are much more suited to Lucy. In fact, in the books, it is Lucy who - at the name of Aslan - “got the feeling you have when [...] it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer.” Lucy is already associated with summer.

But what makes Peter spring, specifically? [There is a TL;DR at the bottom if you don’t care for my rambling about my points.]

Often the focus is put on the latter half of spring; the part when everything begins blooming & it becomes warm. But where I’m from, spring is a fickle season. Spring is about the melting snow, long before it is about anything growing... and just because everything has become green does not mean it won’t snow again. So in my eyes, spring is not about warmth & blooming so much as it is about becoming warm, and new growth. It’s about the first shoots of hope pushing through the earth, not about a hope that is steady and strong. It is about the fear of cold, but coming up anyways; courage in spite of everything. It’s about letting go of your inhibitions or fear or complacency and letting yourself begin to bloom. Spring means something is beginning.

This is Peter.

He’s not hot-headed; he doesn’t lose his temper easily. He’s a warm person, sure, but summer isn’t just warmth; it’s heat. While Lucy is ready to fly off the handle often, especially in PC, Peter acts as a peacemaker. A mediator. Someone in between.

Peter does not believe in Narnia at first, but before he sees it, he becomes open to the idea, due to his conversation with Professor Kirke. While he may not yet believe, he is willing to let some light in.

Peter is known for showing courage even when he is afraid, and making himself do what is needed, even when he doesn’t want to: “[He] did not feel very brave; [...] but that made no difference to what he had to do.”

And yet, for all his growth in LWW, he still doubts & hesitates in PC. He doesn’t see Aslan when Lucy says he is there, though he still “stares his eyes sore” & hopes she is right. But it’s a fickle hope. He doesn’t hang his decision upon it.

I want to discuss a headcanon, now, which is that Peter struggles with mild depression, as well as how this further makes me associate Peter with spring. I will share a few quotes from various fanfictions I have written and explain their context here:

“Then when the cold made Peter feel frozen with fear and regret, he'd spend his time at home next to a roaring fire, which promised him that they would have spring again. After all, Peter always felt more like a king during the spring.” This is from the very first Narnia fanfiction I wrote, “Always Winter.” This moment cemented the symbolism in my head. Peter feels more like a king in spring, because that’s when he was crowned. Spring makes him feel light & young again. Spring allows him to breathe.

“It was one of the first flowers of the spring: the spring that conquered always-winter: the spring that conquered death. And in his mind, the primrose was a reminder of Aslan: of his strength, of his impossibility, and yet of his steadfastness. It was He, after all, who conquered winter. It was He who brought spring again.” In this fic, “Poppies & Primroses,” I once again considered Peter & his relationship with spring.

“In the daylight, with his friends and family close, he was happy. In the evening, surrounded by friendly conversation and high spirits, he was happy. In the spring, under beautiful skies and atop fresh grass, he was happy. Peter loved Narnia. He loved his people, and his country, and Aslan, and being a king. He had to be happy. How could he not be happy?” This fic, titled “Happier,” was written entirely about Peter’s depression. Like I said, I believe it’s a mild depression, and it comes and goes. Canonically, Edmund is “graver and quieter” than Peter, so we know Peter is not melancholy 24/7. But there is still a weight under that happiness, which will be read next.

“He blamed a lot of things, like his age, and his worries, and his memories, and battles, and wounds; and in a way he was right. But he didn't know that years of battles and bloodshed left scars he couldn't see. The insignificance came and went, as he gathered with family and friends, and as he prayed, to the point he sometimes wondered if he even felt it at all. But sometimes he still felt like nothing. Sometimes he felt like stone.” This, also from “Happier,” is where I introduced the depression specifically. Sometimes Peter felt heavy, for reasons he didn’t understand. (We don’t know enough about Peter during the Golden Age to say this cannot be true. So while it is definitely a headcanon, and thus not necessarily true to the books, I do believe it makes good sense for his character.)

“When Peter hit the floor of the spare room, he felt the change instantly: a weight gone, a cloud lifted. He assumed it came with his youth that he loved to move again, and that he never seemed to get tired the way he used to. He never felt nothingness again. The battle scars he'd received, and the facial hair he'd grown, had faded away on his journey out the wardrobe, and for quite a while he didn't realize that the illness in his mind had been erased, too.” THIS is where my headcanon differs from many others: yes, Peter struggled with mental illness, but it changed with the rest of him when he came back out of the wardrobe at the end of the Golden Age. (The reasoning for this is worth another post, probably. In essence, I believe Peter was meant to be in England more than Narnia - Magnificent King though he was. Obviously they all were, but Peter especially. Narnia helped him begin to grow, but he needed England more in the long run.) Although, I should mention that with a couple other headcanons I have running through my head now, I do believe it’s possible the depression returned when Peter was in his 20′s or so.

“For a moment, just a moment, Peter did not believe in ending worlds. He believed only that there would be spring again.” From “A Reflection of Closed Doors,” a fic which is very fundamental to my vision of Peter Pevensie. Once again I attribute the quote “we shall have spring again” to Peter. The fic also compares Peter to closed doors; the idea that he is always in between, and never fully where he wants to be. This fits with the idea that spring is the beginning (and yet also the ending), rather than being fully self-sufficient. It’s always either looking ahead or looking back.

“He didn't know whether she pretended, or whether her hope was genuine, but he wanted - needed - to believe it was the latter. [...] Wherever Peter's faith rested, hope had been built shakily on top of it, shifting with the wind, and sometimes blowing away completely.” This comes from “Lessons Never Learned,” which is largely from Peter’s perspective, but is centered around both he and Lucy. I suppose this isn’t necessarily evidence I’ve written of his depression, but it is about his heaviness & fickle hope.

“When Peter held Rhindon he was reminded of easier days. The sword was lighter than he remembered, but it was perfect for his hands. His childhood came back to him. For the first time in a long time, to be a king was to be a kid again. The magic began anew; a game and an adventure all at once; a renewed belief in heroes.” Also from “Lessons Never Learned,” this goes along with the quote from “Happier” about him finding his light again after leaving Narnia at the end of LWW. Even when he goes back in PC, he is lighter than he used to be, and that’s important. He is able to grow again, now that, so to speak, the snow has melted.

“But kings rarely begin and end with a single conquest; battle follows battle when the world is new and the winter still looms overhead. Over time Peter lost that faith that he would make it home, in fact, he began to expect the opposite. And worse than that, it wasn’t long until he didn’t fear it.” This is from an unpublished fic, which I kind of like, but also worry is too morbid. That being said, it definitely drives home the idea that Peter is depressed. I do not believe he wants to die, by any means. But, at his lowest, he also feels passive about it. Peter fully expects to die in battle, and this thought doesn’t bother him... at least, not much.

The point of those examples is that I believe Peter is constantly moving in and out of the symbolic “cold” or “winter.” Peter does not always feel warm and alive and joyful and free. He often feels heavy. He also NEEDS hope more than the others do, in his way. He often feels hopeless, but he seeks it desperately.

TL;DR -- Spring represents fickleness, both retreating cold & growing warmth, new bursts of life and hope, becoming rather than being, and beautiful new beginnings. Peter has hope but doubts it, often feels “cold” but moves towards the light, acts with courage even when he does not feel brave, and is always growing in life, hope, faith, joy, bravery, and wisdom. Peter is always finding new beginnings. Peter is spring.

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia headcanon #peter pevensie #someone on ig asked for my reasoning #guess what #I've got a heck ton of reasoning

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years

Text

Right now could last forever - Billy Hargrove

Synopsis: Inspired by “A daydream a way” by All Time Low and the following request: Okay so I wrote this prompt and i’d love to see it with best friend!Billy. “Are you jealous or something?” “Have i not made that obvious? Of course i’m jealous!”

Please help a girl out by reblogging. Thank you

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

For the longest time, I was convinced of two things.

One, I was convinced that in every friendship there comes a moment when the line between friendship and more becomes extremely visible. You can see it quite clearly. And in that moment you get to decide whether to cross it or not. Once the moment has passed, that’s it. That one little choice defines that relationship from that point on.

And two, I would never get myself tangled up in a relationship where that line was not clearly defined.

For the longest time in my life, I was a fucking dumbass.

Billy Hargrove came into my life in the fall of 1984. He swept over me like a thunderstorm in summer. Loud and unforgiving and filled with rage. Someone, and I can’t remember who that was, once said that misery loves company. I never believed in those words until I met Billy.

There was something about him that was so intoxicating. I wanted to know him, genuinely know him. He had a perpetual scowl on his face but that wasn’t what I cared about, I didn’t entirely buy that. His eyes, they were so sad, so deeply sad. I knew that sadness because it was the same feeling that looked back at me every time I looked into a mirror.

For a while, we were orbiting around each other like two planets always close but never destined to meet. And then, somehow, somewhen, the universe shifted and we collided and life as I knew it was never the same again.

He asked me to tutor him in English, said he didn’t really understand the shit he had to read, said those big words didn’t make sense to him. I said yes because if someone like Billy asks you for a favour, you don’t say no. Billy who was always so effortlessly cool and unbothered.

I looked at him then and I knew then, that we would never have that moment where lines had to be defined. Because a guy like Billy didn’t even know lines existed when it came to girls like me. I did though. I knew there wasn’t gonna be a moment because I took it away from us. I drew the line myself. Nothing was ever gonna come of this that was ay more than a friendship. I thought I knew it then and so I took it upon myself to define things that never needed to be defined. And I drew the line and I thought that was it.

Back then I was so sure that we could never be anything but friends. I was a rainy day in spring. I was muted colours and damp grass and hayfever. Billy was the middle of summer. He was warm august evenings, BBQs with friends, 4th of July fireworks.

I tutored him about 2 or 3 times and it felt like it was always supposed to be this way, Billy and me. Like two puzzle pieces fitting so well. We bonded over our love for the same bands and our hatred for the same stupid things. But what really brought us together was the realization, that the same sadness lived in both our hearts.

From then on, Billy was a permanent fixture in my life. Like once he was there he wasn’t gonna leave again, ever. Like my life was a vinyl record and he was a scratch and no matter how much you polished or scrubbed it wasn’t gonna go away. No, that metaphor doesn’t hold up because Billy wasn’t a bad thing. He was maybe the one good thing in my life. He was permanent, like a tattoo. Something, someone, I chose to have around. Someone to make me remember what it felt like, being alive.

Tuesdays were my favourite days because we had his whole house to ourselves. My parents didn’t give a shit where I was and his dad and Susan had to work all day. Max was hardly around either way and so it was just us.

We sat on the ugly gray linoleum floor of his kitchen passing a joint back and forth, goofy smiles on our faces. That’s how we spent most Tuesdays, getting high and just — being. Just being around each other. What else was there to do for a teenager in Hawkins Indiana in 1984 though? What do you do in a town where kids and teens go missing on a regular basis and yet everyone goes about their day as if it was nothing special? I mean, yeah they built us a huge ass mall but what good did that do? All they did was add capitalism to this mess.

So we sat there, giggling and dreaming dreams too big for us and using words we didn’t really understand. Or maybe we did but we surely weren’t aware of the gravity they held then. Words like forever.

“ What’s your favourite colour? “ Billy asked me one Tuesday afternoon. He didn’t give me time to finish though. “ And don’t say shit like seafoam green or something. I don’t got a fucking clue what seafoam green is. Just — just gimme a straight answer. “

I didn’t tell him that my favourite colour was the exact shade of blue of his eyes. Or maybe the red of his lifeguard shorts that made him almost glow in the summer sun. I thought it then but I didn’t say it. You don’t say stuff like that and expect the line not to be crossed.

The line. That fucking line I draw myself. I had to remind myself of it every once in a while when my thoughts went drifting and the line felt like it was going to smudge a little. I had to draw it again. In the sand. In the clouds. Anywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t let myself forget about it. Because forgetting would only end in heartbreak.

“ I like red. “

“ Yeah? I like red too. “ And that made perfect sense to me then because he was red. Anger and wrath and chaos. Warmth. Comfort. Love.

“ What are you grinning about, huh? Looking like a fool over there. “ I wondered, nudging his thigh with my foot. He just kept grinning, tiny wrinkles forming around his smile, his eyes. He always smiled with his eyes, at least when the smiles were genuine. I adored that.

“ Nothing.”

“ Wish you could see your face right now. It’s not nothing, clearly”

“ I don’t know, “ Billy replied and shrugged “ I’m just — I like our Tuesdays. I like not having to get back to anything. Right now, right now could last forever and I wouldn’t mind. Wouldn’t give a single fuck.”

That made my heart beat so fast, I could feel it in my chest, drumming in my ears, tingling in my fingers. But that’s what friends do, right? Spend all their time together. Share a place that feels safe. Even if that place isn’t a specific place at all. Maybe that place could be a person. A heart.

It was clear to me then, that Billy Hargrove was my soulmate. Maybe not in a romantic way but in a way that meant much more. My heart was his, my soul was his, my mind was his. And in return, I had all of him. No longer were we orbiting around each other, we were the same then. One lone planet floating around in the universe. Terribly alone but never lonesome.

The thing about the line is that something I wished I hadn’t drawn it. Sometimes I wanted to smudge it like lead on paper. I knew I couldn’t do that, it would ruin what we had. I could’ve just as well have ripped my own heart out, the pain would’ve matched.

So when things got all quiet and I felt like life wasn’t gonna judge me too harshly, and when I felt really really down or really really brave, I let myself get lost in daydreams. Ones where I stepped over the line, into something else. Something more. I let myself relish in those daydreams, soak them up like a goddamn sponge. They overwhelmed me sometimes, leaving me with nothing to say, because I just didn’t know where to start and where to stop. But those daydreams felt safe. I could watch from this place of security and if I kept my mouth shut and keep my feelings in those daydreams, it meant I never had to lose what we had.

Weekends meant going out. They meant getting away from everything but each other. Never from each other. Sometimes we would go to Carmel, sometimes Lafayette, sometimes Terre Haute. Most of the time though, we ended up in some dive bar at the side of the road in some tiny village. No one knew us there and maybe that was the charm of it all. We could be anyone. We could be anything. Even to each other. If only I would’ve let myself feel those things.

Billy drove the Camaro to wherever it was we were going and the we’d decide on who would drive us back. Usually, we took turns. One weekend I would stay sober, the next he would. I didn’t realize then, but Billy letting me drive his car, his baby, that meant a whole lot. To the both of us. It’s just that neither of us was terribly aware of it then.

It was the summer of 1985, a warm June night. The fireflies were back, the cold of the winter and spring finally gone, making way for summer heat and longer nights. We drove aimlessly around, trying to find a place to waste away our youth, get drunk of things they shouldn’t have sold us, to feel alive. It was an escape for us. From our lives, our fears, everything that made life feel so wrong. Those nights driving along the roads, music blasting from the car radio, those were the little moments that my life felt right.

Like nothing mattered but us and the vastness of the world waiting before us. A world that didn’t know us yet. One the let us be whoever we decided to be. Sometimes I wondered if in that world I could be a girl that Billy liked. But then I remembered the line. And I shut those thoughts out.

O'Charley's was an Irish pub a few towns over from Hawkins. It was, I assume, founded by someone that had never been to Ireland in their life nor did they know anyone Irish. It was very little authentic Irish pub and quite a lot party city with all the paper shamrocks and tiny flags everywhere. It was charming though, in all it’s mess there was something about it that made us come back time and time again.

That June night, I was wearing a red dress I had snagged from my mom’s closet. For all her faults, she really was a looker in the 70s and her clothes had no business hanging untouched and unloved in her closet because she had decided the 80s were her time to shine in boring velour pants and blouses that made her look 10 years older.

So I wore that red wrap-around dress that flowed around my knees with every step I took and I thought that if I can veil myself in red, in Billy’s colour, maybe I can trap a little of him, of his energy, of his confidence, of his warmth, in me.

All the people here knew about us, was our faces and the fake names on our fake IDs. We could be anyone we wanted to be in here. And for a pair of 17-year-olds that is the biggest power one can only possess. To be whoever you want to be in a world that tries so hard to put you down over and over again and squish you in a mould of picket fences and loveless marriages. Time stood still for the nights I was with Billy in a bar where no one knew the real us. Or maybe they did. Maybe we were the real us when we were there.

I can not tell you what Billy wore that night, this boy had 4 different outfits that he kept rotating. In the end, it didn’t really matter though, he looked hot in all of them. I know that it was hot though and his shirt was unbuttoned more than usual, letting me see more of his chest. Sometimes I wondered if he knew what it was doing to me despite the fact that he was my best friend. My person.

We sat at the bar, I ordered a beer, Billy ordered a cherry coke. That was tonight's driver decided. I gave him a grateful smile and he just smiled back with his casual coolness. So we sat there, Whitesnake playing from the stereo, smiles on our faces. And life was right how it should be all the time. For a short while, the demons we both carried on our shoulders were mute. We could breathe.

“ Look at that douchebag. “ Billy laughed and nodded his head towards the corner of the room. A guy that looked about our parents' age, hair slicked back, shirt stuffed into his jeans, tie hanging loosely from his neck, was leaning against the wall. His lips were almost glued to the ear of a beautiful woman. She must’ve been around the same age he was though beauty wasn’t lost on her in those years. It was hard to watch though, as her eyes were so desperately vacant. There was nothing there. No joy, no excitement. He was wearing a ring, she was wearing one too. We could only assume that those two had seen a few years together. Maybe this was their night out. Kids dropped off at the sitter those two felt like hitting the town, reliving their youth.

Only when you’re stuck in a gray, loveless, sad mess for too long, it takes over your entire being. It turns you into a gray mess yourself. I knew that because I could see it every day in my own parents. Billy knew because his mother had to break his heart in order to escape her own heartbreak and the mess.

“ He’s trying too hard, the idiot. “ Billy chuckled. This was something we did a lot, sit and watch people and pretend our lives would never end like theirs. And god, did we hope and pray we wouldn’t end up like this.

“ She’s so desperate to just get back home,” I pointed out, taking another sip from my beer.

“ Their names, “ Billy started “ are Jeff and Hillary. They’ve been married for 20 years now. Jeff is an accountant at Hillary’s dad’s firm. Good ol’ Hilly dreamed of becoming a model for Sports Illustrated. Then she got knocked up and settled for a life in the suburbs with Jeff who’s as exciting as a piece of untoasted toast.”

“ They have three kids, and she loves them, “ I continued, “ but god sometimes she really resents them for being the reasons she had to give up on all her dreams. Give up on the person she used to be. “

“ Two more drinks, then they’ll go home and have boring, unsatisfying sex. He’ll hump away and break a sweat and two minutes later he’ll fall asleep and she’s gonna stare up at the ceiling and consider finishing the job herself, cause Jeff clearly doesn’t care. And she’ll just stare and wish that this wasn’t her life. Because she hates it.”

Where things had started out fun, they turned quite sad quite quickly.

“ Promise me we will never end up like this, “ Billy said, now facing me. My favourite shade of blue, so vibrant, so soft. I nodded, because I was lost for all words. That’s the effect Billy had on me and everyone else.

The line! You drew it! Remember it!

I ordered a tequila then. “ We’d never stand a chance,” I thought “ at love, not Billy and I.”

So I tried to forget about my thoughts, with a little salt and a little lime and a shot that burned all the way down. Tried to forget about those intrusive little words and images that I knew could never be.

I don’t know how much later it was but at some point, Billy’s warm big handheld onto my arm to steady my swaying frame. I could tell you what it felt like when he looked at me then, if I had the vocabulary to properly put it into words. I knew then, that if no one else, Billy was there to take care of me. That with crossing the line I would give up on this. This love that was certainly there even if it was in a completely different way. Maybe this was all the love I would ever need in my life.

“ Let me take you home. “

But did he not know? Home was wherever he was. Home was him.

We arrived back at my house which was deserted, as always. Weekends were when my own parents tried to rekindle a flame that had never been there in the first place. I was invisible. Maybe that’s what drew me to Billy, he saw me. All of me. And he understood in ways I had never been understood before.

“ Are you okay getting up by yourself ? “ he asked, his eyes looking towards the window of my room. Was I okay? Sure I could’ve managed by did I want to? Did I want to be all by myself in a house that felt so cold even in those warm summer nights? No, I really didn’t.

“ I thought you’d stay over again ?”

“ You’re not sick of me yet ? “ the way he said it sounded so nonchalant, like he was completely joking. He wasn’t I knew him better than that. When everyone always makes you feel like a burden, it’s hard to accept that some people actually want your around. It’s hard to accept love when life’s always made you believe you didn’t deserve it.

“ I’ll never get sick of you, Billy” and I had never been more serious about anything else in my life.

Okay, maybe the line was getting a little smudged.

“ I’ll lend you one of my sleepshirts.”

“ Lucky me.”

And he held my hand as we got up like it was nothing. And maybe it wasn’t to him at that point, but it was everything to me. Maybe to him it was just holding a friend’s hand who has drank a little too much. But that’s all it had to be to send my heart beating faster.

There had been countless times before that Billy had spent the night but the more I let myself get lost in those comforting daydreams, the more my stomach started fluttering when he was near. We wouldn’t cuddle, not really, not when we got to sleep. We’d just lay next to each other, two pillows one blanket. We’d just exist around each other and try to not let the weight settle back in just yet. He was so close I could feel the warmth

his body was exuding, could hear him breathing. He was so close and yet the most we’d touch was my legs accidentally brushing his or the other way around.

“ I never wanna live in a house like this ever again, “ I told him then, sheltered by the dark of the night. “ It’s so empty and sad and big and I just — I hate it here.”

He was real quiet for a moment but I knew he would answer soon enough. When he was with me, Billy had a habit of really considering his words. Maybe because I knew I listened to what he had to say, I cared.

“ Yeah me neither. No offence to your parent’s decorating skills or anything. But god, this house sucks. It’s so — “

“ Sad. It’s a sad big house. “

“ Yeah. “

“ What kind of house would you want? “ I asked and I swear in that moment I felt his hand brush mine. Only for a second. But it was there. It was there.

“ One by the beach. Where I can just open the door and walk onto the sand and down to the shore. I’d like a fire pit on my property, those are cool. “

“ They really are. I can see us sitting by the fire pit, eating smores, watching the waves. That sounds nice. “

Shit, did I say that? I did. And I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Right there and then. Lines, (Y/N) !!! Remember the god damn lines you drew yours—

“ I’d like that. “

That moment, the moment he said those words, I wondered for the first time if maybe Billy didn’t see the line between friendship and relationship because to him there was none. Not because he didn’t see me as suitable but because he just didn’t think in those convoluted and ridiculous ways I did. There were no lines because Billy didn’t need them to define anything, he chose to define things himself.

“ I want a house that’s a home. Something that’s more than 4 walls and a roof. “ he said and smiles at me. Billy Hargrove smiles were rare but when he would grant them to you, they were magnificent.

I fell asleep with lines smudged and everything I knew shaken up. I also fell asleep with my hand in his.

The next morning, I woke up cuddled into his chest. I closed my eyes again to hold onto the moment just a little longer.

Things didn't drastically change after that, my world didn’t suddenly shift. Billy and I were still best friends and if I am being completely honest, they seemed rather stagnant after that night. Like either of us was afraid of making a wrong move.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I was a fucking dumbass back then because instead of trying to have a grown-up conversation with him about it, I decided to look for romance elsewhere.

Kyle Davis was a nice guy. He was part of the school newspaper, drove a red BMW and worked part-time at Sam Goody inside Starcourt mall. Kyle Davis was also the son of one of Hawkins most respectable lawyers and was sure to follow in his father’s footsteps one of these days.

And Kyle Davis, for some reason I don’t understand to this day, was interested in me. Followed me around like a lovesick puppy. I had no real interest in him but as I said, he was nice and I wanted to see what it felt like, having someone who wants you too and who isn’t afraid to tell you that.

So when he asked me to the summer formal, I said yes. Something that Billy did not like. Not one bit.

“ Kyle Davis ? “ he all but yelled as he slumped down on the bleachers next to me. The sun was shining down on us with warm, golden rays. I was trying to focus on some stupid math problem, papers and books spread on the bench next to me.

“ What about him ? “

“ You’re going to the dance with him ? “

“ Yup. Is that a problem ? “

“ I mean — “ he said then huffed “ I mean yeah. It’s Kyle Davis. Kyle. “

“ He’s nice. “

“ Sure he is. A nice guy with a stable future. Someone’s already warming his chair at dad’s cosy office where he gets everything handed to him. Let’s see how this is gonna play out, huh ? “

“ Billy don’t.”

“ Nah, let me have this one. So Kyle takes you to the dance, you smooch a little, maybe he gets to cop a feel. Obviously he wants to keep you around because you’re pretty great. So you date and at some point you gotta talk about the future because graduation isn’t all that far off. And Kyle is the kind of guy that expects you to stay with him, follow him wherever he goes. Let’s pretend you would. Soon enough he’d get you knocked up with little Kyle Junior. He’d be out at work all day letting you turn bitter and resentful and hate the life you have, all alone in a big empty house with a kid you can’t love properly because you don’t love their dad or the life he made you live. And soon enough you’d end up in a shitty pub trying to chase something that wasn’t there in the first place. I don’t wanna watch you end up like Hillary at the pub. “

“ God, Billy. Don’t be so dramatic, I’m just going to the dance with him. What’s wrong with you, are you jealous or something ? “

I was expecting him to deny it, to blow me off with some stupid yet charming one-liner. He didn’t though, he stayed quiet. And that made my eyes shoot up to look at him.

There was a sincerity in his eyes that I wasn’t used to. An indescribable confidence and yet he looked more nervous that I had ever seen him before.

“ Have I not made that obvious? Of course I’m jealous! ”

“ I — what ? “

Everything I ever thought I knew, was pure and utter bullshit.

“ Jesus, (Y/N). I have been in love with you since the first time we hung out. I asked you to tutor me because I wanted to be around you, I was really fucking good at English class if I’m being honest here. I didn’t need your help but I needed to know you. I wanted to know you. You just don’t fucking realize how — incredible you are. In everything you do. Your grilled cheese sandwiches are so good, you manage to remember the lines to every song instantly, you don’t know how to pronounce melancholy and I think that’s so adorable. I feel incredibly lost and angry and disillusioned with life. I hate so much about myself but you, you understand it and you feel it with me and — you're everything I love about the things I hate in me. So please, if there’s even a teeny tiny chance for me, don’t go out with him.”

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know what to say at all. And then a second passed and I knew this was the moment.

This was that moment where I got to decide how my life was gonna go. Where I got to chose the person I wanted to walk alongside. And it was Billy. It always had been.

I’m not sure who kissed who first then but one moment he was pouring his heart out to me and the next our lips were touching. That’s when my summer truly began. His red-hot took over my dull gray and turned it into something bright and wonderful and exciting.

“ Do you actually wanna go to the dance ? “ he asked as we pulled away, “ cause if you do I’ll take you. I just — don’t own a suit., so … “

“ How about we ditch that stupid dance and take and just get away from it all. I just wanna be with you, Billy. You are my home. “

It was the summer of 1985 when I learned what love really was. It doesn’t come with rules or regulations. There’s no rhyme or reason to it sometimes. That’s a scary fact to realize and even scarier to accept. You can’t trick it, manipulate it. It’s no game to be won or lost. It’s — I believe it’s bigger than any human can fully comprehend.

So all that we can do, it let it move us, allow ourselves to feel it and accept the love when it comes our way. No lines needed.

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fanfics #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove one shot #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

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stovetuna · 4 years

Note

Hi, I hope you’re having a wonderful holiday season first of all! Second, if you’re feeling it, maybe Blind Date AU for Steve and Tony? Ty!!💖

PEACHY!! of course, darling, anything for you. Setting this in an amorphous MCU timeline again because I’m working on stretching my 616 writing muscles on another fic ;)

- - -

Steve knows it’s going to be a long night the moment he receives a text from Natasha that simply reads: Carbone. 1800. Wear the blue shirt.He’s tried—countless times, in fact—to dissuade her from doing this. It’s been a running joke between them for years, ever since that first time in the back of the C-130.

Too scared?

Too busy.

It’s not that he’s averse to the idea of being with someone. Far from it—he craves exactly that in ways he can’t articulate, not to Natasha, not to Sam, not to anyone. Sometimes, not even to himself. But the idea of dating, especially being set up on blind dates, makes something twist and sour in Steve’s stomach. The thought of being pushed into something despite his wishes because other people think it’s what he wants, or that dating is something expected of the unattached, is deeply upsetting.

Plus, his life is complicated enough as it is. Adding an unsuspecting stranger to the mix would only complicate more. And how would he explain it to them, his life? How could he ask for understanding when what he does is so outside the scope of the average person’s day-to-day reality? How could he ask anyone to wait up for him, not knowing if he’d make it back to them alive? In what universe would that be fair to a partner?

It’s not. That’s the point. Nor is it the point that he’s been nursing a crush on a certain someone on the team for the past year, a man so far out of his league it makes Steve’s head spin. That’s just background noise, at this point, an asterisk at the end of a sentence: Steve Rogers is not interested in dating.*

*Unless your name happens to be Tony Stark.

Steve’s fingers hover over the phone screen, deliberating in his head how to respond to Nat’s text. The way she’s written it is different from her previous attempts at matchmaking. No so-and-so from such-and-such is nice, you should ask her out. I met this random guy during a raid yesterday, I got his number for you. Want it? This one’s come to him like a gift of flowers, beautifully arranged and packaged, leaving no way for him to bow out of it without coming across like an asshole.

He shudders to imagine what Nat would have to text the person she’s trying to set him up with if he did: sorry, Captain America is a huge wuss. Feel free to order something to go, on me.

On the one hand, she means well. She knows Steve is lonely for companionship in ways his friends and the Avengers can’t satisfy. She might even know about his crush on Tony and this is her way of trying to help him past it. On the other hand, Nat is a notorious troll, and she could just be doing this to him for laughs. But it has been a long time since he’s gone on a date, even if he does hate the practice pretty much on the whole. One more for the sake of a stranger’s feelings won’t kill him.

Fine, he texts back, but you’re my sparring partner for the next two weeks.

Natasha’s response is so lightning fast it would make Thor dizzy.

Worth it.

Steve wears the blue shirt. He also goes to the effort of ironing his black slacks and polishing his dress shoes, because he knows Carbone’s reputation as the kind of place one goes to make an impression and/or be impressed. Tony talks about it all the time. “Oh my God, Steve, their spicy rigatone alla vodka is so good, it’s actually sinful,” he’d told him once. Steve had watched Tony’s eyes glaze over and his tongue slowly slide out to lave his bottom lip, obviously salivating at the thought of some random pasta dish, and it had taken just about everything in Steve’s power not to launch himself across the kitchen counter and chase Tony’s tongue with his.

“I’m sure I’ll try it at some point,” he’d replied instead, pinching his thigh hard enough to dissuade his blood from flowing further south.

At 4:30, Steve looks himself over in the full-length mirror in his bedroom. The black jacket seems overbearing for early summer, and he wonders if it’s worth keeping on. Should he bring it just in case? Is the tie too much? It feels like too much, especially after thinking about Tony and his tongue. Now he’s hot under the collar, about to go on a date with someone else. Damn it. Steve wrenches the black silk knot loose and pulls the whole thing off. It goes on the bed, along with the jacket. He unbuttons his shirt to the clavicle and rolls up the sleeves. (Tony has visibly admired his forearms enough times for Steve to make a deliberate habit of it.)

But Tony flirts with everyone, Steve reminds himself, and then he’s out the door. He opts to walk across town and down 12th Avenue, what should be a long walk along the Hudson shortened considerably by his long legs and enhanced speed. It’s one of those beautiful New York days, long, late May sunlight lingering in the clear blue sky even as Steve turns the corner onto Thompson Street at 5:45. It’s breezy but not chilly, warm but not stifling. People are everywhere, happy, flushed and bubbling over with spring fever. Even the hardened locals aren’t immune to it—Steve spots a grizzled bar owner just down the street who’s leaning against an old brownstone, face tipped up toward the sky, lips pulled tight in a barely contained smile.

It reminds Steve distinctly of Tony, how his eyes crease deeply at the corners when he grins.

You’re supposed to be nervous about this date, Steve reminds himself as he opens the door to the restaurant. He’s immediately enveloped in dark tones of bluish green and the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra. He’s early, but the staff brings him through immediately to an intimate but decently large corner table in the back. A waiter, bald-headed but sporting an impressive mustache and wearing the hell out of a purple three-piece suit, pours Steve a glass of champagne and another for his date, who’s starting to cut it close, time-wise.

At 5:56, Steve glances at his watch and takes a sip of water, opting to watch the bubbles in the champagne glass rise to the surface and pop instead of drinking it outright. At 6:08, the same waiter refills his water glass. They make small talk even as Steve fidgets under the tablecloth. In all of his gearing up for this blind date, the thought had never crossed his mind that the other person might be the one to duck out.

Averse to dating as Steve is, he can’t say the thought of being stood up on a blind date doesn’t sting a little bit, even as it drives home his rationale for avoiding the entire practice in the first place. At least he’ll have ammunition against Natasha the next time she tries her hand at matchmaking.

By 6:20, the back room is filled and noisy with other dinner guests, many of whom are also on dates and are doing a terrible job of pretending not to glance pityingly at Steve and the two untouched champagne glasses on his table. Steve sighs and shrugs at the waiter (his name is Duncan, Steve learned during Refill Number Three), who’s come by to refill his water glass again. How many does that make? Five? Six? Duncan glances at the empty seat across from Steve and shakes his head.

“It happens,” he says, genuine sympathy (but mercifully no pity) writ large across his middle-aged face. “In any case, you probably dodged a bullet. Want something a little stronger?”

Steve remembers telling Tony he’d try the spicy rigatoni alla vodka if he ever came here. Reservations to Carbone are hard to come by, and he should seize the opportunity while he can, even if it’s bittersweet. “Thanks. That’s okay. I think I’ll just—”

A man’s flustered voice appears suddenly from behind Duncan, cutting through the noise, words spilling out in a rush. Steve notices heads whipping around to gawk, bug-eyed, at whoever’s just appeared.

“God, I’m so sorry I’m late, usually I’m never late to this kind of thing but there was a malfunction with the—with the thing, and…I…uh…”

The man’s words trail off as Duncan steps aside to let him through to his seat. Steve is standing—when did he stand up?—and realizes with a jolt (and an unmistakable, overwhelming ka-thump of his heart) that he’s looking directly at Tony Stark, whose face has gone an endearingly bright shade of red, almost the same shade as the armor.

“Steve?”

“Uh,” Steve is too distracted by the furious blush currently working its way past Tony’s pristine white shirt collar to respond at first. “Hi, Tony. Wanna, uh, have a seat?” Nailed it.

“Sure…” Tony sounds skeptical. That’s fair. He’s probably already sussed out that this date wasn’t Steve’s idea.

Duncan, to his credit, says nothing as he fills Tony’s water glass. But Steve doesn’t miss the warning look the waiter shoots him as Tony tips his head back for a drink, or the way Tony’s face goes slightly pale as he sets the glass back down on the table, chastised.

Once they’re alone, the other diners seem to quickly get over the initial shock of seeing Iron Man and Captain America on a date together and go back to their own meals. The air in the room is fragrant with the smell of four-star Italian food, but Steve’s stomach is too tightly wound now to appreciate it.

Tony breaks the silence. He always was braver than Steve gave him credit for.

“So,” he says, “Going by your poleaxed expression I take it you weren’t expecting me.”

It’s not a question. Steve laughs hoarsely. “Yeah, you could say that.” More like you’re the last person I expected but I am so fucking happy you’re here. He doesn’t say it, but at least Tony looks more relaxed now. Smiling, they both take a sip of champagne simultaneously.

“D’you think Nat and Clint placed bets on whether or not one of us would cancel?” Steve asks. Tony laughs outright. Not for the first time, Steve watches Tony break out into a smile and wonders if the heat he feels is a blush or the fact that looking at Tony when he’s grinning like that is like looking at the sun—bright and dangerous and so unbelievably warm. Steve takes another drink of champagne to calm himself.

“Well, since they know you and I are so stubborn we’d both rather show up for a pre-arranged blind date at one of the most-booked restaurants in the city than flake, I’d say the bet’s based on whether or not we appear in the communal kitchen tomorrow morning together or separately.”

Steve chokes on bubbles. Tony laughs again.

“Hickies optional, obviously,” he says gamely, winking at Steve, whose shoulders are creeping up toward his ears. “We could just muss ourselves up before we get home and they’d never know the difference.”

“Tony, they’re literally professional spies. Of course they’d know.”

“I have my ways, Cap. Do not doubt my ways.”

“I don��t doubt your ways, Tony,” Steve manages from behind the sudden tightness in his throat, “But we’re talking about Natasha Romanoff.”

“You mean the woman who almost gave you a hard-on when she kissed you on an escalator in D.C.?”

Tony is still laughing gleefully (while Steve’s burning face is still buried in his hands) when Duncan arrives with two oversized menus. Steve waves at Tony when he offers to order for them, too embarrassed at having learned that Tony knows about the D.C. incident to speak for himself, at least for the moment. Besides, Tony knows everything he likes. (Well, almost everything.)

They breeze past awkward and straight into comfortable after that. Tony apologizes for being late again and Steve shuts him up with bread.

“Eat this and you can work it off with me later.”

Tony waggles his eyebrows at him and says, “Promise, Cap?” with a gleam in his eye that Steve resolutely does not read into.

“In the gym, Tony.”

The food is delicious and borderline excessive, coming in wave after wave along with wine and bread and cheese and free courses compliments of the chef, and by the second hour of their meal even Steve’s increased metabolism is starting to feel sluggish. Of course, that’s when Duncan places a massive, beautiful, steaming bowl of rigatoni alla vodka on their table. The smell of it alone is enough to rouse him.

“Holy shit,” Steve whispers as he ducks his head over the bowl to catch a bigger whiff of the red pepper-and-cream sauce, just loud enough he knows Tony will hear him. The other man giggles. It’s too fucking cute. Steve has to remind himself for the millionth time that this is not actually a date, because the words are right on the tip of his tongue.

“I told you!”

“Yeah, you did,” Steve answers, smiling at Tony as warmly and happily as he feels. This isn’t a real date, but he’s still having a fantastic dinner with his best friend and crush, so it’s a fun, memorable night for him either way. Steve dishes a heaping spoonful of rich, glossy pasta onto Tony’s plate first, too preoccupied to notice Tony glancing at his mouth before he takes another drink of light red wine (the price of which Duncan didn’t mention and at this point Steve doesn’t want to know).

“I like the look you’ve got going on, by the way. Very devil-may-care. How long did it take you to decide against the jacket and tie?” Tony asks once Steve’s finished doling out pasta for himself. God, it’s so easy to laugh with Tony. The man is hilarious, sure, but little things like that—things that only Tony would think to ask Steve because they know each other so well and he likes making fun of Steve’s idiosyncrasies, likes making Steve loosen up and laugh at himself—make Steve feel like the champagne he drank earlier: bubbly, light, happy.

He could spend five, six, ten more hours at this table. He could spend all of his time with Tony Stark and it still wouldn’t be enough. But there is only so much of himself and his time Tony seems willing to give, romantically or otherwise, and Steve’s made his peace with that. Mostly.

It does help that Tony seems willing to give Steve a lot of his time anyways.

And no one—not even Tony—will know if Steve indulges himself by pretending, if only for a minute or two, that actually is a date.

“Only a few seconds. Natasha did the lion’s share of the work picking the shirt out for me,” Steve replies, blowing gently on his forkful of pasta, saliva pooling in the back of his mouth as he watches the steam trail off it before taking a bite. “Why, do you think I should have kept th—oh my god,” he groans mid-sentence, eyes rolling up into his head. Chewing slowly, Steve claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd moan that threatens to escape him as bold, decadent flavors burst on his tongue. Tony was right—this stuff is sinful.

Steve’s so wrapped up in the food he’s eating that he almost, almost misses Tony muttering Jesus under his breath. It doesn’t sound embarrassed or insulted. When he opens his eyes, Steve finds Tony watching him so avidly, it’s hard to notice anything else other than the way the man’s pupils have dilated considerably and is leaning forward, almost over the bowl.

Tony licks his lips. Steve tries hard not to stare.

“Sorry,” he says with a chuckle in an attempt to diffuse tension, “but that stuff is ridiculously good.” Steve’s really glad he didn’t wear the tie now, given how hot under the collar he feels all of a sudden. Tony’s looked at him a lot of ways, but never like that—like the only thing stopping him from launching himself across the table at Steve is the table, itself. “I can see why you’re always raving about it.”

“Steve,” Tony says. He hasn’t touched his pasta. The fork is just kind of there in his hand, like he’s forgotten he’s even holding it. Steve looks at him again.

“What? Did I get some on my face?” he asks, retrieving his napkin and wiping his mouth with it. Tony makes a rough, strangled sound in the back of his throat and, when drowning it with wine doesn’t help, puts his fork all the way down on the table and buries his face in his hands.

“I can’t do this,” Tony whines. The conversations happening around them are loud, but not so loud Steve doesn’t hear him say it. The words cut him like a cold knife sharply through the middle. His head feels woozy, and not in the airy fun way it should be after drinking good wine for two and a half hours. How did things end up here so quickly? A minute ago Steve was having a religious experience and now Tony face is ashen and drawn. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh god,” Tony groans, “please, do not apologize. It’s me. It’s very much me.”

This seems like a fork-down conversation. Steve places his on the table and tries not to glance longingly at the pasta on his plate. Steve knows when Tony is gathering himself to speak, which is exactly what’s happening now, so he waits and doesn’t eat. He does take a drink, though. That much feels appropriate.

“Just so I’ve got it right,” Tony finally says after an unbearably quiet moment, a palm pressed against his own forehead, “you definitely had zero input vis à vis this whole blind date setup?”

He’s deliberately not looking at Steve when he asks it. If Steve could put a word to his expression, he’d say Tony looks downright despondent at the idea, even if they’d already established earlier that yes, this thing was entirely Nat’s idea because she’s an unrepentant troll.

The dissonance doesn’t make sense. But it does put hope in Steve’s heart where there wasn’t any before.

“I didn’t,” he says, watching Tony’s face intently. He knows it so well at this point, he can tell when Tony’s smile is fake or real, when he’s wounded and won’t admit it, when he’s tired but can’t sleep. So Steve notices all too easily when the corner of Tony’s mouth dips down, a fraction of an inch of a frown, before he recovers with a laugh and claps his hands.

“All good then,” Tony chuckles, but he won’t look Steve in the eye anymore. He picks up his fork and starts to tuck in, chewing so fast it’s like he’s racing toward a finish line Steve can’t see and doesn’t know how to keep from approaching, except—

“Why,” Steve blurts out, stopping Tony mid-chew, “were you hoping I did?”

Tony’s eyes fly open but are heavily guarded when he looks back at Steve from across the table. No take-backs, Steve tells himself.

Tony puts down his fork again.

“What if I did?” he counters.

“You can’t answer my question with a question, Tony,” Steve says, smirking when Tony’s expression flickers.

“Watch me.”

“I am.”

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

Tony huffs. Before he can cross his arms defensively, before either of them can think another thought, Steve reaches out with both hands, pulls Tony forward by the front of his too-nice shirt and kisses him, fast and firm and warm. The kiss is a point being made more than anything else, but a point nonetheless.

Tony’s lips are yielding and taste faintly of wine and carpaccio piemontese. Kissing him feels more right than Steve could have imagined (and he’d imagined a lot, elaborately and often). One peck and he knows without a doubt he could kiss Tony for hours. But that’s all besides the point. The point is now, Tony knows.

Before he can pull away and apologize (again) for his behavior, Steve feels more than hears Tony sigh against his lips. Then Tony tilts his head a fraction and suddenly Steve’s the one being kissed. Thoughts of anything alla vodka fly out of his head in a rush as Tony licks the closed seam of his lips and tongues him deep and slow when they open. Steve’s fingers are still grasping the front of the Tony’s shirt; he knows he should release him and stop this while things are still relatively PG. Instead Tony nibbles on his bottom lip and Steve releases that lewd moan he’d held back a few minutes ago right into Tony’s mouth.

Steve has just enough brainpower left to remember that 1) they’re surrounded by onlookers, and 2) if they keep going like this, Duncan’s going to have to throw them out. Would that really be such a bad thing, his lizard brain supplies, unhelpfully.

Decided, Steve lets go of Tony’s shirt with a gasp. They both fall back into their chairs with a whoosh. Between them, the steam rising off the rigatoni alla vodka swirls, disturbed by the sudden breeze, then continues curling lightly upwards like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Like Steve’s entire life wasn’t just irrevocably changed, upended, by a single kiss.

Picking up his fork, Steve licks the taste of Tony from his lips as he looks across the table at his date and takes another bite of pasta. Tony looks back. He looks hungry.

“What did I tell you,” Tony says when Steve moans softly again. This time, he doesn’t miss the way Tony stares lingeringly at his mouth like he wants another taste. “Sinful.”

- - -

Send me an AU prompt!

#stevetony #superhusbands #stony #stony fic #omg-its-peachy #prompt fill #I HOPE THIS IS OK IT'S MY FIRST PROMPT FILL OK BYYYEEEE #steve rogers #tony stark #rachel writes fic #blind date AU #steve still makes natasha his sparring partner for two weeks but then he gives her a deep tissue massage and tony buys her louboutins

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derycreme · 4 years

Text

komori (little forest) — winwin x reader

Komori is a small settlement in a village somewhere in the Tohoku region. There aren’t any stores here, but if you have a little shopping to do, there’s a small farmer’s co-op supermarket and some other stores in the village center, where the townhall is.

[[MORE]]

The way there is mostly downhill, so that takes about 30 minutes, but you’re not too sure how long the trip back takes. During winter, you have to go on foot because of the snow, so that’ll take you something like a good hour and a half. But it seems that most people do their shopping at places like the big suburban supermarket in a neighboring city.

When you decide to go there, it nearly ends up taking the whole day.

The only man you ever expected at your door was the delivery man, who had with him your gas and electricity bill. These were only the ever mail you would receive, save for an occasional letter from your mother. Always asking, about the harvest, about the weather, but never talking about herself apart from a strange repetition of the words ‘going around’ or ‘winding down’.

Today, you were expecting Dong Sicheng.

Sicheng is not the delivery man. He’s hardly even half the old man’s age.

This was the last spring. Sicheng was what followed after the mistake you made of one day thinking you were made for the city. You worked around the clock, lived by the day until you felt the surface of your bones right under your graying skin, and went home to him at night like he was your reward.

Sometimes, he was just like the city you tried so feverishly to escape from by day. Bustling. In his head. So after you would fuck him and fight tears, you would yell at him and leave. It was niche every time.

One night, you booked a one way bus ticket to Komori. That was the last time you touched Sicheng. That was the last time you touched the city.

Today, winter was around the corner, and in your wait for him, this was the first time you were rushed to decide whether you felt settled or felt like you escaped. His knock is soft on the door.

A coat over a shirt and straight jeans. His lips, they must be so cold, pull into a short smile, albeit wider than the moment you opened your door.

“Hi,” he doesn’t move. “I left my scarf at the bus.”

“Your hair’s longer.”

“Ah,” he exhales, a small laugh, brings his hand to the back of his head in an abashed scratch. “I grew it out to this length months ago, and I’ve been having it trimmed regularly.”

“Ah,” you respond. You don’t know how to respond. In your head, you were bruising yourself for even thinking of having him over initally. You don’t meet with his eyes for fear of seeing the bustle of the city there. You don’t want him to think that what you had in your old house in Komori, almost a year after leaving the city, was the audacity to look at him without breaking. “Come in.”

You break a smile. It might be a second too late, but he’ll understand the courtesy. “Hey, it’s okay,” he mutters.

You don’t mean it, but your eyes lock. All you see is yourself under the clean downturn of his eyelashes. Genuine. Handsome. “Will you let me make it right?,” you mean to whisper to yourself, but to no avail. You can tell he heard you.

His lips twitch. A sheepish smile. The one that makes his cheeks puff if you look hard enough. And he doesn’t say a word. You ponder.

“You can keep your shoes on if it means it’ll keep your feet warm,” you walk to the kitchen. It’s not too many steps away. It’s just right across the small lounge by the window, directly straight from the main door. By small lounge, it’s a stout coffee table and two pillows on the wooden floor. “Who knows you’re here?”

You turn to see him taking his shoes off anyway, and you realize why just as you see the soles thicker with hardening mud. His socks are wooly, so it’ll be okay. “My parents. A few friends.”

You put a kettle under the faucet and let the water run. “People get lost on the way here. Are they not worried?”

He’s off his second shoe and is stood straight again. You’re reminded of how tall he is. “They’ll call.”

“There’s barely any service here... but let’s hope they’ll call,” you turn off the faucet and turn to face him again. “Sit. Anywhere.”

This is the first time you were actually making Sicheng tea in your home. You recollect the moments you had called yourself stupid, lonesome in the same kitchen, for having made tea for two, in an effort to forget you were alone. His arrival makes all those efforts futile, and in the coming days you will be yet again lonesome in the same kitchen, you will call yourself stupid for trying to make tea for two. This means a part of you wishes you hadn’t asked him to come at all.

You put the kettle above unusually high heat, in nerve that it’ll take too long to boil and you’ll have to sit doing nothing, without the excuse of a sip to satiate silence. You take a glass from a rack, and a pitcher of water from your fridge, make your way toward him. “Have water. It’s always freezing here; you don’t figure out when you’re thirsty,” you hand him the glass, sitting adjacent to him. While he gulps, you decide to break the ice. No, stab it. “I’m sorry I left.”

He sets the glass down on the table, but he keeps his hand around it. “It’s okay.”

“I’m at peace now... if you wanted to know,” you’ve become too aware of which eye of his you wanted to keep contact with. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. We are both sorry.”

You’ve given up trying to catch his eye and bring your line of sight to his hands. His veins look blue, and you think about the coming winter, your skins thinning just like autumn’s leaves in preparation for the cold. Were his palms as warm as last spring’s? “I’m sorry, Sicheng.”

He likes the use of his name on your voice. “It’s okay.”

You bring your sight to his throat, unmoving if you don’t look close enough to see the very lethargic heave of breath. His lips. He looks at you with apologetic eyes, but for what when it was you who felt like having everything to be sorry for. Now would be the right time for that kettle to whistle. His jaw. You lean in, your body heavy, a knee over the corner of the table, knocking the empty glass aside, and so he doesn’t say another It’s okay, you kiss him after you say another I’m sorry, Sicheng.

You kiss him with the prospect of breathing his breath, with the scrunch of your face that wants to solicit his tears. He leans back, his frame resting against the cold window ledge, head pressed against the glass. Your neighbors don’t live fairly near, but they bring candied chestnuts around this hour, and if they were here, they’d see him. See him on the frosted side of the window, your blurred silhouette in front of him, so near, asking for warmth by a kiss, asking for warmth by a kiss.

He hums against your lips, moans perhaps, the same second you sheath your fingertips under his shirt, cold and heavy with the promise of frostbite on the warmth of his abdomen.

He breaks away, not harsh enough that you don’t deem it safe to kiss elsewhere. You missed the chisel of his jaw on your lips. Your fingers inch higher up his skin. “Cold,” he flinches. “Coldcoldcold—“

“Sorry,” your voice is muffled. You put your hands on the floor next to where you’re knelt. You back off him by the inch, yet another “I’m sorry, Sicheng” leaving your throat.

In the summer, the air was thick with humidity, enough so you could say you’re better off with gills and webbed limbs to swim across the wind. Now, it was freezing, and your throat itches with the healing gills. Your throat itches with the urge to whisper another apology.

In your attempt to keep your distance, he snatches you by the arm and brings you to his chest. You palpitate for fear of hearing busy AM highways where his heart beats, the sound of money’s tyranny in his breath—vices, fastfood...

But none of it is there. Where he holds you is just his heartbeat and his inhale and his exhale.

“Will you let me make it right?,” you mumble. He’ll hear no matter how soft you keep your voice.

The kettle starts whistling. His phone rings.

You find that in the chorus of his ringtone and the whistling of steam, it seemed like the world was telling you that that wasn’t a question for him to answer.

He’ll be here a while.

#slice of life #angst #inspired by little forest #winwin #winwin drabble #winwin fic #winwin scenario #dong sicheng #sicheng #wayv #wayv fic #wayv drabble #wayv scenario

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not-sewell · 3 years

Note

hey there! how about 41 & 44 for all of your detectives? 😌

hi! sorry for getting back so late! 🙈

thank you so much for the ask tho! i love the choice of questions. 💕

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

to answer the first part, all of my detectives are bisexual women. now, getting to answering the rest of it:

Mona's attention, when talking about physical characteristics, is most easily caught by someone's eyes and the way they carry themself. eyes, to her, are one of the most expressive features that one has and reflect one's character, to an extent. eyes that reflect warmth and gentleness, eyes that seem to have an ever-present, non-threatening twinkle in them, eyes that reflect friendliness – all draw her in the most. effectively, that means she's most drawn to kindness and general ease and openness that a person may have about themself. this is also something she needs in a relationship: warmth and ease and openness. she needs reassurance.

Nate ticks a lot of boxes for her here, but so did Bobby, at one point; he was as charming as Nate is, and somewhere, throws her off a bit. Nate is still far more genuine and respectful than Bobby ever was, and yet, his polite deflection of matters about his life keeps her on edge, even if she respects his wishes. so, there's that.

talking purely of physical characteristics, Dinah is really drawn to people who dress stylishly and put some effort into their appearance, as a whole. one of the first things she notices in a person is also their smile and the ease with which they let it adorn their face. it makes sense, then, that she'd be attracted to people who smile often and have this friendly aura and are easy to get along with. however, she tends to admire such people more if they also don't hesitate to back themself (and their values) up, if need be. besides that, she finds herself drawn to people who know how to chill, given her struggle with doing just that in the past. what she needs in a relationship is thoughtfulness. she needs effort and some space for vulnerability.

clearly, Adam is not the kind of person she’d usually experience attraction for. the fact that she does anyway puzzled her for a while before she just kind of resigned to it; she’s not one to deny her feelings. but she also recongises that Adam needs time, and she can see how good this can be, so she holds on.

Arzoo doesn’t really have a particular preference when it comes to physical features but she does find a confident walk very attractive. that is something she notices in everyone she meets - the way they walk. in fact, confidence is something she finds deeply attractive. she also admires the quality of wanting to work on growing as a person because, to her, there's always an opportunity to grow. she needs that in a relationship too – an opportunity to grow. but she also needs to feel safe. and wanted. a gentle reassurance that what they have is worthwhile.

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most?

Arzoo's not sure what attracted her to Morgan, even if it's all "casual". the only thing Morgan has going for her is her confidence. but that cannot be it, GOD. Morgan is so full of herself. and Arzoo strongly believes that one cannot be completely satisfied with oneself, ever. it's something that she's based her whole personality on. and Morgan challenges that. she reflects confidence not just in herself but also shows such unshaking faith in Arzoo that it sets her heart alight with a flicker of a familiar feeling that she quashes too quickly to take notice.

Nimah takes notice of people's smiles and how they brighten the features of their face. she also thinks dimples are kinda cute??? when it comes to personality, Nimah finds it attractive when someone is unabashedly themself, given how much she actually struggles with it herself. she’s also drawn to people who are warm and kinda hospitable (?), and ensure that others are at ease. that’s also something that she looks for in a relationship: acceptance, the space to be whatever (and however) the hell she wishes to be, and effortlessness.

Farah’s nature did overwhelm Nimah at the very beginning but she didn’t miss simply how comfortable Farah seemed with herself, a reckless abandon that was so unmistakably her. and just how easy it was to be in Farah's company: as a colleague, as a friend, as...something more. Nimah loves how she can be unapologetically herself around Farah, without being bound by things like "image". what she has with Farah is something she's never had the fortune to have – an effortless relationship; something that flows with the ease of serene water that takes her in, completely.

i’ve already answered for Mona right here! a one-line description would be: whatever season (and weather!) it is for the brief transition period between winter and spring!

Dinah really loves spring. she loves the liveliness, the vibrancy, the colours that the season brings. she loves how pleasant it usually is. the best days, though, are ones when the sky is adorned with just the right number of clouds for it to be bright without any actual heat from the sun. at least there’s light at the end of a wintery tunnel. that’s probably the only redeeming factor about winter. that, and the festive season. but mostly the former, given how no amount of cheer and excitement can keep her hands from getting cold. and her teeth from chattering annoyingly. just another thing to hate about winters.

Arzoo’s favourite season’s got to be winter. she loves the chill it brings, the warmth that it promises: a cup of hot coffee, the fireplace, the company of her cosiest blanket and her favourite book from childhood - all of it, sure. but what she likes a tad more is the general cheerfulness that winters bring. she does not really celebrate the holidays, but the whole place seems to buzz with energy around that time. what she loathes, though, is monsoon. the sludge, the puddles, the general inconvenience that it brings with it. honestly, the only thing that monsoon has got it right with is the lovely petrichor that it leaves behind. that’s it. so, obviously, one would find her in an extra-grouchy mood on particularly rainy days.

there’s something about the period of a slow transition between autumn and winter that Nimah absolutely adores. the wind gets chillier but it’s not cold, everyone readies themselves for cosier days, the skies get a little clearer, and yet, sunsets are scenic as ever, and days are speckled with the brief and gentle warmth of the sun. it’s just...perfect. what isn’t perfect is spring, only because she cannot handle the pollens in the air, about which she’ll groan internally for the larger part of the season but yeah. she’s also not a big fan of summers, complaining the most about how hot it is because she cannot handle the heat; it’s annoying enough as is, and it keeps taking away her focus from matters at hand.

#aaaaaaaahhhhh i'm sorry it took me so long to respond! brain no work! :'3 #but anyway here it is #it's going to be a very long post so brace yourself friend! 😬#twc #twc detectives #OC questions #mona batra #dinah fernandes #arzoo shafri #nimah sen #twc ask #ask game #mutual asks #veeteeshirt #queue

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jeonsluttyonii · 4 years

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✨💕 One Starry Night 🌌🖤

It was a starry, beautiful night, the moon was full on the streets of Seoul Korea. As you walked along the streets of Korea enjoying the Spring warm/cool air you received a message, you take out your phone as you seen the message was nun other than you’re best friend, taehyung. You and Tae have been sending each other a lot of mixed feelings lately, you two would share a lot of fun, laughs with the other members and even he would invite you for coffee and out to eat.

The times where he would ask you out to eat and places he would always send you a dress to wear, because he knows you, your style, what you like, dislike, your pet peeves and your insecurities, he knows everything about you as you knew everything about him, you two share a very very strong bond for each other and you can’t help but smile at the memories you share, someone accidentally bumps into you taking you out of your train of thoughts.

You texted him back:

You: “Hiii Tae! What’s Sup?”

TaeTae: “hey wanna come over and watch movies in my room? Tannie is asleep in JKs room”

You: “hehe sure thing! I’ll be their in 10 minutes”

TaeTae: “hehe okie! See you then (;”

~ End Of Messages ~

You felt a smile grow on your face so you decide to head back to your apartment really quickly and change. As you hurry unlocking the door putting down ur bag as you went into your closet to find something to wear, you thought he was in his pajamas so you decided to wear shorts long stocks and the lace bra he bought for you for your 22nd Birthday. Black was his color that he chose for you so you smirked as you get changed quickly.

You checked your phone it was “9:50pm” it was still early so you decided to take a shower as you showered you wondered why would he be calling you over to watch a movie in his room? On his bed? You have never been in his apartment before, the boys share an apartment so it’ll be your first time so you wanted to make it a special night.

After your shower you simply packed the shorts and bra in your little backpack as you put on a mini skirt with your white tank top and a jersey and head on out to your car. As you get in your car you started the engine as you turned on your playlist, singularity came on and it already makes you think of Tae, as you drove out of the parking lot and into the streets of Soul.

During the car ride almost to the boys apartment your mind was wandering, is your bestie really a freak? You’ve had many thoughts like this before but never at this dull moment, could Tae really have plans to do something with you? I mean sure you two always joke and laugh a lot but maybe he could be a freak. But you shake that feeling out of your mind and continue your journey up the hills of the boys apartment, you had finally arrived, nervous to even get out the car, you sat in the car for a few minutes as you collect your thoughts and breath in and out turning the car off.

You got out, taking your mini backpack with you as soon as you locked the door, the door of the apartment flew open as you see two people running towards you like they wanted to kidnap you, until you heard a voice

“OMGGGG ITS Y/N!!!!”

You look and see it was Hobi as he came and gave you the biggest hug after Hobi came Jimin as they both gave you a big hug which made you smile, they pulled from the hug as they guide you inside the house. As you walked in your face immediately dropped, it was so pretty, smelled like summer breeze with cherry blossom scent as you seen yoongi and namjoon on the couch, Jungkook was helping Jin clean as jimin closed the door behind you.

“Guys!! Look who’s finally here!! I’m so happy you came so what do you think? Do you like it?”

Jimin smiles asking you a million questions as the members look and saw you and you smiled nodding at jimin in response as everyone came to greet you.

Everyone except Tae, you didn’t see him where the boys were, so you just kept talking to the boys to by past the time, until you heard a loud “HEY!!” Everyone stopped and moved out the way, you saw him.

Kim. Taehyung.

You couldn’t help but stare, his messy hair, his baggy clothes he wore with his silk pants that fits his so well as he came towards you and the members he gives you a genuine yet gentle smile making your heart warm as you gave him a hug like you haven’t seen him in a long time and he whispers “i missed you so much y/n, welcome”

You smiled enjoying his embrace as his arms wrapped around you guiding you towards his room he says his good nights as you entered his room you were surprised, his room is huge, the bed was a nice size as he has a projector in his room like an actual theater as he locked his room door to prevent his member’s from coming in he walks to you and smiles.

“Tae, you have a nice room and it’s so aesthetically pleasing and relaxing, better than my apartment I’ll say that”

You giggled and so did he as he sits on his bed looking for a movie for you two to watch he asks you

“So did you bring your night clothes?”

How did he know.... you nodded your head as you jumped on the bed where he was still searching for a movie for you two to watch, he says “you can change in the bathroom Bestie! I’ll be here finding us a movie to watch okay?”

You nodded as you head towards the bathroom turning on the lights closing the door, you don’t know why but you felt the butterflies in your stomach as you change from your skirt to the shorts and socks and the bra he bought for you, you smirked as you put your hair into a ponytail, putting your clothes in your bag as you walked out.

“Hey y/n I thought maybe we could- watch- oh my goodness-“

His words started to fade as you came out the bathroom he couldn’t help but stare and your body as you started to feel a little nervous, this was your first time showing off your body, and your breasts fits well with the bra he bought you as you put your bag down you saw his glare as you blushed.

“T-Tae? Don’t stare like that- it’s rude you tubby custard” you stick your tongue out as he snapped from his trans as you made it to his bed he starts the movie forgot to even tell you what movie you two were watching.

The movie you two watched was one of your fav movies ever since it came out Sonic The Hedgehog as you two watched the movie you shared laughs and smiles you felt his arm going around your waist, you getting flustered as you made a little noise to his reaction, he smiled as you blushed a little.

As the movie was ending you have already fallen asleep, resting your head on his pillows as his arm was still wrapped around you, as you moved you started to have fallen into a deep sleep, into your dream, as you were dreaming you felt like it was all real, you had a dream where Tae was kissing your lips as his was so nice, soft and wet, as the kiss gets deeper he starts to go down on your neck sucking and giving it soft kisses as he marks you, he goes down as you heard him saying something you couldn’t make out what he said but it was in a deep voice.

As he keeps going down you feel as if he was pulling your shorts down along side with your panties making you shy, as you started to wake up you realize it wasn’t a dream... it was all happening while you were asleep, with your eyes still trying to open you you seen his fingers in his mouth as one of his wet fingers traces your core making you jump and moan a little as he sees you are awake he smirks and crawls back to you.

“Y/N listen, i know you like me, and I know what you are feeling, and honestly, I feel the same way about you, but this, i don’t know what you were planning but...it worked and I can’t help but love every inch of you..”

Tae with his deep voice making your body feel as if it was on fire making your desires growing into a deeper passion, your core was burning needed his touch, needing him nothing even matters but his love and his desires for you. You whined a little bit rubbing your core onto his hands as he slaps your pussy making you whine a bit.

He shakes his head no as he starts taking off his shirt seeing his body makes you even more needy than before, you can see the bulge in his silky pants making your mouth water and your thoughts run, as he sits down in a position as he motions you to come to him.

“Be a good little kitty and suck me off, that’s if you dare want me to fuck you so badly”

You didn’t hesitate, you teased him kissing his soft lips as you rubbed your hands on his grown print, as he groans in anticipation, as you went down you tugged on his pants, noticing he wasn’t wearing any underwear you pulled his pants down as his dick sprung hitting his stomach your eyes widen, seeing this size you knew your best friend was big but not “THIS” big, so you take it into your hand as you looked at it seeing the precum, coming out you licked the tip blushing as he groans in pleasures.

As you kitty licked the tip, you started to take his length into your mouth as you pulled back up slowly looking at him with your eyes as he bit his lips so you continue to suck him off, the moist noises making in the room filled up alongside with his groaning you moan a little while sucking as he takes a full hand of your hair speeding of the pace.

As you gagged as he slowly pulls you up, saliva was falling from your mouth to his tip and he formed a smirk across his face

“God look at you, I never seen my own best friend this nasty, you must want daddy’s cock huh?”

His words are so deep, as he pushed you back on your back as he gets on top of you planting kissing down your neck all the way to your core he can see the wet marks were running down your tights as he smirks and goes down to your heated sex, swiping one tongue licking it making you jump and relive a moan he grabbed both of your tights as he started to suck on your clit making you moan as he starts licking your folds putting in one finger making you grab the bedsheets as your pussy makes noises filling the quiet room as ur moans were making up for most of it.

As you feel that you were about to reach your climax he stops and pulls his fingers out making you taste your juices while looking at him

“Wow you are this wet, needy and submissive for me? Y/N, this was the right time to show you how much of a dom I can be and your such a submissive girl, but you do be doing bad things and all bad things Must Be Punished.... on all fours now”

As you did what he says you arched your back showing off your back dimples that formed his hands rubbing your nice shaped ass, as if he has always wanted to touch it before, you felt the sensation of his hands rubbing your ass until you heard a loud smack across one cheek making you jolt and cry in pain to pleasure

“Just hearing you cry in pain for me just makes me wanna keep going, such a good little girl for me”

As he smacks it again making you jump, he continues to do this until he starts running his dick along your folds making you need and hot and as he went in as it tries to fit you have never had sex before and it was your first time

“T-Tae, p-please be gentle this- AH TAE”

You screamed and your arch went deeper as Tae finally put it all in, making you cry a little and in pain because of how big he was, he started to move his hips in a rough way making you cry for mercy, but once you have gotten used to it, the pain went to pleasures making you moan he went out making you feel empty and need and goes back in harder making you throw your head back for pleasure.

As Tae gripped your waist pulling you back and forth making skins meeting each other making you moan for his name, one of his hands was reach to your neck making you look up at him as he pounds your tight little pussy harder making you moan in so much pleasure the room was practically filled with noise as he pulls you in for a kiss he keeps going as he makes your pussy feel like heaven.

He pulls from the kiss and slams into you making you fall down as he flips you over and now your laying on your back facing him, he gives himself a handjob before entering back into your entrance, slowly and teasing you as his dick was all the way in he starts moving his hips as you position yourself to meet with his as you felt great pleasure into the heated sex you two are having it’s was “12:59AM” and you two were sharing the most memorable moment of them all, he starts to buck his hips hitting your core which caused you to moan his name.

He couldn’t help but pull you up close to him as the position was different causing you to moan a lot more

“Tell me, what’s my name? who’s fucking you this good?”

You couldn’t barley even speak a sentence as the pleasure was too unbearable making you moan and lose your thought, you took too long to answer as he smacked your ass with one hand causing you to throw your head back

“no hesitation, now, what’s my name?”

He says as he makes you look at him with his beautiful eyes as you spoke up “d-daddy...” while moaning with the little breath you had you feel your walls clutching tightly onto his dick

“T- daddy...I’m a-about t-to c-“

You couldn’t speak anymore because the wave of passion and pleasure was taking over as he knew what was happening he stopped moving as he positioned himself and his hips thrusting faster and faster going harder and harder into you as the skin noises was getting louder you both moan in pleasure as you both reached your climax at the same time making you both exhausted.

You both fell onto the bed, Tae got the blankets and turned on his AC as you both covered up and cuddle together, out of breath as you both looked up and saw his room was filled with stars because he has a star projector, he smiled as he embraced your scent and after math of what happened.

With the last breath you had left before falling asleep you told him

“Tae, I love you...”

As you feel asleep, Tae smiles and kisses your forehead and gets comfortable, before he fell asleep he told you while you were asleep.

“I wanna be with you y/n...together and forever”

As he cuddles you to sleep not leaving your side it was a beautiful moment you both cherished with each other especially when you have been friends for so long, you both felt glad you had the chance to even go out with one another.

#kim taehyung #bts imagines #bts smut #bts fanfic

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