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angsty-omi · 3 years

Text

you get jealous of their manager

suna rintarou; sakusa kiyoomi

angst to fluff, hurt/comfort.

suna rintarou

when rin told you about the new manager, you didn’t expect her to be blonde, curvy, and absolutely gorgeous. honestly, just looking at her made you insecure. the way all the boys gawked at her everytime she walked by. you didn’t care about the boys though, you only cared about a boy, your boyfriend rin. she’s with him longer than he’s with you. practices take up most of his day, so you only saw him once he got to your shared apartment where he was too tired to do anything that exterted energy. to be fair, you were fine just staying in, but imagining him with her during practices made you uncomfortable.

it was even worse when he’d go out to dinner with the team and her. you couldn’t remember the last time he’d even ask you on a date. you hated the way he stopped trying once you started dating. starting to reach the AMs when you called him.

“y/n?” his slurred tone showed that he was drunk.

“suna? where are you? it’s almost 12 am.” you scolded. how could you not? he’s drunk and with a girl that you were very envious of.

“first of all, can you chill? i literally told you that i’d be out with the boys, i don’t understand why you’re getting so upset,”

“upset? you’re literally out with a girl who’s very attarctive” you frustrated.

“oh i see what this is now, you’re jealous and you don’t trust me.”

“it’s not a matter of trust, it’s just i fe-feel uncomfortable and i oh i don’t know wanted to talk about it?” you started to raise your voice. the attempt to set a boundary has failed, and rather was replaced with you being the enemy.

“she’s my friend y/n, get over it because you’ll be seeing a lot more of her,” rin hissed.

“i’m not telling you who you can be friends with or not, but you have to understand where i’m coming from” you murmured.

“just leave me alone, i can be friends with whoever i want, and the last thing i’m going to do is let a bitch dictate that.” suna argued loudly.

it was followed up by silence, with a girl voice cutting in, “rin-rin let’s do this song together!” in a high pitch squeal caught the mic.

“oh so you’re rin rin now huh? i can’t be surprised considering how much time you spend with her!”

“well maybe i like hanging out with her. did you ever think of that y/n? it’s nice to have someone who wouldn’t nag or bitch about me, she doesn’t pry for me to open up,” he attempted to justify his actions.

“okay fine then, if she’s soooo perfect than just date her” words just started spilling out of your brain, and it was too late to take it back.

“maybe i will!” he roared. after he sunk in what he was saying, he followed up with “w-wait i didn’t mea-” trying to save his relationship.

“do whatever you want suna, whether you’re with her or not it’s not my problem anymore, i’m done.” you ended the call, tears freely flowing down your face.

you couldn’t sleep that night. pathetically, you’d hope that suna would at least give you a call back, or any sign that he still cared for you. but he didn’t, and you assumed that was your answer. you would reevaluate the relationship after a good nights sleep on the couch. you couldn’t sleep on the bed due to suna’s lingering scent.

when 4am rolled around, the door opened as quietly as possible. suna assumed that you were asleep in bed, and was prepared to join you. when he walked in the bedroom and saw the bed still made, he panicked. did you really leave? were you actually done with the relationship? he checked everywhere, the bathroom, kitchen, the basement, and not the most obvious place ever. he dialed your phone, and heard loud ringing from the living room. he slapped his forehead in stupidity and made his way over to you. his heart broke at the sight. the way you tried to fit your body with the throw blanket, unaware that you were shivering at the cold. your face was also pale, with dried tears on them. you looked so broken and so drained. immediately, suna carried you off the couch bridal style, and tucked you into the soft king sized bed. he then, moved onto his side and slid under the sheets. it’s only when he grabs your waist is when he feels safe enough to sleep.

five hours later, you awake with dried tears still in your eyes. you wiped them with your arm, and felt weight around your waist. once your eyes were cleared, it was suna. you let yourself comfort in his warmth for just a bit more, knowing that there’s a huge argument to come.

“suna we can’t just not talk about this,” you whispered into his ear, knowing he was awake. he hid in the crook of your neck, “i’m sorry. i’m so so sorry, please take me back.”

“i can’t just accept your apology blindly, we have to set boundaries or else we’ll never move forward.” you sighed while tracing circles on his bare chest.

“i’ll never even look at her again,” his face deadpanned. your laugh vibrated against his chest, “that’s not needed, it’s not really her fault anyways. how about, we spend more time on dates and devote days for each other?”

“anything, princess.”

sakusa kiyoomi

sakusa hated physical touch, the spread of germs with a single handshake grossed him out. that’s why he built a cold exterior to prevent many from getting close. however, when he met you, you happened to be the exception and you took pride in the fact that he was only comfortable with you. he’ll never admit it to you though, and claims he only ‘endures’ your hugs. although, you knew your limit, you would never show affection in front of people. if there’s one thing sakusa hates, it’s PDA.

so you couldn’t really blame the new cute manager for flirting with him, because it seemed like he was single. listen, you trusted sakusa with your whole heart, but you just wanted to see how he would react with a girl flirting with him.

you hid behind the door, eavesdropping behind the door.

“sakusa-senpai, can you please help me up?” the cute manger whined.

“can you not get up yourself?” sakusa groaned.

“no i think i twisted something,” as a girl, you knew exactly what she was doing and her execution was poor. you rolled your eyes, assuming sakusa too would know what she was doing.

but he didn’t.

“thank you, sakusa-senpai!” she squealed, and then what you can assume, she hugged him. because then it caught him by suprise, and they both fell together, with her on top of him. you didn’t hear him scolding her, rather he was laughing. he was happy with her presence when he wouldn’t even physically show it with you. you decided to just walk in and stop this.

amidst of their laughter, both heads looked up at you. “sakusa, don’t you have to get home soon?” with an eyebrow raised.

“uh actually sakusa-senpai it’s getting dark, mind if you could walk me home?” she babbled.

“fine, y/n you can walk yourself right?” he said casually, while packing up his things.

“y-yeah i guess” you stammered.

on your walk home, you were reevaluating what just happened. no longer did you feel special anymore. your brain started to overthink itself, why did they look better as a couple? and why was he so relaxed around her? was i just not the right person? has he found his true love? all these scenarios made you start to tear up. you were in love with the germaphobic man, for god sakes.

when you got the shared apartment, you immediately took a shower, knowing that sakusa was going to nag you anyways when you got home.

then, you started on dinner and chopping up some vegetables when you heard the door open. he nodded at you, acknowledging your presence and was waiting for the hug you gave him everytime he came home. but you didn’t, and he awkwardly just stood there for good minute or two. to your suprise, he was the first one to make the move. he wrapped his arms behind you and resting his head on your neck. immediately, you shrugged him off.

he furrowed his eyebrows, “is there something wrong?”

“i don’t know, is there something wrong?” you repeated his question.

“i wouldn’t know, that’s why i asked.” he bellowed.

you put the knife down and faced him, “you know i love the double standard of how i have to shower before i get to touch you, but that whore gets to touch you whenever,” you ranted.

“our new manager? you can’t be serious. we fell, it was an accident.”

“maybe you thought it was, but i know what she was doing because i, too am a girl. if you guys just ‘fell’ why did it take so long for you to get back up? why’d you let her touch you for so long?” you questioned.

“i wasn’t thinking about it, not everything i do in life is rotated around germs-”

“except when it’s with me” your voice cracked. “right? it’s when it’s with me, that must be it. that’s why you never show any affection, but it’s okay for you because you’ve gotten tons from me and her!” you raved.

he tried to wrap his around you, but you moved out the way.

“don’t touch me with that whore’s filth,” you muttered, turning off the burner and stomped to your shared bedroom, slamming the door. your insecurities were roaring on the inside. sakusa chose to sleep on the couch, thinking you needed space. but, that was the least thing you wanted. you wanted him to beg, or to at least apologize.

over the following days, you didn’t wait for him outside of practice. in fact, the only time he saw you was in the morning before classes and at night when you left leftovers for him in the kitchen. after the argument, he pushed everyone away, especially with the new manager. he only wanted one person’s touch, yours. and to achieve that, he had to put in some effort. that night when he got home, he went straight to the shower. you assumed it was just a normal silent treatment day, so you went to bed scrolling.

you felt the weight on the other side of the bed. knowing who it was, you continued to aimlessly scroll on tiktok. sakusa abruptly grabbed your waist and coddled you, drowning you in pecks all around your face.

“mh.. sakus.. sa.. mh..” continuously getting cut off with his cute pecks on your lips. you decided to let go of the whole manager situation, and let yourself to just be happy. you wrapped your arms around his neck and put him even closer to you. he then pulled away and you dramatically groaned.

putting his face close to yours, “i love you y/n l/n.” before continuing.

a/n: if you like this series please request some characters you’d like to see!

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #sakusa angst #sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #suna x reader #suna imagines #suna x y/n #suna angst

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mandoalorian · 4 years

Note

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

Rough Day At Work [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

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

Word count: 6.5k

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

Rating: PG-13

Masterlist in pinned! Requests open x

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pamela," she beamed brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But sir-" Emmerson raised a shaky hand.

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

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

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

"No." Emmerson put his foot down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll take her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He meant everything to you.

Permanent taglist~let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first

#max lord x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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adragonhoardingstories · 5 years

Text

Daminette AU (Part 8)

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng." She laughed. "Pleased to finally see you coherent."

A deep flush rose up his neck and she giggled. "Thank you for that by the way but advice for the future, it's not prudent to just help out strangers like that in Gotham. It could be a trap."

"Well thank you for the concern. I know it may not seem this way but I can take care of myself."

He seemed like he wanted to argue but thought better of it. Instead, he changed the subject. "Oh, you said you were already to heading to Wayne Tower weren't you? Can I ask what business you have there?"

She smirked. "Well I would tell you but someone just recently told me to be wary of strangers in Gotham."

He laughed. "Okay you got me there."

She giggled. "Well, I'm here on a school trip, we're visiting Wayne Enterprises today."

She barely noticed his eyes widening before he asked another question. "Where is the rest of your class then?"

She snorted. "Believe it or not, they left me behind."

"In Gotham!?" He said outraged.

"I know right." She agreed. "If it was someone else, they would probably have been terrified, lost, in trouble or all three."

He looked thoughtful. "You said if it was someone else and yet I have a feeling you're not just being cocky. "

She raised an eyebrow. "Caught that, didn't you? Well, not many people know this but I'm actually a Gothamite, CPS is what got me to Paris." She winced, changing her accent to her American one. "Couldn't escape them."

He seemed excited by this revelation. "That certainly explains why you seem so at ease here, only a native can be. Well, on behalf of all of Gotham, welcome back."

"There is no other place like Gotham." She laughed. "This will always be home."

He laughed with her for a bit before resuming his interrogation.

"How did you get left behind anyways?"

Her smile turned wry. "I know it seems pretty unbelievable, but there's this girl, who's got the whole class along with the staff wrapped around her little finger, which would be fine if she wasn't a liar. I'm literally one of the only persons who can figure out she's lying which is ridiculous because her lies aren't even good ones. I tried to call her out on it and ended up becoming her favourite target. Anyways, she somehow convinced the class to leave an hour earlier than the time we were supposed to. My only friend in that class is jetlagged and probably as tired as you are right now-" she raised the second coffee in her hand for emphasis. "Which is why she didn't notice and warn me until it was too late. I prepared everything for the trip as class president so I know all the details and well I decided why not take the opportunity to take a stroll in my favourite city?"

"Wow." He said and she was happy to note that seemed genuinely to believe her. "Sounds rough."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Tim pushed the door open for her and she smiled, realising that they were finally at Wayne Tower.

The building was as if not more impressive than she remembered and she fought the urge to take out the sketchbook and start drawing.

"Well I guess, this is where our ways part Tim, it was nice meeting you. Please get some sleep."

He laughed. "Are you so impatient to get rid of me? Just, wait here for a second, I need to have a word with Theresa-" He motioned to the secretary. "-and then I'll escort you to your class, it's the least I can do after youvey helped me."

"Oh, that's not necessary."

"I insist." He gave her disarming smile and walked away before she could protest.

She sighed and looked around, leaning against the wall. Her hands itched and she finally gave in, taking out her sketchbook from her bag and letting the inspiration guide her.

She became so absorbed in her work, she didn't notice when Tim made his way back to her. Only once she was done and went to keep her sketchbook back, did she notice the man waiting for her.

"Oh I'm so sorry, this place is so beautiful, I just needed to get this down. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

He smiled down fondly at her. "It's alright. My little brother is an artist too, I'm used to it. Plus, you didn't take long. I'm a bit surprised actually."

She smiled shyly. "It's just a draft design, I jotted down the things I wanted to go into detail for later."

"You're into design?" He asked while he held another door open for her.

"I'm a fashion designer actually."

"Oooh, well I'm not that interested in those things but I've been trying to get an MDC special since a while. I love their work." Marinette flushed a deep red and hoped Tim wouldn't notice it. Fortunately, he didn't, continuing to babble about what aspect of her work he loved.

Maybe she'd get him VIP tickets to her show. That would be a nice surprise…

"Hey, listen Marinette." Tim stopped in his tracks. "There's something you need to know before we reach your class."

"What is it?" His voice made her wary.

"I'm ah kind of your tour guide."

"Oh." She said, and Tim gave her a moment to absorb that information. "Oh."

He grinned sheepishly when she turned a glare at him. "Surprise!" He did the jazz hands hands and Marinette could help the snort that escaped her.

"So you're not mad?" He asked.

"No, but I'm guessing you figured it when I mentioned we were the school from Paris, huh? Well you could've told me before I started ranting to you but eh I guess it's good that you're warned."

She looked at him solemnly and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, may the Gods be with you."

They stared at each other for a while before they both burst out in a fit of giggles.

"Okay, so anything else I need to know."

She hummed. "Well Mrs Bustier is not the best teacher, she has too much of a passive attitude and tends to support the offender rather than the victim. Other than that I guess, the only people that'll cause you problems is Miss Lie-La Rossi. I'm willing to bet she says something about knowing one of the Waynes within her first five sentences to you."

"I'll take that bet." He placed a hand on her back and gently pushed her forward.

"If I win, you gotta come to dinner at mine, I feel like we can be great friends and I feel like all my siblings will love you!"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, but if I win, I'll give you an address and a date you need to show up at without question."

"Seems fair to me."

She laughed. "What happened to trusting strangers?"

"I think we blew that phase when you gave me the coffee."

She was about to retort when she heard a very shrill and very familiar voice.

"I can't believe Marinette has gone to such extents just to get attention. Doesn't she know how dangerous Gotham is?"

She muttered a quick prayer for the Gods to give her strength and caught Tim's face of complete disbelief as the rest started cussing at her.

"I'm guessing that's Lila." He said.

Marinette offered him no answer, just a grimace as she walked in the room.

***Italics is for french

"Thank you for your concern." She drawled out. "But I do believe it isn't my fault that you changed the schedule and did not inform me and before you start accusing me of lying, let me remind you that I was the one responsible to plan all of the activities on this trip and as such I have a copy of all the times and places we need to be at."

She ignored the seething crowd and passed Chloe her coffee before turning to Mrs Bustier. "And you, Madame? While I can understand the... excitement of the others to visit such a prestigious industry, as teacher it is your job to ensure that all of your students are there - not to mention the inconvenience you undoubtedly have caused the staff here due to your early arrival."

Her teacher flushed. "Now Marinette, I know that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself and the staff didn't seem to have a problem so please refrain from ruining this day for everyone."

She heard Tim mutter his disbelief, she guessed that he spoke French which is also why he was their tour guide. No one had noticed him yet but she decided not to stretch this out.

"They are professionals Madame."

Before things could escalate, she stepped to the side and gestured to Tim.

"This is Tim Drake, our tour guide."

"Bonjour," He smiled even though to her it seemed strained. "Welcome to Wayne Enterprises. We are honoured to have you with us. The portfolio your class president sent to us was impressive. It's nice to know that the youth of today is interested in helping the world around them and during this trip, well Wayne Enterprises aims to help you in your future career."

It was very obviously a practiced speech to Marinette and Tim didn't seem eager to repeat it but the rest of the class ate it up.

He caught her eye and they shared a look of understanding as the others started babbling excitedly.

"Please, I will ask you to remain quiet as we tour so as not to disturb the other employees."

Everyone fell in line and obediently stayed quiet. That lasted for about twenty minutes which was fifteen more than Marinette had expected before Lila started spewing her stories again.

Tim had just finished telling them about the work they did at WE and what they were going to visit. He mentioned that certain labs were off limits to them. That's when Lila started saying that she of course had visited these labs before because the Waynes trusted her.

She could see Tim doing a good job to keep his fury contained. The Waynes were obviously very loved if that's the kind of reaction an employee got after hearing lies about them.

He seeked her eyes as if to ask whether this was all for real and she offered him a small encouraging smile in return.

Tim turned to Miss Liar and her entourage and cleared his throat. "Miss Rossi, I presume, as... entertaining as your fictional stories might be, please refrain from speaking about them here. Also, I do remember telling you not to speak up like you are right now so as not to disturb the other employees."

"She looks like she's going to blow." Chloe snickered and Marinette had to agree, Lila was getting redder.

"How dare you?" She screeched and Marinette had a really good feeling that today was the day Lila was going to start her fall from grace. "My stories aren't fictional. You're probably just a lowly intern but I know all the Waynes personally. I can get you fired!"

"Oh?" Tim's face went blank. "Who do you know in the family?"

"Oh, I know all of them - Dick Drake, Jason Grayson, Tim Todd and Damien Wayne." She felt a surge of anger go through her at the last name but closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Fortunately, she had more than enough practice to control her emotions and opened her eyes just in time to catch the derisive snort from Tim.

At that moment, she remembered why exactly he seemed familiar to her and let herself smirk. Chloe nudged her. "You know something." She said knowingly and she only smiled innocently in return.

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief but turned to watch the drama unfold.

Tim opened his mouth to speak but someone called out to him. "Mr Wayne!" Marinette turned her head to watch a harried woman come their way. "I'm so sorry for interrupting you through this tour, I know you wanted to deal with this class yourself but something came up with the deal with the Luthors, we need you there asap!"

"Alright, I'll be there in five minutes. I know Jason is here, get him to come take over for me, tell him that I'll owe him one - that ought to convince him."

He turned his attention back to Lila, eyes sharp and in that moment, she couldn't recognize the same sleep deprived man she had helped that morning.

"And you, Miss Rossi, if you haven't guessed it yet - I am Tim Drake-Wayne, the CEO of this company and I can guarantee all of you that neither I nor my brothers have ever met you."

"How do you know that your brothers have not met her?" Ever so stubborn, was Alya.

"Because, Miss Cesaire, my brothers names are Dick Grayson and Jason Todd and before you ask, I know all of my youngest brother's friends and she is not part of them. I'm afraid to tell you that she has been lying to you."

Alya looked pissed right then and Marinette couldn't help but feel a bit vindicated.

"So Miss Rossi, please do continue spreading your lies about us and next time, you'll be contacted by our lawyer."

"Now, now." Miss Bustier intervened and Marinette wasn't even surprised that it was now that she decided to intervene.

"Isn't a lawyer too much? She only said a few lies."

"Her lies can be considered defamation. Those labs she said she had access to are for dangerous or top secret experiments. The fact that we just let a teenage girl in there can damage the reputation of our company and raise question on our policies, so no it isn't too much. We can and will sue her if she lies again and for you Mlle Bustier, I am not impressed with your behavior with your class, I will be pushing for an investigation against you."

Marinette could frankly say that the she found some pleasure in seeing her teacher floundering. She pitied her a bit, but it's what she got for siding with the opressor every time.

And then Tim turned to her, harsh expression fading away to give place to a genuine smile as he walked towards her.

"As for you, I can't thank you enough for this morning."��

"It was nothing." Marinette waved it off but then, she smiled teasingly, piecing together what he was doing. "Well if I knew you were a Wayne, I'd have made you pay for the coffee."

Tim laughed, taking it for the joke it was. "Can you give me your phone?"

She raised an eyebrow but handed it over silently; when he returned it, she had a new contact under Sleep Deprived.

"You won our bet." He said as an explanation. "But please, if you have any trouble in Gotham, feel free to call me."

#daminette #marinette dupain cheng #damian al ghul wayne #soulmarks

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped Part 26

Ao3

Hiccup has had one other psychological evaluation. It was when he got out of the hospital, and it went about the same as this one.

In other words, not well.

It turns out that being a white male with a rough relationship with an impossible to please, now absent father figure who also happens to have a long history of childhood bullying raises some red flags. At least last time he was fifteen and still theoretically moldable, instead of a twenty-five-year-old serial murder suspect who just happened to spend the last few years giving nightly tours about the very murders he allegedly copied.

So maybe it went worse this time.

The one bright point was probably the crack in the psychologist’s clinical veneer when Hiccup assured her that no, in fact, he did not have any history of killing animals and he actually loved his childhood cat very much until it died at the ripe old age of eighteen. Of natural causes.

When assuring a mental health professional that he does not now and never has enjoyed torturing animals is a high point, it’s safe to say that this has been a long week. A long month, really. A long year.

Hell, a long life.

Jail has a way of stretching minutes into hours and squeezing hours into dull, ceaseless blinks of an eye. He understands now why people used to mark the dungeon walls when they got fed or caught a glimpse of the sun, because the days blurring together is enough to make Hiccup feel as crazy as the psychiatrist assumed he was.

Not that his version of crazy would ever mean killing cats. His version of crazy appears to mean long, elaborate daydreams of a private shower with a locking door, and also practically unfettered glee when he sees his lawyer because that means he gets to go to a room with a comfortable chair for a while and talk to someone not assuming his guilt.

A straight-faced guard in an NWF uniform walks Hiccup down to the long bank of stalls along a plexiglass barrier. The guard gestures to the last stall and Hiccup sits down in the office chair that might as well be a throne of perfectly fluffed pillows after sitting on his thin mattress all day. His back relaxes enough to hurt, and he exhales a long, slow breath and focuses on Eretson filling out a form before taking the seat on the other side of the plexiglass and picking up the dingy white plastic phone.

“How are you?” Eretson asks out of politeness, not expecting a real answer.

Hiccup almost gives him one anyway, but he doesn’t think it would make him feel any better to say that he’s in jail, it’s miserable, he’s been terrified for so long that he’s mostly just exhausted, and he doesn’t think the psychiatrist liked him very much because she didn’t laugh at any of his jokes.

He settles instead for, “I’m here.”

“How is everything going?” Eretson asks, writing on a legal pad in neat, oversized block letters. Grisly?

They can’t be sure if anything is being recorded on the ancient phone system, but silence is suspicious too.

“Oh, you know, I’m just being in jail. It’s pretty lonely not talking to anyone but your lawyer,” Hiccup laughs, not explicitly trying to sound tired but not holding it back either.

“Any family that you want to visit? I know your mom has been in contact.”

Hiccup swallows hard, “it’s a long flight, she doesn’t need to spend the money just to see me make a fashion statement in orange.” It doesn’t stop him from thinking about her though, how confused she’d be. How angry she’d be if she knew the truth.

His mom is the only woman who ever made his dad back down from an argument and for a second, he lets himself imagine that she could save him. Yell at Grisly, start a picket line, demand reform.

But Grisly isn’t someone to yell at. He’d have no issue adding to his body count.

It makes Hiccup want to scream, and rave, and get a poster-board at a busy intersection to help him spread the truth, and if it were his own life he was risking, he’d do it. But it’s not.

“How is everyone?” He asks, and if Eretson knows who he’s really asking about, he doesn’t show it. His poker face is exhausting, adding to the dreary blur of days in jail. If Hiccup had been making marks on the dungeon wall for every time he won a reaction out of someone, he’d have a single mark made immediately after being placed in his cell, awarded for getting under Grisly’s skin during processing.

“Everything is fine,” Eretson could be lying and Hiccup probably wouldn’t know it, but the thought of something happening to Snotlout or Astrid and not even knowing is too much to even speculate on. It’s the kind of thought that keeps him up at night, counting dimples in the popcorn ceiling to fill the dead space in his mind. “I do want to talk about your options moving towards a trial.”

“Oh God, did the profiler tell you that I’m crazy?” Hiccup laughs under his breath, “because I think she confused my attempts at humor for debilitating psychological issues.” He continues babbling when Eretson doesn’t laugh, “not that I know anything about that. I’m just speaking from what I’ve seen on TV.”

“The profile is just one piece of the case,” Eretson assures, “and you don’t quite fit the profile of a serial murderer.”

“What does ‘not quite’ mean? Is it just the white male, daddy issues thing or did some of my answers partially fit the serial murderer profile?”

“For future reference, saying that Viggo Grimborn is a ‘hobby’ is a bit suspicious.”

“I’ll file that away for the next time I get criminally profiled,” Hiccup nods, “with my luck I’ll probably need it. Should I have said that I actually picked up yoga like my doctor told me to?”

“I finally got access to Grisly’s evidence file,” Eretson changes the subject and Hiccup bites the inside of his cheek to keep from asking if he’s ever laughed, even once, “and it’s going to take a while to look through it all and compare it to my own, but so far it’s more airtight than I would have expected.”

Hiccup has never been very good at not saying what he feels, or even delaying saying what he feels, but glancing at the NWF guard out of the corner of his eye helps him shove his rant back down.

“Oh.”

“Of course, forensics is still working, but that could take months—”

“Months?” Hiccup knows the theory of the word, in that the year is broken into twelve more or less even pieces consisting of approximately thirty days each. There’s something about the moon in there too. But in practice? The concept of spending months in this limbo is foreign and impossible, defying some belief held so strongly that it feels like a physical law. “How long have I been in here?”

“Five days.”

“And you’re saying months until a trial.”

“Under current timelines, yes.” Eretson goes to make another note but then decides against it, speaking carefully instead. “And given the unique circumstances of your situation, I don’t believe that waiting months is the best path forward.”

Hiccup hears the truth between the words: Leaving Grisly to his own devices for months gives him more time to bulletproof his lies and clean up his evidence. His throat tightens when he thinks of Astrid and how much danger she’s in.

“Have you told anyone what I told you about…the case?” He tries, “you know, about their um, continued involvement in the case as it progresses?” His eyes scream about Grisly’s threats and Eretson must get the message because he shakes his head.

“No, I haven’t, I think it’s best to minimize Miss Hofferson’s involvement at this point, given all how many times her name comes up in the file.”

Hiccup doesn’t know Miss Hofferson. Miss Hofferson threatened a harassment claim at one point, sure, but she ceased to exist when Astrid came into the picture. Astrid with her glares and her bony fists and misty eyes when she looks at old books. Astrid impatient for the truth, impatient for the point of a roundabout story, always moving and trying and inviting him to try too.

“Don’t you think…I mean, wouldn’t it be better for her to know the situation?” His throat is dry, and swallowing doesn’t seem to help.

“I thought of something that could potentially move the process along faster,” Eretson ignores Hiccup’s question, not unkindly just devoted to keeping the meeting on track, and Hiccup presses the phone closer to his face, forcing himself to focus. “We haven’t considered a plea deal.”

“A plea deal? Like taking a driving course to knock a few points off of a driving ticket?”

“In this case, a confession and promise to divulge information about anyone else involved in the case in exchange for a reduced sentence.” Eretson writes on the pad, Grisly coerced you into the last murder, then turned on you.

Hiccup’s heart pounds in his ears. One murder, not four. It would be a better ratio if they were talking about any other crime. One car stolen, not four. One house broken into, not four. But as someone who has committed zero murders, confessing to one feels monumental and terrifying and stupid.

While he can’t honestly say he’s spent much time trying to be successful, he has made a conscious effort to not absolutely ruin his life, and confessing to a murder he didn’t commit in order to tell a bunch of lies connecting him to the man who did sounds like a very quick way to undo all of that.

“Reduced sentence, not no sentence.”

“It gives us leverage too,” Eretson insists, “we can argue the conditions of you coming forward with information and include minimum sentence before appeal for probation or insist on a certain facility that’s better than here.”

“So trading months waiting for trial for some as of yet unspecified amount of time in a different cell?” Hiccup snorts, “is there a catalog? Do I get to choose my bedsheets and pick out a plant for the window?”

“The prosecution would no longer have months to prepare for a trial. As it is, they have plenty of time to build their case.” The ‘and do other things like horribly murder your remaining loved ones’ is an unspoken addition.

“Do you think it would work?” Hiccup lets himself think about it, glazing over the moment he’d have to sit in front of his father’s oldest frenemy and say that he took someone’s life.

How deep can Grisly’s cover really go? He thinks of the man’s empty office, his horde of creepy guards seamlessly integrating with multiple levels of law enforcement. How long would someone have to dig to find something wrong? Would a name brought up in a plea deal be enough?

“I have witnesses,” Eretson says, scrawling Jorgenson in purposeful letters on the pad.

“The benefit then, is that we have a chance to direct the investigation.”

“Towards the truth, of course.”

“Right, the truth.” As much as Hiccup has played fast and loose with the rules, he’s always had a steady commitment to the truth, but telling it didn’t save him. Hell, telling the truth now would get people killed, and the silence is starting to be so deafening he’s wondering if the affects will be permanent.

“Think about it,” Eretson starts to stand up and Hiccup fumbles for something else to talk about, anything to get some more time out of character as ‘obedient inmate’, but he’s too slow and Eretson hangs up the phone.

He almost knocks on the plexiglass to get his attention before remembering that’s strictly against the rules, and his hand freezes mid-air when he looks over Eretson’s shoulder and sees who’s turning away from the front desk after filling out a form.

It’s Astrid.

She’s wearing a glare that could melt the barrier between them if she aimed it his direction instead of at Eretson and a jacket she must have borrowed from Hiccup’s coat closet. Her arms fly out from her sides as she argues then she shoves her hands in her pockets and narrows her eyes, an expression he instantly recognizes as seething doubt. She was clearly asking for something she thought she wasn’t going to get, and now that she’s won it, she’s unsure if it’s real.

Then, she looks at him and her eyes widen as her shoulders slump, relief that he can hardly fathom having anything to do with him flooding across her features.

He smiles the first real smile he’s had since she was tangled in his hoarded sheets and everything seemed like it would be ok and waves and she waves back, one half limp hand raised to shoulder height.

Eretson crosses his arms, shoulders rigid then relaxing as he points at the chair he just vacated, saying something else that makes Astrid shoot him a sharp look before hurrying to the other side of the glass. She practically falls into the chair, picking up the phone with shaking fingers and holding it to her ear.

He loves her.

“Hi,” Hiccup starts, anticlimactic, and Astrid’s mouth splits into a wide, tired smile.

He loves her and she isn’t safe here. Not with the NWF guard at the door, not with Grisly just a buzz away.

“Hi,” she bites her lower lip and leans forward on her elbows on the ledge in front of the window, and if it weren’t for the plexiglass, he could kiss her. “Eretson isn’t happy that I’m here, he told me not to follow him because visiting hours were over, but I checked online and, well—”

“And you’re here.” And he loves her, and he doesn’t want to tell her in an itchy jumpsuit over a dirty jail phone, but it’s so true and so much that he’s not sure he’ll have a choice. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ve been told ten minutes and no discussions of ‘substance’,” she air-quotes around the word and his palms itch with how much he wants to touch her.

Eretson is standing by the door and Hiccup idly wonders if he has his gun or if he had to turn that in to step into his lawyer shoes. Either way, his presence feels protective, and Hiccup already told Astrid once that she shouldn’t be here, he can’t be expected to do that again. Not when she’s right across from him, not when it’s been so long since he’s seen a friendly face.

“That works for me, I don’t have anything of substance to talk about.” He shrugs and she smiles, soft and fond in a way he definitely doesn’t deserve. She’s obviously exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes making his chest ache even as the sight of her in his jacket lets him feel like he’s protecting her in some tiny way while he can’t do anything else. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, you?”

“I’m here.” It hurts more the second time.

“Yeah,” she looks back at Eretson for a second before scooting her chair closer to the glass, “that was a stupid question. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” he wipes a hand over his stubble and his cheeks heat up.

“No, not—the beard is fine,” her smile is faint and secret and too far away, “it’s more just…” She waves her hand at him and he rolls his eyes.

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“All of you except your beard,” she clarifies before checking on Eretson again. She’s not built for levity in this kind of situation and he can see a serious depth sneaking back into her eyes. “Everything’s a mess.”

“Hey now, that sounds like ‘substance’,” he redirects, “how’s Snotlout?”

“When his shoulder is better to the point that I won’t literally kill him, I’m going to hit him sixty-seven separate times,” she sets her chin, resolute, “I have a tally.”

“Are you sure he’s ok? That sounds a little low.”

She laughs, a tinge of mischief clouding the worry in her expression, “he’s ok. He made a point yesterday to tell me his favorite story about you.”

“Oh God,” Hiccup’s stomach falls as his eyes widen, “what favorite story is that?”

“You know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear but it doesn’t stay, falling back against her flushing cheek, “some girl called you ‘Viggo’ and—”

“Yep, that one.” If Grisly came in right now and offered to kill him to make this easier, he might just let him. “Which version was it?”

“There are different versions?”

“No,” he drags his palm down his face, “not—I wish there were, every other Snotlout story is blown out of proportion so much it’s easy to call bullshit, but that one…he tells that story with unflinching accuracy and dedication to the truth.” He shakes is head, wishing he had a bucket of ice to put out the fire on his face, “sometimes there are sound effects, I’m shocked you’re here.”

“No sound effects,” she shakes her head, “maybe he’ll do those in court though, he seems to think he can prove your innocence.”

“I think I’d rather plead guilty than listen to Snotlout tell that story in court.” He laughs, but it brings Eretson’s plea deal back into his conscious mind. Just as a concept to get used to, as something neutral that takes up space in his brain until he decides what to do about it.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she whispers, crossing her legs and tapping an anxious foot in the air. “I’ve been looking at this from every angle and I haven’t found anything yet.”

“That’s definitely substance—”

“Eretson isn’t listening,” she mutters, “and if I don’t do something useful, I’m going to scream, I—”

“Hey, it’s ok,” he lies, and he can’t help thinking of Grisly’s promise, “you’re safe, that’s what matters—”

“That’s a copout,” she glares, tired and alive and his chest throbs, “there has to be something that we can do.”

“I can’t do anything,” he hates how bitter he sounds, honest for the first time in days, and something about Astrid’s solid expression is almost shocked, like she expected better or at least different of him. “I can barely keep the days straight, I—Hell, I told a psychologist that Viggo Grimborn is a hobby and now they think—well, I guess they already thought given that I’m here—”

“Hiccup,” she sighs, palm on the plexiglass, fingertips that he can’t touch smudged with ink and library dust.

“Eretson said that a trial could take months,” he leans his head on his hand, “and I know that, rationally. I know that big, newsworthy trials for serial killers take months to put together, but I guess—I don’t want to do this here.”

“Do what?”

“Anything.” Even he thinks he sounds pathetic now and Astrid’s frown turns disappointed, which is worse than just sad. “I just feel useless.”

“I can see that.” If it were pity in her voice, it would shut him down, but it’s not. It’s something different, something stronger. Something annoyed, and he realizes for the first time, she’s dragging him along a path of her choice, and him digging in his heel isn’t going to stop her.

He looks at her hand and his jumpsuit and his blurry reflection that he can see superimposed over her face on the plexiglass if he stares hard enough. He loves her. He thinks about that ill-fated breakfast run and what he’d be doing now if things had gone differently.

“I guess…I spent the last few years in complete stasis, just giving tours and knowing what every day would look like before it began. And then, well, you.” Then he fell in love with her. No, she changed everything before he did that, but that doesn’t make it sound any less corny. He wouldn’t have thought she was in the mood for corny, but her eyes soften slightly even as she holds her frown in place. He forces himself to keep talking so that he doesn’t backtrack over anything he hasn’t decided to say yet, “and I think for the first time in a while, I thought these next few months were going to be different.”

“How?” Of course she asks the question most likely to make him look like an idiot.

“Aside from well, you maybe being around I hope, umm,” he clears his throat and presses the phone closer to his ear to continue, “and well, I guess I have to finally figure out what I’m going to do with my life? Because it isn’t sensationalizing murders that are still destroying everything I love about this city even a hundred years on, and,” he swallows hard and laughs, a sharp, surprised sound, “and I think I was looking forward to it, almost. But now that’s not happening because my next few months are all booked up. Literally.”

“Well, you have plenty of time to think about it,” she tries and fails to cushion the statement and it makes him smile even as his heart sinks, heavy and exhausted and desperate.

What are the chances she’s still going to look at him like that after months?

“That’s true.”

“I’ll figure out how to book a conjugal trailer and we can work on your resume,” she offers, evidently satisfied with his suggested path forward. “

“You shouldn’t,” he tries to swallow against the knot in his throat when he thinks about her on jail property, alone with him, and Grisly’s promised intent rings in his ears. Months. What are the chances she can evade Grisly for months if she can’t go five days without ending up here? “It’s not safe.”

“I obviously need to, just a few days of this and you sound like Eretson.”

“Eretson’s right, Astrid.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He could tell her. The NWF guard behind him couldn’t make a move with cameras and Eretson standing right there in the lobby. If he told her, then she’d know to run far away and—and he doesn’t now how deep Grisly’s cover goes.

“I can take care of myself.” Plus, looking at her fierce blue eyes, he knows that she wouldn’t run.

Months. Months of chances. Months of not seeing her every day, or at all, if she’s doing what’s best for herself. Months of limited information and fear that the next snippet that makes it through the bars on his cell will be bad.

He’s right, it is time to figure out what he’s going to do with his life, and while he has decidedly fewer choices than he thought he would, the answer is still obvious.

“Eretson’s right about a lot of things,” he sighs, hoping she’ll go easy on him and knowing that’s impossible, “he thinks I should take a plea deal.”

“I told you not to joke about that—”

“I’m not joking.” He shakes his head, taking in her furious expression. It’s slower blooming than normal, jaw flexing and setting forward before the blue fire is truly lit in her eyes. She’s tired, after five days, and she doesn’t now half of the truth. He loves her, and the only draw to finally getting his shit together is that he’d be doing it with her. He doesn’t get to do that now, but he can do something for her.

He could tell himself that he’s doing it for Snotlout or for whoever would be unlucky enough to cross Grisly’s path next, but since he’s already planning to lie himself into a prison sentence for a murder he didn’t commit, he should probably stick to the truth, at least internally.

“That decision is going to last more than months, Hiccup—”

“Yeah, and it’s about more than time.” He almost tells her then, but he’s not sure what good it would do when she’s staring at him with something like hatred. Too shocked, too sad, too helpless. She looks like she wants to smack some sense into him and he’d let her if it meant he could touch her before he takes this step he knows he can’t retreat from.

He wonders, briefly, if the real Viggo Grimborn ever thought about turning himself in. When the fervor died down and no one mentioned him in the paper anymore. Maybe he took a Victorian plea deal and got arrested for something else, something smaller, something forgiveable, but barely. And only to some.

If only Astrid didn’t forgive him for harassment, then he might have that ‘get out of trouble free’ card to spend now.

Except he wouldn’t need it then, because he would have done his community service and gone right back to giving tours, staying across the street to respect a fifty-yard boundary. No matter what, Astrid was destined to disrupt the monotony of his life, he just hoped one of the roads didn’t lead to a courtroom.

“Hiccup,” she says his name in a tone he doesn’t recognize, half-pleading and half-insulting, both uncomfortable for her. She opens her mouth again wordlessly, obviously unsure what to say to bring her pep talk back on track.

“You were right, there is something I can do.”

“No—”

“Visiting hours are over,” the NWF guard appears behind Hiccup, heavy hand on his shoulder as he looks at Astrid, recognition flickering in his otherwise brainwashed eyes. “Time’s up.”

“I’m not done here,” Astrid stands up, phone still pressed to her ear, glare dialed to the maximum even as Eretson steps into the room behind her and says something to get her attention.

“Let Eretson give you a ride,” Hiccup says, memorizing how her eyes on him feel, even through plexiglass, even furious and confused, “please.”

His cell is smaller than before. The bed is less comfortable, the walls colder, the single light in the ceiling flickering at just the right frequency to prevent him from thinking. His jumpsuit is itchy and his back is either too tense to hurt, or the sensation is entirely drowned out by the dull throbbing in his chest. Most of the time, when people sacrifice themselves for the greater good, it’s faster than this. It’s jumping in front of a bullet, not waiting alone for hours to invoke due process like a spell.

He can’t say he’s surprised when the door to the hallway opens, and he’s definitely not surprised to see Grisly, monochromatic and rigid, danger stuffed carefully out of sight for the time being. Hiccup’s relief is palpable and gruesome, he hates knowing what the man looks like after a kill, but he’s glad to know that this sober expression isn’t it.

“I heard Astrid visited today,” Grisly’s smile blooms slowly as he steps out of range of the hallway cameras and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

“Yeah? Did a little birdie tell you?”

“I trust you didn’t tell her anything sensitive,” he gloats, a cat pinning a mouse’s tail down and watching it struggle.

But Hiccup isn’t struggling, not anymore. He’s not trying to escape, he’s steering into the skid. He’s a mouse full of rat poison, ready to dive into the belly of the beast.

“Oh, so you can’t get the recordings from those visiting phones? Eretson was wondering about that, thanks for the tip.” He jokes, voice even, and Grisly straightens his uniform. Hiccup wonders if he designed the NWF uniforms himself, and the thought strikes him as kind of pathetic. Less of a wolf in sheep’s clothing and more of an institutional fanboy, a blatant self-insert too self-conscious to be believable.

At least when Hiccup puts on an act, he gets real antiques. He commits.

“I just thought I’d remind you of her…precarious situation.” It’s bluster, painted on thick and smudged before it could dry into armor.

“Trust me, I couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

“Good,” Grisly’s smile is cracked around the edges, veneer wearing thin after a long day at an office job he hates, “you seem to be taking something seriously for once. You know, maybe all of this has been good for you.”

“The legal system is supposed to rehabilitate people after all,” Hiccup shrugs, on the weird end of a paternal lecture from someone he respects so little that he feels the need to make it clear. “Maybe I’ll finally be an upstanding citizen when this is all over.”

“Upstanding,” Grisly’s lip curls, eyes manic and alive for just a second before he wipes has hands on his pants and selects one key off of his keyring, “if it keeps your spirits up…”

“Oh yeah, I’m downright chipper,” Hiccup nods, “catching up on my sleep. So, if you don’t mind,” he points at the evening sky outside and fakes a yawn.

Grisly grits his teeth, feral for a second, canine too sharp, “of course. Can I get you anything else while I’m being so accommodating?”

“I think I’m good for now,” Hiccup waves him towards the door, “I’ll let you know though.”

Grisly leaves then, shoulders rigid, and Hiccup hates how the silence makes him wish he’d dragged out the conversation longer. He tells himself that this will be over soon and tries to think about his new tour, a thrilling, courtroom-based tale of murder and eventual, inevitable betrayal.

#ripped #httyd fic #hiccstrid #modern au #hiccstrid fic #serial killer tour guide au #we'er here now and it's weird

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pocket-luv101 · 5 years

Text

Happiness || Chapter 6

Fandom: Servamp Characters: Mahiru, Kuro, Licht, Hyde Pairings: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (side)

Summary: Mahiru found a baby in front of his orphanage and he thought that it belonged to Kuro. But the infant could be the key to finding his lost mother. {Historical Romance// Family AU}

Ch.1 || Ch.2 || Ch.3 || Ch.4 || Ch.5 || (Ch.6) ||

“I hope Licht didn’t have too much trouble with Machi. He already has to watch over so many kids.” Mahiru parted the curtains to see if they were near the orphanage. He had to quickly close the blinds before snow could enter the carriage. He didn’t want the winter breeze to cool the pie they bought for the orphans. “Does Hyde have any experience taking care of children?”

“We were only gone for a few hours and I can’t imagine anything drastic happening in that time. You don’t need to worry.” He said. The carriage came to a stop and he stepped out. Mahiru gathered the boxes of pie in his arms and started to follow him. Kuro landed in the snow and turned to him. “I’ll carry those boxes for you. Take my hand. The snow is slippery.”

“Be careful not to ruin the pies. We’ll have to travel another hour to go back to Misono’s inn and buy more pies. Machi is too young for pie but she’ll like the cinnamon apple slices Lily made for her. I hope they’ll be able to come down and meet her.” He handed the boxes to Kuro. He shifted the boxes into one arm and held out his free hand to help him down.

They both wore mittens but Mahiru could feel the alluring heat of his hand as he took it. He helped him down from the carriage and gestured for the foreman to leave. Kuro walked with Mahiru to the orphanage. “I remember when I left for school, Lily and everyone were still kids. They would become clingy each time I came home for vacation. Machi will probably miss you like that.”

“Me?” He looked up at Kuro and their eyes met. Mahiru unconsciously walked slower. He wanted to be by his side a little longer. With Kuro’s warm body beside him, he didn’t feel the cold breeze or thick snow. Mahiru lifted his fingers to his lips and gently blew onto them to stop himself from reaching out to Kuro’s hand. “I think she’ll miss you since you’re her older brother. You’re also a father figure to her.”

“I always thought my family was unconventional but it’s more complicated than I could imagine.” He didn’t know if he could raise a child well. His father was far from a nurturing person and he only became worse after his mother disappeared. He did his best for his siblings but his title kept a wall between them. Kuro looked up at the sky and wondered where his mother could be.

They stopped in front of the orphanage and Mahiru was confused to find the door locked. He took out his key and said: “Yesterday, Licht locked out your brother. I hope he didn’t do the same today. I should give him a lecture if he did. We have to put aside our feelings and do what’s best for Machi.”

Kuro wondered if Mahiru was holding back his own emotions around him. Mahiru wasn’t a resentful person but their parting hurt him. It was clear that he cared for Machi though. Since he found her, Mahiru doted on Machi as if she was his own daughter. The compassion and kindness Mahiru showed others was one of the things that made Kuro fall in love with him.

Mahiru opened the door and walked into the hall. He could hear small cries from the main room and he immediately recognized it as Machi’s. He felt guilty that he left the infant when she was still becoming accustomed to her new home. While he trusted Licht, Mahiru felt responsible for her. He entered the living room and found Hyde struggling with the baby.

“Thank God, you two are back. How do you two manage to sleep with a baby crying about everything?” Hyde ran to them and handed Machi to Mahiru. “She’s not even old enough to tell me why she’s crying. I tried giving her milk and changing her dipper but she just won’t stop.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating, Hyde? She seems fine now.” Mahiru stopped his short rant. He looked back down at Machi whose tears had stopped. While she whimpered against Mahiru’s shoulder, she was calmer. He slowly rocked his body and hummed to her. She nestled into his familiar warmth. A small smile softened Kuro’s face as he watched the two.

“I brought you a pie for your hard work. We actually bought a lot of treats for everyone.” Kuro handed one of the boxes to his brother. The moment the orphans saw the pies, they surrounded the two and asked them for a slice. They struggled to manage the children until Licht’s voice stopped them.

“I just finished making lunch so don’t spoil your appetite. You can all have a slice after we eat. Now, wash up and set the table. Make sure to thank Mahiru and Kuro too.” Licht added the order as he ushered the children to the dining room. He had a commanding presence and Hyde admired that trait. “Welcome back, Mahiru. Did you two find anything?”

“No.” Mahiru answered in a soft voice so the orphans wouldn’t overhear them. “Misono said he would tell us if she does check into his hotel. Was Machi a handful while we were gone? Hyde seemed to be having trouble with her when we came back.”

“She was an angel.” Licht said and ruffled her hair. He wondered if she knew that they were talking about her since she started to babble happily. His expression became troubled as he told Mahiru: “A man came and scared her. We haven’t been able to calm her down since then. He left about ten minutes ago and I didn’t know if he would come back.”

“Was that the reason you locked the door?” He asked and Licht nodded. His answer made Mahiru more concerned because he would only lock the doors if he thought someone would endanger the children. He placed his hand over Machi’s head protectively. “Do you think he knows that Machi is from the Servamp family?”

“He seemed determined to take her and it must be for our family’s rank. Anyone visiting would assume she was an orphan and no different from the other kids here.” Hyde reasoned. “Mahiru already had a lot of opportunity to take her and blackmail us. I saw Lichtan’s reaction to the man and he didn’t know him. Nii-san and I have only told our siblings about him.”

“Our siblings know better than to tell others about Machi before we learn everything too.” Kuro added. When their mother vanished, a hundred different rumours surrounded the family. They weren’t able to go outside without people staring and whispering at them. He moved to the country to escape that life and he found a haven with Mahiru. He should’ve known that he couldn’t run forever.

“Then who would know about her?” Kuro’s brows furrowed because he already knew the answer to Mahiru’s question. The person could be the one who brought Machi to the orphanage or associated with the person. The tense atmosphere made Machi uncomfortable and she started to fuss. Mahiru gently stroked her hair to comfort her and Kuro moved next to the two. He wanted to protect them.

“The man wasn’t someone I recognize. He isn’t a part of our staff or a nobleman. Do you anyone who is this tall with a slim built? He has short dark hair.” Hyde described the man who tried to take Machi. “He thinks that Machi is staying here. He might come back and try to take her again. Do you have more employees to help protect Machi if that happens?”

“There are thirty children living here, Shit Rat.” Licht told him curtly. He glanced into the next room where the children were eating. They weren’t related by blood but Licht considered them his family and he wanted to raise them to be angels. “Most of the other caretakers went home for the holiday but I can protect them by myself.”

“Machi will be safe at Kuro’s home but I’m worried about the man targeting the children here. I know you’re strong, Licht, but you’re still one person.” Mahiru chose his words carefully to not hurt his friend’s pride. “I can stay at the orphanage during the nights but you’ll need help during the day. Hyde, will you be busy while you’re in town? Can you work a few shifts at the orphanage?”

“What?” Hyde and Licht yelled at the same time. His blue eyes flashed as Licht said, “I don’t need help from this demon. If anything, he’ll just get in the way. While you were gone, I had to teach him everything from burping a baby to nursery rhymes.”

“Hey, the kids liked when I read to them.” Hyde pouted. They only met so Licht’s words shouldn’t hurt his pride as much as they did. “For now, I’m exchanging letters with our prior staff for information. Once they answer my inquiries, I’ll have to travel often to talk with them in person. I didn’t tell them about Machi in the letters and they might see her if they come here. I don’t know if I’ll have time to watch a bunch of kids.”

“Can’t you two get along and work together for the children’s sake?” Mahiru thought that Hyde was slowly growing to trust them. He lifted Machi and brought her closer to Licht and Hyde. She beamed at them with a smile full of trust. Then, she took a lock of their hair in each of her hand. She pulled them closer together. He chuckled and said, “Even Machi wants you two to work as a team.”

“That’s not fair, Mahiru.” Licht sighed and gently eased his hair from Machi’s grip. Hyde was slightly surprised when Licht reached over to help him as well. A faint blush dusted both of their cheeks when he stepped back once he was finished. “Fine, I’ll accept his help. Your shift starts at six o’clock sharp, Shit Rat. Don’t be late.”

“You’re the only person I know who can make an angel and demon work together.” Kuro said as they prepared to return to his home. Since Hyde didn’t know how to care for kids, they stayed at the orphanage to teach him. The hours quickly passed until it became night. Hyde fell asleep on the couch so they decided to let him be.

“He won’t be late for his new job if he sleeps here.” Mahiru struggled to slip on his shoes with only one hand. Machi was tucked safe in the baby sling he wore but he wanted to keep an arm around her. He thought of the man who tried to steal her. He didn’t know what they would do if he came back for her and he held her protectively. “Will your brother be angry that we left him here?”

“He’s an adult now so he can’t expect me to carry him to bed as if he’s six.” Kuro knelt down and gently took Mahiru’s shoe into his hands. He slipped the shoe onto his foot and glanced up at him. Staring into his warm eyes, Kuro almost told him he loved him. He forced himself to break his gaze away from him before he could. He stood and they found themselves close to each other.

“Thank you,” Mahiru said breathlessly. “We should get going. Machi is sleeping soundly now but she needs a proper crib. Do you think we should summon a carriage to take us home? I’m worried that the night might be too cold for her.”

“Actually, I was hoping we could walk and stop by a place. It’s on the way home and we’ll only be there for a few minutes so I don’t think it’ll be too cold for Machi.” He said. Kuro adjusted the blankets around Machi so she would be snugged. He opened the door for them and they walked into the night. The street lamps lined the road and the light made Machi turn into his chest.

Kuro placed his hand on the small of Mahiru’s back and led him down the street. He wondered where he wanted to take them. Mahiru found himself searching the shadows for the man that Licht told them about. He relaxed as Kuro rubbed circles into his jacket. He leaned into his reassuring presence and reminded himself that Kuro would protect them.

“The moon is beautiful tonight. It’s almost a shame that Machi’s asleep and she can’t see the stars.” Mahiru whispered so their voices wouldn’t wake her. Despite how late it was, he wasn’t tired and simply enjoyed Kuro’s company. They spoke in secretive whispers like they would long ago. The conversation flowed between them smoothly and the late night walk was almost nostalgic.

“Maybe we can wake her up for a few minutes so she can see this.” Kuro stopped. With his arm around his waist, he turned Mahiru to the ice sculpture garden. His breath was taken away. The lamps behind them allowed him to see the delicate statues. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky so the stars and the moon’s light reflected through the ice. Mahiru stepped closer so admire the details of the ice garden.

“This is beautiful, Kuro.” He whispered. Mahiru felt Kuro’s heat behind him and leaned backwards into it. He gently shook Machi awake and she grumbled slightly. Her irritated face from being woken made Mahiru chuckle because it reminded him of Kuro. Carefully, he adjusted Machi in his arms so he could see the ice garden. “Isn’t it stunning, Machi?”

“Oh!” She gasped in excitement.

“She likes it too. Thank you for showing us this, Kuro.” Mahiru smiled up at him.

“I saw it when we were driving back from the inn. I planned to bring you here earlier but we lost track of time earlier. At least the sculptures still looks nice at night.” Kuro said and brushed a few snowflakes from his brown hair. “It’s late and cold. You should stay at my house. Since Machi missed you a lot, I doubt she’ll let you leave again.”

Kuro didn’t add that he also missed Mahiru after they parted ways years ago. He wanted to hold him and never let go. He knew better than to voice that and whispered, “We should head home now.”

#servamp #kuromahi #lawlicht #sloth pair #greed pair #mahiru shirota #servamp kuro #licht jekylland todoroki #servamp hyde #fanfiction

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captainkippen · 5 years

Note

I'm sad and if you're still taking prompts, could you write a fluffy prompt of a universe where TJ does dress up as the summer to Cyrus's salt and they're just being all cute and the Mt. Rushmore costume is still completed and things are happy

I GOT YOU BRO.

Costume day is one of Cyrus’ favourite days of the year. It’s the one day of school where everyone seems to really go all out for once. People put a lot of effort into their outfits and it’s always fun to try and guess what some of the more obscure ideas are in between classes. This year, with TJ asking him to do a joint costume, he’s even more excited than usual. He feels a little bad about bailing on Andi because he knows how much she loves the Mount Rushmore costume (it’s been lurking in her closet waiting for a chance to rise again for ages much to the exasperation of everyone else - not that they’d ever ruin her fun by telling her that though). However, it’s hard to be too worried when he knows they’ve got Marty as a backup and TJ wants to do a joint costume. A joint costume of their own inside joke no less. It’s pretty awesome.

When he gets to school he picks self-consciously at the hem of his shirt until he spots TJ walking towards him and he can’t help himself from beaming. TJ’s face lights up in response. He looks so good in his board shorts and flip-flops. They greet one another with the usual handshake and bro hug, lingering for a moment when TJ doesn’t drop Cyrus’ hand immediately.

“Looking good, Teej,” Cyrus says, poking at the sunglasses on his face.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” TJ smiles. “I like the strainer. Nice touch.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Cyrus does a little bow, the strainer sliding forward as he does. TJ catches it quickly with a loud bark of laughter and places back on his head with light fingers.

“Hey, guys!” Comes Buffy’s voice from behind them and the two of them turn to see her with Marty, Jonah and Andi carrying a large papier-mache mountainside with four head holes. Cyrus’ grin widens.

“Good morning,” he greets them.

TJ gives them an odd look. “What’s with the… boulder?”

“Mount Rushmore,” Andi chirps. “That’s what we’re going as. We just have to do the makeup and stuff, we’re on our way now.”

“Oh man, you guys are going to look awesome,” TJ says. “That’s such a cool idea.”

“What about you guys?” Marty asks, then gestures excitedly at Cyrus. “Wait… don’t tell me! I totally get it. Salt!”

Buffy snorts.

“But I don’t get what TJ is meant to be..”

“Summer,” Cyrus provides helpfully.

“Salt and summer?”

“Oh! Summer-salt!” Andi says. “That’s so cute.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Marty sighs. Jonah nudges him and shrugs as if to say ‘me either’.

TJ smiles and throws an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders. “It’s an inside joke.”

The rest of the day follows in a similar fashion but Cyrus finds that he doesn’t mind explaining the costume to people over and over again. Every time they do, TJ gets this big soft smile on his face like he’s really proud of himself for thinking of it and that makes it hard to feel anything but pleased. It’s confirmation over and over again that TJ really cares about their friendship, that he actually enjoys being around Cyrus and thinks about the memories that they’ve made on a regular basis.

It probably shouldn’t take as long as it does for everything to click for him.

He’s sat in English class before lunch and totally zoning out on whatever their teacher is talking about because he’s thinking about TJ’s smile when someone asked to hear the somersault story a little while ago. When he looks down at where he’s been doodling mindlessly on the page he realises that he’s filled the corner of his notes with little scribbled hearts. Oh no.

The bell goes and all of a sudden he’s incredibly glad that Buffy is in this class with him because it makes it so much easier to grab her as they head out the door. He pulls her aside and sort of just flails at her for a moment, letting loose incoherent babbling mess of words at about eighty miles an hour while she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Cyrus,” she says, putting her hands her shoulders to ground him. “Speak slower. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

And with that, he calms down just enough to say, “TJ.”

“What about him?”

“I think I have a crush on him,” he blurts out.

There’s a pause. Buffy diverts her eyes upwards like she’s praying for boys to be less stupid then looks back at him, exasperated. “You’re only just figuring this out now?”

“What?!” He squawks. “What do you mean I’m only just figuring this out? You knew? How did you know?! I didn’t even know, how could you have possibly known that!”

“We just figured-”

“We?!”

“Yes, me and Andi.”

“Andi knows?! How do you-”

Buffy clamps a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing him for the time being and gives him an impatient look. “You guys spend a lot of time together. Like a lot. And that wouldn’t be unusual except for the fact you’re always touching each other and looking at each other like you’re the only two people in the world. Did you know you talk about TJ literally all the time? And he’s the same with you. You’re in a couples costume, Cyrus. I can’t believe you didn’t realise this earlier.”

He says something but it’s muffled by her palm and she drops it. “What?”

“I said,” he repeats in disbelief. “Are you implying that TJ also has a crush on me?”

“Obviously.”

“But we don’t even know if he likes boys…”

“Cyrus, he brought challah to your Bubbe’s shiva. He reported Reed’s gun to the police for you. He made up with me, Jonah and Andi because of you. He taught you how to do a somersault and then came up with a costume for it. If he doesn’t like you I’ll eat my own foot.”

Cyrus leans back and lets his head thunk back against the wall in a stunned daze. Buffy’s right. Oh God, she’s so right. He has actual, legitimate, romantic-type feelings for TJ Kippen and TJ probably has those same feelings for him. How the hell did this even happen?

“I know your brain is like exploding right now,” Buffy says, only half-sympathetic. “But can we go get lunch now? I’m starving.”

Cyrus and TJ walk home together and the two of them end up sitting by the pond in the park. It’s become one of their top places to hang out, ever since the gun incident, and the peaceful way that the sun falls on them while a soft breeze blows over the water does not match the pace of the reeling thoughts in Cyrus’ head at all. He knits together a chain of daisies as he thinks - he, Buffy and Andi used to spend hours making all sorts of flowery jewellery just like that. It’s soothing.

“You okay?” TJ asks, knocking their elbows together. “You’re really quiet.”

“Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts? Though… I don’t think I actually have a penny on me. The pockets on these shorts suck,” he jokes and Cyrus can’t help but laugh a little.

He’s always doing that. He’s always making Cyrus smile and laugh without even thinking about it. Things are so easy around TJ and it’s all hitting him at once. He’s never felt like he had to be anything but himself around him. Never felt pressured to try and be ‘normal’ or change. TJ listens to his rants and his rambles and his info-dumps. He listens to Cyrus talk about his hyper fixations non-stop, then he goes away and looks them up so he can take part in the conversation in a meaningful way. In return, he shows Cyrus the things he loves and always looks so happy to do so… as if he wants Cyrus involved. He wants Cyrus to be a part of his world.

Cyrus wants to hold his hand and cuddle up to him on the couch when they watch television. He wants to go on picnic and bowling dates, to the movies and arcade together. He wants to steal TJ’s hoodies, take tons of cheesy pictures for Instagram and make so many inside jokes together that they can’t possibly remember them all. When he looks at TJ it’s like his heart is overflowing with emotion. How did he not see it before?

“Why did you want to do a costume together?” He asks.

TJ shrugs and picks at the grass beside him. “It seemed like fun. It was a cool idea, right?”

“It was awesome,” Cyrus confirms.

“Why d’you ask?”

Cyrus shrugs and looks away. “It’s nothing. Just… don’t worry about it. Here,” he finishes threading the daisies into a circle and drops it over TJ’s head so it falls around his neck. TJ beams at him and the butterflies in Cyrus’ stomach erupt into an excited flurry.

“Do I look pretty now?” TJ asks teasingly.

Cyrus can’t stop himself when he says, “You always look pretty.”

He feels himself going red and TJ raises his eyebrows in surprise. He doesn’t look mad or uncomfortable though, just slightly amused and like he hadn’t expected Cyrus to say it. He supposes that’s fair - he hadn’t expected himself to say it.

“Thanks, Underdog,” he replies. The sincerity of his tone is startling. “You look pretty too. All the time.” And then he kisses Cyrus on the cheek, leans back and bites his lip nervously. “Sorry, was that okay?”

The space on his skin where TJ’s lips pressed is still tingling and Cyrus lifts a hand to his cheek to press his fingers against it softly as he nods. “More than okay.”

“Great,” TJ says, his dopey smile returning full force, and he lifts his own hand to take Cyrus’ from his cheek and thread their fingers together. “I’m glad you said yes to the costume.”

“I’m glad you asked.”

They grin at each other and return to talking about their days. The daisy chain that hangs around TJ’s neck gets pressed between the pages of a book and kept in a box of memories for years to come. Ten years after that day by the pond, Cyrus hangs a picture of the two of them in their matching costume on the wall of the living room in the first house they buy together. It’s pretty awesome.

#tyrus #andi mack #my writing #anonymous

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theentiregdtime · 5 years

Note

hey if you’re still in a mood for bryan adams/macden asks: please consider “cuts like a knife”

Dennis is dropping Mac off on a date.

Which is fine. It’s an inconvenience and a complete waste of an hour of his evening, but otherwise… it’s fine.

Traffic is light, he can pick up dinner on the way back, and he’s playing his Bryan Adams CD in the car without any objection from Mac, for once- presumably because he feels guilty for asking this favor of him.

Which he should! And he should give Dennis the usual ‘thanks, man, you’re the best!’ and swear to pay him back and babble on and on about how awesome this is to the point where it’s entirely annoying (but Dennis doesn’t tune him out, he never tunes him out, even when he’s rambling incoherently).

Mac isn’t doing any of that, though. As a matter of fact, they’re hardly talking at all. It’s quiet between them. Not the effortless, familiar quiet, but the kind that sits on the back of your tongue and burns a hole in your throat.

The only thing filling the stillness between them is the stereo, good ol’ Bryan Adams singing about how there was only you and me and there’s nowhere unless you’re there and you told me that you’d wait forever.

“I feel like you’re mad at me, dude,” cuts the silence like a knife.

What? He isn’t-…!

Ah, shit, that’s fair.

Dennis does have quite a history of berating Mac over his dates- but that’s because they were always thinly-veiled charades that he made a big, flamboyant show of so everyone could see just how well he was keeping the closet doors shut.

But they’re open now. They’re open and it’s different and Dennis isn’t mad. He’s not even jealous or bitter about how he’s going to go home tonight and watch a movie alone and his best friend will be out here gallivanting about town with someone else. There’s just…

Something in him is burning. He can’t quite place it, but at the same time, he knows exactly what it is and simply doesn’t wish to look it in the eye.

Mac is out of the closet. He’s dating guys now, and this is the first of them he’s formally gone out with, at least as far as Dennis is aware. He doesn’t pretend to know what Mac gets up to when he spends the afternoon at the Rainbow and comes back covered in sweat and glitter, or what he did over the course of the year they didn’t speak.

It’s real now. It’s genuine. It isn’t a stage act. It isn’t a six-ring bullshit circus of Catholicism and heterosexuality and look how normal I am whilst he parades around like a damned rodeo clown.

That means if he grabs someone by the shoulders and says he loves them, he’ll mean it. If he ducks in to give someone an excited kiss, it’s going to connect and he’s going to want it. If he goes out on a dinner date, he’s going to wear two colognes and someone is going to like the smell of it. If he moves in with someone, they’re going to sleep in the same bed, and if they sleep in the same bed, they’re going to hold each other. If he buys someone a gift, it’s going to be because he knows them, really knows them.

And there aren’t going to be any more movie nights or monthly dinners or drunken brownouts at the bar. Dennis is going to be alone- and he’s never been truly alone. It was Dee and his parents, then it was Mac, then it was Maureen, then Mac, then Mandy, then Mac-

He isn’t certain what silence is going to sound like.

When he pictures it, he’s on the sofa watching a movie, and no one is eating chips too loudly and leaving crumbs, no one’s feet are encroaching upon his personal space, no one is pausing to make idiotic commentary every ten minutes, and the movie just plays and plays and keeps going until it’s over and time is passing and everything is growing old. He’s reading a book undisturbed because there’s no one in the other room on a goddamned exercise bike or making themselves a sandwich or taking a shower. There is Dennis Reynolds and then there is blackness, deafening quiet, like the vacuum of space, and there is nothing in between.

“I’m not mad,” Dennis insists unconvincingly. He’s not sure why it sounds like a lie, because for once, it isn’t.

The CD skips over to the next song, and an upbeat guitar begins blaring a bit too loudly for their conversation. He doesn’t turn it down, though, because he doesn’t want to have to hear the nothingness in between.

Driving home this evening, could have sworn we had it worked out…

Dennis likes this song. Of course he does, it’s his mix CD- but it strikes him differently now. Typically, he’s slapping the steering wheel and cutting people off in traffic and singing loudly, thinking about wanting something so badly and feeling it slip away but still wanting it, and the reckless thrill and romance of the give-and-take of it all.

Well, I heard it on the street, heard you might have found somebody new…

But it doesn’t feel that in real life. There is nothing exciting or arousing or mysterious about this. It just feels like trying to hold onto water.

Who is he, baby? And tell me what he means to you…

“I do think this is a waste of my night, but I didn’t wish to hear your whining, so I’m here!” Dennis snaps a little callously, but he isn’t shouting yet. “I’m driving the car, aren’t I?”

Mac doesn’t respond right away. It’s just the music again.

Mac was supposed to wait. He was supposed to wait for Dennis. He was supposed to be fine with nothing for years and years, fine with both of them stalling by messing around with inconsequential women, until Dennis decided he was finally ready. He was supposed to always be an option. He was supposed to always be there, just waiting in the corner of the ring until Dennis tapped him in.

The door was always supposed to be open and now it’s starting to shut.

I took it all for granted, but how was I supposed to know that you’d be letting go?

Yeah, that stings.

“It’s just, like, we’re not talking and-”

“Then talk. Why must I be the one to talk? I am trying to focus on the road, Mac!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to, because you’re just gonna yell at me.”

Dennis doesn’t glance over, but he’s sure Mac is pouting.

Or even worse, maybe he’s not making puppy dog eyes and sticking out his bottom lip as he does when he’s being melodramatic. Maybe he’s hurt, wholly and genuinely hurt, and his face is just dead.

Dennis doesn’t glance over.

“Oh, that is- I am not going to yell at you, you sound like a child-”

“You’re yelling at me now, Dennis.”

“Because you’re being absurd!”

It’s silent again.

Can’t you see we did the best we could?

Mac clicks his tongue.

“See, this is what I was talking about,” he sighs in defeat.

Dennis is not going to apologize. No way in hell is he going to apologize. He isn’t even going to pretend to- Mac is acting absolutely ridiculous.

“Sorry, but you left for like a year,” Mac continues to rant, loud enough to drown out the stereo. “All I’m trying to do is go out on one date!”

Dennis comes to a sudden halt at a stoplight, hoping Mac’s seatbelt locks and snaps against his collar. It’s what he deserves for starting this purposeless argument.

“I didn’t make you drive me to North Dakota,” he levels, voice devoid of any tone whatsoever, and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah, but I’m doing this for you!”

Oh, what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he meant to get down on his knees and thank him for the opportunity to be his chauffeur?

“I didn’t want you not to have the car tomorrow morning if I end up…”

Someone behind them honks, even though the light’s been green less than a second. Normally, Dennis would spin around and memorize such a rude man’s face to seek reprisal, but he doesn’t have the time nor the energy at the moment. Instead, he merely hits the gas and takes the next corner.

“And what if you don’t? You expect me to come back out here at god knows what hour of the night to pick you back up? Like some sort of schoolchild? As if it would be beneath you to take a goddamn taxi?”

Mac is broke, he’s always broke, Dennis knows that. He knows that because all of their money was in the same place for years, and it was all Dennis’, and then he was a ghost and Mac was left to pay the bills alone.

But he seems to have spent the past year getting himself together, supposedly enough to save his money and actually spend it on something other than ironic shirts and scratch-offs and dangerous schemes with Charlie and shopping on the dark web. He’s gotten himself together enough that he really doesn’t need Dennis for anything…

And that’s terrifying.

Oh, it cuts like a knife…

“Fine, then don’t pick me up.” Mac throws his hands in the air in an act of surrender. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

Dennis’ fingernails dig into the steering wheel, and he tosses some words around in his head, feels them out, because he needs to say something and it needs to be convincing, and goddamn it, he’s going to say something because-

“You should get over. It’s coming up.”

He wonders what would happen if he didn’t hit the turn signal, if he missed the stop by accident, if he just kept on driving. He wonders if the door would still be open.

When he looks over to check the flow of traffic in the turn lane, he catches a glimpse of Mac’s face. It’s only been a year, but he looks a lot older than Dennis remembers. He looks less energetic, less happy, less carefree. He supposes they both do.

It’s like there’s a weight on them now. Mac is out of the closet, and suddenly it’s not just fun and games and casual touching and almost kisses and laughter and late nights and sharing beers and crafting fake marriage schemes and pretending it all means nothing. They can no longer fall into the safety net of denial. Everything means something now, and that makes Dennis want to say and do nothing at all, because every word and every touch is a glass one drop from spilling over into something for which he isn’t ready.

But Mac was supposed to wait.

There’s no more time for him to wait, though, because they’re at his stop.

“Thanks,” Mac mutters under his breath before kicking his door open.

He’s angry now, but he isn’t going to do anything about it, because Dennis did him a favor by driving him here. That’s how Mac is. Even when he’s bursting at the seams with rage or excitement or something else entirely, he chokes his emotions down for the sake of their friendship. Dennis is usually apt at keeping things in, too, but tonight it feels like bile is rising in the back of his throat.

Mac’s feet hit the pavement and he tugs his jacket sleeves over his wrists, bracing against the cold air. He turns to close the passenger side door, but before it shuts, Dennis reaches an arm out. His knuckles just barely graze Mac’s shoulder.

“Mac, wait…”

Mac doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t walk away, either. He simply stands there, staring like a fish, eyebrows curved and lips tense, like he might go if Dennis tells him to go, but he might stay if Dennis asks him to stay.

He doesn’t ask him to stay.

“I’ll pick you up later, okay?” he offers, their eyes finally meeting dead on. He hopes Mac will know what he means by it, to save him from having to admit to anything aloud.

Mac swallows, contemplating, and for a moment, Dennis thinks he may respond with an ‘I’ll let you know’.

“Okay,” he says instead.

Dennis wonders what Mac might say if he tells him he’s ready, tells him he doesn’t have to wait anymore, tells him he doesn’t even need to go meet this guy because there doesn’t need to be another guy.

He doesn’t say any of that, either.

“I’ll… rent a movie,” he mumbles, “and you can tell me about your date.”

“Okay.”

Mac nods softly, looking at Dennis like he could say anything in the world and he would still reply ‘okay’.

'Stay with me.’

'Okay.’

'Don’t go on any more dates.’

'Okay.’

'Wait for me.’

'Okay.’

“Text me,” is all that ends up leaving Dennis’ mouth.

“Okay.” Mac closes the car door.

Then he’s stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, spinning on his heel, and making his way into the restaurant. Then he’s gone.

And the door is really shut.

All that’s left is the music. All that’s left is Bryan Adams still singing to him like he knows him and sees exactly what the fuck is going on and just how fucking pathetic he looks right now.

Oh, it cuts like a knife…

“Yeah,” Dennis says to himself, as he turns forward and pulls back onto the road. “It sure does, buddy.”

#asks #ptsunnydee #OH IT DOES NOT FEEL SO RIGHT #ok i know this prompt so clearly coulda been mac's pov about maureen or mandy or w/e but i couldn't get this out of my head #tysm for the ask but at the same time ouchhhh #iasip #it's always sunny in philadelphia #it's always sunny #dennis reynolds #mac mcdonald #macdennis #fics #my writing

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geminimoonbeamx · 6 years

Text

In the Land of Gods and Monsters: Part Two

A/N: So I’ve been doing my research, and for the last few days I’ve been doing nothing but binging on mob material. From Donnie Brasco to Mob Wives to a shit ton of documentaries. I really want this story to somehow…embody? That feel. That glamorous, dangerous feel. I’m aiming for you to feel like you’re listening to a Lana Del Rey song when you read this. Which is why at the beginning of every chapter I’m going to be posting a song lyric of hers- set the mood, ya feel?

Word Count: 6k+ you guys know I’m a sucker for these long ass chapters.

Warnings: As with all of my stories there’s a permanent warning of cursing. I have a mouth like a sailor and express myself through the word fuck. Drug Use, Sexual Tension and Pining are all you’ve gotta’ worry about for this chapter. Pretty SFW, no juicy stuff…YET.

Summary: You knew what you were getting yourself into when you met Bucky Barnes. He was a known wise guy. A feared mobster. Everyone in the neighborhood knew his name. Funny, in retrospect, you think that might have been why you couldn’t help but be drawn in like a moth to a flame. This first and foremost, is a love story. Blood stained and littered with bullet holes, but the story of how you fell in love with the man none the less. Mobster!BuckyxPlus Size Reader

Swinging in the back yard, pull up in your fast car, whistling my name. Open up a beer, and you say get over here and play a video game- Lana Del Rey

-Past-

It’s that pretty time of year in New York, your favorite time. The small window where the last tendrils of spring spillover across the beginnings of summer, where the heat hasn’t completely taken over but the sunshine warmed up the city from the inside out. It was also, the most wonderful time of the fucking year, in your humble opinion, because you were nearly out of school for summer break. Funny, in your early twenties and still counting own the days til’ the last day of school. College really was a ball buster.

Only a few more months, you repeated it to yourself like a prayer- like some kind of moral boost. You were set to graduate in December with your Bachelor’s.

Wanda had made it a habit lately, due to the nice weather, to come and pick you up from school. She’d have a pre-rolled waiting, and the two of you would stop and get something to eat on your way back home.

Today it was bagels, you munch happily, and highly on the last of the cream cheese, salmon and tomato bagel as the two of you walk down the city street. Wanda’s beside you, walking tall as always- and it’s not even the fact that she literally is tall. Runway model tall- accentuated with the heels she has on her feet- but its just the way that she holds herself. Even in her t-shirt and leather leggings; you’d be able to tell from a mile a way that this girl was someone, just by the confident jut of her chin.

The two of you babble about little things- not innocent things though.

About the fact that Pietro had come home with a nasty shiner the night before.

“He’s going to get himself killed” She hisses, distress and annoyance lacing her tone “I don’t know why he cant just get his pussy outside the families. Idiot has some kind'a death wish”

Wanda was ranting about how Pietro had been dipping(quite literally) into the mob pool of women lately. According to her that was the stupidest thing he could do- daughters, sisters, wives; that was an easy way to get yourself killed. Mess with the wrong mans woman, phew, you better watch out. Pietro never did watch out for shit, though. You thought it was almost…fascinating, watching the way the man navigated the world. Not looking at his surroundings as he buzzed through them.

Obviously, you spent a shit ton of time at Wanda’s house. Why wouldn’t you? The you opted to hang out at her mansion of a home instead of your apartment most of the time- even though Wanda was more then willing to go help your Grandma Viv in the Bodega she owned below it. You’d much rather sunbathe on one of her many balconies instead.

After being granted access through the iron wrought gates, and walking up the drive way that you teased was a fucking city block; you notice the unfamiliar cars that are parked in front of her house. Luxurious sports cars- not something the milkman drove. She must notice your staring, because she answers you before you can ask-

“My dad’s got some company over”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah” She waggles her eyebrows then in a way that makes you half frown, half smile “Tony’s here, and guess who’s with him”-

Your stomach does a little flip flop at the possibility- at the probability because that gleaming look in Wanda’s eye told you everything. You’d relayed to her the little time you’d spent with Bucky Barnes at the Social Club a couple weeks ago and she’d just laughed and told you to watch your shit. That many a woman had fallen victim that pretty eyed spell he was tryin’ to lure you under . You’d scoffed and rolled your eyes, indignantly. You weren’t falling for shit.

“Uh-huh, Y/N” Wanda had sing songed “You tell yourself that, babe- but he asked Pietro about you at a sit down the other day. ”

-“Who?” You play innocent, dumb.

“Bucky” She whispers like a schoolgirl, bumping your shoulder with hers and you shove her away playfully, laughing at her antics.

“Oh, my god, you’re such a fuckin’ child”

You loved Wanda like this, though. When she opened up, her playful child like side that she concealed with dark clothes and scowls was your absolute favorite. So as you’re walking up the steps to her frond door, her arm is slung across your shoulders and you’re giggling into her cheek, elbowing her ribs softly.

“Hello girls- you look like you’re having fun. Care to share what’s got you both so- giggly? Not that I don’t enjoy it- you know I dig the whole Lolita thing”

Tony Stark, you’re learning, even though you’ve only met him once- is dramatic. From the insanely expensive tailored maroon suit that he wears, to his sharp goatee, he was like some sort of Gatsby. Some sort of established, flamboyant character that had walked off of the pages of a book.

“I’m sure you do. Innocent little girls your thing, Tony?” Wanda shoots at him, grinning and you purse your lips to hide a smile.

She’d explained to you that she liked flirting with Tony because it rattled her dad’s cage- nothing had ever happened, but she wouldn’t really mind if it did.

You’d told her in return that she had a nasty case of ‘daddy issues-itus’ and needed to make sure that thousand dollar an hour shrink of hers helped sort it out.

“C'mon, friends make secrets, secrets don’t make friends”

“Why don’t you stop harassing them- God, I leave you alone for five minutes”

Just then, a red headed woman that you’d never seen before, because fuck, you would have definitely remembered her, turns the corner into the foyer. She was gorgeous, in her body tight pencil skirt and heels. She held her chin high- kind of the same way Wanda did and you just knew that she was somebody, important. The Givenchy on her arm only adding to that notion.

Bucky, as Wanda had promised, is there too. Next to the red-head, and your eyes meet for just a moment. You flash him a quick, small smile before adverting your stare. You can feel he hasn’t done the same- feel his eyes on your face.

Wanda and the woman share a small smile and nod.

“Y/N, this is Natasha Romanoff. Natasha- Y/N” she introduces the two of you and you shake the woman’s hand pleasantly. You don’t mean to, but you cant help but just…look at her.

Was it like some kind of unspoken rule that you had to be gorgeous to be apart of this world(underworld?)

“And Bucky-”

“We’ve already met” Bucky grins at you, interrupting your friend and you try to keep your face as neutral as you can “Good to see you again, Y/N”

“You too” You feel…very underdressed around these people. You had on a fairly cute outfit, but it paled in comparison to Bucky’s crisp black blazer. The dress shirt he wore underneath was open, showing the top of his chest and the small peppering of dark hair at the start there.

“I heard I missed a hell of a get together” Natasha grins, knowingly, at the two of you. In a way that’s almost scary.

“You didn’t really, nothing special” Tony, obliviously rolls his eyes “Happy took twelve tequila shots and didn’t black out, that was probably the most interesting part of the night”

Erik walks in then, looking like Hugh Hefner himself in a robe and loafers, Raven trailing behind him, and asks why everyone’s clogging’ up his doorway.

“Girls- I didn’t know you were home. I made lunch if you-” Raven rambles as she steps forward.

“We already ate” Wanda doesn’t snap it really, no. Snapping requires some kind of, emotion? And she’s nothing but cold to that woman.

“Sorry, old man” Tony teases good naturedly as he puts a hand on Erik’s shoulder and shakes his hand once more “We we’re just leaving when we ran into your daughter. Prettier every day, this one gets”

Ballsy, you note again. -“just like her mother”

“I know, and you know I’d cut the hands off of anyone that touched her”

Ha, ha, ha. Everyone laughs, but you know it’s not a joke. And so does Tony.

They all pay their respects then, Tony and his crew going to exit out of the door and you following Wanda and her father towards the kitchen-

Your pulled to a stand still by a long fingered grip on your forearm. One that startles the shit out of you, and makes gooseflesh break out where his skin touches yours as you lift your head and meet his eyes.

“I wasn’t lyin’ when I said it was good to see you again” Bucky says lowly, languidly.

His voice just a sinful as you remembered. Fattening and silk smooth.

“That so?” You quip, fuck, you even don’t know how. Your heart is jumping, leaping, and he still hasn’t let go of his light grip on your arm. Your eyes flash, scanning behind you, almost scared to get caught by Wanda or her father. That they might come back round the corner. Being alone with him feels so much more intimate then it really is.

“It is…we shouldn’t wait such a long time before seeing each other again”

“Bucky” You laugh “It’s been two weeks”

“Yeah” He grins down at you “Like I said, long time. Too long, if you ask me”

Fuck…pretty eyed spell? Yeah, that shit was real. Your head feels airy, maybe it’s because how hard your heart is pounding. Oh god, you were going to have a heart attack or something.

“So what exactly is it that you’re asking me?” you manage.

“Let me get your number?” Your eyebrow quirks at that, at the almost pleading edge in his voice “Let me take you out? I’ve been thinkin’ bout'cha, doll”

His tone drops then, drips with electricity “You been thinking about me too?” he all but whispers and you bite your bottom lip in some kind of attempt to keep yourself in your body. Fuck man, you don’t know if anyone had eve had this kind of affect on you.

“And if I said no?” You challenge, weakly, but still. He chuckles low, his eyes blazing. Like you’d ignited something in them- a part of you, the one that screamed for your self preservation almost wished you could put it out.

“I’d know you were lyin…”

“You’re very sure of yourself, Mr. Barnes”

“-Well maybe, but mostly I’m sure of the fact that I would show you the best time of your life. Take you somewhere you deserved”

“You don’t know me. How do you know what I deserve?” You point out, trying(but not really) to pull yourself away from him. Something about him ant the way he was with you made you want to…make him chase you. Made your hummingbird heart want to play.

Your eyes say it all.

“I want to know you” It’s such a simple statement, but it’s so…honest. The truth of it rings around the hot bubble the two of you have seemed to create for yourselves.

Who were you, to say no to something like that?

“Do you have a pen?”

“Nah-but I’ve got a great memory” He grins and you cant help but shake your head. This man…

He leaves the house with your number and your peace of mind.

It takes him four days to call you, 96 grueling hours where you’ve completely convinced yourself that he’s not going to.

How stupid could you fuckin’ be, you internally berate yourself. Thinking that a man like him- ugh. It had been a bad idea anyway. Him and his gunmetal eyes and his jawline that almost made you salivate-

“Y/N!”

You’re broken out of your mind by your Grandma who gives you a pointed look “Those cereal boxes aint going to shelf them selves”

You sigh and give her a “Sorry Grams” before getting back to the task at hand. Your Grandma Viv might have been elderly, but she was honestly the spunkiest, most alive person you’d ever met. She kept her long, silver hair pinned up and her cat framed glasses covered her defined eyes. She was always dressed in shawls and capes, in fabric that danced behind her. But even with her bohemian vibe, everyone knew she wasn’t one to be fucked with. It’s why she had had this place, this bodega(corner store) for the past twenty years. An organic bodega? In the hood? Everyone had laughed, but she’d proved them all wrong, and it had become a sort of staple of the neighborhood.

Needed fresh produce? Go to Vivs. Healthy ingredients or fresh flowers or quinoa(because that was all the rage right now) that wouldn’t break your bank like Whole Foods would? Go to Vivs.

She loved her shop, was so proud of it- but she also wasn’t getting any younger. And when her partner died a few years back(god rest her soul), you’d moved back in with her to help take care of things. You told her you were only there to help with the store, but really, you wanted to keep an eye on her too. You knew all those years of organic eating and tea cleanses and marijuana had done her good, but still. You worried about her- a fact that would always make her laugh.

“You’re the kid, little bird. I’m supposed'ta be worrying about you!”

You’re signing a clipboard, chatting with a delivery boy an hour or so later when your ringtone chirps from your back pocket.

“Yeah, you can just go line them up against the back wall, thanks” You finish up quick with him before pulling it out and looking at the number. It’s unknown, foreign and you try not to get excited as you answer it. It could be anybody- a bill collecter maybe? Your cousin who could seem to keep that same number for more then a week for the life of him-

“Hello?”

“Hi, doll”

None of the above. The voice belonged to Bucky- who you’d convinced yourself wasn’t going to call.

“-It’s Bucky” He verifies after it takes a beat for you to reply.

“I figured” You don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’d really thought he wasn’t going to contact you and that shit had stung.

“What are you doing, pretty girl?”

“Working” you deadpan back, trying to smother the butterflies that came with his “pretty girl”

“Yeah?”

“Yup”

“What are you doing tomorrow night? And don’t say working because I simply wont accept that”

You cant help but let out a sound that’s halfway between a snort and a laugh. His forwardness could easily be mistaken for assholy-ness, if not for that voice of his.

“As of the moment, I’m not sure yet. Why?”

“I want to take you out”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I do. Somewhere real nice”

You sigh dramatically “I don’t knowwww”

“What don’t you know? The only thing you’ve gotta figure out is what you’re wearing tomorrow night, let me take care of everything else” His voice is a pull, an invisible rope that he’d lassoed you with- a noose, your dark humor thought.

“I don’t know…” You repeated again, even though you do. You really fucking do. You’re totally aware, that you were one hundred percent going to agree…but you had to make him beg, just a little bit. Didn’t you?

He shouldn’t have made you wait.

He groans, playfully into the receiver “C'mon, doll face. Don’t give me a hard time. I want to see ya’, don’t you want to see me?”

You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear as you arrange the banana’s, gnawing on your bottom lip. You did want to see him. So badly- these four days waiting had been shit-

“I might want to see you, a little bit” You admit ruefully and he chuckles.

“Good. Now, what time would work best for ya’?”

And just like that, you were agreeing to a date with Bucky Barnes. When you’d hung up with him, and immediately dialed Wanda, she’d snorted and told you that she “Fuckin’ told you so” and gave you a few more warnings before asking you what you were planning on wearing.

That is how a natural disaster struck your bedroom room. No, but really, it looked like a tornado had passed through the room the next night as you tore your closet apart, eagerly searching for something to wear. You liked to think your were a fashionable person; your size had never smothered your love for clothes or your personal style, but god almighty, it was like you had nothing to wear.

You’d already changed multiple times and stood in the middle of the chaos in just your lacy bra and high wasted shapewear, pinching your nose, reminding yourself to breathe.

All Bucky had said was dress up nice. He hadn’t told you where he’d been taking you, nothin’. Did he mean like floor length gown nice or jeans and a pair of stilettos nice? Fuck.

After all your strife, you end up in a fawn colored leather skirt and top duo- figuring that if he meant wear a damn ball gown he would have said so. Your hair falls over your shoulders, styled and smelling good and you’d taken care with your make up. All in all, you thought you looked pretty damn good as you dab at your lipstick in the mirror.

You get the itch- one that has to be scratched. A need of a high to calm your nerves, and you decide for a couple puffs on an old joint instead of the coke that you kept in your jewelry box.

You, as per usual, were late and you scrambled to throw on a pair of pumps, a spritz of perfume and grab your handbag as you whirl winded out of the room.

“You have fun tonight, little bird” Your Grandma Viv calls after you and you grin, trying not to feel guilty and kiss her on the head as you pass her in the living room on your way out. She thought you were going out to a nice dinner with some friends from school to celebrate the end of the semester…she’d have a coronary if she knew what you were really doing.

Grandma Viv was, at heart, still a true flower child. Sometimes you teased that she was still on that acid trip from Woodstock. She hated violence, and she despised gangs and the mafia. “They take little boys and promise them a family, and make them into killers”

She loved Wanda, only because she didn’t know her last name. “That girls gotta’ deadly pair of stems on her- what’s her obsession with coverin’ up her knees?”

If she even saw Bucky, and his car and his suits, oh she’d lose it. That’s why you’d asked him to park down the block. Yes, you were a grown woman who shouldn’t have to sneak around like some high schooler- but your Grandma’s health mattered to you, and you weren’t about to burry her because she’d gotten a load of you with a made man and dropped dead.

It’s a pretty night, mild and clear and your heels make clacking sounds on the pavement as you walk, your eyes eagerly searching the street for him-

You don’t have to look far. About halfway down the asphalt, you see him. He’s leaning against his parked car, a burning cigarette hanging lazily between his loose fingers. He looks like a sin, with his dark suit jacket and his patterned dress shirt that once again he wears with the top button popped, revealing a gold chain that you suspected costed the entirety of your monthly rent. He perks up when he sees you coming, the side of his mouth pulling into a grin and his eyes sparkling in the light from the street lamp.

“Look at'chu” He grins when you’re in ear shot and even though you try to bite on your smile it beams. “You look real beautiful tonight, doll”

“You don’t look so bad yourself”

He chuckles and flicks out his cig, stepping on it before ushering you over and into the car. He does it all gentleman like, opening the door, his hand on your lower back as he makes sure your comfortable before shutting it. His car is nice, of course. It somehow manages to look vintage and updated all at once, you run a finger along the fine leather seats as he drives.

He takes you a ways from Brooklyn, all the way to Manhattan, claiming that the lobster at the place you we’re going to was worth the commute through traffic.

“You do like seafood, don’t you? Fuck, I should'a probably asked-” He frets a little bit and it’s almost odd seeing the brick house of a man looking so unsure.

“I love seafood, don’t worry” You try to keep the laugh out of your voice “I mean I’m allergic to shellfish, but-”

“Oh shit”

You bust out laughing hard at the sullen look on his face, at the way he’d paled “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

He makes a squawk at that, giving you a jesting glare “You’re not very nice, ya’ know”

“I never said I was” You manage between cracking up, wiping at the corner of your eyes to assure that your makeup didn’t smear due to the tears that had collected there.

“I guess I just assumed”

“Well you know what they say about assuming” You shrug one shoulder, but give him a sweet smile. That makes him bark out his own laugh, shaking his head at your antics.

“So are there any allergies I should know about? Real ones? Just for future reference” He makes conversation and you cant help that flip flop, flutter feeling in your chest. Future reference. You hadn’t even made it to your first date yet, and here he was. Making plans for the future. Were you freaked out or flattered? Both.

“Well unless your going to try and slip me a Trazadone, I think were good”

He chuckles again “No sleeping pills, got it”

The restaurant he takes you to is gorgeous, high scale. A few blocks away from Central Park. A Valet meets you at the curb and takes Bucky’s car as you walk to the entrance of the establishment.

It’s busy, obviously very in demand and your eyes don’t know where to focus. When someone almost bumps into you and you have do this shuffling act on your heels, Bucky’s hand goes to your waist, pulling you in closer to him.

“Reservation’s under?” The hostess asks, but you can barley hear her.

Truth be told, you’d never had a man treat you like this. The protective way that he held you was new and exhilarating.

“Barnes” He drawls and with that, the two of you are seated pretty damn fast. His large, leather glove covered palm doesn’t leave your curvy waist until you’re sat at the table. He takes his seat only after you’ve taken yours.

You cant stop looking around- it’s absolutely beautiful in here. From the chandeliers to the mod decoration. You’d been to some high end restaurants with Wanda and her family in the past few months but none had been as aesthetically pleasing as this. The waiter drops off your menu’s and you don’t recall having ever been attended to so fast before.

“You like it?” Bucky notices your eyes and you snap them back to his, a little sheepish at being caught ogling.

“I do, it’s gorgeous” You nod, picking up the menu. “You bring all the other girls here?” You tease, your eyes on the print and not on him.

“What other girls?” He asks, teasingly outraged and you scoff and roll your eyes.

“C'mon Bucky” You urge, just meeting his eyes about the edge of the menu. His are blazing, yours are kitten like “You think I’m not aware of your…reputation?”

He chews on that. Little do you know, no other woman had ever called him out like that, so boldly. On the first date none the less.

“We’ve all got a past, doll. I’m sure you’ve left a string of broken hearts behind ya’” He searches for the words, and jeeze, he’s so good with them.

You shake your head with a tut of your tongue “Not really”

“Now I call bullshit on that” Bucky leans forward and you have the urge to hide behind the menu, so you do. “You’re too beautiful. I’m sure there’s a dozen guys who hate even hearin’ your name cause you fucked em’ up so bad”

Had you ever been complimented so much? Most people assume bigger girls never get any attention, but that was never the case for you. You’d had boyfriends, flings. You’d always been “pretty enough”.

But Bucky looks at you like you’re the sun from the very start.

“Flatterer” You accuse, and he just bets if you’d lower that menu he’d see that pretty blush creeping up your neck…

“It’s all the truth, baby”

The waiter decides to take pity on your soul then and comes back to the table. Bucky orders a bottle of wine that just sounds like it costs fuck load.

“I hope you like red”

“I do” You smile.

He orders the lobster with herb butter and filet migon plate and you a seafood sampler plate. It’s all ridiculously decadent, the lobster just as buttery and rich as he’d promised and the two of you eat and drink until you feel like you’re going to bust a seam in your spanx. It’s fun, it’s easy.

Bucky seems to like your teasing, he isn’t rubbed the wrong way by it like some people were.

You talk, try to get to know him, even though every question that comes out of his mouth is centered on you. You tell him about school, that you’re majoring in “political economics” and he grins and asks what that’s like. He asks about your “job” and you relay stories about the bodega, which then turn into stories about your childhood, which then turn into stories about everything.

The two of you spend hours, at the table. Talking and digesting.

“You and Wanda are close” He notes and you nod.

“Yeah, I love her” You say simply because it’s the truth “She’s a good friend”

“And her brother? You close with him too?” He has that same look in his eyes that he’d had back at the bar the night that Pietro had interrupted you. It makes you shiver a little.

“You could say that. I mean there’s no Wanda without Pietro, is there?” You know you hadn’t answered his unasked question, but that was your intention. For one, even if you had, had a thing with Pietro(which fuck, you never would. You liked living your life STD free, thank you very much) it was none of his business. And two, maybe you liked that way he was looking at you.

Maybe you liked the idea of him getting jealous, no matter how dangerous you knew that might be.

“That’s right, it’s been that way since they we’re kids. Always the two of 'em” Bucky tells you a story of how they’d always been at their fathers feet during “meetings” as he called them.

“How old are you, exactly? I never asked?”

He chuckles “You scared I’m a geezer?”

“No, I’ve never had an issue with older men” Where the heeeeelllll did that come from. He brought out some hyper flirty side of you and you were going to need to watch your mouth(that already tended to get you into trouble) with him.

His eyes flash from yours to your lips and back up, his pupils flickering before he answers “I’m thirty two”

You cluck your tongue and scoff “And you’re over here acting like you’re soooo much older then us. You’re not even ten years older then me, Bucky”

“Nine years is nine years. You’re like a baby to me, huh?” He gives you a cat that ate the canary grin “Baby girl”

You could scream. Baby girl, coming out of his mouth it sounded like the dirtiest praise you’d ever received. You just shrugged and adverted your eyes, and hell, Bucky loved that little blush he watched blossom from the collar of your top up.

You decide not to get a dessert, claiming that you didn’t need chocolate and shrimp doing the tango in your stomach and he agrees and instead asks for the check. When it comes, you cant help but be curious at the amount. You could bet it was a pretty penny.

“Should I even ask?”

“No, doll. It’s none of your concern” He gives you an easy grin as he signs his signature and gives the man his card.

“That expensive?”

He shrugs “Completely worth it”, he’s happy to have earned that blush again.

After exiting the restaurant, back into the gorgeous weather, it hits you- just how much you don’t want this night to end. Dinner was over, and you honestly had no intention of letting him take you back to his place, at least not tonight…but you don’t want to go home. Not just yet.

“Let’s take a walk?” You suggest, even though your feet would probably hate you in the morning “Were right next to Central Park”

You think it’s the puppy dog eyes you make up at him that ensures his “I’m game”

It’s nice, just walking beside him. Having him so close you could feel the sparks of his body next to yours, and yet the two of you didn’t touch. You refrained from grabbing his hand so many times. He slows him self, his long legged strides to match your shorter legged, heeled ones.

“You grow up in the neighborhood?” You decide its time for him to answer a few of your questions, the ones that had been gnawing at you.

“I did. Brooklyn born and raised”

“Never wanted to do any traveling?”

“I spent enough time away when I was younger. I ,uh, I enlisted when I was eighteen” He reveals and you look over.

“Yeah? The army?”

“Yeah. I was stationed in Iraq for a few years til’ there was an accident” He holds up his gloved hand, but doesn’t elaborate and you’re not about to push. “I’m glad to be home, I love this city, ya’ know? Once you come to New York you never want to leave. It’s magic”

You giggle at the sincerity in his voice “I wouldn’t call it magic, but it’s got it’s charms”

“Everyone I love is in this city”

“Are you close with your parents?”

“Not as much…any more” Again, he only half answers “You? I know you live with your Grandma but what about your ma’ and dad?”

“Um, kind of? My mom lives in Arizona, but my dad’s just- not in the picture”

He nods and doesn’t press you about your answers either. You appreciate it. You don’t want to kill the vibe with all of this family drama.

He reaches in to his pocket to pull of the box of cancer sticks and pulls one out, lighting it up easily. He offers you one but you shake your head.

“The make me jittery” You explain and he chuckles as he takes a drag, a glint of gold showing from under his sleeve.

“That’s a nice watch you’ve got there, Sir” You point out, impressed “What is that, a Rollex?”

Bucky smiles, softly. With a shrug, as though he’s embarrassed you’d noticed it “Thanks, it’s 'aight”

He dipped himself in gold, and yet seemed to shrug about it when someone noticed? What even was that? He just…sparked your curiosity, in a way no one else really have. You were so curious about this man, you wanted to know him.

'I want to know you’ his words ring in your head.

“It’s more then alright, Mr. Humble”

“Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues” He tells you all matter of factly and it almost stops you in your tracks.

“Did you just quote Confucius to me?”

He looks equally shocked, brow crooked as he stares back “I’m surprised you picked it up”

Right then, you decide he’s not the man you thought he was. Quoting philosophers and being humble about his obvious wealth? Yeah, not what you were expecting at all.

After a half an hour walk your feet are hollering in your pinchy heels and he decides it’s time he get’s you home. The car ride is peaceful, filled with a quiet you’d never personally experienced. When ever people talked about “comfortable quiets” you would laugh at them because there couldn’t be anything comfortable about there not being a flow of conversation…but this was. The radio played softly and the breeze through the open windows whipped your hair lightly, he’d reached over about half way through the drive, his in gloved hand sliding along your thigh until it found yours. You’d smiled and held it, getting acclimated with his long fingers, with his bony knuckles you could tell had been broken a time or two before and the rough callus’ that contrasted with your own plump, satiny skin.

When he pulls back into the exact parking spot he’d been in when he’d pick you up(which you think is rare, because if you’ve ever been in New York you know it’s some kinda’ voodoo to park in the same place twice) he looks over at you. He’d had to pull his hand away to park the car and yours feel empty…

“What are you thinkin’ about?” His voice is low, like he doesn’t want to break the cristiline bubble you two are in and you smile wistfully as you lean your head back against the rest, never taking you eyes off of his.

I don’t want this to ever end.

I don’t want to go inside.

The moment you drive away, I know I’m going to miss the hell out of you.

Those were just a few of the many thoughts that rushed through your mind.

“I had a really good time tonight” Is what you choose to tell him though.

“So did I- I’m hopin’ you’ll let me take you out again”

“I might be open to negotiation”

He just grins, with a slight shake of his head “You’re somethin’ else, doll, you know that?”

You bite your lips then, because fuck, when he swallows his Addams apple bobs in a way that’s almost hypnotic. The tensing of his pretty jaw is the most beautiful thing.

“Doll?”

“Uh-huh?” your distracted, you can barley reply.

“I really want to fuckin’ kiss you right now”

Your whole body tenses and you try to take a labored breath. When had the two of you leaned in so close to each other? When he says this, all you can do is watch the way his lips move as the form the words. You cant speak, not with all the tension in your body.

“Let me kiss you?” It’s a plea and you just nod as his forehead clunks against yours and his nose nudges your cheek. Your breathing in what he’s exhaling and he tastes so good already.

“Baby, can I kiss you?” he presses on, wanting to hear you affirm him. Not with a nod, but with your voice.

“Please” You all but whimper and then he’s pressing his plump lips to yours and its wet and sweet and your eyes flutter closed as you try to zero in on nothing but this feeling. But the smell of his spicy cologne and the way his hand comes up to cup your jaw, leaving you gripping at his arm for dear life.

Your hearts hummingbirding as you suck on his bottom lip, as his tongue licks into his mouth, as his hand on your jaw goes to grip your hair in an vain attempt to pull your mouths closer together.

What was supposed to be a first kiss becomes a first make out of sorts and when you pull away to suck in a ragged breath, to somehow regain control of yourself , you lean heavily back against the seat. Two sets of ragged panting fill the air of the car and your chest heaves as your lungs work for needed oxygen. You don’t see the way his dark eyes watch your breasts rise and fall, because yours are fixed in front of you, a bit unfocused honestly.

“That was um-” You try to string together words.

“Amazin’?” Bucky answers for you and you let out a little laugh that’s almost hysterical and nod before daring to look back over at him.

“Yeah, something like that”

The tension starts to build the moment your eyes meet again and you know if you don’t get out of that car you’re just going to start right back up again.

“I should go” It’s barley audible, and you really, really don’t want to even say it.

“Let me walk you to your door?” Bucky offers but you decline. Not wanting your grandmother to see him.

“No, that’s okay. It’s literally just right there”

He pouts a bit at that, but sighs “At least let me kiss you one more time?”

You giggle and shake your head “No, that’s not a good idea”

“Why? C'monnnn” He drags out and you want to reach over and squeeze this known mafia man’s cheek. He was just too fucking cute.

“No, Bucky. I have to go and I don’t know if I’ll be able to if we start kissing again” You argue, gathering your bag, ready to exit the car.

“What about one? Just one more?”

How can you say no to those eyes of his? So you lean back over, slowly…but just before your lips re-connect with his you jerk, pressing them to his cheek instead.

“Goodnight Bucky”

You hear his groans over your triumphant laughter as you exit the car, shutting the door behind you. Feeling like you’re walking on air.

His window rolls down quick, so that he can holler to you as you cross the street. “Goodnight, baby girl!”

You think about that magic he’d talked about in the city earlier as you make your way up stairs- you feel that when you’re around him.

INTRO

PART ONE

@buchonians @papi-chulo-bucky @geekyweed @kelly96q @missrobyn81 @iamwarrenspeace @docharleythegeekqueen @beccavesper @buckysforeverprincess @yslbucky @plumfondler @prettybubblesintheair @4theluvofall @huntressxtimelady @curiositywillbethedeathofmee @welcometothelordsden @jacks-on-krack @peacefulwriter88 @thejenniferincident

I’m crying as I write this because I want a Bucky of my own. Ugh. So usually in my stories I like myself a good ol’ slow burn, but not with this one. I want their love to be wild and passionate and all consuming from the start.

Also, I’m writing Y/N as a confident plus size woman because we exist lol we wear skirts and men think were pretty! Gasps, I know. Shocking.

Give me some feedback! What are you guys thinking of this so far? Yes? No? I love reading your comments, like litterally, even the shortest comment slays me. Please gimme- lol I’m like a fairy, I need attention to live.

If you’d like to be tagged for this series let me know in the comments!

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