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astarryon · 6 years

Text

Hard Feelings Part 6

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Light angst from bucket at the beginning, mentions of alcohol consumption at the end

A/N: Here’s update 6! I’m so amazed with the love and support you guys have been sending my way, and I’m so incredibly thankful for all of the kind words! This chapter’s a bit different because it’s mainly from Bucky’s perspective, but I felt it was important to get inside his head and see what was going on in there. I should also mention the majority of this was written while listening to Total Eclipse of the Heart, which is probably why Bucky’s so emo. Hope you all enjoy!

Part 5

—

Bucky Barnes was a fan of routine. He liked the structure it brought, the concrete knowledge of where he was going and who he would be seeing and what he would be doing. He liked that he had a routine or, more accurately, that he got to pick its details. By no means would he consider himself a control freak, but seven decades spent having basic human rights and needs stripped away could really do a fucking number on somebody, and he was living proof of the fact.

It was why he hated when Fury or Steve or anyone else tried to saddle him with therapists and psychologists. All of them always wanted to talk about everything that had happened, which Bucky hated and thought made them pretty stupid. Nobody wanted to talk repeatedly about a trauma they had already been through; it just made all of the feelings from the event bubble up to the surface, forcing him to relive everything. He got enough of that shit in his dreams, so he definitely didn’t need it in his waking moments. Acting up and displaying poor behavior towards the individuals seemed to do the trick in getting them all to resign, though, so each time Fury sent the alert that another therapist would be on their way, Bucky made sure not to bother with holding anything back. He got many disapproving looks from Steve over it, but it was nothing that couldn’t be shrugged off. Bucky didn’t think help should be forced on him if he didn’t want it, and he had thought Fury was beginning to get the message when the vacancy hadn’t been filled for a solid two months.

And then you’d been assigned to him, restarting the cycle all over again. Bucky had almost wanted to laugh when Steve had presented you to him, as you so clearly weren’t a professional, with your nervous tendencies and your twitchy mannerisms. Scaring you off should have been easy, but it had never worked out in his favor thanks largely in part to your stubborn resolve. The icier he was to you, the more compassionate you seemed to become. The harsher he snapped at you, the greater your patience and understanding. That had been more annoying than anything else, because Bucky hadn’t been faced with such an iron resolve to help someone in another person since Steve in the thirties. He hadn’t liked you at all but had respected your will to stick around, and once he’d found out that you’d been curing his dreams of darkness and agony while he slept, all the while taking the scathing commentary he aimed your way every day? Not only was Bucky displaying open admiration for you at that point, but he had decided that you could perhaps be something along the lines of his friend. You were just as miserable about your being in the tower as he was, after all.

Phrased in a much simpler manner, you had become a quintessential part of Bucky’s routine. In the mornings he woke up and dressed, and you were often already waiting by the elevator for him so that the two of you could go down to the training room. Later on in the days you would hold your unorthodox therapy sessions, which mainly consisted of you holding Bucky’s hand and unlocking all of his emotional turmoil. He liked this method best, because he didn’t have to tell you a damn thing for you to completely understand what he was going through. It was all the best parts of therapy, with the addition of you being able to tell him how to remedy the problem because you knew exactly what was causing him to feel the way he did, though the nightmares remained as a residual effect. Bucky had grown used to you, to expect you; he’d adapted you into his routine, and even looked forward to seeing you because it had become so normal over the past month and a half.

In addition to loving routine, Bucky hated change, as so many people tended to, and would do anything to avoid it. That had all gone completely out the window when he had self sabotaged himself in the name of a merry holiday, or cheer, or whatever. It had been for a good cause, and he was happy he’d helped you get to your family — in perfect honesty, Bucky would do anything to undermine Nick Fury — but it left him with the nasty taste of cotton in his mouth.

The first night without the knowledge of your presence had been his best; a bit fitful, but nothing to complain about, as it was all only going downhill from there.

“You’re sure you’re going to be okay without me?” you had turned to him to ask, looking up at him in genuine concern.

Bucky rounded to the back of the black SUV, opening the trunk and heaving your suitcase in. “Codependency isn’t my style, kid. I’m gonna be just fine.” He was pointedly ignoring the doe eyed look you were throwing his way as he shoved the trunk closed and walked back to stand beside you. “And just because you’re going on vacation doesn’t mean you get to slack. I expect you to be running two miles every morning and practicing your fights and stances. Believe me, I’ll know if you slack off when you come back.”

“Interesting way of saying you’ll miss me,” you teased, sending a sarcastic smile his way. That was something he appreciated; you weren’t nearly so skittish around him anymore. Had that persisted, he wasn’t sure he could stand to be constantly tip toeing around you. “But, really, Bucky. If you need anything at all, you can call me. Know I can’t do much from three hours away, but it’s still nice to have a friend.”

The horn of the car gave an impatient beep, signaling the driver was ready to take off. Shaking his head, Bucky shrugged a shoulder and placed a quick, hesitant pat on yours. “Have a good trip, Y/n. I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.” You smiled and waved, and Bucky watched as you climbed into the car. Moments later it had disappeared down the street, and Bucky had returned to the top floors of the tower to continue on with his day, entering the kitchen in search of something to eat.

“Morning,” Steve greeted him immediately, adding to a massive stack of pancakes on the counter, which Wanda happened to be perched beside. Occasionally Bucky’s best friend took it upon himself to mother everyone in the tower, especially when he was bracing for a bad mood from someone, and the food made depended on who he was expecting would be aggravated. Considering Bucky was unabashedly open with the fact that his favorite breakfast food of all time was pancakes, that meant Steve was bracing for a blow up from him. “Grab a plate and eat up, man.”

“Hey, Buck man!” That had come from Sam, who was sat upon a bar stool set in front of the kitchen island, happily shoveling pancakes and eggs into his mouth. Between bites, he continued his words with, “What, no morning scowl? You’re usually out for everyone’s blood when you get up this early.”

“I’m always up this early,” Bucky pointed out, crinkling a brow in confusion as he meandered over to Wanda and Steve to grab a plate and acquire his breakfast.

“Explains a lot,” Wanda joked, playfully nudging Bucky as he came to stand beside her.

Dropping his jaw in mock affront, Bucky pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me, Maximoff. Hand me the syrup, would you?” She offered him a gentle smile, then did as he asked. Huh. That was the same smile both Steve and Sam had offered him as well. Bucky wasn’t in possession of your powers, but it didn’t take a genius to notice the differences in his friends’ behaviors. He may as well get to the bottom of it. “Why’s everyone acting like I got broken up with?”

Steve and Wanda shared a startled look between them, unsure of what to say. That didn’t stop Sam from casually offering, “Because Y/n left?”

Bucky squinted his eyes as he looked at his friend, still wearing his pajamas but seemingly wide awake enough to give Bucky grief. “Okay, and?”

This time it was Steve who answered Bucky’s inquiry. “It’s just that, we just wanna make sure you’re gonna be good.” He sounded hesitant, but an encouraging nod from Wanda prompted him to solidify his tone. “You two have been hanging out pretty often and we figured you would miss her, since, you know... you’re friends?”

Oh, Bucky’s ridiculous friends. “Only barely,” he scoffed, grabbing his now full plate and moving to sit on the empty barstool besides Sam. The way all three of them were staring at him made Bucky feel like he was the focus of some kind of intervention. “All of you are her friends, too. Are you telling me you aren’t going to miss her?”

“Of course we’ll miss her,” Wanda responded, taking a bite of her breakfast. “But you’re the one who’s around her every moment of every day. Wherever you are, Y/n seems to follow.”

Damn, they were really doing this, weren’t they? It would be years before Bucky could roll his eyes enough to express just how misguided this whole thing was. “Because we’re each other’s assignments. I have to train her to be a successful agent. Have any of you ever done that with someone who barely knows how to fight? It’s like baking a cake from scratch.”

“That’s... baking a cake from scratch is really easy,” Steve whispered, eyes trained down at the floor so as to avoid the sharp glare Bucky threw his way. He chose to ignore it to continue to make his point, but Bucky had tried to make a cake from scratch before and had nearly lit the kitchen up in flames.

“Plus she’s my floormate, so obviously we would be seeing a lot of each other.”

Sam arched a playful brow. “Sounds like a whole lot of excuses to me, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Bucky shook his head and ate his breakfast, electing to ignore the bait being laid before him, but not before saying, “I’ll be fine, guys. And even if I did care all that much, she’ll be back by New Year’s Eve.”

They’d dropped the subject after that, and Bucky had been left to go about the rest of his day in peace. He spent time with Steve, took a visit up to Tony’s lab for an adjustment on his arm, reviewed and answered business emails and mission reports from SHIELD. Just before dinner he’d gone up to the training room to work out with Thor and get his mind off of things, and dodged an attempt at an impromptu therapy session from Bruce, who Bucky was sure you had put up to the task. He’d actually managed some decent sleep that night, surprisingly.

The second day of your absence had been slightly more disorienting. Bucky had woken up and waited by the elevator so that the two of you could go down to the training room together for a good five minutes before he realized you weren’t going to be showing up. Off putting, but easy enough to write off in order to continue on with his day. Lunch time rolled around eventually, and he kept expecting for you to come collect him for his mandated daily therapy before realizing, once again, that you weren’t currently in the tower. At that point his mood began declining, partly out of annoyance and partly out of resentment at the interruption of his daily routine. Sleep that night had been fitful and restless; Bucky hated to admit it, but he knew this was directly related to your absence.

Night three was when his nightmares had begun acting up. He’d been pretty snappy, so the other tenants of the tower had mainly left him to his known devices, though he hadn’t missed the knowing looks being shared between Wanda and Sam. The day dragged on and by the time night fell Bucky was ready to sleep and be done with it, though his mind seemed to have other plans. As soon as he lost consciousness, he was pulled into graphic memories of the torture he’d previously been subjected to. The electrocutions, the mind wipes, the physical and verbal abuse. Visions of people, dead bodies, voices screaming and begging for mercy, agonizing wailing and sobbing. Then, underlining all of this, a totally hopeless cold completely enveloping him, kissing and caressing every inch of his skin.

He’d woken up screaming at the voices and asking for the same mercy they’d begged of him, tears spilling down his cheeks when he realized he was daring to ask for sympathy from ghosts.

“Jarvis,” he called, heart still racing from the adrenaline rolling through his body. It’s fine, he told himself. Everything is fine. You aren’t that person anymore. “What time is it? Is anyone awake?”

“It’s half passed three in the morning, sir. All other agents have retired to their rooms.” Damn. He’d been hoping Tony would at least still be awake. “Would you like me to wake Captain Rogers?”

“No, don’t... don’t bother him.” Bucky needed to calm down, and preferably before his heart beat clear through his chest. Just his luck that the one time he would have even considered taking you up on your offer for a good dream you were out of town, and at his doing no less. But... well, he would never admit it out loud, but the sound of your voice was something he found calming, more than likely due to your ability, and you had gifted him an entire album of it. “Could you just hit play on the Christmas gift I received, please?”

Jarvis wordlessly complies, and the sound of soft melodies accompanying your voice began to fill the room. Bucky hated how quickly it calmed him down because that meant he was dependent, but he was ultimately grateful.

“Can you keep it playing until I fall asleep?” Bucky inquired, adjusting to a more comfortable position on his side. It felt childish, seeking out lullabies in pursuit of sweet dreams, but he was way passed the point of humility.

“Of course, sir.”

As the songs played, Bucky found himself calming down exponentially, his heart slowing as his adrenaline rush fully ebbed away. The idea of falling asleep to music had seemed ridiculous when you had proposed it; Bucky liked complete silence when he was trying to fall asleep and found noise painfully distracting. The relaxing qualities your power lent your voice, though, allowed the music you’d recorded to put his mind at ease, and it wasn’t long before he was teetering on the edge of consciousness. All of this meant he’d been wrong, something he despised. It all meant that your help wasn’t something to shy away from, no matter how he felt about you reaching into his head. He’d need to come to terms with that, which he supposed he could — he was just thankful he had a few more days to swallow that before you came back.

And god, how secretly excited he was to wake up the morning of December 31st and finally have you home.

There was... something in his chest, something he would forget he’d felt when he woke up the next morning. It had been small, fleeting, hadn’t much managed to grow into more than a passing thought. As he drifted to sleep with a small smile on his face, though, your voice crooning to him in the background, the last few lines of the song your voice had been singing infiltrated his thoughts, softening his resolve and planting a small seed, one which would grow into something he would not be willing to acknowledge until much further down the line, if ever.

Is your heart filled with pain?

Shall I come back again?

Tell me darling, are you lonesome tonight?

—

“Y/n!”

You smiled as you stepped off the elevator and onto the main floor, Clint’s excitement filling your senses long before his words reached your ears. Though you had been sad to leave your family and wished your visit could have been prolonged, you were actually fairly excited to return back to the tower and your assignment. These people were your friends, and you’d grown attached to them a great deal in the nearly two months that you’d resided there. You had hardly known a moment’s peace from your prying relatives, everyone wanting to know just how the infamous Avengers liked to spend their down time. They’d all groaned when you had nothing much exciting to report, though you weren’t at all sure what they’d been hoping to hear. Everyone in the tower was normal, more or less. Thor really liked Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal, Tony was a caffeine addict, Clint had an unfortunate habit of leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor. Those weren’t the sort of things your siblings had been hoping you would report by any means.

Clint wrapped you in a tight bear hug, Natasha following suit as soon as he had let go. They were both clad in pajamas despite the fact that it was nearing noon; the tower staff would be setting up for Tony’s New Year’s Eve party, and you knew Tony would be throwing a fit if he saw they weren’t preparing for the evening.

“How are you?” Natasha questioned, looking you up and down and nodding to herself once she found everything satisfactory. It was probably force of habit and something she did for the others each time they returned from missions, but it was a bit odd where you were concerned. Had she been under the impression you would come back injured?

“I’m great,” you answered, offering her a smile and inconspicuously extending your aura towards her, just so she could recognize that you were completely fine, even if at a subconscious level. “Really, really good. How have you guys been? Is everything—”

“Oh, thank Christ you’re back,” you heard — and felt — Tony’s expression of relief as the elevator doors opened behind you suddenly. His arms had automatically reached out on sight and you found yourself suddenly engulfed in a friendly hug. “Barnes isn’t in a great mood and I would really appreciate it if—” He cut himself off, catching a glimpse of Clint and Natasha, and pulled back from you to address them. This gave you the chance to take in his appearance, and you found that he was dressed to impress in a dark suit and shiny dress shoes, his bow tie left undone around his throat. Tony looked as charmingly disheveled as ever. “Hey, why the fuck are you two still in pajamas? You’re supposed to be getting ready!”

Clint threw a disbelieving hand out to the side, narrowly avoiding accidentally thudding it against Natasha’s chest. “The party doesn’t start for another six hours, dude, relax. We have plenty of time.”

“We’ve been over this,” Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before shaking his head and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Just, be dressed by three, okay? Believe it or not, journalists do cover my parties and I can’t have you all running around in penguin socks when they get here.” Clint gave an affronted gasp, but Tony ignored it in favor of turning back to you. “Listen, I have to go and take care of catering coordination, but I wanted to let you know that I wasn’t sure if you had anything to wear tonight, so I had Wanda pick you up an outfit because the girl loves to shop. And while you’re upstairs, would you please talk some sense into Barnes? Would help me out a ton.” Tony began walking away, then paused, adding, “Glad you made it home safe, by the way! You’ll have to give me all the details of suburbia later.” He made quick work of disappearing after that.

Shaking you head, you chuckled in amusement. “Guess I’d better go and see what’s wrong with Bucky.”

“He’s… actually been okay for the last few days,” Natasha offered. “Well, there was one where he wasn’t so great, but other than that he wasn’t any grumpier than usual.”

“You weren’t the one sparring with him,” muttered Clint. “I have three new bruises.”

You chuckled and bid the pair farewell until the party, making your way to the elevator after hugging each of them one last time, having the sense to worry about just what sort of outfit Wanda had picked for you in your absence. Her sense of style was amazing, but it was also just a bit more edgy than you were comfortable with; god only knew what sort of outfit she’d deemed appropriate for a Stark New Year’s Eve party, especially when you knew she liked to give you a hard time about that kind of stuff. You weren’t much of a partier, really; the amount of emotions raging around them liable to throw your ability into chaos. But you couldn’t lie; you were more than a little excited to be in attendance, and you’d have something wicked cool to hold over the heads of your colleagues once you got back to SHIELD HQ.

The elevator deposited you on your and Bucky’s floor, and as soon as you stepped out you could hear voices carrying down the hall from Bucky’s open bedroom door. The conversation became clearer as you neared.

“You guys know I don’t like parties.”

“Come on, man, it’s New Year’s Eve!”

“And?”

“And you could stand to let loose and have some fun, you big bitch baby.”

“Name calling, Sam? Really?”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I’m not gonna call you a name, but I do think Sam is right. You should let loose a little, have some fun.”

The voices paused when you neared and knocked on the door frame, sticking your head through to see what was going on. Steve, Sam, and Bucky all stared back at you, the former of the three standing with their arms crossed as Bucky perched on the edge of his bed. The whole thing looked like two parents staging an intervention for their troubled son.

“Y/n!” Steve whooped, rushing over to wrap you in a hug. “I didn’t know you were getting back so early! Figured we wouldn’t see you until the party.”

“Wanted to get a jump on traffic,” you explained, a friendly smile aimed Sam’s way. The emotional shift of the room had become significantly brighter, though it hadn’t been overly dreary before. They really were happy to see you. You hadn’t doubted they would be, it just made it all that much more genuine. “Nice to see you’ve all been getting along.”

“Hey,” Bucky greeted, raising a hand and offering you a small smile. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was at the moment, but something felt… different, coming from him. Not significant enough to cause worry, but enough to prompt your curiosity. He seemed relaxed, more genuine. Happier. “You didn’t say you were on your way.”

“Wanted to surprise you all,” you answered simply, beaming at him. These three you had missed a great deal, particularly Bucky. Spending each day with him had gotten you used to seeing him and speaking to him on the daily, and you had admittedly been a bit mopey when he hadn’t bothered to even text you. Common sense, though, told you that Bucky wasn’t really the type for casual texting, something you’d known, but you couldn’t help overthinking the matter while you’d been gone; it was just something that your mind had done. “How are you?”

“Fantastic, really,” Sam interjected, a sly look on his face as he intercepted the conversation. “Y/n, you’re going to the party tonight, aren’t you?”

You furrowed a brow, but answered with, “Yeah, it’s supposed to be really fun, isn’t it? And I’ve always loved watching the ball drop. Wanda picked me an outfit and everything, so I don’t think I’m allowed to say no.” After a pause, you continued with, “Actually, I think I’m supposed to be getting ready now, but Tony said I should come make sure Bucky was all good?”

When you looked back to Bucky you caught him glaring at Sam, which only served to confuse you further. His face immediately softened when he looked to you, though, which you were sure was a testament to how far your relationship had come since you’d first been assigned to him. “I’m fine. No worries here. I was just… having an issue deciding on what outfit to wear.” Sam opened his mouth to comment, but Bucky gave him a stern one handed shove. A lie, but a small one. You chose to let it slide. “You can go ahead and get ready; don’t let us keep you. You can tell me all about your trip at the party.”

You knew better than to press for information, so you simply nodded and waved at each of the men in turn, offering them all a temporary goodbye as you turned and began to walk out the door. You were no more than a few steps out of the room before you heard a very serious, “I swear to god—” followed by a thump and a loud protest from Sam.

—

“I’m not sure I should be wearing this. Maybe I should change.”

“Come on, Y/n! You look hot!”

“I look like someone who’s gonna break her fucking ankles the moment she gets a little too tipsy.”

“I mean, you can change your shoes if you want, but they tie the whole thing together. Otherwise you’re just wearing another black dress.”

In truth, you knew Wanda was right. The dress she’d picked up for you could be considered along the lines of the classic ‘little black dress’ style. It was short and cute, the skirt hitting your mid thigh, and the v neckline of the dress was low enough to be flirty, but high enough to give you some illusion of modesty. That all went out the window once you turned around, though, your back having been left completely bare by the dress’s design. Wanda wouldn’t even listen when you’d requested to keep your hair down, stating that there was no point in even wearing the dress if you were just going to try to hide the best part of it. She’d accessorised you with small touches of gold, making up for the lack of color. A golden bow, small and glittering in the light, was arranged with the curls which had carefully been pinned atop your head. Around your throat was a simple, golden chained necklace, little white diamonds studding it here and there. In the place of the bracelet Wanda had given you for Christmas was one matching your necklace; she’d appreciated the sentiment of wanting to keep it on, but had insisted it threw the entire color scheme off. The best part of the outfit, though, had to be your heels. They were six whole inches of glistening gold beauty, and showed off the black nail polish Wanda had placed upon your toes, the height of them forcing you to stand taller and straighter.

Yeah, there would be no getting rid of those heels, even if you were bound to break your legs by the end of the night.

“Don’t worry,” Wanda reassured you as the two of you waited for the elevator to take you up to the roof, where Tony’s party was being held. You were thankful all of the guests who didn’t reside in the tower were made to use the guest elevator. It made for a lot less crowding and offered you more privacy to be mildly insecure. “You look great, and even if you didn’t, this is a New Year’s Eve party. Half the guests are going to be too wasted to remember or care.” Easy for her to say. Wanda was an absolute vision in a dress made of satin the color of red wine. She stood just as tall as you did in shoes which matched the color of her strapless dress, glossy and bright in the light of the elevator, and the black shadow dusted upon her lids with the razor sharp eyeliner made her look somewhere between a prom queen and a witch of the night. She looked just as at ease as she would if she were wearing sweatpants and an oversized sleeping shirt.

“Fair point,” you sighed. You guessed you were complaining to the wrong person. Bucky might be more sympathetic, if the conversation you’d interrupted earlier had been anything to go off of.

Though it was just half an hour since the party had begun, everything seemed to be in full swing as the doors to the elevator slid open, revealing a large mass of people milling about. Half of them were already drunk, told to you by your ability as you picked up multiple emotional readings which were distorted and exponentially louder than normal. Drunk people, though always so wildly entertaining, were extremely emotionally draining to you; you would either need to keep an extra careful handle on your power tonight, or join them in their intoxication.

Not that you’d known it at the time, but that had been the line of thinking which would lead to a lot of embarrassment and blushing later down the line.

“You guys made it!” you heard Tony’s voice call immediately, a swarm of guests directing their eyes to you at his words. “Thanks for coming!”

“We live here,” Wanda pointed out, arching a brow in amusement. “We couldn’t miss it if we wanted to.”

“You’re damn skippy,” Tony responded, raising his champagne glass in a mock toast to the two of you. “Mingle and drink up, okay? It’s five hours to midnight and no one is allowed to be boring!”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. Linking arms with Wanda to prevent from getting separated from one another, you wandered around the rooftop, watching as the sun began to sink down the horizon, setting the skyline of New York City aglow with a wonderful orange light. The snowfall had mercifully ended the night before, but the air was still a bit chilly. It would have been worse if there weren’t so many people at this party, though, so you guessed that was one of the few positives of having a large crowd. So many people’s emotions at your fingertips was already beginning to make you anxious, though, and once you realized this after about twenty minutes of meandering, you turned to Wanda. “I’m gonna get a drink,” you told her, leaning in close so she could hear you. “I think I saw Thor at the bar. Did you want one too?”

“No thanks,” she responded. “I haven’t eaten anything yet, and this whole party is gonna go down in flames if I drink on an empty stomach. I’ll pick us up some snacks from the catering table while you get your drink from Thor, okay?”

With that you had separated from your friend, and made your first mistake of the night.

“Hello there, Y/n,” Thor greeted from the bar upon seeing you wander towards him, resting his large hand on your shoulder in a friendly gesture, his left one holding a red cup which was sure to be filled with alcohol. “Are you enjoying the party?”

You nodded your head, smiling brightly. Thor was another of the Avengers you had missed greatly; he was never not in a jovial mood. “I am, thanks. A little anxious, though; do you think you could pour me a drink? I need something to take the edge off my nerves.”

“Absolutely! If you’ll just hold this?” You nodded in thanks and took his cup from him, watching him ignore the dirty look from the actual bartender as he leaned over the bar to grab a bottle of clear liquid; tequila, the label said. You hadn’t had that shit in years on account of a bad experience at a college party, but you were game if it was going to help you settle down. “Shall we toast?”

“Sure thing,” you responded, bumping the plastic cup in Thor’s hand with the one in yours and knocking the liquid back. It burned something foul as it slid down your throat, and tasted closer to seriously burnt cinnamon and sugar than alcohol.

That had been your second and largest mistake of the evening, and it hadn’t even passed seven o’clock.

“That shit’s disgusting,” you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “What kind of tequila is that?”

Thor stared at you with a look that could only be described as abject horror, and you felt a sudden sense of worry extend from him and towards you. “That… that wasn’t your drink.”

“What?” you asked, stifling a hiccup.

“You didn’t switch cups with me,” Thor pressed, eyes wide as dinner plates. “We were supposed to switch cups and then toast. You drank my drink.”

Seemed like a silly thing to be upset over. “I’m sorry,” you told him, shrugging a shoulder. Was it just you, or was he getting a bit blurry around the edges? “Want me to pour you more? I’m sure they have plenty tequila back there.”

“I don’t think you quite understand,” Thor told you, panic in his eyes. You couldn’t feel it; your powers had been shrouded by the intoxication which was readily settling over your mind. That wasn’t right; how could you possibly be drunk after only one drink? “I wasn’t drinking tequila, I was drinking the alcohol of my people. That was… You just chugged a cup of Asgardian liquor.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

—

Part 7

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